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 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/8/2021, SPi

incompressible fluid dynamics

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/8/2021, SPi
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/8/2021, SPi

Incompressible Fluid Dynamics

P. A . DAVI DSON
University of Cambridge

1
OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 27/8/2021, SPi

3
Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP,
United Kingdom
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford.
It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship,
and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of
Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries
© P. A. Davidson 2022
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
First Edition published in 2022
Impression: 1
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted
by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics
rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the
above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
address above
You must not circulate this work in any other form
and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer
Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press
198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Data available
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021937986
ISBN 978–0–19–886909–2 (hbk.)
ISBN 978–0–19–886912–2 (pbk.)
Printed and bound by
CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/8/2021, SPi

For Catherine, Sarah and James

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/8/2021, SPi
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/8/2021, SPi

P R E FA CE

This is a textbook for advanced undergraduate and postgraduate students of engineering,

applied mathematics, and physics. It is not intended to be encyclopaedic in coverage and so
difficult choices had to be made regards content. The topics addressed have been chosen
largely on the grounds that they help establish the broad conceptual framework of the
subject, expose key phenomena, and play an important role in the myriad of applications
that exist in both nature and technology. Of course, the choice of material is ultimately a
personal one, and so the author seeks the indulgence of those readers who find that their
favourite topic is given less space than they would have liked.
In the preface to his 1946 text Mechanics of Deformable Bodies, Arnold Sommerfeld
comments:

I shall not detain myself with the mathematical foundations, but proceed as rapidly
as possible to the physical problems themselves. My aim is to give the reader a vivid
picture of the vast and varied material that comes within the scope of theory when a
relatively elevated vantage-point is chosen.

This author fully endorses these sentiments, and so physical insight has been given
priority over mathematical detail, as seems appropriate for a subject as physically rich as
this. For example, when it comes to the classical theory of potential flow, it is probably less
important for a student to master the intricacies of some fiendishly cunning 19th-century
potential than to appreciate that, outside the field of water waves and a few choice problems
in aerodynamics, an irrotational analysis will, most of the time, utterly fail to capture the
real flow. It is also important for the student to understand that this failure is not merely an
embarrassing inconvenience, but rather tells us something quite profound about the nature
of fluid dynamics. In this respect it is, perhaps, appropriate to recall Rayleigh’s whimsical,
but telling, observation:

The general equations of (inviscid) fluid motion were laid down in quite early days by
Euler and Lagrange …(but) some of the general propositions so arrived at were found
to be in flagrant contradiction with observations, even in cases where at first sight it
would not seem that viscosity was likely to be important. Thus a solid body, submerged
to a sufficient depth, should experience no resistance to its motion through water. On
this principle the screw of a submerged boat would be useless, but, on the other hand,
its services would not be needed. (1914, Scientific papers of Lord Rayleigh, p 237)

With Rayleigh’s warning in mind, the viscous equations of motion and the associated
concepts of boundary layers and turbulence are introduced prior to potential flow theory
and its applications in aerodynamics and surface waves. In this way, it is hoped that the
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/8/2021, SPi

viii | preface

student will fully appreciate the fundamental limitations of potential flow as that subject
is developed. The author has lived long enough to realize that this ordering of the material
will not be to everyone’s taste, but he makes no apology for this choice.
This caveat aside, the first half the book, in Chapters 1→7, follows a rather traditional
route, covering topics met in most undergraduate courses in engineering and applied
mathematics. This includes the inviscid equations of Euler and Bernoulli, the Navier–Stokes
equation and some of its simpler exact solutions, laminar boundary layers and jets, potential
flow theory with its various applications to aerodynamics, the theory of surface gravity
waves, and flows with negligible inertia, such as suspensions, lubrication layers, and thin
films. Throughout, a close link is maintained between theory and applications.
The second half of the book is more specialized and has one eye to the needs of postgrad-
uate students in engineering, applied mathematics, and physics. Vortex dynamics, which
is so essential to many natural phenomena, is developed in Chapter 8. This is followed by
chapters on stratified fluids and flows subject to a strong background rotation, both topics
being central to our understanding of atmospheric and oceanic flows. Instabilities and the
transition to turbulence are then covered in Chapters 11 and 12, followed by two chapters on
fully developed turbulence. The topic of turbulence is integral to most engineering courses,
on the grounds that turbulence is both ubiquitous and important, but it is less common in
texts aimed at students of applied mathematics, perhaps because the subject is infamously
resistant to mathematical attack. However, to neglect such an important topic is to deny
the central nature of everyday fluid mechanics, and so a gentle introduction to this difficult
subject is provided in Chapters 13 and 14.
I would like to thank all of those at Oxford University Press who assisted in the prepa-
ration of this book, as well as colleagues who helped suggest the various scientists whose
images appear at the start of each chapter. Sadly, those portraits are all of men. However,
I am certain that the legacy of the current and future generations of fluid dynamicists will
be much more evenly balanced in terms of gender. Finally, I must thank my long-suffering
wife, Catherine, for her enduring patience.

Peter Davidson
Cambridge, 2021
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/8/2021, SPi

CO N T E N TS

Prologue xvii

1 Elementary Definitions, Some Simple Kinematics, and the

Dynamics of Ideal Fluids . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
1.1 Elementary Definitions 2
1.1.1 What is the Mechanical Definition of a Fluid? 2
1.1.2 Fluid Statics and One Definition of Pressure 3
1.1.3 Different Categories of Fluid and of Fluid Flow 6
1.2 Some Simple Kinematics 8
1.2.1 Eulerian Versus Lagrangian Descriptions of Motion 8
1.2.2 The Convective Derivative 9
1.2.3 Mass Conservation and the Streamfunction 10
1.3 The Dynamics of an Ideal (Inviscid) Fluid of Uniform Density 12
1.3.1 Euler’s Equation for a Fluid of Uniform Density 12
1.3.2 Bernoulli’s Equation and Mechanical Energy Conservation 14
1.3.3 Some Applications of Bernoulli’s Equation 15
1.3.4 Inviscid Momentum Conservation in Integral Form 17
1.3.5 Examples of the Use of Momentum Conservation to Calculate
Pressure Forces 18
1.3.6 More on Momentum Conservation: Inviscid Flow Through
a Cascade of Blades 20
1.4 Examples of the Failure of Ideal Fluid Mechanics 23
1.4.1 The Borda–Carnot ‘Head Loss’ in a Sudden Pipe Expansion 24
1.4.2 The Hydraulic Jump 25
2 Governing Equations and Flow Regimes for a Real Fluid . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
2.1 Viscosity, Viscous Stresses, and the No-slip Boundary Condition 34
2.2 More Kinematics: Characterizing the Deformation and Spin
of Fluid Elements 36
2.2.1 Two Things that Happen to a Fluid Element as it Slides down a Streamline 36
2.2.2 The Rate-of-strain Tensor and the Deformation of Fluid Elements 38
2.2.3 Vorticity: the Intrinsic Spin of Fluid Elements 38
2.3 Dynamics at Last: the Stress Tensor and Cauchy’s Equation of Motion 39
2.4 The Navier–Stokes Equation 41
2.4.1 Newton’s Law of Viscosity 41
2.4.2 The Navier–Stokes Equation and the Reynolds Number 43
2.4.3 Navier–Stokes as an Evolution Equation for the Velocity Field 44
2.4.4 The Viscous Dissipation of Mechanical Energy 45
2.5 The Momentum Equation for Viscous Flow in Integral Form 46
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/8/2021, SPi

x | contents

2.6 The Role of Boundaries and Prandtl’s Boundary-layer Equation 48

2.6.1 The Need for Boundary Layers at High Reynolds Number 48
2.6.2 Changes in Flow Regime as the Reynolds Number Increases 50
2.7 From Linear to Angular Velocity: Vorticity and its Evolution Equation 52
2.7.1 The Biot–Savart Law Applied to Vorticity: an Analogy with
Magnetostatics 52
2.7.2 The Vorticity Evolution Equation 54
2.7.3 Where does the Vorticity come from? 57
2.7.4 Enstrophy and its Governing Equation 58
2.7.5 A Glimpse at Potential (Vorticity Free) Flow and its Limitations 58
2.8 Summing up: Real versus Ideal Fluid Mechanics 59
3 Some Elementary Solutions of the Navier–Stokes Equation . . . . . . . . . . 65
3.1 Some Simple Laminar Flows 66
3.1.1 Planar Viscous Flow 66
3.1.2 The Boundary Layer near a Two-dimensional Stagnation Point 68
3.2 The Diffusion of Vorticity from a Moving Surface 69
3.2.1 The Impulsively Started Plate: Stokes’ First Problem 69
3.2.2 The Oscillating Plate: Stokes’ Second Problem 72
3.3 The Navier–Stokes Equation in Cylindrical Polar Coordinates 73
3.3.1 Moving from Cartesian to Cylindrical Polar Coordinates 73
3.3.2 Hagen–Poiseuille Flow in a Pipe 75
3.3.3 Rotating Couette Flow 78
3.3.4 The Diffusion of a Long, Thin, Cylindrical Vortex 79
3.3.5 A Thin Film on a Spinning Disc 81
3.3.6 The Azimuthal–poloidal Decomposition of Axisymmetric Flows 83
4 Flows with Negligible Inertia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
4.1 Motion at Low Reynolds Number: Stokes Flow 90
4.1.1 The Governing Equations at Low Reynolds Number 90
4.1.2 Flow past a Sphere at Low Reynolds Number 91
4.1.3 The Oseen Correction for Flow over a Sphere at Low Re 94
4.1.4 The Uniqueness and Minimum Dissipation Theorems for Low-Re Flows 96
4.1.5 Two-dimensional Flow in a Wedge at Low Reynolds Number 98
4.1.6 Suspensions 99
4.1.7 The Subtleties of Self-propulsion at Low Reynolds Number 102
4.2 Lubrication Theory 105
4.2.1 The Approximations and Governing Equations of Lubrication Theory 105
4.2.2 Reynolds’ Analysis of the Slipper Bearing 107
4.2.3 Sommerfeld’s Analysis of the Journal Bearing 109
4.2.4 Rayleigh’s Analysis of the Stepped Bearing 111
4.3 Thin Films with a Free Surface 112
4.3.1 Approximations and Governing Equations 113
4.3.2 The Gravity-driven Spreading of a Circular Pool 114
4.3.3 A Film on an Incline 115
4.3.4 A Thin Film on a Rotating Disc (Reprise) 117
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/8/2021, SPi

