Author s Preface

Every man is entitled to his day in court and herein Eneas gets his, literally. And it is a church court, the kind that sometimes dispenses with both law and equity.

The old time Southerners will appreciate the glee and happiness with which “Old Marster” rushes to the assistance of Eneas, his vade me cum, and provides distinguished advisory counsel. And his intense satisfaction over the result.

Is the story true? Of course this question is to come promptly. It is inevitable. This time the Author is able to give a positive answer;—it is; just as true as the story of Eneas Af-ricanus. And of the latter there is no longer any doubt.

Eneas Africanus “Defendant”

By the Author of “Eneas Africanus”

June in the late “Seventies”, and an old Southern residence with portico and columns, drawn back into the shelter of friendly leaf-age, a glowing opal in the gown of night!

Through open door and window ways, blending with delicate incense of roses that clutter nook and corner and overflow carven mantels, creep in the languorous seductions of mangnolia blossoms !

A generous banquet board set in an ancient hall of twin marble fire fronts, graceful arches and deep niches with antique bronze;—old linen of snowy whiteness, shining silver and the rainbow splendors of flaming prism in treasured vase and bowl!

And now let thought and inconstant eye meet where, at the center, in majesty stands the great white owl! Observe the wisdom of the wide, deep orbs, art-given,—each orb a gem,—idol of the club, presiding genius of the hour! Note the dainty cravat of spotless lawn,—the tiny boutonierre held debonairly with sheltering wing against immaculate breast! Say you not his is a presence?

And the oval of faces smiling into each other I Ladies and gentlemen of the world at large, permit that I introduce to you The Owls of Cherokee!

It was the annual guest night. At the side of each clubman bloomed one of the lovely women, the fame of old Macon nestling among historic hills. ^All ages were gathered there, the old south and the new, but in the dancing eyes of beauty and the smiles of proud men were the pledges of immortal youth.

Questioned as to the chief end in the life struggle of any Owl, the answer was always one word, “Pleasure,” and the club motto, “dum vivimus vtvamus”, a happy blending of truth and wisdom.

Governors, judges, senators, generals,— men from all the upper walks of life, have supped with the Owls and departed with imperishable memories. On the occasion to which this record relates, the honor guest was a gentleman who carried his seventy years as lightly as he wore his smile, and whose laughing eyes looked down the long vista of the table searching with pleased success for the reincarnations of long gone friends in the faces that gave him back smile for smile. Ahl those faces I—curve of lip, gleam of blue eye and brown, sweep of mustache, arch of brow, —contour and profile, he saw them through little rainbows in a gathering mist.

Famed as a practitioner of splendid talents, a wider fame as reconteur and mimic carried his name far beyond the boundaries of the state. The moment for his opening words was awaited with impatient interest.

The evening had worn along enlivened with many a quip and jest and bit of verse carrying satire or compliment when the toastmaster’s signal sounded above the hum of many voices, —a knife tap on the table. Then into the quick silence his voice:

“My friends, prepare for the mystic moment of the Owl!”

Silently every glass was filled, and every eye turned to the great clock under its especial arch. Of Cuban mahogany, almost black with age, it stood in stately dignity, its face eight feet above the floor, the hands of gilt in arabesque almost clasped above the Roman numcr-als of twelve. Across the glass disc at its knee the pendulum of brass swung in solemn, tick- tock____tick____tock! So had it sounded when Calhoun and Webster and Haynes and Prentiss were thrilling the Western world with their eloquence; when rythmic feet marched by to Mexico; when men in grey swept cheering on to Manassas; when the solemn drums voiced their homecoming; when their fallen chief alighted from the prison van down the street; and when in a grey house nearby the little Daughter of The Confederacy lay dreaming on her noble mother’s breast.

But now the two hands blend and softly the swan song of a day’s last hour floats over the silence;—eleven strokes and each a symphony. Then the climax! For on the stroke of twelve every glass was thrust upward and every voice uttered the guest’s name, “Hugee!” It rang out in the great room like the crash of a rifle shot.

