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VOLUME XL
Atlanta., Ga. t Week Ending April 19, 1902
NUMBER SEVEN
Ufye “Blue” Nigger By Opie Head
Written for JSha Sunny South
BRING manv yrars the "col-
D
ored” neighborhood of
Scrub Oak had been under
the domination of one re
ligious sect. Other denomi
nations had tried to get a
foothold upon the sandstone
foundation of this moral
community, but humiliating
defeat had always been the
result. In general the "col
ored" brother is inclined to
experiment with the Spirit.
Like an adventurous ram
he is wont to jump from pasture to pas
ture to feed where the grass looks green
est. But this is due more to emotion than
to changeableness of moral purpose. He
has a soul to save and he wants it well
saved. He is not so much influenced by
the hope of a short cut to redemption as
he is by a desire to establish a complete
victory over sin. He is not satisfied with
his cup of happiness well tilled; it must
run over with excess of joy. And so he
looks for a large cup. But in the Scrub
Oak neighborhotrd he had long since
ceased to explore the cupboard of spiritual
speculation. He accepted the vessel hand
ed to him by the Itev. Sampson Mathews, a
tuneful singer to virtue and a mighty bel-
lowcr at sin. Sampson had been a cook
on a Mississippi river steamboat. The
boat blew up. Sampson was tossed high
into the mists of a lowering day and then
plunged Into the river. He reached
the shore uninjured. He accepted his
ducking as a hint to preach the gospel.
He organized a church and soon became
popular. But he did not adopt that form
of religion which baptizes by Immersion.
“It wa’n’t de souse dat fotdh me ter my
religious senses," he said. "It wuz de wa
ter dat sprinkled down on me from de
splash.”
The keen point of fencing logic could
not puncture this conviction. He was un
conscious till the water sprinkled down in
his face. His mind had returned to him,
dripping as if out of the sky. And in each
drop of water there was a command to
preach, to cool with trickling water the
hot head cf erring man. His word be
came law. He was an absolute monarch.
The first chicken of the early spring was
sent to his table. It was said that the
arrogant cocks lowered their defiant
combs when he passed along the mad, and
upon seeing-him a savage dog had tucked
his tail and run under the house. It seem
ed idle to question the supremacy of such
a man. But one day there came to the
neighborhood a blue-looking negro with a
ducking head. He stopped at a house and
said that he had come to establish a
church. He was told to go on with his
blasphemy or the dogs would be set upon
him. He smiled.
"Dls is er free country,” he said. "De
time is dun past when er preacher kain’t
go whar he pleases. Frum er far I has
been viewin' de need o’ de reformation
in dis place, an* I has fetch it. You folks ■
has been sprinkled long ernufT. It is now
time you wuz baptized. You may all look
skeered, but I'se gwine to preach. Oh,
I knows dat er good many men has been
run or way frum yere; 1 knows dat you
folks blows yo* cold breaf on every new
shoot dat oomes up, but I has come ter
plant new seeds frum de old tree an' I
gwine stay yere an' water ’em."
He took from his pocket the' pod of a
honey locust tree and began to eat it.
"Dis yere is de food dat de Baptist fed
bn. De uder men dat come in yere ter
preach wuz friz out caze da didn't hab
dis yere warm food o' de Riber o’ Jordan.
Lady," he went on, addressing the house
wife who looked aghast upon him, "I
dn-an come w ld no evil in my mouf ergin
de preacher man dat holds de fort on de
fill up yonder. 1 says let him preach.
But de gospel Is humble an' he dun got
proud. De gospel wuz po' and he got
money. De gospel walked wld sore feet,
but dis man rides er fine hoss.”
"Go on wid you, go on,” the woman
cried. "You’ll sholy be struck wld light-
nin' ef you talks dis way. Whut Brudder
Sampson got de Lawd has gib him.”
The new preacher grunted contemptu
ously. "And you mout say dat whut de
high preast an' de Falrsee got de Lawd
gib dem. An' you mout say dat de Lawd
gib ter de Publican; but when he hit his
breast he didn't find no saved soul in it.’’
