"You ain' never hearn 'bout we-all's Tubal? I thought ev'ybody in de State uv Virginny had done heah 'bout Tubal de fiddler."

Outside the cabin door the sun of May shone bright, beautiful, intoxicating. The old negro held his ragged hat in his lap, and sat on the corner of the bench that caught the full glare of the sun, unvexed by the dappled shadows of the black-leaved poplars.

"Tubal he wuz a fiddler, Gord A'mighty knows. Nobody never did know how he learn ter play de fiddle. Hit mus' er come ter him natchel, like de way de bees sing in clover time, 'kase one day ole marse gone ter git he fiddle outen de case, an' 'twarn't d'yar! You jes' oughter heah ole marse sw'ar! He allers could cuss an' sw'ar like a gentmun; an' ef he didn't f'yar smoke, an' sizzle dat day dis nigger is a liar. All day long ole marse he r'ar an' pitch. But when de han's come in at sundown, Yaller Josh, de hade man, he brung Tubal 'long to'des de house. Josh he hol' little Tubal by de collar, an' Tubal he walk 'long, playin' de fiddle, an' he never stop. Josh he haul Tubal up 'fo' ole marse, settin' on de po'ch, an' it tu'n out dat little coon Tubal had been settin' 'hine de straw-stacks all day long learnin' ter play on ole marse's fiddle! He had done tooken it! He had acshilly done tooken it! 'Fo' ole marse could git he bref ter bawl out, Tubal he say, "Marster, please, sir; jes' listen, sir;" an' he strike up 'Forked Deer,' an he play de same ez any morkin^[1] singin'. Old marse he jes' set d'yar an' st'yar at de boy. Den Tubal he teched up 'Snowbird on de Ashbank,' an' he 'gin ter shuffle he foots on de po'ch, while ole marse he beat de flo' wid he stick; but when Tubal come ter play 'Kiss me sweetly,' he back-step all de time he playin' it; an' fust thing we all see ole marse he jump up an' start ter footin' it, doin' de back-step, double-shuffle, cut de pigeon wing, an' ev'ything—he an' Tubal jes' dancin' a reg'lar breakdown twell de po'ch rattle."

^[1] Mocking-bird.

"'Twuz a sight, I tell you, wid Tubal sawin' de bow, an' he an' ole marse, bofe on 'em, whackin' de groun'. Den ole marse he tooken de fiddle an' he play, an Tubal he dance, an' d'yar dey wuz!"

"Arter dat, ole marse buy Tubal a fiddle fer hisse'f, an' Tubal he never do no mo' wuk, 'scusin' 'twas wid de fiddle an de bow. He never wuk in de crap. He make 'tense he wait in de house; but Unc' Daniel, dat wuz de dinin'-room servant, he say Tubal warn' no more use ter him dan de fiddle wuz. In dem times, 'fo' de cullud folks wuz free an' enlightenment, 'twarn' counted no sin fer ter play on de fiddle. Now de niggers know de devil iz a fiddler, an', consequenchical, de chu'ch members doan' play on nuttin', 'cep' 'tis de 'corjion. But ez fer 'ligion, Tubal he didn' have none. Oncet when ev'y nigger on de Shelter plantation was seekin' 'cep' Tubal, ole marse he beller, "You kin all git jes' ez much 'ligion ez you kin tote, but ef I cotch dat fiddlin' Tubal seekin' an' cryin' an' prayin', I lay I'll wallop de Gorspel outen him 'fo' he know it, genteel an' quick." An' he would, too But Tubal warn't a seeker, er even a backslider. Den de white folks in de county got ter sen'in' fer him ter play at de parties, an' ole marse he gin him a ole jinny mule dat th'o' ev'ybody dat ever did try to ride her. Tubal he sot on dat jinny mule jes' a hol'in' on by he knees, wid he fiddle under he chin, an' he play 'Billy in de Lowgrounds' fer life. Jinny didn' know what ter make er dat; so she ciphered it out, an' say ter herse'f: 'Dis heah nigger mus' be Kun'l Boswell's Tubal. Tain't wuff while ter wrastle wid dat nigger.' An' she didn'. Ole marse he wuz a widower, an' he had done los' bofe he chillen, but he had two gran'sons—Marse Jack Boswell an' Marse Page Carter—dat live at de Shelter, an' wuz gwi' git all ole marse lan' an' niggers. I doan' know how 'twuz, but Tubal an' all de black folks got de notion dat he wuz gwi' b'long ter Marse Page when ole marse die an' de niggers wuz 'vided out. Tubal sut'ny did love Marse Page, an' track him same like a dog. Dey allers got in mischief toge'er; an' Marse Page take a whuppin' fer hisse'f, but he allers try an' baig Tubal off.

