“Brer Buzzard ain’t say nuthin’, en den Brer Rabbit retch down en bit
’im under de yuther wing. It keep on dis away twel it got so dat Brer
Rabbit kin guide Brer Buzzard along des same ez ef he done bin broke ter
harness, en dat’s de way he made ’im kyar ’im back.”
The little boy enjoyed these stories very much, and was very sorry to
see that Uncle Remus was not in the humor for telling any more. Perhaps
his store was exhausted. At any rate, the old man flatly refused to
cudgel his memory for another legend.
THE CREATURE WITH NO CLAWS
“W’en you git a leetle bit older dan w’at you is, honey,” said Uncle
Remus to the little boy, “you’ll know lots mo’ dan you does now.”
The old man had a pile of white oak splits by his side, and these he was
weaving into a chair-bottom. He was an expert in the art of “bottoming
chairs,” and he earned many a silver quarter in this way. The little boy
seemed to be much interested in the process.
“Hit’s des like I tell you,” the old man went on; “I done had de speunce
un it. I done got so now dat I don’t b’lieve w’at I see, much less w’at
I year. It got ter be whar I kin put my han’ on it en fumble wid it.
Folks kin fool deyse’f lots wuss dan yuther folks kin fool um, en ef you
don’t b’lieve w’at I’m a-tellin’ un you, you kin des ax Brer Wolf de
nex’ time you meet ’im in de big road.”
“What about Brother Wolf, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked, as the old
man paused to refill his pipe.
“Well, honey, ’t ain’t no great long rigamarole; hit’s des one er deze
yer tales w’at goes in a gallop twel hit gits ter de jumpin’-off place.
“One time Brer Wolf wuz gwine ’long de big road feelin’ mighty proud en
high-strung. He wuz a mighty high-up man in dem days, Brer Wolf wuz, en
mos’ all de yuther creeturs wuz feard tin ’im. Well, he wuz gwine ’long
lickin’ his chops en walkin’ sorter stiff-kneed, w’en he happen ter look
down ’pon de groun’ en dar he seed a track in de san’. Brer Wolf stop,
he did, en look at it, en den he ’low:
“‘Heyo! w’at kind er creetur dish yer? Brer Dog ain’t make dat track, en
needer is Brer Fox. Hit’s one er deze yer kind er creeturs w’at ain’t
got no claws. I’ll des ’bout foller ’im up, en ef I ketch ’im he’ll
sholy be my meat.’
“Dat de way Brer Wolf talk. He followed ’long atter de track, he did, en
he look at it close, but he ain’t see no print er no claw’. Bimeby de
track tuck ’n tu’n out de road en go up a dreen whar de rain done wash
out. De track wuz plain dar in de wet san’, but Brer Wolf ain’t see no
sign er no claws.
“He foller en foller, Brer Wolf did, en de track git fresher en fresher,
but still he ain’t see no print er no claw. Bimeby he come in sight er
de creetur, en Brer Wolf stop, he did, en look at ’im. He stop
stock-still en look. De creetur wuz mighty quare lookin’, en he wuz
cuttin’ up some mighty quare capers. He had big head, sharp nose, en bob
tail, en he wuz walkin’ ’roun’ en ’roun’ a big dog-wood tree, rubbin’
his sides ag’in it. Brer Wolf watch ’im a right smart while, en den he
’low:
“‘Shoo! dat creetur done bin in a fight en los’ de bes’ part er he tail,
en mo’ ’n dat, he got de eatch, kaze ef he ain’t got de eatch w’at make
he scratch hisse’f dat away? I lay I ’ll let ’im know who he foolin’
’long wid.’
“Atter while, Brer Wolf went up a leetle nigher de creetur, en holler
out:
“‘Heyo, dar! w’at you doin’ scratchin’ yo’ scaly hide on my tree, en
tryin’ fer ter break hit down?’
“De creetur ain’t make no answer. He des walk ’roun’ en ’roun’ de tree
scratchin’ he sides en back. Brer Wolf holler out:
“‘I lay I ’ll make you year me ef I hatter come dar whar you is.’
“De creetur des walk ’roun’ en ’roun’ de tree, en ain’t make no answer.
Den Brer Wolf hail ’im ag’in, en talk like he mighty mad:
“‘Ain’t you gwine ter min’ me, you imperdent scoundul? Ain’t you gwine
ter mozey outer my woods en let my tree ’lone?’
“Wid dat, Brer Wolf march todes des creetur des like he gwine ter squ’sh
’im in de groun’. De creetur rub hisse’f ag’in de tree en look like he
feel mighty good. Brer Wolf keep on gwine todes ’im, en bimeby w’en he
git sorter close de creetur tuck ’n sot up on his behime legs des like
you see squir’ls do. Den Brer Wolf, he ’low, he did:
“‘Ah-yi! you beggin’, is you? But ’t ain’t gwine ter do you no good. I
mout er let you off ef you’d a-minded me w’en I fus’ holler atter you,
but I ain’t gwine ter let you off now. I’m a-gwine ter l’arn you a
lesson dat’ll stick by you.’
“Den de creetur sorter wrinkle up his face en mouf, en Brer Wolf ’low:
“‘Oh, you neenter swell up en cry, you ’ceitful vilyun. I’m a-gwine ter
gi’ you a frailin’ dat I boun’ yer won’t forgit.’
“Brer Wolf make like he gwine ter hit de creetur, en den——”
Here Uncle Remus paused and looked all around the room and up at the
rafters. When he began again his voice was very solemn.
——“Well, suh, dat creetur des fotch one swipe dis away, en ’n’er swipe
dat away, en mos’ ’fo’ you kin wink yo’ eye-balls, Brer Wolf hide wuz
mighty nigh teetotally tor’d off’n ’im. Atter dat de creetur sa’ntered
off in de woods, en ’gun ter rub hisse’f on ’n’er tree.”
“What kind of a creature was it, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy.
“Well, honey,” replied the old man in a confidential whisper, “hit
wa’n’t nobody on de top-side er de yeth but ole Brer Wildcat.”
UNCLE REMUS’S WONDER STORY
There was one story that the little boy whom Uncle Remus delighted to
entertain asked for with great regularity, perhaps because it has in it
an element of witchcraft, and was as marvelous as it was absurd.
Sometimes Uncle Remus pretended to resent this continued demand for the
story, although he himself, like all the negroes, was very
superstitious, and believed more or less in witches and witchcraft.
“Dat same ole tale,” he would say. “Well! well! well! W’en is we gwine
ter year de las’ un it? I done tole you dat tale so much dat it make my
flesh crawl, kaze I des know dat some er deze yer lonesome nights I’ll
be a-settin’ up yer by de fier atter you done gone. I’ll be a-settin’ up
yer dreamin’ ’bout gwine ter bed, en sumpin’ ’n’er ’ll come a-clawin’ at
de do’, en I’ll up en ax, ‘Who dat?’ En dey’ll up en ’spon’, ‘Lemme in.’
En I’ll ondo de do’, en dat ole creetur’ll walk in, en dat’ll be de las’
er po’ ole Remus’ En den w’en dat come ter pass, who gwine take time fer
ter tell you tales? Dat w’at I like ter know.”
The little boy, although he well knew that there were no witches, would
treat this statement with gravity, as the story to him was as
fascinating as one of the “Thousand and One Nights.”
“Well, Uncle Remus,” he would say, “just tell it this time!” Whereupon
the old negro, with the usual preliminary flourishes, began:
“One time, ’way back yander, w’en de moon wuz lots bigger dan w’at she
is now, dar wuz er ole Witch-Wolf livin’ ’way off in de swamp, en dish
yer ole Witch-Wolf wuz up to ter all sorts er contrariness. Look like
she wuz cross-ways wid de whole er creation. W’en she wa’n’t doin’
devilment, she wuz studyin’ up devilment. She had a mighty way, de ole
Witch-Wolf did, dat w’en she git hungry she’d change ’erse’f ter be a
’oman. She could des shet ’er eye en smack ’er mouf, en stiddier bein’ a
big black wolf, wid long claws en green eye-balls, she’d come ter be the
likelies’ lookin’ gal dat you mos’ ever seed.
“It seem like she love ter eat folks, but’fo’ she kin eat urn she hatter
marry um; en w’en she take a notion, she des change ’erse’f ter be a
likely lookin’ gal, en sails in en git married. Den w’en she do dat, she
des take en change ’erse’f back ter be a wolf, en eat um up raw. Go whar
you kin, en whar you mout, en yit I don’t ’speck you kin fin’ any wuss
creetur dan w’at dis ole Witch-Wolf wuz.
“Well, sir, at de same time w’en dis ole Witch-Wolf gwine on dis away,
dey wuz a man livin’ in de neighborhood w’at she took a mighty notion
fer ter marry. De man had lan’, but she ain’t want de lan’; de man had
hosses, but she ain’t want de hosses; de man had cows, but she ain’t
want de cows. She des nat’ally want de man hisse’f, kaze he mighty fat
en nice.”
“Did she want to marry him, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked, as
though the tale were true, as indeed it seemed to be while Uncle Remus
was telling it and acting it.
