The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1899-09-20
In MEMORY
OF MARTHA.

You 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 instru-
ment. Well, in the hands of the ordi
nary player it is not. But you should
have heard old Ben, as, bending low
over the neck, with closed eyes, he
made the shell respond like living
soul to his every mood. 1t sang, it
laughed, it sighed; and, just as the
tears began yelling up into The listen
ers' eyes, it would break into a merry
reel that would set feet a-twinkling be-
fore one knew it.
Ben and his music were the delight
of the whole plantation, white and
black, master and man, and in the
evening when he sat before his cabin
door, picking 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 pickaniBnies press
ing close TO them; sometimes il was old
Mas and Mis- themselves who strolled
mp to the old man, drawn by his strains.
Often there was company, nd 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 bis powers.
And Martha would say to him, "You,
Ben, dom you git conceity now; you
des keep yo' haid level. des' mon
low you been up dab playin' some O.
dem ongOdly chHnes, lax Hoe Con
an Dig 'Tates."
Ben would laugh and say. "Well,
den, tex de wiekedness often de ban
10. Swing in, OF 'oomsn" 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, un.1 with flourish and
a thump, he brought the music to an
end.
Next to his banjo, Ben loved Martha,
and next to Ben, Martha loved the
banjo. In time and a region where
frequent 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 eomradeship,
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 supper. With loud pretended
upbraidings he bundled her into bed,
got his own supper, and then ran to his
master with the news.
Marty, 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 her eyes"
"I'lI send the doctor right down,
Ben," said his master. 81 don't reck-
on it's anything serious / wish you
would come up to the house tonight
with your banjo Mr.. Lewis is going
to 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
believe that Martha could be very i'll;
but he would have reeopsidered his
command if he could have seen on
Ben's face the look of pain which the
darkness hid.
you'll send the doctah right away,
Mas'?'
sob, yes; Pll send him down. Don't
forget to come up"
az won't fn'git," said Ben, as he
turned away. But he did not pick up
his banjo to go TO the big house until
the plantation doctor had come and
given Martha something to ease her.
Then he said, Use got to go up to
the big house, Marty; be back putty
soon"
"Don' you hu'y throo on my count.
You go long and give Mas Tawm good
measure; you hyeah?"
''Quit yo' bossin'," said Ben, little
more cheerfully; 81 got you whah you
can't move, an ef you give me any o
yo' back talk / low frail you mon-
st'ous."
Martha ehuckled "go long" and
Ben went lingeringly out of the door,
the banjo in its ragged cover under his
arm.
The plantations boasted musician
played badly that night. Colonel Tom
Curtis wondered what was the matter
with him, and Mr.. Lewis told his
daughter as he drove away that il SEEM
ed as if the Colonel's famous banjoist
had been Overrated. But who could
play reels and jigs with the proper
swing when before his eyes was the
picture of a smoky cabin room, and
on the bed in it a sick wife, the wife of
forty years?
The black man hurried back to his
cabin, where Martha was dczing. She
woke at his STEP
"Didn't l tell you not to hu'y back
| hyeah ?'' she asked
81 amt nevah hu'ien. / reckon /
gin 'em all de music dey wanted" Ben
answered little sheepishly. He knew
that he had not exactly covered him.
self with glory. How's you feelin 2''
lie added.