Arthur "You'll Never Be Broke"

I'LL NEVER BE BROKE

Tales of A Young Mulatto Slave

“Arthur! Art-h-u-u-r-r-”! “Uh-Oh, Oh Boy” Young Arthur could hear his mother's voice as it carried out and over the yard by a soft afternoon breeze that fooled no one. It was as hot as a grass fire. In the extreme heat and quiet her call was loud and clear. He could hear it from the back of the huge house way over here beyond the “Whistler's walk”. Arthur hurriedly put the hickory nuts, fresh pecans and sweet potatoes he'd been gathering and counting under the porch for safekeeping until he could finish his chores and return for them. All of this was carried out under the watchful eye of that ever present ole barn owl that seemed always watching over him from above. Well, that is except for its disappearance for a month or so every once in a while. Must be better hunting somewhere else Arthur thought. Hurrying and doing the best he could to catch his breath in the stifling summer heat, he raced up a path loaded with toadstools and little rocks that sometimes hurt his bare feet. Running now, kicking one of the toadstools he saw it explode in a powdery spray. Following the direction of his mother's voice, he soon turned the corner and saw her there with outstretched arms and the warmest smile on her face. He ran even harder then into her waiting arms. “You know you still have work to do don't you?” She asked, pretending all the while to be a bit put out with him. With all this, she still expressed a faint smile professing her undeniable love for him. Blinking his distinguishable blue eyes he answered, “Yes, ma'am.” Boy! Was he glad to see that smile on his mother's face. She had the most beautiful green and amber eyes that most always warned him as they seemed to take on a smoky haze behind them when she got upset or angry. Arthur was well aware of the consequences of going off somewhere to do something of his own liking before his chores were done. It was the middle of summer and the sun was hot and close.

Most afternoons, he was completely worn out from the day's work as well as the terribly hot sun that beat steadily down on him. Somehow though by week's end, he always found enough energy to gather up large amounts of nuts, pecans, fruit and sweet potatoes. It was Friday and he along with almost every one slave and free on the big plantation always grew excited looking to celebrate the week's end of work. Arthur always looked forward to Saturday evenings and Sundays when he'd get a chance to put the sweet potatoes he'd gathered into the fire and enjoy them with cinnamon and lots of butter. He always shared them along with the pecans and anything else he'd garnered with all who gathered around the regular bonfire that was tradition on weekends at the huge plantation.

This particular afternoon, Arthur had one last chore to complete before the sun went down. He was saving the best for last. In fact he did not really consider this a chore. Not by a long shot. Today was special for Arthur and he headed for the barn. By the time he got there he was almost covered with perspiration but he was eager as always to get in there with the animals. The barn as usual was loaded with those big ole flies. Funeral flies he’d heard them called. The smell of straw and pitch forked hay were present along with all the other interesting things kept in the barn. On most days with chores on his mind he would sort of forget all this, but then his nose and the heat of the day would bring it all back in a truly pleasant way. Suddenly all things were forgotten. There before him stood Blue Bell, Big Jim, the plantation owner's prize winning riding and rodeo stallion. It was unspoken but fairly common knowledge that Big Jim was Arthur’s father. Now! Today for the first time ever he was charged with care, custody and control of the huge beautiful horse. This was a first. No one but absolutely no one tended to Blue Bell other than his papa or Dale, his mixed breed Native American sidekick and foreman of the place. For the first time ever Arthur was to take Blue Bell across the front acreage of the plantation to the blacksmith shop. Well no, he was not actually going to ride Blue Bell. He had been instructed to lead him by the reins. There he was to wait while the animal was shod, or given new shoes. Young Arthur loved horses and everything about them. Of course this included not only the smells but everything that went on in and around the barn where the horses were kept. Every one for miles around knew of and admired his papa's Blue Bell. In fact the horse was truly special, coal black in color his coat shone almost of silk. He stood a full 17 hands tall with a long flowing mane and tail. When he moved, he seemed to give off an aura that expressed knowledge of his status. He was truly the favorite and the showpiece of the plantation, not to mention he was considered the best rodeo horse for miles around. Most generally every one accepted that no one but Arthur's papa and Dale handled him. Of course “ole” Dale could do almost anything he set his mind to. Along with his many abilities, he was the best all around rodeo cowboy for miles. Everyone knew it and he was respected and admired by all who knew him or of him. Today of course was different.

