University of Virginia Library

EAVES-DROPPING A LODGE OF FREEMASONS.

“Sut, when you were telling the razor-grinder's
story, what did you mean by saying that Lum Jones
hid out from the mason's?”

“Now durn your littil sancterfied face, yu knows
mity well why he hid out. Yu an' Lum wer the fellers
what did hit, an' this crowd orter make yu tell ur treat.
I think yu orter du bof.”

“The crowd” insisted on the story, so I commenced
in my way to tell it somewhat thus:

“Those who remember Knoxville thirty-five years
ago, must still almost see `the old stone Court-house,'
with its steep gable front to the street; its disproportionately
small brick chimney, roosting on the roof at
the rear; its well-whittled door-jambs, its dusty windows,
its gloomy walls and ghostly echoes. Then its
history, crime unveiled, the ingenious defence, the powerful
prosecution, the eloquent `charge,' the tears of
sorrow, the flashes of wit; but like the sturdy old
Court-house itself, they belong to the past. But even
now, and here in the thickening twilight, I see gliding

past in misty ranks, the forms of Jackson, Hu Lawson
White, the Williamses, the Dunlaps, Haywood, Peck,
rick White and Mynott Scott. In my boyish eyes they
Powell, McKinny, Pleasant Miller, the Andersons, Carseemed
giants, and manhood's more discriminating gaze
sees them undiminished. The quiet grave has long
ago claimed the last of the band, but memory preserves
their fame, and deeds of well-doing. There too,
is `College Hill,' with its clear cool spring at the foot.
The `Bluff,' with its triple echo, the `Flag Pond,' and
its sunny-sided inhabitants, `Old Aunt Edy's cakes and
beer, the white mill and its dripping dam, Scuffletown
Crick, and its walnut-trees, `the Dardis lot, and its forbidden
grapes,' `Witt's old field, and its forbidden blackberries,'
the `old church,' and its graveyard. 'Tis
strange how faithfully memory paints the paths and
places belonging to our boyhood—happy, ragged,
thoughtless boyhood. The march of improvement first,
then the march and crash of armies, have nearly swept
away those, to me, almost sacred places. But they and
those who `were boys then,' still have a place in memory
that time nor distance can take, nor the pressing,
crowding, bloody events of now dim, nor sorrow obliterate
with its tears”—

“Oh, komplikated durnashun! that haint hit,” said
Sut. “Yu's drunk, ur yure sham'd tu tell hit, an' so
yu tries tu put us all asleep wif a mess ove durn'd
nonsince, 'bout echo's, an' grapes, an' warnit trees; oh,

yu be durn'd! Boys, jis' gin me a hoult ove that ar
willer baskit, wif a cob in hits mouf, an' that ar tin cup,
an' arter I'se spunged my froat, I'll talk hit all off in
English, an' yu jis' watch an' see ef I say `echo,' ur
`grapes,' ur `graveyard' onst.”

So Sut told it his way.

“Ahem! I takes fur my tex, the fac' that eavesdrappin
am a durn'd mean sorter way tu make a livin.
Hits es bad es stealin frum blind folks, ur tellin lies on
widders; an' hit hes hits retribushun, a orful wun, an'
yu'd all (not scept George thar) say so when I'se dun.

“The upstars ove that Court-hous' wer one big rume,
plastered over-head wif three quarter plank, an' no
floor ontu the jists in the loft abuv. The masons hed
fenced off a lodge in wun corner. The trap-door intu
the lof, wer jis' outside hit, an' a ladder cum down
clost by hits side, an' landed jis' a littil short ove the
door intu the lodge. So yu got tu the lof frum what
wer lef ove the big rume, an' jis' outside the mason den.

“Well, Lum an' George, thar, wer pow'fully exercised
'bout hit—wanted tu know the secret pow'ful
bad—hit pester'd 'em ni ontu es bad es the eatch. So
they conkluded arter much fastin an' prayin, in thar
way, that they'd evedrop 'em.

“Now they wer about, say thuteen years ole, an' jis'
two ove the durndest littil back-slidin devils outen jail.
Warn't much alike either. Lum, allers afore he did eny
devilmint, studied out keerfully what mout happen ef

he did hit. George studied too, but hit wer allers arter
the deed wer dun, an' the orful consekences clost arter
him.

