Part 10

"Yasser. Fokes dunner w'at bin yit, let 'lone w'at gwinter be. Niggers is niggers now, but de time wuz w'en we 'uz all niggers tergedder."

"When was that, Uncle Remus?"

"Way back yander. In dem times we 'uz all un us black; we 'uz all niggers tergedder, en 'cordin' ter all de 'counts w'at I years fokes 'uz gittin' 'long 'bout ez well in dem days ez dey is now. But atter 'w'ile de news come dat dere wuz a pon' er water some'rs in de naberhood, w'ich ef dey'd git inter dey'd be wash off nice en w'ite, en den one un um, he fine de place en make er splunge inter de pon', en come out w'ite ez a town gal. En den, bless grashus! w'en de fokes seed it, dey make a break fer de pon', en dem w'at wuz de soopless, dey got in fus' en dey come out w'ite; en dem w'at wuz de nex' soopless, dey got in nex', en dey come out merlatters; en dey wuz sech a crowd un um dat dey mighty nigh use de water up, w'ich w'en dem yuthers come long, de morest dey could do wuz ter paddle about wid der foots en dabble in it wid der han's. Dem wuz de niggers, en down ter dis day dey ain't no w'ite 'bout a nigger 'ceppin de pa'ms er der han's en de soles er der foot."

The little boy seemed to be very much interested in this new account of the origin of races, and he made some further inquiries, which elicited from Uncle Remus the following additional particulars:

"De Injun en de Chinee got ter be 'counted 'long er de merlatter. I ain't seed no Chinee dat I knows un, but dey tells me dey er sorter 'twix' a brown en a brindle. Dey er all merlatters."

"But mamma says the Chinese have straight hair," the little boy suggested.

"Co'se, honey," the old man unhesitatingly responded, "dem w'at git ter de pon' time nuff fer ter git der head in de water, de water hit onkink der ha'r. Hit bleedzd ter be dat away."

XXXIV. THE SAD FATE OF MR. FOX

"Now, den," said Uncle Remus, with unusual gravity, as soon as the little boy, by taking his seat, announced that he was ready for the evening's entertainment to begin; "now, den, dish yer tale w'at I'm agwine ter gin you is de las' row er stumps, sho. Dish yer's whar ole Brer Fox los' his breff, en he ain't fine it no mo' down ter dis day."

"Did he kill himself, Uncle Remus?" the little boy asked, with a curious air of concern.

"Hol' on dar, honey!" the old man exclaimed, with a great affectation of alarm; "hol' on dar! Wait! Gimme room! I don't wanter tell you no story, en ef you keep shovin' me forrerd, I mout git some er de facks mix up 'mong deyse'f. You gotter gimme room en you gotter gimme time."

The little boy had no other premature questions to ask, and, after a pause, Uncle Remus resumed:

"Well, den, one day Brer Rabbit go ter Brer Fox house, he did, en he put up mighty po' mouf. He say his ole 'oman sick, en his chilluns col', en de fier done gone out. Brer Fox, he feel bad 'bout dis, en he tuck'n s'ply Brer Rabbit widder chunk er fier. Brer Rabbit see Brer Fox cookin' some nice beef, en his mouf gun ter water, but he take de fier, he did, en he put out to'rds home; but present'y yer he come back, en he say de fier done gone out. Brer Fox 'low dat he want er invite to dinner, but he don't say nuthin', en bimeby Brer Rabbit he up'n say, sezee:

"'Brer Fox, whar you git so much nice beef?' sezee, en den Brer Fox he up'n 'spon', sezee:

"'You come ter my house termorrer ef yo' fokes ain't too sick, en I kin show you whar you kin git plenty beef mo' nicer dan dish yer,' sezee.

"Well, sho nuff, de nex' day fotch Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox say, sezee:

"'Der's a man down yander by Miss Meadows's w'at got heap er fine cattle, en he gotter cow name Bookay,' sezee, 'en you des go en say Bookay, en she'll open her mouf, en you kin jump in en git des as much meat ez you kin tote,' sez Brer Fox, sezee.

"'Well, I'll go 'long,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'en you kin jump fus' en den I'll come follerin' atter,' sezee.

