PO SANDY

On the northeast corner of my vineyard in central North Carolina, and
fronting on the Lumberton plank-road, there stood a small frame house,
of the simplest construction. It was built of pine lumber, and contained
but one room, to which one window gave light and one door admission. Its
weatherbeaten sides revealed a virgin innocence of paint. Against one
end of the house, and occupying half its width, there stood a huge brick
chimney: the crumbling mortar had left large cracks between the bricks;
the bricks themselves had begun to scale off in large flakes, leaving
the chimney sprinkled with unsightly blotches. These evidences of decay
were but partially concealed by a creeping vine, which extended its
slender branches hither and thither in an ambitious but futile attempt
to cover the whole chimney. The wooden shutter, which had once protected
the unglazed window, had fallen from its hinges, and lay rotting in the
rank grass and jimson-weeds beneath. This building, I learned when I
bought the place, had been used as a schoolhouse for several years prior
to the breaking out of the war, since which time it had remained
unoccupied, save when some stray cow or vagrant hog had sought shelter
within its walls from the chill rains and nipping winds of winter.

One day my wife requested me to build her a new kitchen. The house
erected by us, when we first came to live upon the vineyard, contained a
very conveniently arranged kitchen; but for some occult reason my wife
wanted a kitchen in the back yard, apart from the dwelling-house, after
the usual Southern fashion. Of course I had to build it.

To save expense, I decided to tear down the old schoolhouse, and use the
lumber, which was in a good state of preservation, in the construction
of the new kitchen. Before demolishing the old house, however, I made an
estimate of the amount of material contained in it, and found that I
would have to buy several hundred feet of lumber additional, in order to
build the new kitchen according to my wife's plan.

One morning old Julius McAdoo, our colored coachman, harnessed the gray
mare to the rockaway, and drove my wife and me over to the sawmill from
which I meant to order the new lumber. We drove down the long lane which
led from our house to the plank-road; following the plank-road for about
a mile, we turned into a road running through the forest and across the
swamp to the sawmill beyond. Our carriage jolted over the half-rotted
corduroy road which traversed the swamp, and then climbed the long hill
leading to the sawmill. When we reached the mill, the foreman had gone
over to a neighboring farmhouse, probably to smoke or gossip, and we
were compelled to await his return before we could transact our
business. We remained seated in the carriage, a few rods from the mill,
and watched the leisurely movements of the mill-hands. We had not waited
long before a huge pine log was placed in position, the machinery of the
mill was set in motion, and the circular saw began to eat its way
through the log, with a loud whir which resounded throughout the
vicinity of the mill. The sound rose and fell in a sort of rhythmic
cadence, which, heard from where we sat, was not unpleasing, and not
loud enough to prevent conversation. When the saw started on its second
journey through the log, Julius observed, in a lugubrious tone, and with
a perceptible shudder:--

"Ugh! but dat des do cuddle my blood!"

"What's the matter, Uncle Julius?" inquired my wife, who is of a very
sympathetic turn of mind. "Does the noise affect your nerves?"

"No, Mis' Annie," replied the old man, with emotion, "I ain' narvous;
but dat saw, a-cuttin' en grindin' thoo dat stick er timber, en moanin',
en groanin,' en sweekin', kyars my 'memb'ance back ter ole times, en
'min's me er po' Sandy." The pathetic intonation with which he
lengthened out the "po' Sandy" touched a responsive chord in our own
hearts.

"And who was poor Sandy?" asked my wife, who takes a deep interest in
the stories of plantation life which she hears from the lips of the
older colored people. Some of these stories are quaintly humorous;
others wildly extravagant, revealing the Oriental cast of the negro's
imagination; while others, poured freely into the sympathetic ear of a
Northern-bred woman, disclose many a tragic incident of the darker side
of slavery.

