... I have no race prejudices, and I think I have no color prejudices nor caste prejudices nor creed prejudices. Indeed I know it... All that I care to know is that a man is a human being that is enough for me...
Mark Twain
A True Story, Repeated Word for Word as I Heard It
Mark Twain, 1874.
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 youve 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 cant have had any trouble. Ive never heard you sigh, and never seen your eye when there wasnt a laugh in it.
She faced fairly around, now, and was full of earnestness.
Has I had any trouble? Misto C , Is gwyne to tell you, den I leave it to you. I was bawn down mongst de slaves; I knows all bout slavery, cause I been one of em my own sef. Well, sah, my ole man dats my husban he was lovin an kind to me, jist as kind as you is to yo own wife. An we had chilen seven chilen an we loved dem chilen jist de same as you loves you chilen. Dey was black, but de Lord cant make no chilen so black but what dey mother loves em an wouldnt give em up, no, not for anything dats in dis whole world.
Well, sah, I was raised in ole Foginny, but my mother she was raised in Maryland; an my souls! She was turrible when shed git started! My lan! But shed make de fur fly! When shed git into dem tantrums, she always had one word dat she said. Shed straighten hersef up an put her fists in her hips an say, I want you to understan dat I wasnt bawn in de mash to be fool by trash! Is one o de ole Blue Hens Chickens, I is! Case, you see, dats what folks dats bawn in Maryland calls deyselves, an deys proud of it. Well, dat was her word. I dont ever forgit it, becase she said it so much, an becase 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 didnt fly aroun fas enough to tend to him. An when dey talk back at her, she up an she says, Look-a-heah! she says, I want you niggers to understan dat I wasnt bawn in de mash to be fool by trash! Is one o de ole Blue Hens Chickens, I is! an den she clar dat kitchen an bandage up de chile hersef. So I says dat word, too, when Is riled.
Well, bymeby my ole mistis say shes 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 oction 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 poch, twenty foot high, an all de people stood aroun, crowds an crowds. An deyd 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 too ole, or Dis one lame, or Dis one dont mount to much. An dey sole my ole man, an took him away, an dey begin to sell my chilen 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 shant take him away, I says; Ill kill de man dat fetches 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 cloes mos off of em, an beat em over de head wid my chain; an dey give it to me, too, but I didnt mine dat.
Well, dah was my ole man gone, an all my chilen, all my seven chilen an six of em I hadnt set eyes on agin to dis day, an dats twenty-two year ago las Easter. De man dat bought me blong 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 familys cook. So when de Unions took dat town, dey all run away an lef me all by mysef wid de other niggers in dat monsus big house. So de big Union officers move in dah, an dey ask me would I cook for dem. Lord bless you, says I, dats what Is for.
Dey want no small-fry officers, mine you, dey was de biggest dey is; an de way dey made dem sojers mosey roun! De Genl he tole me to boss dat kitchen; an he say, If anybody come meddlin wid you, you jist make em walk chalk; dont you be afeard, he say; yous mong frens, now.
Well, I thinks to mysef, if my little Henry ever got a chance to run away, hed 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 becase 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 agin; he was very little, an he had a sk-yar on his lef wris, an at de top of his forehead. Den dey look mournful, an de Genl say, How long sence you los him? an I say, Thirteen year. Den de Genl say, He wouldnt be little no mo, now hes 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 across him, so dey couldnt do nothin for me. But all dat time, do I didnt know it, my Henry was run off to de Norf, years an years, an he was a barber, too, an worked for hissef. An bymeby, when de waw come, he ups an he says, Is done barberin, he says; Is gwyne to fine my ole mammy, lessn shes dead. So he sole out an went to whah dey was recruitin, an hired hissef out to de colonel for his servant; en den he went all froo de battles everywhah, huntin for his ole mammy; yes indeedy, hed hire to fust one officer an den another, tell hed ransacked de whole Souf; but you see I didnt know nufffin 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, case it was so big. Mine you, I was down on sich doins; becase 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 deyd git my dander up, an den Id make em clar dat kitchen, mine I tell you!
Well, one night it was a Friday night dey comes a whole plattoon fm 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 yeller 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 tother, an smilin at my big red turban, an makin fun, an I ups an says, Git along wid you! rubbage! De young mans face kin o changed, all of a sudden, for bout a second, but den he went to smilin agin, same as he was befo. Well, bout dis time, in comes some niggers dat played music an blong 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 ablazin! 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 want bawn in de mash to be fool by trash! Is one o de ole Blue Hens Chickens, I is! an den I see dat young man stan astarin an stiff, lookin kin o up at de ceilin like he fogot somefin, an couldnt member it no mo. Well, I jist march on dem niggers, so, lookin like a genl, 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 capn I be on han bout eight oclock in de mawnin; deys somefin on my mine, he says; I dont sleep no mo dis night. You go long, he says, an leave me by my own sef.
Dis was bout one oclock 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 Id opened de stove do wid my right han, so, pushin it back, jist as I pushes yo foot, an Id 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 Is 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 Is doin to you, an den I goes for his forehead an push de hair back, so, an Boy! I says, if you ant 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 agin!
Oh, no, Misto C , I hadnt had no trouble. An no joy!
And in Mark Twain’s Library of Wit and Humor there is the story of the negro barber and why he does not go to church.
Then the Wop and Dago stories, then the Mick stories.
I met a young man in the Army waiting on my turn at the phone ~ we were there about 15 minutes. He was from a cotton plantation somewhere in the South ~ and we were in Fort McClellan. Asked him why he was in the Army, and he told me he'd turned 18 and enlisted before they could draft him, and there he was, in just about the best pressed set of fatigues I'd ever seen, not a wrinkle on him, and this was after a hard day working in temperatures in the low 100s and humidity in the 90s ~ make a Sa'ami fall over faint, but I tried never to let anyone know that ~ but it could happen ~ and did, so he'd enlisted ~ and I asked "what for" meaning "specialty", what MOS, and he calmly and cooly said to me I ain't never afore had two pairs of pants to my name, and here I have 6, and a fine light wool uniform, and socks ~ you people wear socks all the time or something?"
That was a breath of fresh air from back home ~ just like the Coal Miner's kids in the neighborhood ~ boots in the winter? They were happy to have old shoes ~ and socks ~ socks?
I thought my mother could humble me with her tales of the Great Depression, but this was 1967 ~ and he coulda' humbled her.
If Mark Twain tells you that he took that one down word for word he most certainly did. That woman humbled him before God ~ he was privileged to hear her testimony on a mother's love.