Sistus, brudders an’ chillun: Pawson Demby wuz ’specially ’quested futto prech at de gre’t bushmeetin’ gwine on in Bolingbrook Neck, an’ dey sent up uh fo’-hoss-mule team an’ kyart fuh him lars’ night. He ’quested me futto say ter de congation dat he wanted yo’ pray’rs fuh de gre’t cause he gwine ter prech erbout, an’ he also qualify me ter say his tex’ will be fum de book ub Deutron’my, 22d chaptah, 10th vus: “Thou shalt not plough wid uh ox an’ uh ass togedda.”

Some free niggahs ’long de Choptank dat cum fum Henraccah County, Firginny, is ploughin’ wid uh mule an’ uh ox, an’ hit’s stressin’ de Babtis’ ’roun’ de ribba pow’ful, kase hit’s sech uh wiolation ub de Scripturs.

De witches in Haylan’ Branch is keepin’ uh good many sistus fum cummin’ ter de chuch Sunday nights. De c’lections consequationly is so small I is ’fraid we kyant git de kyarpet fuh de pulpit by Chrismus; but ev’y little bit helps, ef’n hit’s only uh rabbit’s foot, kase dey will sell at de festival fuh 6 cents uh dozen.

Ez I ain’ had uh ve’y long notice, meh discose dis ebinin’ will be breef. You will fine meh tex’ in de book ub Gen’sis, 11th chaptah, thud vus:

Den, ergin, de fif’ chaptah ub Exodus, all ub de sebinth vus: “Ye shall no mo’ gib de people straw ter meck brick, ez heahtofo’; let dem go an’ gavva straw fuh demsebs.”

You all recommember dat Mars Nickey say lars’ New Year Day dat ef’n his serbents, young an’ ole, ’habe demsebs well fuh uh hole yeah he gwine ter build ’em uh little brick chuch. Well, de serbents is bin monstus good fuh uh hole yeah, ’skusin’ Little Billy, an’ he so curisome Marster don’ mine him. ’Sides, he muvva Nancy nuss Mars Pinckney. So arfter de cawn wuz hus’in’ Mars Nickey tole me an’ Reubin ter go ter de clay bank an’ meck boutin fifty thousan’ bricks, an’ dey wud be uh plenty ter build uh chuch dat wud hab uh real top-lofty pulpit, uh moaners’ corner, an’ hole boutin two hun’erd serbents. Mars John Chamberlain, Mars Tench Tilghman, Mars Samuel Dickinson holp ter buy de shingles an’ furnachy.

Wuckin’ dat clay (an’ Moses wud hab praised dat clay), meckin’ an’ haulin’ dem bricks ter dat lubly cedar grove, made me think ub dis tex’ night an’ day, an’ I is wanted fuh uh yeah ter preach on dis gre’t subjec’.

I see some dear sistus heah fum Queen Anne’s. I s’pose you cum ober ter de bushmeetin’ in Oxford Neck, so I wan’ you ter ondastan what uh ’squisite spot Cedar Grove is fuh uh brick chuch, befo’ I git fudda wid meh spressifications boutin bricks.

Sistus, da is uh little creek called Peach Blossom. De fus’ peach seed dat cum ter Amer’ca wuz fotch ober an’ planted ’long Peach Blossom Creek, Mars Pinckney say, erbout de time Klumbus ’skivered Amer’ca; dat’s why hit’s called Peach Blossom. De same man fotch ober some apple seed, an’ de apples wuz named arfter him, Catlin apples.

Peach Blossom is erboutin uh harf mile long an’ uh hun’erd ya’ds wide, an’ empties inter Fausley Creek. De watah is fum five ter eight feet deep, de bottom ez clean ez de deck ub Cap’n Stitchberry’s schooner, de Margaret Jane, sandy, an’ ez hyard ez uh mule’s haid, but you kyant see de bottom ’ceppin heah an’ heah, kase da’s wha Mars Nickey got he oysters bedded, an’ da’s wha Uncle Stephen sets Mars Nickey’s net, ketches de spot, hogfish an’ pan rock dat cums in dat creek ter feed ober de oysters, an’ den ter meddowtate. Mos’ at de haid ub de creek is uh proud-lookin’ grove ub cedars; ’mong dem cedars is twenty cedar toomstone poses, wha Ole Mars burried he good an’’ favorite houn’s, an’ da’s wha de new Zion Chuch gwine ter be swottuated.

