II. The Negro's Part In Transmitting Traditional Songs and Ballads

II.  THE NEGRO'S PART IN TRANSMIT­TING THE TRADITIONAL SONGS AND BALLADS

[African American traditional ballads]

CONTENTS: II. THE NEGRO'S PART IN TRANSMITTING THE TRA­DITIONAL SONGS AND BALLADS...33

HANGMAN'S TREE THE, MAID FREED FROM THE GALLOWS, THE Hangman, hangman, slack the rope,
LADY ISABEL AND THE ELF KNIGHT, There was a tall an' handsome man
FROG WENT A-COURTIN'  Froggy went a-courtin he did ride, MISTER FROG
A LITTLE BOY THREW HIS BALL, JEW'S DAUGHTER THE
LITTLE HARRY HUGHES
LORD LOVEL
BABES IN THE WOODS, THREE JOLLY WELSHMEN,
BARBARA ALLEN, In London town whar I was raised - 0159
CHERRY TREE CAROL, Joseph was an old man - 0160
When the day was appointed for Skew-ball to run (Skewball)
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ONE of the most fascinating discoveries to be made in a study of southern folk-lore is that Negroes have preserved orally, and for generations, independent of the whites, some of the familiar Eng­lish and Scotch songs and ballads, and have their own distinct ver­sions of them. I was vastly interested in this fact when I chanced upon it in research I was making in ballad material some years ago in Texas and Virginia. Unaware that other cases existed, I thought at first that what I found were only exceptions, accidents of folk­song, though I began to look for similar instances. I found enough to start a nucleus for a discussion of this aspect of folk-song, and so was especially interested in an article by C. Alphonso Smith, professor of English at the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, com­menting on his discovery of the same fact ("Ballads Surviving in the United States," in the Musical Quarterly, January, 1916). Pro­fessor Smith wrote, in answer to my appeal for suggestions for this book of mine: "It seems to me that you should devote at least a sec­tion of your work to the agency of the Negro in helping to preserve and to perpetuate and to popularize old-world lyrics — English and Scottish folk-songs that drifted across with our forbears and are not the products of Negro genius." I was delighted to find corrobora­tion of my conclusions in such a quarter, and am indebted to Profes­sor Smith for much information of value concerning this point.

To discuss this subject adequately would require research work and writing more extensive than I have time for now, and so I can hope only to give a suggestion as to the material, and leave it to some investigator who can spend much time in the field, to work it out in detail.

To understand this phenomenon we have to recall the history of our colonization, and remember that the South was settled largely by Cavaliers and Scotch people, both of whom loved song. Folk-songs took up no room in the ships that crossed the ocean to this adventurous land, but they were among the most precious of the cargo that came over, and they have survived through the years, through the poverty, the hardships, and all the struggles of pioneer life, better than the material goods that accompanied them. While the hearts that cherished them, the lips that sang them, are indistinguishable dust, these songs live on. Students of balladry know that America is still rich in the traditional songs of the old country, that in remote mountain sections of the South to-day there is perhaps a rarer heri­tage of English and Scotch folk-songs actually being sung from oral tradition than in any part of Great Britain. The old songs and bal­lads have been lovingly remembered, transmitted orally from gener­ation to generation, with variations such as inevitably come in a change of surroundings and social conditions. The old songs are alive among us, and the American versions are distinctive, as true to the traditions as those handed down on the other side of the water, though differing from them in details.

In the early days on the plantations in the South, when books and newspapers were less plentiful than now, songs formed a larger part of the social life than they do at present. At the "great house" the loved old ballads would be sung over and over, till the house ser­vants, being quick of memory and of apt musical ear, would learn them, then pass them on in turn to their brethren of the fields. This process would be altogether oral, since the slaves were not taught to read or write, save in exceptional cases, and their communication with each other and with the outside world would of necessity be by the spoken word.

By cabin firesides, as before the great hearths in big houses, the old songs would be learned by the little folk as part of their natural heritage, to be handed down to their children and their children's children. Such a survival among the Negroes was remarkable, far more so than song-preservation among the whites, who in many in­stances kept old ballads by writing them down in notebooks, and learning them from old broadsides or keepsake volumes; while the Negroes had none of these aids, but had to sing each song as they learned it from hearing others sing it, and must remember it of them­selves. And yet they cherished the old songs and had their own ver­sions of them.

My first find of folk-material of this sort made a great impres­sion on my mind. Some years ago I was sitting on the porch of my sister's home in Virginia, talking with a young colored maid who loafed on the steps. It was a warm summer afternoon when neither of us felt inclined to exertion, and Lucy was entertaining me withsongs and stories of her race. She told of a certain mountain section in North Carolina, where lived some people whom she described mysteriously: " Dey ain't niggers an' dey ain't whites. And yet you can't scarcely say dat dey's mulattoes. Dey is called by a curi's name — Ishies. Dey lives off to demselves an' sho is funny folks."

I learned later that the term used to designate them was "Free Issue," since they were the offspring of Negroes who were not slaves, and so these mulattoes, or their ancestors, had been born free.

The girl sat idly swinging her foot, and gazing across the lake, when suddenly she said, "I'll sing you a song about the Hangman's Tree." She then gave a lively rendering of a ballad I had never heard sung before, making vivid gestures to dramatize her words. I asked Lucy to write it down for me, and here is her version, just as she copied it, with her own " stage directions ":

(Spies Father at a distance, and sings)

Hangman, hangman, hangman,
Loosen your rope. I think I spy my father coming.
He has come many a long mile, I know.

(To Father) Father, have you come?
And have you come at last?
And have you brought my gold?
And will you pay my fee?
Or is it your intention to see me hung
Here all under this willow tree?

(Father to Son) Yes, I've come, I've come.
I have not brought your gold,
I will not pay your fee.
'T is my intention to see you hung
Here all under this willow tree.

(Spies Mother) Hangman, hangman, hangman,
Loosen your rope.
I think I spy my mother coming.
She has come many a long mile, I know.

(To Mother) Mother, have you come?
And have you come at last?
And have you brought my gold?
And will you pay my fee?
Or is it your intention to see me hung
Here all under this willow tree?

(Mother to Son)
Yes, I've come, I've come.
I have not brought your gold.
I will not pay your fee.
'T is my intention to see you hung
Here all under this willow tree.

