Tales from the Big Thicket

From Moss Hill

FROM MOSS HILL BY MARGARET L. HEWETT When I first started reading Mrs. Hewett's stories I was impressed by her ability to break every known law of English spelling, punctuation , and grammar; when I finished I was impressed by her ability to tell a good story well. She has captured a fine flavor of the Thicket, and I am still not sure whether her success is in spite of or because of her style. Every time I tried editing these tales from Moss Hill (between Liberty and Rye on state highway 146) and translating them into traditional English, I lost some of that flavor. So I quit and turned them over to the general editor and the printer as a challenge to the first's sense of phonetics and the second's ability as a type setter. I don't believe that the unorthodox mechanics will bother the reader very much. The experience should be much like one's first experience with a sixteenth century manuscript or facsimile. He might, however, have trouble with point of view; sometime it's hard to tell who is talking. Usually Mrs. Hewett identifies herself with the main character and speaks in the first person through him. But she never intrudes; the character's personality is always the dominant one. Mrs. Hewett knows these people, and she and her characters have hacked and plowed through many years and miles of the Big Thicket. They fit the scene.-F.E.A. 215 216 83. Mrs. Margaret L. Hewett. Old Man Whaley and the Hog Stampede This old Negro man was Ninety years old when he told me this story. his name was Reubin Banks, he was born at Whaley cove four miles North east of Moss Hill, and lived in this vinecity all his life. when he was big enough to sit in the Saddle Mr, Whaley would take him hunting wild Hogs and cattle, they hunted all over towards Strain that was about ten miles South East of Batson. He told me old man Whaley was a big fat man, and rode a very high spirited horse in fact a Stallion, he was always trying to pitch, we had the dogs after a bunch of hogs three or four years old i would judge, for they had long tushes, we was running through the brush as fast as we could, but the Hogs would circle back ever so often, the dogs was giving them plenty of room while trying to worry them down. Mr, Whaley told me to keep after them, for he FROM MOSS HILL was getting tired chasing right back over the same trail. he told me he would take a stand and when they come out by him he would shoot them down with his Winchester, or at least as many as he could before they got by. Sure enough they turned right back towards Mr, Whaley, i was pulling leather and dodging trees and brush trying to stay in sight of the Hogs, i heard one shot then i heard no more, but i kept right on going, i passed right clost to where i had left Mr, Whaley then i heard him hollering for me, i wheeled around and rode back, i could hear him cussing with all the language the Lord had forbidden me to use, when i got to him, he hollowed Rube get me down, this dammed Stallion pitched me off and run, when i started shooting , them Hogs was coming at me so fast and i was so scared i like to not climbed this tree. I folded over and tried to keep from laughing but it come out any way then i couldent stop, Mr, Whaley yelled you dam black heathern, get me out of this tree, and stop that Panther howl. I got off my Horse but i couldent stop laughing, for Mr, Whaley was sitting right Hat on the ground, with his arms and legs locked around the tree, and all them wild hogs had passed him by while he was thinking he was climbing the tree, he threatend to hang me to a rafter in the barn if i ever told what he done. any time i heard him cussing that stallion i knew he was thinking about the hogs. This all happened in 1883 Whaley had over one hundred Slaves or so the story goes but Whaley...