contents | xi

5 Laminar Flow at High Reynolds Number . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123

5.1 Prandtl’s Boundary Layer and a Revolution in Fluid Dynamics 124
5.2 The Archetypal Boundary Layer: a Flat Plate Aligned with a
Uniform Flow 126
5.3 A Generalization of Prandtl’s Boundary Layer to Other Physical Systems 128
5.3.1 A Popular Model Problem and the Concept of Matched
Asymptotic Expansions 128
5.3.2 Prandtl’s Generalization of the Boundary Layer: Another
Model Problem 130
5.4 The Effects of an Accelerating External Flow on Boundary-layer
Development 132
5.4.1 The Falkner–Skan Solutions for Flow over a Two-dimensional Wedge 132
5.4.2 The Boundary Layer near the Forward Stagnation Point of a
Circular Cylinder 134
5.5 Jeffery–Hamel Flow in a Convergent or Divergent Channel 136
5.6 Boundary-layer Separation and Pressure Drag 138
5.7 Thermal Boundary Layers 141
5.7.1 Forced Convection 141
5.7.2 Free Convection 143
5.8 Submerged Laminar Jets 144
5.8.1 The Two-dimensional Jet 145
5.8.2 The Axisymmetric Jet 147
6 Potential Flow Theory with Applications to Aerodynamics . . . . . . . . . . 153
6.1 Some Elementary Ideas in Potential Flow Theory 153
6.1.1 The Physical Basis for, and Dangers of, Potential Flow Theory 153
6.1.2 The Retrospective Application of Newton’s Second Law:
Bernoulli Revisited 156
6.1.3 Some Simple Examples of Two-dimensional Potential Flow 157
6.1.4 D’Alembert’s Paradox 159
6.2 The Kinematics of Two-dimensional Potential Flow 160
6.2.1 The Complex Potential 160
6.2.2 Some Elementary Examples of the Complex Potential 161
6.2.3 Flow Normal to a Flat Plate of Finite Width 164
6.2.4 A Not so Simple Example: the Intake to a Submerged Duct 166
6.2.5 The Method of Images for Plane and Cylindrical Boundaries 167
6.3 The Lift Force Exerted on a Body by a Uniform Incident Flow 170
6.3.1 Two-dimensional Flow over a Cylinder with Circulation:
an Illustrative Example 170
6.3.2 Flow over a Planar Body of Arbitrary Shape: the Kutta–Joukowski
Lift Theorem 172
6.3.3 Kelvin’s Circulation Theorem 173
6.3.4 The Role of Boundary-layer Vorticity in Establishing Circulation
round an Aerofoil 174
6.3.5 The Lift Generated by a Slender Aerofoil 177
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/8/2021, SPi

xii | contents

7 Surface Gravity Waves in Deep and Shallow Water . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185

7.1 The Wave Equation and Dispersive versus Non-dispersive Waves 186
7.1.1 The Wave Equation and d’Alembert’s Solution 186
7.1.2 Two Classes of Waves: Dispersive versus Non-dispersive Waves 187
7.2 Two-dimensional Surface Gravity Waves of Small Amplitude 189
7.2.1 Surface Gravity Waves on Water of Arbitrary Depth 189
7.2.2 Shallow-water and Deep-water Waves 190
7.2.3 Particle Paths, Stokes Drift, and Energy Density in Deep-water Waves 191
7.2.4 Wave Drag in Deep Water 193
7.3 The General Theory of Dispersive Waves 194
7.3.1 Dispersion, Wave Packets, and the Group Velocity 194
7.3.2 The Energy Flux in a Wave Packet 198
7.4 The Dispersion of Small-amplitude Surface Gravity Waves 199
7.4.1 The Group Velocity and Energy Density for Waves on Water
of Arbitrary Depth 199
7.4.2 Waves Approaching a Beach 201
7.4.3 The Influence of Surface Tension on Dispersion 202
7.5 Finite-amplitude Waves in Shallow Water 204
7.5.1 The Inviscid Shallow-water Equations 204
7.5.2 Finite-amplitude Waves and Non-linear Wave Steepening 205
7.5.3 The Solitary Wave 1: Rayleigh’s Solution 207
7.5.4 Solitary Waves 2: The KdeV Equation 210
7.5.5 More General Solutions of the KdeV Equation: Cnoidal Waves 212
7.5.6 The Hydraulic Jump Revisited 212
8 Vortex Dynamics: Classical Theory and Illustrative Examples . . . . . . . 221
8.1 Vorticity and its Evolution Equation (Revisited) 221
8.2 Inviscid Vortex Dynamics 222
8.2.1 The Classical Theories of Helmholtz and Kelvin 223
8.2.2 Helicity and its Conservation 225
8.2.3 Steady, Axisymmetric Flows and the Squire–Long Equation 227
8.2.4 Viscous versus Inviscid Vortex Dynamics 230
8.3 A Qualitative Overview of some Simple Isolated Vortices 232
8.3.1 The Interaction of Line Vortices 232
8.3.2 A Glimpse at Vortex Rings 234
8.3.3 Vortices due to Boundary-layer Separation 236
8.3.4 Columnar Vortices in the Atmosphere and Oceans 239
8.4 Viscous Vortex Dynamics I: the Prandtl–Batchelor Theorem 241
8.4.1 The Physical Origins of the Prandtl–Batchelor Theorem 242
8.4.2 A Proof of the Theorem 243
8.5 Viscous Vortex Dynamics II: Burgers’ Vortex 245
8.5.1 A Dilemma in Turbulence: Finite Energy Dissipation for
Vanishing Viscosity 245
8.5.2 Burgers’ Axisymmetric Vortex 246
8.5.3 The Robust Nature of Burgers’ Vortex 247
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/8/2021, SPi

contents | xiii

8.6 More Axisymmetric Vortices (both Viscous and Inviscid) 248

8.6.1 Hill’s Spherical Vortex 248
8.6.2 The Velocity Field and Kinetic Energy of a Thin Vortex Ring 249
8.7 Viscous Vortex Dynamics III: the Impulse of Localized Vorticity Fields 251
8.7.1 The Far field of a Localized Vorticity Distribution 252
8.7.2 The Spontaneous Redistribution of Momentum in Space 253
8.7.3 Conservation of Linear Impulse and its Relationship
to Linear Momentum 254
8.7.4 Conservation of Angular Impulse and its Relationship
to Angular Momentum 256
8.7.5 Axisymmetric Examples of Impulse and Vortex Rings Revisited 257
9 Waves and Flow in a Stratified Fluid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265
9.1 The Boussinesq Approximation and a Second Definition of the
Froude Number 265
9.2 The Suppression of Vertical Motion: a Simple Scaling Analysis 268
9.3 The Phenomenon of Blocking 270
9.4 Lee Waves 271
9.4.1 Linear Lee Waves in Two Dimensions 271
9.4.2 Finite-amplitude Lee Waves in Two Dimensions 275
9.5 Internal Gravity Waves of Small Amplitude 277
9.5.1 Linear Theory and Simple Examples 277
9.5.2 The Reflection of Internal Gravity Waves 281
9.6 Generalized Vortex Dynamics: Bjerknes’ Theorem and Ertel’s
Potential Vorticity 284
10 Waves and Flow in a Rotating Fluid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 291
10.1 Rayleigh’s Stability Criterion for Inviscid, Swirling Flow 291
10.2 The Equations of Motion in a Rotating Frame of Reference 294
10.2.1 The Coriolis Force and the Rossby Number 294
10.2.2 Rapid Rotation: the Taylor–Proudman Theorem and Drifting
Taylor Columns 295
10.3 Inertial Waves of Small Amplitude 298
10.3.1 Their Dispersion Relationship, Group Velocity, and Spatial Structure 298
10.3.2 The Formation of Transient Taylor Columns by Low-frequency Waves 300
10.3.3 The Spontaneous Focussing of Inertial Waves and the Formation
of Columnar Vortices 302
10.3.4 Helicity Generation and Helicity Segregation by Inertial Waves 310
10.3.5 Finite-amplitude Inertial Waves 313
10.4 Rossby Waves 314
10.5 Ekman Boundary Layers and Ekman Pumping 317
10.5.1 Confined Swirling Flows: the Solutions of Kármán, Bödewadt,
and Ekman 317
10.5.2 Ekman Layers as a Mechanism for Energy Dissipation 320
10.6 Tropical Cyclones 320
10.6.1 The Anatomy of a Tropical Cyclone 320
10.6.2 A Simple Model of a ‘Dry’ Cyclone 322
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/8/2021, SPi

