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Title: Recollections of Juliana
A sketch in ebony
Author: Clare I. MacDonald
Release date: September 9, 2026 [eBook #79544]
Language: English
Original publication: Columbia: The State Company, 1924
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79544
Credits: Charlene Taylor, Hcx2012 and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RECOLLECTIONS OF JULIANA ***
[Illustration: A CORNER OF FROGMORE MANOR]
RECOLLECTIONS
OF JULIANA
A SKETCH IN EBONY
By
CLARE I. MACDONALD
ST. HELENA ISLAND
SOUTH CAROLINA
COLUMBIA, S. C.
THE STATE COMPANY
1924
To the memory of my husband, James Ross Macdonald, whose unfailing and
understanding friendship meant so much to “Juliana” and her people.
CLARE I. MACDONALD.
RECOLLECTIONS OF JULIANA
“Juliana, Juliana, I wants to speak wid you.” The mild voice floated
up to me from the road beneath my window. A great clattering of pots
and pans and banging of crockery began in the kitchen. It sounded as
though all the kitchen utensils were doomed to instant destruction.
Looking out I saw a little, bent, bespectacled colored man leaning over
the back gate and heard again the voice calling persuasively, “Juliana,
cyant yo’ come speak wid me?”
“Go away!” came the response, accompanied by a fresh clatter, “I ain’t
got no time to wase talkin’. I hab wuk fer do.”
The little man disconsolately drifted away, and after a few final
rumblings and clatterings, the storm in the kitchen subsided.
I had heard of Uncle Toby, Juliana’s husband, and that she had treated
him in this way for years. I asked her about it.
“What’s dat yo’ say, Mrs. Mack? What make me treat Toby so rash? What
he spec? I warn him, warn him good; I say, ‘Toby, yo’ better not marry
me.’ On the way to the chu’ch I say, ‘Tu’n back, Toby, yo’ better tu’n
back.’”
“Why had you promised to marry him?” I interposed.
She replied shamefacedly, “I spose yo’ don’ know bout Hoodoo, Mrs.
Mack? My folks try to mek me marry Toby soon as he tother wife dead.
Dey say dey pit bad mout’ on me ef I ain’t marry him. I tell him ef I
is marry him, I ain’t lob him, an’ I won’t lib wid him, an’ he better
tu’n back. Would yo’ lib wid a man, Mrs. Mack, when yo’ ain’t lob him?”
For 12 years Toby courted her at the back gate; bringing little
offerings of sweet potatoes, oysters, or a bandana handkerchief.
Juliana steadily scorned him and them. I always felt that his death
avenged him. I am sure she missed his unfailing devotion, and in her
days of loneliness remembered Toby regretfully. She never claimed his
property, saying that it belonged to his children, reserving an acre
only, which she seemed to foreknow would be needed.
I remember my first sight of Juliana. Tall, lean and straight, with
high cheek bones like an Indian, and the dark brown color of the negro;
she seemed to dominate the house. My heart sank, as, a slip of a girl,
I was presented to Juliana as her mistress. When I met her appraising
look, I felt the silent verdict--“Nuttin’ but a gal! Don’ know nuttin’
’bout keepin’ house. Ef Massa hab to marry agen, why ain’t he fine him
a better wife?”
Nine hundred miles away, I had decided to retain Juliana because of
long years of faithful service; but the air of benignant toleration
with which she “made her manners,” led me to suspect that instead of
magnanimously putting up with her, as I had intended, she was putting
up with me.
Juliana made a real effort to be kind to her master’s new wife. I
resented the condescension and failed to appreciate the effort. I
can see her now--standing half in and half out of the room--swinging
the door to and fro, speaking the peculiar dialect which was almost
a foreign tongue to me--regaling me with stories of “Befo the war”
to keep me “from lonesome.” Her favorite tale was of Sherman’s march
through Winnsboro, and since I understood in those early days only
about one word in five, the narrative failed to cheer me.
I spent much of my time exploring the Island. With no companion but
my horse, Crazy Jane, I would follow any alluring bye-road. One day,
wandering down a leafy avenue, we discovered an old plantation house,
deserted save for the encircling live oaks, and the whispering sea. I
told Juliana about it.
