VII. SONGS ABOUT ANIMALS
THE Negro is perhaps in his happiest mood when he is making songs about animals. The living creatures around him are very-real to him, and eternally interesting. He makes them the objects of his amused observation, his philosophic study, and he delights to rhyme their characteristics. He elevates them to his own range of thought and emotion — anthropomorphizes them, as a theologian would say, endowing them with whatever power of reason or cunning he himself possesses. The Negro moralizes little about the much-mentioned but little followed "brotherhood of man," but he makes a good deal in his folk-lore of the confraternity of the animal world. He gives his cordial recognition to whatever draws breath. As he greets his fellow church-member or lodge comrade as "Brother," — or "Sister," —so he speaks of "Bre'r Rabbit," "Bre'r B'ar," "Mr. Tarrepin and Mr. Toad," "OP King Buzzard," and so on. He admires whatever excellent traits they possess, and deprecates their shortcomings with a tolerance that condones lapses from ethical standards, as if mutely requesting similar sympathy with his own failings. His charity, like his humor, is wide and deep. The Negro does not sermonize about a bird or beast, as a sophisticated poet might, or seek to tag a Wordsworthian moral to every incident. He simply finds all live things entertaining, and likes to talk or sing about them. He is closer to nature than even the ancient Greeks or Romans were, for his nature imagery is more spontaneous and less studied, simpler and not so far-fetched. He stays nearer to the earth. He can be more chummy with his "horny ox" or "mulie" than an ancient could with a centaur or Pegasus, and yet he finds him quite as diverting and as full of surprising traits. A mule never lacks kick for the darky, and a mild-seeming goat has plenty of punch. A small Negro boy drives a cow to pasture with the air of a courtier escorting a queen; while an old woman converses with her cat or her hen on affairs nearest her heart. The confidential manner of an old colored man toward a slat-ribbed hound is impressive — the attitude of one philosopher in the presence of another. We overhear only one side of discussions between such friends, but may feel sure that messages too subtle for our comprehension pass wordlessly.
The Negro has a special tact in dealing with animals, and can get more sympathetic response from them than can a white person, as a rule. The voice of an old fellow urging on the race horse he has tended can speed him to victory better than another. This immemorial fellowship with what we call the lower creatures is a part of the Negro's being and sings itself in his folk-songs. Folk-songs are dateless and can be placed with respect to time only as they celebrate certain events or changing conditions of society, but many of the songs known to belong to slavery times are about animals. For example, in " Slave Songs of the United States," published in 1867, we find the following, which was even then so old that it had no tradition of authorship. It seems really a combination of fragments from various Negro folk-songs of early origin.
CHARLESTON GALS
As I walked down the new-cut road,
I met the tap and then the toad.
The toad commenced to whistle and sing,
And the possum cut the pigeon's wing.
Along come an old man riding by;
"Old man, if you don't mind, your horse will die."
"If he dies, I'll tan his skin,
And if he lives, I'll ride him agin."
Hi ho, for Charleston gals,
Charleston gals are the gals for me.
As I went walking down the street,
Up steps Charleston gals to take a walk with me.
I kep' a-walking and they kep' a-talking,
I danced with a gal with a hole in her stocking.
An amusing instance of the inaccuracy of oral transmission of song is seen in this rendering of the second line of the first stanza, which should read, of course, according to many authentic reports from the field, "I met the tarrepin and the toad." This collector — a Northerner, I fancy, unaccustomed to Negro dialect and terminology — put down what he thought he heard, which does not make sense. The Negro puts together nonsensical lines, but they usually have their own queer logic. Another variation from what the darky said is in the last line of the same stanza. It should read "cut the pigeon-wing" and not "cut the pigeon's wing." No actual bird is referred to here, but a characteristic Negro dance movement.