"Sandy," said Julius, in reply to my wife's question, "was a nigger w'at
useter b'long ter ole Mars Marrabo McSwayne. Mars Marrabo's place wuz on
de yuther side'n de swamp, right nex' ter yo' place. Sandy wuz a
monst'us good nigger, en could do so many things erbout a plantation, en
alluz 'ten' ter his wuk so well, dat w'en Mars Marrabo's chilluns growed
up en married off, dey all un 'em wanted dey daddy fer ter gin 'em Sandy
fer a weddin' present. But Mars Marrabo knowed de res' would n' be
satisfied ef he gin Sandy ter a'er one un 'em; so w'en dey wuz all done
married, he fix it by 'lowin' one er his chilluns ter take Sandy fer a
mont' er so, en den ernudder for a mont' er so, en so on dat erway tel
dey had all had 'im de same lenk er time; en den dey would all take him
roun' ag'in, 'cep'n' oncet in a w'ile w'en Mars Marrabo would len' 'im
ter some er his yuther kinfolks 'roun' de country, w'en dey wuz short er
han's; tel bimeby it got so Sandy did n' hardly knowed whar he wuz gwine
ter stay fum one week's een' ter de yuther.

"One time w'en Sandy wuz lent out ez yushal, a spekilater come erlong
wid a lot er niggers, en Mars Marrabo swap' Sandy's wife off fer a noo
'oman. W'en Sandy come back, Mars Marrabo gin 'im a dollar, en 'lowed he
wuz monst'us sorry fer ter break up de fambly, but de spekilater had gin
'im big boot, en times wuz hard en money skase, en so he wuz bleedst ter
make de trade. Sandy tuk on some 'bout losin' his wife, but he soon seed
dey want no use cryin' ober spilt merlasses; en bein' ez he lacked de
looks er de noo 'oman, he tuk up wid her atter she'd be'n on de
plantation a mont' er so.

"Sandy en his noo wife got on mighty well tergedder, en de niggers all
'mence' ter talk about how lovin' dey wuz. Wen Tenie wuz tuk sick oncet,
Sandy useter set up all night wid 'er, en den go ter wuk in de mawnin'
des lack he had his reg'lar sleep; en Tenie would 'a' done anythin' in
de worl' for her Sandy.

"Sandy en Tenie had n' be'n libbin' tergedder fer mo' d'n two mont's
befo' Mars Marrabo's old uncle, w'at libbed down in Robeson County, sent
up ter fin' out ef Mars Marrabo could n' len' 'im er hire 'im a good
ban' fer a mont' er so. Sandy's marster wuz one er dese yer easy-gwine
folks w'at wanter please eve'ybody, en he says yas, he could len' 'im
Sandy. En Mars Marrabo tol' Sandy fer ter git ready ter go down ter
Robeson nex' day, fer ter stay a mont' er so.

"It wuz monst'us hard on Sandy fer ter take 'im 'way fum Tenie. It wuz
so fur down ter Robeson dat he did n' hab no chance er comin' back ter
see her tel de time wuz up; he would n' 'a' mine comin' ten er fifteen
mile at night ter see Tenie, but Mars Marrabo's uncle's plantation wuz
mo' d'n forty mile off. Sandy wuz mighty sad en cas' down atter w'at
Mars Marrabo tol' 'im, en he says ter Tenie, sezee:--

"'I'm gittin' monst'us ti'ed er dish yer gwine roun' so much. Here I is
lent ter Mars Jeems dis mont', en I got ter do so-en-so; en ter Mars
Archie de nex' mont', en I got ter do so-en-so; den I got ter go ter
Miss Jinnie's: en hit's Sandy dis en Sandy dat, en Sandy yer en Sandy
dere, tel it 'pears ter me I ain' got no home, ner no marster, ner no
mistiss, ner no nuffin. I can't eben keep a wife: my yuther ole 'oman
wuz sol' away widout my gittin' a chance fer ter tell her good-by; en
now I got ter go off en leab you, Tenie, en I dunno whe'r I'm eber
gwine ter see you ag'in er no. I wisht I wuz a tree, er a stump, er a
rock, er sump'n w'at could stay on de plantation fer a w'ile.'

"Atter Sandy got thoo talkin', Tenie didn' say naer word, but des sot
dere by de fier, studyin' en studyin'. Bimeby she up 'n' says:--

"'Sandy, is I eber tol' you I wuz a cunjuh 'oman?'