Belubbed, da nebber wuz uh mo’ ’chantin’ creek! On hits banks grows lubly trees, fum de sas’fras an’ dogwood ter de gre’t elms, walnut an’ poplar trees. Sistuh Cassey, befo’ she died had uh cabin at de haid ub de creek; de honeysuckle an’ wile rose seeds strayed fum huh house all ’long de banks ub dat creek, an’ now de honeysuckle an’ wile roses blooms an’ clustus ’roun’ one nerr day an’ night—hit’s uh heb’nly spot. Hit don’ matter how de win’ blow, ef’n you paddle yo’ skiff in Peach Blossom Creek hit’s so cam, quiet an’ shady you kin heah de little jinny wrens, sparrows an’ crickets singin’. De watah looks so smove an’ happy when de tide go out an’ when de tide cum in, dat it al’ays mecks me think ub Ole Miss’ face; fac’ is, you jes’ wanter set down an’ muse, an’ you won’er why all erligeons ain’ de Babtis in Talbot County, ter wash deah sins erway in Peach Blossom. But I mus’ tu’n ter de application.

Little Billy wucked two days dribin’ uh ox team, den ub cose he got tired. Mammy Nancy ’quested me ter arsk you all ter pray fuh him arfter de doxol’gy; he is ve’y bad. Ef’n Mars Nickey knew’d what he say he’d whup him sho’; kase he say Mars Nickey wud hab built dat chuch, good er bad niggahs; dat he tole him all dat he wanted him ter do wuz ter see ezactly wha de bricks wuz drapped, an’ ter be sho’ none ub dem bricks wuz drapped ergin dem houn’ cedar pos’ toomstones. Billy fudda spressify dat he bleebe de chuch wuz gwine ter be uh kind ub monumen’ ter he good an’ faithful houn’s an’ good an’ faithful serbents.

Meh brudderin, I hab now laid de foundation. So I wan’ you fus’ ter persidder de pictur on de face ub dat lubly clock; befo’ she strike ergin I am gwine ter tell you who de fus’ brickmakers wuz, an’ how dey cum ter meck bricks.

Way down in Egyp’ lan’ long time befo’ Klumbus ’skivvered Talbot County, da wuz uh king named Fario. He wuz uh gre’t man, an’ you kin ’magin’ what style he lib in fum de fac’ he had six hun’erd wibes, two chariots fuh each wife, an’ dey nebber is bin able ter fine out ezactly how many hosses, mules, jackasses, steers, cows, sheep, goats an’ serbents he had; an’ he had so much ter meck him peart dat he got ter be uh ve’y wile man. Well, dis king had uh lubly daughter, de apple ub he mouf an’ de ve’y spit ub de king. She had uh nice ’scluded little ribba (I specks it wuz mos’ ez putty ez Fausley Creek) futto bave in; she likewise had fo’ er five hun’erd han’maids, an’ all longed ter de qual’ty. De Bible call ’em damsels. I think hit’s uh good name fuh maids dese days, ’skusin’, ub cose, free niggahs. Well, de narration say dat Miss Fario wen’ down ter de ribba wid huh damsels futto bave. Dey wuz orndressin’ huh, ten maids wuz teckin’ de rings of’n huh ten fingahs, two mo’ maids wuz teckin’ huh earrings out, an’ uh nubba teckin’ de earrings outin huh nose. (All de qual’ty wo’ rings in deah noses dem days.) Jes’ ez she erboutin orndress—you see dey didn’ ware no bavin’ suits in de time ub de Petracks, an’ bad ez de men wuz dey didn’ bave wid de ladies; so da wuz sut’ny no mails ’roun’, ’ceppin’ uh monstus fine baby boy three monfs ole, dat wuz kivverd up wid bullrushes, an’ ’rapped in flags (I s’pose de flags wuz some ole sorf battle-flags)—well, jes’ ez de king’s daughter put huh little feets in de watah ter see ef’n it tu cole, she heah uh chile cry. She jumped back relarmed, an’ say ter huh maids, “What’s dat?” Den she look in de bullrushes, an’ lo an’ beholst, da wuz uh cutesome lookin’ cradle wid flags ’roun’ hit (Is’lite flags, I s’pose), an’ uh baby fairly harkin’; he cryin’ so.