"Wid dat dey put out, en dey went promernadin' 'roun' 'mong de cattle, dey did, twel bimeby dey struck up wid de one dey wuz atter. Brer Fox, he up, he did, en holler Bookay, en de cow flung 'er mouf wide open. Sho nuff, in dey jump, en w'en dey got dar, Brer Fox, he say, sezee:

"'You kin cut mos' ennywheres, Brer Rabbit, but don't cut 'roun' de haslett,' sezee.

"'Den Brer Rabbit, he holler back, he did: I'm a gitten me out a roas'n-piece,' sezee.

"'Roas'n, er bakin', er fryin',' sez Brer Fox, sezee, 'don't git too nigh de haslett,' sezee.

"Dey cut en dey kyarved, en dey kyarved en dey cut, en w'iles dey wuz cuttin' en kyarvin', en slashin' 'way, Brer Rabbit, he tuck'n hacked inter de haslett, en wid dat down fell de cow dead.

"'Now, den,' sez Brer Fox, 'we er gone, sho,' sezee.

"'W'at we gwine do?' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.

"'I'll git in de maul,' sez Brer Fox, 'en you'll jump in de gall,' sezee.

"Nex' mawnin' yer cum de man w'at de cow b'long ter, and he ax who kill Bookay. Nobody don't say nuthin'. Den de man say he'll cut 'er open en see, en den he whirl in, en twan't no time 'fo' he had 'er intruls spread out. Brer Rabbit, he crope out'n de gall, en say, sezee:

"'Mister Man! Oh, Mister Man! I'll tell you who kill yo' cow. You look in de maul, en dar you'll fine 'im,' sezee.

"Wid dat de man tuck a stick and lam down on de maul so hard dat he kill Brer Fox stone-dead. W'en Brer Rabbit see Brer Fox wuz laid out fer good, he make like he mighty sorry, en he up'n ax de man fer Brer Fox head. Man say he ain't keerin', en den Brer Rabbit tuck'n brung it ter Brer Fox house. Dar he see ole Miss Fox, en he tell 'er dat he done fotch her some nice beef w'at 'er ole man sont 'er, but she ain't gotter look at it twel she go ter eat it.

"Brer Fox son wuz name Tobe, en Brer Rabbit tell Tobe fer ter keep still w'iles his mammy cook de nice beef w'at his daddy sont 'im. Tobe he wuz mighty hongry, en he look in de pot he did w'iles de cookin' wuz gwine on, en dar he see his daddy head, en wid dat he sot up a howl en tole his mammy. Miss Fox, she git mighty mad w'en she fine she cookin' her ole man head, en she call up de dogs, she did, en sickt em on Brer Rabbit; en ole Miss Fox en Tobe en de dogs, dey push Brer Rabbit so close dat he hatter take a holler tree. Miss Fox, she tell Tobe fer ter stay dar en mine Brer Rabbit, w'ile she goes en git de ax, en w'en she gone, Brer Rabbit, he tole Tobe ef he go ter de branch en git 'im a drink er water dat he'll gin 'im a dollar. Tobe, he put out, he did, en bring some water in his hat, but by de time he got back Brer Rabbit done out en gone. Ole Miss Fox, she cut and cut twel down come de tree, but no Brer Rabbit dar. Den she lay de blame on Tobe, en she say she gwineter lash 'im, en Tobe, he put out en run, de ole 'oman atter 'im. Bimeby, he come up wid Brer Rabbit, en sot down fer to tell 'im how 'twuz, en w'iles dey wuz a settin' dar, yer come ole Miss Fox a slippin' up en grab um bofe. Den she tell um w'at she gwine do. Brer Rabbit she gwineter kill, en Tobe she gwineter lam ef its de las' ack. Den Brer Rabbit sez, sezee:

"'Ef you please, ma'am, Miss Fox, lay me on de grinestone en groun off my nose so I can't smell no mo' w'en I'm dead.'

"Miss Fox, she tuck dis ter be a good idee, en she fotch bofe un um ter de grinestone, en set um up on it so dat she could groun' off Brer Rabbit nose. Den Brer Rabbit, he up'n say, sezee:

"'Ef you please, ma'am, Miss Fox, Tobe he kin turn de handle w'iles you goes atter some water fer ter wet de grinestone,' sezee.

"Co'se, soon'z Brer Rabbit see Miss Fox go atter de water, he jump down en put out, en dis time he git clean away."

"And was that the last of the Rabbit, too, Uncle Remus?" the little boy asked, with something like a sigh.

