Read Ebook: Bypaths in Dixie: Folk Tales of the South by Cocke Sarah Johnson

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 912 lines and 66879 words, and 19 pages

A lusty crow sounded from the rooster in the yard.

"Mammy, what did Mister Rooster say?"

"He say 'dey's er good little boy in h-y-a-h,'" trilled Phyllis, imitating the rooster's crow.

Willis smiled while his hands unconsciously clapped applause. Slipping from her lap, he ran about the room flapping his arms and crowing: "There's a good little boy in h-e-r-e, there's er good little boy in h-e-r-e."

Mary Van started in the opposite direction: "There's a good little girl in h-e-r-e."

"Hush, Mary Van," commanded Willis; "you can't crow, you've got to cackle."

"I haven't neether; I can crow just as good as you. Can't I, Mammy Phyllis?"

"Well," solemnly answered Phyllis, "it soun' mo' ladylike ter heah er hen cackle dan ter crow, but dem wimmen hens whut wants ter heah dersefs crow is got de right ter do it," shaking her head in resignation but disapproval, "but I allus notice dat de roosters keeps mo' comp'ny wid hens whut cackles, dan dem whut crows. G'long now an' cackle like er nice lit'le hen."

OLD MAN GULLY'S HANT

"Put some bread crumbs on top of the barrel, Willis, and less see if he can peck it off," suggested Mary Van in baby treble.

The Langshan seemed to understand, for he watched Willis with interest as he crumbled the bread; and after due consideration, and with an almost human scorn towards the hens, measured his steps to the barrel, and stretching his long neck, removed every crumb from the top. After this he slowly raised one foot as though to return to the company of hens, but changing his mind, stood with the foot poised in air and one eye apparently fixed upon Phyllis.

"Come on, chillun, I ain' gwine stay hyah an' let dat ole chicken conjur me."

"I don't want to go, Mammy, I want to stay and feed the chickens," protested Willis.

"I want to see him eat off the barrel some more," pleaded Mary Van.

"Dat rooster ain't no chicken, I tell yer, 'tain' nuthin' in dis worl' but er hant."

"Mammy, where do hants stay?" asked Willis.

"Hants is ev'r whars," she looked about her; "dis hyah room right full uv 'em now."

Mary Van's head was immediately buried on the old woman's shoulder, while Willis's arms locked tightly around her neck.

"Tell us about a good, good spirit, Mammy," came in muffled tones from Mary Van.

"Cause we don't want to hear about bad old hants," finished Willis.

"How yer speck me ter tell yer enything wid you chokin' me, an' Ma'y Van standin' on her haid on m' should'r. Set up like fokes--you hole dis han' an' let Ma'y Van hole dis un, an' I'll tell yer 'bout old man Gully's hant."

"Ole man Gully wus de biggites' creetur' you ev'r seed; he jes nachilly so biggity he 'fuse ter do er lick er wurk. Plantin' time er harves' time ain' make no diffunce ter ole man Gully. He set up on his front po'ch an' smoke his pipe, an' read de newspaper an' eat same es one dese ole buckshire hogs, whilst his old lady, an' de chilluns, an' der ole nigg'r Abe, done all de wurk.

"Ole Miss Gully wus pow'ful sot on de ole man; she think he's de mos' pow'fules' gran' man in de wurl. Ef he say 'I wants er chaw er 'bark'r,' de ole lady'd break her neck runnin' ter de fiel' ter tell Abe ter take de mule out'n de plow an' fly ter town fur de 'bark'r. Den she'd git de old broke down steer an' go ter plowin' tell Abe come back. All dis time ole man Gully snoozin' on de po'ch in de cool. Ef er rainy spell come an' spile de wheat, er ef fros' come an' kill de fruit, ole man Gully 'buse de ole lady an' de chilluns, an' say ef dey had er done like he tole 'em hit nuv'r wud er hap'n'd.