“Tooby sho’, honey! Dat ’zactly w’at she want. She want ter marry ’im,
en eat ’im up. Well, den, w’en she git eve’ything good en ready, she des
tuck ’n back ’er years, en bat ’er eyes, en smack ’er mouf, and dar she
wuz—a likely young gal! She up en got ter de lookin’-glass, she did, en
swinge ’er ha’r wid de curlin’-tongs, en tie ribbons on ’er cloze, en
fix up ’er beau-ketchers. She look nice, fit ter kill, now. Den she tuck
’n pass by de man house, en look back en snicker, en hol’ ’er head on
one side, en sorter shake out ’er cloze, en put ’er han’ up fer ter see
ef de ha’rpins in der place. She pass by dis away lots er times, en
bimeby de man kotch a glimp’ un ’er; en no sooner is he do dis dan she
wave her hankcher. De man he watch ’er en watch er, en bimeby, atter she
kep’ on whippin’ by, he come out en hail ’er. En den she tuck ’n stop,
en nibble at ’er fan en fumble wid ’er hankcher, en dey tuck ’n stan’
dar, dey did, en pass de time er day. Atter dat de sun never riz en set
widout she hol’ some confab wid de man; en ’t want long ’fo’ de man took
a notion dat she de very gal fer a wife, w’at he bin a-huntin’ fer. Wid
dat dey des got right down ter ole-fashion courtin’. Dey’d laugh, dey’d
giggle, dey ’d’spute, dey’d pout. You ain’t never seen folks a-courtin’,
is you, honey?”
The little boy never had, and he said so.
“Well, den,” Uncle Remus would continue, “you ain’t none de wuss off fer
dat, kaze dey ain’t nuthin’ in de roun’ worl’ dat’ll turn yo’ stomach
quicker. But dar dey wuz, en de ole Witch-Wolf make sho’ she wuz gwine
ter git de man; let lone dat, de man he make sho’ he wuz gwine ter git
de gal. Yit de man he belt back, en ef de Witch-Wolf hadn’t er bin
afeard she’d drap de fat in de fier, she’d er des come right out en pop
de question den en dar. But de man he helt back en helt back, en bimeby
he say ter hisse’f, he did, dat he ’speck he better make some
inquirements ’bout dis yer gal. Yit who sh’ll he go ter?
“He study en study, en atter w’ile hit come ’cross he min’ dat he better
go en ax ole Jedge Rabbit ’bout ’er, bein’ ez he bin livin’ ’roun’ dar a
mighty long time.
“Ole Jedge Rabbit,” Uncle Remus would explain, “done got ole in age en
gray in de min’. He done sober up en settle down, en I let you know dey
want many folks in dem diggin’s but w’at went ter ole Jedge Rabbit w’en
dey git in trouble. So de man he went ter Jedge Rabbit house en rap at
de do’. Jedge Rabbit, he ’low, he did, ‘Who dat?’
“Man he up en ’spon’, ‘Hit’s me.’
“Den Jedge Rabbit ’gin ter talk like one er deze yer town lawyers. He
’low, he did, ‘Mighty short name fer grown man. Gimme de full
entitlements.’
“Man he gun um ter ’im, en den ole Jedge Rabbit open de do’ en let ’im
in. Dey sot dar by de fier, dey did, twel bimeby’t want long ’fo’ de man
’gun ter tell ’im ’bout dish yer great gal w’at he bin courtin’ ’long
wid. Bimeby Jedge Rabbit ax ’im, sezee, ‘W’at dish yer great gal name?’
“Man he ’low, ‘Mizzle-Mazzle,’
“Jedge Rabbit look at de man sort er like he takin’ pity on ’im, en den
he tuk he cane en make a mark in de ashes. Den he ax de man how ole is
dish yer great gal. Man tol’ ’im. Jedge Rabbit make ’n’er mark in de
ashes. Den he ax de man is she got cat eyes. Man sort er study ’bout
dis, but he say he ’speck she is. Jedge Rabbit make ’n’er mark. Den he
ax is ’er years peaked at de top. Man ’low he disremember, but he speck
dey is. Jedge Rabbit make ’n’er mark in de ashes. Den he ax is she got
yaller ha’r. Man say she is. Jedge Rabbit make ’n’er mark. Den he ax is
’er toofs sharp. Man say dey is. Jedge Rabbit make ’n’er mark. Atter he
done ax all dis, Jedge Rabbit got up, he did, en went ’cross de room ter
de lookin’-glass. W’en he see hisse’f in dar, he tuck ’n shet one eye,
_s-l-o-w_. Den he sot down en leant back in de cheer, en ’low, sezee:
“‘I done had de idee in my head dat ole Mizzle-Mazzle done moof out ’n
de country, en yit yer she is gallopin’ ’roun’ des ez natchul ez a dead
pig in de sunshine!’
“Man look ’stonish, but he ain’t say nuthin’. Jedge Rabbit keep on
talkin’.
“‘You ain’t never bin trouble’ wid no trouble yit, but ef you wan’ ter
be trouble’ wid trouble dat’s double en thribble trouble, you des go en
marry ole Mizzle-Mazzle,’ sezee. ‘You nee’nter b’lieve me less ’n you
wan’ ter,’ sezee. ‘Des go ’long en marry ’er,’ sezee.
“Man he look skeerd. He up en ’low, he did, ‘W’at de name er goodness I
gwine do?’
“Ole Jedge Rabbit look sollumcolly. ‘You got any cows?’ sezee.
“Man say he got plenty un um.
“‘Well, den,’ sez ole Jedge Rabbit, sezee, ‘ax ’er ef she kin keep
house. She’ll say yasser. Ax ’er ef she kin cook. She’ll say yasser. Ax
er ef she kin scour. She’ll say yasser. Ax ’er ef she kin wash cloze.
She’ll say yasser. Ax ’er ef she kin milk de red cow. Den see w’at she
say.’
“Man, he ’low, he did, dat he mighty much erbleege ter ole Jedge Rabbit,
en wid dat he make he bow en tuck he leaf. He went home, he did, en w’en
he git dar, sho’ ’nuff dar wuz dish yer nice-lookin’ gal a pommynadin’
up en down de road, en shakin’ ’er hankcher. Man, he hail ’er, he did,
en ax ’er how she come on. She ’low she purty well, en how do he do. Man
say he feelin’ sort er po’ly. Den she up en ax ’im w’at de matter. Man
say he ’speck he feel po’ly kaze he so powerful lonesome. Den dish yer
nice-lookin’ gal, she ax ’im w’at make he so powerful lonesome. Man he
say he ’speck he so powerful lonesome kase he want ter marry.
“Time de man come out so flat-footed ’bout marryin’, de gal, she ’gun
ter work wid ’er fan, en chaw at ’er hankcher. Den, atter w’ile, she up
en ax ’im who he wan’ ter marry. Man ’low he ain’t no ways ’tickler,
kase he des want somebody fer ter take keer er de house w’en he gone, en
fer ter set down by de fier, en keep ’im comp’ny w’en he at home. Den he
up en ax de gal kin she keep house. De gal she ’low, ‘Yasser!’ Den he ax
’er ef she kin cook. She ’low, ‘Yasser!’ Den he ax ’er ef she kin scour.
She ’low, ‘Yasser!’ Den he ax ’er ef she kin wash cloze. She ’low,
‘Yasser!’ Den he ax ’er ef she kin milk de red cow. Wid dat she flung up
’er han’s, en fetched a squall dat make de man jump.
“‘Law!’ sez she, ‘does you speck I’m a-gwine ter let dat cow hook me?’
“Man, he say de cow des ez gentle ez a dog.
“‘Does you speck I’m a-gwine ter let dat cow kick me crank-sided?’ sez
she.
“Man, he ’low, he did, dat de cow won’t kick, but dat ar gal she tuck ’n
make mo’ skuses dan dey is frogs in de spring branch, but bimeby she say
she kin try. But she ’low dat fus’ ’fo’ she try dat she’ll show ’im how
she kin keep house. So the nex’ mornin’ yer she come, en I let you know
she sailed in dar, en sot dat house ter rights ’fo’ some wimmen folks
kin tun ’roun’. Man, he say, he did, dat she do dat mighty nice.
“Nex’ day, de gal sot in en got dinner. Man say, he did, dat dey ain’t
nobody w’at kin beat dat dinner. Nex’ day, she sot in en scoured, en she
make that flo’ shine same ez a lookin’-glass. Man, he say dey ain’t
nobody in dat neighborhoods kin beat dat scourin’. Nex’ day, she come
fer ter milk de red cow, en de man, he ’low ter hisse’f, he did, dat he
gwine ter see w’at make she don’t like ter milk dat cow.
“De gal come, she did, en git de milk-piggin’, en scald it out, en den
she start fer de cow-lot. Man, he crope ’long atter de gal fer ter watch
’er. Gal went on, en w’en she come ter de lot dar wuz de red cow
stan’in’ in de fence-cornder wallopin’ ’er cud. Gal, she sorter shuck de
gate, she did, en holler, ‘Sook, cow! Sook, cow!’ Cow, she pearten up at
dat, kaze she know w’en folks call ’er dat away, she gwine ter come in
fer a bucket er slops.
