Hy-a-a-Ar! Dump! H'yer! H'yer!

THE train moved off and left me standing on the platform, gazing upon a scene familiar to those who have traveled, in the winter, on one-horse railroads in remote parts of the South.

An unkempt building, with waiting-room, ticket and express office, freight ware-room, and a country store for general merchandise, all under one roof; some loungers, white and black; a few rough-looking saddle horses, with one or two buggies and mule-carts, all plastered with red clay; and a road winding through the mist into the distance, like the muddy bed of a stream where the water has gathered here and there in pools, — such was the prospect.

“Six dreary miles over a road like that,” I thought, “and I wonder how I am to get there ? ”

“Gwine to Millton, Boss? ”

I turned and saw at my side a stalwart negro, very black, with a capacious mouth, expanded into a broad smile that showed a double row of splendid white teeth, while a pair of large, kindly eyes met mine expectantly.

I felt, as I looked into them, as if the sun had come out from behind the clouds.

“Yes, ” I said, “I am going to Millton, and I think I’d like to go with you.”

“Hits de onlyest way dat you kin git dar dis atternoon, ” he of the sunlit smile answered, “but I ’se proud des de same to tek yer.”

I felt that we understood each other without a bargain.

“ Dat my buggy over dar, ” he continued, answering the question in my eye. “I ’ll fotch it up close to de flatform so yer kin git in right h’yer an’ keep yo’ foots clean.

“ Bleeged to use dis yer buggy today, ” he went on as he rejoined me, “ ’stid o’ two-horse stage, kaze de mud so deep. Ain’ many pass’ngers nohow dis time o’ yer. Tek us hour ’n’ half to drive de six mile.”

I glanced at the horse, and thought that he had underestimated the time required. In this conjecture I proved to be right; but when we started, the flow of talk about local interests was most entertaining, and I soon realized that there is more than one way in which the flight of time can be quickened.

My driver seemed to be on terms of intimate acquaintance with those whom we passed on the road, both white and black, and they all had a pleasant smile and word of greeting for “Bob.”

When we had driven about a mile, he broke off in the middle of a spirited account of a “coon hunt,” and indicating a lane and gate which we were approaching, said, “I spec I got an ole frien’ awaitin’ fur me dar.”

He had hardly spoken, when a little yellow cur came bounding down the lane, squeezed his small person under the gate, and stood expectant in the road.

When we reached him, Bob stopped the horse and sat for a moment regarding his friend with a look which he strove to make severe.

“Howdy, dog,” he said. “What fur you not keep yo’ ’ngagement wid me dis mornin’ an’ keep me waitin’ h’yer, so I mos’ miss de train ? Ain’t yer shame’ yo’se’f. You is, sah? You say dat you wuz off chasin’ rabbits? Well. Mebbe I gwine furgive yer dis one time. Dar! den. You done miss yo’ breakfas’; tek dis yer fur yo’ snack.”

So saying, he produced from his pocket a large bone wrapped in newspaper, and tossing it to the dog, bade the horse “Gee up.”

“Dogs is mighty comical critturs,” he remarked, after a pause. “ Hit ’pears lak de smaller de dog de bigger ’njoyment he git outen hisse’f. Dat dar mek me unnerstan’ de Bible tale ’bout de widder ’ooman an’ de little jug o’ ile, dat she cyahn use up spite o’ all creation.

“ Dey sutinly is comical critturs, dem ar little dogs is. I recterlec’ a little fyce dog wid long ha’r all over he eyes, what ole Miss own when I little nigger, an’ when she fuss git him I tetch him, while he a-eatin’, an’ he jump roun’ an’ ketch me by de laig an’ fotch blood.

“Ole Miss h’yar ’bout dat an’ she gun me a dime, an’ say she sorry dat her pet ’tack me dat-a-way. I look at de ha’r all over he eyes, which I ain’ use to dat breed o’ dogs, an’ I say, ‘Mistis, I doan min’ de woun’ he gun me, but will yer please to tell me ef dat dar little crittur bit me or stung me ? ’ ” A most infectious chuckle concluded this narration.

“ Dat dar little runty dog dat we des pass,” he went on, “I brings bones to, kaze he de livin’ image o’ Dump.”

I scented a story with which Bob associated some sentiment, but I stayed the inquiry that rose to my lips; for there are times when if one reaches out too impulsively after this or that, he will succeed only in pushing what he seeks entirely out of reach.

My silence was soon rewarded, for Bob continued after some moments of self-communing, “Dump wuz a little, bob-tailed cur dog, dat live on a place not ve’y fur fum h’yer, whar I tek care de horses an’ drive fur a gemmun two summers ago. He belong to a yaller boy, what wuz de son of de cook dar, an’ he love ev’ybody dat he ’cquainted wid in de worl’, Dump did, ’scusin’ dat dar cook, which she chase him ’way fum ’bout de kitchen, when he foragin’ fur scraps an’ bones, an’ larrup him wid her broom.