Dorothy Renick, of Waco, Texas, sent a version of the stanza, with a chorus which has obviously been lifted from another old-time song, Pretty Betty Martin. She says this was an old banjo song. Will Harris, of Richmond, contributes a different version of the second theme of the old song:
OLE MARSE JOHN
Ole Marse John come ridin' by.
Say, Marse John, dat mule's gwine to die.
Ef he die, I'll tan his skin,
An' ef he don't, I'll ride him agin.
Chorus
Oh, mourner, you will be free,
Yes, mourner, you will be free,
When de good Lawd sets you free.
Standin' on de corner, wa'n't doin' no harm;
Up come a 'liceman, grabbed me by de arm.
Rang a little whistle, blew a little bell;
Here come de p'trol wagon, runnin' like------.
Chorus
Standin' in de chicken-house on my knees,
Thought I heard a chicken sneeze.
Sneezed so hard wid de whoopin' cough,
Sneezed his head an' his tail right off.
Chorus
Katherine Love, of Richmond, sent me some years ago a letter from her grandmother, now dead, with comment that establishes the authenticity of the old songs she enclosed.
"I send the following plantation melodies; they are genuine, and, so far as I know, have never-been put to music. Divorced, however, from the original syncopated darky melody, they lose five fifths of their interest. Elizabeth, you know, has all her life been trying to get the swing and go of Picayune Butler, Picayune Butler, Is She Coming to Town? I told------of her effort, while I was in Richmond, and their individual and combined efforts to get it gave us a half-hour of the most spontaneous mirth you can imagine. I play the music to the following songs. I know they are genuine, for I learned them by hearing them sung on the old plantation, and the music to them our old ante-bellum carriage driver played on the banjo."
As I was walkin' 'long the new-cut road,
I met a tarapin an' a toad.
Ebery time the toad would spring,
The tarapin cut the pigeon-wing.
Refrain: Picayune Butler,
Picayune Butler,
Is she comin' in town?
My old mistis promised me
When she died she'd set me free.
She lived so long, she died so po',
She lef' 0l' Sambo pullin' at de hoe.
Refrain
The refrain is that of an old song which Professor Kittredge informs me was sung on the minstrel stage and occurs in various old song-books, for example, "The Negro Forget-Me-Not Songster," pp. 185, 186.
A theme that recurs in varying stanzas of these old songs is the comparison of the physical make-up of different animals, as well as of their distinctive traits. Sometimes, as in the one following, the Negro makes satiric comparison of his economic status with that of the white man, Mrs. E. H. Ratclifle, of Natchez, Mississippi, sent me this:
Old Bee Make de Honeycomb
Raccoon totes de bushy hair;
Possum he go bare;
Rabbit comes a-skippin' by,
'Cause he ain't got none to spare.
Raccoon hunts in broad daylight;
Possum hunts in dark,
An' no thin' never disturbs his rnin',
Till he hears old Bingo bark.
I met Bro. Possum in de road;
"Bre'r Possum, whar you gwine?"
"Thank you, kin' sir," said he,
De raccoon's tail am very long,
Old Bee make de honeycomb,
Young Bee makes all de honey.
Nigger makes de cotton and corn,
White man gits all de money.
Monday mornin' break o' day
White folks got me gwine.
Saturday night when de sun go down,
Dat yaller girl am mine.
Another song including this idea is I Went to My Sweetheart's House, sent by Virginia Fitzgerald, of Virginia, who had heard it from people familiar with it before the war. It was used as a banjo tune.
I Went to my Sweetheart's House
I went to my sweetheart's house,
I never was thar befor'.
They sot me in the corner as still as a mouse,
An' I ain't gwine thar no mo', mo', mo'.
An' I ain't gwine thar no mo', my love,
An' I ain't gwine thar no mo'.
I had a little rooster,
He crowed 'bout break o' day;
An' the weasel come to my house
An' stole my rooster 'way.
An' he stole my rooster 'way, my love,
An' he stole my rooster 'way.
Jackers come to my house,
I thought he come to see me.