“She pearten up, de red cow did, en start todes de gate, but,
gentermens! time she smell dat gal, she ’gun a blate like she smell
blood, en paw’d de groun’ en shuck ’er head des like she fixin’ fer ter
make fight. Man, he ’low ter hisse’f dat dish yer kinder business mighty
kuse, en he keep on watchin’. Gal, she open de gate, but stiddier de cow
makin’ fight, she ’gun ter buck. Gal, she say, ‘So, cow! so, cow, so!’
but de cow she hist her tail in de elements, en run ’roun’ dat lot like
de dogs wuz atter ’er. Gal, she foller on, en hit sorter look like she
gwine ter git de cow hemmed up in a cornder, but de cow ain’t got no
notion er dis, en bimeby she whirl en make a splunge at de gal, en ef de
gal hadn’t er lipt de fence quick es she did de cow would er got ’er. Ez
she lipt de fence, de man seed ’er foots, en, lo en beholes, dey wuz
wolf foots! Man, he holler out:
“‘You oughter w’ar shoes w’en you come a-milkin’ de red cow!’ en wid
dat, de ole Witch-Wolf gun a twist, en fetched a yell, en made ’er
disappearance in de elements.”
Here Uncle Remus paused awhile. Then he shook his head, and exclaimed:
“’T ain’t no use! Dey may fool folks, but cows knows wil’ creeturs by
der smell.”
THE RATTLESNAKE AND THE POLECAT
“I lay ’t won’t be long,” said Uncle Remus, as the little boy drew his
chair closer to the broad fireplace, “’fo’ I’ll hatter put on a backlog
en pile’ up de chunks. Dem w’at gits up ’bout de crack er day like I
does is mighty ap’ fer ter fin’ de a’r sorter fresh deze mornin’s. Fus’
news you know old Jack Frost ’ll be a-blowin’ his horn out dar in de
woods, en he ’ll blow it so hard dat he ’ll jar down de hick’ry-nuts, de
scalybarks, de chinkapins, en de bullaces, en den ole Brer ’Possum will
begin fer ter take his promenades, en ef I don’t ketch ’im hit ’ll be
kaze I’m too stiff in my j’ints fer ter toiler ’long atter de dogs.
“Dish yer kinder freshness in de a’r w’at make yo’ breff smoke w’en you
blow it outen yo’ mouf,” continued Uncle Remus, “puts me in de min’ er
de time w’en Brer Polecat wuz a-huntin’ fer a new house. De wedder wuz
gittin’ kinder shivery, en Brer Polecat he sot out ter fin’ a good warm
place whar he kin stay w’en de freeze come on.
“He mozey ’long, Brer Polecat did, twel he come ter Brer Rattlesnake
house, w’ich it wuz in a holler tree. Brer Polecat knock at de do’. Brer
Rattlesnake ’low, ‘Who dat?’
“Brer Polecat ’spon’, ‘Hit’s me; open de do’.’
“Brer Rattlesnake say, ‘W’at you want?’
“Brer Polecat say, ‘Hit mighty cool out yer.’
“Brer Rattlesnake ’low, ‘Dat w’at I year folks say.’
“Brer Polecat up en ’spon’, sezee, ‘Hit too col’ fer ter stan’ out yer.’
“‘Dat w’at I year tell,’ says Brer Rattlesnake, sezee.
“‘I wanter come in dar whar hit’s warm,’ says Brer Polecat, sezee.
“Brer Rattlesnake ’low dat two in dat house would be a big crowd.
“Brer Polecat say he got de name er bein’ a mighty good housekeeper.
“Brer Rattlesnake say hit mighty easy fer anybody fer ter keep tother
folks’ house.
“Brer Polecat say he gwine come in anyhow.
“Brer Rattlesnake ’low, ‘Dey ain’t no room in yer fer you.’
“Brer Polecat laugh en say: ‘Shoo, Brer Rattlesnake! eve’ybody gives me
room. I go ’long de road, I does, en meet Mr. Man. I walks right todes
’im, en he bleege ter gi’ me room. I meet all de critturs, en dey bleege
ter gi’ me room.’
“Brer Rattlesnake say, ‘Dat w’at I year tell.’
“Brer Polecat ’low, ‘Don’t you pester yo’se’f ’bout room. You des lemme
git in dar whar you is, en _I’ll make room_!’
“Wid dat Brer Rattlesnake shot de do’ er his house en sprung de latch,
en atter so long a time Brer Polecat went pacin’ off some’rs else.”
HOW THE BIRDS TALK
Uncle Remus was not a “field hand”; that is to say, he was not required
to plow and hoe and engage in the rough work on the plantation.
It was his business to keep matters and things straight about the house,
and to drive the carriage when necessary. He was the confidential family
servant, his attitude and his actions showing that he considered himself
a partner in the various interests of the plantation. He did no great
amount of work, but he was never wholly idle. He tanned leather, he made
shoes, he manufactured horse-collars, fish-baskets, foot-mats,
scouring-mops, and ax-handles for sale; he had his own watermelon- and
cotton-patches; he fed the hogs, looked after the cows and sheep, and,
in short, was the busiest person on the plantation.
He was reasonably vain of his importance, and the other negroes treated
him with great consideration. They found it to their advantage to do so,
for Uncle Remus was not without influence with his master and mistress.
It would be difficult to describe, to the satisfaction of those not
familiar with some of the developments of slavery in the South, the
peculiar relations existing between Uncle Remus and his mistress, whom
he called “Miss Sally.” He had taken care of her when she was a child,
and he still regarded her as a child.
He was dictatorial, overbearing and quarrelsome. These words do not
describe Uncle Remus’s attitude, but no other words will do. Though he
was dictatorial, overbearing and quarrelsome, he was not even grim.
Beneath everything he said there was a current of respect and affection
that was thoroughly understood and appreciated. All his quarrels with
his mistress were about trifles, and his dictatorial bearing was
inconsequential. The old man’s disputes with his “Miss Sally” were
thoroughly amusing to his master, and the latter, when appealed to,
generally gave a decision favorable to Uncle Remus.
Perhaps an illustration of one of Uncle Remus’s quarrels will give a
better idea than any attempt at description. Sometimes, after tea, Uncle
Remus’s master would send the house-girl for him, under pretense of
giving him orders for the next day, but really for the purpose of
hearing him quarrel. The old man would usually enter the house by way of
the dining-room, leaving his hat and his cane outside. He would then go
to the sitting-room and announce his arrival, whereupon his master would
tell him what particular work he wanted done, and then Uncle Remus would
say, very humbly:
“Miss Sally, you ain’t got no cold vittles, nor no piece er pie, nor
nuthin’, layin’ ’roun’ yer, is you? Dat ar Tildy gal say you all have a
mighty nice dinner ter-day.”
“No, there’s nothing left. I gave the last to Rachel.”
“Well, I dunner w’at business dat ar nigger got comin’ up yer eatin’
Mars John out er house en home. I year tell she l’arnin’ how to cook, en
goodness knows, ef eatin’ gwine ter make anybody cook good, she de bes’
cook on dis hill.”
“Well, she earns what she eats, and that’s more than I can say for some
of the others.”
“I lay ef ole miss’ wuz ’live, she ’d sen’ dat ar nigger ter de
cotton-patch. She would, mon; she’d sen’ er dar a-whirlin’. Nigger w’at
wrop up ’er ha’r wid a string ain’t never seed de day w’en dey kin go on
de inside er ole miss’ kitchen, let ’lone mommuck up de vittles. Now, I
boun’ you dat!”
“Well, there’s nothing here for you, and if there was you wouldn’t get
it.”
“No, ’m, dat’s so. I done know dat long time ago. All day long, en half
de night, hit ’s ‘Remus, come yer,’ en ‘Remus, go dar,’ ’ceppin’ w’en it
’s eatin’-time, en w’en dat time come, dey ain’t nobody dast ter name de
name er Remus. Dat Rachel nigger new ter de business, yet she mighty
quick fer ter l’arn how ter tote off de vittles, en how ter make all de
chillun on de place do ’er er’ns.”
“John,” to her husband, “I put some cold potatoes for the children on
the sideboard in the dining-room. Please see if they are still there.”
“Nummine ’bout gittin’ up, Mars John. All de taters is dar. Old Remus
ain’t never ’grudge w’at dem po’ little chillun gits. Let ’lone dat; dey
comes down ter my house, en dey looks so puny en lonesome dat I ’vides
my own vittles wid um. Goodness knows, I don’t ’grudge de po’ creeturs
de little dey gits. Good-night, Mars John! Good-night, Miss Sally!”
“Take the potatoes, Remus,” said Mars John.
“I’m mighty much erbleege ter you,” said Uncle Remus, putting the
potatoes in his pocket, “en thanky too; but I ain’t gwine ter have folks
sayin’ dat ole Remus tuck ’n sneaked up yer en tuck de vittles out er
deze yer chillun’s mouf, dat I ain’t.”
The tone in which Uncle Remus would carry on his quarrels was
inimitable, and he generally succeeded in having his way. He would
sometimes quarrel with the little boy to whom he told the stories, but
either by dint of coaxing, or by means of complete silence, the
youngster usually managed to restore the old man’s equanimity.
“Uncle Remus,” said the boy, “it ’s mighty funny that the birds and the
animals don’t talk like they used to.”
“Who say dey don’t?” the old man cried, with some show of indignation.
“Who say dey don’t? Now, dat ’s des w’at I’d like ter know.”
Uncle Remus’s manner implied that he was only waiting for the name of
the malicious person to go out and brain him on the spot.
“Well,” replied the child, “I often listened at them, but I never hear
them say a word.”
“Ah-yi!” exclaimed Uncle Remus, in a tone of exultation; “dat’s diffunt.
