Back when Cleveland was President and Victoria Queen, my great aunt Augusta was a little girl. Her father's city house in Wilmington was like the other big places there- the front was display, out back there was a yard surrounded by a high board fence. In the yard were the wash house, privy for the staff, and those sorts of things.
And the chickens.
Aunt Augusta's older brother made the mistake of naming them, and one was yclept for his baby sister.
The day came, and Jerusalem the cook went out back to do the deed. Unfortunately Brother- yes, that's what they called him- saw, and out he went to obstruct dinner.
"No, Jerusalem! Don't kill Augusta! Please don't kill Augusta! Put down that axe! No, No!"
"Mas' Brother, Augusta's time is come! You get back in that house and be quiet, or I'll take this hatchet to you when I've finished with her!"
Unknown to either of them, some one was passing near the back fence, heard the exchange, and ran off to summon a policeman.
Jerusalem completed the task, and hung the bird to drain. Then she went back toward the pump...
The policeman ran back, burst in the gate, and saw a large Black woman approaching him with bloody hands and hatchet...
Fortunately it was 1895 and not 1995, so everyone had time to explain!
Thank you Tam, for reminding me of this story!
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
My family chicken decapitation story...
Posted by staghounds at 11:52 AM