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VOLUME XXXIX Atlanta., Ga. t Week
AN ANTE-BELLUM LOVE STORY
Its Dramatic Sequel
i ffr her kings. She rechcd up an' co't hoi’
i./-!' er one er hjs years an' some h’ar, an’
feP<,mos' yanked hit off. flit hurt 'im so bad
mos' cry, but he cotch her an’ heft
'Cr lak er vise, an’ des kissed her broad-
* 1 cas’ ail th’oo an’ ’mongst A m quiies. She
' "hit a>t 'im an' spit at 'im. an' dem
black eyes blaze same ez litenin'. but
n, bit don' do no good 'kase he haul wuz
all mixed 'mongst dem quiies. Wen she
did finully break loose, she runs hard cz
she could, an’ she so mad an' got so much
ha'r towsled all ober her eyes dot she
des run rite slap-bang inter de side er do
house, an’ butt her haid dar.
“Howsumeber, Marse Bruce wtiz good
an’ happy natered, an' he'd look ober
| ebert'ing- an' mek up an’ be lubin' 'er
! dan eber. Jfe let her hub her way 'mos'
er de time. He des nacherly wi(ss|ped
de groun' she walk off. fer de skittisher
t she wuz de purtier she looked. She lub-
bed him, too. One day dar wuz er picnic
up at de bluff, an' she had done been so
fistey dat Marse Bruce went off an'
talked ter he ctuisin. Miss Blanche ,got
in de kerrig an" made Tof.e dribe her
rite home. She nuver speak ter Marse
Brii'-e no more in er whole week an’
w'en she did she des hid her haid on he
bres' an' cried lak her heart gwi' break.
Ar.' she hated dat cousin vigrous f’um
dat day on.
"Mos’ fokes has ter git grown 'dout
knowin* dat de udder one lub 'uni; an’
w'en de malt up de min' ter toil it er
bus’ er trace, de's 'spectin' ter git 'fused,
an' is ez skeered ez if de - had er hummel
bee by de horns, t< If de stammer out
sunip'n an' den de grab c ne nttdder an’
ack wuss'n chillun. ’Twarn’ dat erwya
wid dem two. De des growed up in lub;
an' dar warn' n. ah time w'en de dhln'
know de udder one lub'urn. But or;c
diffunce in 'urn wuz dat Mars • Bruce so
shore uv her dat ho didn' nuver min' her
talkin’ ter udder boys, do’ she nuver had
er chance offen; w'tle of he .ebon so iViuch
as look at cr nudder gal. Miss Blanche
des nacherly paw up de earf. I said erw’ile
t-rgo dat he wusshup de groun’ she walk
on, ’kase w’en de gwine ter school ter
ole M.ss Swinger ’bout ha'f er mile down
de riber, an' she'd pass ’long by er place
whar us's road come in 'deut waitin' ?■'r
him he’d look at her Ii’lo tracks des ez
lubin' as he go 'long, all de way ter
school. I)e use' ter go up on Mount Aito
tergeer’ ter gedder ches’nuls, an ober
in Vann's valley fer ter visit do fokes
ober dar. an’ wuz tergeer’ so much data
hit look lak hit gwi' brek Marse Bruce's
heart w’en he got ter go off ter Ferginyer
ter collig .
“Day 'fo' he went de’ spent de tire
time ober ter de Bluff, an' he gib her
cr ring, an' she gib him her dagytype
an’ er lock er her hair. [ t'inks de
bofe tlone some cryin'; 1 know he did
dat nite w’en he cornin' home. lie had
done stayed ob» dar ter upper, an' I
went ober dar ter mek 'rangements wid
Sloo'-foot Tim 'bout gwine 'possum hunt
in’ de nex’ nite. Ez we come long borne
tergeer he got t r stuclyin’ 'bo'ut how
long it gwine be 'fo' he'd ride ober dar
ter supper c-ny mo', an' 'bout leabin
Marster an' ol' Miss, an' 'bout all dr
'possum hunts wid T*nc Aaron be gwi
miss, en de tears des run down be face.
