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Po’ Sandy (1888)
by Charles Chessnut
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 weather-beaten 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 school-house 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 school-house, 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 new lumber 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 saw-mill 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 saw-mill. When we reached the mill, the foreman had gone over to a neighboring farm-house, 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 whirr 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!”
“No, Miss 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’ wouldn’ 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 go so Sandy didn’ 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 ‘ooman, he tuk up wid her atter she b’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. W’en 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 hadn’ b’en 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 fine out ef Mars Marrabo couldn’ len’ ‘im er hire ‘im a good han’ 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 tole Sandy fer ter git ready ter go down ter Robeson nex’ day, fer ter stay a mont’ er so.
“Hit wuz monst’us hard on Sandy fer ter take ‘im ‘way fum Tenie. Hit wuz so fur down ter Robeson dat he didn’ hab no chance er comin’ back ter see her tel de time wuz up; he wouldn’ 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 tole ‘im, en he says ter Tenie, sezee: —
“‘I’m gittin monstus 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 sole 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 yer 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 tole you I wuz a cunjuh-‘ooman?’
“Co’se Sandy hadn’ 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 yer er mo; en w’en I got religion I made up my mine I wouldn’ 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 yer won’t haf ter. Ef you’ll des say de word, I kin turn yer ter w’ateber yer wanter be, en yer kin stay right whar yer wanter, ez long ez yer mineter.’
“Sandy say he doan keer; he’s willin’ 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 mout git atter me.’
“‘Shill I turn yer 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 yer ter a mawkin’-bird?’
“‘No, a hawk mout ketch me. I wanter be turnt inter sump’n w’at’ll stay in one place.’
“‘I kin turn yer ter a tree,’ sez Tenie. ‘You won’t hab no mouf ner years, but I kin turn yer back oncet in a w’ile, so yer 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 didn’ ‘member er habbin’ seed befo; it wuz monst’us quare, en dey wuz bleedst ter ‘low dat dey hadn’ ‘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 ’nuff 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 by Sandy fer ter he’p ‘im run away whar she couldn’ nebber see ‘im no mo’.
“W’en Sandy had be’n gone long ’nuff 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
“But Sandy didn’ 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 ‘cluded 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 ‘ooman 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-hankcher wuz good ’nuff. 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 want no chance er her seein’ Sandy no mo’ tel she come back home. De po’ gal felt monst’us bad erbout 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’.
“W’iles 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 didn’ ‘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 saw-mill. 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 saw-mill, 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 saw-mill.
“De nex’ mawnin’ atter de day de tree wuz haul’ ter de saw-mill, 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. W’en 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 mine. She run ter her cabin, en got her goopher mixtry, en den foller de track er de timber waggin ter de saw-mill. She knowed Sandy couldn’ lib mo’ d’n a minute er so ef she turn’ 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 hadn’ went off a-purpose, en lef’ ‘im ter be chop’ down en sawed up. She didn’ want Sandy ter die wid no hard feelin’s to’ds her.
“De han’s at de saw-mill had des got de big log on de kerridge, en wuz startin’ 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 didn’ 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 saw-mill; 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 didn’ stop de fuss; hit kep’ right on, tel finely dey got de log all sawed up.
“W’en de oberseah w’at run de saw-mill come fum brekfas’, de han’s up en tell him ’bout de crazy ‘ooman — ez dey s’posed she wuz — w’at had come runnin’ in de saw-mill, 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 mine 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 saw-mill, en put up his noo kitchen.
“W’en 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 didn’ know w’at ter do wid Tenie: fus’ he thought he’d put her in de po’-house; but finely, seein’ ez she didn’ 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’ wuzn’ much use, fer it hadn’ be’n put
“W’en it come ter dat, Mars Marrabo tuk ‘n’ to’ de kitchen down, en use’ de lumber fer ter buil’ dat ole school-‘ouse w’at youer talkin’ ’bout pullin’ down. De school-‘ouse wuzn’ 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 fine but po’ ole Tenie, layin’ on de flo’, stiff, en cole, en dead. Dere didn’ ‘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 mout 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 sole a piece er his track er lan’ ter Mars Dugal’ McAdoo, — my ole marster, — en dat’s how de ole school-house happen to be on yo’ place. W’en 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 added 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 school-house.”
“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 school-house 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 could not 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.”