"Dis man is er talkin' sense," the wom
an's husband declared. "AA'e has been er
gettin’ po'er an' po'er ever 1 year, an’
Bruddor Sampson he been er gittin’ richer
an’ richer. Wharfo dat. Nancy?"
"Doan oome tryln' ter p'int no p'ints
wid me,” the woman replied. "Brudder
Sanr.ps-n feeds de flock, an' dat's all I
needs ter know. An' I ain't yered no
'plaint erbout folks not gittin ernufT. So
Mr. Preacher, go on erway. I'se leered
ter talk ter you lessen I be hit wid llght-
nin."
The preacher took his leave, but he did
not quit the neighborhood. He had come
to wrestle, and one fall could not frighten
him. On the following day the people
were astonished to find the following an
nouncement stuck upon the trees; "Rand-
some Bowles will preach at de Gum Ford
next Sunday. Be free ter act. Come one;
come all." And soon the spirited horse
ridden by Sampson was seen galloping
along the road. The indignant minister
drew rein at a house and called a womin
whom he saw In the dooryard.
"Come yere. Sister Nancy.” The woman
came out to the fence. She hung her
head. "Look up at me." said the preach
er. She raised her timid eyes. “Now
whut you know 'bout dat blue upstart dot
come yere er foolin' wid de 'stablished
gospel? Hah. whut erbout him?”
"Law me, Brudder Sampson, doan fur
de sake o' de church come er p'intin' de
finger o' 'splcion at po’ me. De man
stopped yere at de house, but I driv him
erway ez soon ez I could."
"Why didn't Dan. your husband, kick
him out inter de road?”
She began to shift. "Why, Dan, he ain't
been right well lately. He ain't eat much
fur er week. Ef he had been er eatin’
much I think he would er kicked him. I
Drawn by Henderso
“Itvants to knot» if voa g*witte shoot de blue nigger? '
“I sho is if he take my <tuife down into de water. ”
hopes you ain’t gwine blame us, Brudder
Sampson."
“Well,” said the preadher, as he gath
ered rein to ride away, "I will forgib you
dis time, but I want you ter un'erstan'
dat I wont put up wid no foolishness. An’
I doan want you ter go down yander ter
yere him preach, nuther.”
When the time arrived there were but
two persons to hear the new preacher, a
man and a boy. They sat on a log and he
preached as if a great congregation had
assembled. He made a deep impression.
The man and t/he boy went forth with
stories of his eloquence. They said that
he had the tongue of the old prophet. On
the Sunday following there was a congre
gation of six, five men and a woman.
The woman cried out that a new blaze of
love had leaped up in her heart, and she
shouted for joy. It was said that her hus
band beat her when she went home. The
news flew about that Margaret Patterson
(had professed the new religion, and that
Old John, her husband, had threatened to
shoot the new preacher. Handsome Bowles
changed his plans. He preached at night,
and many a member of Sampson's
Church, itching with curiosity, hung about
in the dark to listen. Sampson snorted,
but the congregation of his rival continued
to grow-. But no one had been brave
enough to joint his church. After all it
was but curiosity, and curiosity could
not maintain a church. One morning
however, a startling announcement was
stuck upon the trees. Margaret Patterson
was to be baptized into the new church on
a day two weeks off. But the great sen
sation came when Old John Patterson had
the following notices stuck up: "I yereby
gib warnin' dat I will shoot dat blue nig
ger" on de bank o' de creek de mlnlt he
come outen de water wld my wife.” And
now the country was wild with excite
ment. A brother called on Sampson.
"Did you see dem notices on de trees?"
the visitor asked.
The preacher nodded. "Yas. I seed em,
an' da mean whut da say.”
"Oh, I know dat, but what I want ter
know is dis yere: Is you gwine to stop it
ur let de blue man go ter deaf an' 'struc-
tion? You know whut de Lawd says.”