Now, dat’s diffunt. De creeturs talk des ’bout like dey allus did, but
folks ain’t smart ez dey used ter wuz. You kin year de creeturs talkin’,
but you dunner w’at dey say. Yit I boun’ you ef I wuz ter pick you up,
en set you down in de middle er de Two-Mile Swamp, you’d year talkin’
all night long.”
The little boy shivered at the suggestion.
“Uncle Remus, who talks out there in the swamp?”
“All de creeturs, honey, all de creeturs. Mo’ speshually ole man Owl, en
all he famberly connexion.”
“Have you ever heard them, Uncle Remus?”
“Many’s en many’s de time, honey. W’en I gits lonesome wid folks, I des
up en takes down my walkin’ cane, I does, en I goes off dar whar I kin
year um, en I sets dar en feels dez es familious ez w’en I’m a-settin’
yer jawin’ ’long er you.”
“What do they say, Uncle Remus?”
“It seems like ter me,” said the old man, frowning, as if attempting to
recall familiar names, “dat one er um name Billy Big-Eye, en t’er one
name Tommy Long-Wing. One er um sets in a poplar-tree on one side er de
swamp, en t’er one sets in a pine on t’er side,” Uncle Remus went on, as
the child went a little closer to him. “W’en night come, good en dark,
Billy Big-Eye sorter cle’r up he th’oat en ’low:
“‘_Tom!_ Tommy _Long_-Wing! _Tom!_ Tommy _Long_-Wing!’”
Uncle Remus allowed his voice to rise and fall, giving it a far-away but
portentous sound, the intonation being a weirdly-exact imitation of the
hooting of a large swamp-owl. The italicized words will give a faint
idea of this intonation.
“Den,” Uncle Remus went on, “ole Tommy Long-Wing he’d wake up en holler
back:
“‘_Who_—who dat a-_call_in’? _Who_—who dat a-_call_in’?’
“‘_Bill_—Billy _Big_-Eye! _Bill_—Billy _Big_-Eye!’
“‘_Whyn’t_ you come _down_—come _down_ ter _my_ house?’
“‘I _coodn’t_—I _coodn’t_ come down to _yo’_ house!’
“‘_Tom_—Tommy _Long_-Wing! Why _coodn’t_ you?’
“‘Had _coom_penny, _Bill_—Billy _Big_-Eye! Had _coom_penny!’
“‘_Who_—who wuz de _coom_penny?’
“‘_Heel_ Tap ’n _his_ wife, _Deel_ Tap ’n _his_ wife, en I don’t know
_who_-all, _who_-all, _who_-all!’
“Ez ter Heel Tap en Deel Tap,” Uncle Remus continued, noticing a puzzled
expression on the child’s face, “I dunno ez I ever bin know anybody
edzackly wid dat name. Some say dat’s de name er de Peckerwoods en de
Yallerhammers, but I speck w’en we git at de straight un it, dey er all
in de Owl famberly.”
“Who heard them talking that way, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy.
[Illustration: BILLY BIG-EYE AND TOMMY LONG-WING.]
“Goodness en de gracious, honey!” exclaimed Uncle Remus, “you don’t
’speckt er ole nigger like I is fer ter note all deze yer folks’ name in
he head, does you? S’pose’n de folks w’at year um done gone and move
off, w’at good it gwine do you fer ter git der name? S’pose’n dey wuz
settin’ right yer ’long side er you, w’at good dat gwine do? De trufe’s
de trufe, en folks’ name ain’t gwine make it no trufer. Yit w’en it come
ter dat, I kin go ter de do’ dar, en fetch a whoop, en fin’ you lots er
niggars w’at done bin year dat Owl famberly gwine on in de swamp dar. En
you ne’en ter go no fudder dan Becky’s Bill, nudder. W’en dat niggar wuz
growin’ up, he went frolickin’ ’roun’, en one night he come froo de
Two-Mile Swamp.
“He come froo dar,” Uncle Remus went on, emphasizing the seriousness of
the situation by a severe frown, “des ez soople in de min’ ez w’at you
is dis blessid minnit. He come ’long, he did, en de fus’ news you know a
great big ole owl flew’d up in a tree en snap he bill des like somebody
crackin’ a whip. Becky’s Bill make like he ain’t take no notice, but he
sorter men’ he gait. Present’y, ole Mr. Owl flew’d up in ’n’er tree
little ways ahead, en smack he mouf. Den he holler out:
“‘_Who_ cooks—_who_ cooks—_who_ cooks fer _you_-all?’
“Becky’s Bill move on—he make like he ain’t year nothing. Ole Mr. Owl
holler out:
“‘_Who_ cooks—_who_ cooks—who _cooks_ fer _you_-all?’
“By dat time Becky’s Bill done git sorter skeerd, en he stop en say:
“‘Well, sir, endurin’ er de week, mammy, she cooks, but on Sundays, en
mo’ speshually ef dey got comp’ny, den ole Aunt Dicey, she cooks.’
“Ole Mr. Owl, he ruffle up he fedders, he did, en smack he mouf, en look
down at Becky’s Bill, en ’low:
“‘_Who_ cooks—_who_ cooks—_who_ cooks fer _you_-all?’
“Becky’s Bill, he take off he hat, he did, en ’low, sezee:
“‘Well, sir, hit’s des like I tell you. Mo’ inginer’lly endurin’ er de
week, mammy, she cooks, but on Sundays, mo’ speshually w’en dey got
comp’ny, ole Aunt Dicey, she cooks.’
“Ole Mr. Owl, he keep axin’, en Becky’s Bill keep on tellin’ twel,
bimeby, Becky’s Bill, he got skeerd, en tired, en mad, en den he le’pt
out fum dar en he run home like a quarter-hoss; en now ef you git ’im in
dat swamp you got ter go ’long wid ’im.”
The little boy sat and gazed in the fire after Uncle Remus had paused.
He evidently had no more questions to ask. After a while the old man
resumed:
“But ’t ain’t des de owls dat kin talk. I des want you ter git up in de
mornin’ en lissen at de chickens. I kin set right yer en tell you des
zackly w’at you ’ll year um say.”
The little boy laughed, and Uncle Remus looked up into the rafters to
hide a responsive smile.
“De old Dominicker Hen, she ’ll fly off’n ’er nes’ in de hoss-trough, en
squall out:
“‘_Aigs_ I _lay_ eve’y _day_ en yer dey _come_ en _take_ um _’way_! I
_lay_, I _lay_, I _lay_, en yit I hatter go _bare_-footed,
_bare_-footed, _bare_-footed! Ef I _lay_, en lay twel _dooms_day, I know
I’ll hatter go _bare_-footed, _bare_-footed, _bare-_footed!’”
Uncle Remus managed to emphasize certain words so as to give a laughably
accurate imitation of a cackling hen. He went on:
“Now, den, w’en de rooster year de Dominicker Hen a-cacklin’, I boun’
you he gwine ter jine in. He’ll up en say, sezee:
“‘Yo’ foot so _big_, yo’ foot so _wide_, yo’ foot so _long_. I can’t git
a shoe _ter_-fit-it, _ter_-fit-it, _ter_-fit-it!’
“En den dar dey ’ll have it, up en down, qua’llin’ des like sho’-nuff
folks.”
The little boy waited for Uncle Remus to go on, but the old man was
done. He leaned back in his chair and began to hum a tune.
After a while the youngster said:
“Uncle Remus, you know you told me that you’d sing me a song every time
I brought you a piece of cake.”
“I ’speckt I did, honey—I ’speckt I did. Ole ez I is, I got a mighty
sweet toofe. Yit I ain’t see no cake dis night.”
“Here it is,” said the child, taking a package from his pocket.
“Yasser!” exclaimed the old man, with a chuckle, “dar she is! En all
wrop up, in de bargain. I ’m mighty glad you helt ’er back, honey, kaze
now I can take dat cake en chune up wid ’er en sing you one er dem
ole-time songs, en folks gwine by ’ll say we er kyar’n on a
camp-meetin’.”
THE FOOLISH WOMAN
“W’en you see dese yer niggers w’at wrop de ha’r wid a string,” said
Uncle Remus to the little boy one day, apropos of nothing in particular
except his own prejudices, “you des keep yo’ eye on um. You des watch
um, kaze ef you don’t dey’ll take en trip you up—dey will dat, dez ez
sho’ ez de worl’. En ef you don’t b’lieve me, you kin des’ ax yo’ mammy.
Many’s en many’s de time is Miss Sally driv niggers out ’n de big house
yard kaze dey got der ha’r wrop up wid a string. I bin lookin’ en
peepin’, en lis’nin’ en eavesdrappin’ in dese low groun’s a mighty long
time, en I ain’t ne’er sot eyes on no nigger w’at wrop der ha’r wid a
string but w’at dey wuz de meanes’ kind er nigger. En if you ax anybody
w’at know ’bout niggers dey’ll tell you de same.”
“But, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy protestingly, “doesn’t Aunt
Tempy wrap her hair with a string?”
“Who? Sis Tempy? Shoo!” exclaimed the old man scornfully. “Why, whar yo’
eyes, honey? Nex’ time you see Sis Tempy, you take en look at ’er right
close, en ef ’er ha’r ain’t platted den I’m a Chinee. Now, dat’s what!”
“Well, they don’t bother me,” said the little boy.
“Dat dey don’t!” exclaimed Uncle Remus enthusiastically. “Dey don’t dast
ter, kaze dey know ef dey do, dey’ll have old Remus atter um, en mean ez
dey is, dey know hit ain’t gwine ter do ter git de ole nigger atter um.
