A True Story Repeated Word for Word as I Heard It Read online

  A Perfectly A True Story, re-

  peated word for word

  as I heard it.

  --

  It was summer

  time, & twilight. We

  were sitting on the porch of the farm-house, on the summit of the hill, and

  & "Aunt Rachel" was sit-

  ting respectfully below

  our level, on the steps,--for she was

  our servant, & colored.

  She was of mighty frame

  & stature; she was sixty

  years old, but her eye was

  undimmed ∧ her strength

  unabated. She was a

  cheerful, hearty soul, &

  it was no more trouble for

  her to laugh than it is for

  a bird to sing. She was

  under fire, now, as usual

  when the day was done.

  That is to say, she was

  being chaffed without

  mercy, and was enjoying it.

  She would let off peal

  after peal of laughter, &

  then sit with her face in

  her hands & shake with

  throes of enjoyment which

  she could no longer get breath

  enough to express. At

  such a moment as

  this a thought happened

  to occurred to me, ∧ I said:

  "Aunt Rachel, how

  is it that you've lived

  sixty years & never had

  any trouble?"

  She stopped quaking.

  She paused, & there was a

  moment of still

  silence. She turned her

  face over her shoulder

  toward me, & said, with-

  out even a smile in

  her voice:

  "Misto C., is you in

  arnest?"

  It surprised me quite

  a good deal--& it sobered

  my manner & my speech, too.

  I said:

  "Why, I thought--that is,

  I meant--why, you can't

  have had any trouble.

  I've never heard you sigh,

  and never seen your eye

  when there wasn't a laugh

  in it."

  She faced fairly around,

  now, & was full of earnestness.

  "Has I had any trouble?

  Misto C., I's gwyne to tell you,

  den I leave it to you. I was

  bawn down mongst de slaves

  --I knows all 'bout slavery,

  'cause 'case I ben one of 'em my

  own sel'f. Well, sah, my ole

  man--dat's my husban'--

  he was lovin' an' kind to

  me--jus jist as kind as you

  is to yo' own wife. An' we

  had chil'en--seven chil'en

  -- & we loved loved dem chil'en

  jist de same as you loves

  yo' chil'en. Dey was black,

  but de Lord can't make

  no chil'en so black but

  what dey mother loves 'em

  an' wouldn't give 'em up, no,

  not for anything dat's in

  dis whole world.

  "Well, sah, I was raised

  in ole Fo'ginny, but my

  mother she was raised in

  Maryland; an' my souls!

  she was turrible when she'd

  git started! My lawd

  lan'! but she'd make de

  fur fly! When she'd git

  into dem tantrums, shed

  always had one word dat

  she said. She'd straighten

  herse'f up & put her fists

  in her hips & say, "I want

  you to understan'd dat

  I ain't no houn'-dog mash; I wa'nt bawn in de mash to be fool' by trash!

  to be trod on by common

  trash! I's one o' de ole

  Blue Hen's Chickens, I

  is!"--'case you see, dat's

  what folks dat's bawn

  in Maryland calls dey-

  selves, an' dey's proud of

  it. Well dat was her

  word. I don't ever for-

  git it, becase she said it so much,

  an' becase she said it one

  day when my little Henry

  tore his wris', awful, an'

  most busted his head,

  right up at the de top of his

  forehead, an' de niggers

  didn't fly aroun'd fas'

  enough to 'tend to him.

  An' when dey talk'ed back

  at her, she up an' she

  says, "Look-a-heah!"

  she says, "I want you niggers to understan'

  dat I wa'nt bawn in de mash to be fool' by

  trash!--I's one o' de

  ole Blue Hen's Chickens,

  I is!" an' den she clar'

  dat kitchen an' bandage'

  up de chile hers'e'f. So I says dat word, too, when I's riled.

  "Well, bymeby my ole

  mistis say she's broke, an'

  she got to sell all de nig-

  gers on de place. An'

  when I heah dat dey gwyne

  to sell us all off at oction

  in Richmon', O de good

  God gracious I know what dat

  mean!"

  [Aunt Rachel had

  gradually risen, while

  she warmed to her sub-

  ject, & now she towered

  above us, huge ^ black

  against the stars.]

  "Dey put chains on

  us an' put us on a stan'

  as high as dis poach--

  twenty foot high--an

  all de people stood a-

  roun'--crowds an crowds.