"Co'se Sandy had n' nebber dremp' er nuffin lack dat, en he made a great
'miration w'en he hear w'at Tenie say. Bimeby Tenie went on:--

"'I ain' goophered nobody, ner done no cunjuh wuk, fer fifteen year er
mo'; en w'en I got religion I made up my mine I would n' wuk no mo'
goopher. But dey is some things I doan b'lieve it's no sin fer ter do;
en ef you doan wanter be sent roun' fum pillar ter pos', en ef you doan
wanter go down ter Robeson, I kin fix things so you won't haf ter. Ef
you'll des say de word, I kin turn you ter w'ateber you wanter be, en
you kin stay right whar you wanter, ez long ez you mineter.'

"Sandy say he doan keer; he's will-in' fer ter do anythin' fer ter stay
close ter Tenie. Den Tenie ax 'im ef he doan wanter be turnt inter a
rabbit.

"Sandy say, 'No, de dogs mought git atter me.'

"'Shill I turn you ter a wolf?' sez Tenie.

"'No, eve'ybody 's skeered er a wolf, en I doan want nobody ter be
skeered er me.'

"'Shill I turn you ter a mawkin'-bird?'

"'No, a hawk mought ketch me. I wanter be turnt inter sump'n w'at'll
stay in one place.'

"'I kin turn you ter a tree,' sez Tenie. 'You won't hab no mouf ner
years, but I kin turn you back oncet in a w'ile, so you kin git sump'n
ter eat, en hear w'at 's gwine on.'

"Well, Sandy say dat'll do. En so Tenie tuk 'im down by de aidge er de
swamp, not fur fum de quarters, en turnt 'im inter a big pine-tree, en
sot 'im out 'mongs' some yuther trees. En de nex' mawnin', ez some er de
fiel' han's wuz gwine long dere, dey seed a tree w'at dey did n' 'member
er habbin' seed befo'; it wuz monst'us quare, en dey wuz bleedst ter
'low dat dey had n' 'membered right, er e'se one er de saplin's had be'n
growin' monst'us fas'.

"W'en Mars Marrabo 'skiver' dat Sandy wuz gone, he 'lowed Sandy had
runned away. He got de dogs out, but de las' place dey could track Sandy
ter wuz de foot er dat pine-tree. En dere de dogs stood en barked, en
bayed, en pawed at de tree, en tried ter climb up on it; en w'en dey
wuz tuk roun' thoo de swamp ter look fer de scent, dey broke loose en
made fer dat tree ag'in. It wuz de beatenis' thing de w'ite folks eber
hearn of, en Mars Marrabo 'lowed dat Sandy must 'a' clim' up on de tree
en jump' off on a mule er sump'n, en rid fur ernuff fer ter spile de
scent. Mars Marrabo wanted ter 'cuse some er de yuther niggers er
heppin' Sandy off, but dey all 'nied it ter de las'; en eve'ybody knowed
Tenie sot too much sto' by Sandy fer ter he'p 'im run away whar she
could n' nebber see 'im no mo'.

"W'en Sandy had be'n gone long ernuff fer folks ter think he done got
clean away, Tenie useter go down ter de woods at night en turn 'im back,
en den dey 'd slip up ter de cabin en set by de fire en talk. But dey
ha' ter be monst'us keerful, er e'se somebody would 'a' seed 'em, en dat
would 'a' spile' de whole thing; so Tenie alluz turnt Sandy back in de
mawnin' early, befo' anybody wuz a-stirrin'.

"But Sandy did n' git erlong widout his trials en tribberlations. One
day a woodpecker come erlong en 'mence' ter peck at de tree; en de nex'
time Sandy wuz turnt back he had a little roun' hole in his arm, des
lack a sharp stick be'n stuck in it. Atter dat Tenie sot a sparrer-hawk
fer ter watch de tree; en w'en de woodpecker come erlong nex' mawnin'
fer ter finish his nes', he got gobble' up mos' 'fo' he stuck his bill
in de bark.

"Nudder time, Mars Marrabo sent a nigger out in de woods fer ter chop
tuppentime boxes. De man chop a box in dish yer tree, en hack' de bark
up two er th'ee feet, fer ter let de tuppentime run. De nex' time Sandy
wuz turnt back he had a big skyar on his lef' leg, des lack it be'n
skunt; en it tuk Tenie nigh 'bout all night fer ter fix a mixtry ter
kyo it up. Atter dat, Tenie sot a hawnet fer ter watch de tree; en w'en
de nigger come back ag'in fer ter cut ernudder box on de yuther side'n
de tree, de hawnet stung 'im so hard dat de ax slip en cut his foot nigh
'bout off.