xiv | contents

11 Instability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 333
11.1 The Centrifugal Instability 334
11.1.1 Rayleigh’s Inviscid Criterion for Axisymmetric Disturbances 334
11.1.2 Two-dimensional Inviscid Disturbances (Rayleigh again) 335
11.1.3 Viscous Instability and Taylor’s Analysis 336
11.1.4 The Experimental Evidence 339
11.2 The Stability of a Fluid Heated from Below 341
11.2.1 Rayleigh–Bénard Convection 341
11.2.2 Rayleigh’s Stability Analysis 342
11.2.3 Slip Boundaries Top and Bottom: an Artificial but Informative Case 344
11.2.4 No-slip Boundaries 346
11.3 The Stability of Parallel Shear Flows 347
11.3.1 Rayleigh’s Inflection Point Theorem for Inviscid, Rectilinear Flow 347
11.3.2 The Subtle Effects of Viscosity 349
11.4 The Kelvin–Helmholtz Instability 350
11.4.1 The Instability of an Inviscid Vortex Sheet 350
11.4.2 The Inviscid Instability of a Layer of Vorticity of Finite Thickness 354
11.5 The Stability of Continuously Stratified Shear Flow 355
11.5.1 The Taylor–Goldstein Equation for Fluctuations in a Stratified
Shear Flow 356
11.5.2 The Richardson Number Criterion for the Stability of a Stratified
Shear Flow 357
11.5.3 An Interpretation of the Stability Criterion in terms of Energy 359
11.6 The Kelvin–Arnold Variational Principle for Inviscid Flows 361
11.6.1 A Statement of the Theorem 361
11.6.2 A Derivation of the Theorem 361
11.6.3 Some Simple Applications of the Theorem 365
11.7 A Variational Principle for Inviscid Flows based on the Lagrangian 367
11.8 The Stability of Pipe Flow: a Qualitative Discussion 371
12 The Transition to Turbulence and the Nature of Chaos . . . . . . . . . . . . 379
12.1 Some Common Themes in the Transition to Turbulence 379
12.2 A Definition of Turbulence 382
12.3 The Nature of Chaos: the Logistic Map as an Example 384
12.4 Landau’s Inspired (but Incomplete) Vision of the Transition
to Turbulence 386
13 An Introduction to Turbulence and to Kolmogorov’s Theory . . . . . . . 391
13.1 Elementary Properties of Turbulence: a Qualitative Overview 391
13.1.1 The Need for a Statistical Approach and the Problem of Closure 392
13.1.2 The Various Stages of Development of Freely Decaying Turbulence 394
13.1.3 Richardson’s Energy Cascade 398
13.1.4 The Rate of Destruction of Energy and an Estimate
of Kolmogorov’s Microscales 400
13.2 A Digression into the Kinematics of Homogeneous Turbulence 402
13.2.1 Two Useful Diagnostic Tools: Correlation Functions and
Structure Functions 402
Other documents randomly have
different content
anywhere nigh old dead Lula. It’s de Gawd’s truth. An’ Clara is a
mighty sensible mule.”
“Po’ li’l’ Breeze,” Joy pitied softly, and Breeze’s heart warmed, for
April and Joy both took his part. Big Sue wouldn’t lick him to-night.
She never did lick him when April was there.
“You-all stop talkin’ ’bout death. You scare me so I wouldn’t sleep a
wink to-night! Whe’s Sherry?” Joy asked suddenly.
Big Sue looked at April instead of answering. April stirred in his chair,
his big feet shuffled on the floor, his slow answer was a growl.
“Sherry’s left de plantation, Joy. I run em off.” His black brows knit
into an angry line.
“Why—why—how come you done dat, Cun April?” Joy’s teeth looked
white and sharp, her red satin dress shimmered in the firelight, her
words were husky, half whispered.
“I had to, Joy. Sherry is a impudent rascal. I’d ’a’ killed em if e had
’a’ stayed here.”
April scratched his head and his eyes turned uneasily toward the
door, but before he spoke, tears welled up in Joy’s eyes, a deep sob
burst from her bosom, and she got up and ran back into the shed-
room where she lay on the bed and wept, in spite of Big Sue’s
reproaches.
“Why, Joy! You ought not to take on so! Why, Honey, Sherry’ll be
back befo’ long.”
 XVII
HOG-KILLING

