Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [310]
“Take it easy dere, boy!” said Chicken George. “You won’t have strength to git to yo’ dinner.”
“Never ... too ... tired ... fo’ ... dat ... Pappy!”
“Whyn’t you git on up dere an’ eat, den,” said Tom, “an’ we jine you by and by. Pappy and me got things to talk ’bout.”
“Awright ... I ... see ... y’all ... later,” said L’il George, needing no further encouragement as he turned to head for slave row.
“Better hurry!” Chicken George shouted after him. “Don’ know how long yo’ mammy can hol’ off yo’ brothers from eatin’ up what’s lef’!”
Watching L’il George break into a waddling run, Tom and his father stood holding their sides from laughter until he disappeared around the bend, still gaining momentum.
“We better figger sixteen years fo’ we gits free,” Chicken George gasped.
“How come?” asked Tom, quickly concerned.
“Way dat boy eat, gwine cost a year’s pay jes’ keepin’ ’im fed’til den!”
CHAPTER 103
In the memory of Chicken George, nothing had ever generated such excitement among North Carolina gamecockers as the news that spread swiftly during late November of 1855 that the wealthy Massa Jewett was entertaining as his house guest a titled, equally rich gamecocker from England who had brought with him across the ocean thirty of his purebred “Old English Game” birds, said to be the finest breed of fighting cocks in existence. According to the news, the Englishman, Sir C. Eric Russell, had accepted Massa Jewett’s written invitation to pit his birds against some of the best in the United States. Since as longtime friends, they preferred not to fight their gamecocks against one another, each of them would supply twenty birds to fight any forty challenger birds whose collective owners would be expected to ante up their half of a $30,000 main pot, and $250 side bets would be the minimum permitted on each cockfight. Another wealthy local gamecocker volunteered to organize the forty competitors—accepting only five birds apiece from seven other owners besides himself.
It had not been really necessary for Massa Lea to tell his veteran trainer that he was going after a share of such a huge pot.
“Well,” he said upon return to the plantation after posting his $1,875 bond, “we’ve got six weeks to train five birds.” “Yassuh, ought to be able to do dat, I reckon,” Chicken George replied, trying as hard—and as unsuccessfully—not to seem excited. Apart from his own deep thrill just to think of such a contest, Chicken George exulted to the assembled slave-row family that it seemed to him that sheer excitement had rolled twenty-five years off Massa Lea. “Dey’s sho’ pricin’ out any hackfighters!” he exclaimed. “Massa say it’s sho’ de bigges’ money fight he ever got anywheres near to—fac’, de secon’ bigges’ he ever even heared of!”
“Phew! What bigger fight was dat?” exclaimed Uncle Pompey.
Chicken George said, “Reckon maybe twenty years back dis double-rich Massa Nicholas Arrington what live near Nashville, Tennessee, took ’leben covered wagons, twenty-two mens, and three hunnud birds clear crost no tellin’ how many states, through bandits an’ Indians an’ everythin’, ’til dey got to Mexico. Dey fought ’gainst ’nother three hunnud birds belongin’ to de Pres’dent o’ Mexico, a Gen’l Santa Ana, what had so much money he couldn’ even count it, an’ swo’ he raised de world’s greatest gamecocks. Well, Massa say de fightin’ jes’ dem two men’s birds went on a solid week! De stake was so big dey main purse was a chest apiece full o’ money! Massa say even dey side bets could o’ broke mos’ rich mens. In de end, dis Tennessee Massa Arrington won roun’ half a million dollars! His birds he called ‘Cripple Tonys’ after his crippled nigger trainer named Tony. An’ dat Mexican Gen’l Santa Ana wanted one dem ‘Cripple Tonys’ so bad fo’ a breedin’ cock he paid its weight in gol’!”
“I see right now I better git in de chicken business,” said Uncle Pompey.
For most of the next six