(Spies Brother)
Hangman, hangman, hangman,
Loosen your rope.
I think I spy my brother coming.
He has come many a long weary mile, I know.

(To Brother)
Brother, have you come?
And have you come at last?
And have you brought my gold?
And will you pay my fee?
Or is it your intention to see me hung
Here all under this willow tree?

(Brother to Brother)
Yes, I 've come, I ?ve come.
I have not brought your gold.
I will not pay your fee.
'T is my intention to see you hung
Here all under this willow tree.

(Spies Sister) Hangman, hangman, hangman,
Loosen your rope.
I think I spy my sister coming.
She has come many a long weary mile, I know.

(To Sister)
Sister, have you come?
And have you come at last?
And have you brought my gold?
And will you pay my fee?
Or is it your intention to see me hung
Here all under this willow tree?

(Sister to Brother) Yes, I 've come, I 've come.
I have not brought your gold.
I will not pay your fee.
'T is my intention to see you hung
Here all under this willow tree.

(Spies Lover) Lover, have you come?
And have you come at last?
And have you brought my gold?
And will you pay my fee?
Or is it your intention to see me hung
Here all under this willow tree?

(To the Loved One, his Answer) Yes, I 've come, I 've come.
I Ve brought your gold,
I'll pay your fee.
'T is not my intention to see you hung
Here all under this willow tree.
(Locked arms and walked happily away)

I asked Lucy where she learned that, and she said, "Oh, the col-ed folks sing it. We've known it always." When I inquired if she got it from a book or from hearing some lite person sing it, she answered:" No, us colored folks jes' know it. 's jes' been sorter handed down amongst us. I don't know when I irned it."

She told me that Negro children sometimes made a little play of it Ld acted it out in parts. I was interested in her dramatic and vivid esentation of it, and in the fact that it was obviously not a natu-1 part of the Negro repertoire; but the significance of the general lowledge of it among the Negroes did not impress me so much then later. She could not give me any explanation for the girl's sentence the gallows. "It jes'happened so." Nor did she know any plausable reason why her relatives should spurn her, and her True Love, Love faithful when her own mother rejected her. All she knew was iat it was an old song that they had always sung. Students of folk-song will readily recognize this as the old English ballad, The Maid Freed from the Gallows, the American version of hich has the title, The Hangman's Tree. The English version, No. 95 in Child's Collection, is from the "Percy Papers," given by ie Reverend P. Parsons, of Wye, in 1770, from oral tradition. The Scotch version has a stronger ending, for in it the maiden roundly accuses her delinquent relatives and invokes spirited curses upon them. Child says that there are many versions of this familiar ballad theme, from both northern and southern Europe. One tradition is that of a young woman captured by the corsairs, who demand heavy ransom, which her own family refuse to pay but which her lover gladly gives. Another tradition holds that the story is all alle­gory, the golden ball signifying a maiden's honor, which when lost can be restored to her only by her lover. That would explain the sentence of death; for, in old times, death by burning or hanging was the penalty for unchastity on the part of a maid or wife.

Miss M. A. Owen gives a different and more dialectic Negro ver­sion in "Old Rabbit, the Voodoo," the story of a Negro child to whom a golden ball is given at her birth by a "conjur man." He warns that she must never break the string which binds the ball about her neck. But she does break it, and the ball by its magic turns her into a beautiful white girl. The child's mother dies and a step-mother steals the ball, whereupon the girl is changed back into a Negro. As if that were not enough, she is accused of having murdered the white girl, who is now, of course, missing. She is sentenced to death, and appeals to her father.

Oh, daddy, find dat golden ball,
Ur yo' see me hung 'pun de gallus-tree I

But father does not aid, for " he go by," and all her relatives in turn fail her. In this case even her "beau" turns his back upon her, and she is about to be hanged. At the last moment the magician appears, disguised as a "beggar-man," and restores the golden ball to the girl, whereupon her fairness and beauty return. The beggar himself changes on the spot to a handsome young man, who vanishes with the girl into the side of a hill.

Professor Smith writes later: "It was a matter of profound interest to me to learn that The Hangman's Tree, or The Maid Freed from the Gallows, had been dramatized by the Negroes and was being played in many remote sections of Virginia. So far as I know, this was the first instance on record of the popular dramatization of a ballad in this country.

"Nothing has interested me more in the quest of the ballad than to find that for, doubtless, hundreds of years the Negroes have been singing and acting this haunting old ballad and nobody knew any­thing about it. In addition to the evidence adduced in my article, I have a letter from Mrs. Robert R. Moton, wife of the former presi­dent of Hampton, now Tuskegee, dated December 2, 1915, saying:

'When I was a child in Gloucester County, they used it as a game.' I have also a Negro version from Nelson County and an interesting account of its use there as a game among Negroes."

Another version, differing in the important respect that the sex of the condemned one has been changed, was given me by Mr. Edwin Swain, a baritone singer, now of New York City, but formerly of Florida. This is interesting as an example of the way in which changes may come. Mr. Swain says that in his childhood in Florida he saw the Negroes act out this song at an entertainment in the Negro schoolhouse. He gave a vivid account of the dramatization. The condemned — here a man instead of a woman (a curious change to take place in the case of a ballad whose title is The Maid Freed from the Gallows) — was all ready for hanging, with a real rope fas­tened round his neck. The hangman held the other end of the rope in his hand, ready to jerk the victim to his fate. The victim, a large black man, appealed for mercy, begged for a few minutes' reprieve, on the ground that he saw his father coming; but the father sternly repudiated him in gesture and song. His mother was equally obdurate, and likewise the brother and sister. The stage was fairly crowded with cold-hearted relatives — for Negroes in their singing love to reach out to all remote branches of relationship. At last the man begged for one more minute, for he saw his "True Love" com­ing. True Love came in, a yellow woman dressed in white, with a box of money, and dramatically won his release.

Mr. Swain's version goes as follows:

HANGMAN, SLACK ON THE LINE

"Hangman, hangman, slack on the line,
Slack on the line a little while.
I think I see my father coming
With money to pay my fine.

"Oh, father, father, did you bring me money,
Money to pay my fine?
Or did you come here to see me die
On this hangman's line? "

" No, I didn't bring you any money,
Money to pay your fine,
But I just came here to see you die
Upon this hangman's line."

