The Storyteller.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2580, 14 August 1909, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Storyteller.

"OLE MARS s E AND AUNT ■ -■ NANCY. ' -

(By Virginia Frazer Boyle, in ‘Har-

per’s Weekly.”)

“Ole Miss” had been dead for) a twelvemonth, and the household had gradually adapted itself to the changed

conditions.

Eoi> the most part, the negroes had respected the badge of black, which Ole Marse had worn upon his sleeve every day, and the wide band of crepo which he wore on bis silk hat when ho rode into town. Bat the adjustment had been difficult, particularly as Ole Miss had ruled right royally for nearly forty years. It was even said she ruled Ole Marse. His own sister was wont to say, with much shaking of her side curls, that “Edward knew no more of the internal workings of his own household than an invited stranger.” Ole Marse never replied to these accusations. He had loved Ole Miss with rare devotion, and had perfect confidence in her ability to lead a regiment or to face a battery, if need bo, and, easeloving book-worm that he was, he was glad to evade as much of the domestic responsibility as was consistent with his dignity. He often shuddered to think what might have been bis fate if Ole Miss had been born with a different temperament or he had married Malvina Carter. But he hadn’t and Ole Miss wasn’t, and Ole Miss both expected and accepted an absolute regency from the moment her dainty foot crossed the threshold.

Three children were born to Ole Marse and Ole Miss, but they had early flown from the sheltering roof-tree tc build nests of their own. So after Ole Miss’s funeral, Miss ’Liza, Marse Howard, and “Little Marse” remained a few days to see that Ole Marse was •comfortable, and then returned to their own homes, leaving Ole Marse melancholy and alone, facing for the first time his domestic responsibilities. The Old Mammy of the household, who had been with Miss ’Liza ever since her marriage, left the new baby and came back t-o Ole Marse’s, to help keep things straight, and as Mammy was both loved and feared in the Quarters, her efforts were most successful. Blit there was one restless soul, whoso rebellion even the dignity and commanding presence of Mammy could not quell. Day after day there was anarchy in the weaving-room, and at length, chagrined and disgruntled by her failure in authority in this one instance, and that with one of her own sex, Mammy, fearful lest tho sedition might spread, wrathfully sought Old Marse. “Hit’s dat pesterin’ Nancy en de loom-house, Ole Marse,” said Mammy, flustered and breathless, “’Ca’se Ole Miss done ,daid an’ gone, an’ Ole Miss done spile her, dat Nancy git hit inter her haid dat she stan’ nex’ fur ter rule de niggers, an’ she gittin’ out all •dein putty caps an’ gowns what Ole Miss give her, what she useter think was too fine fur ter w’ar on any day ’cep’ Chris’mus, an’ kep’ ’em folded erway en lavender an’ thyme lack Ole Miss usen ter 'do. Well, Ole Marse, she gitten out dem caps an’ gowns an’ w’ar ’em ever’ day an’ does her bossin’ ter plum fit ’em.” “Does what?” asked Ole Marse, as Mammy’s capacious bosom heaved and she fanned vigorously to get her breath. “Bosses ter match ’em, high an’ mighty ladyin’, Ole Marse! Think fea’se Ole Miss give her what she w’ar on de outside, dat she lef’ her wid ’em •do sperit er de inside—an’ she wa’n’t raised en dq Big House, nuther, but was fetched outen de fiel’ ! I cain’t stan’ her slack talk. Ole Marse, an’ I '’clar’ ter goodness I des gwine pack up my things an’ gwine right back ter Miss ’Lizy’s, I is sho, Ole Marse!” “Mammy!” Ole Marse’s tone was one of reproach.