And the toastmaster added:

“The apostle of sunshine!” The guest smiled and bowed his thanks.

“Story! Story! Story!” greeted the gesture. Again he smiled; they were such children, these old friends made over. Presently leaning back in his chair, after the prescribed fashion of the true Owl who has a sentiment to express, he began:

“You have called me the apostle of sunshine, my friends; I thank you! There is no finer medicine in the range of our science! The world is beginning to realize it. The highest, truest life note is yet to be struck. The philosophy of it is not limited. The last and grandest society for grown up children is in the homing and the emblem of this wonderful union will be a sunburst, its colors the rainbow, its name, children of the sun.” “Who is a child of the sun?”

“He who at morn fronts the east, bathes his body and fills his soul with its pure light, radiates it all day long; and at eventide, with its glorious farewell in his eyes, closes them with faith in a bright tomorrow. Such a one is a child of the sun I”

“For such there is no gloom, and bearing none he sheds none!”

“There are no dark places; he illumines them!”

“His shadow is always behind him or under his feet!”

“He lives not in the cellar of his body, but in the front of his head with both windows open!”

“He is wandering sunlight, a satellite of our planet, a Little Brother of The Moon!”

“He is a life ray and the silent greeting of his approach is finer than any language.”

“Sorrow cannot eclipse a child of the sun!

Grief, nay tragedy cannot dim his radiance. Sunlight conquers the smoke of battle, woos the flower into bloom and the bird into song above the dead and by way of moon and stars brings the wanderer home!”

“The first toast of the first Chapter of the new order is on the ground. He was born for the honor and created for the office. The hour and the man have not yet met, but he is ready and waiting.” The speaker beamed a broad smile upon the puzzled guests. All the fun in the world radiated from his brown eyes. ‘‘Need it be said that the reference is to that sunburnt Child of The Sun, Eneas Africanus, (cheers) vade mecum of my life long friend and neighbor, Major George Tommey, master of Tommeysville-”

“Hear! Hear!”

“—and its twelve fountains—(cheers) its forty-four rooms”-(tumultuous applause).

“Newton was the greatest of philosophers until Eneas Africanus was born, but the man who only discovered the law of gravitation cannot measure up with him who has shown us how to resist it” (Hearl Hear I) “Sunlight is the counterpoise of the Newtonian theory, and properly handled keeps humanity off its back; and it follows that Eneas Africanus is entitled to the freedom of the hall of fame.”—

“Twelve halls!” shouted an Owl.

“-and a fresh chaplet every day.” -“Forty-four chaplets!” (Great laughter.) “Away then with cap and gown and parchment. These belong to the feverishly active and unhappy; to men who discover useless poles, outlive office, plagiarize nature, turn up microbes and uncover mastodons. They are the gifts of the solemn whose blind solemnity is their only drollness, and hence their only sunray! One hour of Eneas is worth a cycle of Athens! Away then with cap and gown! There is a finer raiment,—there is the sunshine!”

“Story! Story! Story!” shouted the Owls. The Doctor laughed, threw up his hands and leaned back in his chair. “As I was about to say”, he began, “I received a letter from our friend, Major Tommey, a few months ago, sent by special messenger in a buggy, to my home near Sparta, which informed me that he was aching from head to foot and urging me to come at once. It was Sunday morning, but go I must; and so I entered the buggy, and in a few hours found myself at Tommeysville. The Major, much to my astonishment, came out on the porch, bright and cheerful as a sixteen year old; ‘Don’t get out’, he shouted, ‘I’m coming with you!’ He came, bringing his accumulated years lightly, more so perhaps than his accumulated weight. Time within bounds is no match for the juvenile spirit, and the element of fun in the Major’s composition still defied time triumphantly. It was nearly an even fight with the law of gravitation, but he drew his fat leg into the broad buggy on this July morning with a sigh that expressed happiness. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Doc,’ he said, ‘but I don’t want or need any of your pills to-day!’”

