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“Dey used to take ’em out and tie ’em down and whup ’em,” he muttered, “wid gret big leather strops inch thick long as yo’ ahm, wid round holes bored in ’em so’s evey time dey hit ’em de hide and de meat done come off dey bones in little round chunks. And wen dey had whupped ’em wid de strop till dey backs was all raw and bloody, dey spread dry cawnshucks on dey backs and set ’em afire and pahched ’em, and den dey poured vinega all ovah ’em … Yassuh. And den, the ve’y nex day dey’d got to git back to work in the fiels or dey’d do the same thing right ovah agin. Yassah. Dat was it. If dey didn’t git back to work dey got it all right ovah agin.”

The children — three of them: a serious, prissy older girl of ten, a thoughtful sad looking boy of eight, and a quick flighty little girl of six — sat disposed around Uncle Jimbilly and listened with faint tinglings of embarrassment. They knew, of course, that once upon a time Negroes had been slaves; but they had all been freed long ago and were now only servants. It was hard to realize that Uncle Jimbilly had been born in slavery, as the Negroes were always saying. The children thought that Uncle Jimbilly had got over his slavery very well. Since they had known him, he had never done a single thing that anyone told him to do. He did his work just as he pleased and when he pleased. If you wanted a tombstone, you had to be very careful about the way you asked for it. Nothing could have been more impersonal and faraway than his tone and manner of talking about slavery, but they wriggled a little and felt guilty. Paul would have changed the subject, but Miranda, the little quick one, wanted to know the worst.”Did they act like that to you, Uncle Jimbilly?” she asked.

“No, mam,” said Uncle Jimbilly.”Now whut name you want on dis one? Dey nevah did. Dey done ’em dat way in the rice swamps. I always worked right here close to the house or in town with Miss Sophia. Down in the swamps …”

“Didn’t they ever die, Uncle Jimbilly?” asked Paul.

“Cose dey died,” said Uncle Jimbilly, “cose dey died — dey died,” he went on, pursing his mouth gloomily, “by de thousands and tens upon thousands.”

“Can you carve ‘Safe in Heaven’ on that, Uncle Jimbilly?” asked Maria in her pleasant, mincing voice.

“To put over a tame jackrabbit, Missy?” asked Uncle Jimbilly indignantly. He was very religious.”A heathen like dat? No, mam. In de swamps dey used to stake ’em out all day and all night, and all day and all night and all day wid dey hans and feet tied so dey couldn’t scretch and let de muskeeters eat ’em alive. De muskeeters ‘ud bite ’em tell dey was all swole up like a balloon all over, and you could heah ’em howlin and prayin all ovah the swamp. Yassuh. Dat was it. And nary a drop of watah noh a moufful of braid … Yassuh, dat’s it. Lawd, dey done it. Hosanna! Now take dis yere tombstone and don’ bother me no more … or I’ll …”

Uncle Jimbilly was apt to be suddenly annoyed and you never knew why. He was easily put out about things, but his threats were always so exorbitant that not even the most credulous child could be terrified by them. He was always going to do something quite horrible to somebody and then he was going to dispose of the remains in a revolting manner. He was going to skin somebody alive and nail the hide on the barn door, or he was just getting ready to cut off somebody’s ears with a hatchet and pin them on Bongo, the crop-eared brindle dog. He was often all prepared in his mind to pull somebody’s teeth and make a set of false teeth for Ole Man Ronk … Ole Man Ronk was a tramp who had been living all summer in the little cabin behind the smokehouse. He got his rations along with the Negroes and sat all day mumbling his naked gums. He had skimpy black whiskers which appeared to be set in wax, and angry red eyelids. He took morphine, it was said; but what morphine might be, or how he took it, or why, no one seemed to know … Nothing could have been more unpleasant than the notion that one’s teeth might be given to Ole Man Ronk.