Louise Mckinney
From:
Georgia Narratives, Part 2
[HW: DIST. 4 Ex. Slave.] 310 Louise McKinney 100142
[HW: "Uncle Jake"]
"A Vessel Ob De Lawd".
Uncle Jake was a character up in the hills of north Georgia. I can look
back and see him now as he trudged through the snow in the early morning
from his little log cabin down in the field. His new home-made shoes
were being worn for the first time and with every swing of the milk
pail, he limped.
"Whose on de Lawd's side? I's on de Lawd's side!" His thin, cracked
voice rang out clearly, and every other word received special emphasis
as he tried to step lightly with his left foot.
My nose was flattened against the cold, frosty window pane as I watched
the old darky go about his morning chores. Just the afternoon before I
had slipped away to his and Aunt Callie's cabin to talk for a little
while and found him melting tallow in an old bucket over a sputtering
log fire. As he rubbed the smelly drippings over the heavy shoes he kept
glancing toward the sky at the soft gray clouds, then he would say,
"Look at dat smoke up at de big house. It am meeting and mingling and
habin' communion wid dem clouds oberhead. We's goin' hab wedder in de
mornin', and here you is Cissie Ann wid dat 'plexion o' yo's as soft as
a fresh born lam'. Dis wind aint for sweet chile's like you for it
soun's like de pipe what de dibbil play as it whistles roun' dis chimney
corner".
With all of my six years' wide experience, I always learned something new
from Uncle Jake and somehow I enjoyed the musty smell of the dark cabin,
the strings of red pepper draped in festoons, twists of "chawing baccer"
and bunches of onions which hung from the rafters and the soft goose
feather bed which Uncle Jake said warded off dampness and kept him from
having "the misery in his stiff ol' jints". In spite of his protests as
to me remaining longer, I settled myself on a three-legged stool and
with the aid of his fumbling fingers took off my bonnet. My mother
insisted that a bonnet was for protection from wind and sun, so I always
wore mine, but I had to have assistance in removing it because mother
braided my hair near the top of my head and pulled the plait through a
hole in the bonnet left for that purpose, then the top was buttoned
around it so my fingers could not remove it. Uncle Jake always laughed
when he helped me take it off because we had to be rather secretive and
not let mother find out.
Mammy Callie was in the kitchen churning, so I continued to ply Uncle
Jake with questions while I waited for a glass of fresh buttermilk. I
knew that my father was away at war and that Uncle Jake and Mammy Callie
were looking after my grandparents, my mother and me, but they would not
tell what war was like or why I could not go and play with other
children--they always watched me when I played and everything was kept
locked and hidden. It was all so strange and different from what it had
been, but Uncle Jake was just the same and all he would say was, "Dis
ol' worl' am just a vessel ob de Lawd and sometimes de contents of dat
vessel jest don' agree, dey gets bilin' hot like when water am poured on
burning embers, a powerful smoke do rise. So it is now, chile, dis ol'
worl' jest got too hot wid sin and God am trying to cool it off wid
refreshin' showers ob his love, but de dibbil am makin' sech a smoke it
am smartin' God's eyes", and Uncle Jake would pat me on the head and I
would smile and nod as if his explanation had been perfectly clear.
These thoughts of the afternoon before ran through my mind as I watched
Uncle Jake as he limped through the snow with a big brown shawl wrapped
around his stooped shoulders, a piece of home spun jeans pinned around
his head and a pair of patched jeans trousers supported by heavy bands
of the same material for suspenders. As he returned from milking, I
wondered if he had my gray kitten in his pocket, but suddenly I realized
he was hobbling hurriedly, the milk pail was thrown aside and he seemed
badly frightened. I ran to find out what had occurred to upset Uncle
Jake's usual carefree manner.