Now that Joy had come home for good, Big Sue planned to fix up the
cabin. April sent Brudge to help Breeze whitewash the outside with
oyster-shell lime, burned and crushed right on the beach. Fresh
clean newspapers were brought from the store with eggs and each
wide sheet spread with white-flour paste and stuck fast to the inside
walls over the old soiled worn-out papers that were cracked and
broken by last year’s wind and weather. When this was done, the
cabin was snug and tight. With the window blinds pulled in and the
doors closed, not a bit of cold air could get in except through the
cracks in the floor.
But Joy’s blood must have got thin, for she wore her long black cape
constantly, and had spells of shivering in spite of its warmth.
The weather was scarcely cold enough for hog-killing, but Big Sue
said Joy needed some rich food to thicken and hotten her blood. The
girl took little interest in anything. She’d stand and gaze vacantly out
of the window as if her soul were gone far away and her eyes tried
to follow its flight.
Jeems, the shoat in the pen, must be killed. Joy’s appetite must be
tempted somehow before her blood turned to pure water. She ate
scarcely enough to keep a bird alive.
Somebody must have conjured her. Those long half-drowsy spells
were not natural, and sometimes she sobbed in the night, hag-
ridden with evil dreams. Jeems must be killed for Joy to eat.
Big Sue waked Breeze early. She gave him no chance to dawdle, for
much had to be done in preparation. Joy offered to help, but Big Sue
made her stay in bed and rest. Breeze washed the sleep out of his
eyes, then tipped to Joy’s bedside for a word from her, but the dawn
showed her eyes closed, and her quiet regular breathing told him
she was sleeping. He turned his eyes away quickly to keep them
from waking her.
Before the sun was up he had the big washpot in the yard, brimming
full of water and a fire built under it. Uncle Bill brought a sound
barrel and laid it slantwise and steady in a dug out place in the
ground. He’d scald Jeems in that.
He took out his great pocket knife and opening its longest blade told
Breeze to look how its sharp point was flashing! That knife was
trained. It had sense like people. It was pure itching to stick in
Jeems’ throat and slice his neck in two. When he had to kill a hog,
he just pointed that knife blade toward the beast and gave it a push.
It would fairly leap to the right spot. It never missed the big vein.
His eyes twinkled with affection for his faithful tool as he ran a thick
thumb lightly over its keen edge and felt its shining point.
“You hold em, Breeze, till I get de ax. De ax has to do a li’l’ work
ahead o’ de knife.”
As he walked toward the wood-pile, Big Sue hurried out. “Do don’
knock Jeems, Uncle Bill!” She panted anxiously.
“I’m ’bliged to stun em, honey!”
“You’ll ruin all de brains.”
“I can’ help dat, Miss Big Sue. I couldn’ stick Jeems whilst he was in
his right mind. No, ma’am.”
“Knockin’ a hog on de head makes de head cheese all bloody. Please
don’ do dat! Go on an’ stick em. Don’ knock em!”
Uncle Bill stopped and scratched his head.
“I’d do mighty nigh anything to please you, Miss Big Sue, but I can’
suffer a hog any more’n I have to. I got to knock Jeems senseless,
or I couldn’ kill em at all. Me an’ Jeems is been friends too long.”
“For Gawd’s sake don’ be so chicken-hearted.”
“I ain’ chicken-hearted, but I couldn’ stan’ to suffer Jeems whilst he
was a-dyin’. No. Come on, Breeze. Le’s get dis killin’ over wid!”
Jeems’ black snout showed through a crack, and his short impatient
grunts meant he was hungry, for Breeze had not fed him since
yesterday noon. Breeze’s heart ached for his friend. How could Uncle
Bill bear to knock Jeems in the head with that ax, while the poor
beast’s eyes gazed up with such trustful friendliness!
“Jeems, old man! You’ time is out, son. Git ready to meet you’
Gawd!” Uncle Bill’s voice was sad.
Jeems held his fat face up, straining to see them better, for his eyes,
almost closed with fat, were hampered by ears flapping over them.
Poor Jeems!
Uncle Bill had his coat off, and his rolled-up shirt-sleeves showed the
play of his powerful sinews under the skin. The ax rose high in the
air, then leaped out and tightened, as Uncle Bill brought it down with
a thud on Jeems’ forehead. The squeal in the hog’s throat changed
to a strangled gurgle. The short forelegs staggered and gave way.
The great heavy body fell sidewise to the ground. But Uncle Bill was
already astride it with his knife’s bare blade ready.
A quick sharp stick in the neck brought a spurt of blood which a
deeper thrust turned to a stream. Red, warm with life, its steam
rising like smoke in the cool sunshiny air, Jeems’ blood poured out
and wasted in the filth of his pen, until Big Sue’s cries brought
Breeze to his senses.
“Great Gawd, Breeze! Ketch dat blood! You standin’ like a fool lettin’
em waste! I good mind to kill you! Blood puddin’ is de best o’ de
hog-killin’!”
Breeze scrambled over the boards of the pen, and slipped a pan
under Jeems’ unconscious head, and held it in place in spite of the
kicking death-struggling legs, saving the bubbling red stream for a
pudding. The smell of it made him sick, and he couldn’t meet the
look of those half-closed staring eyes.
Poor Jeems! His time was out. His kicks were getting weaker. His
eyelids were wilting down over his dull sightless eyes. His soul would
soon be gone home to God. Breeze looked up at the sky, but Big Sue
called out to give her the pan before he turned it over. It had caught
enough for a small pudding.
The hog was hurried into the barrel and scalded before the life
cooled out of him, and his skin scraped clean of hair. As Uncle Bill
worked he told Breeze he must always be careful to see that the
moon is right before he killed a hog. A wrong moon will set the hair
in a hog’s skin so no knife on earth could move it. Meat killed on a
waning moon will dry up to nothing, no matter how you cook it. A
certain quarter of the moon will make the meat tough and strong,
another will rot it, no matter how much salt you pack around it. If
Breeze would learn all the moon signs he’d be spared a lot of trouble
long as he lived. White people leave money to their children, but
black people teach theirs signs, which is far better. Money can be
taken from you, but knowledge can’t.
When Jeems was scalded and scraped and washed and cleaned, he
was hung up by a hickory stick run through the white sinews in his
hind legs. The carcass must cool before it was cut up, for meat, like
bread, is spoiled if cut while it’s warm.
Bina had come to help Big Sue, and the two women bent over a
wooden washtub, sorting out the liver and lights and chitterlings,
putting the small entrails aside for sausage casings. The hog’s fine
condition made Big Sue cheerful. She declared she’d make a lot
more lard than she’d expected, for all of Jeems’ insides were coated
with fat.
The higher the sun rose the faster they worked, even when the
neighbors dropped by for a little neighborly talk and to see how the
hog-killing went on.
At noon they stopped for a breathing spell and bite to eat. Hot
brown corn-bread and bits of fried liver were washed down with
sweetened water. The grown people smoked one pipeful apiece,
then set to work again, for Jeems had cooled enough to be
quartered.
The back door slipped off its hinges made a table large enough to
hold him. Uncle Bill’s big knife cut off the huge head, and separated
the hams and shoulders and sides from the long backbone. He
trimmed them neatly, throwing the scraps of lean meat into one tub
for sausage meat, and bits of firm white fat into another for to-
morrow’s lard making.
He wanted to give Breeze the pig-tail to roast on the coals right
then, but Big Sue said Breeze had no time to be playing with pig-
tails now. If he’d work hard Uncle Bill might find the hog’s bladder
for him, and to-night he and Brudge could pleasure themselves
blowing it up like a balloon.
A number of the plantation dogs had gathered, and they had to be
watched, specially the hounds and cur-dogs. The bird dogs were
better-mannered. Big Sue wanted to scald the lot of them for the
pesky way they nosed around, but Uncle Bill wouldn’t let her. God
made dogs so they hankered after hog-meat. It was sinful to be
short-patienced with them.
One pot simmered and stewed with liver and lights and haslets and
rice liver pudding. Another pot slowly, carefully sputtered and spat
as the blood, mixed with seasonings, thickened into pudding. The
brains were taken out of the skull, which was put on for head
cheese.
Breeze felt neither sadness nor squeamishness now. His mouth
watered as his nose sniffed at all the appetizing smells.
The sun began throwing long shadows and Big Sue kept him
hurrying. Every single hog hair had to be picked up and saved to
plant in the potato patch next spring. Every hair would make a
potato.
The waste had to be thrown in the creek. Breeze cast it in, a
bucketful at a time. Horrid filthy stuff. It made him shiver, but the
water swallowed it down with scarcely a splash, then flowed on
smooth and clear, reflecting the bright clouds in the sky, shimmering
in the last sunbeams, rising with the incoming tide to water its
banks, which were yellow with marsh daisies. The willows were
almost bare of leaves, and the slim naked trunks and branches bent
over, looking away down into the Blue Brook’s quiet depths.
Sunset gilded the earth and cabins and trees, and streaked the white
sandy yard with golden light. Uncle Bill hoped that such stillness
would not bring rain soon, for the hay was in shocks in the field yet,
and the corn not all broken in. He looked up at the sky as he spoke,
and at once a light breeze sprang up to tell him to-morrow would be
fair. He laughed with relief, and the big trees bowed gently, saying
that they knew the little breeze had told the truth. Even the frost-
faded grasses nodded and waved!
To stay fair the weather must turn cooler, and that would be good
for Big Sue’s fresh killed meat. It would have a good chance to take
the salt well. Such big hams needed careful curing.
Breeze must clean up the pen to-morrow and scatter ashes all over
it, so Uncle Bill could bring Big Sue one of Melia’s red pigs to grow
and fatten into a fine shoat by late spring.
Each piece of pork was rubbed well with salt and stored in Uncle
Bill’s small log barn. There, they’d be safe until the morning, when
they’d be rubbed again with salt mixed with sugar, and packed into a
barrel to cure.
Old Louder sat on his thin haunches, patient and polite. He knew
better than to beg, but his long ears failed to hide the pleading,
wistful look in his eyes. Breeze tossed him a morsel of meat now and
then and before one could touch the ground Louder caught and
swallowed it with a deft snap of his jaws. Big Sue fairly screamed
out:
“Feedin’ a dog wid my good meat, enty? I seen you. I’ll learn you
better’n dat to-morrow mawnin’.”
As a rule Breeze said nothing, but the falling dusk looked so
mournful, his body felt tired, his legs sore, his back and arms achy
with so much work. This was the time of day he gave Jeems his
supper, after the chickens and guineas were gone to bed. Now the
pen was empty. Jeems was dead.
Pity for Jeems and himself made a sob heave up into his throat. Big
Sue must have heard it, for her big moist salty hand closed over his
mouth, “Shut up dat cryin’. You ain’ nuttin’ but a gal-baby! A-cryin’
here an’ me fretted half to death ’bout Joy! Drop you’ pants. I’s
gwine lick you.”

Next morning, not a streak of daylight was showing through the

house cracks when Breeze heard Big Sue up, stumbling around,
dressing. She fumbled with the door-bar, taking it down, then went
outside. She wanted to see how her meat was. Breeze turned over,
but his dozing was broken up by a long terrible shriek. Without
putting on even his breeches, he hopped out of bed and ran out to
see what was wrong. Somebody’s house must be afire. Joy followed
him, her teeth chattering, although she had a quilt wrapped around
her.
Never in his whole life had Breeze heard such screams as Big Sue
was making. Everybody in the Quarter came hurrying, nobody fully
dressed. At first all stood dumb, panic-stricken with amazement,
while Big Sue wailed out, between body-wrenching sobs, Jeems was
gone! Stolen! Not a hair nor hide was left! The iron hasps holding
the chain and lock in the door were pulled clear out of the door-
frame. Outraged shouts broke from the crowd. Who here was mean
enough to do such a thing? They eyed one another suspiciously.
Even fists were clenched, for no such thing was ever heard of. If a
ham or a side or a shoulder had been taken, that would have been
bad enough, but a whole hog! It was too terrible to think about.
They tried to find some trace, maybe some tracks on the ground
around the barn, but nothing was there plainer than Big Sue’s own
flat barefooted ones.
She shrieked and beat her breast by fits and starts, weeping bitterly
all in between.
Jeems was the finest hog ever butchered! She had never seen one
lined thicker with fat! His meat would have lasted until next summer!
And now it was gone! Stolen!
She jerked off the white cloth that bound her head and threw it
down. Howling with rage she beat her head against the side of the
barn until the blows of her skull had it fairly quivering. The
neighbors’ efforts to console her failed. Not even Joy could make any
impression on her raving. Breeze was at his wits’ end. The sunny day
itself got somber. The birds chirped low and sorrowfully.
Leah was the last person to come. Fat, wabbly, she strolled up,
smoking her pipe, one arm akimbo, and beneath her red
headkerchief, her eyes gleamed strangely.
“Wha’ dat ail Big Sue? E’s gwine on like e got in a hornet’s nest!”
They told her the news, but instead of grieving Leah sucked her
teeth. Big Sue was just trying to make fools of them. Who’d take a
whole hog? How could anybody do such a thing? Just as likely as not
Big Sue had the hog right yonder in her shed-room.
They all looked in that direction, then back at Big Sue, who had
paused in her wailing.
“Wha’ dat you say, Leah?” She was panting with rage, and only a
narrow piece of ground lay between them, but Leah gave a taunting
wicked laugh. “You hear me good enough. It ain’ no use to say all
dat over.”
“You low liar! You varmint!” Big Sue’s voice was heavy. Her reddened
eyelids, puffed with fat and tears, squeezed as tight as her clenched
fist.
“Yunnuh hear Big Sue cuss me, enty?” Leah cried.
“Hush, Leah! You come on home wid me!” April stepped up and
would have led her away by the arm, but with the fury of a cyclone,
she shook him off and with a savage yell rushed up to Big Sue and
spat in her face.
Like a flash they closed. Arms, fists, heads, bodies, whirled,
staggered, fell, rose. All efforts to pull them apart were useless. Leah
was the first to waver. After an awful blow in the face her arms
dropped. She stood still, then tilted back on her heels trying not to
fall. As she struggled for breath her mouth stretched wide open,
gasping as fish gasp out of water.
April ran up and caught her and eased her gently down on the
ground. Horrible fear rose in Breeze’s heart, for the glazed look in
Leah’s eyes was the same that filled Jeems’ yesterday, when death
struck him.
People crowded around her. Somebody ran for a bucket of water and
poured it all over her head and face.
Breeze could hardly see for the mist in his eyes, but he knew Leah
was dying for one of her girls gave a long piercing death-cry.
“You is sho’ ruint now, Big Sue!” Bina said distinctly.
“You spit in my face an’ I’ll kill you de same way!”
“Hush, Ma. Fo’ Gawd’s sake, hush!” Joy plead.
“Leah’s de one stole my hog,” Big Sue bawled, “Leah’s de very one!”
“Hush, Ma! Fo’ Gawd’s sake, hush! Uncle Bill, do come make Ma go
home.”

