Po' Sandy by Charles Waddell Chesnutt
ON the northeast corner of my vineyard in central North Carolina,
and fronting on the Lumberton plank-road, there stood a small frame
house, of the simplest construction. It was built of pine lumber, and
contained but one room, to which one window gave light and one door
admission. Its weather-beaten sides revealed a virgin innocence of
paint. Against one end of the house, and occupying half its width,
there stood a huge brick chimney: the crumbling mortar had left large
cracks between the bricks; the bricks themselves had begun to scale off
in large flakes, leaving the chimney sprinkled with unsightly blotches.
These evidences of decay were but partially concealed by a creeping
vine, which extended its slender branches hither and thither in an
ambitious but futile attempt to cover the whole chimney. The wooden
shutter, which had once protected the unglazed window, had fallen from
its hinges, and lay rotting in the rank grass and jimson-weeds beneath.
This building, I learned when I bought the place, had been used as a
schoolhouse for several years prior to the breaking out of the war,
since which time it had remained unoccupied, save when some stray cow
or vagrant hog had sought shelter within its walls from the chill rains
and nipping winds of winter.
One day my wife requested me to build her a new kitchen. The house
erected by us, when we first came to live upon the vineyard, contained
a very conveniently arranged kitchen; but for some occult reason my
wife wanted a kitchen in the back yard, apart from the dwelling-house,
after the usual Southern fashion. Of course I had to build it.
To save expense, I decided to tear down the old schoolhouse, and use
the lumber, which was in a good state of preservation, in the
construction of the new kitchen. Before demolishing the old house,
however, I made an estimate of the amount of material contained in it,
and found that I would have to buy several hundred feet of lumber
additional, in order to build the new kitchen according to my wife's
One morning old Julius McAdoo, our colored coachman, harnessed the
gray mare to the rockaway, and drove my wife and me over to the sawmill
from which I meant to order the new lumber. We drove down the long lane
which led from our house to the plank-road; following the plank-road
for about a mile, we turned into a road running through the forest and
across the swamp to the sawmill beyond. Our carriage jolted over the
half-rotted corduroy road which traversed the swamp, and then climbed
the long hill leading to the sawmill. When we reached the mill, the
foreman had gone over to a neighboring farmhouse, probably to smoke or
gossip, and we were compelled to await his return before we could
transact our business. We remained seated in the carriage, a few rods
from the mill, and watched the leisurely movements of the mill-hands.
We had not waited long before a huge pine log was placed in position,
the machinery of the mill was set in motion, and the circular saw began
to eat its way through the log, with a loud whir which resounded
throughout the vicinity of the mill. The sound rose and fell in a sort
of rhythmic cadence, which, heard from where we sat, was not
unpleasing, and not loud enough to prevent conversation. When the saw
started on its second journey through the log, Julius observed, in a
lugubrious tone, and with a perceptible shudder:—
“Ugh! but dat des do cuddle my blood!”
“What 's the matter, Uncle Julius?” inquired my wife, who is of a
very sympathetic turn of mind. “Does the noise affect your nerves?”
“No, Mis' Annie,” replied the old man, with emotion, “I ain'
narvous; but dat saw, a-cuttin' en grindin' thoo dat stick er timber,
en moanin', en groanin,' en sweekin', kyars my 'memb'ance back ter ole
times, en' min's me er po' Sandy.” The pathetic intonation with which
he lengthened out the “po' Sandy” touched a responsive chord in our own
“And who was poor Sandy?” asked my wife, who takes a deep interest
in the stories of plantation life which she hears from the lips of the
older colored people. Some of these stories are quaintly humorous;
others wildly extravagant, revealing the Oriental cast of the negro's
imagination; while others, poured freely into the sympathetic ear of a
Northern-bred woman, disclose many a tragic incident of the darker side
“Sandy,” said Join reply to my wife's question, “was a nigger w'at
useter b'long ter ole Mars Marrabo McSwayne. Mars Marrabo's place wuz
on de yuther side'n de swamp, right nex' ter yo place. Sandy wuz a
monst'us good nigger, en could do so many things erbout a plantation,
en alluz 'ten' ter his wuk so well, dat w'en Mars Marrabo's chilluns
growed up en married off, dey all un 'em wanted dey daddy fer ter gin
em Sandy fer a weddin' present. But Mars Marrabo knowed de res' wouldn'
be satisfied ef he gin Sandy ter a'er one un 'em; so w'en dey wuz all
done married, he fix it by 'lowin' one er his chilluns ter take Sandy
fer a mont' er so, en den ernudder for a mont' er so, en so on dat
erway tel dey had all had 'im de same lenk er time; en den dey would
all take him roun' ag'in, 'cep'n' oncet in a w'ile w'en Mars Marrabo
would len' 'im ter some er his yuther kinfolks 'roun' de country, w'en
dey wuz short er han's; tel bimeby it got so Sandy didn' hardly knowed
whar he wuz gwine ter stay fum one week's een' ter de yuther.