“Hit seem like ter me dat one time I year a mighty funny tale ’bout one
er deze yer niggers w’at wrop der ha’r wid a string, but I speck it mos’
too late fer ter start in fer ter tell a tale—kaze present’y you’ll be
a-settin’ up dar in dat cheer dar fas’ ’sleep, en I’m a-gittin’ too ole
en stiff fer ter be totin’ you roun’ yer like you wuz a sack er bran.”
“Oh, I’m not sleepy, Uncle Remus,” the little boy exclaimed. “Please
tell me the story.”
The old man stirred the embers with the end of his cane, and seemed to
be in a very solemn mood. Presently he said:
“’T ain’t so mighty much of a tale, yit it ’ll do fer ter go ter bed on.
One time dey wuz a nigger man w’at tuck ’n married a nigger ’oman, en
dish yer nigger ’oman kep’ ’er h’ar wrop up wid a string night en day.
Dey married, en dey went home ter housekeepin’. Dey got um some pots, en
dey got um some kittles, en dey got um some pans, en dey got um some
dishes, en dey start in, dey did, des like folks does w’en dey gwine ter
stay at home.
“Dey rocked on, dey did,” said Uncle Remus, scratching his head with
some earnestness, “en it seem like dey wuz havin’ a mighty good time;
but one day w’en dish yer nigger man wuz gone ter town atter some
vittles, the nigger ’oman she ’gun ter git fretted. Co’se, honey, you
dunner how de wimmen folks goes on, but I boun’ you’ll know ’fo’ you
gits ez ole en ez crippled up in de j’ints ez w’at I is. Well, dish yer
nigger ’oman, she ’gun ter fret en ter worry, en bimeby she got right
down mad.”
“But what did she get mad about, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked.
“Well, sir,” said the old man condescendingly, “I’ll up en tell you. She
wuz des like yuther wimmen folks, en she got fretted kase de days wuz
long en de wedder hot. She got mad en she stayed mad. Eve’y time she
walked ’cross de flo’ de dishes ud rattle in de cubberd, en de mo’ she’d
fix um de wuss dey’d rattle. Co’se, dis make ’er lots madder dan w’at
she wuz at fust, en bimeby she tuck ’n holler out:
“‘W’at make you rattle?’
“Dishes dey keep on a-rattlin’.
“‘What make you rattle so? I ain’t gwine ter have no rattlin’ ’roun’
yer!’
“Dishes dey keep on a-rattlin’ en a-rattlin’. De ’oman she holler out:
“‘Who you rattlin’ at? I ’m de mistiss er dis house. I ain’t gwine ter
have none er yo’ rattlin’ ’roun’ yer!’
“Dishes dey rattle en rattle. De ’oman, she holler out:
“‘Stop dat rattlin’. I ain’t gwine ter have you sassin’ back at me dat
way. I ’m de mistiss er dis house!’
“Den she walked up en down, en eve’y time she do dat de dishes dey
rattle wuss en wuss. Den she holler out:
“‘Stop dat sassin’ at me, I tell you! I’m de mistiss in dis house!’
“Yit de dishes keep on rattlin’ en shakin’, en bimeby de ’oman run ter
de cubberd, she did, en grab de dishes en fling um out in de yard, en no
sooner’s she do dis dan dey wuz busted all ter flinders.
“I tell you w’at, mon,” said Uncle Remus, after pausing a moment to see
how this proceeding had affected the little boy. “I tell you w’at, mon,
wimmen folks is mighty kuse. Dey is dat, des ez sho’ ez de worl’. Bimeby
de nigger man come home, en w’en he see all de dishes broke up he wuz
’stonish’, but he ain’t say nuthin’. He des look up at de sun fer ter
see w’at time it is, en feel er hisse’f fer ter see ef he well. Den he
up ’n holler:
“‘Ole ’oman, yer some fish w’at I bring you. I speck you better clean um
fer dinner.’ De ’oman, she ’low:
“‘Lay um down dar.’ De man, he tuck en lay um down en draw’d a bucket er
water out er de well.
“Den, bimeby, de ’oman, she come out en start ter clean de fish. She
pick um up, she did, en start ter scrape de scales off, but she sees der
eyes wide open, en she ’low:
“‘Shet dem eyes! Don’t you be a-lookin’ at me!’
“Fish, dey keep on a-lookin’. ’Oman, she holler out:
“‘Shet up dem eyes, I tell you! I ’m de mistiss er dish yer house!’
“Fish, dey keep der eyes wide open. ’Oman, she squall out:
“‘Shet dem eyes, you impident villyuns! I’m de mistiss in dish yer
house!’
“Fish, dey helt der eyes wide open, en den de ’oman tuck en flung um in
de well.”
“And then what?” asked the little boy, as Uncle Remus paused.
“Ah, Lord, honey! You too hard fer me now. De ’oman tuck ’n ’stroy de
dishes, en den she flung de fishes in de well, en dey des nat’ally ruint
de well. I dunner w’at de man say, but ef he wuz like de balance un um,
he des sot down en lit his pipe, en tuck a smoke en den lit out fer bed.
Dat’s de way men folks does, en ef you don’t b’lieve me yo kin ax yo’
pa, but fer de Lord’s sake don’t ax ’im whar Miss Sally kin year you,
kaze den she’ll light on me, en mo’ ’n dat, she won’t save me no mo’
col’ vittles.”
THE ADVENTURES OF SIMON AND SUSANNA[1]
Footnote 1:
It may be of interest to those who approach Folk-Lore stories from the
scientific side, to know that this story was told to one of my little
boys three years ago by a negro named John Holder. I have since found
a variant (or perhaps the original) in Theal’s “Kaffir Folk-Lore.”
“I got one tale on my min’,” said Uncle Remus to the little boy one
night. “I got one tale on my min’ dat I ain’t ne’er tell you; I dunner
how come; I speck it des kaze I git mixt up in my idees. Deze is busy
times, mon, en de mo’ you does de mo’ you hatter do, en w’en dat de
case, it ain’t ter be ’spected dat one ole broke-down nigger kin ’member
’bout eve’ything.”
“What is the story, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked.
“Well, honey,” said the old man, wiping his spectacles, “hit sorter run
dis away: One time dey wuz a man w’at had a mighty likely daughter.”
“Was he a white man or a black man?” the little boy asked.
“I ’clar’ ter gracious, honey!” exclaimed the old man, “you er pushin’
me mos’ too close. Fer all I kin tell you, de man mout er bin ez w’ite
ez de driven snow, er he mout er bin de blackes’ Affi’kin er de whole
kit en bilin’. I’m des tellin’ you de tale, en you kin take en take de
man en w’itewash ’im, er you kin black ’im up des ez you please. Dat’s
de way I looks at it.
“Well, one time dey wuz a man, en dish yer man he had a mighty likely
daughter. She wuz so purty dat she had mo’ beaus dan w’at you got
fingers en toes. But de gal daddy, he got his spishuns ’bout all un um,
en he won’t let um come ’roun’ de house. But dey kep’ on pesterin’ ’im
so, dat bimeby he give word out dat de man w’at kin clear up six acres
er lan’ en roll up de logs, en pile up de bresh in one day, dat man kin
marry his daughter.
“In co’se, dis look like it unpossible, en all de beaus drap off
’ceppin’ one, en he wuz a great big strappin’ chap w’at look like he kin
knock a steer down. Dis chap he wuz name Simon, en de gal, she wuz name
Susanna. Simon, he love Susanna, en Susanna, she love Simon, en dar it
went.
“Well, sir, Simon, he went ter de gal daddy, he did, en he say dat ef
anybody kin clear up dat lan’, he de one kin do it, least’ways he say he
gwine try mighty hard. De ole man, he grin en rub his han’s terge’er, he
did, en tole Simon ter start in in de mornin’. Susanna, she makes out
she wuz fixin’ sumpin in de cubberd, but she tuck ’n kiss ’er han’ at
Simon, en nod ’er head. Dis all Simon want, en he went out er dar des ez
happy ez a jay-bird atter he done robbed a sparrer-nes’.
“Now, den,” Uncle Remus continued, settling himself more comfortably in
his chair, “dish yer man wuz a witch.”
“Why, I thought a witch was a woman,” said the little boy.
The old man frowned and looked into the fire.
“Well, sir,” he remarked with some emphasis, “ef you er gwine ter tu’n
de man inter a ’oman, den dey won’t be no tale, kaze dey’s bleege ter be
a man right dar whar I put dis un. Hit ’s des like I tole you ’bout de
color er de man. Black ’im er whitewash ’im des ez you please, en ef you
want ter put a frock on ’im ter boot, hit ain’t none er my business; but
I’m gwine ter’low he wuz a man ef it’s de las’ ac’.”
The little boy remained silent, and Uncle Remus went on:
“Now, den, dish yer man was a witch. He could cunjer folks, mo’
’speshually dem folks w’at ain’t got no rabbit foot. He bin at his
cunjerments so long, dat Susanna done learn mos’ all his tricks. So de
nex’ mornin’ w’en Simon come by de house fer ter borry de ax, Susanna
she run en got it fer ’im. She got it, she did, en den she sprinkles
some black san’ on it, en say, ‘Ax, cut; cut, ax.’ Den she rub ’er ha’r
’cross it, en give it ter Simon. He tuck de ax, he did, en den Susanna
say:
“‘Go down by de branch, git sev’n w’ite pebbles, put um in dis little
cloth bag, en whenever you want the ax ter cut, shake um up.’
