you know-an’ den I was jist a-bilin’ mad? 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 dancin’! my but dey
was havin’ a time! an I jist a-swellin’ an’ a-swellin’ up! Pooty soon,
‘long comes sich a spruce young nigger a-sailin’ down de room wid a
yaller wench roun’ de wais’; an’ roun an’ roun’ an roun’ dey went, enough
to make a body drunk to look at ’em; an’ when dey got abreas’ o’ me, dey
went to kin’ o’ balancin’ aroun’ fust on one leg an’ den on t’other, an’
smilin’ at my big red turban, an’ makin’ fun, an’ I ups an’ says ‘Git
along wid you! –rubbage!’ De young man’s face kin’ o’ changed, all of a
sudden, for ’bout a second but den he went to smilin’ ag’in, same as he
was befo’. Well, ’bout dis time, in comes some niggers dat played music
and 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’,
an’ den my soul alive but I was hot! My eye was jist a-blazin’! I jist
straightened myself up so–jist as I 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 wa’n’t bawn in de mash to be fool’
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, lookin’ kin’ o’ up at de ceilin’
like he fo’got somefin, an’ couldn’t ‘member it no mo’. Well, I jist
march’ on dem niggers–so, lookin’ like a gen’l–an’ dey jist cave’ away
befo’ me an’ out at de do’. An’ as dis young man a-goin’ out, I heah him
say to another nigger, ‘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 mine, an’ de eyes a-lookin’
up into mine, jist as I’s 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’s
doin’ to you–an’ den I goes for his forehead an’ push de hair back so,
an’ ‘Boy!’ I says, ‘if you an’t my Henry, what is you doin’ wid dis welt
on yo’ wris’ an’ dat sk-yar on yo’ forehead? De Lord God ob heaven be
praise’, I got my own ag’in!’
“Oh no’ Misto C—–, I hain’t had no trouble. An’ no joy!”
THE SIAMESE TWINS –[Written about 1868.]
I do not wish to write of the personal habits of these strange creatures
solely, but also of certain curious details of various kinds concerning
them, which, belonging only to their private life, have never crept into
print. Knowing the Twins intimately, I feel that I am peculiarly well
qualified for the task I have taken upon myself.
The Siamese Twins are naturally tender and affectionate indisposition,
and have clung to each other with singular fidelity throughout a long and
eventful life. Even as children they were inseparable companions; and it