He sud’nly set heap er sto’ by Marster
an’ ole Miss, 'kase he do on y chile, an’
de’d done pet him ail he life. .He say dat
d,e gettin’ ole now, an’ gwi’ miss dc baby
an’ git so lonesome w’en he gone; an’
he hate so ter leab de happy homo an' go
Continued on latt page
A Tragedy of Music ^ By Minnie White
One of the strongest in The Sunny South honorable mention series
Wen cMiss Blanche r lpuz horned in fodder
By S M Byrd
AS riding along a smooth
I R gravel road in the south
ern part of Floyd county,
Georgia, in the midst of
that garden spot of Nature,
called Vann’s valley. Fields
of yellow grain whispered
with the wind and rolled
into great billows front one
side of the valley to the
other. Alternating with
these were fields of corn
and enttc.n; and beneath
it all was the ever-present
clover, springing up in the cotton rows,
underlying the wheat like a rich carpet,
and even invading the road and fence
corners. A silvery creek crossed the
road < v< ry few hundred yards, and turn
ed two mills before it was lest to sight
away down the valley. Deer had slaked
their thirst In it in the days of the
Clnrokees. Fine old mansions gleamed
white through groves that half conceal
ed them, and reminded me that there
om dwelt here the Wares, the Fords,
t.e Montgomerys, the Sparks, the Dents,
and John W. filer n. familiarly known all
over the Cherokee region as ’’Uncle
Walker" Glenn. These names were not
unlit ard in the legislative halls and battle
fields of the country.
i would fain tell you of these people,
I t 1 must proceed with my story, for I
would be like any one who ever had the
good fortune to enjoy their charming
hcspilality, : nd would linger amid the
valley and its associations.
i followed the rough road that leads
cv r the mountains to the wept, and my
hors.- had climb'd some 4 or 5 miles,
when suddenly rounding a curve I found
my.e if on th< dividing ridge between
Vann's valley and the valley of the Const.
] h ft the road and went up to ibe top cf
bald knob that rose above the trees
and formed the highest point of the
mountain. This, as I afterwards learned,
is sometimes called '‘The Last Sigh of the
C’ht rikees,” lor tlere is a tradition that
Vann, the Indian chief for whom the val
ley is named, stopp, d here to gaze' for
the last tim? upon his lovely home bo-
fori gi ;ng on his long journey westward.
The view Vi as one never to be forgotten.
Vann's valley lay in all its beauty. Old
Signal mountain seemed to bar it
up ompletely at, the south. And
what words can deaerib ■ the valley of Lie
Coosa 1 To the north I could pee Home
amid be mountains, and arounel the base
ol one of these, which formed “the
Bluff." cam • the liver, its course mark
ed by a lino of green trees, intercepted
here nr.el there by another, where same
creek that had leaped from a cleft in the
mountains joined the Ce.osa. The riv.-r
makes a oig bend ot' 25 nii!»s toward
Cha-tte oga county. Inclosing s >me of the
richest land in the state, and almost re
turning. flews off to join the Alabama.
Splendid old
rounded by
•-pullin' time after Miss 'Bruce 'uz horned in Jinilvery dey tvuz frothed, cr sunip'n nuddc-
soufhern mansions, sur-
giant water oaks and fields
of waving grain, make an entrancing pic-
ture. The entire read fr >m one valley to
the other was visible, and I imagined the
great leatlitr-springed carriages which
used to carry the social planters and
their families over this read, in response
to the hearty “Drop over in the valley
and si c usl" A deep-chirring steamboat
whistle sounded far down the river in
Alabama, and all was still and peaceful
beyond description.
All at oipce T heard a stentorian voico
down the road I had just left, singing
“Won I ken read my title cl'ar ter
rnansiers in de sky." The singer would
give cut every two lines to himself, then
go on again. 1 went back to the road
and met an old darky, black as the
proverbial back-jr.mh, and about as an
cient looking. 1! ■ stopped and pulled off
bis battered hat, at the same time mak
ing a bow and a scrape backward with
one foot that sent the gravel (lying.
“Good mawnin’ ter yo’, marster!" iie
said. I called him “uncle," which imme
diately established me in his good opin
ion, and asked where Mr. S lived.
"Yo' see dat brick house in cie big
grobe, des de yuther side de riber? Yas-
sir, rfats hit. Yo' gwine elar? Yassir, I'll
'comp’ny yo’ ter do l’oh'y.”
Upon my asking whose was the fine old
home with the tall pillars, just between
us and the river, he responded:
"Dat's us's place. Don’ yo’ know up s
fokes—Marse Major Clinton? Dat's my
de marster. But yf>' is young, ter be
siio’. an' er stranger.”
When I told him 1 was a son of Major
M , rf N—- county, ho seemed satis-
fie d.