Hit is s’pose by narrationists dat de ma ub de chile got de frog fright, kase frogs wuz so thick, an’ gittin’ thicker, dat dey wuz in de kitchens, smoke houses, parlors, tubs, cookin’ ubbins, an’ in de beds; so de chile’s ma meck uh sort ub deck-ober cradle ub mud, tar, pitch an’ beeswax, dat made hit frog-proof, an’ da’s wha dey sho’ly foun’ de baby. Pres’ny Miss Fario saw uh ooman stan’in’ neah by, so she say, “Is you de muvva ub dis chile?” She say, “Yes’m!” Miss Fario say, “Cum heah an’ nuss dis chile right ’way an’ I’ll pay you ter be de chile’s mammy. I’m gwine ter ’dopt him; he uh monstus fine chile. ’Sides I want something futto caress; an’ ez I foun’ him in de watah, I’m gwine ter gib him de lubly name ub Moses, kase de Bible say in Egyp’ lan’ Moses is de name fuh watah.”

Bimeby he grow’d up ter be uh gre’t man, an’ wuz ve’y friendly wid de Petracks. Pres’ny you will see de application.

Well, de king say ter de Petracks, “We is gwine ter hab uh gre’t famin’, kase de frogs, locusses an’ grasshoppus is uh carryin’ on high.” So dey all ’cided ter buy all de cawn dat wuz riz dat yeah. Pres’ny heah cum de famin’, sho’ nuff; den de Gyptian farmers an’ sheppards cum ter Joseph. Dey say, “Joseph, we horngry; we ain’ got no cawn!” Joseph right ’way say, “I’s got plenty cawn!” So dey buy uh plantation ub cawn, an’ Joseph teck de money ter de King, an’ de King he hab uh gay time ober dat money ub de Is’lites.

Now, strange ter say, wid all de hosses, chariots, foxhoun’s, an’ I ’specks, fine coon dogs dat dey could wusship, an’ wid deah wissum tu (kase Mars Pinckney say dey knew’d mo’n we do)—fuh all dat dey wusship crockdiles (why, de Bible say King Solomon had six hun’erd wibes an’ three hun’erd crockdiles; jes’ think ub dat!), el’phants, ants, bulls, butterflies, grasshoppus, frogs, an’ I dunno what not, an’ dey didn’ keer no mo’ fuh one ooman dan uh man keer fuh uh yaller-jacket’s nes’. Yas, indeed; dey wusship ’mos’ ev’ything ’ceppin’ uh damsel. Dey had drobes ub wibes, but dey didn’ hab no condidence in deah wibes. Why, ef’n dey hab uh composation ebin wid uh Pawson, dem Kings an’ Judges wud ’mejately hab deah haids cut orf.

Well, hit cum ter pars in erboutin uh yeah dem po’ Is’lites cum back ter de Petracks mo’ horngry dan ebba, an’ tell deah tale ub ’stress. Dey say, “We ain’ got no money; we spend hit all fuh cawn. Our fodder is all ’zausted, so we fotch our cattle; we will gib dese cattle fuh cawn. So Joseph count de cattle an’ teck ’em fuh cawn. Now, dat’s two yeahs ub de famine. Dar’s five mo’ yit.”

Well, hit cum ter pars uh yeah arfter dat dey cum ergin an’ dey say, “We ain’ got uh cent dis time, an’ no cattle; how-some-eber, we mus’ hab cawn; we kyant lib ’dout hit. So dey gib all deah plantations. So King Fario own all Egyp’ lan’, an’ he carry on higher still, jes’ scan’lus, ve’y mischevious, kase he own mos’ ez many plantations ez Ab’ham.”