"Don't push me too close, honey," responded the old man; "don't shove me up in no cornder. I don't wanter tell you no stories. Some say dat Brer Rabbit's ole 'oman died fum eatin' some pizen- weed, en dat Brer Rabbit married ole Miss Fox, en some say not. Some tells one tale en some tells nudder; some say dat fum dat time forrerd de Rabbits en de Foxes make fren's en stay so; some say dey kep on quollin'. Hit look like it mixt. Let dem tell you w'at knows. Dat w'at I years you gits it straight like I yeard it."

There was a long pause, which was finally broken by the old man:

"Hit's 'gin de rules fer you ter be noddin' yer, honey. Bimeby you'll drap off en I'll hatter tote you up ter de big 'ouse. I hear dat baby cryin', en bimeby Miss Sally'll fly up en be a holler'n atter you"

"Oh, I wasn't asleep," the little boy replied. "I was just thinking."

"Well, dat's diffunt," said the old man. "Ef you'll clime up on my back," he continued, speaking softly, "I speck I ain't too ole fer ter be yo' hoss fum yer ter de house. Many en many's de time dat I toted yo' Unk Jeems dat away, en Mars Jeems wuz heavier sot dan w'at you is."

PLANTATION PROVERBS

BIG 'possum clime little tree. Dem w'at eats kin say grace. Ole man Know-All died las' year. Better de gravy dan no grease 'tall. Dram ain't good twel you git it. Lazy fokes' stummucks don't git tired. Rheumatiz don't he'p at de log-rollin'. Mole don't see w'at his naber doin'. Save de pacin' mar' fer Sunday. Don't rain eve'y time de pig squeal. Crow en corn can't grow in de same fiel'. Tattlin' 'oman can't make de bread rise. Rails split 'fo' bre'kfus'll season de dinner. Dem w'at knows too much sleeps under de ash-hopper. Ef you wanter see yo' own sins, clean up a new groun'. Hog dunner w'ich part un 'im'll season de turnip salad. Hit's a blessin' de w'ite sow don't shake de plum-tree. Winter grape sour, whedder you kin reach 'im or not. Mighty po' bee dat don't make mo' honey dan he want. Kwishins on mule's foots done gone out er fashun. Pigs dunno w'at a pen's fer. Possum's tail good as a paw. Dogs don't bite at de front gate. Colt in de barley-patch kick high. Jay-bird don't rob his own nes'. Pullet can't roost too high for de owl. Meat fried 'fo' day won't las' twel night. Stump water won't kyo' de gripes. De howlin' dog know w'at he sees. Blin' hoss don't fall w'en he follers de bit. Hongry nigger won't w'ar his maul out. Don't fling away de empty wallet. Black-snake know de way ter de hin nes'. Looks won't do ter split rails wid. Settin' hens don't hanker arter fresh aigs. Tater-vine growin' w'ile you sleep. Hit take two birds fer to make a nes'. Ef you bleedzd ter eat dirt, eat clean dirt. Tarrypin walk fast 'nuff fer to go visitin'. Empty smoke-house makes de pullet holler. W'en coon take water he fixin' fer ter fight. Corn makes mo' at de mill dan it does in de crib. Good luck say: "Op'n yo' mouf en shet yo' eyes." Nigger dat gets hurt wukkin oughter show de skyars. Fiddlin' nigger say hit's long ways ter de dance. Rooster makes mo' racket dan de hin w'at lay de aig. Meller mush-million hollers at you fum over de fence. Nigger wid a pocket-hankcher better be looked atter. Rain-crow don't sing no chune, but you k'n 'pen' on 'im. One-eyed mule can't be handled on de bline side. Moon may shine, but a lightered knot's mighty handy. Licker talks mighty loud w'en it git loose fum de jug. De proudness un a man don't count w'en his head's cold. Hongry rooster don't cackle w'en he fine a wum. Some niggers mighty smart, but dey can't drive de pidgins ter roos'. You may know de way, but better keep yo' eyes on de seven stairs. All de buzzards in de settlement 'll come to de gray mule's funer'l. You k'n hide de fier, but w'at you gwine do wid de smoke? Termorrow may be de carridge-driver's day for ploughin'. Hit's a mighty deaf nigger dat don't year de dinner-ho'n. Hit takes a bee fer ter git de sweetness out'n de hoar-houn' blossom. Ha'nts don't bodder longer hones' folks, but you better go 'roun' de grave-yard. De pig dat runs off wid de year er corn gits little mo' dan de cob. Sleepin' in de fence-cornder don't fetch Chrismus in de kitchen. De spring-house may freeze, but de niggers 'll keep de shuck-pen warm. 'Twix' de bug en de bee-martin 'tain't hard ter tell w'ich gwineter git kotch. Don't 'sput wid de squinch-owl. Jam de shovel in de fier. You'd see mo' er de mink ef he know'd whar de yard dog sleeps. Troubles is seasonin'. 'Simmons ain't good twel dey 'er fros'-bit. Watch out w'en you'er gittin all you want. Fattenin' hogs ain't in luck.

