"GULLA" AND THE BACK COUNTRY
The most extraordinary negro dialect I know of is the "gulla" (sometimes
spelled "gullah") of the rice plantation negroes of South Carolina and
of the islands off the South Carolina and Georgia coast. I believe that
the region of Charleston is headquarters for "gulla niggers," though I
have heard the argot spoken as far south as Sepeloe Island, off the town
of Darien, Georgia, near the Florida line. Gulla is such an extreme
dialect as to be almost a language by itself. Whence it came I do not
know, but I judge that it is a combination of English with the primitive
tongues of African tribes, just as the dialect of old Creole negroes, in
Louisiana, is a combination of African tribal tongues with French.
A Charleston lady tells me that negroes on different rice
plantations--even on adjoining plantations--speak dialects which differ
somewhat, and I know of my own knowledge that thick gulla is almost
incomprehensible to white persons who have not learned, by long
practice, to understand it.
A lady sent a gulla negro with a message to a friend. This is the
message as it was delivered:
"Missis seh all dem turrah folk done come shum. Enty you duh gwine come
shum?" (To get the gulla effect the sounds should be uttered very
rapidly.)
Translated, this means: "Mistress says all them other folks have come to
see her. Aren't you coming to see her?"
"Shum" is a good gulla word. It means all kinds of things having to do
with seeing--_to see her_, _to see him_, _to see it_. Thus, "You shum,
enty?" may mean, _You see him_--_her_--or _it_? or _You see what
he_--_she_--or _it_--_is doing_, or _has done_? For gulla has no genders
and no tenses. "Enty" is a general question: _Aren't you? Didn't you?
Isn't it?_ etc. Another common gulla word is "Buckra" which means _a
white man of the upper class_, in contradistinction to a poor white. I
have known a negro to refer to "de frame o' de bud," meaning the
carcass, or frame, of a fowl. "Ay ain' day" means "They aren't (ain't)
there."
A friend of mine who resided at Bluffton, South Carolina, has told me of
an old gulla fisherman who spoke in parables.
A lady would ask him: "Have you any fish to-day?" To which, if replying
affirmatively, he would answer: "Missis, de gate open"; meaning, "The
door (of the 'car,' or fish-box) is open to you." If he had no fish he
would reply: "Missis, ebb-tide done tack (take) crick"; signifying: "The
tide has turned and it is too late to go to catch fish." This old man
called whisky "muhgundy smash," the term evidently derived from some
idea of the word "burgundy" combined with the word "mash."
Here is a gulla dialect story, with a line-for-line translation. A train
has killed a cow, and a negro witness is being examined by a justice of
the peace:
JUSTICE--Uncle John, did you see
what killed Sam's cow?
NEGRO--Co'ose Uh shum. (Of) course I saw him.
JUSTICE--What was it, Uncle
John?
NEGRO--Dat black debble you-all (It was) that black devil you-all
runnin' tru we lan'. Nigga duh (are) running through our land.
(A) nigger (fireman) he
stan' deh, duh po' coal stands there (and) he pours coal
in eh stomach. into its stomach.
Buckra duh sit up on eh seat, (A) white man (engineer)
he sits up on his seat.
duh smoke eh cigah, an' ebry (and) he smokes his cigar, and every
tahme eh twis' eh tail eh run fasteh. time he twists its (engine's) tail it
An' runs faster. And
eh screams dis lak uh pantuh. Eben it screams just like a panther. Even
w'en eh git tuh de station, eh stan' when it gets to the station, it stands
tuh de station an' seh: "_Kyan_-stop! at the station and says: "_Can't_-stop!
_Kyan_-stop! _Kyan_-stop!" _Can't_-stop! _Can't_-stop!"
Sam cow binna browse down deh Sam's cow was browsing down there
tuh Bull Head Crick. Eh ram eh to (at) Bull Head Creek. It (engine)
rammed its
nose innum, an' eh bussum wahde nose into it (the cow), and it
busted him wide
loose. Eh t'row eh intrus on de loose (open). It threw its entrails
on the
reyel on de cross-tie, an' clean-up rails, on the cross-ties, and clean up
on de tele_gram_ pole. on the telegraph pole.
Mrs. Leiding (Harriette Kershaw Leiding), of Charleston, has done a fine
service to lovers of Old Charleston, and its ways, in collecting and
publishing in pamphlet form a number of the cries of the negro street
vendors. Of these I shall rob Mrs. Leiding's booklet of but one
example--the cry of a little negro boy, a peddler of shrimp ("swimp"),
who stood under a window in the early morning and sang:
[Music:
An' a Daw-try Daw! an' a swimp-y raw! an' a Daw-try Daw-try Daw-try Raw Swimp.]
