The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1895-11-27
Let US pity the white man,
No mother has he to bring him milk,
No wife to grind his corn

| No Wlte TO Srlnu MS corn.
But I am not writing for Mr.. Fewkes or
the chronological Society So will only
say that my guide was evidently top
sawyer In the crowd, and that he made
them march right and left as he would.
| Before ten minutes had passed was ly-
Ing on two or three nice sweet mats OF in
| aescribable perfume, and gentle black
| woman, dressed also in high-colored
Manchester chintz, had brought me
sup of coffee. After this there was
Enough to eat, and OF the best, too.
And, to make the story as short as I can,
IN this house spent the night, on these
same mats, indeed. Conversation is
very hard when it has. to. be confined to
pantomime. I described the river as
well as I could, and the play Of the
walking beam Of the engine OF the Prin-
.eess Beatrice. Of one thing may say
am certain-that my friend had seen
her or had not. But, whether he had
seen her or not do not know. At one
time thought he had, and went on with
Inquiries as to the distance that might
part me from her at that moment. But
afterward I had reason to think that he
supposed I described the jumping up
and down Of some monkeys who had been
playing upon the tree. Such are the
dangers Of sign language.
After q little conversation Of this sort,
iDtimated that I would like to 90 to
sleep. He intimated that there was no
better time nor place. With consider
alton I had not expected, he stretched a
mat, or sort Of a curtain across the
room-or house, for there was but one
room under the roof-and I found my
self in my bedroom. I cannot say that
I went to bed. was already in my bed
"a rapidity of comfort have not found
in more elaborate forms OF civilization.
It was the next morning that the
revelation came, which I am trying to
write out in this story, II by good luck
and persistent effort I can get to it. l
ives wakened early from sound sleep,
by the singing of the birds, believe it
is called by the poets. It was, in feet,
the rasping and exasperating screaming
of cocks, guinea hens, geese and ducks.
For these African villages are nothing
hout their poultry. 1t is easy to dress
Mnen you have not undressed. and 1t
was scarcely O'clock when I found
myself, not at table, Tor we were all on
the ground, but at breakfast, with a
larger company than the night before.
The fare was much what it was then.
There were plenty OF bananas, much
finer than the newsboy ever sold me on
train. The resistance-piece was a
platter of rice, with boiled chicken and
butter, all together. The chicken was
jointed 80 that one could take hold Of
any piece he wished. For we ate as
Adam and Eve did-if, indeed, they had
come as far as kabobs Of chicken.
As I bent forward to take side-bone
which looked attractive, fine old fell
low in white nightgown happened to
see, hanging from my watch chain, an
old, very old, silver shilling. 1t was a
shilling Of Charles I. in perfect condi-
'tion, which I dug up several years be-
fore in our orchard when I was setting
out some ounce trees. When the old
man saw this he bent over eagerly and
begged me to show it to him that he
might examine it. His manner was
perfectly courteous. But I confess I
thought looked my last on my shilling.