"W'en Tenie see so many things happenin' ter de tree, she 'eluded she 'd
ha' ter turn Sandy ter sump'n e'se; en atter studyin' de matter ober, en
talkin' wid Sandy one ebenin', she made up her mine fer ter fix up a
goopher mixtry w'at would turn herse'f en Sandy ter foxes, er sump'n, so
dey could run away en go some'rs whar dey could be free en lib lack
w'ite folks.

"But dey ain' no tellin' w'at's gwine ter happen in dis worl'. Tenie had
got de night sot fer her en Sandy ter run away, w'en dat ve'y day one er
Mars Marrabo's sons rid up ter de big house in his buggy, en say his
wife wuz monst'us sick, en he want his mammy ter len' 'im a 'oman fer
ter nuss his wife. Tenie's mistiss say sen' Tenie; she wuz a good nuss.

Young mars wuz in a tarrible hurry fer ter git back home. Tenie wuz
washin' at de big house dat day, en her mistiss say she should go right
'long wid her young marster. Tenie tried ter make some 'scuse fer ter
git away en hide 'tel night, w'en she would have eve'ything fix' up fer
her en Sandy; she say she wanter go ter her cabin fer ter git her
bonnet. Her mistiss say it doan matter 'bout de bonnet; her
head-hank-cher wuz good ernuff. Den Tenie say she wanter git her bes'
frock; her mistiss say no, she doan need no mo' frock, en w'en dat one
got dirty she could git a clean one whar she wuz gwine. So Tenie had ter
git in de buggy en go 'long wid young Mars Dunkin ter his plantation,
w'ich wuz mo' d'n twenty mile away; en dey wa'n't no chance er her
seein' Sandy no mo' 'tel she come back home. De po' gal felt monst'us
bad 'bout de way things wuz gwine on, en she knowed Sandy mus' be a
wond'rin' why she didn' come en turn 'im back no mo'.

"Wiles Tenie wuz away nussin' young Mars Dunkin's wife, Mars Marrabo tuk
a notion fer ter buil' 'im a noo kitchen; en bein' ez he had lots er
timber on his place, he begun ter look 'roun' fer a tree ter hab de
lumber sawed out'n. En I dunno how it come to be so, but he happen fer
ter hit on de ve'y tree w'at Sandy wuz turnt inter. Tenie wuz gone, en
dey wa'n't nobody ner nuffin fer ter watch de tree.

"De two men w'at cut de tree down say dey nebber had sech a time wid a
tree befo': dey axes would glansh off, en did n' 'pear ter make no
progress thoo de wood; en of all de creakin', en shakin', en wobblin'
you eber see, dat tree done it w'en it commence' ter fall. It wuz de
beatenis' thing!

"W'en dey got de tree all trim' up, dey chain it up ter a timber waggin,
en start fer de sawmill. But dey had a hard time gittin' de log dere:
fus' dey got stuck in de mud w'en dey wuz gwine crosst de swamp, en it
wuz two er th'ee hours befo' dey could git out. W'en dey start' on
ag'in, de chain kep' a-comin' loose, en dey had ter keep a-stoppin' en
a-stoppin' fer ter hitch de log up ag'in. W'en dey commence' ter climb
de hill ter de sawmill, de log broke loose, en roll down de hill en in
'mongs' de trees, en hit tuk nigh 'bout half a day mo' ter git it haul'
up ter de sawmill.

"De nex' mawnin' atter de day de tree wuz haul' ter de sawmill, Tenie
come home. W'en she got back ter her cabin, de fus' thing she done wuz
ter run down ter de woods en see how Sandy wuz gittin' on. Wen she seed
de stump standin' dere, wid de sap runnin' out'n it, en de limbs layin'
scattered roun', she nigh 'bout went out'n her min'. She run ter her
cabin, en got her goopher mixtry, en den follered de track er de timber
waggin ter de sawmill. She knowed Sandy could n' lib mo' d'n a minute er
so ef she turnt him back, fer he wuz all chop' up so he 'd 'a' be'n
bleedst ter die. But she wanted ter turn 'im back long ernuff fer ter
'splain ter 'im dat she had n' went off a-purpose, en lef 'im ter be
chop' down en sawed up. She did n' want Sandy ter die wid no hard
feelin's to'ds her.

