The road which Lizzie and Chester had to take from Susan’s cook shop down to church in the village, was a lonely, desolate stretch of about two miles. The few homes along the river front were poor, depleted reminders of old plantation days, few and far between, and setting far back from the road. If one took the railroad track running parallel with the high levee, unless the moon was shining, there was no other light to show the way but the clear glimmer of the stars; provided there was no mist in the sky or dripping fog creeping along the land. If one took the path on the top of the levee, the reflection from the electric lights on the New Orleans’ side of the river helped to point out the puddles and uneven places, and the vagrant cows that selected the grassy prominence for their somnolent ruminating.
The road which Lizzie and Chester had to take from Susan’s cook shop down to church in the village, was a lonely, desolate stretch of about two miles. The few homes along the river front were poor, depleted reminders of old plantation days, few and far between, and setting far back from the road. If one took the railroad track running parallel with the high levee, unless the moon was shining, there was no other light to show the way but the clear glimmer of the stars; provided there was no mist in the sky or dripping fog creeping along the land. If one took the path on the top of the levee, the reflection from the electric lights on the New Orleans’ side of the river helped to point out the puddles and uneven places, and the vagrant cows that selected the grassy prominence for their somnolent ruminating.
After a while one came to the cotton seed oil mills with their spreading wharves built over the water, and the numerous electric lights and occasional patrollingnightwatchman offered a certain sense of protection. But it was not until one had passed through the long aisles of cotton seed in sacks, and bales of lint piled to a great height and covered with suspicious-looking tarpaulins, from under which imaginary ruffians might spring unawares, that a wholesome feeling of courage came to one before entering the village. Then, there was Mr. Cholly Groos’s bar-room, just at the edge of the town; and the thought of his inspiriting lemon-gin always made one “step light an’ ready to face the devil.”
Having traipsed the lonely distance with little or no conversation between them, Lizzie at length proposed going to Mr. Cholly’s for a comforting cup before proceeding to her father’s church at the back of the town. Chester was agreeable and they hurried forward, talking pleasantly.
“Chester, you got any money?” She asked him.
“W’at you wan’ know for?”
“Well, I jus’ wan’ know sho if you got money. ’Cause I don’ care if I get good an’ drunk tonight; ole Felo done got me feelin’ so upset,—callin’ me out my name like he did, yonder befo’ all dem people.”
“W’at good gittin’ drunk goin’ do you?” Chester asked reprovingly. “’Tain’ goin’ hurt Felo none, is it?”
“Nasty, scawnful, w’ite-folks nigger,” she muttered with deep contempt. “I ain’ goin’ leave myself res’ till I git even wid ’im.... You watch me.”
“Ain’ Felo a member de New Hope church?” Chester insinuated with artful meaning. “Felo over hyuh evvy Sunday night; an’ dey ain’ got no under-groun’ workers kin tell you somh’n ’bout Felo tracks?”
“Boy, you sho got a good head,” Lizzie answered. “Stay wid me; an’ no matter w’at happen, ’twon’ be nobody but Chester an’ Lizzie.... W’at you say?”
“Gawd grant it,” he answered. And laughing merrily, they walked on towards the glimmering light from the bar-room door, a welcome beacon at the head of the street.
They soon reached the place, and as Lizzie entered, followed by Chester, she called out gaily:
“Two big cups o’ limmon-gin, Mr. Cholly. An’ po’ ’um out heavy; ’cause me an’ Chester feelin’ kind o’ weak an’ puny dis evenin’.”
Across the room several men were playing cards. Recognizing Lizzie, one of them said to her:
“How come you don’ stop play’n wid Chester, an’ git you a sho-nuf man w’at kin give you a good time, an’ show you somh’n natchal befo’ ole age come creepin’ up on you?”Lizzie stopped drinking, and glaring at him angrily, she answered with clinched teeth:
“Good thing Mr. Cholly stannin’ hyuh, ole nigger. ’Cause I sho would tell you somh’n mo’ besides ‘damn yo’ nasty soul an’ go to Hell.’” After which, she gulped the remainder of her lemon-gin and stalked out of the room, leaving Chester to take care of the payment.
She waited for him outside, and when he came to her, they started off together. As they walked along, the awkward silence was broken now and then by Chester’s subdued humming. Lizzie appeared to be occupied with some burdening thought.
At last they reached the church door. The place was quite crowded and the members were singing lustily. Lizzie recognized the funeral hymn, which caused her some surprise. As they entered, a young woman named Lethe greeted them, and Lizzie asked her:
“Who dead, Lethe? I ain’ know dey had any wake to-night.”
