THE
BLACK BORDER
GULLAH STORIES OF
THE CAROLINA COAST
(With a Glossary)
BY
AMBROSE E. GONZALES
COLUMBIA, S. C.
THE STATE COMPANY
1922
COPYRIGHT 1922
THE STATE COMPANY
TO
ROBERT ELLIOTT GONZALES
CONTENTS
Page
Foreword 7
GULLAH STORIES
Noblesse Oblige 19
My Maussuh 24
An Antemortem Demise 29
The Lion of Lewisburg 35
The Lion Killer 45
Old Barney 53
Billybedam 58
A Short Cut to Justice 64
Sam Dickerson 72
Simon the “Squerril” Hunter 82
The “Cunjuh” That Came Back 87
The Raccoon Hunter 96
The Turkey Hunter 107
The ’Gator Hunter 116
The “Wiles That in the Women Are” 128
A Ricefield Idyll 134
The Dower House 142
At the Cross Roads Store 150
Mingo the Drill Master 158
Old Harrison 166
A Marriage of Convenience 174
The Plat-Eye 183
Old Pickett 190
The Lost Buck 202
Jim Moultrie’s Divorce 212
Buh Alligettuh en’ Buh Deer 216
Buh Hawss en’ Buh Mule (a Fable) 219
Liss “Bin Eensult” 221
The Retort Courteous 223
The Cat Was Crazy 225
A Congaree Water-Color 230
Waiting Till the Bridegrooms Come 233
A Gullah’s Tale of Woe 238
The Doctor Didn’t “Exceed” 242
The Lady Couldn’t “Specify” 246
A Question of Privilege 249
Conductor Smith’s Dilemma 252
One Was Taken--the Other Left 256
Egg-zactly 259
An Interrupted Offertory 262
A Flaw in the “Eenditement” 267
Old Wine--New Bottles 271
A Glossary of the Gullah 277
The Tar-Baby Story, as Told by Col. C. C.
Jones and Joel Chandler Harris 343
FOREWORD
Just under the left shoulder of Africa, which juts out boldly into
the Atlantic, as though to meet half way the right shoulder of South
America, lie, between Sierra Leone and the Bight of Benin, the Slave
Coast, the Ivory Coast, and the Gold Coast. It was the lure of gold
and ivory that brought to these shores the enterprising traders who
first offered the African slave-holders a stable foreign market for the
captives of bow and spear and knobkerrie.
Out of this fetid armpit of the Dark Continent came the first black
bondsmen to curse the Western world. Thence, across the narrowing
ocean, but a night’s flight for Walt Whitman’s “Man-of-War-Bird”--
“At dusk that look’st on Senegal, at morn America”--Portuguese and
Spanish traders, but a few years after Columbus had set foot on San
Salvador, transported their first human cargoes to the plantations of
Brazil and the rich islands of the Caribbean. Here the labor of the
blacks proved so profitable that the envious English soon engaged in
the traffic, and during the reign of the virginal Elizabeth certain
of her noble subjects sought concessions for the monopoly of the West
Indian slave trade.
A generation or two later, the first slaves filtered through to the
mainland colonies of North America from the Barbados, Antigua, and
other West Indian Islands. After the institution had become firmly
established, the New England eye, not lacking “speculation,” saw the
promise of the East, and New England, pocketing her prayer book while
pouching her musket balls, freighted her bluff-bowed ships with red
flannel and glass beads with which to accentuate, if not to clothe,
the heathen nakedness, and set sail for the rising sun. Thenceforth
the New England slavers sailed in cycles, and their course was charted
by rum, slaves, and molasses. The “black-birders” bartered their human
cargoes for West Indian molasses, which, by a spirituous, if not a
spiritual, process, became New England rum. “Old Medford” filled their
holds, westerly winds filled their bellying sails, and the rum was soon
converted into more slaves, to be in turn converted again into molasses
in completing the gainful cycle.
For a hundred and fifty years Rhode Island and Massachusetts competed
successfully with England for the North American trade, and these
colonies (with “God’s grace”) throve exceedingly. In the early years of
the last century, however, the importation of slaves was interdicted
and the last Yankee slaver converted the last rum-bought slave into
cash, then, converting himself, he became an Abolitionist, and the
well-known “New England conscience” was developed.
But the Puritan slaver, whatever “woes unnumbered” he brought upon his
own race, was, in transferring these bought or stolen blacks to the
humane Cavalier planters of the South, an unconscious benefactor to
thousands of Negro captives and to millions of their descendants, whose
masters gave them Christianity and such a measure of civilization,
that, in the short space of two hundred years from the cannibal
savagery of the stew-pot and the spit, they were fitted, in the New
England mind, at least, for manhood suffrage, which came to enlightened
England only after more than a thousand years of development!
None of the encyclopedias mentions the Gullah Negroes, nor does the
name appear in the dictionaries. Mr. John Bennett, the well-known
writer of Charleston, who has, for twenty years, been gathering data
concerning this interesting people, places the Gullahs among the
Liberian group of tribes; “formerly powerful and numerous, they have
been crowded and overrun; their remnant remains about thirty miles
inward from Monrovia;” but in 1822, in a publication by the Charleston
City Council at the time of the attempted Negro insurrection, reference
is made to “Gullah Jack” and his company of “Gullah or Angola” Negroes,
thereby making the suggestion that “Gullah” is a corruption of Angola.
As Angola and Liberia are at least fifteen hundred miles apart, the
former being nearly one thousand miles south of the Equator, these two
opinions seem to be in hopeless conflict.
Mr. Bennett says further: “Among the many African tribes brought to
this country, the presence of very many Gullah Negroes is apparent from
the earliest times. On some plantations, before the days of experienced
precaution, it is highly probable they formed a majority of the hands.
As early as 1730 a plan had been hatched against Charleston by these
Negroes....
“The dialect of the West Coast, from which came these Gullah Negroes,
was early commented upon as peculiarly harsh, quacking, flat in
intonation, quick, clipped and peculiar even in Africa. Bosman, the
Dutch sailor, described its peculiar tonality, and calls its speakers
the ‘Qua-quas,’ because they gabbled like ducks.
“The clinging together of these Gullah tribesmen, as indicated above,
and their apparent resolute and persistent character, evidently
assisted in impressing their dialectical peculiarities on weaker and
more plastic natures brought in contact with them, and fixed the
tonality of the Negro dialect of the Carolina low-country....
“For the above reason, of prevalence and domination as a peculiar
dialect with singular and marked tonality, the characteristic patois of
the districts where these Negroes most abounded, came to be universally
referred to as the Gullah dialect.”