“Simon, he went off in de woods, en started in ter clearin’ up de six
acres. Well, sir, dem pebbles en dat ax, dey done de work—dey did dat.
Simon could ’a’ bin done by de time de dinner-horn blowed, but he hung
back kaze he ain’t want de man fer ter know dat he doin’ it by
cunjerments.
“W’en he shuck de pebbles de ax ’ud cut, en de trees ’ud fall, en de
lim’s ’ud drap off, en de logs ’ud roll up terge’er, en de bresh ’ud
pile itself up. Hit went on dis away twel by de time it wuz two hours b’
sun, de whole six acres wuz done cleaned up.
“’Bout dat time de man come ’roun’, he did, fer ter see how de work
gittin’ on, en, mon! he wuz ’stonish’. He ain’t know w’at ter do er say.
He ain’t want ter give up his daughter, en yit he ain’t know how ter git
out ’n it. He walk ’roun’ en ’roun’, en study, en study, en study how he
gwine rue de bargain. At las’ he walk up ter Simon, he did, en he say:
[Illustration: SIMON SHAKES THE PEBBLES.]
“‘Look like you sort er forehanded wid your work.’
“Simon, he ’low: ‘Yasser, w’en I starts in on a job I’m mighty restless
twel I gits it done. Some er dis timber is rough en tough, but I bin had
wuss jobs dan dis in my time.’
“De man say ter hisse’f: ‘W’at kind er folks is dis chap?’ Den he say
out loud: ‘Well, sence you er so spry, dey’s two mo’ acres ’cross de
branch dar. Ef you’ll clear dem up ’fo’ supper you kin come up ter de
house en git de gal.’
“Simon sorter scratch his head, kaze he dunner whedder de pebbles gwine
ter hol’ out, yit he put on a bol’ front en he tell de man dat he’ll go
’cross dar en clean up de two acres soon ez he res’ a little.
“De man he went off home, en soon ’s he git out er sight, Simon went
’cross de branch en shook de pebbles at de two acres er woods, en ’t
want no time skacely ’fo’ de trees wuz all cut down en pile up.
“De man, he went home, he did, en call up Susanna, en say:
“‘Daughter, dat man look like he gwine git you, sho’.’
“Susanna, she hang ’er head, en look like she fretted, en den she say
she don’t keer nuthin’ fer Simon, nohow.”
“Why, I thought she wanted to marry him,” said the little boy.
“Well, honey, w’en you git growed up, en git whiskers on yo’ chin, en
den atter de whiskers git gray like mine, you’ll fin’ out sump’n ’n’er
’bout de wimmin folks. Dey ain’t ne’er say ’zackly w’at dey mean, none
er um, mo’ ’speshually w’en dey er gwine on ’bout gittin’ married.
“Now, dar wuz dat gal Susanna what I ’m a-tellin’ you ’bout. She mighty
nigh ’stracted ’bout Simon, en yit she make ’er daddy b’lieve dat she
’spize ’im. I ain’t blamin’ Susanna,” Uncle Remus went on with a
judicial air, “kase she know dat ’er daddy wuz a witch en a mighty mean
one in de bargain.
“Well, atter Susanna done make ’er daddy b’lieve dat she ain’t keerin’
nothin’ ’t all ’bout Simon, he ’gun ter set his traps en fix his tricks.
He up ’n tell Susanna dat atter ’er en Simon git married dey mus’ go
upsta’rs in de front room, en den he tell ’er dat she mus’ make Simon go
ter bed fus’. Den de man went upsta’rs en tuck ’n tuck all de slats
out’n de bedstid ceppin one at de head en one at de foot. Atter dat he
tuck ’n put some foot-valances ’roun’ de bottom er de bed—des like dem
w’at you bin see on yo’ gran’ma bed. Den he tuck ’n sawed out de floor
und’ de bed, en dar wuz de trap all ready.
“Well, sir, Simon come up ter de house, en de man make like he mighty
glad fer ter see ’im, but Susanna, she look like she mighty shy. No
matter ’bout dat; atter supper Simon en Susanna got married. Hit ain’t
in de tale wedder dey sont fer a preacher er wedder dey wuz a squire
browsin’ ’roun’ in de neighborhoods, but dey had cake wid reezins in it,
en some er dish yer silly-bug w’at got mo’ foam in it dan dey is dram,
en dey had a mighty happy time.
“W’en bedtime come, Simon en Susanna went upsta’rs, en w’en dey got in
de room, Susanna kotch ’im by de han’, en helt up her finger. Den she
whisper en tell ’im dat ef dey don’t run away fum dar dey bofe gwine ter
be kilt. Simon ax ’er how come, en she say dat ’er daddy want ter kill
’im kase he sech a nice man. Dis make Simon grin; yit he wuz sorter
restless ’bout gittin’ ’way fum dar. But Susanna, she say wait. She say:
“‘Pick up yo’ hat en button up yo’ coat. Now, den, take dat stick er
wood dar en hol’ it ’bove yo’ head.’
“W’iles he stan’in’ dar, Susanna got a hen egg out ’n a basket, den she
got a meal-bag, en a skillet. She ’low:
“‘Now, den, drap de wood on de bed.’
“Simon done des like she say, en time de wood struck de bed de tick en
de mattruss went a-tumblin’ thoo de floor. Den Susanna tuck Simon by de
han’ en dey run out de back way ez hard ez dey kin go.
“De man, he wuz down dar waitin’ fer de bed ter drap. He had a big long
knife in he han’, en time de bed drapped, he lit on it, he did, en
stobbed it scan’lous. He des natchully ripped de tick up, en w’en he
look, bless gracious, dey ain’t no Simon dar. I lay dat man wuz mad den.
He snorted ’roun’ dar twel blue smoke come out’n his nose, en his eye
look red like varmint eye in de dark. Den he run upsta’rs en dey ain’t
no Simon dar, en nudder wuz dey any Susanna.
“Gentermens! den he git madder. He rush out, he did, en look ’roun’, en
’way off yander he see Simon en Susanna des a-runnin’, en a-holdin’ one
nudder’s han’.”
“Why, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, “I thought you said it was
night?”
“Dat w’at I said, honey, en I ’ll stan’ by it. Yit, how many times dis
blessed night is I got ter tell you dat de man wuz a witch? En bein’ a
witch, co’se he kin see in de dark.
“Well, dish yer witch-man, he look off en he see Simon en Susanna
runnin’ ez hard ez dey kin. He put out atter um, he did, wid his knife
in his han’, an’ he kep’ on a gainin’ on um. Bimeby, he got so close dat
Susanna say ter Simon:
“‘Fling down yo’ coat.’
“Time de coat tech de groun’, a big thick woods sprung up whar it fell.
But de man, he cut his way thoo it wid de knife, en kep’ on a-pursuin’
atter um.
“Bimeby, he got so close dat Susanna drap de egg on de groun’, en time
it fell a big fog riz up fum de groun’, en a little mo’ en de man would
a got los’. But atter so long a time fog got blowed away by de win’, en
de man kep’ on a-pursuin’ atter um.
“Bimeby, he got so close dat Susanna drap de meal-sack, en a great big
pon’ er water kivered de groun’ whar it fell. De man wuz in sech a big
hurry dat he tried ter drink it dry, but he ain’t kin do dis, so he sot
on de bank en blow’d on de water wid he hot breff, en atter so long a
time de water made hits disappearance, en den he kep’ on atter um.
“Simon en Susanna wuz des a-runnin’, but run ez dey would, de man kep’
a-gainin’ on um, en he got so close dat Susanna drapped de skillet. Den
a big bank er darkness fell down, en de man ain’t know which away ter
go. But atter so long a time de darkness lif’ up, en de man kep’ on
a-pursuin’ atter um. Mon, he made up fer los’ time, en he got so close
dat Susanna say ter Simon:
“‘Drap a pebble.’
“Time Simon do dis a high hill riz up, but de man clum it en kep’ on
atter um. Den Susanna say ter Simon:
“‘Drap nudder pebble.’
“Time Simon drap de pebble, a high mountain growed up, but de man
crawled up it en kep’ on atter um. Den Susanna say:
“‘Drap de bigges’ pebble.’
“No sooner is he drap it dan a big rock wall riz up, en hit wuz so high
dat de witch-man can’t git over. He run up en down, but he can’t find no
end, en den, atter so long a time, he turn ’roun’ en go home.
“On de yuther side er dis high wall, Susanna tuck Simon by de han’, en
say:
“‘Now we kin res’.’
“En I reckon,” said the old man slyly, “dat we all better res’.”
BROTHER RABBIT AND THE GINGERCAKES.
“Now, I des tell you w’at, honey,” said Uncle Remus to the little boy,
“if you wan’ ter year dish yer tale right straight thro’, widout any
balkin’ er stallin’, you’ll des hatter quit makin’ any fuss. Kaze w’en
der’s any fuss gwine on hit mos’ allers inginner’lly gits me mixt up, en
w’en I gits mixt up I ain’t wuth nuthin’ ’t all skacely fer tellin’ a
tale, en ef you don’t b’lieve me, you may des ax some er my blood kin.
Now, den, you des set right whar you is en stop you behavishness. Kaze
de fus’ time you wink loud, you got ter git right up on de bed-pos’ dar
en ride straddle.