“One ole lady dey calls Aun’ Milly,” Lethe informed her. “Sis’ Amy Hollan’ Ma. Come fum Peach Awchud, yonder to Bayou Bah-tah-yuh.”
“W’en de ole lady died?” Lizzie asked.
“Gawd knows, Lizzie,” she went on, “I ain’ nevergot de straight ’bout de thing. You know, Aun’ Amy bin drunk for mos’ a week, an’ nobody ain’ bin able to git de right news fum ’uh.”
“An’ dey bring de ole lady all de way from Peach Awchud hyuh, to sing ove’ ’uh?” Lizzie asked, half-playfully.
“Lizzie, don’ ply me wid a whole lot o’ queshtun I ain’ able to answer. All I know, I’m goin’ tell you, if you wan’ lissen.”
“Come set hyuh an’ talk ’bout it,” Chester suggested, leading them to a bench in the corner and sitting down. “Now, go ’head.”
“Well, you know,” Lethe began again, “me an’ my brether Booguloo took a skiff soon dis mawnin’, an’ went down Harvey Cunnal to see my cousin Dootsy, cookin’ yonder at de camp for dem mens pickin’ moss to Li’l Coquille bayou.”
“How much a pound dey gits for black moss, Lethe?” inquired Chester, interrupting her story.
“Boy, shet yo’ mouf!” Lizzie commanded sharply. “Lethe ain’ talkin’ ’bout sellin’ no moss. She talkin’ ’bout de ole lady call Aun’ Milly,—layin’ yonder ’ceasded. (Deceased.) Don’t you hyeah ’um singin’ ove’ ’uh? Shet up, an’ lissen.”
Seeing Chester offer no argument to Lizzie’s rebuke, Lethe resumed her story.
“Well, like I was goin’ say: me an’ Booguloo washelpin’ my cousin Dootsy spread de green moss in de sun to dry on de bushes growin’ on de side de cunnal bank; w’en w’at we seen comin’ roun’ de ben’ up de cunnal, but a skiff cov’ud over wid a muskeeter-bar up on cane reed poles, lookin’ like a natchal bed floatin’ on de water; an’ wavin’ up an’ down,—shinin’ in de sun like a cream-color flag.
“Booguloo say: ‘But w’at dis thing is?... Somebody ain’ use’ to muskeeters, an’ gotta ride in big daylight, settin’ up und’ a muskeeter net?... Dis ain’ no cheap people. Dis mus’ be qual’ty folks.’
“I say: Maybe somebody sick, an’ dey bin took ’um to de doctor, yonder to Gritny. You know muskeeter-bite bad for de fever; so maybe da’s w’at make dey put up de muskeeter net.
“Bime-by de skiff come a li’l closer, an’ we seen dey had a ole cullud man pullin’; an’ a big fat dark-skin ooman settin’ on de back seat.
“I say: Booguloo, ain’ da’s Aun’ Amy Hollan settin’ up in de skiff?
“Booguloo give a good look, an’ he say: ‘Sho is, Lethe. Da’s Aun’ Amy own-self. An’ I bet she drunk as a policeman on Mahdi Gras day!’
“An’ Booguloo was right, too. ’Cause w’en de skiff come close enough for us to call to Aun’ Amy,she look like somebody simple; an’ she could hardly talk.
“I say: Aun’ Amy, you mus’ bin heard de muskeeters was bad out hyuh soon in de mawnin’, ain’t you?
“She look at me like somebody jus’ woke up, an’ she say: ‘Da’s w’at de tell me.’ Talkin’ slow, like her tongue mos’ pah’lize.
“Booguloo say. ‘Aun’ Amy, whah you goin’ so soon in de mawnin’?’
“She say: ‘To fetch my Ma; yonder to Peach Awchud.’
“I say: Aun’ Amy, she ain’ sick, is she?
“She say: ‘Da’s w’at dey tell me.’
“Booguloo say: ‘She ain’ dead, is she?’
“Aun’ Amy say: ‘Da’s w’at dey tell me.’
“I say: W’en she died, yistiddy?
“She say: Da’s w’at dey tell me.’
“I say: An’ dey goin’ take ’uh all de way to Gritny to wake ’uh, an’ have de berrin’?
“She say: ‘Da’s w’at dey tell me.’
“Booguloo say: ‘Look Mister; go ’head wid yo’ skiff. Hurry up an’ pull Aun’ Amy yonder to Peach Awchud, an’ leave ’uh learn somh’n mo’ concernin’ w’at dey goin’ do wid ’uh Ma. ’Cause she ain’ look like she knownothin’’bout de po’ ole soul.’