“Yo’ mus hab ben to the old Bly place,” she said; then with a chuckle
as over some secret joke, added, “I wuk dere one time. Some day I tell
yo’ bout um.”
Later she told this story. “You know Mr. Bly ben sich a nice man. But
Jesus, me fren! he ben queer too. He suttinly ben a good man, for he
read the Bible more dan any man I ebber know, an’ love to talk an’
’splain um to the niggers. But he so stingy and meddlesome! He love to
come in the kitchen, an’ dat’s something I cyant stan’, an’ I tell him
so ober an’ ober agen. One day he come in when I ben slicing ham for
dinner, I put down the knife an’ say, ‘What yo’ want, Mr. Bly?’
“He say, ‘Juliana, why yo’ so cross?’
“I say, ‘Yo’ know good why I cross. I tell yo’ to keep outen dis
kitchen.’ Obs course, ef de mistress come in, I pit up wid um, but I
cyant hab no mans bossin’ me. He say he jus want to slice the ham, cos
I cut um too t’ick. ‘Too t’ick!’ I say. ‘Yo’ jus come to meddle wid
what don’ concern yo’.’ He want to argyfy, but I jus’ tell him to get
’nodder cook, I guine to leabe.
“Well, sure enuff, I ain’t go nex’ mornin’, an’ long ’bout 10 o’clock
I hear he horse comin’ down de road, ‘blig-i-dom, blig-i-dom,
blig-i-dom.’ An’ pretty soon I hear ‘rap! rap!’ on the gate. I know he
ben Mr. Bly, but I holler out, ‘Who dat?’ an’ he answer:
“‘Juliana, it’s me, Mr. Bly.’
“‘Well,’ I say, ‘what yo’ want?’
“He say, ‘cyant you come to the do’ so I can talk to you?’ Well, I go
to the do’ an’ he say, ‘Why Juliana, I’m so surprised you ain’t come to
get breakfast.’
“I say, ‘I don’ see what yo’ hab to be surprised at. I tell yo’ ef yo’
ain’t keep outen my kitchen, I lef’. An’ yo’ wouldn’ stay out an’ here
I is. An’ what’s mo’, here I stay. I caynt hab no mans mix up wid me
when I doin’ my wuk.’
“‘Why Juliana, yo’ mus’ be joking!’ he say.
“‘Not a joke in me, an’ yo’ jus lossin’ time, Mr. Bly, talkin’ to me. I
wish yo’ well, but the bes’ ting yo’ can do is hunt anodder cook, fer I
ain’t goin’ back.’ An’ I didn’t, neider!”
With the best of intentions, Juliana kept me constantly irritated. When
I went into the kitchen she ceased all work and stood at attention
until my departure, and I was too conscious of my inexperience to
feel comfortable. She had been warned not to bring up the past.
Nevertheless, my orders were received with, “Obs course, Mrs. Mack, ef
you says so, it must be so, but times as went along, it nebber ben done
dat-a-way.”
She had, too, a most maddening way of having the last word. Even with
her master she never gave up her independence of speech. Brought up in
the North, this seemed to me the height of impertinence, and many were
my struggles to “possess my soul in patience.”
With Esse, the boy, I made more progress. We attempted some amateur
gardening, and after many reminders to water the plants regularly, I
felt my efforts rewarded when, driving home one evening in the pouring
rain, I found Esse out with the watering can, emulating the shower.
Juliana discovered him at the same moment. I heard him defend his
action.
“Enty I yeddie Mrs. Mack da tell me I mus’ water de plants widout fail
ebery night?”
“‘Enty! Yeddie!’ What kine ob talk dat is, boy? Ise gots to learn yo’
to talk like white folks. Victoria kin talk better’n dat.”
It was comical to hear Juliana trying to teach Esse and Victoria, her
small grandchild, “to talk like white folks.” She thought herself past
master of English.
After a few months, some girl friends came to visit me, and Juliana
ceased for a time to weigh upon my spirits. I began to take pride in
her oddities. One night I had Juliana sleep in the house, as her master
had to get off on an early train. About 2 a. m. the household was
galvanized into life by ear-splitting moans--ooee-ooee-ooee--proceeding
from her room. Rushing in I shook her into sensibility and demanded
what was the matter?