Whatever the origin of these Gullahs, Mr. Bennett is probably correct
in his estimate of their influence upon low-country Negro speech.
Slovenly and careless of speech, these Gullahs seized upon the peasant
English used by some of the early settlers and by the white servants of
the wealthier Colonists, wrapped their clumsy tongues about it as well
as they could, and, enriched with certain expressive African words, it
issued through their flat noses and thick lips as so workable a form of
speech that it was gradually adopted by the other slaves and became in
time the accepted Negro speech of the lower districts of South Carolina
and Georgia. With characteristic laziness, these Gullah Negroes
took short cuts to the ears of their auditors, using as few words
as possible, sometimes making one gender serve for three, one tense
for several, and totally disregarding singular and plural numbers.
Yet, notwithstanding this economy of words, the Gullah sometimes
incorporates into his speech grotesquely difficult and unnecessary
English words; again, he takes unusual pains to transpose numbers and
genders.
On some of the sea-islands and on portions of the mainland, sparsely
inhabited by whites, the Gullah speech still persists in its original
“purity.” The explanation for this is that the Negroes, before
and after the war, were in so tremendous a majority on the great
plantations of the low-country that only the house servants came
in frequent contact with their masters’ families, and these house
servants, certainly those who had been “in the house” for generations,
spoke with scarcely a taint of Negro speech. The field hands, seldom
coming in contact with whites, had neither opportunity nor temptation
to amend their speech. There was none to “impeach” their language, and
so virile was this Gullah that, in some sections higher up the state,
as in Barnwell and Sumter counties, where, in the settlement of estates
certain families or colonies of coast-bred Negroes were sold before
the war, the Gullah tongue, although with difficulty understood by the
other Negroes of the community, still persists like lingual oases in
the desert of up-country Negro speech.
This Gullah dialect is interesting, not merely for its richness, which
falls upon the ear as opulently as the Irish brogue, but also for the
quaint and homely similes in which it abounds and for the native wit
and philosophy of its users. Isolated from the whites as were these
coast Negroes, and having no contact with the more advanced slaves
of the up-country, who, belonging as a rule to small slave-holders,
were in close touch with their masters’ families, the coast Negroes
retained more of the habits and traditions of their African ancestry
and presented, therefore, a more interesting study of the Negro as he
was, and to a certain extent “ever shall be.” Living close to nature,
they were learned in woodcraft and the ways of animals and birds and
fish, and used this knowledge to illustrate their dealings with their
own kind.
The peasantry, the lower classes generally, are the conservators of
speech. Writers who have exploited the white mountaineers of the
Appalachian ranges of North Carolina and Tennessee have heard from
their lips Biblical and Shakesperean English now almost forgotten
among educated people. So these coast Negroes still use fragments of
Shakesperean English long obsolete among their former masters.
To Mr. Bennett and other philological investigators must be committed
the task of working out the sources of many words of this interesting
tongue. The purpose here is simply to record the oddities of the
dialect as the Coast Country Negroes use it. After all, grotesque and
interesting as is this speech to those familiar with it, it is only a
vehicle for carrying to the reader the thought and life of an isolated
group among the varied peoples that make up the complex population of
this Republic.
* * * * *
There have been many writers of Negro dialect. Some stories that
have come out of the North, feminine effusions chiefly, have been
fearfully and wonderfully made; the thoughts of white people, and
very common-place thoughts at that, issuing from Negro mouths in such
phonetic antics as to make the aural angels weep!
In fact, no Northern writer has ever succeeded even indifferently
well in putting Negro thought into Negro dialect. Even Poe, in “the
Goldbug,” put into the mouth of a Charleston Negro such vocables as
might have been used by a black sailor on an English ship a hundred
years ago, or on the minstrel stage, but were never current on the
South Carolina coast. To recent Southern writers, therefore, one must
turn for intelligent understanding of the Negro character and the
recording of his speech, which varies in the different sections of the
South.
Thomas Nelson Page, recognized as the outstanding exponent of the
Virginia Negro in literature, has yet touched his field lightly,
considering chiefly the old family man servant and his relations with
his master’s household. Very beautifully and tenderly, because very
truthfully, Mr. Page has portrayed the ante-bellum Negro man servant;
but as to the younger Negro, Negro life before and since the war, and
the relations of Negroes to one another, it is to be regretted that he
has contributed little or nothing.
The genius of Joel Chandler Harris, who, with Judge Longstreet and his
“Georgia Scenes,” fixed Georgia firmly upon the literary map of the
world, embalmed the Negro myths and folk-tales of the South so subtly
in the amber of his understanding that “Uncle Remus” is known and loved
by the children of half the civilized world. There was little creative
work in “Uncle Remus.” Mr. Harris claimed to record the stories only
“like hit wer’ gun ter me.” These myths were known and told by Negro
nurses to the white children over all the Southern states, and in the
West Indian Islands as well, but the artistry of Harris lay in the
sympathetic understanding of children prompted by his kindly heart, and
the human appeal of the tender relations of “the little boy” and the
old Negro family servant was irresistible, not only to the children,
but to those happy grown-ups who loved them.
It is interesting to know that in the low-country of South Carolina,
instead of “Brer Rabbit and Brer Fox,” it is invariably “Buh Rabbit en’
Buh Wolf.” Strange, too, because wolves must have been found in upper
Georgia and Carolina for more than a hundred years after they were
exterminated along the coast, within whose forests still abound the
grey foxes whose natural prey is the rabbit.
Encouraged by the success of the “Uncle Remus” stories, which greatly
surprised this singularly modest man, Mr. Harris wrote novels and other
stories of Georgia life among whites and blacks. While these were
published successfully, it is upon the animal tales of “Uncle Remus”
that his fame has been permanently established.
In the introduction to one of his volumes Mr. Harris has made a rather
exhaustive study and analysis of the origin of these Negro myths. That
they are of African origin none can doubt, but as on the West Coast
of Africa, whence the slaves came to the American continent and the
West Indian Islands, there are neither wolves, foxes, nor rabbits, it
would be interesting to know what African animals were their legendary
prototypes. In Jamaica many of the “Uncle Remus” tales are current
and have been told to English children by their black nurses for
generations, but there the Anancy Spider, a black, hairy tarantula-like
creature, is substituted for the rabbit in the mythical triumph of
mind over matter--cunning over physical strength--while the tiger
does duty for the outwitted fox. Whence comes the Jamaican tiger?