"Ole marse he wuz mighty cur'us 'bout some things. He want jes' three hunderd niggers—no mo' 'n' no less. Sometimes de black folks teck ter dyin', an' he git down ter two hunderd an' ninety odd. Ole marse he groan an' moan, an' say he c'yarn wuk de Shelter plantation wid less'n three hunderd niggers, an' ef dey keep on dyin' in dis infernal discontemptuous way, he gwi' be a bankrup'. Den, fust thing, de black babies would come like de blackberries on de bushes, an' may be he have three hunderd an' fifteen. Den ole marse would cuss twell you see de brimstone in de a'r, an' say dat de Shelter place c'yarn' s'pport mo' 'n three hunderd niggers nohow, an' ef dey keep on gittin' born, de owdacious niggers would ruin him.

"He wuz allers gwi' co'tin, but he never did. He say de plantation want a mistis an' somebody ter look arter de two boys; but he couldn' go co'tin' in summer, 'kase he had ter go to de Springs; an' in de fall, wid de sellin' uv de craps, an' de fallowin' fer wheat, an' de 'lection, he didn' have no time; an' in de winter he had de rheumertiz; an' he 'low dat co'tin' never did 'gree wid him in de spring uv de year. Miss Patty Corbin she wait fer him fo'teen year, an' den she sen' him word 'twuz den er never. Ole marse he sen her back word 'twuz never, 'kase he didn't like ter be hurried in he 'rangements. So he didn' never got married; an' when he die he jes' leave all he property ter be 'vided out 'tween Marse Jack an' Marse Page, 'cep he lef' Marse Page he silver watch. Ole marse tho't a sight er dat watch. He wouldn' never let no watchmaker tech it, fer he feerd he mought spile it; an' when it got wrong he jes' take a feather an' some lard an' grease it hisse'f, an' den 'twuz all right ag'in.

"Well, all de black folks like Marse Page de bes', an' all on 'em want ter 'long ter him. Marse Jack he mighty quarrelsome an' 'sputifyin' 'bout things, an' he say he want Tubal de fiddler. Tubal he fall down on he knees 'fo' Marse Page an' baig dat Marse Page take him; but Marse Page he had done ask fer Mam' Betsy—dat wuz de mammy uv bofe de boys—an' Marse Jack say he 'titled ter Tubal. Marse Page he offer ter buy Tubal right outen; but Marse Jack say no, Tubal wuz de bes' fiddler in de county, an' he want him. So Tubal had ter go wid Marse Jack; but Tubal he say to we-all, mighty solemn like: 'Marse Jack think he gwi' git a fust-class fiddler. I sw'ar I ain' never gwi' draw dat bow ez long ez I is Marse Jack's nigger. I done sw'ar it, an' I done make a cross in de ashes 'fo' I sw'ar.'

"Naix thing we heah, Marse Jack he gwi' move ter de upper country, whar dey doan' have no oshters er crabs er nuttin' fer ter eat—an' sho' 'nuff 'twuz so.

