my hatchet dat I
had in de bote, whar I split liteard wid and hit him on de head. He
drapped down in de bote, and I seed dat I had done sumfin bad. De man
was dead, and I wood be hung if dey cotched me. So I drug de man ober
de side of de bote into the water, and mashed him down in the mud, an
dat man never cum up any more. I didn't go home any more. An arter a
while de white man was missin', an de peple gin to talk, an I gin to
git skared. Do you see dat house up dar?" I said I did. "Well, Marse
Luke Sumner libbed dar. De big house dat he libbed in is done torn
down, and de small one made outen it. He is done ded now, and when he
libbed dar is mor'n a hundred years ago. His gran-son, Marse Joe
Riddick, now own de place and libs at it. He mus be ni eighty year
old. Well, dey fine de white man was done missin, an it bin dat I was
strikin' fish in de mill pon' de same nite, dey 'gin to look for me,
an my daddy tole me dat I had better go into the desart, which was de
Dismal Swamp. I took his 'vice and lef. De runaway ketchers cum in dar
to look for me, but didn't get me. I staid dar 'til de war was ober. I
cum out and hab been lookin' 'bout dis place to see if I node anybody,
but dey all gone ded, an nobody nose me. I tell you, boss, when you
git in de desart ef nobody ses nuffin, de runaway ketchers can't kotch
you. I am berry ole now, and my home folks are all ded an gone an I no
nobody. De ghost ob de white man dat I kilt hants me all de time,
wharebber I go, an I is a misable man. I am now on my way to de desart
to hide myself an die." I asked him who he belonged to at the time he
committed the murder. Replying, he said: "I longed to Capt. Richard
Brothers, in de desert." "Well," I said, "did he ever know what became
of you?" "I nebber heard any more from him arter I got in the desart.
I heard dat he dide in 1817 ob de cole plague, or black tongue." "You
are correct in what you have said, uncle," I replied. "I do not wish
to interview you any longer on that subject. He was my grandfather and
lived at the place mentioned by you. I hear the old people speak of
the circumstances. You were his carriage driver at the time, and your
name is 'Long Davy.'" "Yas, sar, dat is my name, but don't tell
anybody 'bout it. I had a brudder libbing in de low parrish of
Nansemond county, but he is ded. His name was George." I said, "Uncle
Davy, you are correct. On one occasion, being at Driver's Store, in
lower parrish of Nansemond, I sa