While on the subject of the Charleston negro I must not neglect two of
his superstitions. One is his belief that a two-dollar bill is unlucky.
The curse may be removed only by tearing off a corner of the bill. The
other is that it is unlucky to hand any one a pin. A Charleston lady
told me that when she was motoring and wished to pin her hat or her
veil, she could never get her negro chauffeur to hand her pins. Instead
he would stick them in the laprobe, or in the sleeve of his coat, whence
she could pick them out herself. Another lady told me of the case of an
old black slave who lived years ago on a plantation on the Santee River,
owned by her family. This slave, who was a very powerful, taciturn and
high-tempered man, had a curious habit of disappearing for about half an
hour each day. He would go into the swamp, and for many years no one
ever followed him, the other negroes being afraid to do so because of
his temper and his strength. At last, however, they did spy upon him and
discovered that in the swamp there stood a cypress tree on which were
strange rude carvings, before which he prostrated himself. No one ever
learned the exact significance of this, but it was assumed that the man
practised some barbaric form of worship, brought from Africa.
* * * * *
The country back of Charleston is very lovely and is rich in interest,
even though most of the houses on the old estates have been destroyed.
Drayton Hall, however, stands, and the old Drayton estate, Magnolia, not
far distant from the Hall (which was on another estate), has one of the
most famous gardens in the world. Seven persons touching fingertips can
barely encircle the trunks of some of the live-oaks at Magnolia; there
are camellias more than twenty feet high, and a rose tree nearly as
large, but the great glory of the garden is its huge azaleas--ninety-two
varieties, it is said--which, when they blossom in the spring, are so
wonderful that people make long journeys for no other purpose than to
see them.
In "Harper's Magazine" for December, 1875, I find an account of the
gardens which were, at that time, far from new. The azaleas were then
twelve and thirteen feet tall; now, I am told, they reach to a height of
more than twenty feet, with a corresponding spread.
"It is almost impossible," says the anonymous writer of the article, "to
give a Northerner any idea of the affluence of color in this garden when
its flowers are in bloom. Imagine a long walk with the moss-draped
live-oaks overhead, a fairy lake and a bridge in the distance, and on
each side the great fluffy masses of rose and pink and crimson,
reaching far above your head, thousands upon tens of thousands of
blossoms packed close together, with no green to mar the intensity of
their color, rounding out in swelling curves of bloom down to the turf
below, not pausing a few inches above it and showing bare stems or
trunk, but spreading over the velvet, and trailing out like the rich
robes of an empress. Stand on one side and look across the lawn; it is
like a mad artist's dream of hues; it is like the Arabian nights; eyes
that have never had color enough find here a full feast, and go away
satisfied at last. And with all their gorgeousness, the hues are
delicately mingled; the magic effect is produced not by unbroken banks
of crude reds, but by blended shades, like the rich Oriental patterns of
India shawls, which the European designers, with all their efforts, can
never imitate."
Another remarkable garden, though not the equal of Magnolia, is at
Middleton Place, not many miles away, and still another is at the
pleasant winter resort town of Summerville, something more than twenty
miles above Charleston. The latter, called the Pinehurst Tea Garden, is
said to be the only tea garden in the United States. It is asserted that
the teas produced here are better than those of China and Japan, and are
equal to those of India. The Government is coöperating with the owners
of this garden with a view to introducing tea planting in the country in
a large way.
The finest grade of tea raised here is known as "Shelter Tea," and is
sold only at the gardens, the price being five dollars per pound. It is
a tea of the Assam species grown under shelters of wire mesh and pine
straw. This type of tea is known in Japan, where it originated, as
"sugar tea," because, owing to the fact that it is grown in the shade,
the sap of the bush, which is of starchy quality, is turned chemically
into sugar, giving the leaf an exceedingly delicate flavor.
From the superintendent in charge of the gardens I learned something of
the bare facts of the tea growing industry. I had always been under the
impression that the name "pekoe" referred to a certain type of tea, but
he told me that the word is Chinese for "eyelash," and came to be used
because the tip leaves of tea bushes, when rolled and dried, resemble
eyelashes. These leaves--"pekoe tips"--make the most choice tea. The
second leaves make the tea called "orange pekoe," while the third leaves
produce a grade of tea called simply "pekoe." In China it is customary
to send three groups of children, successively, to pick the leaves, the
first group picking only the tips, the second group the second leaves,
and the third group the plain pekoe leaves. At the Pinehurst Tea Gardens
the picking is done by colored children, ranging from eight to fifteen
years of age. All the leaves are picked together and are later separated
by machinery.
Summerville itself seems a lovely lazy town. It is the kind of place to
which I should like to retire in the winter if I had a book to write.
One could be very comfortable, and there would be no radical
distractions--unless one chanced to see the Most Beautiful Girl in the
World, who has been known to spend winters at that place.