“Well, wun day 'bout sundown, they crawl'd up onbenowen
tu enybody inter the lof, an' clar tu the
tuther aind furthest frum the lodge room, an' trap-door,
an' lay pow'ful low, waitin fur night an' the masons.
Lots ove pidgeons cum in tu roost, an' as hit got dark,
their `boo coo ah! coo-ooin! sorter made the littil
devils think ove thar trundil beds and the light at
home. In fac' a big onmitigated skeer wer a-settilin
like ontu a fog all over 'em, an' onder thar shuts at
that; but they didn't own hit tu each uther yet a-while.
Well, arter hit got good dark outside, hit wer es black
inter that durn'd ole hanted loft, es hit wud be tu a
bline flea on a black catskin, onder the fur, an' hit onder
forty bushil ove wet charcoal dust.

“The ole Socks ove the cumpus an' squar persuashun
begun tu gether in, an' sartin nises cummenced tu soak
up thru the ceilin—sich nises! oh, lordy!—groanin
nises, chokin nises, crunchin nises, ugly nises, orful nises
mix'd wif sum discumfurtin souns, not much loud, but
dredful plain, an' sure skeer-gitters, the las' one eve em.

“Torrectly they hearn sumthin like twenty foot ove
trace chain drap, aind fust on the floor, cherrash!
Their skeer now broke out good all over em in
splotches es big es a craddil quilt, an' git outen this loft
wer the only idear lef in thar head. `Let's go home,'

sed wun; `Oh, lordy yas!' sed tuther; an' they started
fur the trap-door, a-steppin frum jise tu jise, quiet an'
quick es cats.

“The ole ruff wer leakin fur a long time, an' the
drip hed rotted the ceilin about in spots, an' wun ove
these spots wer rite plum over the middil ove the
lodge; when they got thar, Lum he happen'd tu step
jis' a littil too short, an' he lit ontu the doated ceilin
insted ove the jise. Did yu ever hear a cart-load ove
brickbats dumpt'd ontu a pile ove clapboards frum the
top ove a high bank? Ef yu did, yu then hearn sumthin
ni ontu the soun he made gwine thru that ceilin.
Hit jis' rain'd rotten wood, nails, mud-daubers' nests,
chips, spiders, an' thar webs, black bugs, was' nests, an'
ole dust all over that lodge ove barheaded masons.

“Now they keeps thar secrets pow'ful well, fur most
on 'em tu be married men, yet hit sorter leak'd
out that they unanamusly an' individually thort that
hit wer the anti-masons, ole Morgin, ur the devil,
a-cumin down ontu 'em frum way abuve the roof, an'
a-bringin wif 'em all the trash frum Kenneday's saw-mill.
They huddled tugether intu wun corner, an
star'd up et the forkid fernomonon, what wer a-hangin
in the hole, fur Lum hed cotch wif his arms over the
two nighes' jise, an' wer a-reachin an' a-feelin all roun
in the air, es far es he cud, wif his laigs spred out like a
par ove cooper's cumpuses, fur sumthin tangerbil, sumthin
like ontu a foot-holt, ur sich.

“Great Beltashashur! [and Sut stretched his legs to
their utmost extent, knocking his feet together, and
affectionately surveying them from hip to toe,] spose
this yere par ove litnin-rods hed been hung thru that
hole, an' es big a skeer at the top ove em es wer a-restin
on Lum! Why, I'll jis' be durn'd rite yere afore I kin
swaller this ho'n, ef I hadn't a swept the las' cockroach
outen the corners ove that room, broke all the winders,
haf the masons' necks, put out the candils, disparsed the
jewils, los' the mallits an' call'd that ar lodge frum
labor tu refreshmint furever more. I'd a-made em
reach everywhar, afore a quick-spoken 'oman cud say
`kiss,' wudn't I?

“Well, es it wer, Lum's fat latter aind looked like
ontu a yearlin's paunch a-swingin about, what hed died
pow'ful full ove grass an' wheat bran. His britches
wer draw'd so tite that the hems ove-em wer six inches
abuv his knees. His short socks an' low-quarter'd
shoes made his red laigs look like two bedpostes sock'd
intu the pipe hole ove a par ove cookin-stoves, an' a
skeer'd divil intu the oven ove each stove, they husteled
roun so fas'.