“Oh, Mrs. Mack, I so glad yo’ wake me. De old Hag da ride me, ride me
ha’d de whole night tru! She ben beatin’ me an’ rampagin’ roun, an’ I
spec I dead befo’ sun-up ef’n yo’ ain’t scare um off.”
Finding it impossible to sleep, we arose at four to see R. off. My
memory still holds the wonder of that sunrise. Though April, the
morning had the warmth and freshness of northern June. Seated outside
we watched the tide flowing in, creeping almost to the fringe of oaks
and palmettoes across the road, and Min said, “Why can’t we go for a
row?”
I knew several good reasons--the tide flows very strong in the salt
water creeks and one needs powerful muscles to row against it; then,
too, we had no safe boat nearer than the Shipping Yard--but I said:
“Let’s do it!”
We sent Esse to find a boat, and when he appeared rowing across the
way, started off. Min called:
“Goodbye Juliana! If we don’t come back you’ll know we’ve gone to a
better world.”
“Humph,” came the reply, “you-all know what dis yere world is, an’ yo’
don’ know nuttin ’bout de nex’; youse better stay where you’re well
off.”
We will never forget that row. The boat was old and rapidly filled with
water. We could not swim. There was no dry place for our feet. I hung
mine over one side and Min extended hers over the other; exhorting me
at the same time upon methods of swimming, having read about them a few
days before. We were sighted and rescued as the boat sank. In those
anxious moments before help came we realized how much we wished to
“stay where we were well off.”
Juliana became a favorite with our dinner guests; relating some story
of hers often averting a threatened pause in conversation. Occasionally
a guest would have a hobby for history, and Juliana would be called
in to give her reminiscences of Sherman’s march through Winnsboro.
Swinging the screen door to and fro, she would begin:
“When the war bruk out all the white people ben afraid to stay ober
here on the islant, so dey done tuk we house serbants an’ went to
Beaufort. But, me fren! we want no better off dere. One night the
Yankees’ big guns boom all night an’ shake ebery house in Beaufort like
a ben a eart’quake. The nex’ mornin’ Miss Ann Elizabet tuk we all, an’
we go away in a boat; but we ain’t fine no safe place, so we hab to cum
back an’ take de train for Cha’ston. Jesus, me fren! what a whoopin’
an’ howlin’ dere wuz dat day! All de ladies dey guine off an’ take dere
serbants wid dem, an’ we ain’t know where we guine, or if we ebber see
home any mo’. We get to Cha’ston, but we ain’t res’ long dere, an’ we
go on up country to Winnsboro. My Elizbet wuz a baby at dat time, an’
I ben nussin’ Miss Ann Elizabet’s baby too. I tell you dat wuz a fine
chile, dat Mannie! He reach out he arms to cum to me de minit he see
me, an’ Miss Ann Elizabet would say, ‘Ain’t you know yo’ own modder dat
bore you? Go away, Juliana, my chile loves you better’n me.’
“One day we hear dat Sherman’s army wuz cumin’ tru Winnsboro, en’ all
de white people dey mos’ scared to deat’. Miss Ann Elizabet an’ de res’
dey go up to de top ob de house an’ lock deyselves in; an’ all we-uns
t’row down ebbry t’ing an’ run out to see de sojers. I ben walkin’ out
de gate wid Mannie in ma arms when Miss Ann Elizabet poke he head out
de window an’ call to me, ‘Come back wid my chile, Juliana! Ain’t you
know dem Yankees is a-cumin’ tru and I’ll nebber see my chile again?’
“I say, ‘Why, Miss Ann Elizabet, what dey guine do wid de chile?’
“‘Knock he brain out, for all I know!’
“‘Oh, no,’ I say, ‘dey ain’t cruel like to dat; dey ain’t hu’t de
chile.’
“Well, me fren! When I get up de street, what do I see? Sich a gang ob
men, I ain’t know dere wuz so many in de worl’; an’ de drums go dumty,
dum, dum, dum, an’ sich a marching! All we-uns what cum out fer meet
de army, we so scared, we ain’t know what fer do. My knees trimble an’
trimble an’ ef I could-a run away I would, but my feet fair glued to
de spot. When de men get up to me, dey see Mannie, an’ one ob de sojers
tuk him outen me arms, an’ I say, ‘Jesus, me fren! Miss Ann Elizabet
tell de truf. What I fer do?’ But dem sojers nebber harm a hair ob he
head. What you t’ink? Dey pass him along de line an’ hug him up in dey
bosom.