Next morning Big Sue was too ill to get out of bed. Joy kept cool
green collard leaves tied on her forehead, and rubbed the palms of
her hands and the soles of her feet with tallow, but she groaned and
complained with every breath.
Joy sent Breeze with some sweetened bread for Leah’s children to
eat with their dinner, but he took a long time to get there. Dread
made his feet lag. He slunk along the path, scared by every moving
shadow. Ready to jump out of his skin at the crackle of a twig.
He felt relieved when he saw Uncle Bill in April’s yard helping make
Leah’s coffin out of clean pine boards lately sawed at the saw-mill.
As the sharp plane smoothed the wood, yellow curls fell on the
ground. One string exactly Leah’s length and another her breadth,
showed how to fit the box to her size.
Breeze finally had to go inside the house to deliver the bread and
Joy’s message that Big Sue would not be well enough to attend
Leah’s burying. He gave both to Bina, who had a wilted mock-orange
bough in her hand, fanning flies away from the bed where Leah lay
covered over with a sheet.
“Big Sue’s right to stay sick. You tell em I say so, too,” Bina said
tartly. But in a more kindly tone she asked Breeze if he wanted to
see Leah. When he shook his head, Bina said Leah looked mighty
nice. Just as peaceful as if she was sleep.
That day was as long as a week. The sun hung still for hours at a
time. There was scarcely a breath of wind. Breeze was afraid to stay
alone, and both Joy and Big Sue kept to their beds. Once he
whispered, “Joy, is you sleepin’?” and she answered gently:
“No, son, I’m wake. Come lay down on de bed ’side me. I know you
is lonesome. I is myself.”
Reaching her hand out to meet him, she drew his burning face down
against her own soft cheek which was cold and wet with tears. He
raised up and met her eyes, and the look in them was so sad, so
sorrowful, it cut him clean through to the heart.
At last the sun dropped westward, setting in Leah’s grave. Curiosity
made Breeze want to see what went on, but fear of death kept him
in calling distance of Joy. He went up the road far enough to see the
dust raised by the funeral procession, but the wailing death-cries ran
him home.
Joy stood by the open window listening. When one lone cry rose
high above all the rest, her full lips twitched, her sad eyes stared
more gloomily and farther away, big bitter tears rolled down her
cheeks.
Big Sue stayed in bed in the darkened shed-room, drinking root teas
that smelled strong and rank.
At last night fell. Bedtime came. Breeze knelt down and tried to
whisper his prayers. “O Lawd,” he began, but he got no further for
Uncle Bill’s old hound, Louder, who had been resting and scratching
fleas on the porch, suddenly lifted up his voice in a long mournful
howl, and Breeze jumped into bed and covered his head.