"One day long 'bout de mid'le er de sum'r, Mist'r Gully say he bleeg ter have some possum vit'als. Cose nobody doan eat no possum dat time de ye'r, an' 'taint' no time ter hunt 'em nuthe'r, but ole man Gully says, 'I wants de possum,' an' dat wus 'nuf fur de Gullys. Abe an' de chillun stops all de wurk on de farm an' go possum huntin'. Dey hunts all day, an' dey hunts all night 'fo' dey so much es come 'crost er single possum track. Bimeby, att'r day had mos' give out, hyah come er big lean, lank ole possum up er 'simmon tree full er green 'simmons. Dey runs home quick an' giv' hit ter dey ma, an' Lawsee! by de time dat possum an' tat'rs 'gun ter cookin' up good, de smell uv hit jes nachally make Abe an' dem chilluns mouf dribble tell dey can' do er lick er wurk fur standin' 'roun' de kitchen smellin' dat possum. Miss Gully had er plenty er fat meat an' sop fur de chillun, but dat big deesh er possum an' tat'rs at de haid er de table done steal all der appertite, an' dey wus settin' dar turnin' ov'r in der mines which one gwine git de bigges' piece.

"Pres'ntly Mist'r Gully sorter cla'r his thoat an' push his plate erway an' pull de deesh closter ter 'im an' cas' er eye 'roun' de table sorter mad like, an', honey, dem chillun know right den an' dar dat dey got ter eat fat meat an' sop fur sup'r, er dee doan git no sup'r. De bigges' boy sorter wipe his eyes er lit'le, an' de nex' two chillun, dey out an' sniffle. De ole lady twis' her mouf like she tryin' ter say 'doan spile yo' pa's sup'r.' An' de ole man make out he ain' heah nuthin' nur see nuthin'. Pres'ntly he look up wid his mouf right full er tat'rs an' possum an' see de chillun's eyes feas'in' on 'im, an' der moufs wurkin' like his'n, an' he feel sorter 'shame. He swaller hard he do, like he's fixin' ter give 'em some, den he change his mine an' say, 'G'long in de yard, chillun,--Pappy's sick, let Pappy eat de possum.'"

"Make Mister Gully give them some, Mammy," said Willis indignantly.

"He hatt'r go back like Niggerdemus an' be born'd ergin ef he do. Nor suhree, he eat up ev'y speck er dat possum, an' he sop up ev'y drap er dat gravy too; den he stretch hissef an' say he 'speck he'll g'long ter bed an' try ter git er good night's res'. Den all de fambly hatt'r g'long ter baid too, so de old man kin git ter sleep. Bimeby, long' 'bout time de moon sot, hyah come sump'in' nuth'r knockin'--knockin'--knockin', on de wind'r blines.

"'Who dat?' sez ole lady Gully.

"Sumpin' nuth'r keep er knockin' an' er knockin'. Bimeby de old dog 'gun ter howlin', an' de chickens 'gun ter crowin', an' de pigs 'gun ter squealin', an' de kitchin do' blow'd wide op'n, an' de sumpin' nuth'r come tippitty, tippitty, tip, 'long up de hall.

"'Who dat?' sez ole lady Gully ergin.

"De sump'in' nuth'r keep er comin' tippitty, tippitty, tip, right 'crost de ole lady's foots on de baid. She holl'r an' squall fur de ole man an' de chillun' ter come kill hit. De chillun an' Abe come er runnin' but de ole man ain' stirry er speck.

"'Lawsee mussy! Light de candle quick,' sez she.

"An' whut 'twus you 'speck dem chillun foun'?"

"What, Mammy?" came in a chorus.

"Er big ole Langshan rooster, jes like dat varmint out yond'r. Yas suh, dar hit sot on de foot er de baid, quoilin' an' grumblin' like fokes. De ole lady tell Abe ter run Langshan out 'fo' he wake up de ole man, but Lawd er mussy! Abe 'gun ter howlin': 'Oh! my Lawd, Marst'rs daid! Marst'rs daid! an' dis hyahs his hant!' Sho' nuff de ole man wus layin' dar stiff an' stark daid!"

"Is Papa's rooster old man Gully, Mammy?" whispered Willis.

"Hit mout not be dis same ole man Gully, son, but hit's some ole man Gully, sho' es you born. Well, de ole lady she 'gun ter moanin' an' takin' on tur'bl', she did, an' de Langshan he settin' up cluckin' an' quoilin' tell nobody can' heah der own ye'rs. Dey darsn't ter drive 'im out--nor suh, eb'n de und'r tak'r skeerd ter do dat, so 'tain't long 'fo' dat ole Langshan chick'n boss ev'ythin' on de farm. Yas suh, I tell yer, Abe an' dat ole 'oman act scand'lous ter dat chickin. De ole lady, she love hit, but Abe, he jes nachelly skeer'd er de hant. Dey nuv'r raise sich er crap b'fo', 'caze dat rooster scratchin' all ov'r de fiel', an' Abe say he know whut you doin' wheth'r he lookin' at yer er not.

"Ev'y time Langshan 'ud speak sof' ter de hens, Miss Gully'd holl'r ter Abe, 'Yer marst'r want some fresh wat'r, run quick,' Whinsomev'r Langshan'd crow, she run an' git him mo' vit'als. Oh, I tell yer dem dominicker hens whut kep' comp'ny wid him sholy got fat an' lazy eatin' all day an' doin' nuthin' but cacklin' conversation wid him. An' dey's er heap er fokes in dis town too, dat doan do no mo' dan dem hens does."

"Did the children call Langshan papa?" interrupted Willis.

"Nor, darlin', dem boys doan b'leef in hants, an' dey tell dey ma dat de rooster jes foolin' her, but she crack 'em crost de haid wid de broom stick, an' dey darsn't say so no mo'.

"Long 'bout Chris'mus time Miss Gully wus took down wid de rumatiz. She can't lif' er finger, let lone git up, so she tell Abe ter bring de ole man up in de house. Yas suh, dat rooster strut hissef all ov'r dat house. He peck at hissef in de lookin' glass, an' he light up on de pianny in de parler; he fly up on de baid an' peck Miss Gully's nose, an' she tell Abe de ole Man's lovin' her. Hit sho' wus cur'us 'bout dat rooster, caze ev'y time de doct'r come, he hop up on de foot er de baid an' cluck, an' cluck tell de doct'r git up an' go. One day de doct'r tell Miss Gully she gwine die. She sorter cry 'bout hit er spell, den she sont fur de ole man's hant. Abe he go an' shoo de roost'r in de room, but he can't make him fly on de baid. Abe he tiptoe an' wave his han's sof' like b'hime him, but de rooster run und'r de baid an' cackle, an' cluck, an' make so much fuss dat de boys wanter run him out, but Miss Gully say he talkin' ter her. She answer back ter him, 'Yas, suh,--dat's right,--yas, suh, I'm gwine do jes like you says.' She keep er gwine on dat erway er long time, tell bimeby she tell Abe ter go git lawyer Clark ter make her er will. She say de ole man say she got ter give him all de money, dat de chillun'll spen' hit ef she don't. De lawyer argufy wid her 'bout doin' sich er trick es dat, but he thowin' 'way his bref, caze by de time he git thu' wid dat speech, Miss Gully wus done daid."

The children took a long breath. "Did the hant kill her, Mammy?"

"Hit conjur her so she dunno whut she doin', jes like dat ole chickin try ter do me."

"Did the children cry when their mama died?" came tremulously from Mary Van.

"Dey car'ied on right sharply, caze she wus er good ole 'ooman 'fo' she got conjured, an' she wus jes doin' what she think wus right den; but der cryin' wusn't nuthin' ter dat nigg'r Abe howlin' an' moanin' ov'r in de cornd'r. Yer see dat ole roost'r squattin' und'r de baid ain' nuv'r tak'n his eyes off'n Abe, an' Abe want 'im ter g'long an' keep comp'ny wid somebody else sides him. So he holler', 'Mistis, fur de Lawd's sake make Marst'r g'long wid yer.' Den de ole rooster start ter cluckin' an' fussin', an' hit 'pear dat he fixin' ter go to'ards Abe. Abe he start ter hol'rin': 'Nor suh, nor suh, I doan want yer ter g'way fum hyah! I wants Mistis ter come back in one dese big Langshan hens, so you won't git so lonesome, dat's whut I wants.' De rooster keep on er cacklin' an' er fixin' ter fly out'n de wind'r, but Abe think he gwine jump on him, an' he yell, 'Please suh, doan hu't Abe, Marster, caze whin I dies, I'm gwine come back in one dese fine gooses, an' wait on yer plum tell jedgement.'"

"Did old Langshan get all the money, Mammy?" the financial side appealing to Willis.

"He git much uv hit es hit take ter buy pizen ter make er conjur pill ter kill him wid."

"Can you kill a hant?" he asked incredulously.

"Yer can't kill 'em 'zackly, but yer kin run 'em inter sum uth'r creet'r, dat is ef de conjur pill wurk."

"Mammy," began both children at once.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet