130 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[July 25, 1908. 
“Now, Marse Jeems, yer keep erway ober dar, 
cos dis heah ’gator gwine teh kerflumax w'en 
I geets my knife inteh hees hide, en ef he hits 
yeh one wid dat tail yer dun be sorry yeh cum. 
Yaas, he dun been daid eber sence I shoot heem 
las’ night, but dat maiks no diff’rence. Yer jes’ 
watch.” 
Turning the huge lizard on its back—it was 
over nine feet long and stiff in rigor mortis—the 
old man straddled it and proceeded to make an 
incision, beginning at the corner of its jaws and 
extending toward its tail. On the instant of 
the steel penetrating to the flesh, a twitching 
of the huge tail began, and as the blade passed 
across the foreleg and scored the ribs the great 
tail lashed sidewise with force sufficient to have 
upset anyone within its radius. 
“Yah, yah, how dat, Marse Jeems, foah a 
dead ’gator? Dey all does hit somehow.” 
With dextrous knife strokes despite the gal¬ 
vanic action of the carcass, the old man rapidly 
removed the hide and threw it into the boat. 
Dismembering the head, he placed it there like¬ 
wise, then placing the folds of the bandanna 
handkerchief—that he wore in place of a collar 
—across his nose and mouth, after bidding 
James to do the same, he made an incision near 
the base of the tail and skillfully removed a 
small sack of liquid which he used great care 
in handling, and securely tying its orifices, then 
placed it in a wide-mouth glass bottle and stop¬ 
pered it securely before uncovering his nostrils. 
“Dar, Marse Jeems, dat job’s done, en we 
all kin git back. Dat skin ull bring ’bout six 
dollars, en dose teef ’bout one. Yer see, er ole 
bull ’gator putty good catch feh er niggah. 
’Sides, dat bag er must, when hits dry, ull bring 
er leetle moah. No, I sell dat teh de drug man. 
Et’s er powerful smellin’ stuff; jes er drop er 
hit fresh ull maik yeh nose bleed en yer eyes 
burn laik fiah, en it ull smell wusser dan er 
ole pole cat fer ebber so long; yass, indeedy. 
“Reckum we’se gwine hab er good nite teh 
hunt. Sun dun goin’ set clar, en I knows de 
’gators gwine be out en putty tame, caze they 
hain’t been nobuddy er botherin’ them foh ther 
las’ yeah. I’se been er watchin’ ’em. There’s 
three er foah good big fellahs heah een der 
lake, en one er two ovar near ther beeg shell 
islan’, whar ther heron roost useter be, en I 
bet we gets sum er dem ternight, suah. 
“Heah we am, back at ther lan’in’. Bettah 
cum up teh de cabin. Mammy Loo dun hab 
er fine ’possum roastin’, en er prime lot er yams 
een ther ashes ’foah I lef’, en I knows dey be 
er ash cake er two. Bettah cum, en maybe 
she’ll hab er crock er clabber er sum buttah- 
milk. Hit’s mity nigh noonin’, now.” 
Overcome by the inducements offered, Marse 
James preceded the old man along the path to 
where his crazy log cabin crouched in decrepi¬ 
tude beneath a couple of stunted oaks a short 
distance beyond the bayou. In the doorway 
stood a small wiry woman whose black wrinkled 
face was strongly accentuated by the white coif 
or turban that covered her head, and the im¬ 
maculate shoulder cloth, folded in a triangle, the 
two ends crossed and tucked beneath her apron 
strings like the point at the back. At their ap¬ 
proach she shaded her eyes for a moment with 
her hands, the better to see, then hobbled down 
to the paling gate,* drove away two or three 
squealing pigs, several chickens and turkeys, 
^Picket gate. 
stood in the opening, and slowly sank down¬ 
ward in “a curteshy” as she called it. 
“Howdy, Marse Jeems; howdy, suh. I’se suah 
glad teh see yer. Youse er lookin’ mighty well. 
En how yer does grow! How’s Miss Willie en 
Marse Hennery? I’se dun been er dreamin’ ob 
yer alls, en ’lowed teh go up teh de beeg house 
fust chanct I has teh see foah myself, but ye 
knows how de misery een my laigs dun lame 
me. Cum een, Marse Jeems; cum rite een. Yer 
Cauge! dun fotch out dat rockin’ cheer en puts 
et heah unner de oak whar Marse Jeems kin 
get de breeze. Wat’s dat! Yer dun tole heem 
we all had er ’possum ? Er cose we has, en 
eets dun roas’ des as brown as er butternut stain. 
Yer jes’ set dar honey, en Mammy dun fotch 
eet out heah. 
“Yes, en I got some prime yams—wat dat, 
Marse Jeems, er ash cake? Des listen teh dat 
chile! Wat yer s’pose Miss Willie dun seh ef 
she see yer eatin’ ’possum en ash cake down 
heah et de quartahs, w’en she hab beaten bis¬ 
cuit en fresh aigs en fried yaller-laig chicken 
feh yoh suppah? Kee-hee, kee-hee. My! my! 
but Unc’ Cauge en Ole Mammy dun proud teh 
hab young Marster heah! Set de table dar, 
Cauge. Be keerful; dat laig kin’er weakly. 
Yaas, hit laik we-alls, dun gettin’ woah out.” 
The table placed to her satisfaction, she hob¬ 
bled back and forth directing the old man in 
regard to the dishes to bring out, etc. Herself 
covering the pine table with a well worn, coarse, 
but snow-white cloth, and arranged thereon china 
dishes of varied pattern and design, evidently 
gifts from the big house, relics of ancient din¬ 
ing services that had survived their fellows, 
shattered by careless usage and wear. To the 
old people they were treasures, only to be used 
on state occasions, and even to James recalled 
pleasant memories. 
“Why, Mammy Loo! if that ain’t the old 
morning glory bowl that I broke the mate of 
when a little shaver. And how put out you were 
over it. And that’s the identical platter that 
mother made me bring you in its place. How 
you do keep things. My! how good that ’pos¬ 
sum and those ’taters look. Come, now, you 
and Unc’ Cauge sit down and help me eat it.” 
“Now, Marse Jeems, w’at yer take us foah— 
low down freedom trash? Huh! not we-alls. 
Reckum ole Miss dun larn us mannahs. Yer 
jes’ go an eat all dat ’possum ef yer want teh, 
en ole mammy dun wait on yeh. Cauge gotter 
min’ de ash pone en watch dey doan’t burn. Des 
try one oh dose yams; en heahs er gourd eh 
clabber. Cauge wouldn’t lemme put hit en er 
china dish. Sed yer wanted eet outen de gourd 
en I know yer useter laik hit bes’ datter way, 
but I hates teh put er ole gourd dish foah 
quality.” 
“Thank you, mammy; it always tastes so much 
sweeter like this, and it’s so firm and nice. 
When they serve it at the house, you know, 
Tildy spoons it into my bowl and that breaks 
it up, so it never tastes just like yours. I often 
tell mother that I feel like running away down 
here to the quarters again like I used to do, just 
to get a dish of it to taste like old times.” 
So they ran on, the old woman standing de¬ 
ferentially behind his chair with a spray of pine, 
“Mindin’ off de flies,” and trying to anticipate 
his wants, coaxing him to try this or that dish. 
The old man hobbled back and forth from the 
open hearth within, at her demands, “teh fotch 
ernother hot pone en see hit ain’t burnt. Wat 
yeh t’inkin’ erbout, teh scorch ’em laik er kiln 
scrap.” Only when he pushed back from the board, 
and declared himself filled to repletion, did the 
old couple consent to begin their meal, while 
he sat nearby, telling them the gossip of the 
big house, how they had some visitors from the 
State Capitol, men of prominence, one a legis¬ 
lator, who loved the life of the open, a hunter 
in many lands who just the night before had 
been recounting a foxhunt he had enjoyed across 
the water. 
“Just think, Unc’ Cauge, they rode race horses 
and wore red coats and shiny boots with yellow 
tops and came from all over the country. They 
had a fellow to mind the dogs, ’most a hundred 
of them, all one kind and color. And when 
they jumped a fox, away they went over fields, 
fences, ditches, wherever he ran, and the rider 
who got close when the hounds killed it was 
given the tail, called ‘the brush,’ which was con¬ 
sidered a great prize, only won by the best 
riders. The ladies rode, too, and those who 
didn’t, followed in their buggies along the road. 
It was only the big folks who hunted—no com¬ 
mon trash allowed. It was a great big do, like 
our court week and tournament balls.” 
“Uh, huh! Marse Jeems, seems laik er mitey 
ruckshun teh maik ovah er leetle ole no-count 
fox. Why, yoh pa doan’t maik dat much ober 
a big deer hunt laik we all useter hab ’foah free¬ 
dom taime, en all de quality cum ’foah frum dis 
en de naixt county. Dey nebber had teh hab 
no shiny boots, er fancy coats, but dey got de 
deer en sometaimes dey got er ole bar, too. 
But, Lordy, Lordy! dis chile gotter be er mosey- 
in erlong, eh he won’t be ready for Marse Hen¬ 
nery ternight. Des tell heem, honey, dat ole 
Cauge dun be dar suah. I’se gwine git der 
big flat en clean hit feh heem. En des tell heem 
ole Cauge sehs be suah en bring er few shells 
er ‘blue whistlers’—dey’s de onliest shot whut’ll 
taik de top ob de haid offen dese big ’gators.” 
[to be concluded.] 
The 'Gator as a Watchdog. 
A view of the alligator as a watchdog is one 
not commonly held, but here is the Punta Gorda 
(Fla.) Herald saying: 
“To the practice of many of our leading citi¬ 
zens of allowing these domesticated lizards to 
roam their yards at night, unfettered and free, 
we attribute in our town the happy absence we 
enjoy of tramps, burglars and yellow dogs. As 
a watchdog, the alligator is unsurpassed. His 
honest bark is enough to put the fear of God 
into the hearts of all midnight prowlers, and 
his affection for superfluous dogs is only equaled 
by his capacity for benevolently assimilating 
them.” 
Fishing. 
If a feller feels like fishin’ in this weather, let 
him fish— 
Stretched out there by the river, where the 
winds an’ waters swish! 
If the weather’s kind o’ fishy, it is time to call a 
halt, 
For the good Lord made the weather, an’ it 
ain’t a feller’s fault! 
—Atlanta Constitution. 
