VOLUME IX

NEW YORK

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS

1896

Copyright, 1885, by CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS

[Pg 5]

MARSE CHAN.

A TALE OF OLD VIRGINIA.

By Thomas Nelson Page.

⁂ Century Magazine April, 1884.

One afternoon, in the autumn of 1872, I was riding leisurely down the sandy road that winds along the top of the water-shed between two of the smaller rivers of eastern Virginia. The road I was travelling, following “the ridge” for miles, had just struck me as most significant of the character of the race whose only avenue of communication with the outside world it had formerly been. Their once splendid mansions, now fast falling to decay, appeared to view from time to time, set back far from the road, in proud seclusion among groves of oak and hickory now scarlet and gold with the early frost. Distance was nothing to this people; time was of no consequence to [Pg 6]them. They desired but a level path in life, and that they had, though the way was longer and the outer world strode by them as they dreamed.

I was aroused from my reflections by hearing some one ahead of me calling, “Heah!—heah-whoo-oop, heah!”

Turning the curve in the road, I saw just before me a negro standing, with a hoe and a watering-pot in his hand. He had evidently just gotten over the “worm-fence” into the road, out of the path which led zigzag across the “old field” and was lost to sight in the dense growth of sassafras. When I rode up, he was looking anxiously back down this path for his dog. So engrossed was he that he did not even hear my horse, and I reined in to wait until he should turn around and satisfy my curiosity as to the handsome old place half a mile off from the road.

The numerous out-buildings and the large barns and stables told that it had once been the seat of wealth, and the wild waste of sassafras that covered the broad fields gave it an air of desolation that greatly excited my interest. Entirely oblivious of my proximity, the negro went on calling, “Whoo-oop, heah!” until along the path, walking very slowly and with great dignity, appeared a noble-looking old orange and white setter, gray with age, and corpulent with excessive feeding. As soon as he came in sight, his master began:

“Yes, dat you! You gittin’ deaf as well as bline, I s’pose! Kyarnt heah me callin’, I reckon? Whyn’t yo’ come on, dawg?”

[Pg 7]

The setter sauntered slowly up to the fence and stopped without even deigning a look at the speaker, who immediately proceeded to take the rails down, talking meanwhile:

“Now, I got to pull down de gap, I s’pose! Yo’ so sp’ilt yo’ kyahn’ hardly walk. Jes’ ez able to git over it as I is! Jes’ like white folks—t’ink ’cuz you’s white and I’s black, I got to wait on yo’ all de time. Ne’m mine, I ain’ gwi’ do it!”

The fence having been pulled down sufficiently low to suit his dogship, he marched sedately through, and, with a hardly perceptible lateral movement of his tail, walked on down the road. Putting up the rails carefully, the negro turned and saw me.

“Sarvent, marster,” he said, taking his hat off. Then, as if apologetically for having permitted a stranger to witness what was merely a family affair, he added: “He know I don’ mean nothin’ by what I sez. He’s Marse Chan’s dawg, an’ he’s so ole he kyahn git long no pearter. He know I’se jes’ prodjickin’ wid ’im.”

“Who is Marse Chan?” I asked; “and whose place is that over there—and the one a mile or two back—the place with the big gate and the carved stone pillars?”

“Marse Chan,” said the darkey, “he’s Marse Channin’—my young marster; an’ dem places—dis one’s Weall’s, an’ de one back dyar wid de rock gate-pos’s is ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s. Dey don’ nobody live dyar now, ’cep’ niggers. Arfter [Pg 8]de war some one or nudder bought our place, but his name done kind o’ slipped me. I nuvver hearn on ’im befo’; I think dey’s half-strainers. I don’ ax none on ’em no odds. I lives down de road heah, a little piece, an’ I jes’ steps down of a evenin’ and looks arfter de graves.”

“Well, where is Marse Chan?” I asked.

“Hi! don’ you know? Marse Chan, he went in de army. I wuz wid ’im. Yo’ know he warn’ gwine an’ lef’ Sam.”

“Will you tell me all about it?” I said, dismounting.

Instantly, and as if by instinct, the darkey stepped forward and took my bridle. I demurred a little; but with a bow that would have honored old Sir Roger, he shortened the reins, and taking my horse from me, led him along.

“Now tell me about Marse Chan,” I said.

“Lawd, marster, hit’s so long ago, I’d a’most forgit all about it, ef I hedn’ been wid him ever sence he wuz born. Ez ’tis, I remembers it jes’ like ’twuz yistiddy. Yo’ know Marse Chan an’ me—we wuz boys togedder. I wuz older’n he wuz, jes’ de same ez he wuz whiter’n me. I wuz born plantin’ corn time, de spring arfter big Jim an’ de six steers got washed away at de upper ford right down dyar b’low de quarters ez he wuz a bringin’ de Chris’mas things home; an’ Marse Chan, he warn’ born tell mos’ to der harves’ arfter my sister Nancy married Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s Torm, ’bout eight years arfterwards.

[Pg 9]

“Well, when Marse Chan wuz born dey wuz de grettes’ doin’s at home you ever did see. De folks all hed holiday, jes’ like in de Chris’mas. Ole marster (we didn’ call ’im ole marster tell arfter Marse Chan wuz born—befo’ dat he wuz jes’ de marster, so)—well, ole marster, his face fyar shine wid pleasure, an’ all de folks wuz mighty glad, too, ’cause dey all loved ole marster, and aldo’ dey did step aroun’ right peart when ole marster wuz lookin’ at ’em, dyar warn’ nyar han’ on de place but what, ef he wanted anythin’, would walk up to de back poach, an’ say he warn’ to see de marster. An’ ev’ybody wuz talkin’ ’bout de young marster, an’ de maids an’ de wimmens ’bout de kitchen wuz sayin’ how ’twuz de purties’ chile dey ever see; an’ at dinner-time de mens (all on ’em hed holiday) come roun’ de poach an’ ax how de missis an’ de young marster wuz, an’ ole marster come out on de poach an’ smile wus’n a ’possum, an’ sez, ‘Thankee! Bofe doin’ fust rate, boys;’ an’

den he stepped back in de house, sort o’ laughin’ to hisse’f, an’ in a minute he come out ag’in wid de baby in he arms, all wrapped up in flannens an’ things, an’ sez, ‘Heah he is, boys.’ All de folks den, dey went up on de poach to look at ’im, drappin’ dey hats on de steps, an’ scrapin’ dey feets ez dey went up. An’ pres’n’y ole marster, lookin’ down at we all chil’en all packed togedder down deah like a parecel o’ sheep-burrs, cotch sight o’ me (he knowed my name, ’cause I use’ to hole he hoss fur ’im sometimes; but he [Pg 10]didn’ know all de chil’en by name, dey wuz so many on ’em), an’ he sez, ‘Come up heah.’ So up I goes tippin’, skeered like, an’ old marster sez, ‘Ain’ you Mymie’s son?’ ‘Yass, seh,’ sez I. ‘Well,’ sez he, ‘I’m gwine to give you to yo’ young Marse Channin’ to be his body-servant,’ an’ he put de baby right in my arms (it’s de truth I’m tellin’ you!), an’ yo’ jes’ ought to a-heard de folks sayin’, ‘Lawd! marster, dat boy’ll drap dat

chile!’ ‘Naw, he won’t,’ sez marster; ‘I kin trust ’im.’ And den he sez: ‘Now, Sam, from dis time you belong to yo’ young Marse Channin’; I wan’ you to tek keer on ’im ez long ez he lives. You are to be his boy from dis time. An’ now,’ he sez, ‘carry ’im in de house.’ An’ he walks arfter me an’ opens de do’s fur me, an’ I kyars ’im in my arms, an’ lays ’im down on de bed. An’ from dat time I wuz tooken in de house to be Marse Channin’s body-servant.

“Well, you nuvver see a chile grow so. Pres’n’y he growed up right big, an’ ole marster sez he must have some edication. So he sont ’im to school to ole Miss Lawry down dyar, dis side o’ Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s, an’ I use’ to go ’long wid ’im an’ tote he books an’ we all’s snacks; an’ when he larnt to read an’ spell right good, an’ got ’bout so-o big, old Miss Lawry she died, an’ ole marster said he mus’ have a man to teach ’im an’ trounce ’im. So we all went to Mr. Hall, whar kep’ de school-house beyant de creek, an’ dyar we went ev’y day, ’cep’ Sat’d’ys of co’se, an’ sich days [Pg 11]ez Marse Chan din’ warn’ go, an’ ole missis begged ’im off.

“Hit wuz down dyar Marse Chan fust took notice o’ Miss Anne. Mr. Hall, he taught gals ez well ez boys, an’ Cun’l Chahmb’lin he sont his daughter (dat’s Miss Anne I’m talkin’ about). She wuz a leetle bit o’ gal when she fust come. Yo’ see, her ma wuz dead, an’ ole Miss Lucy Chahmb’lin, she lived wid her brudder an’ kep’ house for ’im; an’ he wuz so busy wid politics, he didn’ have much time to spyar, so he sont Miss Anne to Mr. Hall’s by a ’ooman wid a note. When she come dat day in de school-house, an’ all de chil’en looked at her so hard, she tu’n right red, an’ tried to pull her long curls over her eyes, an’ den put bofe de backs of her little han’s in her two eyes, an’ begin to cry to herse’f. Marse Chan he was settin’ on de een’ o’ de bench nigh de do’, an’ he jes’ reached out an’ put he arm roun’ her an’ drawed her up to ’im. An’ he kep’ whisperin’ to her, an’ callin’ her name, an’ coddlin’ her; an’ pres’n’y she took her han’s down an’ begin to laugh.

“Well, dey ’peared to tek’ a gre’t fancy to each udder from dat time. Miss Anne she warn’ nuthin’ but a baby hardly, an’ Marse Chan he wuz a good big boy ’bout mos’ thirteen years ole, I reckon. Hows’ever, dey sut’n’y wuz sot on each udder an’ (yo’ heah me!) ole marster an’ Cun’l Chahmb’lin dey ’peared to like it ’bout well ez de chil’en. Yo’ see Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s place [Pg 12]j’ined ourn, an’ it looked jes’ ez natural fur dem two chil’en to marry an’ mek it one plantation, ez it did fur de creek to run down de bottom from our place into Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s. I don’ rightly think de chil’en thought ’bout gittin’ married, not den, no mo’n I thought ’bout marryin’ Judy when she wuz a little gal at Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s, runnin’ ’bout de house, huntin’ fur Miss Lucy’s spectacles; but dey wuz good frien’s from de start. Marse Chan he use’ to kyar Miss Anne’s books fur her ev’y day, an’ ef de road wuz muddy or she wuz tired, he use’ to tote her; an’ ’twarn’ hardly a day passed

dat he didn’ kyar her some’n’ to school—apples or hick’y nuts, or some’n’. He wouldn’ let none o’ de chil’en tease her, nudder. Heh! One day, one o’ de boys poked he finger at Miss Anne, an’ arfter school Marse Chan he axed ’im ’roun’ hine de school-house out o’ sight, an’ ef he didn’ whop ’im!

“Marse Chan, he wuz de peartes’ scholar ole Mr. Hall hed, an’ Mr. Hall he wuz mighty proud o’ ’im. I don’ think he use’ to beat ’im ez much ez he did de udders, aldo’ he wuz de head in all debilment dat went on, jes’ ez he wuz in sayin’ he lessons.

“Heh! one day in summer, jes’ ’fo’ de school broke up, dyah come up a storm right sudden, an’ riz de creek (dat one yo’ cross’ back yonder), an’ Marse Chan he toted Miss Anne home on he back. He ve’y off’n did dat when de parf wuz muddy. But dis day when dey come to de creek, [Pg 13]it had done washed all de logs ’way. ’Twuz still mighty high, so Marse Chan he put Miss Anne down, an’ he took a pole an’ waded right in. Hit took ’im long up to de shoulders. Den he waded back, an’ took Miss Anne up on his head an’ kyar’d her right over. At fust she wuz skeered; but he tol’ her he could swim an’ wouldn’ let her git hu’t, an’ den she let ’im kyar her ’cross, she hol’in’ his han’s. I warn’ ’long dat day, but he sut’n’y did dat thing.

“Ole marster he wuz so pleased ’bout it, he giv’ Marse Chan a pony; an’ Marse Chan rode ’im to school de day arfter he come, so proud, an’ sayin’ how he wuz gwine to let Anne ride behine ’im; an’ when he come home dat evenin’ he wuz walkin’. ‘Hi! where’s yo’ pony?’ said ole marster. ‘I give ’im to Anne,’ says Marse Chan. ‘She liked ’im, an’—I kin walk.’ ‘Yes,’ sez ole marster, laughin’, ‘I s’pose you’s already done giv’ her yo’se’f, an’ nex’ thing I know you’ll be givin’ her this plantation and all my niggers.’

“Well, about a fortnight or sich a matter arfter dat, Cun’l Chahmb’lin sont over an’ invited all o’ we all over to dinner, an’ Marse Chan wuz ’spressly named in de note whar Ned brought; an’ arfter dinner he made ole Phil, whar wuz his ker’ige-driver, bring roun’ Marse Chan’s pony wid a little side-saddle on ’im, an’ a beautiful little hoss wid a bran’-new saddle an’ bridle on ’im; an’ he gits up an’ meks Marse Chan a gre’t speech, an’ presents ’im de little hoss; an’ den he calls Miss [Pg 14]Anne, an’ she comes out on de poach in a little ridin’ frock, an’ dey puts her on her pony, an’ Marse Chan mounts his hoss, an’ dey goes to ride, while de grown folks is a-laughin’ an’ chattin’ an’ smokin’ dey cigars.

“Dem wuz good ole times, marster—de bes’ Sam ever see! Dey wuz, in fac’! Niggers didn’ hed nothin’ ’t all to do—jes’ hed to ’ten’ to de feedin’, an’ cleanin’ de hosses, an’ doin’ what de marster tell ’em to do; an’ when dey wuz sick, dey had things sont ’em out de house, an’ de same doctor come to see ’em whar ’ten’ to de white folks when dey wuz po’ly. Dyar warn’ no trouble nor nothin’.

“Well, things tuk a change arfter dat. Marse Chan he went to de bo’din’ school, whar he use’ to write to me constant. Ole missis use’ to read me de letters, an’ den I’d git Miss Anne to read ’em ag’in to me when I’d see her. He use’ to write to her too, an’ she use’ to write to him too. Den Miss Anne she wuz sont off to school too. An’ in de summer time dey’d bofe come home, an’ yo’ hardly knowed whether Marse Chan lived at home or over at Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s. He wuz over dyah constant. ’Twuz always ridin’ or fishin’ down dyah, in de river; or sometimes he’ go over dyah, an’ ’im an’ she’d go out an’ set in de yard onder de trees; she settin’ up mekin’ out she wuz knittin’ some sort o’ bright-cullored some’n’, wid de grarss growin’ all up ’g’inst her, an’ her hat th’owed back on her neck, an’ he readin’ to her [Pg 15]out books; an’ sometimes dey’d bofe read out de same book, fust one an’ den todder. I use’ to see ’em! Dat wuz when dey wuz growin’ up like.

“Den ole marster he run for Congress, an’ ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin he wuz put up to run ’g’inst ole marster by de Dimicrats; but ole marster he beat ’im. Yo’ know he wuz gwine do dat! Co’se he wuz! Dat made ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin mighty mad, and dey stopt visitin’ each udder reg’lar, like dey had been doin’ all ’long. Den Cun’l Chahmb’lin he sort o’ got in debt, an’ sell some o’ he niggers, an’ dat’s de way de fuss begun. Dat’s whar de lawsuit cum from. Ole marster he didn’ like nobody to sell niggers, an’ knowin’ dat Cun’l Chahmb’lin wuz sellin’ o’ his, he writ an’ offered to buy his M’ria an’ all her chil’en, ’cause she hed married our Zeek’yel. An’ don’ yo’ t’ink, Cun’l Chahmb’lin axed ole marster mo’ ’n th’ee niggers wuz wuth fur M’ria. Befo’ old marster bought her, dough, de sheriff cum an’ levelled on M’ria an’ a whole parecel o’ udder niggers. Ole marster he went to de sale, an’ bid for ’em; but Cun’l Chahmb’lin he got some one to bid

’g’’nst ole marster. Dey wuz knocked out to ole marster dough, an’ den dey hed a big lawsuit, an’ ole marster wuz agwine to co’t, off an’ on, fur some years, till at lars’ de co’t decided dat M’ria belonged to ole marster. Ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin den wuz so mad he sued ole marster for a little strip o’ lan’ down dyah on de line fence, whar he said belonged to ’im. Ev’ybody knowed hit belonged [Pg 16]to ole marster. Ef yo’ go down dyah now, I kin show it to yo’, inside de line fence, whar it hed done bin ever since long befo’ ole marster wuz born. But Cun’l Chahmb’lin wuz a mons’us perseverin’ man, an’ ole marster he wouldn’ let nobody run over ’im. No, dat he wouldn’! So dey wuz agwine down to co’t about dat, fur I don’ know how long, till ole marster beat ’im.

“All dis time, yo’ know, Marse Chan wuz a-goin’ back’ads an’ for’ads to college, an’ wuz growed up a ve’y fine young man. He wuz a ve’y likely gent’man! Miss Anne she hed done mos’ growed up, too—wuz puttin’ her hyar up like ole missis use’ to put hers up, an’ ’twuz jes’ ez bright ez de sorrel’s mane when de sun cotch on it, an’ her eyes wuz gre’t big dark eyes, like her pa’s, on’y bigger an’ not so fierce, an’ ’twarn’ none o’ de young ladies ez purty ez she wuz. She an’ Marse Chan still set a heap o’ sto’ by one ’nudder, but I don’ t’ink dey wuz easy wid each udder ez when he used to tote her home from school on his back. Marse Chan he use’ to love de ve’y groun’ she walked on, dough, in my ’pinion. Heh! His face ’twould light up whenever she come into chu’ch, or anywhere, jes’ like de sun hed come th’oo a chink on it suddenly.

“Den ole marster lost he eyes. D’ yo’ ever hyah ’bout dat? Heish! Didn’ yo’? Well, one night de big barn cotch fire. De stables, yo’ know, wuz under de big barn, an’ all de hosses wuz in dyah. Hit ’peared to me like ’twarn’ no time befo’ [Pg 17]all de folks an’ de neighbors dey come, an’ dey wuz a-totin’ water, an’ a-tryin’ to save de po’ critters, an’ dey got a heap on ’em out; but de ker’ige-hosses dey wouldn’ come out, an’ dey wuz a-runnin’ back’ads an’ for’ads inside de stalls, a-nikerin’ an’ a-screamin’, like dey knowed dey time hed come. Yo’ could heah ’em so pitiful, an’ pres’n’y ole marster said to Ham Fisher (he wuz de ker’ige-driver), ‘Go in dyah an’ try to save ’em; don’ let ’em bu’n to death.’ An’ Ham he went right in. An’ jes’ arfter he got in, de shed whar it hed fus’ cotch fell in, an’ de sparks shot ’way up in de air; an’ Ham didn’ come back, an’ de fire begun to lick out under de eaves over whar de ker’ige-hosses’ stalls

wuz, an’ all of a sudden ole marster tu’ned and kissed ole missis, who wuz standin’ nigh him, wid her face jes’ ez white ez a sperit’s, an’, befo’ anybody knowed what he wuz gwine do, jumped right in de do’, an’ de smoke come po’in’ out behine ’im. Well, seh, I nuvver ’specks to hyah tell Judgment sich a soun’ ez de folks set up. Ole missis she jes’ drapt down on her knees in de mud an’ prayed out loud. Hit ’peared like her pra’r wuz heard; for in a minit, right out de same do’, kyarin’ Ham Fisher in his arms, come ole marster, wid his clo’es all blazin’. Dey flung water on ’im, an’ put ’im out; an’, ef you b’lieve me, yo’ wouldn’ a-knowed ’twuz ole marster. Yo’ see, he hed find Ham Fisher done fall down in de smoke right by de ker’ige-hoss’ stalls, whar he sont him, an’ he hed to tote ’im [Pg 18]back in his arms th’oo de fire what hed done cotch de front part o’ de stable, an’ to keep de flame from gittin’ down Ham Fisher’s th’ote he hed tuk off his