Bricks Without Straw | Page 3

she was at de fus' no more'n ef she hed'nt been de same
gal.
"All he wanted ter know 'bout a nigger wuz jes his name, an' dey say he
could tell straight away when an' whar he wuz born, whar he'd done
lived, an' all 'bout him. He war a powerful man in der way ob names,
shore. Some on 'em wuz right quare, but den agin mos' all on 'em wuz
right good, an' it war powerful handy hevin' no two on 'em alike. I've
heard tell dat a heap o' folks wuz a takin' up wid his notion, an' I reckon
dat ef de s'rrender hed only stood off long 'nuff dar wouldn't 'a been
nary two niggers in de whole State hevin' de same names. Dat would
hev been handy, all roun'!
"When dat come, though, old Mahs'r's plan warn't nowhar. Lor' bress
my soul, how de names did come a-brilin' roun'! I'd done got kinder
used ter mine, hevin' bed it so long an' nebber knowin' myself by any
udder, so't I didn't like ter change. 'Sides dat, I couldn't see no use. I'd
allers got 'long well 'nuff wid it--all on'y jes once, an' dat ar wuz so
long ago I'd nigh about forgot it. Dat showed what a debblish cute plan
dat uv ole Mahs'r's was, though.
"Lemme see, dat er wuz de fus er secon' year atter I wuz a plow-boy.
Hit wuz right in de height ob de season, an' Marse War'--dat was de
oberseer--he sent me to der Cou't House ob an ebenin' to do some sort
ob arrant for him. When I was a comin' home, jes about an hour ob sun,
I rides up wid a sort o' hard-favored man in a gig, an' he looks at me an'
at de hoss, when I goes ter ride by, mighty sharp like; an' fust I knows
he axes me my name; an' I tole him. An' den he axes whar I lib; an' I
tole him, "On de Knapp-o'-Reeds plantation." Den he say,
"'Who you b'long to, ennyhow, boy?'

"An' I tole him 'Ole Marse Potem Desmit, sah'--jes so like.
"Den he sez 'Who's a oberseein' dar now?'
"An' I sez, 'Marse Si War', sah?'
"Den he sez, 'An' how do all de ban's on Knapp-o Reeds git 'long wid
ole Marse Potem an' Marse Si War'?'
"An' I sez, 'Oh, we gits 'long tol'able well wid Marse War', sah.'
"An' he sez, 'How yer likes old Marse Potem?'
"An' I sez, jes fool like, 'We don't like him at all, sah.'
"An' he sez, 'Why?'
"An' I sez, 'Dunno sah.'
"An' he sez, 'Don't he feed?'
"An' I sez, 'Tol'able, I spose.'
"An' he sez, 'Whip much?'
"An' I sez, 'Mighty little, sah.'
"An' he sez, 'Work hard?'
"An' I sez, 'Yes, moderate, sah.' "An' he sez, 'Eber seed him?'
"An' I sez, 'Not ez I knows on, sah.'
"An' he sez, 'What for don't yer like him, den?'
"An' I sez, 'Dunno, on'y jes' kase he's sech a gran' rascal.'
"Den he larf fit ter kill, an' say, 'Dat's so, dat's so, boy.' Den he take out
his pencil an' write a word er two on a slip o' paper an' say,

"'H'yer, boy, yer gibs dat ter Marse Si War', soon ez yer gits home.
D'yer heah?'
"I tole him, 'Yes, sah,' an' comes on home an' gibs dat ter Marse Si.
Quick ez he look at it he say, 'Whar you git dat, boy? 'An' when I tole
him he sez, 'You know who dat is? Dat's old Potem Desmit! What you
say to him, you little fool?'
"Den I tell Marse War' all 'bout it, an' he lay down in de yard an' larf fit
ter kill. All de same he gib me twenty licks 'cordin' ter de orders on dat
little dam bit o' paper. An' I nebber tink o' dat widout cussin', sence.
"Dat ar, now am de only time I ebber fault my name. Now what I want
ter change it fer, er what I want ob enny mo'? I don't want 'em. An' I tell
'em so, ebbery time too, but dey 'jes fo'ce em on me like, an' what'll I
do'bout it, I dunno. H'yer I'se got--lemme see--one--two--tree! Fo' God,
I don' know how many names I hez got! I'm dod-dinged now ef I know
who I be ennyhow. Ef ennybody ax me I'd jes hev ter go back ter ole
Mahs'r's name an' stop, kase I swar I wouldn't know which ob de
udders ter pick an' chuse from.
"I specs its all 'long o' freedom, though I can't see why a free nigger
needs enny mo' name dan the same one hed in ole slave times. Mus' be,
though.