HIS SONGS

I. REVIVAL HYMN

OH, whar shill we go w'en de great day comes, Wid de blowin' er de trumpits en de bangin' er de drums? How many po' sinners'll be kotched out late En fin' no latch ter de golden gate? No use fer ter wait twel termorrer! De sun mus'n't set on yo' sorrer, Sin's ez sharp ez a bamboo-brier- Oh, Lord! fetch de mo'ners up higher!

W'en de nashuns er de earf is a stan'in all aroun, Who's a gwineter be choosen fer ter w'ar de glory-crown? Who's a gwine fer ter stan' stiff-kneed en bol'. En answer to der name at de callin' er de roll? You better come now ef you comin'-- Ole Satun is loose en a bummin'-- De wheels er distruckshun is a hummin'-- Oh, come long, sinner, ef you comin'!

De song er salvashun is a mighty sweet song, En de Pairidise win' blow fur en blow strong, En Aberham's bosom, hit's saft en hit's wide, En right dar's de place whar de sinners oughter hide! Oh, you nee'nter be a stoppin' en a lookin'; Ef you fool wid ole Satun you'll git took in; You'll hang on de aidge en get shook in, Ef you keep on a stoppin' en a lookin'.

De time is right now, en dish yer's de place-- Let de sun er salvashun shine squar' in yo' face; Fight de battles er de Lord, fight soon en fight late, En you'll allers fine a latch ter de golden gate. No use fer ter wait twel termorrer, De sun musn't set on yo' sorrer-- Sin's ez sharp ez a bamboo-brier, Ax de Lord fer ter fetch you up higher!

II. CAMP-MEETING SONG *

OH, de worril is roun' en de worril is wide-- Lord! 'member deze chillun in de mornin'--

Hit's a mighty long ways up de mountain side, En dey ain't no place fer dem sinners fer ter hide, En dey ain't no place whar sin kin abide, W'en de Lord shill come in de mornin'! Look up en look aroun', Fling yo' burden on de groun', Hit's a gittin' mighty close on ter mornin'! Smoove away sin's frown-- Retch up en git de crown, W'at de Lord will fetch in de mornin'!

De han' er ridem'shun, hit's hilt out ter you-- Lord! 'member dem sinners in de mornin'! Hit's a mighty pashent han', but de days is but few, W'en Satun, he'll come a demandin' un his due, En de stiff-neck sinners 'll be smotin' all fru- Oh, you better git ready for de mornin'! Look up en set yo' face To'ds de green hills of grace 'Fo' de sun rises up in de mornin'-- Oh, you better change yo' base, Hits yo' soul's las' race For de glory dat's a comin' in de mornin'!

De farmer gits ready w'en de lan's all plowed For ter sow dem seeds in de mornin' De sperrit may be puny en de flesh may be proud, But you better cut loose fum de scoffin' crowd, En jine dose Christuns w'at's a cryin' out loud Fer de Lord fer ter come in de mornin'! Shout loud en shout long, Let de eckoes ans'er strong, W'en de sun rises up in de mornin'! Oh, you allers will be wrong Twel you choose ter belong Ter de Marster w'at's a comin' in de mornin'!

*In the days of slavery, the religious services held by the negroes who accompanied their owners to the camp-meetings were marvels of earnestness and devotion.

III. CORN-SHUCKING SONG

OH, de fus' news you know de day'll be a breakin'-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango! *1) An' de fier be a burnin' en' de ash-cake a bakin', (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) An' de ho'n 'll be a hollerin' en de boss 'll be a wakin'-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Better git up, nigger, en give yo'se'f a shakin'-- (Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)

Oh, honey! w'en you see dem ripe stars a fallin'-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Oh, honey! w'en you year de rain-crow a callin'-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Oh, honey! w'en you year dat red calf a bawlin'-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Den de day time's a creepin' en a crawlin'-- (Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)

For de los' ell en yard *2 is a huntin' for de mornin', (Hi O! git long! go 'way!) En she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in-- (Oh, go 'way, Sindy Ann!)