“‘What about those aches?’ I asked with some indignation’’

“‘It’s that old nigger Eneas. He’s kept me sore a week,—sore and puzzled. How did Monday ever get to be Sunday, Hugee? That’s the question Eneas has been worrying me with. I’ve searched my library from one end to the other, or the children have, but I don’t seem to have the right reference book. I gave Eneas, finally a letter to Bob Toombs over in Washington and sent a retainer, for I can’t afford to let Eneas be beaten in this case or tiny other, and Eneas is up before his church on a charge of immorality. He came buck with some sort of explanation, but I haven’t been able to get the old rascal to talk, —that is, to me. He goes off behind the smoke-house or scuppcrnong vine and at {dresses his audience. Doc, it would make a gnat cry,—that voice of his. Toombs has Muffed him so full of legal phraseology he spouts like one of his twelve fountains.’”

‘ ‘Is this what you dragged me away from church for?—’ I began.”

” ‘You are going to church, not away!’ he said with one of his Tommey explosions, harmless enough first hand, but not when repeated. ‘Why, man I you are going to hear Eneas defend himself ! It will be worth the trip.’”

“The Major is irrepressible as some of you know. I had to accept the situation and confess my ignorance of Monday’s mergence into Sunday.”

“‘He is charged with having violated some law of the church,’ continued the Major. ‘You remember he married a woman over in Alabama when he was refugeeing with my trunk of silver. He calls her Yallerhama Sue. He has a potato patch and one Sunday morning about a month ago, being behind with his crop, he made Sue take a mule and plow it. Old Manuel, one of the elders, caught her in the act. Of course she passed the buck to Eneas, and they are trying him to-day. Look, Doc, yonder is the church and I hear singing! Come on! come on! it’s a log church, and we’ll get behind and watch through a crack!’ It was no trouble to ‘come on’, for he was whipping up the horse excitedly.”

“‘But why not go inside and take it easy?’ I asked.”

“‘Inside?’ You should have seen the face he turned to me; ‘I was a judge in one of these church trials some years ago, Doc; hot day like this, and it lasted two hours! Never again, never again! Besides our presence might cost Eneas his case.’”

“The skirt of pines was full of tied-out stock and vehicles. From the little church rolled forth on the peaceful Sabbath air a mighty chorus of voices, blending wonderfully, as negro voices do. I felt repaid for my long ride when I followed the Major as he tiptoed up behind the church. He thought he was approaching gently. Branches crackled loudly beneath his feet and his breathing, alone, was enough to have betrayed us but for the volume of sound that rolled from the church.”

“The day packing was gone from some of the broad cracks between the logs and to one of these the Major fixed an eye. Reaching back, all excitement, he caught my elbow, whispering loudly,”

“‘Look at him, Doc I look at him!’ And I looked!” Doctor Hugee shook silently and rested his arm on the table.

“Eneas was facing us from the front bench not twenty feet away, his wrinkled countenance lit with a seraphic smile, his eyes closed and mouth open. On the volume of sound, his soft, musical voice floated as a leaf on a river’s current. He was singing!” “‘And not a wave of trouble rolled “‘Across my peaceful breast.’”

“‘Doc, he’s got him! he’s got him I’” whispered the Major, joyously, ‘I know that look,—it’s too innocent!’ By ‘him’ he evidently meant Manuel, the prosecutor. Then Eneas’ eyes opened a bit, just enough to re-fleet a faint gleam and focusse d on the crack between the logs. The gleam quivered a moment and the eyes closed. But the shadow of his Mona Lisa smile played elusively among the wrinkles of the old man’s face when the hymn was ended. There was a shuffling of feet and Brother Thompson, who was conducting the service, leaned over the pulpit and said:”

‘ ‘My frien’s, a charge have been brought erginst one o’ dis congergation an’ hit’s for you ter say ef he is guilty or he aintl Looks ter me like he isl Brer Manuel, will you please state de exac’ sin you is chargin’ erginst Brer EnusTommey.’ ’’

“All eyes wer turned to Manuel, who, as accuser, occupied a seat near the pulpit. He was a big, square jawed man, black, even for a full-blooded African, sullen, and now plainly embarrassed by his sudden prominence. He arose, however, pulled himself together and stated his case loudly.”