"De han's at de sawmill had des got de big log on de kerridge, en wuz
start-in' up de saw, w'en dey seed a 'oman runnin' up de hill, all out
er bref, cryin' en gwine on des lack she wuz plumb 'stracted. It wuz
Tenie; she come right inter de mill, en th'owed herse'f on de log,
right in front er de saw, a-hollerin' en cryin' ter her Sandy ter fergib
her, en not ter think hard er her, fer it wa'n't no fault er hern. Den
Tenie 'membered de tree did n' hab no years, en she wuz gittin' ready
fer ter wuk her goopher mixtry so ez ter turn Sandy back, w'en de
mill-hands kotch holt er her en tied her arms wid a rope, en fasten' her
to one er de posts in de sawmill; en den dey started de saw up ag'in, en
cut de log up inter bo'ds en scantlin's right befo' her eyes. But it wuz
mighty hard wuk; fer of all de sweekin', en moanin', en groanin', dat
log done it w'iles de saw wuz a-cuttin' thoo it. De saw wuz one er dese
yer ole-timey, up-en-down saws, en hit tuk longer dem days ter saw a log
'en it do now. Dey greased de saw, but dat did n' stop de fuss; hit kep'
right on, tel fin'ly dey got de log all sawed up.

"W'en de oberseah w'at run de sawmill come fum breakfas', de han's up
en tell him 'bout de crazy 'oman--ez dey s'posed she wuz--w'at had come
runnin' in de sawmill, a-hollerin' en gwine on, en tried ter th'ow
herse'f befo' de saw. En de oberseah sent two er th'ee er de han's fer
ter take Tenie back ter her marster's plantation.

"Tenie 'peared ter be out'n her min' fer a long time, en her marster ha'
ter lock her up in de smoke-'ouse 'tel she got ober her spells. Mars
Marrabo wuz monst'us mad, en hit would 'a' made yo' flesh crawl fer ter
hear him cuss, 'caze he say de spekilater w'at he got Tenie fum had
fooled 'im by wukkin' a crazy 'oman off on him. Wiles Tenie wuz lock up
in de smoke-'ouse, Mars Marrabo tuk 'n' haul de lumber fum de sawmill,
en put up his noo kitchen.

"Wen Tenie got quiet' down, so she could be 'lowed ter go 'roun' de
plantation, she up'n' tole her marster all erbout Sandy en de
pine-tree; en w'en Mars Marrabo hearn it, he 'lowed she wuz de wuss
'stracted nigger he eber hearn of. He did n' know w'at ter do wid Tenie:
fus' he thought he 'd put her in de po'house; but fin'ly, seein' ez she
did n' do no harm ter nobody ner nuffin, but des went 'roun' moanin', en
groanin', en shakin' her head, he 'cluded ter let her stay on de
plantation en nuss de little nigger chilluns w'en dey mammies wuz ter
wuk in de cotton-fiel'.

"De noo kitchen Mars Marrabo buil' wuz n' much use, fer it had n' be'n
put up long befo' de niggers 'mence' ter notice quare things erbout it.

Dey could hear sump'n moanin' en groanin' 'bout de kitchen in de
night-time, en w'en de win' would blow dey could hear sump'n a-hollerin'
en sweekin' lack it wuz in great pain en sufferin'. En it got so atter a
w'ile dat it wuz all Mars Marrabo's wife could do ter git a 'oman ter
stay in de kitchen in de daytime long ernuff ter do de cookin'; en dey
wa'n't naer nigger on de plantation w'at would n' rudder take forty dan
ter go 'bout dat kitchen atter dark,--dat is, 'cep'n' Tenie; she did n'
'pear ter min' de ha'nts. She useter slip 'roun' at night, en set on de
kitchen steps, en lean up agin de do'-jamb, en run on ter herse'f wid
some kine er foolishness w'at nobody could n' make out; fer Mars Marrabo
had th'eaten' ter sen' her off'n de plantation ef she say anything ter
any er de yuther niggers 'bout de pine-tree. But somehow er 'nudder de
niggers foun' out all erbout it, en dey all knowed de kitchen wuz
ha'nted by Sandy's sperrit. En bimeby hit got so Mars Marrabo's wife
herse'f wuz skeered ter go out in de yard atter dark.