"I never will furgit de day dey all lef'. Dey wuz wagons fur all de women an' de chillen an' de sick folks an' de ole folks, an' de men dey walk. Tubal wuz d'yar on de jinny mule, but he didn' have no fiddle. Marse Page come ter tell 'em good-by. De black folks cry an' pray an' sing, same like 'twuz a baptizin', 'twell Marse Page he tooken out he white hankercher an' he cry too. Tubal he hol' on ter Marse Page, an' ax Gord ter bless him, an' ax him if he 'member when dey useter go fishin' toge'er, an' Marse Page t'yar he Sunday jacket, so Mam' Betsy have ter give it ter Tubal—he allus like brass buttons—an' Marse Page tell him he ain' never gwi' furgit he faithful Tubal, an' lars' thing Tubal say ter we-all er-cryin' wuz, 'I ain' gwi' tech dat fiddle, I ain' gwi' tech dat bow, ez long ez I b'long ter Marse Jack Boswell.' An' he didn'.

"De years an' de years pass on. We done hear dat Marse Jack he try ter make Tubal play when he got him up de country, but Tubal he doan' play. Marse Jack den put him in de corn fiel', an' Tubal he han's jes' es sof' ez Marse Jack's hisse'f; he have ter hoe de row, but he doan' play de fiddle. Marse Jack he tell him ef he will play de fiddle he kin hire out ter play at de parties, an' make a heap uv money. Tubal he 'low steadfas' he ain' never gwi' play no mo'. But de niggers say dat in de night-time Tubal he git up an' go 'way in de woods, whar he had done hide de fiddle, an' he play twell mos' mornin'. De folks gwi' 'long thu' de woods moonlight nights hear de soun's floatin' by, an' dey git skeered an' run, an' say 'tis evils 'broad; but nobody never tole Marse Jack. He an' Marse Page didn' have nuttin' 'tall ter do wid each ur'r arter dey fell out 'bout Tubal. Bofe on 'em got married, an' Marse Page wife die soon, an' lef' him er little gal. She growed up mighty pretty, wid gray eyes, sorter like partridge eyes, an' she wuz slim an' slight. Marse Page he live on at de Shelter, but he warn't like ole marse. He wuz sof' spoken, an' he read books, an he never talk 'bout goin' co'tin' no mo', an' he wuz de best marster in de county. He wuz mighty fond o' Miss Letty, an' useter say, 'Dat little gray-eyed gal she got er sperrit.'

"Well, arter a while de war broke out at de Norf, an' Marse Page he raise a cump'ny an' went ter de war. He sont Miss Letty off ter school, an' de niggers jes' stay on de plantation an' work under de overseer. But it didn't seem like nuttin' prosper no mo'. De craps warn' no 'count—de wheat allers had de rus' an' de corn warn' nuttin' but nubbins, an' de line fence cotch fire an' bu'n up mos' all de fencin' on de place, an' a storm come an' to' down mo'n half de house; an' when Marse Page an' Miss Letty come back arter de war, de niggers wuz free, an't' wasn' nuttin lef' but de lan'. But Marse Page wuz a gent'mun, an' he couldn' live no way 'cep' de quality way, an' co'se he had ter borry money fer ter do it; 'sides dat, he had done los' he right arm in de war. So fer a year er two things wuz putty much like dey wuz 'fo' de war; Miss Letty had her piany an' her hoss, an' marse he cigars an' he silk stockin's an' sech.

"One de fust things dat happen arter de war wuz one day when Marse Page wuz settin' on de po'ch in ole marse' cheer. He look up, an' d'yar, stan'in' on de gravel parf, wuz a ole man on a jinny mule, an' he had er fiddle under he arm, an' widout sayin' er word he 'gin ter tune up dat fiddle, an' he start ter play 'Kiss me sweetly.' Marse Page he sot right still, an' de tears rain down he face, an' den de nigger man he hop off'n de jinny mule, an' he come up de steps, an' he say, 'Marse Page, I is a free man now, an' I come fer ter be yo' nigger oncet mo'.'

"Marse Page he call out fer Miss Letty, an' she come flyin', an' fo' her par could say a word she say, 'Why, it's Uncle Tubal.' She ain't never seen Tubal, but she hearn 'bout him; and den he kiss her little han', an' Marse Page had he liquor case fotch out, an' he an' Tubal drink ter ole times, an' Tubal he f'yar make de fiddle talk. Arterward Tubal he go right back in he ole house he had lived in ole marse' time. Tubal didn't have no wife er chillen; he say he fiddle were all de wife he want; an' he go back ter de ole ways. No mo' hoein' an' wukkin' for Tubal; he jes' sot an' play de fiddle all day.