“One time w'en Sandy wuz lent out ez yushal, a spekilater come
erlong wid a lot er niggers, en Mars Marrabo swap' Sandy's wife off fer
a noo 'oman. W'en Sandy come back, Mars Marrabo gin 'im a dollar, en
'lowed he wuz monst'us sorry fer ter break up de fambly, but de
spekilater had gin 'im big boot, en times wuz hard en money skase, en
so he wuz bleedst ter make de trade. Sandy tuk on some 'bout losin' his
wife, but he soon seed dey want no use cryin' ober spilt merlasses; en
bein' ez he lacked de looks er de noo 'oman, he tuk up wid her atter
she'd be'n on de plantation a mont' er so.
“Sandy en his noo wife got on mighty well tergedder, en de niggers
all 'mence' ter talk about how lovin' dey wuz. W'en Tenie wuz tuk sick
oncet, Sandy useter set up all night wid 'er, en den go ter wuk in de
mawnin' des lack he had his reg'lar sleep; en Tenie would 'a' done
anythin' in de worl' for her Sandy.
“Sandy en Tenie hadn' be'n libbin' tergedder fer mo' d'n two mont's
befo' Mars Marrabo's old uncle, w'at libbed down in Robeson County,
sent up ter fin' out ef Mars Marrabo couldn' len' 'im er hire 'im a
good han' fer a mont' er so. Sandy's marster wuz one er dese yer
easy-gwine folks w'at wanter please eve'ybody, en he says yas, he could
len' 'im Sandy. En Mars Marrabo tol' Sandy fer ter git ready ter go
down ter Robeson nex' day, fer ter stay a mont' er so.
“It wuz monst'us hard on Sandy fer ter take 'im 'way fum Tenie. It
wuz so fur down ter Robeson dat he didn' hab no chance er comin' back
ter see her tel de time wuz up; he wouldn' 'a' mine comin' ten er
fifteen mile at night ter see Tenie, but Mars Marrabo's uncle's
plantation wuz mo' d'n forty mile off. Sandy wuz mighty sad en cas'
down atter w'at Mars Marrabo tol' 'im, en he says ter Tenie, sezee:—
“ 'I'm gittin' monst'us ti'ed er dish yer gwine roun' so much. Here
I is lent ter Mars Jeems dis mont', en I got ter do so-en-so; en ter
Mars Archie de nex' mont', en I got ter do so-en-so; den I got ter go
ter Miss Jinnie's: en hit's Sandy dis en Sandy dat, en Sandy yer en
Sandy dere, tel it 'pears ter me I ain' got no home, ner no marster,
ner no mistiss, ner no nuffin. I can't eben keep a wife: my yuther ole
'oman wuz sol' away widout my gittin' a chance fer ter tell her
good-by; en now I got ter go off en leab you, Tenie, en I dunno whe'r
I'm eber gwine ter see you ag'in er no I wisht I wuz a tree, er a
stump, er a rock, er sump'n w'at could stay on de plantation fer a
“Atter Sandy got thoo talkin', Tenie didn' say naer word, but des
sot dere by de fier, studyin' en studyin'. Bimeby she up'n' says:—
“'Sandy, is I eber tol' you I wuz a cunjuh 'oman?'