On the way from Charleston to Summerville, if you go by motor, you pass
The Oaks, an estate with a new colonial house standing where an ancient
mansion used to stand. A long avenue bordered by enormous live-oaks,
leading to this house, gives the place its name, and affords a truly
noble approach. Here, in Revolutionary times, Marion, "the Swamp Fox,"
used to camp.
Not far distant from the old gate at The Oaks is Goose Creek Church--the
most interesting church I have ever seen. The Parish of St. James, Goose
Creek, was established by act of the Assembly, November 30, 1706, and
the present church, a brick building of crudely simple architecture, was
built about 1713. The interior of the church, though in good condition,
is the oldest looking thing, I think, in the United States. The memorial
tablets in the walls, with their foreign names and antique lettering,
the curious old box pews, the odd little gallery at the back, the tall
pulpit, with its winding stair, above all the Royal Arms of Great
Britain done in relief on the chancel wall and brilliantly colored--all
these make Goose Creek Church more like some little Norman church in
England, than like anything one might reasonably expect to find on this
side of the world.
Countless items of curious interest hang about the church and parish.
Michaux, the French botanist who came to this country in 1786, lived for
a time at Goose Creek. He brought with him the first four camellias
seen in the United States, planting them at Middleton Place above
Drayton Hall, where, I believe, they still stand, having reached a great
height. A British officer known as Mad Archy Campbell was married at
Goose Creek Church during the Revolution, under romantic circumstances.
Miss Paulina Phelps, a young lady of the parish, was a great beauty and
a great coquette, who amused herself alike with American and British
officers. Campbell met and fell desperately in love with her, and it is
said that she encouraged him, though without serious intent. One day he
induced her to go horseback-riding with him and on the ride made love to
her so vehemently that she was "intimidated into accepting him." They
rode to the rectory, and Campbell, meeting the rector, demanded that he
should marry them at once. The dominie replied that he would do so "with
the consent of the young lady and her mother," but Campbell proposed to
await no such formalities. Drawing his pistol he gave the minister the
choice of performing the ceremony then and there, or perishing. This
argument proved conclusive and the two were promptly wed.
When Goose Creek was within the British lines it is said that the
minister proceeded, upon one occasion, to utter the prayer for the King
of England, in the Litany. At the end of the prayer there were no
"Amens," the congregation having been composed almost entirely, as the
story goes, of believers in American independence. Into the awkward
pause after the prayer one voice from the congregation was at last
injected. It was the voice of old Ralph Izard, saying heartily, not
"Amen," but "Good Lord, deliver us!" There is a tablet in the church to
the memory of this worthy.
The story is told, also, of an old gentleman, a member of the
congregation in Revolutionary times, who informed the minister that if
he again read the prayer for the King he would throw his prayer-book at
his head. The minister took this for a jest, but when he began to read
the prayer on the following Sunday, he found that it was not, for sure
enough the prayer-book came hurtling through the air. Prayer-books were
heavier then than they are now, and it is said that as a result of this
episode, the minister refused to hold service thereafter.
The church is not now used regularly, an occasional memorial service
only being held there.
* * * * *
Charleston is a hard place to leave. Wherever one may be going from
there, the change is likely to be for the worse. Nevertheless, it is
impossible to stay forever; so at last you muster up your resignation
and your resources, buy tickets, and reluctantly prepare to leave. If
you depart as we did, you go by rail, driving to the station in the
venerable bus of the Charleston Transfer Company--a conveyance which,
one judges, may be coeval with the city's oldest mansions. Little as we
wished to leave Charleston we did not wish to defer our departure
through any such banality as the unnecessary missing of a train.
Therefore as we waited for the bus, on the night of leaving, and as
train time drew nearer and nearer, with no sign of the lumbering old
vehicle, we became somewhat concerned.
When the bus did come at last there was little time to spare;
nevertheless the conductor, an easygoing man of great volubility,
consumed some precious minutes in gossiping with the hotel porter, and
then with arranging and rearranging the baggage on the roof of the bus.
His manner was that of an amateur bus conductor, trying a new
experiment. After watching his performances for a time, looking
occasionally at my watch, by way of giving him a hint, I broke out into
expostulation at the unnecessary delay.
"What's the matter?" asked the man in a gentle, almost grieved tone.
"There's very little time!" I returned. "We don't wish to miss the
train."
"Oh, all right," said the bus conductor, making more haste, as though
the information I had given him put a different face on matters
generally.
Presently we started. After a time he collected our fares. I have
forgotten whether the amount was twenty-five or fifty cents. At all
events, as he took the money from my hand he said to me reassuringly:
"Don't you worry, sir! If I don't get you to the train I'll give you
this money back. That's fair, ain't it?"