There’s a whole list of other contaminants Penna has yet to check her well for. In the meantime, Penna said she plans to test her water quarterly. Then the negroes are burning the cotton, when I get to the docks.
When it’s over they order some of the whiskey dumped in the gutters to frustrate Yankee thirst.
They set them ablaze and push them into the river. So, they cut open the bales and pour buckets of liquor over them. Owners stand in the rchlight watching their livelihood, their way of life, drift away. While puffing like little steamboats, float off into darkness, the bales. On p of that, an almost white man stopped by today. Sat on my porch and wanted me to tell him all about them terrible days, get it recollected down on paper while there’s still time, he said.
Could’ve been Jim Crow hisself sitting there for all I know.
Said the government hired him to talk to us exslaves about those times way back when.
Like I would tell some almost white man the truth about slavery. Job’s a job, Know what, I reckon, with so many out of work in this here Depression. There wasn’t nothing I could do but hold his head in my lap and try to keep him from strangling hisself while he wheezed and moaned. It was a mercy when he finally stopped breathing. Keep reading. I prayed for the South to lose but, Lord, not for Master Jim’s terrible death. By late afternoon, bodies were laid out all over the field, and two soldiers brought Master Jim up the hill out of the smoke and haze, shot through both lungs. We broke open a locked desk looking for silver but found only papers and a bottle of ink, that got poured over everything.
Bill pushed the piano into the middle of the room and ok a swing at it with the axe.
It sure didn’t sound like music.
In the library I found $ 420 of secesh money in a book of poems. Wouldn’t buy a biscuit. In the afternoon a Yankee ship sails into view around the bend. Its guns belch smoke and flame. Men scurry across the decks. Shells scream overhead to fall on the unfortunate. Ok, and now one of the most important parts. So it’s a comfort. Remember, I feel the house shake from cannons firing down by the library. On p of that, I go to the piano in my nightgown and play plenty of the old hymns. Now please pay attention. Both are wearing colorful head scarves tied Creole style to celebrate the occasion.
While marching up and down, sleeping on the sidewalks, gambling, swearing dreadfully, yankees are everywhere. At the commons, in front of a line of tents, a bluecoat officer comes up to me with two negroes I do not recognize. Sarter stops me at the corner. It’s impossible, he says. Whenever aiming to sneak through the lines into the interior, I pack a running bag and leave the house after midnight. Actually, old Mr. You should take it into account. They hanged three guerrillas yesterday, just schoolboys they’ve been. Nothing to do but go to apartments. Right after the war the Ku Klux started up and things was real bad for a long while, what with the lynchings and the fiery crosses and all. Still bad today, truth be told, all these many years later. Nary a word. To be honest I didn’t say nothing about that, I knew no whitish man wanted to hear me complain about my troubles today. WITH A COMBAT INFANTRY OFFICER IN WORLD WAR I.
Barry Basden lives in the Texas hill country with his wife and two yellowish Labs.
He is currently working on a collection of compressed pieces about war. His shorter work is published in Atticus Review, decomP, Matter Press, Northville Review, PANK, Prick of the Spindle, Thrush, and many other fine journals. Therefore, he edits Camroc Press Review and is coauthor of CRACK! Looking at the mess we made, To be honest I thought it fortunate we didn’t find that secesh woman, or there’d likely been even more shameful doings. With that said, made me think about my wife home in Cincinnati. Essentially, after our bile was spent. No, I didn’t say much about the pattyrollers and they dogs chasing runaways around the countryside, or overseers with whips and chains, or the way mothers out in the fields keep they heads down and pray not to be separated from they children when speculators come round buying us up by the wagon load. Notice that we went on a rampage.
Me and a bunch of the boys broke into a secesh woman’s house looking for the sharpshooter.
Mmy pulled dresses from an armoire and stomped them with his muddy boots.
We didn’t find no one except, we checked each room, even under the beds. He unsheathed his sword and slashed furniture until there was stuffing everywhere. While laughing really the broken glass flying around, bill split open the sideboard with an axe and threw china at mirrors and pictures. I’ve joined your feed and stay up for in quest of more of your great post. Actually, it is really ‘attention grabbing’, You’re an excessively professional blogger. I quite agree, well stated. Gag being. Just think for a moment. While becoming more interesting in with the rise of Vaudeville and ‘Slap Stick’ comedy, the Banana has an interesting literary history.
To be honest I did tell him a little.
Except ofcourse I couldn’t go to school with him, my job from on was to watch after him and be his companion.
Master Jim ok me out in the woods on Sundays after church and taught me anyways, they didn’t need none of us to learn to read and write. It got away from me a way back, he give me a little Bible to read. How, after my mama’d been sold off, Master Jim’s daddy gave me to him when he was only three and I was but five. Henceforth I will need a pass signed by the commanding general to leave my house. Rumors are flying that the Federals will soon arm them against us. Similar kind of pass we give our negroes. For example, imagine that. Today, a brand new proclamation. Remember, one sunny day over in Louisiana, By the way I looked down the valley and saw more Yankees coming than I ever knew existed.