Early next morning Bina came, pretending to ask about Big Sue’s
health, but her eyes were round and her breathing quick with
excitement. Had they heard the news? No? Everybody on the
plantation was talking about it!
Somebody had put an awful conjure on April! Leah’s death-sheet
had been folded and laid across the foot of April’s bed. When he
woke this morning, there it was, tucked in at each side so it couldn’t
slip off on the floor. Nobody knew who did it.
April wanted to throw it in the fire, but Maum Hannah stopped him.
Burning a conjure bag, or a death-sheet, is the worst thing you can
do. They have to be drowned. Maum Hannah sent for Uncle Isaac,
and they both tried to make April drown the sheet in the Blue Brook,
but he was too stubborn and hardheaded to mind them. Before they
could stop him he dashed it on the red-hot coals. Uncle Isaac
grabbed it out, but it was all blackened and scorched and burned.
Uncle Isaac took what was left of it and tied a rock up in it to make
it sink. When he threw it in the Blue Brook the water splashed and
bubbled and made a mournful groan, then turned green as grass!
That sheet must have been loaded with conjure poison. Uncle Isaac
stood just so and counted to ten like the old people used to do. Bina
got up to show them. Holding out the fingers of her left hand she
counted them over twice wuth the forefinger of her right, singing as
she did it.
Dis-sem-be! Jack-walla!
Mulla-long! Mullinga!
Gulla-possum! Gullinga!
Sing-sang! Tuffee!
Killa-walla! Kawa! Ten!
“Uncle Isaac done it just so.”
Big Sue was glad. Anybody could see that. She got up and started
putting on her clothes. She seemed to shed her worries. To get
almost cheerful. Once in a while she sighed. “I’m sho’ sorry for April.
Too sorry. E ought not to ’a’ scorched dat sheet.”
The day turned off rainy, dreary, the whole world was wet and
blurred. Big Sue said rain always falls after a burying to settle the
dust on the grave.
Joy’s head ached, and she went to bed. Big Sue dampened a cloth
with vinegar and tied it on Joy’s forehead, then she went slushing
toward the Quarters.
She had hardly got out of sight when Joy jumped up and began a
hurried dressing. She put on a dark dress, and tied a white towel
over her head.
Breeze cried out in astonishment. Where was she going?
“Nowhere!” answered Joy. “If Ma comes and asks where I is, you
don’ know nothin’ at all. Nothin’!”
“Tell me whe’ you’s gwine, Joy.” Breeze begged.
With a sad little smile she leaned over and hugged him.
“I’s comin’ back, Breeze. I’m gwine be you’ mammy after to-day. Ma
can’ lick you no more. But don’t you tell nobody. I’m gwine to see if
de boat brings me a letter from Sherry.”
“Lemme go, Joy.”
“No, you stay home till Ma comes.”
He let her go, out in the rain. He couldn’t help himself. For a while
he pottered about the room, for there was no use to go out into the
mud and rain. Then he crawled back into bed, and went sound
asleep. Once he roused, and heard the boat puffing on the river. It
blew for the landing and stopped, then went pounding on into the
distance.
Big Sue came in at noon, vexed about something or other. She
began abusing Breeze for letting the fire die, soon as she entered
the cabin.
“Whe’s Joy?”
“I dunno, ma’am.”
“How come you dunno?”
“I dunno how come.”
“You ain’ got no sense, dat’s how come! Blow up dis fire befo’ I lick
you to death!”
Fear put strength into Breeze’s blowing, and the fire soon blazed up,
cheerful and bright, but Big Sue was bursting with gall which she
vented on Breeze.
He ran about trying to please her, his mouth dumb-stricken with
misery. But her bitter abuse stung him to the very quick and
overcame him completely. He burst out crying, just as the soft mud
outside sucked loud at somebody’s footsteps.
Uncle Bill called in through the door, “Is anybody home?”
Big Sue’s voice shifted into a pleasanter key as she invited Uncle Bill
to come in, then upbraided Breeze for crying like a baby about
nothing.
Uncle Bill took Breeze’s part, and with a big red pocket handkerchief
wiped Breeze’s face and eyes with gentlest care, and stroked his
hands and tried to comfort him.
“Don’ cry, son. You’ eyes is like scraps o’ red flannel. Joy’ll think
you’s a baby fo’ true. She wouldn’ b’lieve you kin shoot a gun an’
plow an’ ride a mule good as a man.”
Uncle Bill slipped off his wet shoes to dry them, and sat in his bare
feet. “Whe’s Joy?”
“I dunno an’ Breeze wouldn’ tell me whe’ Joy went. I reckon e’s
yonder to Zeda’s house a-listenin’ at Zeda’s brazen talk.”
“Zeda’s talk ain’ brazen since Sherry’s gone,” mused Uncle Bill. “No,
Zeda’s down-hearted as kin be.”
His shoes and feet steamed in the heat, and he drew both back to a
safe distance. Then he showed Breeze how his ankles were marked
with tiny scars. “See my snake-cuts? Uncle Isaac fixed me when I
wa’n’t no bigger’n you. You ought git him to fix you next spring.”
He explained how the short gashes were made near a vein, and
poison from a rattlesnake and a moccasin rubbed in. This was
repeated until the dose no longer caused sickness. No snake could
ever harm him again. They knew it. They kept out of his way. Yet
snakes had him out in the rain now, taking a bucket of milk to April’s
children. Snakes had been worse than usual this fall. They were not
satisfied with eating all the eggs out of the hen nests, but they
sucked the cows dry too. April’s cow might as well be dry so far as
giving milk for the family to drink.
“April’s got a lot o’ hogs. Hogs’ll suck cows same like a calf,” Big Sue
reminded him.
Uncle Bill was sure the hogs were innocent. And besides, April’s cow
came from a fine breed. She wouldn’t let a hog suck her. But snakes
are tricky. While the cow was dozing, in the night, they’d slip up and
wrap themselves around her leg and suck her dry as a bone and
never wake her. Hogs were too awkward to get all the milk. And a
fine nice cow like April’s wouldn’t stand any foolishness from a hog.
“Maybe de cow is lost her cud. Dat’ll dry up de milk,” Big Sue
suggested again.
Uncle Bill dismissed that with a shake of the head. Cows did lose
their cuds. One of his own cows lost hers every time the hags rode
her, and that was mighty near every young moon. Giving her an old
greasy dish-rag to chew on helped her get it back for a while, but
she got so bad off, even that failed. Finally he had to go to Uncle
Isaac and get him to take the conjure off her. She was conjured, no
doubt about that.
“Who you reckon done it?” Big Sue’s ears had pricked up with the
word “conjure,” but Uncle Bill wouldn’t say. It was better not to talk
too much about such things. When they come, rid yourself of them
the best you can, but don’t talk about them after they go. The less
they get into your mind, the better off you are.
“Cows suck dey own se’f, sometimes,” Big Sue went back to the old
subject. “April’s cow might be a-doin’ dat.”
Uncle Bill was certain that wasn’t so. Somebody would have seen
her. Cows did it, he knew. He once owned a fine one that did it and
her mother before her did it. Every daughter she had did it too. They
had to wear pens around their necks, but nothing could ever break
them from the ugly habit. It was born in their blood, just as some
dogs are born gun-shy. It’s in the breed. People and dogs and cows
are born to be what they are. They may cover it up for a long time,
but it will come out sooner or later.
Big Sue nodded, agreeing, “Dat’s how come I went clean over de
river to Sandy Island when I wanted a boy to raise. I knowed Breeze
come f’om good seed. E’s good stock.”
“You’s right. Sho’! If you want to raise corn, plant corn seed, not
cotton seed.”
“April ever was a mighty rash man, Uncle Bill.” Big Sue hinted at
something dark, and Uncle Bill slipped a look at her, then turned his
eyes to look out in the rain, where a mocking-bird was whistling
exactly like a young turkey. Big Sue got her sewing and sat down to
talk.
“April wouldn’ rest not till e pizened dem boll-evils. I couldn’ hardly
sleep in de night all las’ summer fo’ dem machines a-zoonin’.
Everybody was scared to look out de door whilst April an’ Sherry was
gwine round de fields. De pizen dust was same as a fog. Lawd! I
slept wid my head under a quilt ev’y night. April better had left dem
boll-evils right whe’ Gawd put ’em. I don’ kill no kinder bugs
exceptin’ spiders. Not me! Fightin’ Gawd’s business’ll git you in
trouble. April’s got off light so far, but e better quit tryin’ to do all de
crazy t’ings de white people says do. E sho’ better! Bad luck’s been
hangin’ round ever since dat radio-machine at de Big House started
hollerin’ an’ cryin’ an’ singin’ year befo’ last. People ain’ got no
business tryin’ to be Gawd. Not black people anyways. Let de white
people go on. Dey is gwine to hell anyhow!”
She took a fresh thread and moistening the tip of a finger in her
mouth made a fat knot in its end. But before she stuck it into the
cloth, she looked at Uncle Bill with bright points of light in his eyes.
Her words troubled him.
“You is talkin’ mighty fast now, daughter. I been workin’ wid white
people all my life an’ I ain’ got no complaint to make of dem. No. Ol’
Cap’n raise’ me to have respect fo’ everybody.”
“Whe’ you reckon Ol’ Cap’n is to-day, Uncle Bill?”
The old man pressed his lips tight together until they puckered, and
shook his head.
Big Sue laughed, “You don’ want to say, enty? I don’ blame you. But
between you an’ me I spec’ e is whe’ I hope e ain’t; a hoppin’ in Hell
dis minute!”
“Shut you’ mouth, gal! Gawd’ll strike you dead first t’ing you know!”
Uncle Bill gave her a hard look. “Ol’ Cap’n had his faults, but e was a
man! Yes, Gawd! A man!”
Uncle Bill wasn’t listening. He had gone back to the past, “Lawd, I
kin see Ol’ Cap’n now. High an’ straight. Slim till de day e died. His
eyes could go black as soot an’ flash wid pure fire when e got vexed,
but dey could shine soft as gal-chillen’s eyes too.” Uncle Bill’s own
eyes brightened as he talked.
“Dat man could ride horses dat would ’a’ killed anybody else,” he
boasted. “An’ Uncle Isaac, yonder, used to be a man too! E drove de
carriage wid a pair o’ coal black horses. When dey’d pass you in de
big road dem horses’ breath was hot as pure steam. Dey nostrils
was red as any blood! De gold an’ silver on de harness would blind
you’ eyes same as a flash o’ lightnin’! You’d have to stop an’ stand
still an’ cover up you’ face. Dem was de days! You young people don’
know nothin’! Not nothin’!”
A merry laugh crinkled up his eyelids, and filled the hollows in his
thin old cheeks. It tickled him when he thought about the case Ol’
Cap’n was. He was a case. A heavy case! Sometimes his company
would get drunk and reckless with pistols. Cap’n would always
caution them to be careful not to shoot any of his servants. He’d
always brag that he had the best stock of niggers and dogs and
horses in the state, and he didn’t want any of them hurt.
“I ’member. E was powerful big-doin’s. But when death come for