"Wen it come ter dat, Mars Marrabo tuk en to' de kitchen down, en use'
de lumber fer ter buil' dat ole school'ouse w'at you er talkin' 'bout
pullin' down. De school'ouse wuz n' use' 'cep'n' in de daytime, en on
dark nights folks gwine 'long de road would hear quare soun's en see
quare things. Po' ole Tenie useter go down dere at night, en wander
'roun' de school'ouse; en de niggers all 'lowed she went fer ter talk
wid Sandy's sperrit. En one winter mawnin', w'en one er de boys went ter
school early fer ter start de fire, w'at should he fin' but po' ole
Tenie, layin' on de flo', stiff, en col', en dead. Dere did n' 'pear ter
be nuffin pertickler de matter wid her,--she had des grieve' herse'f ter
def fer her Sandy. Mars Marrabo didn' shed no tears. He thought Tenie
wuz crazy, en dey wa'n't no tellin' w'at she mought do nex'; en dey ain'
much room in dis worl' fer crazy w'ite folks, let 'lone a crazy nigger.

"Hit wa'n't long atter dat befo' Mars Marrabo sol' a piece er his track
er lan' ter Mars Dugal' McAdoo,--_my_ ole marster,--en dat 's how de
ole school'ouse happen to be on yo' place. Wen de wah broke out, de
school stop', en de ole school'ouse be'n stannin' empty ever sence,--dat
is, 'cep'n' fer de ha'nts. En folks sez dat de ole school'ouse, er any
yuther house w'at got any er dat lumber in it w'at wuz sawed out'n de
tree w'at Sandy wuz turnt inter, is gwine ter be ha'nted tel de las'
piece er plank is rotted en crumble' inter dus'."

Annie had listened to this gruesome narrative with strained attention.

"What a system it was," she exclaimed, when Julius had finished, "under
which such things were possible!"

"What things?" I asked, in amazement. "Are you seriously considering the
possibility of a man's being turned into a tree?"

"Oh, no," she replied quickly, "not that;" and then she murmured
absently, and with a dim look in her fine eyes, "Poor Tenie!"

We ordered the lumber, and returned home. That night, after we had gone
to bed, and my wife had to all appearances been sound asleep for half an
hour, she startled me out of an incipient doze by exclaiming suddenly,--

"John, I don't believe I want my new kitchen built out of the lumber in
that old schoolhouse."

"You wouldn't for a moment allow yourself," I replied, with some
asperity, "to be influenced by that absurdly impossible yarn which
Julius was spinning to-day?"

"I know the story is absurd," she replied dreamily, "and I am not so
silly as to believe it. But I don't think I should ever be able to take
any pleasure in that kitchen if it were built out of that lumber.

Besides, I think the kitchen would look better and last longer if the
lumber were all new."

Of course she had her way. I bought the new lumber, though not without
grumbling. A week or two later I was called away from home on business.

On my return, after an absence of several days, my wife remarked to
me,--

"John, there has been a split in the Sandy Run Colored Baptist Church,
on the temperance question. About half the members have come out from
the main body, and set up for themselves. Uncle Julius is one of the
seceders, and he came to me yesterday and asked if they might not hold
their meetings in the old schoolhouse for the present."

"I hope you didn't let the old rascal have it," I returned, with some
warmth. I had just received a bill for the new lumber I had bought.

"Well," she replied, "I couldn't refuse him the use of the house for so
good a purpose."

"And I'll venture to say," I continued, "that you subscribed something
toward the support of the new church?"

She did not attempt to deny it.

"What are they going to do about the ghost?" I asked, somewhat curious
to know how Julius would get around this obstacle.

"Oh," replied Annie, "Uncle Julius says that ghosts never disturb
religious worship, but that if Sandy's spirit _should_ happen to stray
into meeting by mistake, no doubt the preaching would do it good."