The leather and metal of the halter clunked and stressed as Arthur standing on a box put it on the big stallion before leading him out. Leaving the barn, Arthur could see the sun hiding just a bit behind some smoky gray clouds. As they crossed the yard, a huge bolt of dry white lighting crackled and split the pale blue sky across the far west. Now, this happened often and Arthur should have been used to it but still it startled him. He was most impressed as the huge animal he was tending didn't so much as flinch. When he got to the blacksmith shop, the smell of white hot metal and burning coals along with other activity at the busy place opened his nose and eyes as they all greeted him along with the smithy. “How are ya? Just look at you .” Exclaimed the blacksmith. “What have you got there?” His name was William Burk but all Arthur had ever heard people call him was Bill or Mr. Will. Arthur proudly handed him the horse's reins. “Well” remarked the smithy. “Isn't he a beautiful animal? You should be awful proud being able to handle a fine horse like this.” Then the black smith looked the horse over real good. After lifting each hoof and inspecting it a bit, pulling here scraping a little there, he said, “This is going to take awhile.” All the time he was talking, he was reaching into a big ole time worn leather bag he always kept close by. “I guess you may as well try some of this homemade taffy I've got while you wait. My Celia made it and I'm sure you know first hand just how good it is.” What did he say that for? “Mm mm, thank you sir.” One of Arthur's favorite things in all the world. Sweet taffy and home made at that. Now most any candy was acceptable to Arthur, yes sir. About the only thing he liked as much as taffy or chocolate was the buttermilk biscuits his Aunt Nellie made on most Sundays and holidays. Smiling to himself he thought “Boy, I sure could tell ‘em a story or two about them buttermilk biscuits. I sure could.”

He waited there in what was some kind of heat. The air was dry and still as one of those little walking stick bugs he’d spotted earlier. The hot sun seemed to just hang there like a bright red fireball and dadgum if it wasn't even hotter here by the blacksmith's fire. All Arthur could think was ole Bill must have been awful used to it because he was simply going about his work as if everything was just fine. Heck, he was actually whistling while he worked. Arthur, well, he ate the taffy. The wonderful caramel flavor bursting against the roof of his mouth almost made him forget where he was. Seems he was entering a sweet candy world all his own. The smooth sticky sugar not only melted in his mouth, it got all over his hands and any other place he touched. It soon became a problem as he was having difficulty trying to keep from sharing his candy with all the big ole flies and other bugs buzzing around. Somehow he managed, and all the while that big hammer kept landing on the anvil, just banging away. Mr. Will was making enough noise it should have driven everything and everybody away, but Arthur was loving every minute of it. He always did. Before long, he finished his candy. So, with sticky hands that seemed to be attracting every floating cottonwood seed in the area, he was soon heading back across the way in the direction of the barn.

The big beautiful horse trailed proudly along behind Arthur sporting new shoes. A now orange sun was just setting in the west creating a golden shower that reflected off the tree tops and bright green grass in the front yard of the big house. It was a sight to behold. Everything looked as if it had been polished or something. Rays from the sun seemed to glisten like a mirror off the sweat of the horses' side and back. His muscled body rippled and stood out as he walked. Arthur led the magnificent animal right across the main yard toward the barn. It was more than fun and he marched as proudly as one of those little banty roosters. Both Arthur and the horse high steppin, kickin’ up the scent of wild flowers and clover crushed or kicked underfoot as they went. Along the way they scattered a small flock of geese that were lounging and eating old bread there in the yard. They raised quite a ruckus, fussing and throwing up dust swirls as they took to half flying and running away. Naturally, they helped attract attention to the two. Of course Arthur had to stop for a minute in order to take it all in. It was as if they both knew this was something special. The stallion held his head high and his tail up, occasionally snapping at a fly.

As torn pieces of gray cloud moved across the early evening sky, the two moved on. It seemed like they were floating on air or something moving together in a kind of slow motion through the tall straw grass and wildflowers. Seemed like everyone was watching how well he handled the big horse. At the barn door Arthur tugged on the reins and started inside. Blue Bell started in behind. Arthur tripped on the threshold plate of the barn door. The big horse stumbled forward trying to regain his footing. The noise and commotion would have terrorized most people. Arthur moved quick like a rabbit trying to get out of the way. But, uh-uh, no good. He didn't move quick enough. The huge horse accidentally kicked him in the back of the head. Byyyouu He went down and out unconscious. When he woke up a bit later everyone was fussing over him. His head hurt something awful. It hurt so bad he was afraid to move. When he did, he thought his head was sure enough going to split wide open.