“Co'se Sandy hadn' nebber dremp' er nuffin lack dat, en he made a
great 'miration w'en he hear w'at Tenie say. Bimeby Tenie went on:—
“ 'I ain' goophered nobody, ner done no cunjuh wuk, fer fifteen year
er mo'; en w'en I got religion I made up my mine I wouldn' wuk no mo'
goopher. But dey is some things I doan b'lieve it's no sin fer ter do;
en ef you doan wanter be sent roun' fum pillar ter pos', en ef you doan
wanter go down ter Robeson, I kin fix things so you won't haf ter. Ef
you'll des say de word, I kin turn you ter w'ateber you wanter be, en
you kin stay right whar you wanter, ez long ez you mineter.'
“Sandy say he dean keer; he 's willin' fer ter do anythin' fer ter
stay close ter Tenie. Den Tenie ax 'im ef he doan wanter be turnt inter
“Sandy say, 'No, de dogs mought git atter me.'
“ 'Shill I turn you ter a wolf?' sez Tenie.
“ 'No, eve'ybody's skeered er a wolf, en I doan want nobody ter be
skeered er me.'
“ 'Shill I turn you ter a mawkin'bird?'
“ 'No, a hawk mought ketch me. I wanter be turnt inter sump'n
w'at'll stay in one place.'
“ 'I kin turn you ter a tree,' sez Tenie. 'You won't hate no mouf
ner years, but I kin turn you back oncet in a w'ile, so you kin git
sump'n ter eat, en hear w'at's gwine on.'
“Well, Sandy say dat'll do. En so Tenie tuk 'im down by de aidge er
de swamp, not fur fum de quarters, en turnt 'im inter a big pine-tree,
en sot 'im out 'mongs' some yuther trees. En de nex' mawnin', ez some
er de fiel' han's wuz gwine long dere, dey seed a tree w'at dey didn'
'member er habbin' seed befo'; it wuz monst'us quare, en dey wuz
bleedst ter 'low dat dey hadn' 'membered right, er e'se one er de
saplin's had be'n growin' monst'us fas'.
“W'en Mars Marrabo 'skiver' dat Sandy wuz gone, he 'lowed Sandy had
runned away. He got de dogs out, but de last place dey could track
Sandy ter wuz de foot er dat pine-tree. En dere de dogs stood en
barked, en bayed, en pawed at de tree, en tried ter climb up on it; en
w'en dey wuz tuk roun' thoo de swamp ter look fer de scent, dey broke
loose en made fer dat tree ag'in. It wuz de beatenis' thing de w'ite
folks eber hearn of, en Mars Marrabo 'lowed dat Sandy must 'a' clim' up
on de tree en jump' off on a mule er sump'n, en rid fur ernuff fer ter
spile de scent. Mars Marrabo wanted ter 'cuse some er de yuther niggers
er heppin' Sandy off, but dey all 'nied it ter de las'; en eve'ybody
knowed Tenie sot too much sto' by Sandy fer ter he'p 'im run away whar
she couldn' nebber see 'im no mo'.
“W'en Sandy had be'n gone long ernuff fer folks ter think he done
got clean away, Tenie useter go down ter de woods at night en turn 'im
back, en den dey'd slip up ter de cabin en set by de fire en talk. But
dey ha' ter be monst'us keerful, er e'se somebody would 'a' seed 'em,
en dat would 'a' spile' de whole thing; so Tenie alluz turns Sandy back
in de mawnin' early, befo' anybody wuz a-stirrin'.
“But Sandy didn' git erlong widout his trials en tribberlations. One
day a woodpecker come erlong en 'mence' ter peck at de tree; en de nex'
time Sandy wuz turns back he had a little roun' hole in his arm, des
lack a sharp stick be'n stuck in it. Atter dat Tenie sot a sparrer-hawk
fer ter watch de tree; en w'en de woodpecker come erlong nex' mawnin'
fer ter finish his nes', he got gobble' up mos'' fo' he stuck his bill
in de bark.
“Nudder time, Mars Marrabo sent a nigger out in de woods fer ter
chop tuppentime boxes. De man chop a box in dish yer tree, en hack' de
bark up two er th'ee feet, fer ter let de tuppentime run. De nex' time
Sandy wuz turnt back he had a big skyar on his lef' leg, des lack it
be'n skunt; en it tuk Tenie nigh 'bout all night fer ter fix a mixtry
ter kyo it up. Atter dat, Tenie sot a hawnet for ter watch de tree; en
w'en de nigger come back ag'in fer ter cut ernudder box on de yuther
side'n de tree, de hawnet stung 'im so hard dat de ax slip en cut his
foot nigh 'bout off.