him, he had to go same as anybody else. Whe’s e now, Uncle Bill?”
Uncle Bill made a wry face at Big Sue, “I dunno. An’ you dunno. But
Gawd knows Ol’ Cap’n had a big heart. A good heart. E wan’ no po’
buckra, or either white trash.” A sly smile lightened his solemn face.
“Dat new preacher preaches dat de Great I-Am is a nigger! Don’ let
em fool you, gal. Gawd is white. You’ll see it too when Judgment
Day comes. An’ E ain’ gwine be noways hard on a fine man like Ol’
Cap’n. He knows gentlemens. Sho’! An’ if Ol’ Cap’n couldn’ exactly
make Heaven, I bet Gawd is got him a comfortable place in Hell, wid
plenty o’ people to wait on him. An’ dat’s all e wants, anyhow. E had
plenty o’ milk an’ honey an’ gold an’ silber down here, an’ e didn’
count none o’ dem much, nohow.”
The stillness was so intense that when the clock on Big Sue’s mantel
banged out an hour, Uncle Bill jumped with a start at its call back to
the present. He must be going on to April’s house with the bucket of
milk. Time was moving. He had a lot of work to do before the white
folks came. Some of the fences needed patching. Blinds had to be
fixed in the rice-fields for the duck-hunters and the old trunks had to
be mended in places so the ducks could be baited. There were many
things waiting for him to do them.
“Did you hear f’om de buckra lately?” Big Sue’s little eyes got smaller
as she asked it.
“Not so lately,” Uncle Bill admitted, “but I don’ fret. No news is good
news wid dem. I sho’ will be glad to see li’l’ young Cap’n, dough. It’s
hard to believe dat one li’l’ boy is de onliest seed de ol’ Cap’n is got
left in dis world. E’s de last o’ de name. De last o’ de race. It make
me sad to think on dat!”
“Dat same boy is a chip off de ol’ block! Lawd, e’s a case!”
Uncle Bill started up. “You sound like you got somet’ing against de
boy? Dat ain’ right. No. When e mammy died, all o’ we promised
we’d help raise dat baby to know right f’om wrong. You promised de
same way like I promised.”
Big Sue did not answer and Uncle Bill went on, “Ol’ Cap’n, neither
young Miss, wouldn’ rest still in dey graves if we didn’ do right by
dat li’l’ boy. I too sorry his stepma keeps em yonder up-North most
all de time. It ain’ good. It’s a wonder Ol’ Cap’n don’ rise out de
grave an’ haunt em.”
Uncle Bill took up his bucket of milk. He must go. Big Sue asked him
to tarry longer. Dinner was well-nigh done. He refused politely.
He got as far as the door, when he stopped still, “Miss Big Sue, I
gwine tell you something. Ol’ Cap’n was a lily of de valley. E was a
bright an’ mawnin’ star. When Death took him, it took de Jedus of
dis plantation. Blue Brook ain’ never been de same since den. No.”
A soft drizzle of rain sifted through the trees, the wind moaned
drearily.
Big Sue shook her head. “Gawd made Heaven fo’ de humble, Uncle
Bill. Hell’s de place where de proudful goes. When a man, white or
black, gits to trustin’ to his own strength, ’stead o’ Gawd’s, e is done
for, sho’ as you’ born.”
After Leah’s death April seemed lonelier than ever. He passed Big
Sue’s house almost every day, but he never looked in nor spoke. He
didn’t even turn his head, but walked by, stern, unseeing. Big Sue
always stopped what she was doing to go to the door and watch
him. She’d nod her head and wink and shrug. Everywhere on the
plantation, the talk was thick with prophecies that April would walk
himself to death. Day and night he walked, never sitting down
anywhere. A bad way for a man to do. That death-sheet had his feet
conjured. They’d never rest again in this world, or in the other,
unless April made a change in his ways.
Joy took to walking too. Not like April, day and night; but in the
evenings, just after sunset, she’d wrap her long cape close around
her and go away down the path. Big Sue paid little attention to Joy
for her own troubles filled her mind. Occasionally she sent Breeze to
see where Joy went, then got in a rage when Breeze reported
invariably he couldn’t find her.
Sometimes Joy walked fast, sometimes slow. Nearly always toward
sunset. Sometimes when she sat down on a tree root to rest, she’d
talk to herself. At last Breeze felt sure she was trailing April, for
when she glimpsed him through the trees she’d stop still, with her
eyes fastened on him.
Breeze wondered if Joy was going crazy. Had somebody cast a spell
on her too! As the days dragged on toward Christmas, she grew
more and more silent. She spent much of the time in bed, but
whenever the boat-whistle screeched out it had reached the landing,
she either got up and went for the mail herself or sent Breeze to ask
if any letter had come for her.
She took less and less notice of people and things, but stood by the
open window for long stretches, looking out at the trees or the rice-
fields beyond them.
Once when she started out alone in the dusk, Breeze offered to go
with her. She smiled kindly and told him to come on, but Breeze felt
hurt by her steady silence for it told him plainly that she cared no
more for his company than for the wind, although his one thought
was to please her.
The first time they met April, face to face, he would have passed
without speaking but Joy stopped him. “Cun April——”
April turned his haggard face toward her and looked down with eyes
that were deep sunken and reproachful instead of bold. “Is you
called me, Joy?”
She stood dumb, motionless, a second, then spoke softly,
distressfully.
“Cun April, I want to tell you, Ma ain’ been well, not since Cun Leah
died. Ma frets all de time. Day an’ night. I can’ sleep fo’ de way she
moans an’ goes on. All night long. It’s so pitiful. Please, suh, come
talk to her sometimes. Ma never meant to do such a harm dat day. I
wish you wouldn’ hold such hard feelin’s.”
April had aged a great deal. His shoulders stooped. His feet inclined
to drag. His voice was low and husky. But he answered Joy kindly.
“I don’ hold nothin’ against you’ ma, Joy. Leah was in de wrong too.
Leah had no business to throw Big Sue’s whole hog in de Blue
Brook. No. Leah done wrong, I know dat.”
Joy stared at him. What he said made her speechless with
astonishment at first, but she controlled herself enough to say.
“Stop by an’ see me an’ Ma, sometimes. Please, Cun April. We gits
so awful lonesome after dark.”
April promised he would. Promised in words that were very gentle.
Then he stalked on, a tall lonely shadow, moving under the trees.
April came to see Big Sue that very night, dropping by so
unexpectedly that the sight of him made her dumb for a while. She
tried to be natural, to hide her agitation, but her breath caught fast
in her throat every time she opened her mouth to talk, and her
words were uncertain and stammering.
But April paid little heed to her. He seemed scarcely to know she was
there, for his eyes spent much of the time looking at Joy. Breeze
thought he saw them flash once or twice, but it may have been the
firelight in them.
April declared he had eaten supper and cared for nothing either to
eat or drink, but Joy fixed him a cup of water, sweetened with wild
honey, flavored with bruised mint leaves, from the mint-bed by the
back door. When he tasted it he smiled, and the dull fire in the
chimney blazed up, and everything seemed brighter, more joyful
than in many a long day.
When April got up to go Joy followed him to the door. She made him
shake hands with her and promise to come back very soon.
After that when Joy walked out in the dusk she always let Breeze
know she’d rather go by herself. Not that she ever hurt his feelings,
but she made some sort of flimsy excuse to be rid of him. He hadn’t
shut up the coop where the hen and youngest biddies slept, or he
hadn’t cut up enough fat kindling wood, or couldn’t he go fetch a
fresh bucket of water from the spring?
Then Breeze discovered that April walked with Joy. He had forgotten
Big Sue altogether.
Once Breeze saw them walking shoulder to shoulder, arm touching
arm. They talked so softly their words were drowned by the rustle of
the leaves under their feet. When April stopped and bent his face so
close to Joy’s that she drew back a little, Breeze’s heart almost quit
beating. He let them go on unwatched, hidden by the deepening
twilight.
When Joy came home Big Sue grumbled as she handed her a panful
of supper and a spoon.
“How come you so love to walk out in de night? It ain’ good. You’ll
ketch a fever or somet’ing worse. You ain’ been home to eat supper
wid me since last Sat’day night was a week.”
But Joy sat mute, looking into the fire, with eyes that gleamed back
at the flames.
After that, Joy was always gentle, but except for her evening walk
she went nowhere, not even for the mail. For days at a time she
scarcely uttered a word. Lying on the bed, or sitting by the fire, she
did nothing but think, all the time. When visitors came she said she
wasn’t well, and went to lie down in the shed-room. Even Big Sue’s
constant scolding got few words out of the girl.
Late one afternoon Big Sue went to see Maum Hannah, whose
crippled knee was being troublesome. In the cabin a bright fire
blazed merrily, and Breeze and Joy shelled parched pindars to make
some molasses candy before time to cook supper. Breeze ran to
Zeda’s house to borrow a pinch of cooking soda to make the candy
foam up light. When he came back he found April talking to Joy in a
strangled husky voice. Both were standing up by the fire, the shelled
nuts were scattered on the floor; the smell of the molasses boiling
over and burning, made a bitter stench in the room.
“Wha’ you say, Joy?” April asked it very low.
Joy stood dumb, motionless, then she lifted her eyes to his face. “Is
you want me fo’ true, Cun April?”
His eyes were on her, so bold, so full of admiration, that she shrank
back in confusion, although her white teeth were flashing with
excitement.
April leaned closer and whispered, and her beaming eyes darted up
sidewise to see by his face if he meant all he was saying. She
reflected in silence, with a downcast look. But when she answered
him softly, she looked straight up again into his eyes.
His breath came quick. His eyes glinted fiercely. Joy drew back, but
she was nodding yes all the time. April caught her and squeezed her
to him and kissed her. She started struggling to free herself, but Big
Sue’s steps sounded outside and April hurried away out of the door.
Joy’s eyes followed him until the darkness had swallowed him, and
only the tramp of his feet could reach her ears. She pulled a chair up
to the fire and sat down, with her eyes fixed on the flames. She sat
there a long time. Once she smiled to herself, then she frowned, but
her eyes stayed glittering like a high spring tide under a full noon
sun.
“Joy,” Big Sue called her name sternly, “I b’lieve you’s conjured. I
know April is. Dat death-sheet is had him walkin’ his feet off ever
since Leah was buried. You’s a fool to let dat man talk wid you. I
wish to Gawd e’d stay way f’om my house.”