1 knowed yo’ paw. Matte Major M .
a’ he wuz sho’ nuff quality. I'se ’sprised
1 didn't regetnizc yo’. fo' X sees dc faber
new. p’inteetly; de ve’y same eyes an’
ha'r an' figger. Yu’ paw wuz er sho’ fine
lookin' gemman. Yo’ persisely lak ’im.
T'ankec, salt; t'ankce! (This in response
to some dimes 1 gave him.) Dat e wuz,
sho,' mighty lakly lookin'! fie corned
down ter visit Marster wunst, an’ dc all
went flshin’ down on do riber whar I
gwi' show you’, an' I’se iishin' on de
yuther side. Bimehv he 'low; ‘Uno’
Aaron, yo’ giftin' many bites ober dar?'
1 'spoil'. ‘Yassir, des oodles uv 'um!' an’
be say, ‘Whut kino mosely?' an’ 1 answer
’Mos'ly ’skeeters, sab!" Den he Iaffed,
lie did. an’ say 1 tryin' tor hack 'im.
“Didn't he nuver tell yo' ’bout Marse
Bruce? Say bo' didn’t? Dat's my young
Marster, dat wuz. I tuck an' raised 'im,
an' Nancy sho missed 'im on her bres',
an' he wuz de han'somes' boy yo' eb?r
did see. He growed up straight an'
strong, 'kase he us’ ter run 'roun' wid
de mens f'u'm de time he knee-high ter
er duck, an’ go 'possum an’ coon huntin’
vid Fnc' Aaron, lie wuz erbout yo' hits
w'en he eighteen, an' heavy-built, but
des ez active cz cr cat, an’ had de pur-
ties’ f gger! He had fa’r skin an' rite blue
eyes, des lak ole Miss; an' de parties'
long, quily yaller ha’r, an' he face des ez
purtv ez cr gal's, an' ez innercent. I
'members dat w’en oie Miss 'ud cut lie
ha'r she'd gedder up all do locks an'
mek er pincushion outen 'um, do so sa.vf;
; n' she warn't ter keep 'um. Mars?
Bruce wuz sho' good. ton. Ole Fnc’ Aaron
nuver wunst had ter teach 'ini w'iise he
growin' up, do' ole Miss sot 'im erfire
'casioi. ly.
“Well, vo' know Miss Ruth, dat 'uz
ole marstor’s sister, m ili’iecl Cun'l i'imr-r,
an' de libed ober dar whar yo’ gwine now.
Dat 'uz de way he corned inter de prop
erty, fer ole marster's paw, Doctah Clin
ton, use’ ter own bofe places; an’ had
so many niggers dat Miss Ruth 'ud bo
ridin' ’roun’ way down de fur en’ er de
valley sometimes, lilie cr six mile f'um
home, an' she sec li’le nigger she ain'
nuver sot eyes on b'fo 'an' ax 'um who dey
’longst ter, an' de say, 'tor Marse Doc'
Clinton!’ An’ den dem young gemmans
f'um Hume an' erbout whut Tidin' wid
"er. cie cote ’er de harder, a’n mek lub
mos' same ez er yallerhammer w'en he
git ter cluckin' an' er bowin' an’ er
kippeoin' 'roun' ile lady yallerhammer on
or ole dead tree. Hut him (by 'long come
dat Cun’l Ulmer whut wuz er Spaniard
er sunip’n nudder, an' warn’ no good
noways; an' he got seeli er glib tongue
ail 1 play dc g'itar so sawf an' so fine
lookin' wid he long black ha'r an’ eyes
des black ez tar w'en hit bile, dat he fool
po' Miss Hath inter mah'in' 'im.
"W’en Miss Blanche wuz horned 'long
in fodder pullin’ lime attcr Marse Bruce
'uz horned in Jiniwery, de wuz 'trothed,
er sump'n nudder; anyways, hit '(: putty
ginerly 'greed dat dc wuz ter be mah'ied
w’en de growed up. De ole f k<s wuck-
ed dat part uv it w'iise de ch'Tiuns wuz
er kickin' an' er crowin', but soon ez
de got big ernuft de wucked it fer desefs.
I'se allers tuck noticement, liowsumcbcr,
dat w'en de ole fokes tries tor mek er
match an' gits ebe.rt'ing done but de lub-
mekin’ (an' sometimes de ole .lady mos’
do dat, tco). dat de young foke3 mos'
in ginerly gits de haid sot 'tothor way.