“W'en Tenie see so many things happenin' ter de tree, she 'cluded
she'd ha' ter turn Sandy ter sump'n e'se; en atter studyin' de matter
ober, en talkin' wid Sandy one ebenin', she made up her mine fer ter
fix up a goopher mixtry w'at would turn herse'f en Sandy ter foxes, er
sump'n, so dey could run away en go some'rs whar dey could be free en
lib lack w'ite folks.
“But dey ain' no tellin' w'at's gwine ter happen in dis worl'. Tenie
had got de night sot fer her en Sandy ter run away, w'en dat ve'y day
one er Mars Marrabo's sons rid up ter de big house in his buggy, en say
his wife wuz monst'us sick, en he want his mammy ter len' 'im a 'oman
fer ter nuss his wife. Tenie's mistiss say sen' Tenie; she wuz a good
nuss. Young mars wuz in a tarrible hurry fer ter git back home. Tenie
wuz washin' at de big house dat day, en her mistiss say she should go
right 'long wid her young marster. Tenie tried ter make some 'scuse fer
ter git away en hide 'tel night, w'en she would have eve'ything fix' up
fer her en Sandy; she say she wanter go ter her cabin fer ter git her
bonnet. Her mistiss say it doan matter 'bout de bonnet; her
head-hankcher wuz good ernuff. Den Tenie say she wanter git her bes'
frock; her mistiss say no, she doan need no mo' frock, en w'en dat one
got dirty she could git a clean one whar she wuz gwine. So Tenie had
ter git in de buggy en go 'long wid young Mars Dunkin ter his
plantation, w'ich wuz mo' d'n twenty mile away; en dey wa'n't no chance
er her seein' Sandy no mo' 'tel she come back home. De po' gal felt
monst'us bad 'bout de way things wuz gwine on, en she knowed Sandy mus'
be a wond'rin' why she didn' come en turn 'im back no mo'.
“W'iles Tenie wuz away nussin' young Mars Dunkin's wife, Mars
Marrabo tuk a notion fer ter buil' 'im a noo kitchen; en bein' ez he
had lots er timber on his place, he begun ter look 'roun' fer a tree
ter hab de lumber sawed out'n. En I dunno how it come to be so, but he
happen fer ter hit on de ve'y tree w'at Sandy wuz turns inter. Tenie
wuz gone, en dey wa'n't nobody ner nuffin fer ter watch de tree.
“De two men w'at cut de tree down say dey nebber had sech a time wid
a tree befo': dey axes would glansh off, en didn' 'pear ter make no
progress thoo de wood; en of all de creakin', en shakin', en wobblin'
you eber see, dat tree done it w'en it commence' ter fall. It wuz de
“W'en dey got de tree all trim' up, dey chain it up ter a timber
waggin, en start fer de sawmill. But dey had a hard time gittin' de log
dere: fus' dey got stuck in de mud w'en dey wuz gwine crosst de swamp,
en it wuz two er th'ee hours befo' dey could git out. W'en dey start'
on ag'in, de chain kep' a-comin' loose, en dey had ter keep a-stoppin'
en a-stoppin' fer ter hitch de log up ag'in. W'en dey commence' ter
climb de hill ter de sawmill, de log broke loose, en roll down de hill
en in 'mongs' de trees, en hit tuk nigh 'bout half a day mo' ter git it
haul' up ter de sawmill.
“De nex' mawnin' atter de day de tree wuz haul' ter de sawmill,
Tenie come home. W'en she got back ter her cabin, de fus' thing she
done wuz ter run down ter de woods en see how Sandy wuz gittin' on.
W'en she seed de stump standin' dere, wid de sap runnin' out'n it, en
de limbs layin' scattered roun', she nigh 'bout went out'n her min'.