One can only surmise that tales of the strength and ferocity of the
Jaguar (“el tigre” to the Spaniards) the great spotted cat of South
and Central America, were brought from the mainland to the West Indies
by the Indians of the Caribbean Coast or the earlier Negro slaves; but
in Jamaica even the saddle-horse story is told complete in all its
details, the spider, clapping spurs to the tiger’s flanks and riding
him up to the house of the “nyung ladies” (Mis’ Meadows an de gals)
hitching him to a post and walking boldly in to love’s conquest. For
the “Tar Baby” story, instead of the violated spring, the drinking
preserve of fox or wolf, a “tar pole” is set up in a banana grove, and
to this sticky lure the pilfering spider is found stuck fast by the
lord of the plantation when he makes his morning rounds.
Harry Stillwell Edwards, of Macon, is another Georgian whose charming
stories in the up-country or cotton plantation dialect have given
pleasure to thousands. With an unusual knowledge of the Negro
character--the first consideration, if one would present truthful
pictures of Negro life--he combines a charming literary style, and his
writings deservedly rank high among Negro stories.
Harris touched the Gullah dialect very lightly and not with authority.
In “Nights with Uncle Remus,” a later collection of Negro myths, he
puts into the mouth of “Daddy Jack” certain variants of the Uncle Remus
stories told in the dialect of the coast, and in his introduction
to this volume he acknowledges his obligation to correspondents in
Charleston and elsewhere on the Carolina and Georgia Coasts for the
Gullah stories. It is almost certain that he lacked first-hand contact
with the story-tellers, and thus missed some of the subtleties of
their speech as well as the peculiar construction of their sentences,
differing entirely, as they do, from those of the up-country Negroes.
Mr. Harris also includes in his introduction a brief glossary of Gullah
words, and expresses the opinion that this peculiar dialect is more
easily read than the Georgia dialect of “Uncle Remus,” an opinion in
which, unfortunately for the popularity of “Gullah,” few will concur.
In “Myths of the Georgia Coast,” Col. Charles Colcock Jones, of Georgia
(and South Carolina, also, by the way) has given, in generally correct
Gullah dialect, the stories current along the coast, many of them
variants of those told in “Uncle Remus.” A careful lawyer, Col. Jones
has set down, with most meticulous exactness, and without imagination
or embellishment, the stories as they were told him on the plantation.
One familiar with Negro speech recognizes that these tales are recorded
as they fell from Negro lips, and as such they must be regarded, as
far as they go, as the most authentic record of Negro myths on the
continent--probably the originals of many of the “Uncle Remus” stories,
for the slaves first came from Africa to the coast, bringing with them
their myths and legends which gradually infiltrated into the hinterland.
A comparison of Jones’s story of the rabbit and the tar baby with Uncle
Remus’s version of the same tale will be interesting as showing, not
only the richer and quainter dialect of the Gullah, but also his more
direct and homely mode of thought.
The “Coteney” sermons of the Reverend John G. Williams, of Barnwell
County, which appeared in the Charleston News & Courier about
twenty-five years ago and were subsequently published in pamphlet form,
purporting to be pulpit deliverances and consequently showing chiefly
the Negro’s conception of his relation to religion, are full of homely
wit, and, written in the language of the coast, constitute a noteworthy
contribution to dialectal literature.
Mrs. A. M. H. Christensen, of Beaufort, although of Northern birth,
enjoyed soon after the war unusual opportunities for acquiring
folk-lore stories of the sea-islands and littoral, and she has set
forth in a small volume certain of the tales that were told her, which
are in the main variants of versions of those already related by Harris
and Jones.
Another booklet, by the late J. Jenkins Hucks, of Georgetown, S. C.,
recording some of the cases that came before him as Magistrate, is,
perhaps, the most humorous example extant of Gullah undefiled.
Following the Stories, will be found a fairly complete Glossary of the
Gullah speech as used by the Negroes of the Carolina-Georgia Coast and
sea-islands, perhaps the only extensive vocabulary of Gullah that has
yet been compiled.
The words are, of course, not African, for the African brought over or
retained only a few words of his jungle-tongue, and even these few are
by no means authenticated as part of the original scant baggage of the
Negro slaves.
What became of this jungle-speech? Why so few words should have
survived is a mystery, for, even after freedom, a few native Africans
of the later importations were still living on the Carolina Coast,
and the old family servants often spoke, during and after the war, of
native Africans they had known; but, while they repeated many tales
that came by word of mouth from the Dark Continent--the story-tellers
were almost invariably of royal blood, and did not hesitate to own
it--they seem to have picked from the mouths of their African brothers
not a single jungle-word for the enrichment of their own speech.
As the small vocabulary of the jungle atrophied through disuse and
was soon forgotten, the contribution to language made by the Gullah
Negro is insignificant, except through the transformation wrought
upon a large body of borrowed English words. Adopting, as needed and
immediately when needed, whatever they could assimilate, they have
reshaped perhaps 1,700 words of our language by virtue of an unwritten
but a very definite and vigorous law of their own tongue.
In connection with the Glossary, certain characteristic features of
this strange tongue are noted. Their consideration will facilitate the
reader’s exploration of “The Black Border.”
Of the stories included in this volume, the last fourteen were written
and published in The State in the Spring of 1892. The remaining
twenty-eight were written and published during the year 1918.
AMBROSE E. GONZALES.
Columbia, August, 1922.
THE BLACK BORDER
NOBLESSE OBLIGE
Joe Fields was the most onery looking darkey on Pon Pon. Squat,
knock-kneed, lopsided, slew-footed, black as a crow, pop-eyed, with
a few truculent looking yellow teeth set “slantindicularly” in a
prognathous jaw, he was the embodiment of ramshackle inefficiency.
Although he worked only now and then, thanks to the industry of a
hard-working wife, he usually owned, encumbered by a chattel mortgage,
a wretched half-starved horse upon which he rode to his occasional
employments.
Joe, runt as he was, had two sources of pride--the aristocratic
lineage of his “owners,” for he had belonged to the Heywards, and
the achievement, on his own behalf, of the paternity of twins. Poor,
patient Philippa, being only the mother, and a person of no family to
speak of, having been the slave of a Charleston baker--whose fortunes
rose during the war, though his Confederate yeast didn’t--Philippa,
of the bourgeoisie, was not taken into account. “Dem two twin duh
my’own,” and “Me nyuse to blonx to Mass Clinch,” were the Andante and
Allegro of Joe’s prideful song. When some lusty young wench, during
the customary “chaffing” of the plantation dinner hour, would ridicule
his small size, Joe would swell with importance, grin like a ’possum,
and overwhelm her with the retort: “Little axe cut down big tree! You
see dem two twin, enty? Dem duh _my’own_.” But the “two twins,” poor
little dusky wights, were in evidence in the neighborhood and could be
estimated at their true value and Joe’s paternal prowess appraised
accordingly, but “Mass Clinch” lived away off “een Walterburruh” and,
later, as governor, in Columbia, and his name, mouthed unctuously
by his former slave, carried with it a weird, mystical importance,
a portentous something that held his auditors with staring eyes and
dropping jaws till Joe reached his climax, when the tension relaxed and
they returned to earth.
