My Southern Home: Or, the South and Its People. William Wells BrownЧитать онлайн книгу.
Doctor?”
Cato. “Here I is; don’t you see me?”
Bill. “What! you de Doctor, you brack cuss! You looks like a doctor! Oh, my toof! my toof! Whar is de Doctor?”
Cato. “I tells you I is de doctor. Ef you don’t believe me, ax dese men. I can pull your toof in a minnit.”
Bill. “Well, den, pull it out. Oh, my toof! how it aches! Oh, my toof!” [Cato gets the rusty turnkeys.]
Cato. “Now lay down on your back.”
Bill. “What for?”
Cato. “Dat’s de way massa does.”
Bill. “Oh, my toof! Well, den, come on.” [Lies down. Cato gets astraddle of Bill’s breast, puts the turnkeys on the wrong tooth, and pulls—Bill kicks, and cries out]—Oh, do stop! Oh, oh, oh! [Cato pulls the wrong tooth—Bill jumps up.]
Cato. “Dar, now, I tole you I could pull your toof for you.”
Bill. Oh, dear me! Oh, it aches yet! Oh, me! Oh, Lor-e-massy! You dun pull de wrong toof. Drat your skin! ef I don’t pay you for this, you brack cuss! [They fight, and turn over table, chairs, and bench—Pete and Ned look on.]
During the melée, Dr. Gaines entered the office, and unceremoniously went at them with his cane, giving both a sound drubbing before any explanation could be offered. As soon as he could get an opportunity, Cato said, “Oh, massa! he’s to blame, sir, he’s to blame. He struck me fuss.”
Bill. “No, sir; he’s to blame; he pull de wrong toof. Oh, my toof! oh, my toof!”
NEGRO DENTISTRY.
Dr. G. “Let me see your tooth. Open your mouth. As I live, you’ve taken out the wrong tooth. I am amazed. I’ll whip you for this; I’ll whip you well. You’re a pretty doctor. Now, lie down, Bill, and let him take out the right tooth; and if he makes a mistake this time, I’ll cowhide him well. Lie down, Bill.” [Bill lies down, and Cato pulls the tooth.] “There, now, why didn’t you do that in the first place?”
Cato. “He wouldn’t hole still, sir.”
Bill. “I did hole still.”
Dr. G. “Now go home, boys; go home.”
“You’ve made a pretty muss of it, in my absence,” said the Doctor. “Look at the table! Never mind, Cato; I’ll whip you well for this conduct of yours to-day. Go to work now, and clear up the office.”
As the office door closed behind the master, the irritated negro, once more left to himself, exclaimed, “Confound dat nigger! I wish he was in Ginny. He bite my finger, and scratch my face. But didn’t I give it to him? Well, den, I reckon I did. [He goes to the mirror, and discovers that his coat is torn—weeps.] Oh, dear me! Oh, my coat—my coat is tore! Dat nigger has tore my coat. [He gets angry, and rushes about the room frantic.] Cuss dat nigger! Ef I could lay my hands on him, I’d tare him all to pieces—dat I would. An’ de old boss hit me wid his cane after dat nigger tore my coat. By golly, I wants to fight somebody. Ef ole massa should come in now, I’d fight him. [Rolls up his sleeves.] Let ’em come now, ef dey dare—ole massa, or anybody else; I’m ready for ’em.”
Just then the Doctor returned and asked, “What’s all this noise here?”
Cato. “Nuffin’, sir; only jess I is puttin’ things to rights, as you tole me. I didn’t hear any noise, except de rats.”
Dr. G. “Make haste, and come in; I want you to go to town.”
Once more left alone, the witty black said, “By golly, de ole boss like to cotch me dat time, didn’t he? But wasn’t I mad? When I is mad, nobody can do nuffin’ wid me. But here’s my coat tore to pieces. Cuss dat nigger! [Weeps.] Oh, my coat! oh, my coat! I rudder he had broke my head, den to tore my coat. Drat dat nigger! Ef he ever comes here agin, I’ll pull out every toof he’s got in his head—dat I will.”
CHAPTER IV.
During the palmy days of the South, forty years ago, if there was one class more thoroughly despised than another, by the high-born, well-educated Southerner, it was the slave-trader who made his money by dealing in human cattle. A large number of the slave-traders were men of the North or free States, generally from the lower order, who, getting a little money by their own hard toil, invested it in slaves purchased in Virginia, Maryland, or Kentucky, and sold them in the cotton, sugar, or rice-growing States. And yet the high-bred planter, through mismanagement, or other causes, was compelled to sell his slaves, or some of them, at auction, or to let the “soul-buyer” have them.
Dr. Gaines’ financial affairs being in an unfavorable condition, he yielded to the offers of a noted St. Louis trader by the name of Walker. This man was the terror of the whole South-west amongst the black population, bond and free—for it was not unfrequently that even free colored persons were kidnapped and carried to the far South and sold. Walker had no conscientious scruples, for money was his God, and he worshipped at no other altar.
An uncouth, ill-bred, hard-hearted man, with no education, Walker had started at St. Louis as a dray-driver, and ended as a wealthy slave-trader. The day was set for this man to come and purchase his stock, on which occasion, Mrs. Gaines absented herself from the place; and even the Doctor, although alone, felt deeply the humiliation. For myself, I sat and bit my lips with anger, as the vulgar trader said to the faithful man—
“Well, my boy, what’s your name?”
Sam. “Sam, sir, is my name.”
Walk. “How old are you, Sam?”
Sam. “Ef I live to see next corn plantin’ time I’ll be twenty-seven, or thirty, or thirty-five—I don’t know which, sir.”
Walk. “Ha, ha, ha! Well, Doctor, this is rather a green boy. Well, mer feller, are you sound?”
Sam. “Yes, sir, I spec I is.”
Walk. “Open your mouth and let me see your teeth. I allers judge a nigger’s age by his teeth, same as I dose a hoss. Ah! pretty good set of grinders. Have you got a good appetite?”
Sam. “Yes, sir.”
Walk. “Can you eat your allowance?”
Sam. “Yes, sir, when I can get it.”
Walk. “Get out on the floor and dance; I want to see if you are supple.”
Sam. “I don’t like to dance; I is got religion.”
Walk. “Oh, ho! you’ve got religion, have you? That’s so much the better. I likes to deal in the gospel. I think he’ll suit me. Now, mer gal, what’s your name?”
Sally. “I is Big Sally, sir.”
Walk. “How old are you, Sally?”
Sally. “I don’t know, sir; but I heard once dat I was born at sweet pertater diggin’ time.”
Walk. “Ha, ha, ha! Don’t you know how old you are? Do you know who made you?”
Sally. “I hev heard who it was in de Bible dat made me, but I dun forget de gentman’s name.”
Walk. “Ha, ha, ha! Well, Doctor, this is the greenest lot of niggers I’ve seen for some time.”
The