"Hangman, hangman, slack on the line,
Slack on the line a little while.
I think I see my mother coming
With money to pay my fine.

"Oh, mother, mother, did you bring me any money,
Money to pay my fine?
Or did you just come here to see me die
Upon this hangman's line? "

"No, I didn't bring you any money,
Money to pay your fine,
But I just came here to see you die
Upon this hangman's line."

"Hangman, hangman, slack on the line,
Slack on the line a little while;
For I think I see my brother coming
With money to pay my fine.

"Oh, brother, brother, did you bring me any money,
Money to pay ray fine?
Or did you just come here to see me die
Upon this hangman's line?"

"No, I didn't bring you any money,
Money to pay your fine,
But I just came here to see you die
Upon this hangman's line."

''Hangman, hangman, slack on the line,
Slack on the line a little while;
For I think I see my sister coming
With money to pay my fine.

"Oh, sister, sister, did you bring me any money,
Money to pay my fine?
Or did you just come here to see me die
Upon this hangman's line?"

"No, I didn't bring you any money,
Money to pay your fine,
But I just came here to see you die
Upon this hangman's line."

"Hangman, hangman, slack on the line,
Slack on the line a little while.
I think I see my true love coming
With money to pay my fine.

"Oh, True Love, True Love, did you bring me any money,
Money to pay my fine?
Or did you just come here to see me die
Upon this hangman's line? "

"True Love, I got gold and silver,
Money to pay your fine.
How could I bear to see you die
Upon this hangman's line?"

I found another version which differs somewhat in minor details from Mr. Swain's, but like his has the central character a man in­stead of a woman. This was given to me by Mrs. Esther Finlay Hoevey, of New Orleans, through the courtesy of Miss Richardson, of Sophy Newcomb College. This was remembered from the singing of an old Negro woman, who had in her youth been put up on the slave block in Mobile and sold down the river. In this, as in Mr. Swain's version, the condemned is a man and True Love a woman.

"Hangman, hangman, slack the rope,
Slack the rope a while;
For I think I see my father coming,
Coming for many a mile.

"Oh, my father, have you paid my fine,
Brought your gold along?
Or have you come here to-night for to see me hung,
Hung on the gallows tree?"

"No, my son, I have not paid your fine,
I've brought no gold along,
But I 've just come to see you hung,
Hung on the gallows tree."

Hangman, hangman, slack the rope,
Slack the rope a while;
For I think I see my mother coming,
Coming for many a mile.

"Oh, my mother, have you paid my fine,
Brought your gold along?
Or have you come here to-night for to see me hung,
Hung on the gallows tree? "

The mother refuses also, and after that the sister and brother. Then the hangman is implored to slack the rope, for True Love is coming.

" True Love, True Love, have you paid my fine,
Brought your gold along?
Or have you come here to-night for to see me hung,
Hung on the gallows tree?"

"True Love, True Love, I have paid your fine,
I've brought my gold along,
I've come here to-night for to set you free,
Free from the gallows tree."

This old ballad, which survives in England also under the title The Prickly Bush, or The Briaty Bush (from which Floyd Dell takes the title for his novel), with a chorus not found in the American variants, has, as Professor Smith says in his article referred to above, become peculiarly the property of Negroes, at least in Vir­ginia. He gives a variant received from a Negro girl in Gloucester County, who "learned it from her grandmother," in which the treasure is a golden comb instead of a ball.

"Oh, hangman, hold your holts, I pray, 
O hold your holts a while;
I think I see my grandmother
A-coming down the road.

"Oh, have you found my golden comb,
And have you come to set me free?
Or have you come to see me hanged
On the cruel hangman tree?"

Another variant, which he gives as coming from Franklin County, shows, as in the case of Mr. Swain's version from Florida and that from Louisiana, the victim as a man.

"Oh hangerman, hangerman, slack on your rope
And wait a little while;
I think I see my father coming
And he's travelled for many a long mile."

Maximilian Foster has told me of a different version, which he heard companies of Negro soldiers in France singing, but which he has not been able to round up for me.  All these versions, different in each state, and each showing differ­ence from the others, are true to the oral tradition which keeps the story and the spirit of a ballad but changes the wording. The Ne­groes would be particularly attracted to this ballad because of its simple structure and its dramatic story. It is easy to remember, for its repetitions proceed regularly.

My next ballad discovery was made in Waco, Texas, when I was seekmg material for an article on "Negro Ballets and Reels," for the Texas Folk-lore Association. I was wandering about in the suburbs of South Waco, in the Negro section, dropping in at various places. I passed by a cabin where an old woman sat on the steps, rocking a baby to sleep. The garden was neat with rows of vegetables and gay with old-fashioned flowers, Johnny-jump-ups, pinks, larkspur, petunias, and in the back the line showed snowy clothes drying in the sun. The old woman was crooning something to the child, as she swayed her body back and forth.

I turned in at the gate.
"How do you do?" I said. "That's a nice baby."
"Howdy, mistis," she answered cordially. "Yas'm, dat's mah great-grandchild. Ain't he a buster? "
"What was that song you were singing to him?" I inquired, as I sat down on an upturned box.
"Oh, dat's jes' an old thing, I don't recollict de name of it. I doan' know, in fac', ef it has ary name."
"Won't you please sing it for me, mammy?" I begged.
"Oh, I ain't kin sing wuth speaking of," she demurred. "I done los' mah voice."
"Oh, please, sing it for me."
And so she sang her version of the old ballad, Lady Isabel and the Elf Knight:

There was a tall an' handsome man,
Who come a-courtin' me.
He said, "Steal out atter dark to-night
An' come a-ridin' with me, with me,
An' come a-ridin' with me.

"An' you may ride your milk-white steed
An' I my apple bay."
We rid out from my mother's house
Three hours befo' de day, de day,
Three hours befo' de day.

I mounted on my milk-white steed
And he rode his apple bay.
We rid on til we got to the ocean,
An' den my lover say, lover say,
An' den my lover say:

"Sit down, sit down, sweetheart," he say,
"An' listen you to me.
Pull off dat golden robe you wears
An' fold hit on yo' knee, yo' knee,
An' fold hit on yo' knee."

