UNCLE SNAKE-BIT BOB’S SUNDAY-SCHOOL
There, was no more faithful slave in all the Southland than old Uncle
Snake-bit Bob. He had been bitten by a rattlesnake when he was a baby,
and the limb had to be amputated, and its place was supplied with a
wooden peg. There were three or four other “Bobs” on the plantation,
and he was called _Snake-bit_ to distinguish him. Though lame, and sick
a good deal of his time, his life had not been wasted, nor had he been
a useless slave to his master. He made all of the baskets that were
used in the cotton-picking season, and had learned to mend shoes;
besides that, he was the great horse-doctor of the neighborhood, and
not only cured his master’s horses and mules, but was sent for for
miles around to see the sick stock; and then too, he could re-bottom
chairs, and make buckets and tubs and brooms; and all of the money he
made was his own: so the old man had quite a little store of gold and
silver sewed up in an old bag and buried somewhere—nobody knew where
except himself; for Uncle Snake-bit Bob had never married, and had no
family ties; and furthermore, he was old Granny Rachel’s only child,
and Granny had died long, _long_ ago, ever since the children’s mother
was a baby, and he had no brothers or sisters. So, having no cause to
spend his money, he had laid it up until now he was a miser, and would
steal out by himself at night and count his gold and silver, and
chuckle over it with great delight.
But he was a very good old man; as Mammy used to say, “he wuz de piuses
man dar wuz on de place;” and he had for years led in “de
pra’r-meetin’s, and called up de mo’ners.”
One evening, as he sat on a hog-pen talking to Uncle Daniel, who was a
preacher, they began to speak of the wickedness among the young negroes
on the plantation.
“Pyears ter me,” said Uncle Rob, “ez ef dem niggers done furgot dey got
ter die; dey jes er dancin’ an’ er cavortin’ ev’y night, an’ dey’ll git
lef’, mun, wheneber dat angel blow his horn. I tell you what I ben er
stud’n, Brer Dan’l. I ben er stud’n dat what’s de matter wid deze
niggers is, dat de chil’en ain’t riz right. Yer know de Book hit sez ef
yer raise de chil’en, like yer want ’em ter go, den de ole uns dey
won’t part fum hit; an’, sar, ef de Lord spars me tell nex’ Sunday, I
’low ter ax marster ter lemme teach er Sunday-school in de gin-house
fur de chil’en.”
Major Waldron heartily consented to Uncle Bob’s proposition, and had
the gin-house all swept out for him, and had the carpenter to make him
some rough benches. And when the next Sunday evening came around, all
of the little darkies, with their heads combed and their Sunday clothes
on, assembled for the Sunday-school. The white children begged so hard
to go too, that finally Mammy consented to take them. So when Uncle
Snake-bit Bob walked into the gin-house, their eager little faces were
among those of his pupils. “Niw, you all sot down,” said Uncle Rob,
“an’ ’have yerse’fs till I fix yer in er line.”
Having arranged them to his satisfaction, he delivered to them a short
address, setting forth the object of the meeting, and his intentions
concerning them. “Chil’en,” he began, “I fotch yer hyear dis ebenin fur
ter raise yer like yer ought ter be riz. De folks deze days is er gwine
ter strucshun er dancin’ an’ er pickin’ uv banjers an’ er singin’ uv
reel chunes an’ er cuttin’ up uv ev’y kin’ er dev’lment. I ben er
watchin’ ’em; an’, min’ yer, when de horn hit soun’ fur de jes’ ter
rise, half de niggers gwine ter be wid de onjes’. An’ I ’low ter myse’f
dat I wuz gwine ter try ter save de chil’en. I gwine ter pray fur yer,
I gwine ter struc yer, an’ I gwine do my bes’ ter lan’ yer in hebn. Now
yer jes pay tenshun ter de strucshun I gwine give yer—dat’s all I ax uv
yer—an’ me an’ de Lord we gwine do de res’.”
After this exhortation, the old man began at the top of the line, and
asked “Gus,” a bright-eyed little nig, “Who made you?”
“I dun no, sar,” answered Gus, very untruthfully, for Aunt Nancy had
told him repeatedly.
“God made yer,” said Uncle Bob. “Now, who Inane yer?”
“God,” answered Gus.
“Dat’s right,” said the old man; then proceeded to “Jim,” the next in
order. “What’d he make yer out’n?” demanded the teacher.