Yo’ ken dribe er hoss up ter de troff, but
yo’ cyan’ mek 'im drink less'n lie wanter.
’Twon' do fer de ole uns ter put in de
bill w'en de young 'uns is er matin’,
neder fur nur ergin Hit. 1 knowed er
collig ’fesser in Rome whut wuz 'gaged
ter er gal, an’ her mammy lak ter broke
up de whole t’ing 'kase. she wanted eben
to go wid her gal on de wed'din’ tower!
But ter go hack ter de tale: Some way
ernudder dem two chillun des nacherly
tuck ter one nudder.
“Miss Blanche hed ha'r an’ eyes bofe
des black ez. dat scounulish ole crow ober
dar on de fence, an’ dat ha’r des lay
eber w'icherway. Hit use’ter fall itll
down ober her face so's ye couldn't see
iniftin' but dem fi'rv eyes shinin’ th’oo
it. She had er pow'ful temper, an’ 1
members one time she got mad wid Marse
Bruce w'e nde rite good size, 'kase he
made her jump one er his mens on de
checked-boa'd an’ den be jumped four
T f K wooden cross on the
little chapel of)St Lukes
stood out distinct in its
white purity in the morn
ing sunlight amid the pur
ple mists of the surround
ing mountains. AVhether it
was the inspiration of
this landmark, which
could lie seen for rni'cs
both the lertgtli and
breadth of the “Cove,” or
that lack of social inter
course which makes men
shy and strangers to their kind, but the
love of association, which is comforting
in a sense, even if its mute ignorance
never finds expression. Such were the
probable reasons for the gathering of the
non lescript congregation on that beauti
ful Sabbath', morning that appealed ‘o
(him more than the good clergyman’s
' 1 ds. It was for a glimpse of his own
.reflection in Ruth Rankin's blue ■ yes
that was perhaps Zeb Wilson's reason
for walking 10 miles to church on the
m< ruing mentioned. He heard not a syl
labic of the sermon, for his mind was as
sterile as the rugged acres he tried to
cultivate. But the trip was not in vain,
for he saw Ruth, radiant in a white dress,
with blue ribbons, ill-fitting, blit becom
ing to her fresh, innocent face. And
what was more, he walked home with her
fer dinner saying not a word, but fre
quently clearing up his throat in vain at
tempts.
Mis long, awkward arms hanging limp
at his sides, the blood rushing into his
big misshapened hands, as he assisted
her over the spring branches that were
c( ntinually crossing the road. Having
reached the house he gained more confi
dence and after dinner suggested hunt
ing four-leafed clovers in the orchard, to
which Ruth readily assented. Thus the
afternoon waned into evening, when they
sin lied silently and musingly down to the
spring-house under the lull, each com
muning with the other only by thought.
Thus they sat, each waiting for the other
to speak, until the day was spent, when
Zel. “reckoned it was time to go," and'
win n almost out of hearing distance,
said, "Good-by,” which fell like some
thing akin to disappointment on Ruth’s
heart. But gaining more confidence the
farther he left her behind His pent-up
emotions found expression in the whis
tling of a familiar religious tune, as he
v-'( r.ded his way homeward over t!ia
mountains, in the siivev mi.-t of a harvest
moon.
The trees that covered the mountain
sides were still gray and gaunt from tile
blasts of winft r. but the silver birches
that followed the creek’s winding course
were tipped with tender green. From
the door of the cabin Ruth could see
through an opening in the glade, outlined
against the blue sky, Mount Pisgtii
flunked with snow, and crouching at its
base that peculiar formation called the
"Rat.” Hominy crock, skirting the moun
tains, lay like a silvery thread, reflect
ing the tun's rays, hiding itself in thick
ets of laurel and widening its banks in
peaceful stretches of meadow, thm final
ly losing Its identity in the noise of the
m.osr-grown wh el, of the old water mill
tntit grinds tne cun fur tile m. junta');
Ruth had been married to Zeb Wilson
six months, during which time she had
experienced no p< .fceptihle change in
the routine of her existence. The same
surroundings, the same mode of life v, ere
hors. The only transition was in Zeb
himself, who was as silent as the moun
tains and as gloomy as the pines. What
siio had mistaken for shyness in His court
ship had been in truth strange, silent
nature. When she vouchsafed to talk to
him, he echoed assent in monosyllables.