“Well, when I get back dat morning, Miss Ann Elizabet say, ‘Juliana,
go up to old Miss Patty’s house; she told me to send for one of her
tukrey an’ we will hab it fer dinner!’ I too glad when I hear dat. Miss
Patty hab too many tukrey an’ chicken, an’ we all ain’t hab none cause
we lef’ dem all at home; but Miss Patty ain’t nebber offer one ob her
fowl to us befo’, an’ I tink to myself, ‘De mean ole ting! She only gib
us one now ’cause she knows de Yankees will take dem anyhow.’ Well, I
go an’ get de tukrey an’ ben cumin’ along wid it in ma han’, when some
sojers call out, ‘Gal, where you get dat tukrey?’ I tell dem at Miss
Patty Robinson’s, an’ dey tu’n me roun’ an’ say, ‘Show us de way!’ an’
dey take de tukrey from me and carry it deyselves.
“When we git to de house Ole Miss cum out an’ say, ‘I is a pore woman,
I hasn’t got anyt’ings in de house.’ Well, dey go in de house an’
ax for de bureau keys. Ole Miss say she loss dem. Den dey bruk open
de drawers an’ fine all de silver put away. Den dey say, ‘Where de
storeroom key?’
“‘I is a pore woman. I hasn’t got anyt’ings dere.’ Well, dey search
roun’ an’ finally dey see where de eart’ ben fresh dug up an’ patted
down in de ya’d an’ dey dig dere an’ fine de sto’room key. Dey open de
do’ an’ fling out de t’ings. Dey tell Hannah an’ me to help weselves,
but we fraid Ole Miss. But dey say, ‘Don’t be afraid,’ so I pitch in
an’ tuk all ma arms could hold. When dey done tuk eberytings dey ride
off. Den Ole Miss say, ‘Gal, pit down dose t’ings’.
“I say, ‘De sojers give ’em to me.’
“She say, ‘Pit ’em down. Dey ain’t belongs to you. Dey are mine.’ So I
pit dem all down an’ I go back widout tukrey nor nuttin’ else.
“All de time de Yankees ben in Winnsboro, Miss Ann Elizabet’ an’ de
res’ watch we all night, ’cause dey fraid we run off. We-all hab to
sleep along de porch an’ dey take turns stayin’ up to watch we. Some ob
de sojers cum to de house, an’ dey wuz as polite as could be, an’ made
fren’s wid de chillun. One day Frankie wuz settin’ on de sojer’s knee,
when he said, ‘Frankie, where’s yo’ pa?’
“Frankie up an’ said, ‘He’s gone to bat de Yanks!’
“My I tell you he got a beatin’ fo’ dat, do. He ma say, ‘Ain’t I tell
you to keep close mout? An’ dere you up an’ tell de Captain your father
is fighting in de war!’
“One night little Mannie wuz very sick. I ben up wid my Elizabet’. She
ben sick too, an’ I call Mars Cha’s to cum look at em, fer she hab
conwulsions. Miss Ann say I mus’ bring Elizabet’ an’ cum lie down on
de flo’ in her room, fer Mannie is very sick an’ keeps callin’ fer me.
When I go to him de baby put out he arms fer me to take him; but Miss
Ann Elizabet’ say, ‘No, Juliana, Mannie is too sick.’ We watch de night
tru, an’ Miss Ann Elizabet’ so worry she ain’t know what fo’ do. An’ I
say:
“‘Doan’ yo’ remember what yo’ said when Mannie wuz born? Dat yo’ wished
de Lord would take him, for dey’s so much trouble in de worl’ an’ you
ain’t know how to take care of um?’ Well, along towards morning, Mannie
breathe he las’. Sich a beautiful chile he wuz. When I walk out in de
street wid him, strangers stop me an’ ax who chile dat is. Pore Miss
Ann Elizabet’ ain’t tink de Lord guine take him at he word.