“I hearn tell dat dar had been two dogs, Humpty an’ Dumpty, which dey soon calls ’em ‘ Hump ’ an’ ‘ Dump ’ fur short, but ‘ Hump ’ was done daid when I hired out to work dar.

“Dump think dat de sun done rise an’ set in dat dar ten yer ole yaller boy, which dey had growed up tergedder, an’ he come to lak me nex’ bes’ atter dat same ornery, no ’count little nigger, kaze I gun him bones an’ mek a miration ’bout him.

“ Ef dat dar yaller boy say, ‘ I think I ’ll go down de big road a piece, ’ Dump ’ud up an’ bark an’ say, ‘ I des been a-studyin’ to myse’f ’bout dat same, —how nice dat ’ud be.’

“Ef yaller boy say, ' No, I done change my min’, I spec I ’ll stay whar I is, ’ Dump des wag he tail an’ ’low, ‘ Now I come to turn dat dar pint over in my min’ I b’lieve I des a-honin’ to squat right h’yer.’ An’ fuddermo’ I is seen dat dog Dump set by de hour on his behime laigs watchin’ dat yaller boy, an’ smile all de time lak he wuz lookin’ at scenery.

“I unnerstan’s what dogs sez when dey talks, kaze I know dat mos’ un ’em kin talk; an’ I b’lieve dat good dogs is gwine to heaven when dey die.

“When I speak kin’ to Dump, an’ tell him how much I lak him, he des twis’ hisse’f double into a bow, twel his head an’ his tail pintin’ mighty nigh de same way, an’ I say to myse’f, ‘ I wonder ef dat dog know whar he gwine, an’ which en’ gwine git dar fuss ? ’ An’ I say, ‘ I hope when de good Lawd made dat dar little dog dat He fix he tail on tight, kaze ef he tail on loose an’ he wag it so fas’ an’ so keerless, some day he gwine snatch it off.’

“In September dar come a gemmun to spen’ a mont’ or so at de house, an’ he brung wid him a fine pinter dog.

“When Dump see de gemmun git outen de kerridge at de gate, an’ dat yaller boy toten his bag, an’ de pinter dog walkin’ behime, he say, ' Hi! what dis yer gwine on ? Looks lak dem ar some quality folks fum de city. I mus’ go an’ pay ’em my ’spects an’ show my manners ; ’ so he bark wunst or twict to show dat he live dar an’ was at home, an’ den he saunter down de walk an’ smell ' Howdy ’ at de gemmun’s laigs, an’ den he go up to de pinter dog, an’ say, sezee: ' I dunno who yer is, nor yit whar yer come fum, but I sees dat yer is a quality dog, an’ I mek yer mighty welcome, an’ I hopes yer’s gwine to stay some time wid we alls. ’ Mr. Pinter Dog say, ' I thank yer kindly, an’ I powerful glad to mek yo’ ’cquaintance; ’ an’ den he up ’n’ ax Dump ef dar is many birds ’bout dis season an’ how de huntin’ gwine be.

“Dump ’low dat he know mo’ ’bout rabbits dan he do ’bout birds, but he say he done seen a few coveys when he out chasin’ rabbits.

“Den he tek de Pinter Dog an’ show him ’roun de flower gyardin an’ ’roun de veg’tubble gyardin, an’ den he show him de barn, an’ a hen’s nes’ dar, whar de Pinter Dog kin suck aigs ef he lak ’em dat-a-way. An’ he ’low to de Pinter Dog, Dump did, dat he doan tek aigs raw, hisse’f, kaze I done cured him o’ sucking aigs. Las’ly, he show de Pinter Dog de branch, whar he use, when he go chasin’ rabbits.

“Hit mek me mighty glad to see dat Dump done got a nice frien’ lak dat Pinter Dog to ’sociate wid, an’ to watch ’em frolickin’ roun’ lak two schoolchilluns in holiday times.

“Dat yaller boy tek a shine to de Pinter Dog fum de fuss, kaze he a mo’ stylish dog dan dat runty little Dump, an’ after a week or so, de notion dat he tuk done grow in he min’, an’ he notice dat Pinter Dog all de time, but be ain’ notice Dump no mo’.

“Dump cyahn unnerstan’ dat nohow, kaze he an’ de yaller boy has allus been de bes’ o’ comp’ny wid one anudder.

