A True Story, Repeated Word for Word As I Heard It
by Mark Twain
"Aunt Rachel, how is it that you 've lived sixty years and never had any
trouble?" She stopped quaking. She paused, and there was a moment of
silence. She turned her face over her shoulder toward me, and said,
without even a smile in her voice:—
"Misto C—, is you in 'arnest?"
...
She faced fairly around, now, and was full of earnestness.
"Has I had any trouble? Misto C—, I's gwyne to tell you, den I leave it to you . . . .
It was summer time, and twilight. We were sitting on the porch of the
farm-house, on the summit of the hill, and "Aunt Rachel" was sitting
respectfully below our level, on the steps, -- for she was our servant,
and colored. She was of mighty frame and stature; she was sixty years
old, but her eye was undimmed and her strength unabated. She was a
cheerful, hearty soul, and 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, and then sit
with her face in her hands and shake with throes of enjoyment which she
could no longer get breath enough to express. At such a moment as this a
thought occurred to me, and I said: --
"Aunt Rachel, how is it that you 've lived sixty years and never had any
trouble?" She stopped quaking. She paused, and there was a moment of
silence. She turned her face over her shoulder toward me, and said,
without even a smile in her voice: --
"Misto C -- , is you in 'arnest?"
It surprised me a good deal; and it sobered my manner and 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, and 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,
'case I ben one of 'em my own se'f. Well, sah, my ole man -- dat's my
husban' -- he was lovin' an' kind to me, jist as kind as you is to yo'
own wife. An' we had children -- seven chil'en -- an' we 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'
would n'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 lan'! but she'd make de fur fly! When she'd git into dem
tantrums, she always had one word dat she sai. She'd straighten herse'f
up an' put her fists in her hips an' say, 'I want you 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!' 'Ca'se, you see, dat's what folks dat's bawn in
Maryland calls deyselves, an' dey's proud of it. Well, dat was her word.
I don't ever forgit it, beca'se she said it so much, an' beca'se she
said it one day when my little Henry tore his wris' awful, an' most
busted his head, right up at de top of his forehead, an' de niggers did
n't fly aroun' fas' enough to 'tend to him. An' when dey talk' back at
her, she up an' she says, 'Look-a-heah!' I she 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 she clar' dat kitchen
an' bandage' up de chile herse'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
niggers on de place. An' when I heah dat dey gwyne to sell us all off at
action in Richmon', oh de good gracious! I know what dat mean!"
Aunt Rachel had gradually risen, while she warmed to her subject, and now she towered above us, black against the stars.
"Dey put chains on us an' put us on a stan' as high as dis po'ch, --
twenty foot high, -- an' all de people stood aroun', crowds an' crowds.
An' dey'd come up dah an' look at us all roun', an' squeeze our arm, an'
make us git up an' walk, an' den say, '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' dam blubberin',' an' hit me on de mouf wid his han'. An' when de
las' one was gone but my little Henry, I grab' him clost up to my breas'
so, an' I ris up an' says, 'You shan't take him away,' I says; I'll
kill de man dat tetches him!' I says. But my little Henry whisper an'
say, 'I gwyne to run away', an' den I work an' buy yo' freedom.' Oh,
bless de chile, he always so good! But dey got him -- dey got him, de
men did; but I took and tear de clo'es mos' off of 'em, an' beat 'em
over de head wid my chain; an' dey give it to me, too, but I did n't
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 ag'in to dis day, an' dat's
twenty-two year ago las' Easter. De man dat bought me b'long' in
Newbern, an' he took me dah. Well, bymeby de years roll on 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 myse'f wid de other niggers in dat mons'us big house. So de big Union
officers move in dah, an' dey ask would I cook for dem. 'Lord bless
you,' says I, 'dat's what I's for.'
"Dey wa' n't no small-fry officers, mine you, dey was de biggest dey is;
an' de way dey made dem sojers mosey roun'! De Gen'l he tole me to boss
dat kitchen; an' he say, 'If anybody come meddlin' wid you, you jist
make'em walk chalk; don't you be afeard,' he say; 'you's 'mong frens,
now.'
"Well, I thinks to myse'f, if my little Henry ever got a chance to run
away, he 'd make 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 up an,
tole 'em 'bout my Henry, dey a-listenin' to my troubles jist de same as
if I was white folks; an' I says, 'What I come for is beca'se if he got
away and got up Norf whah you gemmen comes from, you might 'a' seen
him, maybe, an' could tell me so as I could fine him ag'in; he was very
little, an' he had a sk-yar on his lef' wris', an' at de top of his
forehead.' Den dey mournful, an' de Gen'l say, 'How long sence you los'
him?' an' I say, 'Thirteen year.' Den de Gen'l say, 'He would n't be
little no mo', now -- he's a man!'
"I never thought o' dat 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 could n't do nothin' for
me. But all dat time, do' I did n't know it, my Henry wasrun off to de
Norf, years an' years, 'an he was a barber, too, an' worked for hisse'f.
An' 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 recruitin', an' hired hisse'f out to
de colonel for his servant; an' den he went froo de battles everywhah,
huntin' his ole mammy; yes indeedy, he'd hire to fust one officer an'
den another, tell he 'd ransacked de whole Souf; but you see I
did n't
know nuffin 'bout dis. How was I gwyne to know it?
"Well, one night we had a big sojer ball; de sojers dah at Newbern was
always havin' balls an' carryin' on. Dey had 'em in my kitchen, heaps o'
times, 'ca'se it was so big. Mine you, I was down on sich doin's;
beca'se my place was wid de officers, an' it rasp' me to have dem common
sojers cavortin' roun' my kitchen like dat. But I alway' stood aroun'
an' kep' things straight, I did; an' sometimes 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 -- dey comes a whole plattoon
f'm a nigger ridgment dat was on guard at de house, -- de house was
head-quarters, 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 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', 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' could n'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 was 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!"
Source:
A True Story, Repeated Word for Word As I Heard It by Mark Twain