Brudderin, uh yeah went by, an’ heah cum dem po’ horngry sheppards an’ farmers ergin. Dey say, “We almos’ starbed we so horngry.” King Fario say “What you got ter gimmy, now?” An’ dey say, “Nuffin ’ceppin’ our bodies, futto be yo’ slabes.”

Moses wuz uh gre’t man, ve’y gre’t man (he nuss wuz uh cullud pusson), so he look on all de time, stroked his whiskus, leaned on dat cutesome rod ub his’n an’ didn’ say nuffin, jes’ meddowtate an’ muse, muse an’ meddowtate. Now, Moses natch’ly felt po’ly kase he had kilt uh Gyptian de day befo’ fuh kickin’ uh Is’lite, one ub he people. Pres’ny heah cum King Fario, dribin’ fo’ jack-asses in uh chariot he had jes’ bought wid sum ub his cawn money. Little Billy say he read somewha in de Bible dat King Fario shuck han’s wid Moses, an’ say ter him in uh whispuh:

“Moses, I’m gwine ter teck all dem Gyptians ez slabes. Dar’s such uh drouf, so many frogs, locusses an’ grasshoppus, da ain’ no use ter set ’em at wuck in de fiel’s, so I’m gwine ter meck ’em wuck hyard fuh dat cawn. I wan’ at leas’ uh harf million sot ter wuck dis day, but what dey gwine ter do? Dat’s de consequation! Dar’s uh gre’t deman’ fuh bricks ev’ywha, but meh clay ain’ ve’y good.”

Den Moses riz up his rod, gib it uh twiss, an’ cunjured dat rod. Den dey had uh little serpent dance, an’ while dey wuz uh dancin’ Moses say, “You got ’bun’ance ub straw, an’ ef’n de straw gib out you got plenty ub stubble.” King Fario say, “Uh case orntried is hyard ter justify.” Den Moses gib he rod nubba twiss (Little Billy say dat de rod wuz made outin witch hazel wood), an’ he spressify, “I’s foun’ out uh way ter meck bricks ’doutin straw!” An’ right ’way dem po’ slabes wuz sot ter brick-meckin’.

“Let us meck brick.”

Den arfter dey bin meckin bricks ’boutin two hun’erd yeah hit cum ter pars dat de profit Ex-o-dus said, “Ye shall no mo’ gib de people straw ter meck bricks, ez heahtofo’; let ’em go an’ gavva straw fuh demsebs.”

Brudderin, when you gib bricks uh solid thought hit’s uh pow’ful subjec’. Fac’ is, we is all bricks, an’ made fum de same clay. I is not spressifyin’ de application ter straw bricks, kase I dunno how dey is turnt ter clay.

Bricks is our house futto dwell in an’ wusshup in while we libbin’, an’ our house in de groun’ tell de day cum when de gre’t Marster blow He hohn an’ we stan’ befo’ uh gate finah dan any King Sol’man ebba had. Belubbed, is you gwine ter try an’ swing on dat gate? [A voice: “Yas, Lawd!”] an’ be da ter heah St. Peter say “Heah cum meh chillun; lemmy call deah names.” Brudderin, sistus an’ little chillun, will he call yo’ names?

Tilly Mink: “Brer Rasmus, I’m mos’ swingin’ on dat gate now!”

Well, den, meck dat boy Scipio Jones, settin’ ’side you, teck dat sweet-tater harness orf, an’ dat piece ub sheep rib outin his mouf, he chawin’, fuh uh bit.

At de lars camp meetin’ uh ve’y ’stinguish’ Babtis’ pawson said he wuz s’prised dat de lubly daughter ub King Fario merried King Sol’mon, uh man dat wusshup’d frogs, bulls, el’phants an’ crock’diles fuh pets. My ’pinion is she fell in lub wid dat brick house ub de King’s, dat de Bible say had two thousan’ baf tubs, an’ teck thutteen yeah ter buil’. Den, ergin, de bricks wuz laid in gole. King Fario’s daughter cudn’ resis’ uh house like dat, an’ I don’ think ’twuz hyard ter ondastan’. Huh merryin’ de King, dafo’, wuz uh subjec’ dat wuz rash-nal.