I ax him why my golden robe
Must be folded on his knee.
"It is too precious to be rotted away
By the salt water sea, water sea,
By the salt water sea."

I say, "Oh, sweetheart, carry me back home,
My mother for to see,
For I'm afeared I'll drowned be
In this salt water sea, water sea,
In this salt water sea."

He tuck my hand and drug me in  
I say, "Oh, sweetheart, take me back!
The water's up to my feet, my feet,
The water's up to my feet."

He smile at me an' draw me on,
"Come on, sweetheart, sweetheart,
We soon will be across the stream,
We 've reached the deepest part, deepest part,
We've reached the deepest part."

As I went on I cry an' say,
"The water's up to my knees!
Oh, take me home! I'm afeared to be drowned
In this salt water sea, water sea,
In this salt water sea."

He pull me on an' say, "Sweetheart,
Lay all your fears aside.
We soon will be across it now
We 've reached the deepest tide, deepest tide,
We've reached the deepest tide."

I sank down in the stream an' cry,
"The water's up to my waist."
He pull at me an' drug me on;
He say, "Make haste, make haste, make haste."
He say, "Make haste, make haste."

I cry to him, "The water's up to my neck."
"Lay all your fears aside.
We soon will be across it now,
We 've reached the deepest tide, deepest tide,
We've reached the deepest tide."  

I caught hol' of de tail of my milk-white steed,
He was drowned wid his apple bay.
I pulled out of de water an' landed at my mother's house
An hour befo' de day, de day,
An hour befo' de day.

My mother say, "Pretty Polly, who is dat,
A-movin' softily?"
An' I say to my Polly, "Pretty Polly,
Don't you tell no tales on me, on me,
Don't you tell no tales on me."

An' my mother say, "Is dat you, Polly?
Up so early befo' day?"
"Oh, dat mus' be a kitty at yo' door,"
Is all my Polly say, Polly say,
Is all my Polly say.

There were gaps in the singing, for she said she could not remember it all, she was "so ol' now." I asked her where she learned it; she told me, "My mammy used to sing hit when I was a child. I doan' know where she larned hit."

She could not read or write, nor could her mother, and so this was  undoubtedly a case of oral transmission. Her use of such expressions as "apple bay" for "dapple gray" is naively interesting. This is more like version H, No. 4 in Child's Collection, than any other. The change to the first person here is noteworthy. While one dis­tinguishing trait of a ballad is its impersonality, the Negroes are fond of the dramatic "I."

In the course of my search for "ballets and reels," I was given a song learned from black mammies, which is obviously not of Negro origin, but dates back to England centuries ago. I located it through the aid of the " Analytical Index to the Ballad Entries in the Register of the London Company of Stationers," by Professor Hyder E. Rollins, of New York University, as having been registered Novem­ber 21, 1580, and spoken of as A Moste Strange Weddinge of the Frogge and the Mouse. Professor Kittredge, of Harvard, mentions its antiquity and interest in the Journal of American Folk-lore, xxxv, 394. This lively old tale of the Frog Went A-Courtin' is widely current among colored people in the South, used by many a ban-dannaed mammy to reconcile her restless charge to slumber. The version was given me by Dorothy Renick, of Waco, Texas, as sung for her often in her childhood, by Negro mammies who, she said, never sang the stanzas twice in the same of order, but varied them to suit the whim the moment.

Frog Went A-Courtin'

Frog went a-courtin', he did ride,
Uh — hum!
Frog went a-courtin', he did ride,
Sword and pistol by his side,
Uh — hum!

Rode up to Lady Mouse's hall,
Uh — hum!
Rode up to Lady Mouse's hall,
Gave a loud knock and gave a loud call,
Uh — hum!

Lady Mouse come a-trippin' down,
Uh — hum!
Lady Mouse came a-trippin' down,
Green glass slippers an' a silver gown,
Uh — hum!

Froggie knelt at Mousie's knee,
Uh — hum!
Froggie knelt at Mousie's knee,
Said, "Pray, Miss Mouse, will you marry me?"
Uh —hum!

"Not without Uncle Rat's consent,"
Uh — hum!"
Not without Uncle Rat's consent
Would I marry the president,"
Uh —hum!

Uncle Rat he went down town,
Uh — hum!
Uncle Rat he went down town
To buy his niece a weddin' gown,
Uh —hum!

Where shall the wedding supper be?
Uh —hum!
Where shall the wedding supper be?
Way down yonder in a hollow tree,
Uh —hum!

First come in was little seed tick,
Uh —hum!
First come in was little seed tick,
Walkin' wid a hick'ry stick,
Uh — hum!

Next come in was a bumberly bee,
Uh —hum!
Next come in was a bumberly bee,
To help Miss Mouse po' out the tea,
Uh — hum!

Next come in was a big black snake,
Uh —hum!
Next come in was a big black snake,
In his mouth was a wedding cake,
Uh —hum!

Next come in was Uncle Rat,
Uh — hum! Next come in was Uncle Rat,
With some apples in his hat,
Uh — hum!

What shall the wedding supper be?
Uh — hum! What shall the wedding supper be?
Catnip broth and dogwood tea,
Uh —hum!

Then Frog come a-swimmm' over the lake,
Uh-— hum!
Then Frog come a-swimmin' over the lake,
He got swallowed by a big black snake,
Uh —hum!

Another Texas version, words and music, was given me by Ella Oatman, who remembers the song from having heard it in her child­hood.

Froggy went a-courtin', he did ride,
Umph — humph!
Froggy went a-courtin', he did ride,
A sword and pistol by his side,
Umph — humph!

He came to Lady Mousie's door,
Umph — humph!
He came to Lady Mousie's door,
He knocked and he knocked till his thumb got sore,
Umph — humph!

He took Lady Mousie on his knee,
Umph — humph!
He took Lady Mousie on his knee,
He says, "Lady Mouse, will you marry me?"
Umph — humph!

Oh, where shall the wedding supper be?
Umph — humph!
Oh, where shall the wedding supper be?
Way over yonder in a hollow tree,
Umph —humph!

Oh, what shall the wedding supper be?
Umph — humph!
Oh, what shall the wedding supper be?
Two blue beans and a black-eyed pea,
Umph — humph!

