Hey ! laws a massey ! why , clar out ! drop dat banana ! I 'll murder this yer crowd ,Dem little niggers is a judgment upon dis generation . It 's dem black trash , Mas'r George ; dis ere property wants claring ; dem 's getting too numerous round ; when I gets time I 'll kill some on ‘ em , sure ! Top , you varmin ! top till I get enough of you in one place ! Guess they nebber was born — dem tings ! what , dem ?— get away ! Born here — dem darkies ? What , on Terrebonne ! Do n't b'lieve it , Mas'r George ; dem black tings never was born at all ; dey swarmed one mornin ’ on a sassafras tree in the swamp ; I cotched ‘ em ; dey ai n't no ‘ count . Do n't b'lieve dey 'll turn out niggers when dey 're growed ; dey 'll come out sunthin else . What ? dem tings — dem ?— getawayBorn here ! dem darkies ! What , on Terrebonne ? Do n't b'lieve it , Mas'r George ,— no . One morning dey swarmed on a sassafras tree in de swamp , and I cotched ‘ em all in a sieve .— dat 's how dey come on top of dis yearth — git out , you ,— ya , ya ! Dat 's right , missus ! gib it to ole Pete ! he 's allers in for it . Git away dere ! Ya ! if dey aint all lighted , like coons , on dat snake fence , just out of shot . Look dar ! Ya ! ya ! Dem debils . Ya ! Git down dar !— I 'm arter you ! Yes , missus . Why , Minnie , why do n't you run when you hear , you lazy crittur ?Dat 's de laziest nigger on dis yere property .Do n't do nuffin . Hi ! Debbel 's in de pail ! Whar 's breakfass ? Hole yer tongue , Dido . Whar 's de coffee ?If it do n't stain de cup , your wicked ole life 's in danger , sure ! dat right ! black as nigger ; clar as ice . You may drink dat , Mas'r George .Yah ! here 's Mas'r Sunnyside , and Missey Dora , jist drov up . Some of you niggers run and hole de hosses ; and take dis , Dido . Mas'r Scudder ! Mas'r Scudder ! You blow , Mas'r Scudder , when I tole you ; dere 's a man from Noo Aleens just arriv ’ at de house , and he 's stuck up two papers on de gates ; “ For sale — dis yer property , ” and a heap of oder tings — and he seen missus , and arter he shown some papers she burst out crying — I yelled ; den de corious of little niggers dey set up , den de hull plantation children — de live stock reared up and created a purpiration of lamentation as did de ole heart good to har . Dass it — I saw 'm ! No , sar ; but dem vagabonds neber take de ‘ specable straight road , dey goes by de swamp . Dis way — dis way . Dis way , gen'l ' men ; now Solon — Grace — dey 's hot and tirsty — sangaree , brandy , rum . You see dat hole in dar , sar .I was raised on dis yar plantation — neber see no door in it — always open , sar , for stranger to walk in . No , sar ; nigger nebber cut stick on Terrebonne ; dat boy 's dead , sure . Nebber supply no more , sar — nebber dance again . Mas'r Ratts , you hard him sing about de place where de good niggers go , de last time . Well , he gone dar hisself ; why , I tink so — ‘ cause we missed Paul for some days , but nebber tout nothin ’ till one night dat Injiun Wahnotee suddenly stood right dar ‘ mongst us — was in his war paint , and mighty cold and grave — he sit down by de fire . “ Whar 's Paul ? ” I say — he smoke and smoke , but nebber look out ob de fire ; well knowing dem critters , I wait a long time — den he say , “ Wahnotee , great chief ; ” den I say nothing — smoke anoder time — last , rising to go , he turn round at door , and say berry low — O , like a woman 's voice , he say , “ Omenee Pangeuk , ” — dat is , Paul is dead — nebber see him since . What , sar ! You p'tend to be sorry for Paul , and prize him like dat . Five hundred dollars !—Tousand dollars , Massa Thibodeaux . Eh ! wass dat ? He said I want a nigger . Laws , mussey ! What am goin ’ to cum ob us ! Cum yer now — stand round , cause I 've got to talk to you darkies — keep dem chil'n quiet — do n't make no noise , de missus up dar har us . Gen'l ' men , my colored frens and ladies , dar 's mighty bad news gone round . Dis yer prop'ty to be sold — old Terrebonne — whar we all been raised , is gwine — dey 's gwine to tak it away — can n't stop here no how . Hold quiet , you trash o ’ niggers ! tink anybody wants you to cry ? Who 's you to set up screching ?