“‘He is scused o’ breakin’ de law o’ dis hyah chutch! I seen es wife Yallerhama Sue er plowin’ er mule one Sunday mornin’! She was er plowin, er patch er taters, an’ hit was de patch Enus claims as his’n. I asked ‘er,— ‘Nigger’—des so,—‘nigger, what for you plowin’ dis hyah patch, an’ hit Sunday?’ An’ she up na’ flung back dat she was er plowin’ hit because Enus made ’er plow hit ’ Manuel dropped to his seat and silence ensued, broken at last by Elder Thompson.”

“‘When was she er plowin’ hit, Brer Manuel?’”

“‘She was er plowin’ hit like I done tole you, on de secon’ Sunday en May, an’ erbout half hour ter twelve erdockl’”

‘‘ ‘What you reply ter de charge, Brer Enus? Is you guilty or is you not guilty? De witnesses is wid you!’—Elder Thompson had once been in court about a mule.”

“Then Eneas arose. My friends, I wish I could picture the pose of the old man! I can’t! You will have to imagine it! You know almost every old negro imitates some white man in particular, and Eneas had caught a pose from his trip to the General’s that clung to him. Eneas stood up and looked around. His left hand was thrust into his trousers’ pocket and his chin was lifted. His back was half turned toward his accuser, and he looked over the heads of the people along the front row. Occasionally, during his questioning of the witness, his eyes sought theirs, friendly and confidential. His soft, musical voice carried as easily to every part of the church as to the crack behind which lurked the most appreciative of his audience.”

“‘I will ax de witness, what is wid me, fast what I am being arranged befo’ dis chutch for? What is de exact’ sin?’ He listened, chin in air.”

‘You is arranged fer breakin’ Bible law!’ said Manuel, who felt the contempt of Eneas’ attitude and did not know how to resent it except by a show of indignation. ‘You got my answer!’”

“‘I got ’es answer!’ said Eneas sweeftly. ‘Is de Bible de Lord’s law or de law o’ man? Answer me! Answer me!’ Manuel’s slow mind groped blindly for the trap before he replied.”

“‘Hit’s de Lord’s law! You got my answer!’”

“‘De Lord’s law!’ said Eneas pleasantly, still looking away, ‘de Lord’s law! Is dat what you said, Brer Manuel?—de Lord’s law?’”

“‘ Dat’s what I said, dat’s what I said—I said,—you got my answer!’ replied Manuel, who was apt to stammer a little under pressure.”

“‘Oh, yes!’ said Eneas, ‘I got yo’ answer.! am up hyah ter be tried fer breakin’ de Lord’s law ’cause I let Yellerhama Sue plow my patch on de Lord’s day,—wid Marse George’s old grey mule. I got yo’ answer, but I ain’t done makin’ inquiries. What day o’ de week does you mean when you say Sunday, Brer Manuel? Answer met Answer me!’”

“‘I means Sunday,’ said Manuel, glaring at the little man’s face. ‘An hits de fust day o’ de week. You got my answer!’”

“‘ Yes, I sho’ly got yo’ answer,’ said Eneas, ‘An’ I sho’ly got you long wid dat answer! I could claim demurrage an’ shet off de case right hyah.’”

“‘Claim what, Brer Enus?’ said Elder Thompson, looking over his horn rim glasses at the learned defendant.”

