_BY RICHARD T. WYCHE_
The Taileypo story was told to me by the Rev. George Washington Neale,
a student friend of mine, years ago, in Chicago University. Mr. Neale
said that he had heard the story many times in his childhood, from the
lips of the old negro story tellers in Tennessee. This story has its
variant in the story of “The Golden Arm,” which was written by Mark
Twain, Joseph Jacobs and also in a collection by S. Baring-Gould.
It is a story that loses much in the writing, as it is impossible to
give voice modulation in cold print. After hearing Mr. Neale tell it
a number of years ago, in Chicago, I took it up and began to tell it,
and found many people in the South, who had heard the old negroes tell
it.
In January 1905, I was in Atlanta, Ga., and went with Joel Chandler
Harris, the author of “Uncle Remus,” to the West End School, where I
told a number of Uncle Remus stories to the children. Beginning in the
first grade, where Mr. Harris’s little grandson was then a pupil and
ending in the higher grades, where I told The Taileypo story. When the
story was done, Mr. Harris said it was one of the best negro stories
he had heard, but that I did not have all of the story. There was, he
said, another piece of the story that should be linked with this to
make it complete, and I said to Mr. Harris: “Find the other piece, and
write the story complete.”
One year after that Harris published the story in the Metropolitan
Magazine, New York, January 1906. Harris gave it a setting and
artistic atmosphere, bringing in Brer’ Rabbit and Mister Man. He put
it in the mouth of Uncle Remus, and had the old negro, as in his other
books, tell the story to the little boy. That was a demonstration to
me as to how Harris took many of the negro stories in the raw, and
passing them through the magic of his imagination made them into art.
We are frequently puzzled to find humorous stories for the boys and
girls,—they must have humor. This story has universally amused them
wherever it has been told. In it reverberates the barbaric ages from
whence the race came, and it is a spontaneous expression of life
from the primitive standpoint. To find a story that the boys and
girls think humorous, and to laugh together with them, is decidedly
refreshing and healthful to the teacher, who has dwelt so much on
grammatical forms which are not fundamental in a child’s interest. As
Joseph Jacobs, says, “The children know the happenings in the story
are make-believe just as much as the spectators of a tragedy. Every
one who has enjoyed the blessing of a romantic imagination has been
trained upon such tales of wonder.”
However, if one’s imagination and sense of humor is undeveloped, and
the story is taken seriously rather than humorously, it loses its
value and should not be told. For that reason the story teller or
teacher must study his auditors.
As Uncle Remus would say, I will “’gin it out to you as it was ’gunt
to me.”
In the mountains of Tennessee, ’way back in de big woods, lived onct a
man, in a house all by his self. This man had one room to his house,
and dat room was his kitchen.
One night, when de man was sleepin on his bed, he heerd sup’ner roun
de fire place snifflin, lickin de pots, de fryinpans, and de skillets,
car’en on and g’wyin on. De man struk a light, and dar he see de
curioses lookin varmint what you ever laid eyes on, a varmint wid a
great, long tail. No sooner de man see de varmint dan he retched for
his hatchet. He made one sweep at him, and clipped his tail squar off
behime. De varmint he run out thu de cracks er de logs and tuk to de
woods.
De man, fool-lik, took an cooked de tail, et it,—and den he went to
bed. ’Way long in de night, suppen cum and got up over de man’s do, and
scratched and sed:
“Taileypo, I want’s my ta-a-a-a-a-a-iley-po.”
De man had three dogs: one name Uno, and one Ino, and one
Cumticocalico. De man call his dogs, “Yer! Yer! Yer!”
De dogs dey cum bilin out frum under de house. De varmint he run down
side de house and jumped. De dogs snapped at him, but he got away, and
dey run’ed him and run’ed him ’way back in de big woods. De man he tuk,
he did and went back to bed, and went to sleep.
But ’way long in de night, de thing cum and got up in de crac’ er de
man’s do and sed:
“Taileypo, you know,—I know,—all I want’s my Ta-a-a-a-a-a-iley-po.”
De man call his dogs, “Yer! Yer! Yer!”
Uno, Ino and Cumticocalico cum abustin roun de cordner of de house. De
varmint jumped down from de side of de house and tuk to de woods. De
dogs ketch him at de gate,—knock down de gate an tore down de fence.
He got away, but dey jus’ natchally tore up de earth runnin him ’way
frum dar. De man tuk, he did and went back to bed and went to sleep.
’Way long in de night, jus befo day, de man he heard sup’ner down de
hill, sayin:
“Uno, Ino, all I want’s my Ta-a-a-a-a-a-iley-po.”
By and by he heard him in de crack up over de do, sayin:
“Taileypo, I want’s my Ta-a-a-a-a-a-iley-po.”
De man call de dogs, “Yer! Yer! Yer!”
De dogs didn’t cum: de Taileypo dun car’ed em off sumeres in de woods,
lost em or kil’t em.
Arter a while—de Taileypo stop. Everything was still. De man drapped
back on his pillow, but fo long he feel supen and heard supen scratchin
and clawin at de foot of de bed. Supen ketch holt er de kivers, and
clawed lak a cat a’climin up. De man rais his haid up and look, and
he see two bright eyes, lak balls er fire, lookin right pine blank at
him frum de foot er de bed. De varmint crawl up nigher and nigher on
de man. He can see his little short ’years by de light er his eyes. De
varmint say right easy to de man again:
“Taileypo—I want my te-e-e-e-e-e-eley-po!”
De man try to holler. He opens his mouf, but lak a man in his sleep, he
ca’nt mak a soun’. De varmint crawl right up on top er de man and say
right easy again: “Taileypo.”
“I want’s my te-e-e-e-e-e-eley-po!”
De man’s voice cum back to him, and he say:
“I aint got your taileypo.”
De varmint says, “Yes, you is.”
He jumped on de man and scratch him all to pieces, and got his taileypo.
All dat’s lef of de man’s house now is de rude heart-stone, and dey say
dat when de moon rises roun and red and shines down dat lonely hollow,
and de win’ blow, dat you can hear a voice in de win’ day say:
“Tail-a-a-a-a-a-e-eley-po-o-o-o!” and die in de distance.