— be quiet ! But dis ai n't all . Now , my culled brethren , gird up your lines , and listen — hold on yer bref — it 's a comin . We tought dat de niggers would belong to de ole missus , and if she lost Terrebonne , we must live dere allers , and we would hire out , and bring our wages to ole Missus Peyton . Hush ! I tell ye , ‘ t'ain ' t so — we can n't do it — we 've got to be sold — Will you hush ? she will har you . Yes ! I listen dar jess now — dar was ole lady cryin ’ — Mas'r George — ah ! you seen dem big tears in his eyes . O , Mas'r Scudder , he did n't cry zackly ; both ob his eyes and cheek look like de bad Bayou in low season — so dry dat I cry for him .Den say de missus , “ ‘ Tai n't for de land I keer , but for dem poor niggars — dey 'll be sold — dat wot stagger me . ” “ No , ” say Mas'r George , “ I 'd rather sell myself fuss ; but dey sha n't suffer , nohow ,— I see ‘ em dam fuss . ” Hole yer tongues . Yes , for you , for me , for dem little ones , dem folks cried . Now , den , if Grace dere wid her chil'n were all sold , she 'll begin screechin ’ like a cat . She did n't mind how kind old judge was to her ; and Solon , too , he 'll holler , and break de ole lady 's heart . I do n't tink you will any more , but dis here will ; ‘ cause de family spile Dido , dey has . She nebber was ‘ worth much ‘ a dat nigger . What 's de use of your takin ’ it kind , and comfortin ’ de missus heart , if Minnie dere , and Louise , and Marie , and Julie is to spile it ? Dar , do ye hear dat , ye mis'able darkies , dem gals is worth a boat load of kinder men dem is . Cum , for de pride of de family , let every darky look his best for the judge 's sake — dat ole man so good to us , and dat ole woman — so dem strangers from New Orleans shall say , Dem 's happy darkies , dem 's a fine set of niggars ; every one say when he 's sold , “ Lor ’ bless dis yer family I 'm gwine out of , and send me as good a home . ” Hush ! hark ! I tell ye dar 's somebody in dar . Who is it ? Come along ; she har what we say , and she 's cryin ’ for us . None o ’ ye ign'rant niggars could cry for yerselves like dat . Come here quite ; now quite . That 's my son — buy him , Mas'r Ratts ; he 's sure to sarve you well . Dat 's me — yer , I 'm comin ’ — stand around dar . What 's dat ? A mistake , sar — forty-six . But do n't mount to nuffin — kin work cannel . Come , Judge , pick up . Now 's your time , sar . What , sar ? me ! for me — look ye here ! Mas'r George — ah , no , sar — do n't buy me — keep your money for some udder dat is to be sold . I ai n't no count , sar . Whar 's Paul , Wahnotee ? What 's come ob de child ? Pangeuk — dead . Um , Paul reste ? Poor little Paul — poor little nigger ! Top , sar ! Top a bit ! O , laws-a-mussey , see dis ; here 's a pictur ’ I found stickin ’ in that yar telescope machine , sar ! look sar ! See Injiun ; look dar, see dat innocent ; look , dar 's de murderer of poor Paul . Ya !— as he ? Closky tue Paul — kill de child with your tomahawk dar ; ‘ twas n't you , no — ole Pete allus say so . Poor Injiun lub our little Paul . O , law , sir , dat debil Closky , he tore hisself from de gen'lam , knock me down , take my light , and trows it on de turpentine barrels , and de shed 's all afire ! Nebber mind , sar , we bring good news — it wo n't spile for de keeping . P'r ' aps it floated away itself . Say , Mas'r Scudder , s'pose we go in round by de quarters and raise de darkies , den dey cum long wid us , and we ‘ proach dat ole house like Gin'ral Jackson when he took London out dar . I tell you , sar — hush ! Was dat ?— a cry out dar in de swamp — dar agin ! Mas'r Clusky . M'Closky . Save me — save me ! I can go no farther . I heard voices . You'se a dead man , Mas'r Clusky — you got to b'lieve dat . M'Closky . No — no . If I must die , give me up to the law ; but save me from the tomahawk . You are a white man ; you 'll not leave one of your own blood to be butchered by the red-skin ? O , no ; Mas'r Scudder , do n't leave Mas'r Closky like dat — do n't , sa — ‘ tai n't what good Christian should do . Whar 's Missus — whar 's Mas'r George ? Whar is she — whar is Miss Zoe ? Do n't ax me . Whar 's de gal ? I say . No — no . ‘ Tai n't no faint — she 's a dying , sa ; she got pison from old Dido here , this mornin ’ . Dat 's what her soul 's gwine to do . It 's going up dar , whar dere 's no line atween folks .