But when I come to find out,
He 'swade my wife to leave me.
He 'swade my wife to leave, my love,
He 'swade my wife to leave me.
When I was a little boy
'Bout sixteen inches high,
I think I hear the Jaybird say,
"I'll marry you bimeby,
I'll marry you bimeby, my love,
I'll marry you bimeby."
De Squirrel is a cunning thing,
He carries a bushy tail;
He steal old masser's corn at night
An' shucks it on a rail,
An' shucks it on a rail, my love,
An' shucks it on a rail.
Possum is a cunning thing,
He rambles in the dark;
Much as I kin do to save my life
Is make my little dog bark,
Is make my little dog bark, my love,
Is make my little dog bark.
The Squirrel car's a bushy tail,
De Possum's tail am bar'.
De Raccoon's tail am ringed all round,
An' stumped tail am the har',
An' stumped tail am the har', my love,
An' stumped tail am the har'.
A similar song, which is also very old, was sent me by Josephine Pankey, of Little Rock, Arkansas, who says that it was taken down from the singing of elderly Negroes, who had heard it sung by slaves on plantations before the war.
PAINS IN MY FINGERS
Pains in my fingers,
Pains in my toes;
I sent for Dr. Brody
To know what to do.
Chorus: Sick him, Bobby, hoo-hoo!
Sick him, Bobby, hoo!
Oh, pore Mary Jane,
He'll never come here no more.
A rabbit is a cunnin' thing,
He rambles after dark;
He never thinks to curl his tail
Till he hears my bull-dog bark.
Chorus
A squirrel is a pretty thing,
He carries a pretty tail;
He eats all the farmer's corn
And husks it on the rail.
Chorus
Ole Master give me holiday,
Ole Mistis give me more;
To stick my head in a hollow log
An' hit me sixty-four.
Chorus
Miss Cohen, formerly of Charleston, South Carolina, gives an old version in the gullah dialect, as sung by Negroes in her section.
BOIL DEM CABBAGE DOWN
ger go to chu'ch, An' you hear 5im laugh a mile.]
W'ite folks go to chu'ch,
An' he never crack a smile;
An' nigger go to chu'ch,
An' you hear Jim laugh a mile.
Chorus
Boil dem cabbage down, An' tu'n 'em roun' an' roun'. Stop dat foolin', little nigger gal, An' boil dem cabbage down!
Raccoon 'e am bushy-tail', An' possum }e am bare. Raccoon 'e am bushy-tail', But 'e ain't got none to spare*
Sally Nelson Robins, of Richmond, who has died since this book went to press, sent a Virginia variant of the same song.
Fox, he got a bushy tail,
Raccoon tail am bare. Rabbit got no tail at all
Jes' a leetle bit a bunch er hair.
Chorus
Git erlong, Liza Jane, Git erlong, Liza Jane, Git erlong, Liza, po' gal, I'm gwineter leave you now.
Rat he got a leetle tail,
Mouse it ain't much bigger. White folks got no tail at all,
Neither have the nigger.
Chorus
The rabbit may have started the fashion of bobbed hair, for all we know, and perhaps is the original Greenwich Villager.
Edwin Swain gives a stanza as it used to be sung in Florida in his boyhood, by Negroes that he knew.
Raccoon got a ring round his tail,
Possum's tail am bar' Rabbit got no tail at all,
Nothing but a bunch o' ha'r.
James E. Morrow reports the following form as he has heard it sung in Texas:
De raccoon carries de bushy tail,
Possum doan' care 'bout no hair.
Mister Rabbit, he come skippin' by,
An' he ain't got none to spare.
Mrs. C. E. Railing sings this stanza as she learned it from old Negroes in Virginia:
De raccoon hab de bushy tail,
De possum's tail is bare.
De rabbit hab no tail at all
'Cep' a little bitty bunch o' hair.
Another fragment, given anonymously, varies from this, though slightly.