“After de war we hear ’bout freedom, but we ain’t know nuttin’ fo’
true. Miss Ann Elizabet’ tell we niggers dat de Yankees hab set we
free, but she say dey lick we harder den ebber. I say, ‘None ain’t
guine lick Juliana. After you-all ain’t lick me, what fo’ de Yankees do
um?’ An’ Miss Ann Elizabet’ say:
“‘Mind, Juliana girl, you better mind.’
“Well, we all go on livin’ peaceable ’til one day ma uncle an’ brodder
from St. Helena cum to take we-all home. Miss Ann say, ‘So you guine to
leave us, Juliana?’
“An’ I say, ‘Ef we ain’t go now mebbe we nebber see home again.’ So
Miss Ann Elizabet’ gave us bread an’ meat an’ t’ings to keep we from
hongry on de way, an’ de coach come to carry we-all to de depot. Sister
Marta wuz Geordie’s nuss, an’ he run a long way behine de coach,
callin, ‘Give me back my Marta! Give me back my Marta!’”
* * * * *
As time went on, Juliana became less satisfactory as a servant. Finding
Esse more tractable, I allowed him to usurp many of her duties, and
Juliana resented this by slighting the remainder. One morning she was
supposed to be sweeping my bedroom; not an article of furniture was
moved from its place. When she came out of the room, I said, “Juliana,
did you sweep under the bed?”
“What’s dat, ma’am? I allus does sweep under de bed.”
I told her to come with me, and going into the room I rolled out the
bed, and there was the telltale line of dust.
“Well,” she answered this silent accuser, “I ain’t say I get up ebery
lee bit ob dust dere is, but I allus moves ebery t’ing.”
I told her she must sweep the room over, and that I would stand there
and see her move everything. This she flatly refused to do.
“Then,” I said, “you are my servant no longer. You may go as soon as
you can pick up your things.”
“Oh, well,” she answered, “Everybody mus’ be oogly sometime, (meaning
me, of course) an’ I is Mr. Mack’s servant, an’ will jus’ take his word
about leabin’.”
Driving to the Shipping Yard to meet R. that evening, I was far from
calm. He had hardly taken his seat beside me when I told the story,
informing him tragically that he might keep his wife or his cook, but
the same house could no longer hold both.
Juliana took her departure that night and I took possession of a cook
book and my kitchen and began a series of experiments which resulted
quite happily in the end. The following fall, however, when I returned
from the North, there was a new member of the family. The kitchen lost
its interest. After several attempts to train other cooks, I began to
regret Juliana. She came on frequent visits, the baby was a lode-star
to her, and on Thanksgiving Day, I swallowed my pride and asked her to
stay and get dinner. Such a dinner! I remember it to this day! and the
comfort of feeling it entirely off my mind. After dinner and a short
consultation with my husband, I informed Juliana she could remain if
she wished. She graciously consented to stay and cook if Esse did the
housework. I still sometimes wonder with whom lay the victory!
Such a comfort it was to have her strong hand again at the helm. The
silver was painstakingly counted each night; if so much as a plated
knife was missing, every one was made miserable until it was found. In
retrospect it is laughable. Juliana would try to fasten the blame upon
each one of us and finally wind up with, “Well, ef its found where I
pit um, it’ll be in a keerful place, fer I allus does pit t’ings in a
keerful place.”
The place was often so “keerful” that the article was not found for
days, but when finally unearthed, she would exclaim triumphantly,
“Ain’t I tell you I pit um in a keerful place?”
Juliana and Czar (R’s bulldog) were bosom friends. Czar would accompany
her gravely each night to her little house in the yard and stand in
wait at her door each morning. She called him “Czaree, Old Dog,” in
the tenderest tones. Little Victoria, her grandchild, who came to live
with her, was terrified of Czar. One morning we heard the child crying
bitterly and looked out of the dining room door to see what the matter
was. The kitchen was a separate building connected with the house by a
roofed passage. Halfway along the passage stood Victoria, a plate held
high in her hands and a tiny spaniel of R’s jumping upon and barking at
her. Czar was lying a few yards further along, snapping flies in lazy
content.
R. sternly: “Stop that infernal racket, Victoria. You know very well
that little dog won’t hurt you.”