“‘Demurrage! Ain’t you never heah ’bout demurrage?’ said Eneas. ‘Demurrage is when you low dat all dey ses erbout you is spotly true, but ef hit is, hit don’t count unner de law. But I ain’t er claimin’ hit, Brer Thompson! I’m goin’ down ter de bottom o’ dis case! Brer Thompson, will you please read ‘bout dat day, what’s layin’ heavy in Brer Manuel’s mind! I done turn down de place in de book I’m handin’ up! Hit’s whar de ten comman’ments is plainly ‘spressed for de guidance of po’ weak man an’ oomanl Read hit out loud, Brer Thompson! Brer Manuel is er little hard o’ hearin’ when he ain’t talkin’ essef.’ Eneas took a little Bible from his pocket and passed it up to the Elder. Breathless silence reigned in the church and I managed to shake the Major into a comparative calm, while Elder Thompson slowly deciphered part of the fourth commandment.’ ‘ “Six days shall thou labor and do all thy work, but the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord, thy God; in it thou shalt not do any work—’ “

“‘Stop right dere!1 said Eneas loudly, extending his hand dramatically, ‘stop whar you is, Brer Thompson! Ain’t no use ter go any deeper yit. De Book ses de sebenth am de sabbath an’ hit scuses man fum work on dat day. De fust day o’ de week was de day when de light an’ de darkness was cut loose fum one ernuther, an’ de sebenth day was de day o’ rest—de las’ day o’ de week—Sadder-day. De day Yallerhama Sue was plowin’ my taters was er Monday ‘cordin’ to de Book. How did Monday git ter be Sunday, Brer Manuel? Will you splain de change ter dis chutch? An’ whar wa you an’ what was you doin’ on de sebenth day? Answer me I Answer me!’ Manuel glared straight ahead.”

“‘Sunday is Sunday!’ he said, ‘de Discipline say hit’s Sunday an’ melts de stores all shet up!’ Eneas smiled to the friendly of his hearers.”

“‘But how ‘bout de Book you is er tryin me on? What do hit say? Answer me!’ No answer being at hand, Eneas turned with a little cackle to Elder Thompson. ‘Do hit say de fust or de sebenth day o’ de week, Brer Thompson?’”

“‘ Hit sho’ly do say de sebenth!’ said Thompson, examining the text as carefully as though he had never before seen it.”

“‘ How many days in er week, Brer Thompson?’ ’’

“‘ Seben days, now,’ said the Elder, ‘des like dey was den.’ ’’

““Den my frien’s’ said Eneas, (I aint broke no law o’ de Bible. What de white folks does don’t count hayah. I see ’em ridin’ roun’ er Sunday, goin’ an’er cornin’ ’bout deir own business an’ dey most’ly does as dey pleases all de weekl Marse George Tommey is white folks an’ I don’t reckon he knows one day fum er-nutherl’ Eneas’ eyes rested for an instant on the crack and this with a sudden profane explosion from the Major almost betrayed us, but I pulled him out of sight.”

“‘Pass Brer Manuel back de Book, Brer Thompson,’ continued Eneas. ‘Let him s’arch hit fum led ter led an’ fum kiver to kiver. Ef he find er word anywhar what ses er man er ooman can’t plow on de fust day o’ de week, den I’ll put er noo roof on dis house ef I has ter split de boards myse’fl’ Manuel took the book and put on a pair of glasses as he gravely studied the text. Eneas glanced at him for the first time.”

“‘De place you want is on de right han’ side when de Book is top side up. Way you got hit now hit’s over on de lef’. ’ Manuel may have held the book right side up, but it mattered not. His mind was vainly search-ing for a weapon to combat the active old man who had the sympathy of the congregation.”

“‘While Brer Manuel is lookin’ fer light, my frien’s,’ said Eneas, ‘lemme tell you he won’t find none in dat Book dat’ll do him any good ‘less hit is de part what ses, some-whar, you mustn’t bear false witness erginst yo’ neighbor! Lemme tell you, too, if he hadder foun’ in dem ten laws fum which Brer Thompson been er readin’ dat de sebenth day o’ de week was Sunday, he wouldn’t er been any nigher gettin’ me in er hole den he is now, for I been had dese fac’s pounded an’ expounded by de Gen’l over in de nex’ county, de stronges’ man on all kinds o’ law dat ever kep’ er nigger off de gang. Heah is de plain fac’s o’ de case, my dear frien’s; de Book aint never been change’, but po’ weak man,—he’s been change’!—Brer Manuel, is yer foun’ anything ter fit yo’ side o’ de case yet?—he ain’t foun’ nothin’, my frien’s but we’ll give ’im mo’ time. Keep hit up, Brer Manuel! Ef yer don’ fin de light, mebbe you’ll fin’ er place ter light out.