When we gittin’ our heb’nly trunk packed, an’ when we trabblin’ up ter St. Peter’s gait, I kin see Uncle Reubin, Aunt Phillis, Uncle Stephen, Aunt Sookey, Rasmus Jemes, Damon Danridge, Pawson Phil Demby an’ Mammy Nancy trottin’ ’long de road in de beauty ub holiness, goin’ ter St. Peter’s gait an’ longin’ ter git deah han’s on de gait futto ring dat bell. An’ I kin see Little Billy (be sho’ an’ pray fuh him, Sistus; ef’n coons, ’possums, fiddles an’ banjos had nebba ’zisted, he wudn’ be uh sinnah)—yas, I kin see Little Billy stan’in’ wid Jasper pullin’ dat bell tell he mos’ breck de wire, an’ pester St. Peter so dat he say, “Who dat tryin’ ter breck meh bell?” Den de bell wen’ jing-uh-ling ergin! Den St. Peter ’mejately stuck he lubly haid ober de gate an’ say, “Gwuffum heah, Little Billy; you ain’ bin ’nointed. Yon got ter lib wid dem you likes ter keep cump’ny wid; fuh instinc’, witches, ghoses, jack-uh-ma-lanterns an’ de chillun in de wilderness ub Zip!” You kin ’magine how po’ Billy’s face look—much mo’ sadder dan Scip Jones’ look at de cake-walk lars’ Chris’mus; an’ when St. Peter smile same ez uh serrypin an’ say, “Heah cum meh chillun; walk in de watah, fuh hit’s al’ays wahm; let me babtiz you in de golden ribba,” Billy wuz so ’stressed dat he kicked Jasper an’ say, “Hit’s all yo’ fault; ef’n you wan’ sech uh good coon dog I’d nebba bin led ’stray.”

Now, dis will cum ter pars: When St. Peter sees Aunt Phillis an’ Uncle Reubin cummin’ ’long he will say, jes’ ez sho’ ez judgmen’ day is cummin’, “Cherrypins an’ serrypins, an’ Ham, de cullud son ub Noahy, bresh de dust fum two ub de bes’ seats in de Lawd’s kitchen fuh dem two saints, an’ tell ’em we gwine ter hab uh festibal!” I wan’ Ham ter set ’long side you an’ pint out Samuel de fus’, an’ secon’, Moses, King Dabid, King Fario, Zackeus de climber, an’ lars’, but not leas’, Ho Ho, an’ you’ll see fum he habin’ whiskus he ain’ no Chine er Japne. Den de profit Noahy will renounce dat King Dabid an’ he son, King Sol’mon, gwine ter sing uh jewette togedda—King David, ub cose, playin’ on his hyarp ub uh thousan’ strings; an’ I ’specks dat sweetes’ son ub Noahy, Ham, will play de banjo. Bless meh soul an’ body, an’ meh body an’ soul, belubbed, what uh festibal hit will be! Sistus, I kin see ’em all.

Tilly Mink: “Yas, Brer Rasmus, all clustah’d ’roun’ de pul-pit.”

John Poney: “Kin you see me, Brer Rasmus?”

No; I am lis’nin’ ter ’em talk. Dear little Jona will tell erboutin’ his sea voyage; St. Peter, dat lubly ’possel, ub how many shirks he kotch an’ kilt; Little Jack-a-ass erboutin how slippery wuz de sycamo’ tree he clum; Jacob erboutin de lubly streeked, striped an’ speckled cattle he riz; Nimrod erboutin coon dogs, King Sol’mon erboutin he thorrybreds—brudderin’ I cud preach fum dis tex’ fuh uh monf an’ nebba git rejected, but I mus’ migrate ter dem dat ain’ bin ’mersed. Wha will dey be when dat sweet festibal is gwine on? Cole ez hit is—an’ dar’s fo’ back logs on de fire—I say cole ez hit is, tu cole fuh uh ’possum ter be out, yit I feel so het up fum dis discose dat I kin almos’ tase de red hot melted lead, an’ sizzlin’ brimstone dat de sinnah hab ter resis’ on.