  An' dey'd come up dah

  an' 'zamine look at us all roun'd,

  an' squeeze our arm, an'

  make us git up an' walk,

  an' den say, "Dis one too

  ole," or "Dis one lame," or

  "Dis one don't 'mount to

  much." An' dey sole my

  ole man, an' took him

  away, an' dey begin to sell

  my chil'en an' take dem

  away, an' I begin to cry;

  an' de man say "Shet

  up yo' darn blubberins,"

  an hit me on de mouf

  wid his han'. An' when

  de las' one was gone but

  my little Henry, I grab'bed

  him closet up to my breas',

  so, an' I ris up an' says,

  "You shan't take him a-

  way!" I says; "I'll kill de

  man dat tetches him!"

  I says. But my little Henry whis-

  per an' say, "I gy gwyne

  to run away, an' den I

  work an' buy yo' freedom."

  O, bless de chile, it mos'

  broke my heart, he so

  he always so good. But dey got him--

  dey got him, de men

  did--but I took & tear

  de cloes most de cloes mos' off

  of 'em an' beat 'em over

  de head wid my chain;

  an' dey give it to me, too,

  but I didn't minde mine dat.

  "Well, dah was my ole

  man gone, an' all my

  chil'en,--all my seven

  chil'en--an' six of 'em

  I hain't set eyes on agin

  to dis day,--an' dats twenty-

  two years ago las' Easter.

  De man dat bought me

  b'long'ed in Norfolk

  Newbern, an' he took me

  d
ah. Well, bymeby de

  years roll on ^ de

  an' de waw come. My

  marster he was a Confedrit

  Colonel, an' I was his

  family's cook. So when

  de Unions took dat town,

  dey all run away an'

  lef' me all by mysel'f

  wid de other niggers in

  dat mon'sus big house.

  So de big Union officers

  move in dah an' dey

  ask me would I cook

  for dem,. for money.

  "Lord bless you," says

  I, "dat's whats I's for."

  "Dey wa'ntnt no small-

  fry officers, mine you,

  dey was de biggest dey is;

  an' de way dey made dem sogjers

  mosey roun'! Well I

  thinks De Gen'l he tole

  me to boss dat kitchen;

  an' he says, 'if anybody

  comes meddlin' wid you,

  you jist come an tell me; make 'em walk chalk;

  don't you be afeard,' he say,

  'you's 'mong frens, now.'

  ¶Well, I thinks to myself,

  if my little Henry ever

  got an got a chance to run

  away, he'd madke to de

  Norf, o'course. So one

  day I comes in dah whah

  de big officers was, in

  de parlor, an' I drops a

  kurtchy, so, an' I says,

  to de Gen'l, says I, up an' tole 'em 'bout my Henry,

  dey a listenin' to my troubles jus jist de

  same as if I was white folks;;

  an' I says, "What I come

  for is becase dat if he got away

  & got up Norf whah you

  gemmen comes from,

  you might a seen him,

  maybe, ^ an' could tell me so

  as I could fine him agin;

  he was very little, an' he had a sk-yar on his lef'

  wris', an' at de top of his

  forehead." Den dey look

  mournful, & de Gen'l say,

  "How long sence you los' him

  him?" an' I say "Thirteen

  year." Den de Gen'l say,

  "He wouldn't be little no mo',

  now--he's a man!"

  "[I never thought o o' dat

  befor befo'! He was only

  dat little feller to me, yit.

  I never thought 'bout him

  growin' up an' bein' big.

  But I see it den. None o' de gemmen had

  run acrost him, so dey

  couldn't do nothin' for me.

  ¶But all dat time, do' I

  didn't know it, my Henry

  was run off to de Norf,

  years & years, an' he was

  a barber, too, an' worked

  for hisse'f. An'd bymeby

  when de waw come, he

  ups an' he says, "I's done

  barberin," he says; "I's

  gwyne to fine my ole

  mammy, less'n she's

  dead." So he sole out an'

  went to whah dey was re-

  cruitin', an' hired hisse'f

  out to de Colonel for

  his servant; an' den he

  went all froo de battles

  everywhah, huntin' for

  his ole mammy; yes in-

  deedy, he'd hire to fust

  one officer an' den an-

  other, tell he'd ransacked

  de whole Souf--but

  you see I didn't know

  nuffin' 'bout dis. How

  could I know it. was I gwyne to know it?

  "Well, one night, we

  had a big sojer ball-- de sojers dah at New-

  bern was always havin'

  balls an' carryin' on.

  Dey had 'em in my kitch-

  en, heaps o' times, 'case

  it was so big. Mine you,

  I didn't

  I was down on sich doins;

  becase my place was wid

  de officers, an' it rasp'

  me to have dem common

  sojers cavortin' roun'

  my kitchen like dat.