“When de yaller boy pet de Pinter Dog, which he show dat he doan specially lak him, Dump ’ud run up right away an’ put he paws on de yaller boy, an’ push he haid in he lap, ef de yaller boy settin’ down ; an’ he wag he stumpy tail so fas’ dat it look lak a rainbow; an’ he say in dog talk, as plain as he kin say it, ' While yer a-pettin’ dat Pinter Dog, Marseter, doan furgit yo’ little Dump.’ But de yaller boy push him away an’ speak onfrien’ly to him, when he ac’ lak dat, an’ one afternoon, when Dump kep’ on pesterin’ him fur to pet him, yaller boy done lose he patience an’ kick Dump an’ throw a stone at him.

“ When he done dat, Dump droop he yers, an’ droop all de tail dat he kin droop, an’ slink off an’ crawl under de porch; an’ dar he stay de ballunce o’ de afternoon, studyin’ ’bout de big trouble dat done come to him.

“I say to de yaller boy, ' What fur you treat dat little dog dat-a-way, which he is a better dog dan you is nigger? ’ an’ de yaller boy say, ' I doan lak Dump no mo’. He gittin’ ole an’ he ugly. I lak dat Pinter Dog.’

“I see dat it ain’ no use to argify de pint wid dat ornery yaller boy; so I gun him one good cuff on de yers, an’ I goes to whar Dump is under de porch, an’ I calls to him an’ tells him dat he a powerful nice little dog, an’ dat all his frien’s ain’ furgit him.

“ Dump, he whine an’ he whine, when I treat him dat-a-way; but he won’t come out fum under de porch.

“He stay dar all dat night, an’ while he dar he mek up he min’ what he gwine do. He say to hisse’f, ' I mus’ thash dat Pinter Dog, an’ drive him ’way fum h’yer. Den my Marseter gwine treat me ’gin lak he useter.’

“So nex’ mornin’ he come out an’ he go up to de Pinter Dog, an’ he growl spiteful an’ say, ' Pinter Dog, you mus’ leave dis place an’ go back whar you come fum, right away, or I gwine thash yer an’ mek yer go.’

“Pinter Dog say, ' Who you talkin’ to, dat-a-way, Dump? You ac’ lak you crazy dis mornin’. I ain’ never done you no harm. I bleeged to stay h’yer twel my Marseter go ’way, an’ den I gwine ’way wid him. Keep ’way fum me, Dump, kaze I doan want to hurt yer; yit I ain’ tekin’ nothin’ offen yer. ’

“Dump say, ' Git out, Pinter Dog, git out, ’fo’ I mek yer! You done stole my Marseter’s heart ’way fum me.’

“Pinter Dog ’low '’T ain’ so,Dump; I bleeged to ac’ perlite to yo’ Marseter when he whistle an’ call me, but I doan lak him. I think he de mos’ wuthless little nigger I ever run up wid.’

“Dis yer mek Dump mo’ madder when Pinter Dog speak dat-a-way ’bout he Marseter, an’ fuss thing I know he jump at de Pinter Dog thoat, an’ try to thash him sho ’nuff.

“I run to pull ’em ’part, but ’fo’ I kin git to ’em, Pinter Dog git Dump on he back on de groun’ an’ hilt him dar, an’ he growl an’ mek out he gwine eat up Dump; but I tek notice dat he ain’t a-bitin’ Dump none. He think he des gwine larn Dump a lesson, Pinter Dog did, kaze he was sutney a gemmun. So I sez, ‘ Pinter Dog is studyin’ not to hurt Dump, when Dump try to thash him ; I better let ’em settle dis matter ’twixt deyse’f; ’ an’ I go back whar I was wukin’, but I kep’ my eye on ’em.

“Atter while Pinter Dog let Dump up, but des as soon as Dump riz up on his foots, he jump at Pinter Dog thoat ag’in ; an’ Pinter Dog des grab him by de h’ar an’ hol’ him down some mo’, growlin’ out what a fool he think Dump mekin’ of hisse’f. Atter dis yer happen three fo’ times, an’ Pinter Dog was lettin’ Dump up wunst mo’, Dump cotch him by de laig an’ clench he jaws an’ hol’ on dar snarlin’.

“Dis yer mus’ ha’ hurtid Pinter Dog mighty bad, kaze ’fo’ I kin git to ’em, which I run as fas’ as I kin, Pinter Dog twis’ his laig loose, an’ jump on Dump an’ bit he laig, an’ bit he neck an’ mos’ bit one o’ his yers off.

“I ain’ furgive myse’f yit dat I ain’ sail in an’ kep’ ’em ’part ’fo’ dat; yit I was waitin’, kaze Pinter Dog so big an’ Dump so little, an’ Pinter Dog sich a gemmun, dat I think he ain’gwine bite Dump sho ’nuff on no prov’cation.