"Dis heah way went on fer a while, an' mout er gone on twell now, but all de po' white trash dat Marse Page had intrusted wid de mortgage on de Shelter 'speck him ter pay de money back, an' co'se Marse Page didn't have it; ef he had had it, he wouldn' er borried de money nohow. An', ef you will b'lieve dis nigger, dem low-down white folks make Marse Page pay all he debts fur ez he could, an' de place wuz sol', an' de black folks went off, an' Marse Page an' Miss Letty had ter go an' live in de overseer's house. It didn't have but fo' rooms. Tubal he went wid 'em, an' he wuk de bes' he kin, but Tubal warn' no wukker, natchel. Marse Page couldn' do nuttin', 'kase he didn't have but one arm, an' bimeby times got wuss an' wusser, an' hard an' harder, an' Miss Letty—she had a fine eddication—she had ter go 'way an' teach school, an' leave Tubal ter take keer uv Marse Page.

"Now Tubal he useter hoe in de g'yardin an' keep things goin', but de onlies' way he could git money wuz by fiddlin'. Marse Page he do widout all he could, but he wuz er gent'mun, an' he couldn' do widout much, an' Miss Letty she sent him all she make. An' den one night he wuz tooken sick an' had a stroke of paradise. He couldn' move, an' he couldn' hardly talk, but he call Tubal ter de baidside, an' he say, 'Remember, boy, not a word of this to your Miss Letty.' You see, Marse Page didn' have no right arm, an' he couldn' wrote wid he lef', an' Tubal had 'rections fum Miss Letty dat ev'y week he wuz ter git somebody ter write ter her an' tell her 'bout Marse Page, an' she keep on sen'in' him her money, but dat wouldn' been 'nough arter Marse Page got he stroke of paradise, ef it hadn' been fer Tubal's fiddlin'. Now, in dem times, dey wuz Yankees 'bout. Dey wuz two or three cump'nies dat camp out at de river landin', an' Tubal useter go over ter de camp an' play fer 'em, an' come back wid er greenback in he pocket. Marse Page by dat time didn' know nuttin' hardly. He jes' lay d'yar an' suffer an' groan. Out at de camp dey wuz a orficer—a cap'n—dat wuz mighty gin'rous ter Tubal, an' Tubal ax him ef he write a letter fer him ter Miss Letty. De cap'n 'gree, an' ev'y week Tubal go over an' git dat cap'n ter write. He warn' so ole, an' he were a gent'mun as wuz a gent'mun, ef he didn' have no niggers 'fo' de war, an' had ter have low-down white folks ter black he boots an' bresh he close. All de time Tubal wuz tellin' de cap'n what ter write, de cap'n wuz larfin' ter hisse'f, an' pres'ny he look kinder pitiful. Tubal's letters wuz mighty cur'us. Fust he tell de cap'n ter write dat all de quality in de county come ev'y day ter 'quire arter Marse Page. 'Twuz a lie, an' Tubal say so. 'Co'se dat's a lie, cap'n,' he say. 'Seem like de quality folks has clean forgot how Marse Page useter live at de Shelter 'fo' de war, wid thirty hosses in de stalls, an' cum'p'ny all de time, an' champagne like water outen de spring. But I c'yarn let Miss Letty know dat.' Den he tell him ter wrote Marse Page wuz so spry, an' he so intrusted in her letters, an' didn' want no mo' uv her money; an' ev'ybody know Marse Page 'ain' been able ter read hardly sence Miss Letty went away. De cap'n wroten it all, an' he gin Tubal a greenback mos' ev'y time he see him, an' sen' Marse Page some brandy like he been useter, an' tell Tubal ef he want nuttin' ter come ter him.

"One night de cap'n wuz settin' in he tent readin', an' Tubal sneak in, lookin' sorter queer. He say in a whisper: 'Cap'n, Marse Page is 'mos' gone. He callin' fer Miss Letty, an' you mus' wrote Miss Letty fer me, an' tell her, fer Gord A'mighty's sake, ter come home ez quick ez she kin.' De cap'n he wroten it right away, an' he tole her all 'bout de boats, an' how she wuz ter make corrections wid de k'yars, an' could git here by Sad'day. An' Tubal he never lef' Marse Page night er day.