Still another variant was given me by Louise Laurense, of Shelbyville, Kentucky, who says that her mother learned it in her child­hood from Negroes in Kentucky.

Mister Frog

Mister Frog went a-courtin', he did ride,
Umph — humph!
Mister Frog went a-courtin', he did ride,
A sword and pistol by his side,
Umph —humph!

He rode up to Miss Mouse's hall,
Umph — humph!
He rode up to Miss Mouse's hall,
Long and loudly did he call,
Umph — humph!

Said he, "Miss Mouse, are you within?"
Umph — humph!
Said he, "Miss Mouse, are you within?"
"Oh, yes, kind sir, I sit and spin,"
Umph — humph!

He took Miss Mousie on his knee,
Umph — humph!
He took Miss Mousie on his knee,
Said he, "Miss Mouse, will you marry me?"
Umph — humph!

Miss Mousie blushed and she hung down her head,
Umph — humph!
Miss Mousie blushed and she hung down her head.
"You'll have to ask Uncle Rat," she said,
Umph — humph!

Uncle Rat laughed and shook his fat sides,
Umph — humph!
Uncle Rat laughed and shook his fat sides,
To think his niece would be a bride,
Umph —humph!

Where shall the wedding supper be?
Umph — humph!
Where shall the wedding supper be?
Way down yonder in a hollow tree,
Umph — humph!

What shall the wedding supper be?
Umph — humph!
What shall the wedding supper be?
Two big beans and a black-eye pea,
Umph — humph!

The first that came was a possum small,
Umph — humph!
The first that came was a possum small,
A-totin' his house upon his tail,
Umph — humph!

The next that came was a bumberly bee,
Umph — humph!
The next that came was a bumberly bee,
Bringing his fiddle upon his knee,
Umph — humph!

The next that came was a broken-backed flea,
Umph — humph!
The next that came was a broken-backed flea,
To dance a jog with the bumberly bee,
Umph — humph!

The next that came was an old grey cat,
Umph — humph!
The next that came was an old grey cat,
She swallowed the mouse and ate up the rat,
Umph — humph!

Mr. Frog went a-hopping over the brook,
Umph — humph!
Mr. Frog went a-hopping over the brook,
A lily-white duck came and gobbled him up,
Umph-humph!

Dr. Charles C. Carroll, of New Orleans, Louisiana, gave another variant, which his mother had heard from Negro slaves. So there are versions from three different states, showing points of difference, but each retaining the real tradition of the story and music. It is easy to imagine that the preservation of this entertaining and touching story of Froggy's fate was due to the pleasure that children took in it, for it seems always to have been sung to children by older people, and to have been retained as a nursery song.

Another delightful old song, of ancient tradition, Ole Bangum, was given me by Mrs. Landon Randolph Dashiell, of Richmond, Vir­ginia, who sends it "as learned from years of memory and iteration."

The music was written down from Mrs. Dashiell's singing by Shep-ard Webb, also of Richmond. Mrs. Dashiell says that her Negro mammy used to sing it to her, and that the song was so indissolubly associated with the sleepy time that she doubted if she could sing it for me unless she took me in her lap and rocked me to sleep by it.  

OLD BANGUM  
   
   
 Cub - bi Ki, cud - die dum— Kil - li quo quam.

Ole Bangum, will you hunt an' ride?
Dillum down dillum?
Ole Bangum, will you hunt an' ride?
Dillum down?
Ole Bangum, will you hunt an' ride,
Sword an' pistol by yo' side?
Cubbi Ki, cuddle dum
Killi quo quam.

There is a wil' bo' in these woods,
Dillum down dillum.
There is a wil' bo' in these woods,
Dillum down.
There is a wil' bo' in these woods
Eats men's bones and drinks their blood.
Cubbi Ki, cuddle dum
Killi quo quam.

Ole Bangum drew his wooden knife,
Dillum down dillum,
Ole Bangum drew his wooden knife,
Dillum down.
Ole Bangum drew his wooden knife
An' swore by Jove he 'd take his life.
Cubbi Ki, cuddle dum
Killi quo quam.

Ole Bangum went to de wil' bo's den,
Dillum down dillum.
Ole Bangum went to de wil' bo's den,
Dillum down.
Ole Bangum went to de wil' bo's den,
An' foun' de bones of a thousand men.
Cubbi Ki, cuddle dum
Killi quo quam.

They fought fo' hours in that day,
Dillum down dillum.
They fought fo' hours in that day,
Dillum down.
They fought fo' hours in that day,
The wil' bo' fled an' slunk away.
Cubbi Ki, cuddle dum
Killi quo quam.

Ole Bangum, did you win or lose?
Dillum down dillum?
Ole Bangum, did you win or lose?
Dillum down.
Ole Bangum, did you win or lose?
He swore by Jove he 'd won the shoes.
Cubbi Ki, cuddle dum
Killi quo quam.

Professor Kittredge speaks of this song in a discussion in the Journal of American Folk-lore. Mrs. Case says: "Both General Taylor and President Madison were great-great-grandchildren of James Taylor, who came from Carlisle, England, to Orange County, Virginia, in 1638, and both were hushed to sleep by their Negro mammies with the strains of Bangum and the Boar.77 The version he gives is different in some respects from that given by Mrs. Dashiell.

I am indebted to Mrs. Dashiell for the words and music of another ballad of ancient tradition, A Little Boy Threw His Ball So High, of which she says: "I give it just as my childhood heard it. The old nigger always said dusky for dusty, and I really think she showed great discernment, as Musky garden filled with snow' and 'dusky weir seem more appropriate and probably more horrible." This also was learned from the singing of her Negro mammy, who rocked her to sleep by it. " Imagine innocence going to sleep after such a lul­laby!" Mrs. Dashiell comments.  

A LITTLE BOY THREW HIS BALL  
   
   
 A little boy threw his ball so high,
He threw his ball so low.
He threw it into a dusky garden
Among the blades of snow.

"Come hither, come hither, my sweet little boy;
Come hither and get your ball."
"I'll neither come hither, I'll neither-come there,
I'll not come get my ball."

She showed him an apple as yellow as gold,
She showed him a bright gold ring,
She showed him a cherry as red as blood,
And that enticed him in.

Enticed him into the drawing-room
And then into the kitchen,
And there he saw his own dear nurse
A-pi-i-icking a chicken!