“So, den! Well, one time Brer Mink en Brer Coon en Brer Polecat all live
terge’er in de same settlement. Let ’lone dat, dey live in de same
house, en de house w’at dey live in wuz made in de resemble uv a great
big holler log. In dem days, Brer Polecat wuz de king er de creeturs
w’at run ’bout atter dark, en you better make up yo’ min’ dat he made um
stan’ ’roun’ might’ly.”
“Why, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, “I thought Brother Rabbit—”
“Well, de goodness en de gracious! ain’t I ax you fer ter please ma’am
don’t make no fuss? Kaze I know mighty well Brer Rabbit use ter be de
slickes’ en de suples’, but dey ’bleege ter be a change, kase ’t ain’t
in natur’ fer de ’t’er creeturs not ter kotch on ter his ins en his
outs, en I speck dat de time w’en dey fin’ ’im out is de time w’en ole
Brer Polecat got ter be de king er de creeturs—dat’s what I speck.
“But no matter ’bout dat—by hook er by crook, Brer Polecat come ter be
de king er de creeturs, en w’en he come ter be dat dey’d all er um go a
long ways out er de way fer ter take off der hats en bow der howdies,
dey would, en some un um would tag atter ’im, en laugh eve’y time Brer
Polecat laughed, en grin eve’y time he grinned.
“W’iles dish yer wuz gwine on Brer Rabbit wuz in de crowd, en he wuz des
ez big a man ez any er um, en I dunner ef he want de bigges’. Well, Brer
Rabbit he move en secondary[2] dat bein’ ez how Brer Polecat wuz sech a
nice king dey oughter pass a law dat eve’y time de yuther creeturs meet
um in de road dey mus’ shet der eyes en hol’ der nose. Some er um say
dey don’t min’ holdin’ der nose, but dey don’t like dish yer way er
shettin’ der eyes, kaze dey mout run up agin a tree, er stick a brier in
der foot; but Brer Rabbit, he up en ’low, he did, dat ’t wuz des ’bout
ez little ez dey kin do ter shet der eye en hol’ der nose w’en dey git
war sech a nice king is, en so dey all hatter come ’roun’.
Footnote 2:
Moved and seconded.
“De nex’ day atter all dis happen, Brer Rabbit he come by de house whar
ole King Polecat live ’long wid Brer Coon en Brer Mink. Brer Coon he wuz
a great han’ fer ter bake gingercake. Fur en wide de folks knowd ’bout
Brer Coon gingercakes, en dey couldn’t be no camp-meetin’ ’roun’ in dem
diggin’s, but w’at he wuz hangin’ on de aidges sellin’ his gingercakes
en his ’simmon beer; en it seem like eve’y time Brer Rabbit see Brer
Coon dat he whirl right in en git hongry fer gingercakes.
“So de nex’ day after dey done fix it all up ’bout ole King Polecat,
Brer Rabbit he come sailin’ by Brer Coon’s house, en he ax ’im ef he got
any gingercakes fer ter sell. Brer Coon ’low, he did, dat he got um des
ez fine ez fine kin be, en Brer Rabbit say he b’lieve he’ll buy some, en
wid dat he run his han’ in his pocket, he did, en pull out de change en
bought ’im a great big stack er gingercakes.
“Den he tuck ’n ax Brer Coon ef he won’t keep his eye on de gingercakes
wiles he go git some gyarlic fer to eat wid um. Brer Coon ’low he’ll
take keer un um de bes’ w’at he kin. Brer Rabbit rush off, en des ’bout
dat time ole King Polecat come in sight. In de accordance er de rules,
soon ez Brer Coon see ole King Polecat he mus’ shet he eye en hol’ he
nose; and w’iles Brer Coon doin’ dis, ole King Polecat walk up, he did,
en grab de gingercakes en make off wid um. Co’se, w’en Brer Rabbit come
lippitin’ back, he hunt fer he gingercakes, but he can’t fine um nowhar.
Den he holler out:
“‘My goodness, Brer Coon! Whar my gingercakes?’
“All Brer Coon kin say is dat he ain’t see nobody take de gingercakes.
Brer Rabbit ’low, he did, dat dis a mighty quare way fer ter do a man
w’at done bought de gingercakes en pay fer um. Yit he say he ’bleege ter
have some, en so he tuck ’n pitch in en buy ’ner stack un um. Den he
’low:
“‘Now, den, I done got de gyarlic fer ter go wid um, en I’ll des ’bout
squat right down yer en watch deze yer gingercakes my own se’f.’
“So he squat down en fix hisse’f, en des ’bout de time w’en he wuz ready
fer ter ’stroy de gingercakes, yer come old King Polecat. Brer Rabbit,
he got up, he did, en made a bow, en den he helt he nose en make like he
wuz a-shettin’ he eyes. Ole King Polecat, he come ’long, he did, en
start fer ter pick up de gingercakes, but Brer Rabbit holler out:
“‘Drap dem gingercakes!’
“Ole King Polecat jump back en look like his feelin’s bin hurted, en he
squall out:
“‘My goodness! How come yo’ eye open? How come you break up de rules dat
away?’
“Brer Rabbit pick up de gingercakes, en ’low:
“‘I kin hol’ my nose ez good ez de nex’ man, but I can’t shet my eyes
ter save my life, kaze dey er so mighty big!’
“Dis make ole King Polecat mad enough fer ter eat all de gingercakes
w’at Brer Coon got in de chist, but he can’t help hisse’f, kaze he know
dat ef Brer Rabbit tu’n agin ’im, he won’t be much uv a king in dat ar
country. Atter dat it got so dat Brer Rabbit kin put down his
gingercakes anywheres he want ter; en folks ’low dat he wuz mighty nigh
ez big a man ez ole King Polecat.”
BROTHER RABBIT’S COURTSHIP.
One night, as the little boy went tripping down the path to Uncle
Remus’s cabin, he thought he heard voices on the inside. With a gesture
of vexation he paused at the door and listened. If the old man had
company, the youngster knew, by experience, that he would get no story
that night. He could hear Uncle Remus talking as if carrying on an
animated conversation. Presently he crept up to the door, which was
ajar, and peeped in. There was nobody in sight but the old darkey, and
the little boy went in. Uncle Remus made a great pretense of being
astonished.
“Were you just talking to yourself, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy.
“Yasser,” said the old man with a serious air, “dat des w’at I wuz
a-doin’. I done clean fergit myse’f. I year tell dat dem w’at take en
talk ’long wid deyse’f dat dey owe de Ole Boy a day’s work. Ef dat de
state er de case den he done got my name down on de books, en hit’s all
on account er deze yer uppity-biggity niggers w’at come ’long yer little
w’ile ago en ax me ter go ’way off yan ter de Spivey place whar Nancy’s
Jim gwine ter git married.
“I wuz settin’ yer runnin’ on in my min’,” Uncle Remus continued, “’bout
de time w’en Brer Rabbit went a-courtin’. I boun’ you dey ain’t bin no
sech courtin’ sence dat day, en dey ain’t gwine ter be no mo’ sech.”
Here Uncle Remus paused and leaned back in his chair, gazing
thoughtfully at the rafters. He paused so long that the little boy
finally asked him if he couldn’t tell about Brother Rabbit’s wonderful
courtship.
“Well, honey,” said the old man, “you haf ter gi’ me time fer to shet my
eye-balls en sorter feel ’roun’ ’mongst my reckermembunce atter de
wharfo’es en de whatsisnames. Kaze I’m like a broke-down plow-mule: I’ll
go ’long ef you lemme take my time, but ef you push me, I’ll stop right
in de middle er de row.”
“I can wait until bedtime,” the little boy remarked, “and then I’ll have
to go.”
“Dat’s so,” Uncle Remus assented cheerfully, “en bein’ ez dat’s de case,
we haf ter be sorter keerful. Lemme go ’roun’ de stumps en over de
roots, en git in meller groun’, en den we kin des back right ’long.
“Now den! You done year talk er Miss Meadows en de gals, en ’bout how
Brer Rabbit bin gwine dar so much. Well, hit done happen so dat Brer
Rabbit wuz tuck wid a-likin’ er one er de gals. Dis make ’im sorter glad
at de offstart, but bimeby he ’gun ter git droopy. He laid ’roun’ en sot
’bout, he did, en look like he studyin’ ’bout sump’n ’n’er way off
yander.
“Hit went on dis away twel bimeby Miss Meadows, she up en ax Brer Rabbit
w’at de name er sense is de matter ’long wid ’im, en Brer Rabbit, he
feel so bad dat he up en ’spon’, he did, dat he dead in love wid one er
de gals. Den Miss Meadows, she ax ’im w’at de reason he ain’t tell de
gal dat he want ter be ’er b’ide-g’oom. Brer Rabbit say he ’shame’. Miss
Meadows, she toss ’er head, she did, en ’low:
“‘Ya-a-a-s! You look like you ’shame’, now don’t you? You mout er bin
’shame’ ’fo’ hens had der toofies pulled out, but you ain’t bin ’shame’
sence. I done see you cut up too many capers; I know dey ain’t no gal on
de top side er de yeth w’at kin faze you,’ sez Miss Meadows, sez she.
“Den Brer Rabbit ’low dat he skeerd de gal won’t have ’im, but Miss
Meadows ’fuse ter hol’ any mo’ confab wid ’im; she des broke out singin’
en washin’ de dishes, en w’at wid de chune en de clatter er de dishes
Brer Rabbit can’t year his own years. Bimeby, he tuck ’n sneak out, he
did, en went en sot in de shade by de spring.