"Well, dat naix Friday night, when de boat stop at de landin', off step Miss Letty: she had done make de corrections, an' got here 'fo' dey speck her. 'Twarn't nobody at de wharf ter meet her, but de cap'n wuz d'yar wid he orderly, an' when he see Miss Letty so pale an' pretty an' distrussful, he went up to her an' injuced hisse'f, an' ax ef he could be uv any resistance ter her. Miss Letty she toss her hade, an' look him all over wid dem gray eyes o' hern; she didn't like no sort o' Yankees, an' he had he uniform on; but he was so polite an' respectious, an' he hol' he cap in he han' all de time, dat pres'ny Miss Letty kinder softened. An' when he tole her he had done wroten de letters for Tubal, an' he hope she doan' fin' her father ez bad ez she 'spected ter fin' him, Miss Letty jes' broke down, an' cry fit ter break her heart. De cap'n tu'n away, an' didn' notice her twell she had got th'u' cryin', an' den he come back an' bow like a gent'mun, an' tole her he mus' take keer on her home, dat he horse 'ain' never had de honor uv kyar'in' a lady, but he know she ain' 'feerd, and kin ride on he army saddle. Den Miss Letty smile a little bit, an' de orderly—mighty po' white trash he were—brung up de hosses, an' de cap'n swung Miss Letty on he own hoss—a scrimptious bay hoss with black mane an' tail—an' de hoss fret a little bit; but Miss Letty she sot him, an' de cap'n he smile, an' say she kin ride like a soldier. Den he got on de orderly hoss, an' off dey went.

"'Twuz fo' miles ter de overseer's house, an' when de cap'n lef' her at de do', he tell her de camp warn' mo'n harf mile away, an' ef she want any help, he hope she would treat 'em like frien's 'stid uv enemies, an' Miss Letty she promise she would.

"Marse Page didn't live a week arter Miss Letty got d'yar. She found out dat de quality folks had sorter neglec' him, an' she was so proud and haughtical she wouldn' sen' fer none on 'em; an' Tubal say he doan' know what she would er done ef it hadn't been fur de cap'n. Co'se, arter Marse Page done dade, all de folks pay him deir respec's, an' heap on 'em come ter see ef dey couldn' do nuttin' fer him—arter he wuz laid out. But Miss Letty say no, she thank 'em; dey couldn' do nuttin' 'tall. De funeral wuz mons'ous big. Miss Letty she walk by herse'f 'hine de coffin, an' Tubal he walk right 'hine Miss Letty. De cap'n wuz d'yar too.

"Miss Letty, arter de buryin', she settle down quiet at de overseer's house wid a po' relation dat come f'um somewhar, an' fur two or three weeks she didn' do nuttin' but set an' look at de fire an' go ev'y evenin' an' stan' by Marse Page grave. Den she 'gin ter ax Tubal 'bout things, an' Tubal tole her how kin' de cap'n had been, an' sen' Marse Page brandy an' things, an' come ev'y day ter see ef he couldn' do sumpin' fer him—an' all dis heah 'fo' Marse Page wuz laid out—an' how he had done see 'bout de coffin, an' had tole Tubal what wuz fitten ter do. De cap'n didn' call ter see her, but ev'y day er two he sen' de orderly ter ax how she do, wid de cap'n's compliments, an' sometimes he sen' her er basket er grapes or er bokay. Miss Letty she wroten him er little note an' ax him ter come an' receive her thanks in pusson, an' he come. Tubal say it discomfuse him ter have Miss Letty seein' cump'ny in dat d'yar ole overseer's house, but she wuz fust quality, jes' de same ez ef she wuz at de Shelter in de ole time. Naix day Miss Patty Corbin, dat wait fo'teen year ter git ole marse, come in her gre't big kerridge to quile wid Miss Letty fer receivin' Yankee orficers.