“’Scuse your ole nigger, Ole Marster, please, sar/’ said Mammy, curtseying, “’Ca’se I hain’t nuffin’ but your good ole nigger ter you, hut I’s dat highquality black folks dat I. dcs cain’t be ladied over by er common fiel’ han’, oven ef she do w’ar Ole Miss s caps! Ole Marse viewed with alarm Mammy’s threatened qxodus. “No, no, Mammy, don’t go—you will not have to go! The negroes shall respect your position. I’ll see to Nancy I”

Aunt Nancy’s demeanor before Ole Mars© was very quiet and respectful. He could hardly believe that this reserved, respectable-looking old woman could be the source of such dissension. She even shed a few genuine tears when speaking of Ole Miss, and promised never again to stir up trouble in the Quarters. But the fever of domination had entered into Aunt Nancy’s bones, and before long another complainant was ushered into Ole Marse’s study. This time, Uncle Esick was the aggrieved. Uncle Esick was the parson of the Bed Baptist Church, and had held that position on the plantation ever since the church was built.

“Dat ’oman Nancy done git too hitytity ter come ter meetin’, Ole Marse,” said the parson. “She say she hain’t never gwine 'set nnner my gorspil no mo’. An’ she taken up wid dancin’, Ole Marse!” The Old man threw his stick on the floor, trembling with indignation. “Dancin’ en her ole age! Not- de ’ligious dance what you dances wid de soul when de joy er heaven is er-bubblin’ over in you an’ you cain’t . keep hit hack, hut de dance er Satan, whar you stan’s on your toes an’ spreads ycur. skirts! An’ dat hain t ally” groaned Uncle Esick. “De young

uns see her do dat way an’ foller, an’ I, cain’t do miffin’ wid ’em no mo’, Ole Marse, lessen you do sumpen wid Nancy!”

“Well, go about your work and don’t worry, Uncle ilsick. I’ll attend to Nancy!” said Ole Marse. But Ole Marse was occupied, and let the week slip''by. ' On Saturday night the overseer brought in a complaint. “I ain’t lack ter bother you, Ole Marse,” he saidj apologetically. “But you done tole me I hain’t ter whup any iiv de ’omenses, specuil ef dey was ole, ’dout comin ’ter you fust. An’ dars three wdiuppin’s duo en de Quarters ter-night, an’ all uv ’em petticoats,” concluded Cyrus with disgust. “Dat Nancy—” Cyrus began again. “Don’t you say Nancy to me!” cried Old Marse, irritably. “Here’s the whole of this plantation set by the ears because- of a pitiful woman with one foot in the grave!”

“I knows hit, Ole Morse/’ said Cyrus, amiably, “but you done give out dat dar wa’n’t tor be no whuppin’ uv petticoats, lessen you knowed hit. Dar’s three uv ’em due now on do Quarters, an’ one uv ’em is name Nancy.” Ole Marse leaned back in his chair, resigned. “What is the charge?” “Nancy hain’t struck er lick or work dis week, an’ I done warned her twice,” said Cyrus. “An’ she kep’ dem three gals, Dilsy, Viney, an’ Sue, what ougln ter know better, outen do fel’ two whole days, er-givin’ hit out dat she need ’em/ ter wind. But I looked fru do winder, an’ steader dat, she was er-windin’ ’em inter some kin’ er debil dance, wliar you stan’s on your toes an’ spreads your skirts. We all hain’t never seed de lack erfore. No, sar! hain’t no ’ligious dance! An’ dar’s three good whuppin’s due on de Quarters !” “Well,” said Ole Marse, presently, “I have confidence in your judgment, so go on and administer reproof to the others but I’ll see to Nancy.” Once more the old weaving woman was ushered into Ole Marse’s presence. The interview was long and earnest, but when it was over Ole Marse had an uncomfortable impression that it was not altogether satisfactory. Nevertheless, Aunt Nancy had humbly promised that this was positively to be end of her rebellion.

“Now mind, Nancy,” said Ole Marse, with, his hand on the knob of the open door, “be sure that this is the end, for if ever you do the like again, or raise a disturbance in any way, as much as I dislike to see you disgraced, you shall be soundly whipped!” “Whupped? Me? who gwine whup me, Ole Marse?” and Aunt Nancy elevated her eyebrows incredulously. “I didn’t say who would whip you. Cyrus or myself, but you certainly shall be whipped if you do not behave!” said Ole Marse, and he closed the door. Aunt Nancy stood still for a moment. Then she smoothed her apron, straightened the bow on her head-handker-chief, and slowly took the path back to the Quarters in a most repentant mood, until she saw Mammy’s brass spectacles peeping at her from behind the Big House lattice, when suddenly she raised her chin so high that she stumbled and, almost foil in the long Bermuda that had tangled itself across the path. Weeks passed, and Ole Marse - believing that all domestic difficulties were settled at last,buried himself in his books again and shut out the outside world. Grotius was most absorbing; from it, he believed that a speedy adjustment of the political embarrassment could be had. Suddenly he was awakened from his Utopian dream and the Laws of Nations by the appearance of Maumer from the plantation nursery, angry, ashen, and dishevelled. In her haste she had even forgotten to knock.