Once started, Joe’s imagination fed upon his words as a dog upon his
own fleas. One day when Philippa reprobated his want of industry, Joe,
other negroes being present, began to brag: “Wunnuh haffuh wu’k ’cause
wunnuh blan blonx to po’ buckruh. Yo’ maussuh _’self_ haffuh wu’k! Enty
I shum een town one time duh stan’ een ’e bake sto’ duh mek bread, en’
’e kibbuh wid flour ’tell ’e baid stan’ sukkuh deseyuh cedar hedge duh
wintuhtime w’en w’ite fros’ dey ’puntop’um?”
“Enty yo’ maussuh wu’k, Joe?”
“_Who?_ _My Maussuh?_ _Mass Clinch?_ ’Ooman, you mus’ be fool! Enty
wunnuh know him duh quality? You ebbuh yeddy ’bout _quality_ wu’k?
Wuffuh him haffuh wu’k? No, suh! Him hab him ob’shay, Mistuh Jokok, fuh
wu’k. _My_ maussuh tek ’e pledjuh. ’E ride hawss, ’e eat ricebu’d en’
summuh duck en’ t’ing’. Him hab t’irteen plantesshun ’puntop Cumbee
Ribbuh. Him plant seb’n t’ous’n’ acre’ rice.”
“_Seb’n t’ous’n’ acre’!_”
“Yaas, enty uh tell wunnuh ’e plant nine t’ous’n’ acre’ rice? Wunnuh
t’ink me duh lie, enty? Uh swaytogawd, w’en uh bin Cumbee one time
uh count fo’ t’ous’n’ head uh nigguh’ duh hoe rice een de baa’nyaa’d
fiel’. Nigguh’ stan’ een Mass Clinch’ fiel’ sukkuh crow’ duh mustuh!
En’ him hab seb’n hund’ud mule’!”
“De mule’ wu’k ’pun Cumbee?” asked an iconoclast.
“Co’se de mule’ wu’k, en’ de nigguh’ wu’k, en’ Mistuh Jokok wu’k.
Eb’rybody wu’k ’scusin’ my maussuh. Dem mule’ hab long tail’ dull
summuhtime fuh switch fly, but w’en wintuhtime come en’ dem ’leb’n
hund’ud mule’ tail’ roach, de pyo’ hair wuh shabe off’um mek one pile
stan’ big mo’nuh rice rick!”
“Hukkuh yo’ maussuh plant all dat rice en’ t’ing’ ef ’e yent wu’k?”
“Enty I tell wunnuh him lib een Walterburruh? Duh summuhtime ’e does
dribe duh plantesshun now en’ den fuh see how him crap stan’. Him dribe
two hawss’, en’ de buckle on ’e haa’ness shine lukkuh gol’. One nigguh
duh seddown behine ’e buggy wid alltwo ’e han’ fol’ befor’um lukkuh hog
tie. Mass Clinch hab on one kid glub ’pun ’e han’ wuh come to ’e elbow.
W’en ’e git Cumbee, ’e light out ’e buggy. T’ree nigguh’ run up fuh
hol’ ’e hawss’ head. Mistuh Jokok mek’um uh low bow. Mass Clinch iz uh
berry mannussubble juntlemun, alldo’ him _iz_ quality, en’ him ’spon’
to de bow. Den ’e biggin fuh walk. Him hab shishuh rich walk! Den ’e
cock ’e hat one side ’e head. You nebbuh see nobody kin cock ’e hat
stylish lukkuh Mass Clinch. Den ’e onbutt’n ’e weskit. ’E pit ’e lef’
han’ een ’e britchiz pocket, en’ swing ’e walkin’ stick een ’e right
han’, en’ biggin fuh quizzit him ob’shay. By dis time ’e git ’puntop de
baa’nyaa’d hill en’ look obuh ’e fiel’.
“‘Jokok’,” ’e say, “‘dat de stretch flow you got on my rice, enty?’”
“‘No, suh, dat de haa’bis’ flow.’”
“‘De debble’!” ’e say. “‘’E mus’ be mos’ time fuh ricebu’d!’”
“‘Yaas, suh. We gwine hab some fuh dinnuh’.”
“‘Wuh else you got fuh eat?’” Maussuh quizzit’um.
“‘We got one cootuh soup mek out’uh tarrypin’ wuh bin een one pen duh
fatten ’pun gritch en’ t’ing,’ en’ one trout fish, en’ summuh duck’.”
“‘You hab enny mint?’”
“‘Yaas, suh, we hab ’nuf.’”
“‘Berry well, mek we a few julip’,” ’e say. “‘You got enny mo’ ’pawtun’
bidness dat ’quire my ’tenshun?’”
“‘Yaas, suh; snake hole en’ crawfish en’ t’ing’ spile one uh we bank,
en’ de trunk blow out, en’ uh hab uh berry bad break, en’ Cumbee ribbuh
comin’ een de fiel’. You wantuh shum, suh?’”
“‘No, I t’engk you’,” ’e say. “‘Leh de ribbuh tek ’e co’se. Leh we
eat’.”
“W’en ’e gitt’ru ’e bittle, ’e hab ’e fo’ hawss’ hitch up, en’ Mistuh
Jokok pit two-t’ree bag uh cootuh en’ ricebu’d en’ summuh duck een him
cyaaridge, en’ ’e gone _spang_ Walterburruh, same lukkuh bu’d fly! Da’
duh _my_ maussuh!”
By the time Joe concluded his story the noon hour was over, and the
awed negroes rose silently to resume their work. One old mauma, turning
to Joe as she knocked the ashes out of her clay pipe and carefully
stuck it in the knotty wool behind her ear, said, “Joe, dat duh Gawd
you binnuh talk ’bout, enty?”
“No, enty I tell wunnuh duh Mass Clinch Heywu’d! Him duh my maussuh, me
duh him nigguh. Me ain’ haffuh wu’k, him ain’ haffuh wu’k. W’en wunnuh
look ’puntop’uh she, wunnuh look ’puntop’uh me. Me en’ him alltwo stan’
same fashi’n.”
“I t’aw’t,” said the old woman, scornfully, “I t’aw’t ’e mus’ be de
blessed Gawd you bin gib shishuh high praise, but I always yeddy
suh Him duh de ainjul’ maussuh, en’ I yeddy suh de ainjul’ w’ite en’
shiny lukkuh staar een de sky, but _you_, nigguh! _YOU black_ ez uh
_buzzut_!”