"I've been washing this basin the live-long day
To catch your heart's blood in."
"Pray spare my life, pray spare my life,
Pray spare my life!" cried he.

"I'll not spare your life, I'll not spare your life," cried she. 
 "Pray put my Bible at my head,
My prayer-book at my feet.
If any of my playmates ask for me,
Oh, tell them I'm dead and asleep."

She dragged him on his cooling-board,
And stabbed him like a sheep.
She threw him into a dusky well
Where many have fallen asleep.

This is recognizable as the old ballad, The Jew's Daughter, telling a tale of the supposed murder of a little boy by a Jewess. Matthew Prior refers to the occasion which is thought to form the basis for this, as of the date of 1255. Chaucer uses the plot for his "Prioresse's Tale/' the piteous story of the innocent done to death.

William Wells Newell, in his u Games and Songs of American Children," gives another variant, called Little Harry Hughes, and says that he was surprised to hear a group of colored children in the streets of New York singing it. He questioned the children and traced their knowledge of the song to a little Negro girl who had learned it from her grandmother. The grandmother, he found, had learned it in Ireland Professor Smith gives an interesting version, which was given to him by a student at the University of Virginia, who had learned it from his Negro mammy on a plantation in Alabama.

My ball flew over in a Jew's garden,
Where no one dared to go.
I saw a Jew lady in a green silk dress
A-standin' by the do'.

"O come in, come in, my pretty little boy,
You may have your ball again."
"I won't, I won't, I won't come in,
Because my heart is blood."

She took me then by her lily-white hand,
And led me in the kitchen,
She sot me down on a golden plank,
And stobbed me like a sheep.

"You lay my Bible at my head,
And my prayer-book at my feet,
And if any of my playmates ask for me,
Just tell them I've gone to sleep."

This was published in the University of Virginia Magazine, De­cember, 1912, and also in Professor Smith's article in the Musical Quarterly.

It is interesting that the Negro variant that Mrs. Dashiell knew has discarded the element of Jewish persecution and transformed the theme into a general terror tale, while the Negro version from Alabama has retained the older motivation. Since the Negroes have not been associated directly with any idea of Jews murdering Chris­tians in this fashion, it is natural that the theme should fade away in their rendering of the song. Here, as in the version of Lady Isabel and the Elf-Knight, the ballad form is changed to the first person.

Lord Lovel, as might be expected of one of the best-known bal­lads, appears in a Negro version in North Carolina. It was taken down from the singing of Mr. Busbee, who learned it in his childhood from his Negro nurse, Mammy Mahaly.

LORD LOVEL  
   

Lord Lovel, he stood at his castle wall,
A-combin' his milk-white steed;
Lady Nancy Bell came a-ridin' by,
To wish her fond lover good speed, speed, speed,
To wish her fond lover good speed.

"Oh, where are you goin', Lord Lovel?" she said.
"Oh, where are you goin'?" said she.
"I'm goin' away for a year an' a day,
Strange countries for to see, see, see,
Strange countries for to see."

He hadn't been gone but a year an' a day,
Strange countries for to see,
When very strange thoughts came into his head
About his Lady Nancy-cy-cy,
About his Lady Nancy.

He rode an' he rode all a long summer day,
Till he came to London town.
An' there he met a funeral,
An' the people a-moumin' around, round, round,
An' the people a-mournin' around.

"Oh, who is dead?" Lord Lovel he said,
"Oh, who is dead?" said he.
"It's my lord's lady," an old woman said,
"Some call her the Lady Nancy-cy-cy,
Some call her the Lady Nancy."

He ordered the bier to be opened wide,
The shroud to be folded down.
An' then he kissed her clay-cold lips,
An' the tears they come trinklin' down, down, down,
An' the tears they come trinklin' down.

Lady Nancy she died as it mought be to-day,
Lord Lovel he died to-morrow.
Lady Nancy she dies outen pure, pure grief,
Lord Lovel he died outen sorrow-row-row,
Lord Lovel he died outen sorrow.

Lady Nancy they buried by the tall church spire,
Lord Lovel they buried beside her.
And outen her bosom they grew a red rose,
And outen his 'n a brier-rier-rier,
And outen his 'n a brier.

They grew an' they grew to the tall steeple top,
An' there they could get no higher.
An' there they entwined in a true lovers' knot,
Which all true lovers admire-rire-rire,
Which all true lovers admire.

Miss Lucy T. Latane reports a version entitled Lord Lovell and Lady Nancy Bell, which her mother and aunt learned from their Negro mammy in Louisa County, Virginia, in the forties.

A Negro version of the story of the Babes in the Wood was given to me by Talmadge Marsh, of Straight College, New Orleans, through the courtesy of Worth Tuttle Hedden. Talmadge says that his old aunt used to sing this to him. She sang it to various tunes, none of which he remembers well enough to reproduce.

Once upon a time, long, long ago,
Two little babes were lost in the woods.
They wandered and wandered all through the woods.

The sun went down, and the moon gave no light.
The two little babes they died in the woods.
Then a robin came whose breast was so red,
He spread green leaves over the dead babies.

And this is the song that he did sing.
Two little babes were lost in the woods.
The sun went down and the moon gave no light.
And the two little babes, they died in the woods. 1

[1 This is a version of an old children's song, printed in America as early as 1818, to which Professor Kittredge gives a number of references in the Journal of American Folk­lore, xxxv, 349, in connection with a report of it in an article by Albert H. Tolman and Mary O. Eddy. The ballad is found in Percy's Relioues.]

A Negro song, which is a version of Three Jolly Welshmen, an old English song, was given me by Mrs. J. S. Diggs, of Lynchburg, Vir­ginia, as she says that this is a very old song and that it was sung years ago by Negroes in Campbell and Bedford Counties.

So We Hunted and We Hollered

So we hunted and we hollered,
And the first thing we did find
Was a barn in the meadow,
And that we left behind.

One said it was a barn,
And the other said, "Nay!"
They all said a church
With the steeple washed away.

So we hunted and we hollered
And the next thing we did find
Was a cow in the meadow,
And that we left behind.

One said it was a cow,
And the other said, "Nay!"
One said, "It's an elephant
With the snout washed away."