“When I pull him off, Pinter Dog look mighty ’shamed of hisse’f, an’ Dump, wid blood all over him, crawl off, while I a-holdin’ Pinter Dog, an’ crope under de porch.

“He stay dar mos’ a week, ’scusin’ three fo’ times dat he come out. I try to git him to come to me so I kin grease de places whar Pinter Dog bit him, but when I call him he growl, an’ show he toofs, an’ snarl an’ cuss me scan’lous, an’ crope under de porch ’gin.

“Ev’y day I sot he victuals an’ he water nigh de hole whar he crawl thoo under de porch, an’ he eat a little an’ drunk a little o’ what I gun him.

“But, ’clar to gracious, Boss! soon as Dump git little better, he come out while I ’way fum de house, an’ fin’ Pinter Dog, which I done tied him up, an’ try to thash him ’gin. An’ Pinter Dog gun him nuther lickin’. He ’tack Pinter Dog dat-a-way three times an’ git chawed up three times. Den he say to hisse’f, ' ’Tain’ no use. Pinter Dog too big an’ I too runty. I cyahn thash him nohow an’ drive him ’way fum h’yer. ’ So de las’ time dat he git chawed up, when he crope under de porch, he stay dar.

“I fotch him nice victuals, dat warm an’ smell good, an’ I fotch him ’water an’ milk, an’ I stick ’em thoo de hole, an’ I talk sof’, an’ say what a nice dog I think he be. But he des lie in dar an’ snarl, an’ growl at me, an’ cuss me ; an’ he say, ‘ Go ’way, you ole fool, go ’way! I hates you. I hates white folks an’ black folks an’ all de critturs. I hates all creation, ’scusin’ dat yaller boy dat was my Marseter. ’ An’ he doan tetch de victuals nor yit de water.

“Atter day or two I go one mornin’, whar he hidin’, wid a saw, so I kin saw out a plank by de hole an’ mek him come out; but when I git dar an’ call him he doan growl nor cuss me no mo’. So I saws out de plank, an’ gits a rake fum de gyardin an’ reach in dar an’ drag him out cole an’ stiff, an’ little mo’ dan skin an’ bones.

“I pick him up an’ tek him to my room an’ lay him out on a piece o’ cyarpet on my table.

“Den I go to de sto’ down de road an’ I buy him mighty han’some collar, which Dump never wo’ no collar when he livin’, but I mek up my min’ dat he bleeged to look ’spectuble when I lay him out. Den I wrop him in a clean towel, an’ I tek a soap-box an’ I lay him in dar, an’ I nail de lid down wid brass-haid nails fum de sto’.

“Fuddermo’ I het de kitchen poker an’ burn dis yer on de lid, kaze I kin print, Boss, dough I cyahn write: —

DUMP

BOUT 7 YER OL

Den I git a big, clean, white-pine plank, an’ may de Lawd furgive me, ef I done wrong, when I shape dat plank lak a sufferin’ cross, an’ I tek de poker an’ I burn dis prescription on dar: —

DISHYER IZ DUMPS GRAV

HE STARV HISEF WEN

HE HART WUZ BROAK

Den I bury him at de foot o’ de gyardin nigh de ole apple tree dar.

“Later on dat fall, I git a place somewhar else, but de nex’ spring I wuz a-passin’ nigh de house whar Dump buried in de gyardin, so I stop an’ hitch my horse, an’ go dar to tek a look at he grave.

“De folks dar had cut down de ole apple tree an’ ploughed up de place whar de grave had been.

“As I was walkin’ back thoo de kitchen yard, to git to my horse, dat dar ole cook, de mother o’ dat ornery yaller boy, seen me, an’ she stuck her haid outen de kitchen do’ an’ she say,

‘ Howdy, Mister! Dat dar white-pine gravestone, dat you sot up over Dump, done mek me mighty nice kin’lin’ wood. ’

“I doan turn my haid, nor give her no satisfaction ’t all, twel I gits mos’ to de gate.

“ Den I flings back over my shoulder dis yer: —

“ ‘When de jedgment day come, an’ dat dar runty little Dump ’njoyin’ hisse’f on de right han’ side wid de sheeps, he gwine look erosst dat gret gulf dat fix dar, an’ bark at a black ’ooman an’ a yaller boy, dat I knows de names un, dat on de lef’ han’ side follerin’ ’long o’ de goats, a-weepin’ an’ a-moanin’.’ ”

He finished, and we drove on for some time in silence.

Then he said, “Boss, I was raised not to chaw terbaccer when I drivin’ de quality, but ef you will ’scuse me dis wunst, I gwine tek a chaw, kaze it mek me feel better atter talkin’ ’bout dat po’ little dog dat was treat’ des lak I tells yer by dat scalliwag yaller boy an’ he mammy.”

Beirne Lay.