Oh, honey! w'en you year dat tin horn a tootin' (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Oh, honey, w'en you year de squinch owl a hootin'-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Oh, honey! w'en you year dem little pigs a rootin'-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Right den she's a comin' a skippin' en a scootin'-- (Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)

Oh, honey, w'en you year dat roan mule whicker-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) W'en you see Mister Moon turnin' pale en gittin' sicker-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Den hit's time for ter handle dat corn a little quicker-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Ef you wanter git a smell er old Marster's jug er licker-- (Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)

For de los' ell en yard is a huntin' for de mornin' (Hi O! git long! go 'way!) En she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in-- (Oh, go 'way, Sindy Ann!) You niggers 'cross dar! you better stop your dancin'-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) No use for ter come a flingin' un yo' "sha'n'ts" in-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) No use for ter come a flingin' un yo' "can't's" in-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Kaze dey ain't no time for yo' pattin' nor yo' prancin'! (Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)

Mr. Rabbit see de Fox, en he sass um en jaws um-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Mr. Fox ketch de Rabbit, en he scratch um en he claws um-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) En he tar off de hide, en he chaws um en he gnyaws um-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Same like gal chawin' sweet gum en rozzum-- (Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!) For de los' ell en yard is a huntin' for de mornin' (Hi O! git 'long! go 'way!) En she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in-- (Oh, go 'way, Sindy Ann!)

Oh, work on, boys! give doze shucks a mighty wringin'-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) 'Fo' de boss come aroun' a dangin' en a dingin'-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Git up en move aroun'! set dem big han's ter swingin'-- (Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!) Git up'n shout loud! let de w'ite folks year you singin'! (Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)

For de los' ell en yard is a huntin' for de mornin' (Hi O! git long! go 'way!) En she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in. (Oh, go 'way Sindy Ann!)

*1 So far as I know, "Bango" is a meaningless term, introduced on account of its sonorous ruggedness. *2 The sword and belt in the constellation of Orion.

IV. THE PLOUGH-HANDS' SONG (JASPER COUNTY--1860.)

NIGGER mighty happy w'en he layin' by co'n-- Dat sun's a slantin'; Nigger mighty happy w'en he year de dinner-ho'n-- Dat sun's a slantin'; En he mo' happy still w'en de night draws on-- Dat sun's a slantin'; Dat sun's a slantin' des ez sho's you bo'n! En it's rise up, Primus! fetch anudder yell: Dat ole dun cow's des a shakin' up 'er bell, En de frogs chunin' up 'fo' de jew done fell: Good-night, Mr. Killdee! I wish you mighty well! --Mr. Killdee! I wish you mighty well! --I wish you mighty well!

Do co'n 'll be ready 'g'inst dumplin' day-- Dat sun's a slantin'; But nigger gotter watch, en stick, en stay-- Dat sun's a slantin'; Same ez de bee-martin watchin' un de jay-- Dat sun's a slantin'; Dat sun's a slantin' en a slippin' away! Den it's rise up, Primus! en gin it turn strong; De cow's gwine home wid der ding-dang-dong-- Sling in anudder tetch er de ole-time song: Good-night, Mr. Whipperwill! don't stay long! --Mr. Whipperwill! don't stay long! --Don't stay long!

V. CHRISTMAS PLAY-SONG (MYRICK PLACE, PUTNAM COUNTY 1858.)

Hi my rinktum! Black gal sweet, Same like goodies w'at de w'ite folks eat; Ho my Riley! don't you take'n tell 'er name, En den ef sumpin' happen you won't ketch de blame; Hi my rinktum! better take'n hide yo' plum; Joree don't holler eve'y time he fine a wum. Den it's hi my rinktum! Don't git no udder man; En it's ho my Riley! Fetch out Miss Dilsey Ann!

Ho my Riley! Yaller gal fine; She may be yone but she oughter be mine! Hi my rinktum! Lemme git by, En see w'at she mean by de cut er dat eye! Ho my Riley! better shet dat do'-- De w'ite folks 'll bleeve we er t'arin up de flo'.