"De lock am gone! Dat mule am gone! Dem bushwhackers done tuk it off and
I's done gone atter 'em, right now". His eyes flashed as he shouted
without stopping and he hobbled down to his cabin. Grandfather went down
and tried to convince him that the weather was too cold to attempt to
follow the thief and to wait until later, but the old negro began
quoting scripture as he put on another coat and heavy knit gloves. "De
Lawd say, 'Dey shall not steal', and de white folks is sho' to think I
tuk 'at mule off. Fuddermore, in de 'pistle ob de 'postle, Isaiah, he
say, 'Be a clean vessel ob de Lawd God', and I gonna find out de truf
and prove my position 'fore dese people. Dat low-down scallawag what
come here wid no 'nouncement ob his 'pearance is gwine suffer for dis
here axident. He nebber reckoned wid me". And with that Uncle Jake waded
into the deep snow and was last seen following the creek down through
the meadow as it meandered underneath an icy crust.
Several days passed and anxiety began to show on the faces of those at
home, but one morning Mammy Callie came to get breakfast with her face
aglow. After praying most of the night, she said "The good Lord has
given me a sho sign, for He done showed me a vision of a man up 'fore a
Jedge and den I see Jake wid a bucket of oats and dat mule was toggin'
behin' him".
His spirit was contagious and we lived in an atmosphere of expectancy
during the day and were not surprised when we heard shouts of joy and
praises to "de good Lawd" from Jake as he rode up on the old mule.
He had been unable to locate any tracks, but he had walked miles in the
cold and sneaked around the barns and in the chimney corners to
eavesdrop at the homes of those whom he suspected of being disloyal to
the Confederate cause. While hiding under a haystack late one afternoon,
he heard voices and he recognised his master's mule as it was sold by a
stranger with a decided northern brogue to the owner of the place on
which he was hiding. Uncle Jake almost shouted for joy, but he realised
he was on "alien" territory so he remained out of sight. When the mule
was fed and stabled, he skipped in under cover of darkness and led the
mule away. In the excitement of getting away he forgot that he had
crossed the county line, so no excuse was taken when the sheriff of that
county took him into custody. Uncle Jake was hailed into court the next
morning with the "owner" as witness against him.
"How old are you?" asked the judge in a stern manner.
"I's ol' enuf to know dat am de mule what belongs to Marster. I knows
him by his bray", answered the negro, as he looked over the crowd and
saw and felt no sympathy from any of them.
"You were caught with stolen goods out of your county and from all
appearances you were hurt in the attempt to escape for I see you are
limping. What do you say to that?"
Uncle Jake was trembling as he looked down at his smelly shoes. "No,
sir, Jedge. You is sho' wrong. I jest receibed a commandment from my
heabenly Father to walk in de Truth and I was serbing my white folks by
getting back what is ders. Dis mule was stole by some po' sinner what
don' know de scriptures".
At this point the sheriff from Jake's county, who was a good friend of
our Marlow family, walked into the courtroom to see if he could help
Jake in his difficulties. When the frightened negro saw him, he forgot
the dignity of the court and shouted, "Praise de Lawd. I's been a vessel
ob His for nigh onto sixty years and He's done fill me full ob Grace and
Glory dis very hour".
And without further ado, he left the sheriff to make all explanations.
As he ran to the hitching post the mule began to bray and as Uncle Jake
mounted he shouted, "We're shaking de dust ob dis place from off our
feet and goin' back to our (Fannin) county where we can con-tinue bein'
vessels ob de Lawd and servin' our white folks".
As long as he lived, Uncle Jake was a faithful servant to his white
folks. Every time I slipped away to spend a little time at the
log-cabin, I always asked him to repeat the story of how he returned the
mule and with each repeating he praised the Lord more for being a direct
instrument in helping him prove to the countryside that he was "a clean
vessel ob de Lawd", but he blamed the new shoes and his skinned heel for
not getting across the county line before he was caught.
BIBLIOGRAPHY.
An old negro by the name of Jake identified a mule of his master's in
court at Morganton. The little girls in the Morris family in Fannin
County were made to wear bonnets with their hair pulled through so they
could not be removed.
These two facts told me by Mr. J. R. Kincaid of Blue Ridge.
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