“You kyant eat uh hoe-cake but once!” so cum ter de moanah’s bench now; cum while de hoe-cake ub salbation is brown wid faith, an’ all kivver’d ober wid de graby ub redemption, an’ hab yo’ fingahs filled wid streams ub goodness. When you go befo’ St. Peter, de gre’t fisherman, he got Moses stan’in’ by he side wid dat curisome rod ub his’n.^[13] Den Moses tap you on de han’ wid he rod, an’ ef’n you good yo’ fingah nails will fly back, an’ Moses will pull fum yo’ fingahs gre’t long strings ub goodness; an’ ef’n you bad, gre’t long black bad strings.

Uncle Reubin Viney say dat he heah uh gre’t Mefodis’ pawson say dat Unuch, who wuz transplanted, wuz so good dat he didn’ hab any fingah nails, an’ de Mefodis’ pawson also say de reason de debbil is called Ole Scratch is kase he fingah nails long ez uh roostus spuhs.

Now, when Moses tap yo’ fingahs what he gwine ter pull out? Belubbed, now is de time fuh de checkeration ub yo’ sins. Burhol’ de golden stairs starin’ you in de face! Sistus an’ brudders, you mus’ try ter clim’ dem stairs. Hit will meck yo’ legs, ahms, risses an’ hyarts so strong, jes’ ez it did little Zackasses when he clum dat slippery sycamo’ tree; an’ when you git ter de top ub dem golden stairs you will see fus’ Ole Mars Nickey, Mars Tilghman, Mars Jimmy an’ Miss Henrietta wid wings ’hine an’ befo’ an’ cullud angels consonly breshin’ de dus’ fum Miss Henrietta’s cheah, an’ lookin’ fuh huh specks, an’ you’ll see de same sweet ringlets in huh hyah. Yas, indeed! kissen huh lubly brow, neck an’ bres’ jes’ like de jewdraps kisses de snowballs in de gyardin. An’ pres’ny she will raise up dem sweet han’s ub huh’n dat’s of’n bin bu’nt meckin’ poltices fuh good an’ bad serbents, open huh cherrypin mouf an’ say, “Dem’s meh good serbents; I knew’d dey’d be heah!” An’ den she’ll call Ham an’ say, “Gib ’em nice seats in de Lawd’s kitchen;” an’ while she gibbin’ orders King Dabid chune he hyarp, Gabriel he trumpet, an’ all de res’ ub de gre’t singers an’ players git ’roun’ de organ. Den King Sol’mon, wid uh pow’ful bow an’ uh book ub songs un’er his arm, ax Miss Henrietta futto play de organ; an’ Miss Henrietta bow fum him an’ look ez prowd ez uh peacock—an’ she wuz, tu! An’, belubbed, she say, “I’m sho’ you ain’ pus-nal, den ergin you ain’ rash-nal, King Sol’mon, kase you had tu many wibes; an’ ef’n it wan’ fuh dem lubly songs ub yo’n I wudn’ fogib yo’ sassyness er keep comp’ny wid you.”

Lars’ but not leas’, I ’specks Aunt Phillis sot at de melojin in de Lawd’s kitchen wid all Marster’s good an’ faithful serbents ’roun’ huh, an’ when Moses teck he rod an’ gib dat rod uh twiss, dey all included by singin’ togedda, de fo’f vus ub hym 473:

Befo’ we sojourn I fogot ter renounce dat Mage Rudd say de keys ub de heb’nly organ wuz all made ub gole. Yistiddy I ax Mars Pinckney erboutin hit, an’ he say, “Sho’! Da wuz uh Key made ub gole dat writ uh gre’t an’ pow’ful song.” Think ub dat! I dunno what he mean ezac’ly, but I s’pose hit sompin in rebellation.