“If the Major’s noise outside attracted any notice, it was probably accepted as the sneeze of a horse. Only Eneas cackled a little and spun half way on his toes while the congregation tittered. ‘My frien’s,’ he continued, taking everybody into his confidence, ‘I gits dese fac’s fum de smartes’ white man what is, an’ he got ’em fum twenty nine knee-high books what run ’cross de back o’ his room like er plank fence. In dem books, he tole me, deir is ev’y fac’ dat’s been foun’ out sence ole man Noray run es boat on de rocks ‘bout ’leven thousan’ years ago. An ‘hyah’s de fac’ what done mix up Brer Manuel. Way back yonner nobody kep Saturday fer deir chutch day ‘ceptin de Jews an’ de kin folks o’ de Jews, which is us niggers what come down fum Ham! De res’ kep Sunday ’cause dey said deir pra’rs ter de sun! But de Jews, white an’ black, all o’ old man Noray’s family clean down,—an’ er scatterin’ fringe of outsiders what done lined our chutch,— kept’ de law what ses de sebenth is de Sabbath. Hit sho’ly did mix up things an’ make er heap o’ trouble. ‘Cause when er heathen man wid es fam’ly started out to chutch he didn’t like ter pass Jew stores wide open an be pulled in for trade an’ hatter give up de -dimes he was totin’ to drap in de box; an’ de Jews, white an’ black, didn’t feelgood to start to deir chutch an’ run erginst er heathen oo-man washin’ her do’s in de branch an’ hangin em on de bushes; or er heathen man choppin’ wood to cook wid I Hit not only los’ er heep er time fum business, an’ fum de crops, but hit made work in court ev’y week an’ natch’ly kep der perleece busy. Well ’bout dis time o’ de year, ’long ’bout fifteen er eighteen hun-nered years ergo,—’long befo’ de wah,—dere was er man come erlong an’ got essef ’lected King o’ de Eas’ an’ de Wes’. An’ when dis man saw what was de trouble, he set erbout ter fix on one day for ev’ybody’s Sunday. He couldn’t do nothin wid de heathen man ’cause you can’t argify wid er heathen man, who mos’ly talks wid er axe or er bush hook; he sent word ter de niggers what had done split off fum de Jews, an’ de outsiders what done jine our chutch, ter meet ’im. An’ dey made er trade. De King was ter jine our chutch ef dey’d settle on Sunday fer chutch day; an’ bless yo’ soul, dey sho’ly jumped at de chanst. Hit was er big thing ter put er King unner water an’ have him in de chutch. Mo’ exspecially sence de Jews an’ de heathen had done had our folks on de jump fer erbout er thousan’ years. It was a big thing! Ef you had er King in dis chutch, hit wouldn’t hold de crowd on Sunday, an’ hit would be wuth de walk ter pass roun’ de box fer coppers an’ dimes. So dey took de King inter de fold an’ put him unner water three times, an’ when he come up de las’ time, he shot one eye back at de heathen what was line’ up on de fur side er de creek, an’ he say in er mighty voice, ‘fum now on, I comman’ dat all people have one an’ de same day for chutch,—Sunday; de day of de good ole Sun; de fust day o’ de week! An’ dem what don’t wanter go ter chutch on Sunday mus’ ihet de front door an’ bade door of deir shops, or come ter court nex’ day! ‘An’ de heathen men knocked deir axes an’ bush hooks tergeth-•r an’ give de King a mighty shout ’cause Sunday was already deir chutch day, an’ dey come rrcrosi de creek an’ et barbecue wid our folks an’ dcre was peace in de lan’. Hit’s all down in dr hooka, my frien’s, des like I’m er tellin’ hit. I )a(‘a what de King said. So hit was de law o’ din King man what made our ole Monday de ihtrlih day an’ flung de Sabbath backbiter de week, la you foun’ any light on yo’ side, Brer Manurl? Keep on! Keep on! De Book rpr hltaelf, -a’arch de Scriptur’s!’”

“Well, outaide the church the Major was leaning against the wall fanning away apo-plrtty with hla hat and occasionally I shook him rr a matter of caution.’’

“We got back to the crack when the indignant voice of Iilder Thompson was heard:

” ‘Hoi’ on dere, Brer Enus, hoi’ on cr minute,’ he shouted, ‘dis chutch ain’t gointer let you move Sunday up an’ down de week cause you is got yo’sef in er scrape. We don’t know nothin’ ’bout de King you an’ de Gen’l hunted up. An’ we don’t know no Sunday but dis. I rules dat yistiddy was Saturday an’ termorrow is Monday an’ dat de Lord’s day lays in between ’em fust, las’ an’ all de time, call hit de fust day er call hit de las.We goin-ter stick ter Bible law, ’cause we know who made it! Ef you is done, hit looks mighty like you is er guilty man.’ Eneas’ right hand gesture, as he accepted the ruling, was perfect.”

“‘Hit don’t mek no diffunce ter me who made de new law, an’! reck’n I’m springin’ too many fac’s on er busy man like you, Brer Thompson. We’ll des git back! we’ll des get back. What I’m goin’ ter tell you now is, I ain’t broke dat commandment Moses prodify fum de mount. Brer Manuel, will you please let Brer Thompson have de Book ergin, deser minute. Brer Manuel, an’ den you can git back to huntin’ I Brer Thompson, will you please rrad de balance o’ de law Moses prodify fum dr mount? Tek hit up whar you lef off. Don’t pass a line ncr step in yo’ own track!—‘no mamirr o’ work I’—dar’s whar you was!’ Thompson took the book and read sonorously.”

“‘Thou nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy Manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thy i utile, nor the stranger that is within thy gates I’ “

“I’’.liras looked about him, his face wreathed In smllrs an’ said, ‘My frien’s, has you alls rvrr heahd dem words befo?—You, Aunt Chine?- -line’ Pete?—Aunt Tempy?—Unc’ Silas?—Unc’ Rich ?—Unc’ Jim?—Unc’

Mark?—Aunt Silvey?—Manse, has you heah’d ‘em befo’? All o’ you done heah’d em! Well, I’m goin’ ter tell you de Book specifies you in emuther place when hit ses you has eyes ter see an’ you sees not; yeahs ter heah an’ you heahs not. Hyah you is lettin’ er ignunt ole man have me drug up befo’ er meeting fer breakin’ de Sabbath, when dere ain’t er man, ooman or child hyah knowed dat de Sabbath was Sadderday, de day you all tuk ever sence freedom ter go ter town an’ stan’ roun’ on de cornders an’ trade an’ swap lies. You natchully fell inter de habit o’ knockin’ off work on dat day ’cause your mammies an’ daddies ’way back yonner knocked off! Only, dey went ter chutchl Brer Thompson, will you please read dem lines ergin? I done strayed off fum de p’int! Start whar you did,—‘no manner o’ work’ an’ read de list I’ Thompson read again the lines of the commandment.”

“‘Now my frien’s,’ said Eneas, ‘ter please Brer Manuel hyah, who is havin’ er hard time wid his face down en es shirt tryin’ ter work out how Monday got ter be Sunday, I’m gointer ’low dat our Sunday is de day Moses was talkin’ erbout an’ dat his word holds good for dat day,—de fust day o’ de week. I ax you, Brer Thompson, I ax you, is dere anything in dem words what ses er man’s wife shant plow er patch on Sunday?—shant work on Sunday? Look close, Brer Thompson. Dis is de agony er de case right hyah!’ Thompson studied the text closely while the audience held its breath.”