"'De bes' people in de county doan' countenance it,' she say.

"'Very well,' answer Miss Letty, wid her cheeks afire, 'it seems they didn't countenance my poor father much after he left the Shelter, but this Yankee orficer he countenance my father when he was ill an' poor an' want frien's—and, Miss Patty,' she say wid her eyes blazin', 'it's a subject I won't have mentioned to me again—please understand—an' I wish you good-morning.' Miss Patty she flounce out ter her gre't big kerridge in a huff, an' Miss Letty she walk back inter de overseer's house like it wuz a palace, an' she wuz a queen.

"Tubal he meet de cap'n on de road dat very day, an' tole him de whole contention. De cap'n grin when Tubal tole him de way Miss Letty sen' Miss Patty off, same like she wuz shoot out ov a gun.

"Naix Sunday, at chu'ch, Miss Letty see de cap'n comin' in jes' ez she wuz; an' she wait fer him, an' smile, an' ax him inter her pew, an' let him walk up de aisle 'longside o' her. Dey sut'ny wuz a han'some couple—she look so pretty in her black frock, an' he wuz jes' ez straight as a Injun.

"Arter chu'ch, 'stid o' folks stoppin' ter speak wid Miss Letty, dey jes' went by her wid a nod an' a scowl. Miss Letty she had a sperrit, ez Marse Page say; she smile an' keep on talkin' wid de cap'n, an' let him walk home wid her. Tubal he had done gone in de woods ter play de fiddle—'kase dat sinner acshilly play de fiddle Sunday same ez week days—he seen 'em walkin' 'long home, an' he see de cap'n when he tooken Miss Letty han' an' say, 'Can you bear that treatment fer me?' An' Miss Letty she say, 'Yes, and a great deal more.' Ef you will believe dis nigger, Miss Letty she marry dat cap'n! She did, fer a fac'! She married him, sartin an' sho! She marry him 'fo' de summer wuz out. Dey went away, an' dey want ter take Tubal wid 'em, but Tubal he say naw, he c'yarn leave Marse Page all by hisse'f in de graveyard, an' ef he could jes' live on at de overseer's house, an' had he fiddle an' sumpin' ter eat, he wus all right. Miss Letty fix fer him ter stay, an' de' wuz a little g'yarden patch fer him; but Tubal he warn' never no 'count ter wuk; he wuz too much uv a artis', de cap'n say. So arter dey wuz married an' gone, Tubal useter take he fiddle an' go an' set in de sun by Marse Page grave, an' play ter him, an' dat nigger had de s'prisin' owdaciousness ter play hymn tunes on de fiddle, like 'Roll, Jordan, roll,' an' 'Dem Golden Slippers.' Dem wuz fer hisse'f, he say, but de reels an' jigs wuz fer Marse Page, 'kase he allers like dat sort o' music. An' it seem ter me like Tubal play mo' like de birds ev'y day; when he play a reel, it wuz like de win' sweepin' ober de wheat fiel', er de water in de mill-race po'in' ober de dam. Dat was in de fall, but todes winter Tubal cotch de rheumatiz, an' he couldn't git outen de house, an' he finger-j'ints got kinder rusty, an' he couldn' play no mo'. It sut'ny wuz pitiful ter see him settin' wid de fiddle on he knee an' he c'yarn play it. He wuz mighty po'ly, an' he keep on sayin' he ain' gwi' live long. When de spring come he got outen de house when it was sunshiny, an' he useter creep wid he fiddle ter de graveyard, but he couldn' hardly walk. An' one day we had done miss him, but it wuz sunshiny, so we knowed he was somewhar 'bout dat graveyard; we-all went ter look fer him, an' d'yar, layin' on Marse Page grave, wuz Tubal wid he fiddle. He wuz done dade.

"He had ax us 'fo' dat ter bury him an' de fiddle close by Marse Page, 'kase Miss Letty had promise him he could be laid in de white folks' buryin' groun', an' he wuz laid right d'yar. He look mighty natchel in de coffin wid he fiddle an' he bow by him. So we-all buried Tubal, an' I 'ain' never see sech a fiddler sence."