So we hunted and we hollered
And the next thing we did find
Was an owl in the ivy bush,
And that we left behind.

One said it was an owl,
And the other said, "Nay!"
One said it was the devil,
And we all ran away.

The Forum (Philadelphia Press, March, 1908) gives a song, called Old Circus Song, as sung in Alabama by Negroes seventy years ago, which is evidently a variant of the song Mrs. Diggs learned in Virginia.

Old Circus Song

I went a-whooping and a-hollering, for the first thing I could find
Was a frog in a well, and that I left behind.
Some said, "It's a frog," but I said, "Nay!"
Some said "It's a sea-bird with its feathers torn away.
Look a-there, now!"

I went a-whooping and a-hollering, for the next thing I could find
Was an ice-pond in the meadow, and that I left behind.
Some said, "It's an ice-pond," but I said, "Nay!"
Some said, "It's a pane of glass, but it's nearly washed away.
Look a-there, now!"

I went a-whooping and a-hollering, for the next thing I could find
Was an old house on the hill-top, and that I left behind.
Some said, "It's an old house," but I said, "Nay!"
Some said, "It's a barn, but it's nearly rotted away.
Look a-there, now!"

I went a-whooping and a-hollering, for the next thing I could find
Was an owl in a thorn-tree, and that I left behind.
Some said, "It's an owl," but I said, "Nay!"
Some said, "It's the devil, and let us run away!
Look a-there, now!" 1

[1 Professor Kittredge writes:" Similar version in Cox,' Folk-Songs of the South, No. 165, where I have given a number of references. That the song was known as early as 1668 is shown by a passage from Davenant's comedy, The Rivals (licensed and printed in that year), Act 3 foto, p. 34; 'Dramatic Works/ 1874, v, 264):

"'There were three Fools at mid-summer run mad
About an Howlet, a quarrel they had,
The one said 'twas an Owle, the other he said nay,
The third said it was a Hawk but the Bells were cutt away.'"]

A Negro version of Barbara Allan, from Virginia, was sent to me by Professor C. Alphonso Smith. I had wondered if the Negroes had failed to appreciate and appropriate this most familiar and beloved of all the ballads, and so I was pleased at this contribution. This is sung in Albemarle, Wythe, and Campbell Counties, Virginia.

BOBREE ALLIN

In London town, whar I was raised,
Dar war a youth a-dwellin',
He fell in love wid a putty fair maid,
Her name 'twar Bob-ree Allin.

He su'ted her for seben long years;
She said she would not marry;
Poor Willie went home and war takin' sick,
And ve'y likely died.

He den sen' out his waitin' boy
Wid a note for Bob-ree Allin.
So close, ah, she read, so slow, ah, she walk;
"Go tell him I'm a-comin'."

She den step up into his room.
And stood an' looked upon him.
He stretched to her his pale white hands;
"Oh, won't you tell me howdy?"

"Have you forgot de udder day,
When we war in de pawlor,
You drank your health to de gals around,
And slighted Bob-ree Allin?"

"Oh, no; oh, no — my dear young miss;
I think you is mistaking;
Ef I drank my healt' to de gals around,
'Twar love for Bob-ree Allin."

"An' now I'm sick and ve'y sick,
An' on my deathbed lyin',
One kiss or two fum you, my dear,
Would take away dis dyin'."

"Dat kiss or two you will not git,
Not ef your heart was breakin';
I cannot keep you from death,
So farewell," said Bob-ree Allin.

He tu'n his pale face to de wall,
An' den began er cryin';
An' every tear he shed appeared
Hard-hearted Bob-ree Allin.

She walked across de fiel's nex' day
An' heerd de birds a-singin',
An' every note dey seemed to say:
"Hard-hearted Bob-ree Allin."

She war walkin' 'cross de fiel' nex' day,
An' spied his pale corpse comin'.
"Oh, lay him down upon de groun',
An* let me look upon him."

As she war walkin' down de street
She heerd de death bells ringing
An' every tone dey seemed to say:
"Hard-a-hearted Bob-ree Allin."

"Oh, fader, fader, dig-a my grave,
An' dig it long an' narrow;
My true love he have died to-day,
An' I must die to-morrow.

"Oh, mudder, mudder, make-a my s'roud
An' make it long and narrow;
Sweet Willie died of love for me
An' I must die to-morrow."

Sweet Willie war buried in de new churchyard,
An' Bob-ree Allin beside him.
Outen his grave sprang a putty red rose,
An' Bob-ree Alin's a briar.

Dey grew as high as de steeple top,
An' could n't grow no higher,
An' den dey tied a true-love knot,
De sweet rose roun' de briar.

Professor Smith, who is custodian of the archives of the Virginia Folk-lore Society, tells of other instances of Negro"versions of bal­lads, as found by members of the society.

The Old Man in the North Countree (Child, No. 10) was taken down from the singing of Negroes in Fairfax County.
The Cherry Tree Carol (Child, No. 54) is said to be current among the Negroes of North Carolina as well as of Virginia. Professor Smith was the first to discover this ballad in America, and gives the first stanza of it in the Bulletin of Virginia Folk-lore,

Joseph was an old man,
An old man was he,
And he married Mary,
The Queen of Galilee.

This is reported from the singing of an old Negro in Spottsylvania County, Virginia, who originally belonged to a family in Orange County.

Miss Martha Davis, of Winthrop College, Rock Hill, South Caro­lina, writes to Professor Smith of the finding of this old ballad in South Carolina:

"A few months ago several of the teachers here went to hear a Negro preacher one night, a picturesque exhorter of the old type. They came back with a story, marvelous to them, of Joseph and May Virgin pickin' cherries from a cherry tree, a part of the Gospel, according to the preacher. Well, old ballads are often found in strange company."

Lord Arnold's Wife (Child, No. 81) has been heard sung by Negroes in Campbell County, Virginia.

Mr. John Stone, now president of the Virginia Folk-lore Society, reports that he has heard of the Negroes in Virginia singing several of the songs about which I wrote to inquire. "But I myself have col­lected only a fragment of Dandoo, which was learned from a white man, a tune to the Cherry Tree Carol, and a tune to Pretty Polly."

Child, in his third volume, page 515, says that Lamkin has been sung in Prince William County by Negroes who learned it from Scotch settlers.