“‘No,’ said he, at length- ‘Hit exspeci-ally don’t! Hit names de whole family an’ de stranger what drapt in for Sunday dinner, but hit lef’ out de man’s wife!’ Eneas’ smile disappeared, swallowed up in one broad grin.”

“‘Ter be sho’l Ter be sho’!’ he said. ‘Somebody mus’ cook an’ clean an’ ’ten’ ter de chillun! Do hit say anything ’bout er mule, Brer Thompson?’”

“‘No,’ said Thompson, with a look of wonder on his face, ‘hit exspecially don’t! Hit names ev’ything on de plantation but er mule!’”

“‘Ter be sho’! Ter be sho’!’ said Eneas again. ‘Mules mus’ pull you alb ter chutch an’ roun’ erbout de settlement atter chutch! An’ dere is de law. Er manfs wife and er man’s mule is outside de law. Dem men was wise back yonner! An’ Moses, who writ de fust law, was a mighty man an’ sho’ly he know’d what was cornin’ when he lef’ out er man’s wife an’ er mule fum de law o’ de chutch on Sunday,—he sho’ly did! He knowd ef he didn’t hit would be cold dinner Sunday an’ walk ter chutch! He was er big man, Moses was. Him an’ me travelled lots. I moved eroun’ over in de Yallerhama dees-tric erbout eight years an’ Moses travelled in de san’ forty- But I reck’n I went furder an’ seen mo’n Moses did.’ “

“‘Moses had de Hebrew chillun wid him an’ I had mine, but I got home, bless God, an’ Moses give out on de road.’”

“‘Moses wore essef out climbin mountains, but me an’ Lady Chain went eroun’ ’em.’ “

“‘Moses had er time wid dem Hebrew chillun. Dey was er onery, ongrateful passel an’ strayed off ev’y time he turnt’ ’es back. I wore mine out wid er hickory tell nair one o’ ’em would slip off de hay in de wagon tell I give ’em de word.’”

“‘Er little Missey over yonncr whar de sun sets an’ whar I got los’, tuk er whole year an’ showed me how ter read erbout Moses. He was de man what was on my mind. He was refugeeing des like me an’ I wanted ter know how he got out o’ de wilderness. Missey ax me huccum I been preachin’ an’ can’t read de law Moses handed down. She said she reck’n I must ter had er call. I tole her yessum I had two calls, one ter preach an’ one ter pass roun’ de hat, ‘cause mine was er growin’ fam-bly an’ Lady Chain an’ Chainlightnin’ had ter be fed an’ it was er long way thoo. I come thoo, but! had ter put fo’ hundr’d an’ ninety two niggers unner de water ter do it;— an’ Chainlightnin’ pickin’ up er little change erlong de way.’”

“‘But I ain’t never blame’ no man or no woman fur workin’ anytime. De trouble wid you niggers an’ some white folks aint doin’ er little work of er Sunday when yo’ taters need rain; hit’s not workin’ de other six an’ when you has ter have rashuns, techen’ de pen fur de white man in town!—Whar’s Brer Manuel?’ Manuel had ostensibly stepped out for water, but the church wag,—and there is always one present in the country church,—took advantage of the occasion toshout “‘He’s done gone home ter put es ole ooman ter plowin!’ Everybody laughed! Manuel failed to get back and Eneas took the verdict for granted.”

“‘Aunt Silvey,’ he said, ‘will you please raise de tune of dat good ole hime, ‘When Moses handed down de law?’ Silvey raised the tune and in the swelling chorus, Eneas’ case was forgotten. Outside, beneath the crack, the Major was sitting flat on the ground sobbing as he fanned, and I,—well, I was helping him.”

Table of Contents

TITLE PAGE

Author s Preface

Eneas Africanus “Defendant”