“I dunno, sar,” answered Jim, with as little regard for truth as Gus
had shown.
“He made yer out’n dut,” said Uncle Bob. “Now, what’d he make yer
out’n?”
“Dut,” answered Jim, promptly, and the old man passed on to the next.
“What’d he make yer fur?”
Again the answer was, “I dunno, sar;” and the old man, after scratching
his head and reflecting a moment, said, “Fur ter do de bes’ yer kin,”
which the child repeated after him.
“Who wuz de fus man?” was his next question; and the little nig
professing ignorance, as usual, the old man replied, “Marse Adum.” And
so he went all down the line, explaining that “Marse Cain kilt his
brudder;” that “Marse Abel wuz de fus man slewed;” that “Marse Noah
built de ark;” that “Marse Thuselum wuz de oldes’ man,” and so on,
until he reached the end of the line, and had almost exhausted his
store of information. Then, thinking to see how much the children
remembered, he began at the top of the line once more, and asked the
child,
“Who made yer?”
“Dut,” answered the little negro.
“Who?” demanded Uncle Bob, in astonishment.
“Dut,” replied the child.
“Didn’ I tell yer God made yer?” asked the old man.
“No, sar,” replied the boy; “dat’n wat God made done slip out de do’.”
And so it was. As soon as Uncle Bob’s back was turned, Gus, who had
wearied of the Sunday-school, slipped out, and the old man had not
noticed the change.
The confusion resulting from this trifling circumstances was fearful.
“Dut” made the first child. The question, “What did he make yer fur?”
was promptly answered, “Marse Adum.” “Eve wuz de fus man.” “Marse Cain
wuz de fus ’oman.” “Marse Abel kilt his brudder.” “Marse Noah wuz de
fus one slewed.” “Marse Thuselum built de ark.” And so on, until the
old man had to begin all over again, and give each one a new answer.
The catechising through with, Uncle Bob said:
“Now, chil’en, I gwine splain de Scripchurs ter yer. I gwine tell yer
boutn Dan’l in de lions’ den. Dan’l wuz er good Christyun man wat lived
in de Bible; and whedder he wuz er white man or whedder he wuz er brack
man I dunno; I ain’t nuber hyeard nobody say. But dat’s neder hyear no
dar; he wuz er good man, and he pray tree times eby day. At de fus
peepin’ uv de day, Brer Dan’l he usen fur ter hop outn his bed and git
down on his knees; and soon’s eber de horn hit blowed fur de hans ter
come outn de field fur dinner, Brer Dan’l he went in his house, he did,
and he flop right back on ’is knees. And wen de sun set, den dar he wuz
agin er prayin’ and er strivin’ wid de Lord.
“Well, de king uv dat kentry, he ’low he nuber want no prayin’ bout
’im; he sez, sezee, ‘I want de thing fur ter stop’; but Brer Dan’l, he
nuber studid ’im; he jes prayed right on, tell by’mby de king he ’low
dat de nex’ man wat he cotch prayin’ he wuz gwine cas’m in de lions’
den.
“Well, nex’ mornin, soon’s Brer Dan’l riz fum ’is bed, he lit right on
’is knees, an’ went ter prayin’; an’ wile he wuz er wrestlin’ in prar
de pater-rollers dey come in’ an’ dey tied ’im han’ an’ foot wid er
rope, an’ tuck ’im right erlong tell dey come ter de lions’ den; an’
wen dey wuz yit er fur ways fum dar dey hyeard de lions er ro’in an’ er
sayin’, ‘Ar-ooorrrrar! aroooorrrrrar!’ an’ all dey hearts ’gun ter
quake sept’n Brer Dan’l’s; he nuber note’s ’em; he jes pray ’long.
By’mby dey git ter de den, an’ dey tie er long rope roun’ Brer Dan’l’s
was’e, an’ tho ’im right in! an’ den dey drawed up de rope, an’ went
back whar dey come fum.
