The Tobacco Tiller: A Tale of the Kentucky Tobacco FieldsHackley, Sarah Bell
General
The Tobacco Tiller: A Tale of the Kentucky Tobacco Fields
Hackley, Sarah Bell
Kentucky -- Fiction; Tobacco farmers -- Fiction
After Mr. Lindsay's remark that he thought he could safely promise that,
Mr. Doggett took the precautionary measure of drawing his improvised
chair a little nearer.
"Hit wuz away after ten when I got to the depot thar that evenin' I
went," he began, "and Hancock he lives five miles out, yes, sir. Hit wuz
so dark I wouldn't 'a' knew my own grandmother ef I'd 'a' met her, but I
got perticular diractions and 'lowed I could make out to find the way a
walkin'.
"I'd got about two miles and a half out, nigh about, before I seed
anybody on the road: then I heerd a trompin' and made out a gang o'
about forty fellers a ridin'. They wuzn't carryin' no beeg lights,--jest
one er two lanterns wuz all--and ever' feller had a piece o' black cloth
acrost the top o' his face.
"'Hello thar, Bud!' the foremost one hollered out to me when I sorter
aidged to one side the road,--'are you a goin' to raise a terbaccer crop
this year?'
"I noticed some of 'em wuz a carryin' hoes and shovels, and one o' two
sacks o' somethin, besides some guns, but I wuz tuck so suddent I never
once thought what they wuz up to.
"'Yes, sir' I says, 'I'm a aimin' to put in a right smart o' a crop.'
"And, ef you'll believe hit, Mr. Lindsay, them words hadn't hardly left
my mouth before two o' them biggest fellers jumped off their hosses, and
grabbed me and tied my hands behind my back!
"'I hain't got no money, boys!' I says, thenkin' maybe they wuz a Jesse
Jeemes gang.
"'We don't keer nothin' about your money,' the leader in front, says,
'you'll jest come along with us, Bud, and we'll tend to you, after we
git through our work.'
"They h'isted me on behind a little feller ridin' a big hoss, and I went
along with 'em. I didn't see nothin' else I could do, Mr. Lindsay.
"They kep' the beeg road, I'd jedge fer about two miles acrost the
country, then all of 'em stopped by a awful beeg terbaccer bed, a layin'
sorter on a hill like.
"'Less jest seed this one,' says one of the fellers carryin' a
sack.--'Jack Rout'd plant a dozen more beds, ef he knowed this one wuz
sp'ilt, and we'd as well save him that trouble.'
"And, ef you'll believe hit, Mr. Lindsay, they skinned that canvas offen
that thar bed, sowed hit thick with grass seed, and put the canvas back
like hit wuz, before a body could ketch on to what they wuz a doin'!
"Then they rid on purty fast 'tel they'd got clean out'n the
neighborhood. When they come to another beeg fine bed, the sassy little
feller I wuz a ridin' behind, he says: 'Less let Bud do some diggin'
here at this bed. He's a gittin' restless, havin' nothin' to do!'
"The others all laughed, but they ondone my hands and give me a hoe and
a shevel, and told me what to do. The plants wuz all a comin' up so
nice,--I felt 'em when I run my hand over 'em--I jest plumb hated to
tech 'em, but thar wuzn't nothin' else fer me to do, Mr. Lindsay, but
jest do like they told me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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