Victoria, wailing: “I ain’t f’aid de lee dog, Suh! I f’aid de dog wid
de brad mout’.”
Juliana, appearing in the kitchen doorway:
“Go long wid dat plate to de dining room, gal! Ef yo’ ben a flea on
Czar’s back he ain’t take de trouble to scratch yo’. He ain’t hab yo’
fer steddy.”
There were times, however, when Juliana herself gave Czar a wide berth.
One stormy night she lingered over her work until long past time for
her departure. Lightning was flashing vividly and the thunder sounded
ominous. Finally Juliana came to the library where R. sat, surrounded
by bookcases, whose glass doors reflected each flash. Czar crouched at
his feet. Juliana’s eyes grew large when she saw them.
“Go away, Czar!” as he approached her. “Mr. Mack, yo’ sure hab fait’
to keep dat dog by you in dis storm. Ain’t yo’ know when Big Mawsa’ da
talk so loud, yo’ want to keep way from betwix de looking glass an’ a
dog? De t’under strike me dead ef-n I set dere. But, Mr. Mack, yo’ sure
hab fait’!”
On one of the occasions when Juliana and her former mistress had a
falling out, Juliana went to Savannah and entered the service of a
Jewish lady. She told me about it.
“De Jew lady ben sich a nice ’ooman. So kind and pleasant! But, Jesus,
me fren! I cyant stand the bittles. It’s the God’s truth, Mrs. Mack,
dey nebber hab one lee piece ob hog meat from the day I went dere till
I lef. An’ de mistress say I cyant use la’d to grease de pans. Me! I
cyant cook dem ways. I tell de Jew lady I goin’ to leabe. She say,
‘Why, Juliana, I am perfectly satisfy wid you. Do you want more wages?’
“I say, ‘No, ma’am.’
“She say, ‘Hab you anythings to complain ob?’
“I say, ‘No, ma’am. You is a nice lady an’ yo’ treats me well. I ain’t
nebber wuk fer no nicer lady dan what yo’ is. But I spec I homesick.
I’se gots to go back to St. Helena.’
“Mrs. Mack, how I kin tell the Jew lady dat I cyant stand the bittles?
Doin’ widout po’k meat from one mont’s end to anodder! No, Sir! Not
Juliana!”
Juliana was a most sincere worshipper at the shrine of King Baby.
“Little Mawsa” she called him and would talk to him by the hour, as if
he were as old as herself. She had always been kind to helpless things;
dogs and cats had a firm friend in her, and now the baby aroused all
the tenderness in her nature. Whatever she in her secret heart had
thought of me as a wife and mistress, she had nothing but unqualified
approval for me as a mother; and how impossible for a young mother not
to feel drawn to one who loves her baby devotedly.
The summer after baby came, we went to the North Carolina mountains,
leaving Juliana at home as caretaker. Like a thunderbolt came the
news of the cyclone and tidal wave, which in August, 1893, spread
havoc and ruin over our Sea Islands. We returned to a scene of sadness
and desolation. “Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be
comforted because they are not.”
Juliana said, “My fren’, the win’ blow dat day fer true, but I ain’t
t’ink much about um, fer I see de win’ blow nuff times in ma life.
’Bout four o’clock Sunday evenin’ I lock de do’ an’ walk to Cousin
Richard’s house. I ain’t get outen de do’ good when de win’ ketch me
up an’ bam me agen de piazza. Well, I struggle tel I get outen de gate
an’ in de road, an’ trouble sure begin den. De win’ lick me an’ buff me
tel I ain’t hab breat’ in ma body when I gets to Richard’s house. De
house ben full ob people, an’ seem like I just get dere in time fer de
win’ bruk a-loose fer true, an’ make sich a noise an’ rock de house so,
eberybody start to cry an’ pray one time. Well, sir! ’stead ob growin’
better he grow wuss, an’ bime-bye de wing ob de house blow ’way an’
seem like ebery minute de house go too; so we hab to get out.
