WHEN Uncle Remus went down to the passenger depot one morning
recently, the first sight that caught his eye was an old negro
man, a woman, and two children sitting in the shade near the
door of the baggage-room. One of the children was very young,
and the quartet was altogether ragged and forlorn-looking.
The sympathies of Uncle Remus were immediately aroused. He
approached the group by forced marches, and finally unburdened
his curiosity.
"Whar is you m'anderin' unter, pard?"
The old negro, who seemed to be rather suspicious, looked at
Uncle Remus coolly, and appeared to be considering whether he
should make any reply. Finally, however, he stretched himself and
said:
"We er gwine down in de naberhoods er Tallypoosy, an we ain't
makin' no fuss 'bout it, nudder."
"I disremember," said Uncle Remus, thoughtfully, "whar Tallypoosy
is."
"Oh, hit's out yan," replied the old man, motioning his head as
if it was just beyond the iron gates of the depot. "Hit's down in
Alabam. When we git dar, maybe well go on twel we gits ter
Massasip."
"Is you got enny folks out dar?" inquired Uncle Remus.
"None dat I knows un."
"An' you er takin' dis 'oman an' deze chillun out dar whar dey
dunno nobody? Whar's yo' perwisions?" eying a chest with a rope
around it.
"Dem's our bedcloze," the old negro explained, noticing the
glance of Uncle Remus. "All de vittles what we got we e't 'fo' we
started."
"An' you speck ter retch dar safe an soun'? Whar's yo' ticket?"
"Ain't got none. De man say ez how dey'd pass us thoo. I gin a
man a fi'-dollar bill 'fo' I lef' Jonesboro, an' he sed dat
settled it."
"Lemme tell you dis," said Uncle Remus, straightening up
indignantly: "you go an' rob somebody an' git on de chain-gang,
an' let de 'oman scratch 'roun' yer an' make 'er livin'; but
don't you git on dem kyars--don't you do it. Yo' bes' holt is de
chain-gang. You kin make yo' livin' dar w'en you can't make it no
whars else. But don't you git on dem kyars. Ef you do, you er
gone nigger. Ef you ain't got no money fer ter walk back wid, you
better des b'il' yo' nes' right here. I'm a-talkin' wid de bark
on. I done seed deze yer Arkinsaw emmygrants come lopin' back,
an' some un 'em didn't have rags nuff on 'em fer ter hide dere
nakidness. You leave dat box right whar she is, an, let de 'oman
take wun young un an you take de udder wun, an' den you git in de
middle er de big road an' pull out fer de place whar you come
fum. I'm preachin' now."
Those who watched say the quartet didn't take the cars.