“So dah whah de skiff went on down de bayou. An’I ain’ know nothin’ futher, till I got hyuh to de church dis evenin’, an’ foun’ all de members singin’ ove’ Aun’ Milly.”
The amusing recital furnished Lizzie with keen enjoyment and she was laughing heartily. When Lethe had finished, Chester asked her:
“But how dey got de ole lady way from Peach Awchud so quick? Peach Awchud mo’n eighteen miles down the bayou. How dey brought ’uh up?”
“Dey fetched ’uh up in de skiff, rolled up in a blanket; wid Aun’ Amy settin’ on de back seat und’ de muskeeter net, speechless drunk, like she was w’en me an’ Booguloo seen ’uh dis mawnin’. An’ ’uh oldes’ daughter, Frozine, was waitin’ at de head o’ de cunnal wid Mr. Antoine groc’ry wagon; an’ dey brung ’uh straight hyuh to de church ’bout two hours ago.”
“Whah dey lef’ Aim’ Amy?” Lizzie asked.
“She settin’ up yonder on de front row, pah’lize drunk, try’n to sing. An’ nobody can’ get de po’ soul to budge.”
“Aun’ Amy mus’ be got a flas’ hide somewhah in ’uh pocket,” ventured Chester. “She still drunk from soon dis mawnin’ till now.”
“Mus’ be,” agreed Lethe. “Sis’ Fanny an’ Frozine bin try’n to git Aun’ Amy home to ’uh house, todrink some strong coffee, but she keep on say’n, talkin’ like somebody goin’ sing:
“Go ’way, Sis’ Fanny,An’ lemme be.I’m de onles daughter my ole Ma had,An’ I’m jew to stay hyuh wid ’uh an’ sing.”
“Go ’way, Sis’ Fanny,An’ lemme be.I’m de onles daughter my ole Ma had,An’ I’m jew to stay hyuh wid ’uh an’ sing.”
“Go ’way, Sis’ Fanny,An’ lemme be.I’m de onles daughter my ole Ma had,An’ I’m jew to stay hyuh wid ’uh an’ sing.”
“Go ’way, Sis’ Fanny,
An’ lemme be.
I’m de onles daughter my ole Ma had,
An’ I’m jew to stay hyuh wid ’uh an’ sing.”
“Den w’en Frozine try to coax ’uh home, she say, jes’ like she singin’:
“Go ’way, chile, an’ lemme be.I’m po’ Aun’ Milly onles daughter,An’ she call me to come,But I went too late.She call me to hurry,But de boat was slow;An’ w’en I got to de bed-side,Aun’ Milly was gone.”
“Go ’way, chile, an’ lemme be.I’m po’ Aun’ Milly onles daughter,An’ she call me to come,But I went too late.She call me to hurry,But de boat was slow;An’ w’en I got to de bed-side,Aun’ Milly was gone.”
“Go ’way, chile, an’ lemme be.I’m po’ Aun’ Milly onles daughter,An’ she call me to come,But I went too late.She call me to hurry,But de boat was slow;An’ w’en I got to de bed-side,Aun’ Milly was gone.”
“Go ’way, chile, an’ lemme be.
I’m po’ Aun’ Milly onles daughter,
An’ she call me to come,
But I went too late.
She call me to hurry,
But de boat was slow;
An’ w’en I got to de bed-side,
Aun’ Milly was gone.”
“Sis’ Fanny keep on say’n to ’uh: ‘Da’s alright, Sis’ Amy; yo’ Ma ain’ goin’ be lef’ alone. Come go home wid me, an’ drink some strong coffee to bring yo’ strank back, an’ you goin’ feel better.’”
“But Aun’ Amy say:
“Who goin’ sing ove’ po’ Aun’ MillyW’en Amy gone away?Lemme be, Sis’ Fanny;I’m de onles daughter,An’ I gotta stay hyuhAn’ watch dis evenin’,An’ sing Aun’ MillyA long farewell.”
“Who goin’ sing ove’ po’ Aun’ MillyW’en Amy gone away?Lemme be, Sis’ Fanny;I’m de onles daughter,An’ I gotta stay hyuhAn’ watch dis evenin’,An’ sing Aun’ MillyA long farewell.”
“Who goin’ sing ove’ po’ Aun’ MillyW’en Amy gone away?
“Who goin’ sing ove’ po’ Aun’ Milly
W’en Amy gone away?