“Yas, I know whut de Lawd says, an'
it ain't fur you ter come er 'mindin' me
o' dat fa/,k. De Lawd says, ez I un'er
stan' it, 'shed you' blood fur de faif.' An'
ef de blue nigger is so foolish ez ter want
ter shed his blood fur his faif, all right.
Ef he's so prone—jes' lissun at dat word
ez you go erlong—I say ef he's so prone
ter de faif dat calls fur much water, let
him take de consequences. Ef he want
ter gib his blood fur water, it ain't no
fault o' mine.”
"But. Brudder Sampson, it look mighty
bad ter hab er preacher man shot down
in our ’munlty.”
“Do it?” said Sampson, winking his
eyes. “Ef you'se got de heart o' er sheep
wharfo you try ter stan' up ez ere soldier
o" de cross? I'se erbout ter feel ershamed
o' you.”
The visitor went straightway to old John
Patterson's house. The »id fellow was
hoeing in his garden. His wife was in the
house humming a consoling tune.
"Mr. Patterson,” said the caller. "I'se
come—”
"So I see,” Patterson broke in.
“I'se come, sail. on en 'pointant p'int.”
"Is you?" said Patterson, leaning on the
handle of his hoe.
"Yas, I is. I want ter know ef you
gwine slhoot de blue nigger.”
"I sho is ef he takes my wife down in
ter de water an' fetches her up outen de
water. I doan tPlebe in dat Sorter 'ltgion,
an’ I ain't gwine let no creek run be
tween my wife an' dis yere bosom. I lubs
de lady. sah. I ain't had but two wives.
an’ now ez I’se gUtin’ sorter old I put*
er high price on de present one. Yes. sah,
an' I shoots de man dat makes de creek
run between us. I'll walk up close ter
him an’ let him hab it wid er double bar
rel gun, an' you folks dat has seed me
shoot birds er flyin’ knows well ernuff
dat I ain’t gwine miss. But how come
it so much ter you?”
"Wal, ter tell you de truth, I’se sorter
tuck wid de man's preachin’. I never
heard er pussun talk like him befo’. O’
cose da’ll run him out atter while like
da did de rest, but all de same de man
talks wid a mouty sweet mouf, and da
tells me dat he eats locust an’ wild
honey.”
Patterson shrugged and sniffed with
contempt. “I doan kere ef he eats er
banjo an' drinks de tea made outen er
fiddle, he ain’t got er mouf sweet ernuff
ter charm me. An’ I dun gib er fa’r
warnin'. Ef he baptize my lady, I shoots
him on de bank o’ de creek dat he tries
to make run ’tween us. Doan you b’lebe
me?'
"I neber knowed you ter lie.”
"An' you neber will. Tell all de folks.
I has not made any secret erbout it. I
acts open ez de day.”
The man sought the new preacher. He
found him walking along the bank3 of
the creek. The preacher looked up with
a smile. "I’m jest erbout ter eat some
wild locust," said he. “Won’t you come
an' jlne me?”
“No,” the man answered, trembling.
“I'se erfeered ter eat dat food o’ de gos
pel—feered de lightnin’ mout hit me. Brud
der, I has come ter talk ter you. I yered
you preach, an' I doan want ter see no
harm fall on you. Er lady named Mar
garet Patterson has j'lned yo' young
church—de only member you'se got dis
fur, I un'erstan'—an' de 'nouncement hab
been made dat you is gwine baptize her in
de creek at er time cornin' toward us.
Now I knows de husban’ o' dat lady. I
knows he'll do whut he say, an’ he 'lows
dat ef you do he'll shoot you an' he kin
hit er bird er flyin'. I knows you been
brave erbout it—I seed yo' notices on de
trees, but bein’ brave doan keep er pus-
son frum gittin' killed. Huh, it often
leads him ter his death. Now de bap
tizin’ o' dat lady ain't gwine do you so
powerful much good.”
The blue "nigger” smiled. "What is
your name, brother?”
"Doan you ricolleck me? My name's
Dan, an’ I is de husban' o' de lady war
you stopped when you fust come yere.”
"Oh, yas, an' yo' wife is named Nancy.
How is Sister Nan?”
"Doan call her yo’ sister, sah, fur she
ain't. She ain't o’ yo' faif. But I ain't
yere ter talk erbout her, but ter beg you
not ter baptize de lady Margaret.”
"Brudder Dan, I must do my duty.”
"But it ain’t yo’ duty ter git killed.”
"Ef death is my auty I must take it,"
"But how you know dat death is yo’
duty?”
"I know it's my duty ter baptize ifi
lady. De book tells me dat.”
"Yas, sah, but wait erwhlle. Doan be
brash wid de lady.”
"Brudder, de man wid weak knees ain't
got no call ter carry de banner. I'se sent
ter fight de battle erlong dis creek, an’ I
must take whuteber comes. I wishes you
good-day. I must 'mune wid de sperit.”
The day came. The air was full of a
hushed noise. Toward the creek flocked
the people of Sampson's church. Noth
ing could now keep them back. The of
ficers of the law, constables who took
communion at Sampson's table, declared
that they would not Interfere wit* the
proceedings of a baptizing. There was no
help for the blue "nigger.” The roosters
crew at midnight to announce Che com
ing of his bloody death. Red-gowned Fate
had written in his dreadful book.
Along the road Che lady Margaret walk
ed aJone. She looked happy. Not far be
hind came old John. He smiled, and what
a smile. It looked like a sulphurous crack
in a lump of hot coal. The blue “nigger”
was singing when the lady Margaret ar
rived. He smiled, took her by the hand
and led her to a seat upon a log. Old John
came up and sat down near by, with
his gun across nis knees. I'he preacher
took a gentle text and preached of love.
He closed with a persuasive call for con
verts, but no one came forward. All eyts
were fixed on old John, sitting there with
his gun. The preacher sang a hymn.
None save the lady Margaret had the
courage to join' him. Far to the edge of
the crowd was seen the envious face of
Sampson. He had come to see the blood
of the usurper.
"Brudders an’ sisters,” said the blue
"nigger,” "it is now my duty an’ my
high pleasure ter baptize er lady dat is
dear ter you all. I has been warned not
ter do dis, an’ I wants ter rettSm iny
thanks fur de warnin'. I can truthfully
say dat no 'vantage has been tuck o' me.
an' I yereby declar' dat no matter whut
happens nobody but me js ter blame.
Death must come down de road an' meet
us all sooner ur later. 'Ever' pusson on
de road is er walkin’ toward death, an’
nobody is er walkin' de uder was'- So
whut Is de use in tryin' ter dodge? Lady
Margaret Is you ready ter go down inter
de water?”
She looked back at her husband. It was
evident that she was about to falter.
"Doan hesitate, sister,” said the
preacher.
“I am ready,” she spoke up. coming
forward. The preacher took her by the
hand and led her down into the water,
singing. He baptized her and both came
singing out of the water. Old John sprang
forward. A- cry arose. The preacher did
not halt nor did his tune falter on his
lips. John raised his gun and fired both
barrels full at the preacher's breast. The
blue "nigger” did not wince. He said:
"De Lawd saves His sarvents in His own
way.” The people dropped upon their
knees.
"A miracle, a miracle!” they cried. Old
John staggered off into the woods. They
heard him groan in his misery. The
preacher called for converts and all the
men afid women touched the ground with
their knees. Loud shouts arose. The mul
titude was won over to the new preacher.
This occurred about a year ago. And
now the blue “nigger” has the church that
cnce belonged to Sampson. One night a
white man called on the blue “nigger.”
"Randsome. you have won your bet.” he
said. "Tell me how you did It.”
“Yas. sah. 1 has won my bet. an' I has
done good at de same time. My doctrine
is ter let everybody come in yere an'
preach. I has made de gospel free 'round'
yere.”
“But tell me how you did it. I won't
say a word.”
The blue “nigger” smiled. “Wal. sah.