She run ter her cabin, en got her goopher mixtry, en den follered de
track er de timber waggin ter de sawmill. She knowed Sandy couldn' lib
mo' d'n a minute er so ef she turns him back, fer he wuz all chop' up
so he 'd 'a' be'n bleedst ter die. But she wanted ter turn 'im back
long ernuff fer ter 'splain ter 'im dat she hadn' went off a-purpose,
en lef' 'im ter be chop' down en sawed up. She didn' want Sandy ter die
wid no hard feelin's to'ds her.
“De han's at de sawmill had des got de big log on de kerridge, en
wuz startin' up de saw, w'en dey seed a 'oman runnin' up de hill, all
out er bref, cryin' en gwine on des lack she wuz plumb 'stracted. It
wuz Tenie; she come right inter de mill, en th'owed herse'f on de log,
right in front er de saw, a-hollerin' en cryin' ter her Sandy ter
fergib her, en not ter think hard er her, fer it wa'n't no fault er
hern. Den Tenie 'membered de tree didn' hab no years, en she wuz
gittin' ready fer ter wuk her goopher mixtry so ez ter turn Sandy back,
w'en de mill-hands kotch holt er her en tied her arms wid a rope, en
fasten' her to one er de posts in de sawmill; en den dey started de saw
up ag'in, en cut de log up inter bo'ds en scantlin's right befo' her
eyes. But it wuz mighty hard wuk; fer of all de sweekin', en moanin',
en groanin', dat log done it w'iles de saw wuz a-cuttin' thoo it. De
saw wuz one er dese yer ole-timey, up-en-down saws, en hit tuk longer
dem days ter saw a log 'en it do now. Dey greased de saw, but dat didn'
stop de fuss; hit kep' right on, tel fin'ly dey got de log all sawed
“W'en de oberseah w'at run de sawmill come fum breakfas', de han's
up en tell him 'bout de crazy 'oman—ez dey s'posed she wuz—w'at had
come runnin' in de sawmill, a-hollerin' en gwine on, en tried ter th'ow
herse'f befo' de saw. En de oberseah sent two er th'ee er de han's fer
ter take Tenie back ter her marster's plantation.
“Tenie 'peared ter be out'n her min' fer a long time, en her marster
ha' ter lock her up in de smoke-'ouse 'tel she got ober her spells.
Mars Marrabo wuz monst'us mad, en hit would 'a' made yo' flesh crawl
fer ter hear him cuss, 'caze he say de spekilater w'at he got Tenie fum
had fooled 'im by wukkin' a crazy 'oman off on him. W'iles Tenie wuz
lock up in de smoke-'ouse, Mars Marrabo tuk 'n' haul de lumber fum de
sawmill, en put up his noo kitchen.
“W'en Tenie got quiet' down, so she could be 'lowed ter go 'roun' de
plantation, she up'n 'tole her marster all erbout Sandy en de
pine-tree; en w'en Mars Marrabo hearn it, he 'lowed she wuz de wuss
'stracted nigger he eber hearn of. He didn' know w'at ter do wid Tenie:
fus' he thought he'd put her in de po'house; but fin'ly, seein' ez she
didn' do no harm ter nobody ner nuffin, but des went 'roun' moanin', en
groanin', en shakin' her head, he 'cluded ter let her stay on de
plantation en nuss de little nigger chilluns w'en dey mammies wuz ter
wuk in de cotton-fiel'.
