[THE following story, literally true in its leading particulars, wastold by a reformed man, who knew W--very well. In repeating it, Ido so in the first person, in order to give it more effect.]
I was enjoying my glass of flip, one night, at the little old "BlackHorse" that used to stand a mile out of S.--, (I hadn't joined thegreat army of teetotallers then,) when a neighboring farmer came in,whose moderation, at least in whisky toddies, was not known unto allmen. His name was W--. He was a quiet sort of a man when sober,lively and chatty under the effect of a single glass, argumentativeand offensively dogmatic after the second toddy, and downrightinsulting and quarrelsome after getting beyond that number ofdrinks. We liked him and disliked him on these accounts.
On the occasion referred too, he passed through all these changes,and finally sunk off to sleep by the warm stove. Being in the way,and also in danger of tumbling upon the floor, some of us removedhim to an old settee, where he slept soundly, entertaining us withrather an unmusical serenade. There were two or three mischievousfellows about the place, and one of them suggested it would becapital fun to black W--'s face, and "make a darkey of him." Nosooner said than done. Some lamp-black and oil were mixed togetherin an old tin cup, and a coat of this paint laid over the face ofW--, who, all unconscious of what had been done, slept on assoundly and snored as loudly as ever. Full two hours passed awaybefore he awoke. Staggering up to the bar, he called for anotherglass of whisky toddy, while we made the old bar-room ring againwith our peals of laughter.
"What are you all laughing at?" he said, as he became aware that hewas the subject of merriment, and turning his black face around uponthe company as he spoke.
"Give us Zip Coon, old fellow!" called out one of the "boys" who hadhelped him to his beautiful mask.
"No! no! Lucy Long! Give us Lucy Long!" cried another.
"Can't you dance Jim Crow? Try it. I'll sing the 'wheel about andturn about, and do jist so.' Now begin."
And the last speaker commenced singing Jim Crow.
W--neither understood nor relished all this. But the more angryand mystified he became, the louder laughed the company and thefreer became their jests. At last, in a passion, he swore at uslustily, and leaving the barroom, in high dudgeon, took his horsefrom the stable and rode off.
It was past eleven o'clock. The night was cold, and a ride of twomiles made W--sober enough to understand that he had been ratherdrunk, and was still a good deal "in for it;" and that it wouldn'texactly do for his wife to see him just as he was. So he rode a milepast his house,--and then back again, at a slow trot, concludingthat by this time the good woman was fast asleep. And so she was. Heentered the house, crept silently up stairs, and got quietly intobed, without his better half being wiser therefor.
On the next morning, Mrs. W--awoke first. But what was hersurprise and horror, upon rising up, to see, instead of her lawfulhusband, what she thought a strapping negro, as black as charcoal,lying at her side. Her first impulse was to scream; but her presenceof mind in this trying position, enabled her to keep silence. Youmay be sure that she didn't remain long in such a close contact withSir Darkey. Not she! For, slipping out of bed quickly, butnoiselessly, she glided from the room, and was soon down stairs inthe kitchen, where a stout, two-fisted Irish girl was at workpreparing breakfast.
"Oh! dear! Kitty!" she exclaimed, panting for breath, and looking aspale as a ghost, "have you seen any thing of Mr. W--, thismorning?"
"Och! no. But what ails ye? Ye're as white as a shate?"
"Oh! mercy! Kitty. You wouldn't believe it, but there's a monstrousnegro in my room!"
"Gracious me! Mrs. W--, a nager?"
"Yes, indeed, Kitty!" returned Mrs. W--, trembling in every limb."And worse and worse, he's in my bed! I just 'woke up and thought itwas Mr. W--by my side But, when I looked over, I saw instead ofhis face, one as black as the stove. Mercy on me! I was frightenedalmost to death."
"Is he aslape?" asked Kitty.
"Yes, sound asleep and snoring. Oh! dear! What shall we do? Where inthe world is Mr. W--? I'm afraid this negro has murdered him."
"Och! the blasted murtherin' thafe!" exclaimed Kitty, her organ ofcombativeness, which was very large, becoming terribly excited. "Getinto mistress's bed, and the leddy there herself, the omadhoun! Theblack, murtherin' thafe of a villain!"
And Kitty, thinking of no danger to herself, and making nocalculation of consequences, seized a stout hickory clothes polethat stood in one corner of the kitchen, and went up stairs like awhirlwind, banging the pole against the door, balusters, or whatevercame in its way. The noise roused W--from his sleep, and he raisedup in bed just as Kitty entered the room.
"Oh! you murtherin' thafe of a villain!" shouted Kitty, as shecaught sight of his black face, pitching into him with her pole, andsweeping off his night-cap, at the imminent risk of taking his headwith it.
"Hallo!" he cried, not at all liking this strange proceeding, "areyou mad?"
"Mad is it, ye thafe!" retorted Kitty, who did not recognize thevoice, and taking a surer aim this time with her pole, brought him atremendous blow alongside of the head, which knocked him senseless.
Mrs. W--who was at the bottom of the stairs, heard her husband'sexclamation, and, knowing his voice, came rushing up, and enteredthe room in time to see Kitty's formidable weapon come with terribleforce against his head. Before the blow could be repeated, forKitty, ejaculating her "murtherin' thafe of a villain!" had liftedthe pole again, Mrs. W--threw her arms around her neck, and cried,"Don't, don't, Kitty, for mercy's sake!" It's Mr. W--, and you'vekilled him!"
"Mr. W--indade!" retorted Kitty, indignantly, struggling to freeherself. "Is Mr. W--a thafe of a nager, ma'am?"
But even Kitty's eyes, as soon as they took the pains to look moreclosely, saw that it was indeed all as the mistress had said.W--had fallen over on his face, and his head and white neck werenot to be mistaken.
The pole dropped from Kitty's hands, and, with the exclamation,"Och! murther!" she turned and shot from the room, with as good awill as she had entered it.
The blow which W--received was severe, breaking through the fleshand bruising and lacerating his ear badly. He recovered very soon,however, and, as he arose up, caught sight of himself in a lookingglass that hung opposite. We may be sure that it took all parties,in this exciting and almost tragical affair, some time to understandexactly what was the matter. W--'s recollection of the loudmerriment that had driven him from the "Black Horse" on the previousnight, when it revived, as it did pretty soon, explained all to him,and set him to talking in a most unchristian manner.
Poor Kitty was so frightened at what she had done that she gatheredup her "duds" and fled instanter, and was never again seen in thatneighborhood.
As for W--, he was cured of his nocturnal visits to the "BlackHorse," and his love of whisky toddy. Some months afterwards heespoused the temperance cause, and I've heard him tell the talemyself, many a time, and laugh heartily at the figure he must havecut, when Kitty commenced beating him for a "thafe of a nager."
THE END.
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