“MY MAUSSUH”
How beneficent must have been the institution of slavery under kindly
masters which could cause Joe Fields, black, yellow-eyed, knock-kneed,
slew-footed, longtime husband of Philippa, sometime father of twins,
to boast, 53 years after the war, of the prowess and attainments of
his former master, Duncan Clinch Heyward, sometime governor of South
Carolina, now collector of internal revenue and sitting at the receipt
of customs in the tall Palmetto building at Columbia, with dominion
over war tax, surtax and every other impost internally levied by
a benevolent government upon its loyal people. Although, perhaps,
an infant in arms when Joe first looked freedom in the face, this
“master” was exalted in the mind of his former slave to almost Godlike
proportions. “Joe’ maussuh duh him Jedus,” conservatively remarked
Philippa.
The negroes about Pon Pon had been considerably exercised over the
lengthening of the daylight hours by pushing forward the hands of
the clock. Always suspicious of a Caucasian in the woodpile, it was
generally regarded as a device for increasing the hours of negro labor.
At a recent gathering of the idle black at Adams Run station, the
opinion was expressed that the President, although a “Dimmycrack,” must
be “a smaa’t man” to have lengthened the days on the darkeys and taken
over the railroads.
New York, in the minds of the coast negroes, is the _ultima Thule_--at
once the farthest North, and the very core and center of Yankeedom,
where, in awful majesty, the President of the United States is
supposed to sit like Zeus upon Mt. Olympus, or “my maussuh” in
Columbia.
“Yaas, man,” said Joe, “de Prezzydent smaa’t man, fuh true, but ’e yent
smaa’t lukkuh maussuh, ’cause my maussuh haffuh gone New Yawk fuh tell
de Prezzydent wuh fuh do. Same lukkuh maussuh tell Mistuh Jokok, him
ob’shay ’puntop Cumbee, hummuch rice en’ t’ing’ fuh plant, same fashi’n
him tell de Prezzydent wuh fuh do, en’ de Prezzydent smaa’t ’nuf fuh
do’um.
“Todduh day uh hab uh hebby disapp’int. Uh yeddy suh uh big buckruh
wedd’n’ bin fuh hab een Adam’ Run billage, en’ uh yeddy suh my maussuh
fuh come spang f’um Cuhlumbia to de wedd’n’. Uh gone en’ pit on me
shoe’ en’ da’ new britchiz wuh uh buy yeah ’fo’ las’, en’ uh pit
on uh old weskit wuh uh bin hab, so ’e kin mek me fuh look lukkuh
maussuh, en’ uh tek me two foot en’ walk, ’cause da’ las’ oxin wuh
uh buy done dead onduhneet’ de mawgidge da’ buckruh mek me fuh pit
’puntop’um, en’ uh yent hab nutt’n’ fuh ride, en’ uh gone slam Adam’
Run billage to de wedd’n’, so uh kin see maussuh, en’ uh stan’ outside
de ’Piskubble chu’ch en uh fast’n’ alltwo me yeye ’pun de do’ fuh see
w’en de buckruh’ gone een en’ w’en dem come out, en’ ’nuf buggy en’
cyaaridge en’ t’ing’ dribe up to de do’, en’ some dem torruh t’ing wuh
buckruh hab now--uh cyan’ call ’e name, but ’e hab fo’ w’eel en’ ’e run
lukkuh bu’d fly, en’ ’e smell lukkuh kyarrysene--en’ uh see de buckruh
git out en’ gone een de chu’ch en’ de preechuh pit on ’e new shroud,
’cause ’e done buy anodduh one attuh Estelle t’ief de fus’ one ’e hab.
Bimeby, eb’rybody come out de do’, en’ uh look ’tell uh pop-eye,’ but
uh nebbuh see no maussuh; en’ den uh fin’ out suh maussuh ent hab uh
chance fuh come to de wedd’n’ cause him haffuh gone New Yawk fuh tell
de Prezzydent wuh fuh do! Yaas, suh, da’ duh my maussuh! Same way ’e
mek Mistuh Jokok en’ dem nigguh’ en’ t’ing’ fuh stan’ ’roun’ ’puntop’uh
Cumbee ribbuh, uh yeddy suh same fashi’n him fuh do een Cuhlumbia en’
New Yawk. Uh yeddy suh my maussuh fuh lib een Cuhlumbia een one high
house. ’E high mo’nuh loblolly pine tree. De house hab seb’n hund’ud
room’, but dem buckruh’ wuh bin Cuhlumbia tell me de house ent hab no
step fuh climb. W’en maussuh ready fuh go to de top uh ’e house, ’e
gone een one leetle room, en’ ’e shet de do’ en ’e shet ’e yeye. Fus’
t’ing you know, ’e gone _spang_ to de top uh ’e house. Wen ’e op’n
’e yeye de do’ op’n, en’ ’e walk een ’e office en’ ’e hab ’nuf man
en’ nyung lady een ’e office. ’E seddown befo’ ’e table. ’E table big
lukkuh winnuh-house flatfawm. ’E pit uh seegyaa’ een ’e mout’. ’E cross
’e foot. ’E call one dem nyung lady. ‘You got any match?’ maussuh ax’um.
“‘Yaas, suh,’ ’e say.”
“‘Please gimme uh matches,’ maussuh say, berry puhlite, ‘en’ light’um
fuh me.’ De nyung lady g’em de match, but him say suh maussuh hab mo’
’speriunce fuh light match’ den w’at him hab. Maussuh say, ‘berry
well,’ en’ him ’cratch’ de match ’pun ’e britchiz. ’E ketch fire. ’E
light ’e seegyaa’. ’E blow smoke! ’E study! Bimeby ’e reach obuh ’e
table. ’E tetch one leetle sump’n’nurruh lukkuh rattlesnake’ butt’n.
De t’ing hab lightnin’ een’um, but ’e nebbuh t’unduh. W’en maussuh
tetch’um, de felluh go ‘_ping_,’ same lukkuh oonuh t’row stick ’puntop
tallygraf wire. Bimeby, fo’ man’ run een de room. ‘Hummuch money oonuh
tek f’um de buckruh teday?’ maussuh ax’um. ‘You tek all dem got?’”
“‘Yaas, suh,’ dem say. ‘Eb’n so we tek dem fowl off de roos’!’”
