The Chronicles of Aunt Minervy AnnHarris, Joel Chandler
General
The Chronicles of Aunt Minervy Ann
Harris, Joel Chandler
Georgia -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
“Terreckly here dey come. Dey kinder quiet down when dey see me an’ Marse
Tumlin. Dey driv up, dey did, an’ driv on by, an’ dis make me b’lieve dat
dey wuz gwine on ’bout der bizness an’ let we-all go on ’bout our’n, but
dat idee wa’n’t in der head. Dey driv by, dey did, an’ den dey pulled
up. We walkt on, an’ Marse Tumlin lookt at um mighty hard. Rube, he was
drivin’, an’ ez we come up even wid um, he ’low, ‘Major Perdue, I hear
tell dat you slap my pa’s face not so mighty long ago.’ Marse Tumlin say,
‘I did, an’ my han’ ain’t clean yit.’ He helt it out so dey kin see fer
deyse’f. ‘I b’lieve,’ sez Rube, ‘I’ll take a closer look at it.’ Wid dat
he lipt out er de buggy, an’ by de time he hit de groun’, Marse Tumlin
had knockt ’im a-windin’ wid his curly-hick’ry walkin’-cane. By dat
time, John Henry had jumpt out’n de buggy, an’ he went at Marse Tumlin
wid a dirk-knife. He kep’ de cane off’n his head by dodgin’, but Marse
Tumlin hit a back lick an’ knock de knife out’n his han’ an’ den dey
clincht. Den Rube got up, an’ start to’rds um on de run.
“Well, suh, I wuz skeer’d an’ mad bofe. I seed sump’n had ter be done,
an’ dat mighty quick; so I tuck atter Rube, cotch ’m by de ellybows,
shoved ’im ahead faster dan he wuz gwine, an’ steer’d ’im right to’rds
de caved-in place in de brier-bushes. He tried mighty hard ter stop, but
he wuz gwine down hill, an’ I had de Ol’ Boy in me. I got ’im close ter
de place, suh, an’ den I gi’ ’m a shove, an’ inter de briers he went,
head over heels. All dis time I had de rock in my han’. By de time I turn
’roun’ I see Sam a-comin’. When de rumpus start up, his hoss shied an’
made a break down de hill wid ’im, but he slew’d ’im ’roun’, an’ jumped
off, an’ here he come back, his face red, his hat off, an’ ol’ Nick
hisse’f lookin’ out’n his eyes. I know’d mighty well I can’t steer him
inter no brier-bush, an’ so when he run by me I let ’im have de rock in
de burr er de year. ’Twa’n’t no light lick, suh; I wuz plum venomous by
den; an’ he went down des like a beef does when you knock ’im in de head
wid a ax.”
Aunt Minervy Ann, all unconscious of her attitudes and gestures, had
risen from the floor, and now stood in the middle of the room, tall,
towering, and defiant.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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