“De noo kitchen Mars Marrabo buil' wuz n' much use, fer it hadn'
be'n put up long befo' de niggers 'mence' ter notice quare things
erbout it. Dey could hear sump'n moanin' en groanin' 'bout de kitchen
in de night-time, en w'en de win' would blow dey could hear sump'n
a-hollerin' en sweekin' lack it wuz in great pain en sufferin'. En it
got so atter a w'ile dat it wuz all Mars Marrabo's wife could do ter
git a 'oman ter stay in de kitchen in de daytime long ernuff ter do de
cookin'; en dey wa'n't naer nigger on de plantation w'at wouldn' rudder
take forty dan ter go 'bout dat kitchen after dark,—dat is, 'cep'n'
Tenie; she didn' 'pear ter min' de ha'nts. She useter slip 'roun' at
night, en set on de kitchen steps, en lean up agin de do'jamb, en run
on ter herse'f wid some kine er foolishness w'at nobody couldn' make
out; for Mars Marrabo had th'eaten' ter sen' her off'n de plantation ef
she say anythin ter any er de yuther niggers 'bout de pine-tree. But
somehow er 'rudder de niggers foun' out all erbout it, en dey all
knowed de kitchen wuz ha'nted by Sandy's sperrit. En bimeby hit got so
Mars Marrabo's wife herse'f wuz skeered ter go out in de yard after
“W'en it come ter cat, Mars Marrabo tuk en to' de kitchen down, en
use' de lumber fer ter buil' dat ole school'ouse w'at you er talkie'
'bout pullin' down. De school'ouse wuz n' use' 'cep'n' in de daytime,
en on dark nights folks gwine long de road would hear quare soun's en
see quare things. Po' ole Tenie useter go down dere at night, en wander
'roun' de school'ouse; en de niggers all 'lowed she went fer ter talk
wid Sandy's sperrit. En one winter mawnin', w'en one er de boys went
ter school early fer ter start de fire, w'at should he fin' but po' ole
Tenie, layin' on de flo', stiff, en col', en dead. Dere didn' 'pear ter
be nuffin pertickler de matter wid her,—she had des grieve' herse'f
ter def fer her Sandy. Mars Marrabo did'n shed no tears. He thought
Tenie wuz crazy, en dey wa'n't no tellin' w'at she mought do nex'; en
dey ain' much room in dis worl' fer crazy w'ite folks, let 'lone a
“Hit wa'n't long atter dat befo' Mars Marrabo sol' a piece er his
track er lan' ter Mars Dugal' McAdoo,— my ole marster,—en
dat's how de ole school'ouse happen to be on yo' place. W'en de wah
broke out, de school stop', en de ole school'ouse be'n stannin' empty
ever sence,—dat is, 'cep'n' fer de ha'nts. En folks sez dat de ole
school'ouse, er any yuther house w'at got any er dat lumber in it w'at
wuz sawed out'n de tree w'at Sandy wuz turnt inter, is gwine ter be
ha'nted tel de las' piece er plank is rotted en crumble' inter dus'.”
Annie had listened to this gruesome narrative with strained
“What a system it was,” she exclaimed, when Julius had finished,
“under which such things were possible!”
“What things?” I asked, in amazement. “Are you seriously considering
the possibility of a man's being turned into a tree?”
“Oh, no,” she replied quickly, “not that;” and then she murmured
absently, and with a dim look in her fine eyes, “Poor Tenie!”
We ordered the lumber, and returned home. That night, after we had
gone to bed, and my wife had to all appearances been sound asleep for
half an hour, she startled me out of an incipient doze by exclaiming
“John, I don't believe I want my new kitchen built out of the lumber
in that old schoolhouse.”
“You wouldn't for a moment allow yourself,” I replied, with some
asperity, “to be influenced by that absurdly impossible yarn which
Julius was spinning to-day?”
“I know the story is absurd,” she replied dreamily, “and I am not so
silly as to believe it. But I don't think I should ever be able to take
any pleasure in that kitchen if it were built out of that lumber.
Besides, I think the kitchen would look better and last longer if the
lumber were all new.”
Of course she had her way. I bought the new lumber, though not
without grumbling. A week or two later I was called away from home on
business. On my return, after an absence of several days, my wife
remarked to me,—
“John, there has been a split in the Sandy Run Colored Baptist
Church, on the temperance question. About half the members have come
out from the main body, and set up for themselves. Uncle Julius is one
of the seceders, and he came to me yesterday and asked if they might
not hold their meetings in the old schoolhouse for the present.”
“I hope you didn't let the old rascal have it,” I returned, with
some warmth. I had just received a bill for the new lumber I had
“Well,” she replied, “I couldn't refuse him the use of the house for
so good a purpose.”
“And I'll venture to say,” I continued, “that you subscribed
something toward the support of the new church?”
She did not attempt to deny it.
“What are they going to do about the ghost?” I asked, somewhat
curious to know how Julius would get around this obstacle.
“Oh,” replied Annie, “Uncle Julius says that ghosts never disturb
religious worship, but that if Sandy's spirit should happen to
stray into meeting by mistake, no doubt the preaching would do it