I gib dat nigger John an' his wife twenty
dollars ter ack wid me. Dar wa’n't nuth-
in' but powder in his gun, you know.
Huh, ef I had thought he drapped er shot
in dar er deer couldn't er cotch ,me. Yas
sah. Old John an' his wife Is powerful
good actors. Da oughter go wid er show.”
(Copyright, 1902.)
• I
How Ghosts Saved the Treasure;
A CIVIL WAR
LEGEND £>
By Maldie Landrum
Written for Cha Sonny South
HE legend ran that during
the war—there is .only one
war to the southerner—th9
aged master of the Warock
plantation had crossed over
the bayou in his bateau to
the little l3le of the Ghosts
to bury His gold. This little
Island was clothed in cy
press trees, veiled in Span
ish . moss, a gloomy spot
where-the negroes said the
ha’nts/ lived. Banks were
failing' everywhere, so
the aged master thought (this the safer
place for his,treasure. He was followed .
by his overseer and murdered for . the
sake of the shirring, dollars. .He in turn
was overpowered and hung by two de
serters hiding^on th,e island. They then '
buried the oilman with the gold at his
feet, judging .fiat no man in that super
stitious . land would dare • to disturb the
rest c-f the murdered man, not even'- t'o
gain the wealth of the Indies. , •
Furthermore to secure the treasure' they
left the body of the JHcera-er hanging to
the tree, where it stayed till the skeleton
lell to pieces and the bones mouldered in
to dust. Then the deserters took the ba
teau and paddled away, intending to re
turn afterwards for the gold. AH this
was seen by a frightened negro hidden in
the bushes on the plantation side of the
bayou. Almost scared to death the negro
fled and told his story at the big house,
and the quarters. There was no one left
at the big house but the wife of the
murdered man, and two little grandchil
dren, babies 6 months old. The shock of
the terrible news, indlscretely told, killed
tile unhappy wife. The men for miles
around were In' the army and no negro
could be prevailed on to go near the
place, now doubly haunted in their esti
mation. So the body of the master still
rested on the island and from that time
forth no man touched the sole of his foot
on the accursed spot.
The father of the little orphans oamo
back from the war aged, wounded, broken
in mind and body ar.d ruined in fortune.
A family of faithful negroes stayed on the
place.' The “mammy” took care of the
house and children, the othtrs tilled the
fields, but that part of the plantation
near the Island was never plowed and
grew tip In sumach and pines.
Times were hard lr. the house on the
hill. Poverty hovered near continually
and moaned and frowned and ever and
anon pinched the inmatcs. Laddie and
lassie grew up tali and strong, bold and’
vt ntursome, with implicit faith in the
ta es “mammy" told them of “sperits and
ha'nts." They, had often heard the tragic
story of their grandfather and fir/nly be-,
lleved that his spirit would never rest
until his bones were laid in the grave
yard. They had .learned to love his mem- '
ory, too, for all "mammy’s” tales were
not ghostly ar/i their father had adored
’ lils parents. -
Times were not any easier as the twins
grew older. Their father openly mourned
that they could have no better education.
They had had - no teacher but hlms'elf.
“Mammy" lamented ■ that her “chfl’en”
cculd not dress as their parents had done.,
‘ “De berry best wuzn*t none too good for
;them and ylt dey had de wusf ahy AVaroc
eber had had.”
So matters stood when the children
reached their fifteenth birthday. For
weeks before they had planned. how to
celebrate this eventful day. Never had
they seen the Isle of Ghosts or been In
the fields opposite. But for some time
Laddie had been filled with a project of
visiting the island on their birthday, see
ing the ha'nts, if ' ha'nts there
were, finding the hidden treasure, and
bringing home their grandfather’s bones
for burial in the family graveyard Just
beyond the spring. For Laddie to pro
pose was for Lassie to consent, so their
preparations had been carried on in se
cret for some days previously.
A bateau was stationed some distance
up the bayou to deceive the negroes.