Professor Smith says that the ballad Our Goodman, or Hame Cant Our Gudeman, which has spread from Great Britain into Germany, Hungary, and Scandinavia, is sung among the Negroes of Campbell County, Virginia, as Hobble and Bobble.
This humorous old ballad has had wide circulation as a broadside, having been translated into German in 1789. Its simple form of structure and its cleverness of folk-humor are such as would natu­rally appeal to colored people.

A song which Professor Kittredge writes me is an old Irish song has been adopted over here among the Negroes so successfully that even some folk-lorists put it down as a Negro ballad.1 An article in Lippincottfs Magazine for December, 1869, says:
"Many years ago there originated a Negro ballad founded on the incidents of a famous horse-race, on which large sums were staked.

[1 Professor Kittredge says: "Skewball is Irish. I enclose a text. The piece is com­mon in English broadsides. Readings vary in details. You will note that the Squire is the owner, not the judge. It is obviously absurd for the Squire to talk to the rider (as in stanza 5). Probably, if we had a correct text, it would be Skewball who addresses the rider — just as he spoke to his master in an earlier stanza. That would be a good touch. And, in fact, in one version (in a broadside) I find — in addition to the stanza in which the Squire speaks to the rider — the following:

" When that they came to the middle of the course,
Skewball and his rider began a discourse,
Come, my brave rider, come tell unto me,
How far is Miss Grizzle this moment from me.'


Its popularity among the Negroes throughout the slave-holding states was great, and it was their nearest approach to an epic. It  was generally sung in chanting style, with marked emphasis and the prolongation of the concluding syllables of each line. The tenor of the narrative indicated that the ' Galliant Gray Mar' was imported from Virginia to Kentucky to beat the 'Noble Skewball/ and the bard is evidently a partisan of the latter."


 This is a Manchester (England) broadside (Bebbington, No. 206). In this version the mare with whom Skewball races is called 'Miss Grizzle."' (From The Vocal Library^ London, 1822, p. 526.)

1424. SKEW BALL
Come, gentlemen sportsmen, I pray, listen all, I will sing you a song in the praise of Skew Ball; And how he came over, you shall understand, It was by Squire Mervin, the pearl of this land. And of his late actions as you've heard before, He was lately challeng'd by one Sir Ralph Gore, For five hundred pounds, on the plains of Kildare, To run with Miss Sportly, that famous grey mare.

Skew Ball then hearing the wager was laid,
Unto his kind master said — Don't be afraid;
For if on my side you thousands lay would,
I would rig on your castle a fine mass of gold!

The day being come and the cattle walk'd forth,
The people came flocking from East, South, and North,
For to view all the sporters, as I do declare,
And venture their money all on the grey mare.

Squire Mervin then, smiling, unto them did say, Come, gentlemen, all that have money to lay; And you that have hundreds I will lay you all, For I'll venture thousands on famous Skew Ball. Squire Mervin then, smiling, unto them did say, Come, gentlemen sportsmen, to morrow's the day, Spurs, horses, and saddles and bridles prepare, For you must away to the plains of Kildare.

The day being come, and the cattle walk'd out,
Squire Mervin order'd his rider to mount,
And all the spectators to clear the way,
The time being come not one moment delay.

The cattle being mounted away they did fly,
Skew Ball like an arrow pass'd Miss Sportly by;
The people went up to see them go round,
They said in their nearts they ne'er touch'd the ground.

Butas they were running in the midst of the sport,*
Squire Mervin to his rider began his discourse:
OI loving kind rider, come teU unto me,
How far at this moment Miss Sportly's from thee;

O! loving kind master, you bear a great style,
The grey mare's behind you a long English mile.
If the saddle maintains me, I'll warrant you there,
You ne'er shall be beat on the plains of Kildare.

But as they were running by the distant chair,**
The gentlemen cry'd out — Skew Ball never fear,
Altho' in this country thou wast ne'er seen before,
Thou hast beaten Miss Sportly, and broke Sir Ralph Gore.

[* Read " course " (as in the broadside)?
[** Var. (broadside): " But as she was running by the distance chair." ]


This article gives disconnected stanzas of the ballad, evidently considering that the reader would not be interested in the whole of it.

THE NOBLE SKEWBALL  
   
   
O! ladies and gentlemen, come one, and come all;
Did you ever hear tell of the Noble Skewball?
Stick close to your saddle and don't be alarmed,
For you shall not be jostled by the Noble Skewball.  

 Squire Marvin is evidently a judge of the race, for one stanza appeals to him.

Squire Marvin, Squire Marvin, just judge my horse well,
For all that I want is to see justice done.  
When the horses were saddled and the word was give,
Got Skewball shot like an arrow just out of the bow.

The last stanza given is in complimentary vein.

A health to Miss Bradley, that Galliant Gray Mar, Likewise to the health of the Noble Skewball.

E. C. Perrow (in an article, "Songs and Rhymes from the South" in the Journal of American Folk-lore, 1915, xxvin, 134) has a song from Mississippi Negroes which is apparently sung by the jockey who rode the "Noble Skewball" in the famous race.

Ol' Marster, an' ol' Mistis, I'm er reskin' my life
Tryin' to win this great fortune for you an' your wife.
Oh, was n't I lucky not to lose?
Oh, was n't I lucky not to lose?
Oh, was n't I lucky not to lose?

Ol' Skewball was a gray hoss, ol'lly was brown;
Ol' Skewball outrun Molly on the very fust go-round.
Oh, was n't I lucky not to lose?
Oh, was n't I lucky not to lose?
Oh, was n't I lucky not to lose?

My hosses is hongry an' they will not eat hay,
So I'll drive on a piece further, an' I'll feed on the way.
Oh, was n't I lucky not to lose?
Oh, was n't I lucky not to lose?
Oh, was n't I lucky not to lose?

Doubtless a definite search for this sort of material would show a number of other traditional ballads surviving among the Negroes of the various southern states, especially those of an older civilization. It is an investigation that should be made soon, however, for the old songs are being crowded out of existence by the popularity of phono­graphs and the radio, which start the Negroes singing other types of song, to the exclusion of the fine old ballads and their own folk-songs. This research might form the basis for an extremely interesting and scholarly piece of work, which would have sociological as well as literary value.