Sometimes she felt a sense of oppres
sion and loneliness, which she attributed
to homesickness, but the charm of her
environment had a soothing eft ct upon
her susceptible rattire, and she was so in
her happy, lighthearted self igain. Toe
leng, cold winter months that had just
passed had not been sufficient in their
tedious hours to create a sympathy be
tween them, that amounted to compan
ionship. Zeb sat bj the smoldering fire
all day in a drowsy, apathetic mood,
weaving hickory chairs r.nd baskets for
which he found a slew sale; managing to
pick up a precarious livelihood by hauling
wood to the near by town, over the rough
mountain reads, supplemi sited by tile
cultivation of his meager patch on the
st<tp hillside in summer. Ruth managed
to clothe herself by the aid cf nature in
a cotton check dress and coarse shoes,
as she bad always done. Tn the early
spring she dug under the snow and moist
blown leaves In search of the pink ar
butus, which she sold to the visitors of
the little health resort among the moun
tains. And latei when the fierce white
beat of the July sun ripened the wild
strawberries along the highways and in
the stunted pinefields, left to lapse into
nature, her plump brown fingers were
dyed with their luscious juice, and so on
til! the chill frost cob red her cheeks like
autumn leaves and opened the prickly
chestnut burrs, pattering down their nuts
which she gathered for market.
1 lie spring flowers blossomed and faded
into summer and “the season" was the
gayest the little summer resort had
known for many years. Ruth had found
a read" sale for her berries. Zeb always
accompanying nti on these trips with ins
vr' • s p’d may lie a i'ew roots . ■ ' . in nit
One day being unusually luck;, in :h
quick disposition of their products, ex
cept a brilliant bunch of rhododendron,
they went to one of the fashionable hotels
of the village, hoping to get a pretty pen
ny for it, because of its peculiarity to
"llic land of the sky.”
The guests were assembled in the sun-
I arlor of the hotel listening to a svm-
1 bony by the Boston Italian band, an or
chestra hired conjointly l.y the hotels .<f
the place, for the entertainment of their
guests. As Ruth ha ruled the flowt rs t o a
fair purchaser, the orchestra burst into
a passionate include, they fairly stormed
h< r senses, followed by Mascagni's fa
mous opera, "Cavallitjra Rusticana." AH
i lie romance of her impulsive nature
found expression in those chords of
sympathy, which were as an intejpie-
tatian of her own soul. She tried to sh ;ke
off the spell, but it consumed her chang
ing her into a different being. She was a
part of the music herself
human part. The guests
astonishment, and were
amused by the ignorant
juvxu'
H
‘ •it they p<irdo
afiordod them
music failed t<> do, bein
in their superficial live
ennui.
man o
The lead*
u her curiosity, sine*.? it
amusement, which the
i vain repetition
that occasioned
the orchestra, i\
the lowest Italian type, and fat-
bidding mien, saw the
and saw too that sh
the opportunity it
scrupulous designs.
tfect of the music,
was beautiful and
afforded his .in-
Thc music had
'He unfolded the hit of paper in the light of fading moon and spelled out the miser
ably Written lines."
Ruth was awakened to reality b\ a
savage pull on her arm; it was Zeb.
whom she followed meekly out. Thcy
waiked home. In silence. It s emed to
her that since the music ceased the
world was dead; that it was the soul
that pulsated tile universe. The maes
tro was the creator. She was going back
to that awful silence, the lonely cabin
walled in by the mountains, which was
to be her tomb. Her soul had fled, and
was leaving her body alone in this
sepulcher. The weeks that followed were
as eternity, waiting for a unity of the
body with the soul. Zeb realized that a
change had come over her and he intui
tively guessed the reason, for he had
■seen the twinkle in the Italian’s eye
when he had noted the effect of his art,
and Zeb's savage nature quickened into
jealousy.
Ruth was an anomaly of beauty among
the mountain girls, her h air was the
geld of the. beach leaves filtering the
autumn sun before they changed to
russet. Her eyes wore the soft blue
haze of her native mountains. Whether
these were the. principal charms for Zeb
or not no one ever knew, but he loved
her passionately, cruelly, which his pe
culiar nature failed to express.
It was night. The moon hung like a
golden censor in the sky. Leaden and
Silver clouds blotched the face of the
heavens; no stars were visible. The
damp night dew sweetened the breatli
of nature with the odor of the. pines
and startled that midnight reveler, the
whippoorwill, into his mournful elegy of
song.
Zeb AViJeon started from his night
mare with a shriek and sat upright in
Continued on last page
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