“Well, yearly nex’ mornin hyear dey come agin, an’ dis time de king he
come wid ’em; an’ dey hyeard de lions er ro’in, ‘Ar-ooorrrrar!
arooorrrrar!’ an’ dey come ter de den, an’ dey open de do’, an’ dar wuz
de lions wid dey mouf open an’ dey eyes er shinin,’ jes er trompin’
backerds an f’orerds; an’ dar in de corner sot an angel smoovin’ uv ’is
wings; an’ right in de middle uv de den was Dan’l, jes er sot’n back
dar! Gemmun, _he wuzn totch!_ he nuber so much as had de smell uv de
lions bout’n ’im! he wuz jes as whole, mun, as he wuz de day he wuz
born! Eben de boots on ’im, sar, wuz ez shiny ez dey wuz wen dey put
’im in dar.
“An’ he jes clum up de side uv de den, he did; an’ soon’s uber his feet
tech de yeath, he sez ter de king, sezee, ‘King, hit ain’t no usen fur
yer ter fool erlong o’ me,’ sezee; ‘I’m er prayin’ man mysef, an I ’low
ter live an’ die on my knees er prayin’ an’ er sarvin’ de Lord.’ Sezee,
‘De Lord ain’t gwine let de lions meddle long o’ me,’ sezee; ‘I ain’t
fyeard o’ nufn,’ sezee. ‘De Lord is my strengt an’ my rocks, an’ I
ain’t er fyeard o’ NO man.’ An’ wid dat he helt er preachin’, sar,
right whar he wuz; an’ he tol’ ’em uv dey sins, an’ de goodness uv de
Lord. He preach de word, he did, right erlong, an’ atter dat he ’gun
ter sing dis hymn:
“‘Dan’l wuz er prayin’ man;
He pray tree times er day;
De Lord he hist de winder,
Fur ter hyear po’ Dan’l pray.’
“Den he ’gun ter call up de mo’ners, an’ dey come too! Mun, de whole
yeath wuz erlive wid ’em: de white folks dey went up; an’ de niggers
_dey_ went up; an’ de pater-rollers _dey_ went up; an’ de king he went
up; an’ dey all come thu an’ got ’ligion; an’ fum dat day dem folks is
er sarvin’ de Lord.
“An’ now, chil’en, efn yer be like Brer Dan’l, an’ say yer prars, an’
put yer pen’ence in de Lord, yer needn be er fyeard uv no lions; de
Lord, he’ll take cyar uv yer, an’ he’ll be mighty proud ter do it.
“Now,” continued the old man, “we’ll close dis meet’n by singing uv er
hymn, an’ den yer kin all go. I’ll give de hymn out, so’s dar needn’t
be no ’scuse ’bout not know’n uv de words, an’ so’s yer all kin sing.”
The children rose to their feet, and Uncle Rob, with great solemnity,
gave out the following hymn, which they all, white and black, sang with
great fervor:
“O bless us, Lord! O bless us, Lord!
O bless us mo’ an’ mo’;
Unless yer’ll come an’ bless us, Lord,
We will not let yer go.
“My marster, Lord; my marster, Lord—
O Lord, he does his bes’,
So when yer savin’ sinners, Lord,
Save him wid all de res’.
“O bless us, Lord! O bless us, Lord!
An’ keep us in yer cyar;
Unless yer’ll come an’ bless us, Lord,
We’re gwine ter hol’ yer hyear.
“My missus, Lord; my missus, Lord,
O bless my missus now—
She’s tryin’ hard ter serve yer, Lord,
But den she dunno how.
“O bless us, Lord! O bless us, Lord!
O bless us now, we pray;
Unless ye’ll come an’ bless us, Lord,
We won’t leave hyear ter day.
“Deze chil’en, Lord; deze chil’en, Lord,
O keep dey little feet
Er gwine straight ter hebn, Lord,
Fur ter walk dat golden street.
“O bless us, Lord! O bless us, Lord!
O come in all yer might;
Unless yer’ll come an’ bless us, Lord,
We’ll wrestle hyear all night.
“Deze niggers, Lord; deze niggers, Lord,
Dey skins is black, hit’s true,
But den dey souls is white, my Lord,
So won’t yer bless dem too?
“O bless us, Lord! O bless us, Lord!
O bless us mo’ an’ mo’;
Unless yer’ll come an’ bless us, Lord,
We’ll keep yer hyear fur sho.
“All folkses, Lord; all folkses, Lord—
O Lord, bless all de same.
O bless de good, an’ bless de bad,
Fur de glory uv dy name.
“Now bless us, Lord! now bless us, Lord!
Don’t fool ’long o’ us, no mo’;
O sen’ us down de blessin’, Lord,
An’ den we’ll let yer go.”