One of the young gentlemen
would like to have the fiddler strike up "Down in Old Tennessee."
The tune is sounded forth with all that warmth of feeling the negro
only can add to the comical action of his body.
"Clar' the way; let the boys have a good time," says Mr. Lawrence
M'Fadden, taking Harry by the arm and giving him a violent shake. He
commands him to join in, and have a jolly good tune with the rest on
'em.
"Have no call for that, master. Let me act but the part of servant
to you."
"Do you mean to come nigger sulks over this child?" interrupts
M'Fadden, impatiently, scowling his heavy eyebrows, and casting a
ferocious look at Harry. After ordering him to stow himself in a
corner, he gets the others upon the floor, and compels them to
shuffle what he calls a plantation "rip-her-up." The effect of this,
added to the singular positions into which they are frequently
thrown by the motion of the cars, affords infinite amusement.
"You see, gentlemen, there's nothing like putting the springs of
life into property. Makes it worth fifty per cent. more; and then
ye'll get the hard knocks out to a better profit. Old southerners
spoil niggers, makin' so much on 'em; and soft-soapin' on 'em. That
bit o' property's bin spiled just so-he points to Harry, crouched in
the corner-And the critter thinks he can preach! Take that out on
him with a round turn, when I git to my place," he continues.
Harry cares very little for M'Fadden's conversation; he sits as
quietly and peaceably as if it had been addressed to some other
negro.
Pages:
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397