“‘Berry well,’ maussuh say. ‘Ef you tek all dem got, uh haffuh study
’pun uh plan fuh git mo’, en’ ’e tell de fo’ man’ fuh gone. W’en dem
gone, maussuh study. ’E pit ’e head one side sukkuh bluejay. ’E blow
smoke, en’ ’e study. Maussuh _too_ schemy! Bimeby, ’e say to ’eself:
‘Wuh me en’ de Prezzydent gwine do? Us done ketch all de money wuh de
buckruh got, en’ us yent lef’um nutt’n’ ’cep’ de railroad. Nigguh’
ent got nutt’n’ but dem han’ en’ dem foot’. Nigguh’ ent fuh hab no
money. Nigguh’ fuh w’uk. Leh we see,’ ’e say. ‘Fus’ t’ing, me en’ de
Prezzydent haffuh wu’k! Alltwo uh we duh juntlemun, en’ juntlemun ent
fuh wu’k.’ Maussuh pit on ’e hat. ’E gone deepo’ een Cuhlumbia. ’E
ride de westyblue strain, en’ ’e nebbuh git off ’tell ’e git spang New
Yawk! ’E gone to de Prezzydent’ house. De Prezzydent mek’um uh bow. ’E
ax’um, ‘How you lef’ yo’ fambly en’ yo’ crap?’ Maussuh treat’um berry
mannussubble. ’E tell’um ’e fambly well, but ’e crap ent stan’ so berry
good, ’cause nigguh’ seem lukkuh dem ent lub fuh wu’k ’fo’ day clean
een de mawnin’, en’ dem dat good-fuhnutt’n’ dem wan’ knock-off soon ez
daa’k come. ‘Dem eegnunt tuh dat,’ de Prezzydent tell’um. ‘Ent you hab
moonlight night’ ’puntop Cumbee ribbuh?’ Maussuh tell’um yaas, him hab
moonlight, fuh true, but seem lukkuh moonlight night’ duh summuhtime
nigguh’ fuhrebbuh duh shout en’ beat stick. Maussuh tell’um ef him kin
mek uh law fuh pit anodduh hour een eb’ry day, him kin git mo’ wu’k out
de nigguh’. ‘Berry well,’ de Prezzydent tell’um. En’ ’e mek law fuh
sattify maussuh, same lukkuh maussuh tell’um.
“Den maussuh cross ’e foot, en’ ’e study some mo’. ’E git schemy ’gen!
Maussuh tell’um t’engky fuh de law wuh ’e mek, but ’e tell’um one t’ing
wuh bodduhr’um duh de railroad wuh run f’um W’ite Hall fuh gone town.
’E tell’um eb’ry Sattyday W’ite Hall deepo’ black wid nigguh’ fuh
gone town fuh t’row’way dem money. Maussuh tell’um de ticket en’ de
’scusshun too cheap, en’ ef de Prezzydent gi’ _him_ de railroad, him
will chaa’ge mo’ money fuh de ticket, en’ den de nigguh’ cyan’ trabble
so fas’. De Prezzydent tell’um, yaas, ’e plan berry good, but him hab
uh sonny-law wuh hab uh berry good ecknowledge fuh git money out’uh
buckruh’, en’ ef him kin git’um out’uh buckruh’, him kin git’um out’uh
nigguh’ alltwo, so ’e say ’e gwine tek de railroad f’um de buckruh’ en’
g’em to ’e sonny-law, en’ maussuh tell’um berry well, him ’low’um fuh
do dat, en’ den maussuh come home en’ write uh ansuh to Mistuh Jokok
fuh tell’um nigguh’ fuh wu’k one mo’ hour eb’ry day Gawd sen’, en’
Mistuh Jokok pass de wu’d; en’, please Gawd, de Prezzydent’ sonny-law
mek nigguh’ fuh pay mo’ fuh ride de railroad, en eb’rybody say suh de
Prezzydent shishuh smaa’t man fuh mek dem law, but, oonuh yeddy me! duh
_my maussuh_ mek de Prezzydent fuh mek law! Him schemy fuh t’ink all
dem t’ing so him en’ de Prezzydent ent haffuh wu’k! _My_ maussuh ent
full wu’k. No, _suh_!”
AN ANTEMORTEM DEMISE
Under whatever star Philippa had been born, she had known only ill
luck since her acquisition of a husband in Joe Fields, the slew-footed
former slave of former Governor Heyward. Joe’s pride in his former
master was too great to permit him to walk, and the mortgaged horse
or mule which he usually owned seldom lived very long on the light
rations and scant attention it received. Its demise would soon be
followed by another animal purchase, another mortgage, and another
death. Joe occasionally worked when it suited him, but Philippa toiled
unceasingly, and, although she seldom lived at home, she was very
proud of the little establishment which her labor maintained. Always
distrustful of Joe, she yet gave him the custody of, and dominion over,
the few material things she possessed, representing in her character
the contradictions not infrequently met with among those of her sex in
higher circles.
Once upon a time, Philippa aspired to animal husbandry. Tired of
buying bacon for Joe at the Cross Roads store, she applied the savings
of several months of hard labor to the purchase of a young sow, and,
perhaps in compliment to Joe, she bought a Berkshire, the blackest pig
she could find. During the months of anticipation, while she worked for
the money with which to make the purchase, her mind was full of the
little black pigs that some time would be running about her yard around
the cabin in the woodland, furnishing meat in prospect, and immediate
companionship for Joe and their taciturn black daughter, Christopher
Columbus, who kept the home fires burning with whatever lightwood knots
she could pick up in the pineland, while the wife and mother worked for
“de buckruh” several miles away.
“Joe en’ Cuhlumbus sho’ gwine hab uh good cump’ny w’en uh buy da’ hog
en’ sen’ um home,” she thought. “Ef uh kin raise ten pig’ dis’yeah,
maybe nex’ yeah uh kin raise two-t’ree hund’ud, en’ dem kin git ’nuf
fuh eat een de swamp en’ de pinelan’ bidout buy’um no bittle.”
So her fancy pictured her humble premises teeming with little pigs,
first squirming in their beds among the straw, then grunting and
running about the place, while Joe and Columbus, squatting on the door
step of the cabin, communed with them in spirit and watched them grow.
Later, the husky shoats would forage the pinelands and swamps for
mast and acorns, and root about in the muddy branches for slugs and
crayfish, then, grown to fat porkers, they would be slaughtered, salted
and smoked, and hams, shoulders, and flitches would hang in festoons
from the cabin rafters. So they successively passed through the seven
ages of swine. At last the sow that was to transmute Philippa’s dreams
into realities was bought and paid for, and a message dispatched to Joe
to come and take her home. In due time he arrived with ox and cart and,
admonished by Philippa to meet the responsibility placed upon him, he
drove away, the guardian of her hopes.