Near by were hidden an ax, spade, and
grubbing hoe. Lassie asked "Mammy”
for their dinner, as they wanted to spend
the day In the woods. v
AVhen the day came the children were
up early, Impatient to be off. The sun
had scarcely risen when they took their
way across the fields, jubilant and happy.
As they paddled down the bayou evi
dences of the vicinity of the Island soon
became visible. A thick underbrush of
pine lined either side of the bayou, the
sings of the negroes died away, a solemn
stillness reigned unbroken save by the
dip of their paddles, the splash of the
water, and the hoars? croaking of the
frogs. Cypress trees rose all about them,
the funeral cypress trees robed in long
gray moss cast dark shadows upon the
water. It seemed nearer twilight than
rooming.
he twins paddled along In silence for
im. ..lace was too weird, the stillness too
uncanny, not to have an effect upon them,
superstitious, as they were by nature and
training. As the Island came In sight
by one Impulse they stopped, looked at It
ar.d one another. A gloomy forest, almost
Impenetrable to the sun’s rays, covered
it. The long moss reached almost to the
ground. A luxurious undergrowth rose
to meet it. A more desolate spot could
r.ot well be Imagined. They moved closer
together.
“Laddie,” said Lassie, “will the over
seer's ghost hurt us?”
“Grandfather won’t let him,” he re
plied.
Then they dipped their paddles Into the
water again and moved on. Had either
been alone they might have turned back,
but together—never.
Laddie tied the bateau securely, then
they started on their search. He carried
the ipade and grubbing hoe; che the ax
and lunch basket.
The children had reached the spot which.
Scrambling through the thick underbrush
and matted vines was tiresome, the briers
scratched them, and above all they were
oppressed by the thought of something
supernatural. They kept close together
and were silent. To scoff at the idea of
the ghost of the overseer murdering them
in the 3unny garden with the air full of
familiar barn yard sounds and the songs
of the .negroes at work was very different
f:om the thought of meeting him face to
face in his own territory far from human
habitation and where no earthly foot had
pressed for years.
Meanwhile on the opposite end of the
Continued on last page
A serial by Joel Chandler Harris
(Uncle Remus), will begin in the Me
morial Day issue. It is one of the
strongest of that best-known Southern
writer’s works. The scene is laid in
Georgia and it is picturesque, yet vivid
ly interesting and stirring.
How the Confederate Veterans of va
rious Southern States are cared for.
Photographs of the homes, where there
are homes, and a short summary of
the pension systems.
Cavaliers of the Confederacy furnish
a splendid theme for the pen of that
well-known writer of Southern Rem
iniscence, Wallace P. Reed.
An editorial of Memorial Day and
its meaning will be specially con
tributed by R. W. McAdam, who is
today the most forceful writer in
active southern journalism.
Fiction flavored with a war-time
romance will be another strong feature.
Such promising writers as Mrs. Minnie
S. Baker, of South Carolina; Mrs.
Sarah T. Goodwin, of Alabama; R. W.
McAdam, Henry M. Wiltse and others
will contribute stories.
&f>e Sunny South is sure to
have an Extra*splendid Is*
sue on Memorial Day £?
“The Victory Lost and The Victory
Won," by Frank L. Stanton, a poem
which ideally blends the sacred memo
rial sentiment with that of today.
Various phases of the conditions
brought on by the wdr will receive
full attention, and among those who
will present contributions is Dr. R. J.
Massey.
The Dallas Reunion will not be
neglected, and an interesting story of
the gathering there will be among the
features illustrated. 7
Did you ever read about the college
of Charleston? It is an institute rich
in tradition, and with a history that is
thrilling and unique. Every south
erner should read the illustrated story
in the Memorial Day Edition.
Every effort is being made to get
ready the announcement of the de
tails of the new short story contest
that will soon be under w r ay.
To go into further detail of good
features would be impossible. Mrs.
Bryan’s page, Mr. Knight’s page,
Mr. Carpenter’s letters, Mr. Haskin’s
letters, and the editorial page will be
up to the standard.
*
*
R.ead the Memorial Day Edition.
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