“Ole Stack seed the true nater ove the fernomonon
afore eny ove the res' ove em. So he snatched a long
strip ove the broken ceilin plank, es broad es a canew
paddil at wun aind, in bof hans, an' jis busted hit intu
seventeen an' a 'alf pieces at wun swollopin lick ontu
the part ove Lum, what fits a saddil. Hit crack'd sorter

like a muskit a-bustin, an' the tetchin sensashun
shot Lum up thru the hole like a rocket.”

Here Sut raised himself slightly from the log on
which he was sitting, by the aid of his hands each side,
and rubbing himself sidewise quickly, a few times on
rough bark, said, with an air of startled surprise, “Boys,
I'm durn'd ef I can't feel Lum's sensashun frum that
orful lick rite now;” and he rubbed himself again.

“Well, him an' George bulged down that ar ladder
like rats wif a tarrier clost tu thar tails, an' at the foot ove
hit they met a sight—oh, sweet Jinny! how glad I is I
warn't thar! Thar sot a littil tabil wif a lit candil ontu
hit, an' thar stood, bolt up on aind, a grim, grey-haired
man, wif a glitterin drawn swoard in his han, es big an'
as long es a mowin blade; ontu his breas' wer a par ove
littil silver crooked bowie-knives cross'd, an' he wore a
aprun like he wer gwine tu butcher ur cook supper.
They look'd at this, jis' 'bout es long es a weazel looks
at a cumin rock, an' they went a-scizzin pas', George
hinmos'.

“The ole man made a wicked cirklin lick at him wif
his orful nakid wepun. `Voop,' hit went, an' cut the
flat crown outen his cap, smoof es yu cud onkiver a
huckleberry pie wif a case-knife.”

“That part's not true, Mr. Sut,” said I.

“Yes hit am, fur yu see he dun hit so slick that the
crown whirl'd roun like a tin plate in the ar, six foot
abuv yer hed, went faster nur yu did, an' lit afore yu,

es yu flew down stars fas' es yu wer gwine. Oh, littil
hoss, he did du hit, an 'ef he'd lower'd his sites jis' a
scrimpshun he'd a-saved a pow'ful site ove meat an'
bread frum bein wasted, an' curius pepil wud a-been
now a-readin ove yur vartu's frum a lyin stone newspaper
stuck in the yeath ove the graveyard yu wer
a-blatherin about jis' now.

“An I haint told all, fur in yer skeer a-gwine away
frum that orful place, yu run over the spot whar a
fancy hous' 'bout five foot squar hed been upsot,
slunged in up tu yur eyebrows, amungst the slush in the
hole, broke fur the krick, lunged in, onbuttoned yer shut
collar, dove plum thru that ar crownless cap—hit cum
ofen yer heels like a hoop—swum outen yer clothes,
an' jis' let every durn'd rag float away, an' then went
home es nakid es a well-scraped hog, but not half es
clean. The pepil what yu passed on yer way tu the
krick tho't yu wer the cholery a-cumin, an' burn't tar
in thar yards an' stuff'd ole rags onder thar doors, an'
intu the keyholes; an' es yu sneaked back nakid frum
the krick, they tho't yu wer the ghost ove a skin'd bull-frog,
ur a forewarnin ove cumin famin.

“Yu see hit wer Lum what foun the saft soap mine
an' went tu the krick tu see what sorter suds hit wud
make. Now jis' let enybody ax Lum an' see ef he
don't say hit wer yu, afore they'se dun axin him, an'
offer tu prove hit by Frank Dudley—try hit.

“Lum narrates hit that the masons' secret konsists

in a piece ove dry plank wif a strong, willin man at
wun aind, an' about thuty pounds ove live, tender,
thin-skin'd meat ni ontu tuther; while yu sez hit am
nuthin but a hole in the groun, what orter be kivered
up ove nights; yu bof orter know.

“Now I hes jis' wun remark tu make afore I drinks,
an' hit am this: neither ove em hes ever tried tu watch
enything in the dark since, an' jis' let wun ove em,
even tu this night, see a cumpus ur a squar, ef hits
even a-lyin ontu a carpenter's bainch, an' I'm durn'd ef
they don't hist thar noses an' take a sniff ove the air
all roun wif thar bristils sot. They s'pishions danger.
I don't blame em, du yu? Thar's no muny nur credit
either, in evedroppin; they'se bof sot agin hit, an' they
haint fear'd tu say so.”