But Joe was not a forward-looking man. His eyes, lacking speculation,
were filled with the insistent materialism of the moment. A present
pig was worth a hundred in prospect. His eyeballs popped and his lips
leaked as he viewed Opportunity that grunted so tantalizingly at his
door, and the gnawings of “Guamba” (the meat hunger of the savage
African tribes) played Lady Macbeth to his halting thoughts of murder
and turned them into resolution.
“Yaas, ma’am, uh glad fuh git uh chance fuh wu’k out ’gen, ’cause Joe’
shishuh po’ puhwiduh. ’E nebbuh hab no bittle een de house fuh eat. ’E
lub fuh eat, but ’e say suh ’cause him maussuh duh quality, suh him
ent fuh nyam no dry bittle. Cawn hom’ny ent wut’ fuh Joe ’scusin’ ’e
got hog meat ’long’um fuh greese ’e mout’, en’ da’ time we’n uh binnuh
wu’k Pon Pon uh lavuh’ haa’d fuh two munt’ fuh buy uh sow so uh kin
raise hog meat fuh keep f’um fuhrebbuh duh run duh sto’ fuh bodduh
wid dem Jew’ en’ t’ing’, en’ w’en uh done pay fuh de sow, uh sen’ one
metsidge fuh tell Joe fuh come fuh fetch’um home. Yuh come Joe een ’e
oxin cyaa’t! ’E _dat_ swonguh, ’e mos’ mek somebody wuh ent know’um
t’ink suh _himself_ wu’k fuh buy de hog. Joe tie all fo’ de sow’ foot,
’e pit’um een ’e cyaa’t, en’ ’e gone! Attuh uh week done gone, uh
sen’ wu’d fuh tell Joe fuh come fuh see me fuh tell me how de hog git
’long. Bimeby Joe come, ’e tell me de hog hab uh berry good he’lt’.
Uh t’engkful fuh yeddy dat, ’cause uh study ’puntop da’ hog tummuch.
Anodduh week done gone, uh sen’ fuh Joe ’gen. ’E come. Uh ax’um how de
hog’ he’lt’. ’E say ’e he’lt’ ent so berry good, ’e say seem lukkuh de
hog kind’uh po’ly. Uh baig’um fuh ent tek ’e yeye off de hog, en’ ’e
mek me uh prommus suh ’e gwine watch’um same lukkuh de sow duh ’e own
chile. Anodduh week gone. Joe come ’gen. ’E fetch uh berry sad news
f’um de hog, ’cause ’e say suh de hog duh leddown, en’ him berry ’f’aid
suh ’e dey at de p’int uh de’t’. Wen him tell me dat, uh seddown
en’ uh cry, but w’en uh look ’puntop’um uh see suh Joe hab uh berry
sattify’ face, en’ ’e jaw look hebby ’tell ’e stan’ lukkuh mufflejaw
fowl, but stillyet uh nebbuh ’spishun nutt’n’, en’ uh ax Joe wuffuh mek
’e jaw fat. ’E tell me ’e hab uh teet’ache, en’ dat w’ymekso ’e jaw
swell. Joe gone. Nex’ week ’e come ’gen. ’E jowl hebby ez uh buckruh’
barruh Chris’mus time, en’ ’e face look berry sattify. Uh ax’um how
de hog? ’E say de hog dead ’tell buzzut done eat’um. Wen uh yeddy dat
wu’d, me h’aa’t hebby ’tell ’e ready fuh drap out me t’roat ’pun de
du’t. Uh look ’pun Joe ’gen. Uh study ’pun how ’e jaw fat. Uh biggin
fuh ’spishun. Uh ax’um ef ’e still hab uh teet’ache een ’e jaw. ’E
tell me yaas, ’e teet’ache hot’um ’tell ’e cyan’ nyam ’e cawn hom’ny.
Uh ax’um ef ’e teet’ hot’um to dat, hukkuh him mout’ kin grin lukkuh
possum mout’ duh wintuhtime w’en ’e dey een possimmun tree? ’E say suh
’e teet’ache hot’um ’tell ’e mek’um fuh grin. W’en ’e tell me dat, uh
know him duh lie, en’ uh know berry well weh de hog gone, ’cause him
hab shishuh selfish face uh know suh nutt’n’ gwine mek’um grin ’cep’n’
’e belly tight. Dat, en’ brag ’bout ’e maussuh, duh de only two t’ing
fuh sweet’n ’e face fuh mek laugh come een ’e mout’! Uh tell’um, berry
well, uh fret ’bout de hog ’tell uh haffuh gone home en’ look ’puntop
de po’ creetuh’ bone. ’E tell me suh buzzut done scattuh ’e bone. Uh
tell’um, nemmine, uh gwine fin’um ef uh haffuh hunt spang tuh Caw Caw
Swamp! Joe stick out ’e mout’ ’tell ’e oagly ez uh catfish, but uh
yent mine’um, en’ uh climb’ een de oxin cyaa’t en’ mek’um fuh dribe
tuh de house. Uh know berry well suh uh kin mek Cuhlumbus fuh tell me
de straight ’bout de hog, ’cause uh train’um fuh watch ’e Pa same ez
beebu’d watch beehibe. W’en uh git home uh holluh fuh Cuhlumbus, but
’e yent mek no ansuh en’ uh know ’e mus’be gone deepo. Uh look full de
key een de knot hole een one de house’ log weh ’e does lef’um w’en ’e
gone out, but befo’ uh gone een de house uh tell Joe fuh show me weh de
hog done dead, so uh kin look ’pun ’e bone. Joe look shameface’ ez uh
suck-aig dog w’en oonuh ketch’um een uh hen nes,’ but ’e nebbuh crack
’e teet’, en’ ’e gone tuh de aige uh de swamp en’ ’e tell me suh dey
de hog dead, en’ de buzzut mus’be flew ’way ’long ’e bone, ’cause none
ain’ lef’. Uh tell’um ’e buzzut strong fuh true, but de nigguh lie so
easy, uh haffuh suck me teet’ at’um. Uh gone dull house, uh onlock de
do’ en’ uh gone een. De fiah done out een de chimbly, but een de cawnuh
uh de chimbly uh see de big spiduh duh set, kibbuh’ up wid ashish en’
dead coal’. Uh ax Joe wuh ’e got fuh eat. ’E say ’e dunno wuh Cuhlumbus
cook’ befo’ ’e gone out. ’E say ’e ’spec’ Cuhlumbus him roas’ tettuh,
eeduhso bile’ hom’ny een de spiduh. Uh tek off de kibbuh. Please me
Jedus, uh see de hog’ head dey een de spiduh _done cook_, en’ uh know
’e duh my’own, ’cause ’e hab de w’ite people’ maa’k wuh uh buy’um f’um
een alltwo ’e yez! W’en uh look ’puntop de sow head, en’ ’membuh all
de t’ing uh bin agguhnize ’bout fuh git da’ hog, uh hab uh berry hebby