  But I all always stood

  aroun' an' kep' things

  straight, I did; an' some-

  times dey'd git my dander

  up, an' den I'd make 'em

  clar dat kitchen, mine

  I tell you!

  "Well, one night--it

  was a Friday night d

  --dey comes a whole

  plattoon fr f'm a nigger

  ridgment dat was on

  guard at de house--de

  house was headquarters,

  you know--an' den I

  was jist a bilin'! Mad? Well honey I was jist a boomin'! I

  swelled aroun', an' swelled

  aroun',--I jist was a itchin'

  for 'em to do somefin'

  for to start me. An' dey

  was a waltzin' an' a dan-

  cin'!--my! but dey was

  havin' a time!--an' I

  jist a swellin' an' a swellin'

  up! Pooty soon, 'long

  comes sich a de sprucest young

  nigger a-sailin' down

  de room wid a yaller

  wench roun' de wais';

  an' roun' an' roun' an'

  roun' dey went, enough 'nuff to

  make a body drunk to

  look at 'em; an' when

  dey got abreas' o' me,

  dey went to kin' o' balan-

  cin' aroun', fust on one

  leg an' den on tother, an' smilin' at my big red

  turban, an' makin' fun', an' I ups an' says, "Git along wid you!--rub-

  bage!" De young man's

  face kin' o' changed, all

  of a sudden, for 'bout

  a second, but den he went

  to smilin' agin same

  as he was befo'. Well, 'bout

  dis time, in comes some

  niggers dat played mu-

  sic an' b'long' to de ban',

  an dey never could git

  along widout puttin'

  on airs. An' de very

  fust air dey put on dat

  night, I lit into 'em!

  Dey laughed, an' dat

  made me wuss. De

  res' o' de niggers got to

  laughin'g, an' den my

  soul alive but I was

  hot! My eye was jist

  a blazin'g! I jist straight-

  ened myself up, so,--

  jist as I am is now,--

  plum to de ceilin', mos',

  --an' I digs my fists into my hips, an' I says, "Look-a-

  heah!" I says, "I want you

  niggers to understan'

  dat I ain't no houn'

  dat I wa'nt bawn in de mash to be fool'

  dog mash to be trod

  on by cousins o by trash by trash! I's one o' de ole Blue

  Hen's Chickens, I is!"

  --an' den I see dat young

  man stan' a-starin' an'

  stiff, like lookin' kin' o'

  up at de ceilin' like

  he fogot somefin', an'

  couldn't 'member it no

  mo'. Well, I jist march'

  on dem niggers,--so,--

  lookin'g like a Gen'l, a goin into battle--

  an' dey jist cave' away

  befo' me an' out at de

  do'. An' as dis young

  man was a goin' went out, I heah

  him say to another nig-

  ger, "Jim," he says, "you

  go 'long an' tell de Cap'n

  I be on han' 'bout eight

  o'clock in de mawnin';

  dey's somefin on my

  mine," he says; "I don't

  sleep no mo' dis night.'

  You go 'long," he says,

  "an' leave me by my own

  se'f."

  "Dis was 'bout one

  o'clock in de mawnin'.

  Well,
'bout seven I was

  up an' on han', gittin' de

  officers' breakfast. I

  was a-stoopin' down by

  de stove,--jist so,--same

  as if yo' foot was de

  stove,--an' I'd opened

  de stove do' wid my

  right han',--so, pushin'

  it back, jist as I pushes

  yo' foot,--an' I'd jist

  got de pan o' hot biscuits

  in my han' an' was 'bout

  to raise up, when I see

  a black face come

  aroun' under my mine,

  an' de eyes a-lookin' up

  into mine, jist as I'sm a

  lookin' up clost under

  yo' face now; --an' I

  jist stopped right dah, an'

  never budged!--jist gazed,

  an' gazed,--so;--an' de

  pan begin to tremble,

  an' all of a sudden I

  knowed! De pan

  drop' on de flo' an' I

  grab his lef' han' an'

  shove back his sleeve,

  --jist so, as I'sm doin'

  to you,--an' den I went

  goes for his forehead an'

  push de hair back,

  --so,--an' "Boy!" I says,

  "if you ain't my Henry,

  what is you doin' wid

  dis welt on yo' wris'

  an' dat sk-yar on yo'

  forehead!--de Lord God

  of ob Heaven be praise',

  I got my own agin!"

  "O, no, Mr. C., I ain't had no

  trouble. An' no joy!"

  Mark Twain.

 

 

  Mark Twain, A True Story, Repeated Word for Word as I Heard It

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