When the boat blew for the landing early next morning on its way to
town, Breeze and Big Sue had gone in Uncle Isaac’s cart to the lime
mill near the seashore to get lime enough to whitewash the front of
her house fresh for Christmas. Every cabin on the whole plantation
was being scoured and scrubbed and dressed up with papers. Big
Sue wanted hers to be the finest of all. Breeze had wrung next
year’s supply of straw brooms out of the old unplanted fields and
had swept the yard clean with a new dogwood brush-broom.
Joy had helped some, but in a half-hearted way. She wouldn’t even
ride out with them to get the lime. Her excuse was that Julia looked
wild. Breeze knew she didn’t mean it, for no mule ever moved more
sluggishly. Breeze had to get a stick and frail Julia to make her trot
at all.
Noon had passed when they got back home with their load.
Big Sue called Joy to see what nice white fresh-burned lime it was.
Like flour. Not a lump in it. But Joy was not at home and Big Sue
grumbled.
“Gone to Zeda’s again. Joy keeps hankerin’ to hear news from
Sherry. E may as well quit dat. Sherry’s gone! Fo’ good! E ain’ got
Joy to study ’bout! Not no mo’! No!”
When the sun went down, a great red ball, floods of brilliant light
gushed up around it, foretelling a cold night and a windy day to-
morrow. Water birds flew over the rice-fields, crying out in dread.
The trees were full of sighs. The open window blinds creaked
dismally. A puff of smoke came down the chimney. Winter was
coming.
Dusk fell and the night closed in dark. Joy’s supper waited on the
hearth. Where could she be so late?
Breeze went to ask Zeda, but she wasn’t at home. Maum Hannah’s
house was dark, so he stopped at Bina’s to ask if any one there had
seen Joy lately.
Bina looked at him with searching eyes, “You is tryin’ to be smart,
enty? A-actin’ fool to ketch sense!” She sucked her teeth scornfully,
but Breeze didn’t understand what she meant.
“Don’ stan’ up an’ lie to me, boy! You know Joy an’ April went off on
de boat dis mawnin’.”
Breeze could scarcely believe his ears heard Bina right.
Joy and April gone? Together? Where had they gone?
Why hadn’t Joy told somebody?
He flew to tell Big Sue.
Instead of meeting the news with an outburst of grief, Big Sue
chuckled, “Who’d ’a’ thought my Joy could catch April! An’ Leah not
yet cold in her grave! Lawd! April’s old enough to be Joy’s daddy!
Well, all I got to say is dis! April was born fo’ luck. E ever did git de
best o’ ev’yt’ing on dis plantation.”
The boat was due to return three days hence. When the time came
the whole plantation was at the landing to meet it.
As the old battered hulk hove in sight, around the bend, a hush fell
on the crowd, and every eye was fixed on the lower deck where
April and Joy stood, side by side, smiling happily. April took off his
hat and waved it. Joy fluttered a handkerchief to greet them.
They were both dressed fit to kill. Joy, gay as a peacock, in a dress
striped with yellow bands, and a hat with green ribbons and red
flowers. April looked youthful in a brand-new suit that showed off his
broad shoulders and slim waist well. He held Joy’s hand and led her
carefully over the unsteady gangplank, and she fell into Big Sue’s
arms while April looked on smiling and rubbing his hands awkwardly.
The crowd crushed around them, wishing them happiness, hoping
they’d live like Isaac and Rebecca, wishing them joy and a gal and a
boy. Breeze pressed forward too until he could touch Joy’s hand, and
she bent down and gave him a smacking kiss, then a hug.
“Looka li’l’ Breeze, Cun April,” she said, and April reached out and
shook his hand, and Joy added; “I done told you I was gwine be
you’ mammy, Breeze, and Cun April’s you’ daddy, now.”
The people crammed too close around them. Breeze could scarcely
breathe. He got out quickly as he could, and went to the store steps
to wait with old Louder, who sat wagging his tail, and making short
whines of pleasure. Breeze and Big Sue, and most of the neighbors,
went with them to April’s cabin, where a huge fire was built, and the
whole room made light as day.
Big Sue and Bina bustled around cooking supper, and April’s children
and Breeze all helped. Sweetened bread and fried bacon and coffee
with plenty of cream and sugar, were passed around. The cabin was
filled with the fragrance of the food. But Joy couldn’t eat. Big Sue
pressed her to take something, but she said she couldn’t swallow a
bite to save her life.
April had eyes only for Joy. He leaned over and whispered softly, “Is
anyt’ing ail you, honey?”
But she shook her head. She was only weary, too weary to eat.
Some of the young folks suggested a dance, but April said they must
come back another night; Joy was weary. The boat trip was long,
and the chill of the river wind had her trembling yet.
When everybody had something to eat and drink, they said good
night, and tramped out into the night, Breeze and Big Sue last of all.
The dark roads and paths swarmed with merry people, the air rang
with songs and laughter.
“April sho’ is a fool over Joy!” Big Sue grunted as they turned into
the path toward home. “A pure fool. A ol’ fool is de worst fool too.”
Joy and April took supper with Big Sue Christmas Eve, and they
helped fill Breeze’s stocking. He knew, for soon after supper he was
sent to bed. They were in a hurry to get to Maum Hannah’s house
where an all-night meeting was to be held.
Breeze wanted to go too. He wanted to stay up for all the singing
and shouting, and see the cows kneel down and pray at midnight,
and the sun rise shouting in the east in the morning. But Big Sue
said he was too sleepy-headed for her to fool with him, and if he
didn’t go to bed like a good boy old Santy Claw would leave his
stocking empty.
They all said good night and went out of the door and Breeze
thought they had gone for good. He was about to hop up and look
at his stocking when Joy ran back in, and, falling on the bed where
he was, burst out crying.
What on earth! Big Sue and April hurried in, and did all they could to
quiet her. Was she sick? Had somebody hurt her feelings? April
petted her and called her tender names, but she cried on even when
her tears were spent and broken sobs shook her of their own free
will.
Big Sue called April into the other room and whispered to him. He
came back and asked Joy if she wouldn’t rather stay quietly with
Breeze and rest? He’d stay too if she liked, or go to meeting with Big
Sue. Whatever she wanted was the thing he wanted too. She got up
and wiped her eyes. She’d go home and go to bed. He could do
whatever he liked. Her words sounded cold, almost bitter.
But soon the next morning she came to show Big Sue the Christmas
presents April had given her. A watch to wear on her wrist, and a
diamond ring! The two must have cost twenty-five dollars, if not
more.
The winter days passed slowly, many of them dull, gray, with an
overcast sky, where low clouds sailed and cast their murky color over
the ground. The first March day came in bright and warm, with a
wind that roared over the land, whipping the trees, snapping off
their rotten limbs, lifting old shingles off of roofs, sweeping yards
and woods clean, thrashing fields until clouds of dust and sand rose
and floated in the sky. But everybody rejoiced that winter was over
and gone. And besides, a windy March is lucky. Every pint of March
dust brings a peck of September corn, and a pound of October
cotton. Let it blow!
Such a high wind could never last. A March that comes in like a lion
will go out as quiet as a new-born lamb. Let it blow! But watch the
fires! One little spark can easily be fanned into a flame.
New leaves quivered and glittered on the restless boughs. Old
leaves, dead for months on the ground, hopped out from their
resting-places and skipped and flew, making brown leaf whirlwinds
that spun around dizzily, then settled in new sheltered places.
The wind lulled a little at sunset, and the night fell black and
cloudless. A multitude of stars crowded the sky, foretelling rain close
at hand. The rain was waiting for the blustery gale to hold still so the
clouds could gather and agree. In the night the wind rose and beat
against the cabin’s sides. It shook the walls, and whistled and
whined through the cracks. The front door banged wide open, as the
nail that held the bar frame was jerked out by its force. Finally Big
Sue made Breeze get up and get a hatchet and a long nail out of the
tool-box Santy Claw had given him, and she held the door while he
nailed it up.
Big Sue was frightened. She kept talking to Breeze, trying to keep
him awake with her, but he was too sleepy-headed to listen. When
he woke at dawn a flood of rain was pouring down, and thunder
roared louder than the rain or wind.
As a fearful crash shook the earth. Big Sue opened the back door
and peeped out and quavered, “Git up, Breeze! Lightnin’ is struck
dat big pine yonder, close to April’s house! It’s afire! Dat bolt
shooken de whole earth. I bet April’ll find it. Lawd! E’s been diggin’
at de roots o’ struck trees to git a bolt a long time! An’ now one
mighty nigh hit him!”
“What’s a bolt, Cun Big Sue?”
The wind howled as she answered, “Why, son, a thunderbolt is a’
iron rod. If you finds one, you’ll have de power to rule life an’
death!”
The cabin was closed tight, yet so fierce was the lightning it blazed
through cracks right into the room. Blood-red streaks of light took
turns with others that were blue. Breeze shut his eyes and put the
pillow over his head. He finally dozed off, and slept until the morning
had come, clear of rain and wind, and filled with the warm breath of
the earth.
He was alone. Big Sue had gone to see April’s struck pine, so he
dressed and ran to see it too.
A crowd of people were around the burning tree, and others were
coming. All were talking excitedly. God must have His eye on April to
aim a thunderbolt so close to his house. He had a narrow escape.
His house might catch fire yet, for pieces of burning limbs were
falling, and water could not put out fire started with lightning.
Nothing could, but new milk from a cow with her first calf. Where
would April get enough of that to do any good?
April was brazenly unafraid. He laughed at the notion of getting a
heifer’s milk. He said he’d make water outen this fire, or any other
fire, that bothered his cabin. They’d see.
April sat in front of the fire on his hearth, and when Big Sue fixed his
breakfast in a pan and handed it to him, he called to the neighbors,
standing outside, “Yunnuh come an’ eat some breakfast wid me.
We’s got a-plenty fo’ ev’ybody.” At first all of them answered, “No,
thank you,” but when April insisted, a half-dozen or more went in
and took a piece of bread, or a mouthful of sweetened water.
“How’s Joy?” Bina asked Big Sue politely.
“Joy’s awful nervish since dat tree got struck. I made em stay in bed
dis mawnin’.”
“Joy ain’ been well in a good while,” Bina commented.
Big Sue’s eyes snapped. “Joy ever was a delicate child, Bina. You
know dat good as me.”
The thick high trees, lapping their branches overhead, sheltered the
cabins from a sun that burned down, fierce and bright, drawing a
strong steamy stench up from the heated mud flats left naked by the
outgone tide.
The fields were all too wet for plowing, and the blacksmith shop was
the center for the day’s work. Plowshares needed to be filed and
sharpened. Plow-stocks mended. Mules’ feet trimmed. Manes and
tails clipped short. A few of the older, thinner beasts had got lousy.
The hair must be cut off them and their hides wet with tea made out
of china-berry leaves.
The men laughed and talked and chewed tobacco and smoked, as
they worked leisurely at their different tasks. A difference of opinion
rose as to the best place to twitch a mule to make him stand still for
his hair to be cut off. A twine-string could be twisted around an ear,
or tied to the upper lip. Uncle Bill preferred the lip. He said mules
have pockets inside their ears and a string twisted tight enough to
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