Now, everyone milling around had an idea as just what to do. Most people wouldn’t pay much attention to an injured young slave child. In this case it was different. Arthur may have lived in the slave quarters with his mother and half brother Isum, and though no one spoke about it, the master of the entire plantation was his father and everyone knew it. He and Isum shared the same father but they had different mothers. Nonetheless they were close and lived together with Arthur's mother. So, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to the situation, someone simply splashed cool water on young Arthur and after letting him rest a bit sent him on his way. As poorly as he felt and after what he’d just gone through, he was excused from work and chores for the remainder of the day. He was unable to work the next day either. Finally on the third day the sun rose bright and hot. As it was just beginning to burn the beaded morning dew off the plants and greenery all over the grounds, Arthur started to go about his chores thinking most everything was getting back to normal except for his splitting headache. He did get back to his work in and around the horse barn. He intentionally sought out Blue Bell who, by the way, failed to apologize for kicking him unconscious. No mind, he still loved the big horse. Several days later while working in the horse barn he felt really weak and dizzy. All he could think about as he tried to walk was one of the grown ups he'd seen sometimes on the weekend that had too much of the dewberry or persimmon wine. You know, side stepping, talking and acting all funny. Then before he knew it, bam. He'd fallen out like a sack of potatoes. Unconscious now right smack dab in the dustiest dirtiest part of the barnyard. Yep! There he was sucking up all that dust and didn't even know it.

A number of grown ups gathered and began cleaning and dusting him off. When they turned him over, they found the God's awfulst ugly wound in the back of his head where Blue Bell had kicked him. Seemed to him like they were all busy and talking at the same time. Faintly he heard them describing the wound to each other almost as if he wasn't there. They were talking about swelling, infection and all. And, oh my, some type of maggots or worms. What? He wondered could all that have to do with him? Could they be talking about him? He heard talk of dying and such. Then, suddenly they were sending for his papa and he knew it was serious. Arthur's father came straight away and soon he knew it must be a powerful serious injury by the way his father was staring at him. That would be the only time Arthur would recall his father in a situation with no words to say. He looked sort of like he had a question to ask but did not know just how to ask it. Later in life there would be times when Arthur remembered it all and thought perhaps his papa had actually been afraid for his young son’s life. He recalled hearing him send for first aid supplies. He called for the blacksmith. He then ordered them to clean out the wound. Someone started to but then they heard Dale's stern voice, “Give that stuff to me. I'll take care of him, you get that smithy here.” Arthur, clearly aware that Dale liked him and always seemed to look out for his well being, felt a little better. It helped just knowing Dale was tending to and looking after him. Dale cleaned out the wound as gently as he could. It hurt something awful. Arthur almost passed out from the pain. Said later he saw white sheets of pain. Almost like everything was covered by the brightest white that seemed to be flashing. So painful he swore he could taste it. Arthur didn't know that Dale had sent for the blacksmith and Mr. Bill had come bringing even more pain. Much more. Dale carefully cleaned the wound then Arthur's father took a piece of hot metal from the smithy and seared the wound. “Cauterized” or something Arthur thought he heard them say. Once again, the pain was such that Arthur was sure he was dying and he lost consciousness once again. He did not die and the bleeding finally stopped. At least Dale and his papa seemed satisfied. As Arthur woke up, his father told him to stay still and that he'd be right back. That was no problem for Arthur, he never wanted to move again. He was actually afraid to move. His father came back shortly. Once again, Dale gently cleaned the wound. His papa then treated the wound with a mixture of beeswax dissolved in alcohol, sulfur and some sort of herbal creoric. Arthur knew the wound was quite severe. He could tell by the way his papa looked at him and then the wound. Before bandaging Arthur's head, he saw his father take a shiny silver coin, half or a dollar and heat it. He cooled and dried it. He then showed it to Arthur. Turning it in his hand he spoke to his son.” Arthur let's all pray that this dollar turns out to be your lucky coin because it's probably going to be with you for a long time.” He then gently placed the coin in the wound. He wrapped it tightly with a clean cloth or gauze all the way around, nice and tight. He kinda smiled and said “Least ways, Arthur there’s one thing for sure.” “You'll never be broke”. End

Eudell Watts III 9101-33 Street West RI. IL. 309-314-3831 [email protected]

Arthur Watts lived 108 years and enjoyed telling many exciting stories of his youth to anyone and all who would listen.