The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1899-07-07
: In Memory of Martha
By Paul Lawrence Dunbar


VOC may talk about banjo playing
if you will, but unless you heard
old Ben in his palmy days you have no
idea what genius can do with five
strings stretched over the sheepskin.
You have been told, perhaps, that the
banjo is not an expressive instrument.
Well, in the hands of an ordinary player
it is not. But you should have heard
old Ben, as, bending low over the neck,
with closed eyes, he made the shell re-
spond like living soul to his every
mood. 1t sang, it laughed, it sighed !;
and, just as the tears began yelling up
into the listeners eyes, it would break
out into merry reel that would set feet
a-twinkling before one knew it.
Ben and his music were the delight of
the whole population, white and black,
master and man, and in the evening
when he sat before his cabin door, pick
ing out tune after tune, hymn, ballad
or breakdown, he. was always sure of an
audience. Sometimes it was a group of
white children from the big house, with
row of pickaninnies pressing Gloss
to them. Sometimes it was old mas
and mis- themselves who strolled up to
the old man, drawn by his strains.
Often there was company, and then Ben
would be asked to leave his door and
play on the veranda of the big house.
Later on he would come back to Martha
laden with his rewards and swelled
with the praises of his powers.
And Martha would say to him: "You,
Ben, dom you git conceity now; you
des' keep yo' haid level. I des' mon
low you been up dab playin' some O.
dem ongodly chimes, lax Hoe Con an
Dig Tates.'"
Ben would laugh and say: swell,
den, TEX de wickedness often de ban
jo. Swing in, OF 'ooman!" And he
would drop into the accompaniment of
one of the hymns that were the joy of
Martha's religious SOUL and she would
sing with him until, with flourish and
thump, he brought the music to an
end.
Next to his banjo, Ben loved Martha,
and next to Ben, Martha loved the ban
jo. In time and region where fire.
quent changes of partners were COM
mon, these two servants were noted for
their single-hearted devotion to each
other. He had never had any other
wife, and she had called no other man
husband. Their children had grown up
and gone to other plantations, or to
cabins of their own. So, alone, drawn
closer by the habit of comradeship,
they had grown old together-Ben
Martha and the banjo.
One day Martha was taken sick, and
Ben came home to find her moaning
with pain, but dragging about trying to
get his supper. With loud pretended
upbraidings he bundled her into bed
got his own supper, and then ran to his
master with the news.
'Marfy she down sick, Mas Tawm,'
he said, ''an' rs mighty Uneasy in my
min bout huh. Seem lax she dom look
right to me outen huh eyes,"
'l'll send the doctor right down, Ben,
said his master. II don't reckon it's
anything very serious. I wish yor
would come up to the house tonight
with your banjo. Mr.. Lewis is going tc
be here with his daughter, and want
them to hear you play
1t was thoughtlessness on the mas
ter's part; that was all. He did not be
lieve that Martha could be very ill; bu
he would have reconsidered his demand
if he could have seen on Ben's face thu
look of pain which the darkness hid.
you'll send de doctah right away
mas'?'' :.
"Oh, yes; I'll send him down. Don
forget to come up"
Il won't fu'git," said Ben as he turned
away. But he did not pick up his banj'
to go to the big house until the planta
ton doctor had come and given Marth'
something to ease her. Then he said
IT'S got to go up to the big house
Marty; be back putty soon" q
Don you hu'y thoo on my count
You go long, an gin Mas Tawm goo,
measure, you hyeah?"
"Quit yo' bossin','' said Ben, littl
more cheerfully; Il got you whah yo
CONT move, an eff you give me an,
o, yo' back talk low frail you mon
,t'ous.''
y Martha chuckled . go long an,