“De eend done come, 01$ Marse, hit done come!” she cried, tragically. “De calf’s done got ’riougli rope fur ter hang hitse’f. an’ hit sho gwine ter hang! Dat Nancy’s gotter be whupped now, an’ whupped good, er I gwine p’isen de ve’y bref outen her body, ’deed I is!” Maumer folded her arms and looked at Ole Marse defiantly. Ole Marse looked helplessly at the hook of the Laws of Nations, open on his knees. There was no help between its covers.

“What has she done now?” he asked. “Dar’s er ble crooked tree back er de loom-’ouse dat’s got little measly patches, on hit,” said Maurner. “’Ca’se hit’s dost ter do house Nancy say hit’s hern . My Lord! how she des er-achin’ fur er good whuppin’, w T id all her careerin’ an’ careenin’! Hit’s de onlies’ thing gwine settle uv her, Ole Marse! Well, she done give her dare, an’ terday es I. was er-rockin’ Ma’y Ann’s little Pete what alius is er-cryin’, what I see but little Sandy an’ lean Moll’s Buck des er-lopin’ ter get ter de fence, wid dey tongues bangin’ out an* dey han’s full er peaches. Ole. Nancy was er-gainin’ on ’em, dey laigs is so short, but dey hain’t drap dey peaches, bless dey hearts! an’ I pokes my haid outen do winder an’ hollers: ‘R-u-n, Little Sandy! R-u-n, little Buck!’ Hit make dat ole ’oman so mad, she fitten ter die. But she let dem po little pickaninnies what don’t know no better, ’ca’se you alius gives ’em full an’ plenty on season, she lets ’em git right ter de fence an’ ’mgs’ plum over, des kinder half an’ half, Ole Marse. Den she lay on wider brume slie was er-totin’ lack er ole witch, an’ ’mos’ brek little Sandy’s laig right ’low do , knee. I done- wrop hit en iiannens an’ give him some calimus tea, But his niampiy ain’t know hit yit. I say, Ole Marse, is wo

gwine stan’ dat, when de Ole Miss dat’s daid an’ gone alliis ’tected de hopeless an’ de little uns en do nursery?” Ole Marse closed the book on his knee, and Maumer stood there, knowing that' at last a point was gained, tho point for which the whole dusky population had been striving.

“She must be whipped, 4 Maumer! Send Cyrus to mo,” was all he said. As, she wended her way back to her little charges, Maumer threw her apron over her head, and- laughed softly toherself, while a ripple- of expectancy ran through the Quarters. The weazened first cause of all these sensations was earnestly sorting ovk' her treasures which once had belonged to Ole Miss. With careful eye she had chosen a lace-frilled cap, a high pokebonnet with broad canary-colored ribbons, a purple and gray plaid silk gown, and, last of all, she shook the lavender leaves from the most precious of her possessions, a black lace shawl.

Half an hour ago- she had received summons from Cyrus, and now she leisurely arrayed herself in all her glory.

For another half-hour she kept Cyrus waiting. He whistled when he saw her, then silently led her, with her hands tied behind her, across the patch to the old log smokehouse, which had been abandoned for a newer one, and where, since the beginning of his service, ho had administered justice for Ole Marse.. Not a word was spoken, but now and then Aunt Nancy flashed defiant eyes at the leather thong which Cyrus carried carelessly over his arm.