sperrit en’ water full’ alltwo me yeye. Uh ax Joe weh da’ hog meat come
f’um? ’E say him ent know nutt’n’ ’t’all ’bout’um, ’e say suh somebody
mus’be gi’ Cuhlumbus de meat. ’E say suh him binnuh nyam de pyo’ cawn
hom’ny ’tell him hab uh dry drought een ’e t’roat. Uh tell’um, ‘Joe,
you sho’ iz uh fait’ful liah fuh tell lie. Yo’ jaw swell wid de pyo’
fat you git f’um eat my hog, en’ da’ berry sow gwine ride you duh night
time. ’E fuh haant you long ez you lib.’ Cuhlumbus come. Uh ax’um
hukkuh de sow git ’e de’t’. ’E say suh ebbuh sence de hog come home,
’e Pa binnuh hankuh at’um fuh eat. ’E say suh eb’ry day ’e Pa seddown
on de do’ step duh watch de hog duh root ’bout de yaa’d, en’ eb’ry
time de hog grunt, ’e Pa dat hongry fuh eat’um, ’e gnash ’e teet’ en’
water run out ’e mout’. One time de hog git ketch een de fench en’
squeal. W’en Joe yeddy ’e woice ’e run out, en’ ’stead’uh ’e loose’um
out de fench, ’e tek axe, knock’um een e’ head, en’ ’e tell Cuhlumbus
’e kill’um fuh pit’um out ’e mis’ry. Den ’e staa’t fuh eat’um to ’e
tail en’ eat spang t’ru de hog ’tell ’e git to ’e head wuh uh fin’ een
de pot! De berry day da’ nigguh tell me suh de sow eenjy uh berry po’
he’lt’, ’e done eat de hog’ two hanch! Uh _done_ wid feed Joe! Ef ’e
maussuh lub’um tuh dat, _him_ kin feed’um! Meself, _uh done_!”
Though the abandoned Joe made bones of Philippa’s hopes, he made none
about acknowledging the butchery, and boasting of it, away from home.
“Joe, you sho’ iz fat.”
“Yaas, man, uh fat fuh true. Uh binnuh eat hog meat. Philpuh him buy uh
hog en’ sen’ um home, en’ de hog meet uh acksident een de fench, en’ uh
’f’aid ’e gwine dead lukkuh da’ todduh hog ’e hab fuh dead on me han’
one time, en’ buzzut git’um ’fo’ uh hab uh chance fuh eat’um. Buzzut
git uhhead’uh me one time, but ’e nebbuh do’um two time! My maussuh’
nigguh haffuh smaa’t mo’nuh buzzut! Stepney[1] ain’ fuh come een _my_
house! Me fuh ’low my maussuh’ nigguh fuh perish fuh hog meat? _Me_ jaw
full dry ’long cawn hom’ny, en’ buzzut mout’ fuh greesy ’long de ’ooman
hog meat, enty? No suh! Uh gwine nyam’um fus’! _Uh kill’um ’fo’ ’e
dead!_”
THE LION OF LEWISBURG
Several years ago there lived on the “Lewisburg” rice plantation of
former Governor Duncan Clinch Heyward, one Monday White, a yellow negro
and a persistent and imaginative practical joker. The little “Devil’s
Fiddles” which boys construct of empty tin cans and rosined string emit
unchristian squeaks and groans when played upon with smooth hardwood
sticks, and Monday believed that a similar device on a larger scale
could be so manipulated as to frighten into hysterics half the negro
population along Combahee River. Begging from the store a large empty
powder keg, he surreptitiously rigged it up with stout twine which,
well rubbed with rosin and scraped with a dry hickory stick for a bow,
produced a hoarse and horrible sound which might have passed among the
uninitiated for the roar of a lion--or for anything else.
Monday knew that the superstitious negroes feared most the unknown. The
negro who would have taken a chance with alligator or bull, or the even
more dangerous hind legs of a mule, could be scared stiff by a weird,
unfamiliar sound in the woods at night. So Monday decided that the
ear-jarring sound emitted by his double-bass “Devil’s Fiddle” should
do service for the roar of a lion, as these creatures were unknown on
Combahee, and the few negroes who had once seen lions when the circus
visited Walterboro, brought back marvelous tales of their ferocity and
their terrible voices.
Monday baited his victims skilfully. One Saturday night when the store
was crowded with trading negroes, he led the conversation lionwards. He
needed tales of terror, and the two or three negroes who had once seen
lions were willing to oblige. One of them had even seen them fed. “W’en
uh bin Walterburruh, uh look ’puntop one dem annimel fuh call lion, en’
uh shum w’en dem duh g’em ’e bittle fuh eat.”
“Nigguh g’em ’e bittle?
“No man, buckruh feed’um. Nigguh ent fuh feed’um. Da’ t’ing dainjus
tummuch! Nigguh duh him bittle. Lion en’ nigguh alltwo come f’um
Aff’iky, en’ w’en dem Aff’ikin king en’ t’ing hab lion een dem cage,
’e g’em uh nigguh fuh eat eb’ry day Gawd sen’, en’ ’e crack nigguh’
hambone een ’e jaw sukkuh dem Beefu’t nigguh crack crab claw’ w’en ’e
done bile. Him _done_ fuh lub nigguh! W’en dem sukkus man fuh feed’um
een Walterburruh, dem fetch half uh bull yellin’ fuh ’e bittle, en’
w’en da’ t’ing look ’puntop de meat, ’e tail t’rash’ ’pun de flo’
sukkuh nigguh duh t’rash rice ’long flail, en’ ’e gyap ’e mout’ same
lukkuh Mistuh Jokok op’n ’e trunk mout’ fuh t’row uh flow ’puntop Mass
Clinch’ rice! ’E woice roll lukkuh t’unduh roll, en’ w’en ’e holluh,
eb’ry Chryce’ nigguh t’row ’e han’ obuh e’ two’ yez en’ run out de
tent, en’ gone!”
“Tengk Gawd dem annimel nebbuh come ’puntop Cumbee!” a woman fervently
exclaimed.
“Yaas, tittie,” said another, “ef da’ t’ing ebbuh come yuh, me fuh run
Sabannuh. Uh nebbuh stop run ’tell uh done pass de Yamassee!”