“He ain’t set dar long ’fo’ yer come de gal w’at he bin studyin’ ’bout.
She had a pail in ’er han’ en she wuz comin’ atter water. She come ’long
down de paff swingin’ de pail in her han’ en singin’.”
“What did she sing, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked, becoming more
and more interested.
The old darkey looked slyly at the youngster, and chuckled softly to
himself. Presently he said:
“Hit wuz sorter like dis, ef I ain’t make no mistakes in de chune:
“‘_Oh, says de woodpecker, peckin’ on de tree,
Once I courted Miss Kitty Killdee,
But she proved fickle en fum me fled,
En sence dat time my head bin red._’
“Brer Rabbit bin feelin’ mighty droopy en low-spereted all de mornin’,
but time he year de gal singin’, he hist up his years en look sassy, en
wen she stop singin’ he broke out en ’gun ter sing hisse’f. He sung dish
yer kinder chune:
“‘_Katy, Katy! won’t you marry?
Katy, Katy! choose me den!
Mammy say ef you will marry
She will kill de turkey hen;
Den we’ll have a new convention,
Den we’ll know de rights er men._’”
“Why, I ’ve heard grandma sing that song,” exclaimed the little boy.
“Tooby sho’ you is—tooby sho’ you is, honey,” said Uncle Remus, assuming
an argumentative air that was irresistibly comic. “Ef Brer Rabbit kin
sing dat chune, w’at gwine hender w’ite folks fum singin’ it? Bless yo’
soul, w’ite folks smart, mon, en I lay der ain’t no chune w’at Brer
Rabbit kin sing dat dey can’t reel off.
“Well, suh, de gal year Brer Rabbit singin’, en she sorter toss ’er head
en giggle. Brer Rabbit he look at ’er sideways en sorter grin. Den Brer
Rabbit ’low:
“‘Mornin’, ma’m; how you come on dis fine mornin’?’
“De gal say: ‘I’m des toler’ble; how you do yo’se’f?’
“Brer Rabbit ’low, he did: ‘I thank you, ma’m, I’m right po’ly. I ain’t
bin feelin’ ter say reely peart in mighty nigh a mont’.’
“De gal laugh en say: ‘Dat w’at I year tell. I speck you in love, Brer
Rabbit. You ought ter go off some’rs en git you a wife.’
“Dis make Brer Rabbit feel sorter ’shame’, en he hung his head en make
marks in de san’ wid his foots. Bimeby he say: ‘How come, ma’m, dat you
don’t git married?’
“De gal laugh wuss ’n wuss, en atter she kin ketch ’er breff she ’low:
‘Lordy, Brer Rabbit! I got too much sense—_mysef_—fer ter be gittin’
married widout no sign er no dream.’
“Den Brer Rabbit say: ‘W’at kinder sign does you want, ma’m?’
“De gal ’low: ‘Des any kinder sign; don’t make no diffunce w’at. I done
try all de spells, en I ain’t see no sign yit.’
“Brer Rabbit say: ‘W’at kinder spells is you done tried, ma’m?’
“De gal ’low: ‘Dey ain’t no tellin’, Brer Rabbit, dat dey ain’t. I done
try all dat I year talk ’bout. I tuck ’n fling a ball er yarn outen de
window at midnight, en dey ain’t nobody come en wind it. I tuck a
lookin’-glass en look down in de well en I ain’t see nothin’ ’t all. I
tuck a hard-b’iled egg en scoop de yaller out, en fill it up wid salt en
eat it widout drinkin’ any water. Den I went ter bed, but I ain’t dream
’bout a blessed soul. I went out ’twix’ sunset and dark en fling
hempseed over my lef’ shoulder, but I ain’t see no beau yit.’
“Brer Rabbit, he ’low, he did: ‘Ef you’d a-tole me w’en you wuz a-gwine,
ma’am, I lay you’d ’a’ seed a beau.’
“De gal, she giggle, en say: ‘Oh, hush, Brer Rabbit! Ef you don’t g’ way
fum yer I gwine hit you! You too funny fer anything. W’at beau you speck
I’d ’a’ seed?’
“Brer Rabbit, he up en ’low, he did: ‘You’d ’a’ seed me, ma’am, dat’s
who you’d a seed.’
“De gal, she look at Brer Rabbit des like ’er feelin’s is bin hurted, en
say: ‘Ain’t you ’shame’ er yo’se’f ter be talkin’ dat away en makin’
fun? I’m a-gwine away fum dis spring, kaze’t ain’t no place fer me.’ Wid
dat de gal fotch ’er frock a flirt, en went up de paff like de
patter-roller wuz atter her.
“She went so quick en so fas’ dat she lef’ ’er pail, en Brer Rabbit, he
tuck ’n fill it full er water, en kyar it on up ter de house whar Miss
Meadows en de gals live at. Atter so long a time, he came on back ter de
spring, en he sot dar, he did, en study en study. He pull his mustaches
en scratch his head, en bimeby, atter he bin settin’ dar a mighty long
time, he jump up en crack his heels terge’er, en den he laugh fit ter
kill hisse’f.
“He ’low: ‘You want a sign, does you? Well, I’m a gwine ter gi’ you one,
ma’m, en ef dat don’t do you, I’ll gi’ you mo’ dan one.’
“De gal done gone, but Brer Rabbit, he hang ’roun’ dar, he did, en lay
his plans. He laid um so good dat wen dark come he had um all fixt. De
fus’ thing w’at he done, he went down ter de cane-brake en dar he cut
’im a long reed like dem w’at you see me bring Mars John fer
fishin’-pole.”
“How did he cut it?” the little boy asked.
“He gnyaw it, honey; he des natchully gnyaw it. Den w’en he do dat, he
tuck ’n make a hole in it fum eend to eend, right thoo de j’ints. W’en
dark come, Brer Rabbit tuck his cane en made his way ter de house whar
Miss Meadows en de gals stay at. He crope up, he did, en lissen, en he
year um talkin’ en laughin’ on de inside. Seem like dey wuz done eatin’
supper en settin’ ’roun’ de fireplace.
“Bimeby de gal say: ‘W’at you reckon? I seed Brer Rabbit down at de
spring.’
“T’er gal say: ‘W’at he doin’ down dar?’
“De gal say: ‘I speck he wuz gwine a-gallantin’; he mos’ sholy did look
mighty slick.’
“T’er gal say: ‘I’m mighty glad ter year dat, kase de las’ time I seed
’im hit look like his britches wuz needin’ patchin’.’
“Dis kinder talk make Brer Rabbit look kinder sollumcolly. But de gal,
she up en ’low: ‘Well, he ain’t look dat away ter-day, bless you! He
look like he des come outen a ban’box.’
“Miss Meadows, she hove a sigh, she did, en say: ‘Fine er no fine, I
wish ’im er some yuther man er ’oman would come en wash up dese yer
dishes, kaze my back is dat stiff twel I can’t skacely stan’ up
straight.’
“Den dey all giggle, but de gal say: ‘You all shan’t talk ’bout Brer
Rabbit behin’ his back. He done say he gwine ter be my beau.’
“Miss Meadows, she ’low: ‘Well, you better take ’im en make sump’n er
somebody outer ’im.’
“De gal laugh en say: ‘Oh, no! I done tole ’im dat ’fo’ I git married, I
got ter have some sign, so I ’ll know p’intedly w’en de time done come.’
“W’en Brer Rabbit yer dis, he got in a big hurry. He tuck one eend er de
reed en stuck it in de crack er de chimbley, en den he run ter de yuther
eend, w’ich it wuz layin’ out in de weeds en bushes. W’en he git dar, he
held it up ter his head en lissen, en he kin year um des ez plain ez ef
dey wuz right at ’im.
“Miss Meadows ax de gal w’at kinder sign she want, en de gal she say she
don’t keer w’at kinder one ’t is, des so hit’s a sign. ’Bout dat time
Brer Rabbit put his mouf ter de reed, en talk like he got a bad col’. He
sing out, he did:
“‘_Some likes cake, en some likes pie,
Some loves ter laugh, en some loves ter cry,
But de gal dat stays single will die, will die!_’
“Miss Meadows ’low: ‘Who dat out dar?’ Den dey got a light en hunted all
’roun’ de place en und’ de house, but dey ain’t see nuthin’ ner nobody.
Dey went back en sot down, dey did, but ’t want long ’fo’ Brer Rabbit
sing out:
“‘_De drouth ain’t wet en de rain ain’t dry,
Whar you sow yo’ wheat you can’t cut rye,
But de gal dat stays single will die, will die._’
“Miss Meadows, en de gals wuz dat ’stonished dat dey ain’t know w’at ter
do, en bimeby Brer Rabbit, he sing out ag’in:
“‘_I wants de gal dat’s atter a sign,
I wants de gal en she mus’ be mine—
She’ll see ’er beau down by de big pine._’
“En sho’ nuff,” Uncle Remus continued, “de nex’ mornin’ w’en de gal went
down by de big pine, dar sot Brer Rabbit dez ez natchul ez life. De gal,
she make out, she did, dat she des come down dar atter a chaw er rozzum.
Dey jawered ’roun’ a right smart, en ’spute ’long wid one ’n’er. But
Brer Rabbit, he got de gal.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s note:
1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
2. Anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as
printed.
3. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers.