Sketches in Crude-oil: Some accidents and incidents of the petroleum development in all parts of the globeMcLaurin, John J. (John James)
History
Sketches in Crude-oil: Some accidents and incidents of the petroleum development in all parts of the globe
McLaurin, John J. (John James)
Petroleum -- History; Petroleum industry and trade -- North America -- History
An African congregation at Stanford had a preacher black as the ace of
spades and wholly illiterate, whom many whites liked to hear. “Brudders
an’ sistahs, niggahs and white folks,” he closed an exhortation by
saying, “dar’s no use ’temptin’ to sneak outen de wah ’tween de good
Lawd an’ de black debbil, ’cos dar’s on’y two armies in dis worl’ an’
bofe am a-fitin’ eberlastingly! So ’list en de army ob light, ef yer
want ter gib ole Satan er black eye an’ not roast fureber an’ eber in de
burnin’ lake whar watah-millions on ice am nebber se’ved for dinnah!”
Could the most astute theological hair-splitter have presented the issue
more concisely and forcibly to the hearers of the sable Demosthenes?
The first and only circus that exhibited at Burksville produced an
immense sensation. It was “Bartholomew’s Equescurriculum,” with
gymnastics and ring exercises to round out the bill. Barns, shops and
trees for miles bore gorgeous posters. Nast’s cartoons, which the most
ignorant voters could understand, did more to overthrow Boss Tweed than
the masterly editorials of the New-York _Times_. The flaming pictures
aroused the Cumberlanders, hundreds of whom could not read, to the
highest pitch of expectation. Monday was the day set for the show. On
Saturday evening country-patrons began to camp in the woods outside the
village. A couple from Overton county, Tennessee, and their four
children rode twenty-eight miles on two mules, bringing food for three
days and lodging under the trees! A Burksville character of the stripe
Miss Ophelia styled “shiftless” sold his cooking-stove for four dollars
to get funds to attend! “Alf,” the ebony-hued choreman at Alexander
College, who built my fires and blacked my shoes, was worked up to
fever-heat. “Befo’ de Lawd,” he sobbed, “dis chile’s er gone coon, ’less
yer len’ er helpin’ han’! Mah wife’s axed her mudder an’ sister ter th’
ci’cus an’ dar’s no munny ter take ’em an’ mah sister!” Giving him the
currency for admission dried the mourner’s tears and “pushed them clouds
away.”
[Illustration: AN AFRICAN TALE OF WOE.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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