They had not long to wait for Ole Marse. As Aunt Nancy watched him silhouetted against the sunset horizon —a sombre figure, bent and lonely, her hardened conscience almost smote her. Poor Ole Marse! Poor Ole Marse 1 But he was coming to whip her, the favored one of all 01© Miss’s women. He was coming to degrade her before her color and her kind—her, upon whom a lash had never fallen before! She wondered if Ole Marse would make Cyrus hare her back to the naked flesh. She wondered how it would feel. Would it make the flesh bleed, or just welt up like hornet stings? She, Nancy, loomwoman to proud Ole Miss! But sho had come to her degradation in all tho splendor which she had lieired.

Ole Marse had come inside and was speaking to Cyrus.

“Untie her hands!” “Give me the whip!” “Go!” Each was spoken as a detached sentence.

Ole Marse watched the huge form of Cyrus swinging up the far path in the sunset, toward the Quarters. Then he ■furned and looked over the gala -attire of Aunt Nancy leisurely. He had never whipped a negro in his whole life. But after to-night he would never bo able to say that again. Suddenly he spoke. His intonation made Aunt Nancy jump. “Take off your bonnet! Did you think that you were coming to a party?” Nancy silently obeyed and as she untied the broad ribbons'the full lace of the white cap fell grotesquely against her low forehead. “Take off your shawl!” There was something in the pattern of the black lace shawl folded so tightly over the flat bosom which had impressed Ole Marse unpleasantly. Again Aunt Nancy silently obeyed, and the purple and gray plaid silk was revealed in all its gorgeousness. A sickening feeling of familiarity came over Ole Marsc’s senses. Now he remembered it perfectly. It was years ago that he had bought the pretty plaid in New Orleans to surprise Ole Miss, but she had thought, it too gay. So on his next trip he had bought the lace'shawl to go over it. How she had laughed at his solution of the problem. But she had made the gown and wore it often to please him. And he stood, there, holding the thong in both hands across his knees, lost in blessed memories. Suddenly he was startled by a voice from the gray and purple silk, “Ole Marse, is you gwine whup me?” He had forgotten that there was a human presence in it. With an almost involuntary movement, he had thrown tlie leather thong upon the floor. She had been so faithful to - the one who* was gone that he could not turn her over to Cyrus to be whipped as an ordinary offender. But now in the midst of a most flagrant and progressive rebellion could lie do it himself? His heart failed him. But whore would it end, he asked himself, and what would become of the time-honoi-ed discipline of his house if the vagaries of a half-crazed old negress were allowed to continue unrestrained ? “Yes, I am going to whip you, Nancy; I have been promising you long enough!” Ole Marse was very firm as he took from a nail a bundle of long cane-switches.

“Yas, Ole Mars©.” But Aunt Nancy had caught a gleam of something in Ole Marse’s eyes, and she knew that the purple and gray gown were pleading for her. •

Ole Marse raised the bundle of switches and Aunt Nancy folded her arms, hut first Ole Marse turned away liis head. He could not bear to sec the canes come down upon the shoulders of the purple and gray dross; he could not forget what once lay beneath them. “Swish!” came the switches, sharp and keen, with all Ole Marse’s might. But their resistant was only the empty air. Again, again, and again, a dozen times they swished. Each time Ole Marse carefully averted his face, and 'each time they fell with the same result. Whether his aim was unsteady or whether An tit Nancy dodged, Ole Marse never knew. But certain it is the sharp keen tongues of the canes had not even touched the purple and gray silk, nor Nancy. “Now, Nancy,” said Ole Marse, severely, between gasps, as perspiration

stood upon his forehead and tears glistened on his eyelids, “I hope that I will never, never have occasion to do this again!” “No, Ole Marse,” said Aunt Nancy, humbly. : ’

Curiously sho watched Ole Marse going back again, along the high path, now in the purpling shadows. Gravely she watched him until lxis form was lost in the dusk? Then turning back the silken sleeve from her . arm, she snatched the leather thong from the floor and, whirling it savagely in the air, sho brought it down upon the quivering flesh with telling force. “Hain’t none uv ’em gwine ever know Ole Marse was chick’ a-hearted, no!” and gathering up her 00 a net and shawl, with her bleeding arm Hill laie, Aunt Nancy passed out into the fastfalling darkness.