“He ben da’k now, an’ where to go, dat’s de trouble. To make de misery
wuss, de rain seem like he bus’ de sky open to fall top we-uns. We get
on de side ob de house where de win’ can’t lick we so rash, an’ dere
we stan’ de lib-long night, jus’ like a passel ob tukrey wid dey head
down. De watuh get higher an’ higher. We ain’t know den dat de tide
keep a risin’ all night an’ nebber go down a-tall. Fus’ it ben to ma
knees, den cum up to ma wais’. One ob ma feet would sink down in de
eart’ tel I hatter call one ob de men to pull it out an’ I ain’t no
sooner get dat out when de odder one sink. I hold on to de window sill
tell ma arms seem like dey drap off. When de blessed daylight cum at
las’, sich a weepin’ an’ wailin’ in de lan’! I wish I ben dead, for all
los’ someting: some dere house, some dere animals, an’ some dere wife
an’ chillun. So much sorrow an’ misery I nebber want to see agen!”
The winter after the great storm there was an epidemic of grippe. All
my family were laid low, and Juliana, refusing to trust us wholly to
the trained nurse, watched over us night and day bringing nourishing
drinks or soothing the ailing baby, unresting in her devotion. We
were almost well when she became a victim. Gladly we nursed her. She
recovered in body, but was never quite the same. All her oddities were
intensified. She had often remarked that “only smart people went crazy”
and might have derived comfort from that thought had she realized her
condition. While perfectly harmless, she made it impossible for me to
keep other servants, though she was not strong enough to manage the
work herself.
So R. gave her an allowance and built her a little house on her acre
of Toby’s land. In this way she and Victoria lived comfortably for a
number of years. Regularly each month she spent a day with us, playing
with and amusing the children, who returned her devotion with interest.
Every time I drove out with my two little boys, they would beg to go
to see Juliana; so we often drove down the Old Village road, past the
bluff where still stood a row of summer cottages looking out to sea,
reminding me of ante-bellum days when the Southern planters moved their
families here in hot weather.
We would stop a while to let the boys scramble out to play in the great
sand heaps on the bluff. Looking seaward, I would gaze at the outer
narrow line of islands, the home only of deer and seabirds, and through
the openings between them to the ocean beyond, thinking of past days
when little Southern children, with their black shadows, played here
with no thought of war and the changes to come. It was usually sunset
time, and after watching the colors reflected in almost unearthly
splendor by the glistening water, I would call my little sons and in
the glory of the after glow we would drive to the little house.
It was spotlessly clean, but a real curiosity shop. Everything that had
been given to Juliana in 20 years of service and half the things that
had been thrown away, she cherished in her two rooms. She had so many
clothes that in cold weather she would pile them one suit over another,
until I am sure she sometimes wore three complete suits at once. My
little sons thought it great fun to handle her treasures, and as half
her bric-a-brac was already broken, they could not hurt them much. She
would bring them little presents each monthly visit and for some years
the boys would eat from nothing but the plates Juliana gave them.
One cold November day she was out in her yard raking trash. She was
dressed as usual on cold days, in several layers of clothes. After she
got the trash all in a pile, she proceeded to light a bonfire. The
wind blew her heavy woolen outer skirt toward the blaze. All unheeded,
the fire crept closer, caught the garment and burned and burned through
the many layers, and not until she was a blaze did she realize her
danger.
A messenger came for my husband and he hurried away. He found Juliana
lying on a mattress that was placed in the middle of the floor. She was
dreadfully and fatally burned. When he saw her sorry plight, he was so
affected that he could not speak. She looked at him and said, “Don’
fret fer me, Mr. Mack, the pain will soon be ober an’ I will be in a
better lan’.” He commanded his voice and told her a doctor would soon
be there and perhaps he could help her and she would be well in a short
time.
“Nebber in dis world,” she replied calmly, “I am done, an’ Jesus only
can help me now.”
She beckoned him to come closer and whispered where she kept her little
store of money, thanked him for all that he had done for her and asked
him to do what he could for Victoria. He told her he would be back in
the morning, but she said:
“You will nebber hear Juliana’s voice agen.” She died that night,
having in all those hours of torture never made an outcry. With her
passing, we lost a friend. Even now, after a lapse of 20 years, her
memory is green in our hearts and her name a household word.
Foot Note: Juliana’s speech was uneven. She sometimes “talked like
white folks” but if interested or excited always lapsed into dialect.
Transcriber’s Notes
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Perceived typographical errors have been silently corrected.
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