Lemme be, Sis’ Fanny;I’m de onles daughter,An’ I gotta stay hyuhAn’ watch dis evenin’,An’ sing Aun’ MillyA long farewell.”
Lemme be, Sis’ Fanny;
I’m de onles daughter,
An’ I gotta stay hyuh
An’ watch dis evenin’,
An’ sing Aun’ Milly
A long farewell.”
“It soun’ like it oughta be pitiful,” said Lizzie, with a light laugh. “But it sho goin’ start me gig’lin’, if I go in yonder whah Aun’ Amy settin’, an’ lissen at w’at she say’n. So set hyuh wid me, Lethe, an’ leave us talk till we feels like joinin’ wid de singin’.”
Chester got up to go. “Well, y’all kin set hyuh long as you please,” he said, “but I’m goin’ up yonder in front to view Aun’ Amy an’ watch w’at goin’ on. Look for me, Lizzie, w’en you git ready to go.”
Left to themselves, now came the time for comment and confidences. Lethe was a notorious gossip, and Lizzie, being an omnivorous listener, there was little need to fear a moment of monotony during the time they were together. Not a member present escaped criticism or ridicule; Lizzie’s keen enjoyment helping to encourage Lethe’s loquacious humor. And when her knowledge of the doings and sayings of her colored friends was exhausted, she was able to recount any number of ludicrous stories about “de w’ite-folks”; irrespective of their station; whether they were “nothin’ but parties an’ partieswid no fam’ly o’ people,” or “p’yo w’ite-folks wid high-up connection.”
Desiring a share of the honor of entertaining, Lizzie told some of her amusing adventures on the steamboat when along with Chester; of her visit to Susan’s cook shop that evening, and her unpleasant encounter with Felo; which account she embroidered elaborately for the better satisfaction of the amazed Lethe, whom she soon discovered to be Felo’s particular friend.
“An’ you say you lef’ Felo yonder to Susan cook shop?” Lethe asked with curious interest.
“Lef’ him yonder eatin’ an’ drinkin’, wid Scilla an’ Soongy an’ Carm’lite an’ Nookie, an’ Unc’ Nat an’ some yuther mens,” Lizzie informed her. “An’ maybe dey got a heap mo’ wimmins by now, ’cause you know I’m bin gone from yonder a good w’ile.”
This was unwelcome news to Lethe. Her forehead settled into a deep frown, and gazing into space, she thought aloud:
“An’ de ole smooth-tongue hypocrite goin’ come home long aft’ hours tonight, w’en I be in bed, an’ goin’ say he jus’ come from Mr. Amos house, ’cross de river.... But wait;—I’m goin’ fix him dis blessed night o’ my Lawd, sho as I’m bawn.”
Looking at her in wonderment, Lizzie asked:
“W’at you mean, Lethe? You goin’ to Sis’ Fanny house an’ wait till Felo come home?”
“Wa’t you think goin’ take me to Sis’ Fanny house, w’en I got a good house o’ my own?” she returned, with a show of impatience.
“Den how you goin’ see Felo aft’ you done gone to bed?”
“Lizzie, ain’t you know Felo bin stay’n wid me to my house evvy Sunday night for a long time? You ain’ think Felo come all de way clean ’cross de river jes’ to go to de New Hope church, is you?”
“I know he all time braggin’ ’bout bein’ a good Chrishtun,” Lizize said, with cautious innocence. “But I ain’ never heayh’d ’im bring yo’ name in de queshtun no time.”
Lethe’s mind was busy chasing after her wandering thoughts. “So da’s w’at make him come late all de time,” she ruminated. “Goin’ yonder to Susan cook shop. Den comin’ hyuh wid a lie in ’is mouf, ’bout Mr. Amos keepin’ ’im late.”
“Mens is mens, Lethe,” Lizzie consoled her. “An’ you think Felo gotta be diffunt from de res’ dese niggers, jes’ because he bin livin’ to Mr. Amos house so long an’ know somh’n ’bout w’ite-folks ways?.... Who? It sho goin’ take a better man den ole ’ceitful Felo to keep me from havin’ my pleasure, w’en de worl’ so big an’ handy to play’roun’ in.... Git up from hyuh, Lethe; an’ rub dem wrinkles out yo’ face, an’ leave us go up yonder an’ sing ove’ Aun’ Milly.... Come on. Dey done start “Po’ Li’l Jesus,” an’ ’twon’ be long befo’ de whole buildin’ be rockin’.... Come on, lessus go.”
Lethe looked at her dejectedly. “Go ’head, an’ sing much as you please,” she said, “I’m goin’ home.”
And as Lizzie left her, she walked out.