De raccoon's tail am very long,
De possum's tail am bare.
De rabbit got no tail at all
'Cept a little bitty bunch of hair.
The raccoon, he of the long or bushy or ringed tail, according to the "songster" and the possum of the wily ways, are celebrated together in many versions of another old song. One specimen was given by Mary Stevenson Callcott, who took down the music from the singing of Lucy Hicks, who wrote down the words. I have preserved the quaint spelling as she put it down.
The title is Karo Song. Cuero (pronounced cwaro) is a town in Texas, and this represents a type of local song, though the setting has nothing especial to do with the song, appearing only in the title.
KARO SONG
Possum up a simen tree,
Raccoon on de ground;
The Rackcoon say, you cuning thing
Oh, shake them simens down.
Chorus: Oh, here my true love weeping.
Oh, here my true love sigh;
I was gwining down to Karo town,
Down there to live and die.
Oh, Marster had a little mule,
He was colored like a mouse;
I went to bridle that mule one day
And he kicked me in the mouth.
Chorus
Old Marster had a little dog,
He was three quarters hound,
And every time he struck the trail
He almost quiter the ground.
Chorus
Old Marster had a fine house
Sixteen stories high
And every story in that house
Was filled with chicken pie.
Chorus
I went to see Miss Sallie,
And Miss Sallie she was gone;
I seat myself in the old arm-chair
And picked on the old banjo.
Chorus
Miss Sallie cooked a ginger cake
And set it on the shelf;
'Long come that other Nigero
And eat it all himself.
Chorus
Miss Sallie give me one sweet kiss,
Which almost killed me dead.
Chorus
The Negroes in their folk-songs have a custom of mixing stanzas of various songs together in a fashion calculated greatly to perplex conscientious collectors. They do that notably in their religious songs, where, at one of their interminable meetings, the recognized stanzas of one song will be helped out, when they have been exhausted, by additional stanzas remembered at random from other songs. That communal necessity for keeping up singing has more reason in a religious song than in a secular, for it is often thought best to continue one tune till certain "sinners" have "come through." But the usage is common in secular songs as well, and we see it illustrated in this one under discussion.
Here the variation appears chiefly in the chorus, which may take the refrain of a religious song, as in one given me in Texas, or of a familiar dance-song. The raccoon and possum song, as reported by one collector, has a chorus found in various camp-meeting songs:
Po' Mournah!
Po' mournah, you shall be free,
In de mawnin', you shall be free,
Bress God, you shall be free,
When de good Lawd sets you free.
The same stanza appears with the chorus of an old dance-song, Oh, dem Golden Slippers, which is not strictly speaking a folk-song, though many consider it such, and its author has been said to be a Negro.
RACCOON UP IN DE 'SIMMON TREE
Raccoon up in de 'simmon tree,
Possum on de ground;
Possum say to de raccoon,
"Won't you shake dem 'simmons down?"
Chorus: Oh, dem golden slippers!
Oh, dem golden slippers!
Golden slippers I 'se gwine to wear
Became dey look so neat.
Oh, dem golden slippers!
Oh, dem golden slippers!
Golden slippers I'se gwine to wear
To walk de golden street.
Mrs. C. E. Railing, formerly of Richmond, gives a fragment,
De Raccoon up de 'simmon tree,
De Possum on de ground.
De Raccoon up de 'simmon tree,
" Shake dem Simmons down."
Lydia Gumbel, of Straight College, New Orleans, sends a version sung among the Creole Negroes in Louisiana.
Oh, Bre'er Raccoon, up de persimmon tree,
Possum on de groun';
Bre'er Rabbit say, "You son of a gun,
Shake dem persimmons down!"
Mister Rabbit appears often in these folk-songs, as familiar a figure as in the tales Uncle Remus told, and the singer is as fond of him for his naive, child-like ways and his cunning, as the old darky represented by Harris was. One wonders how the rabbit myth came into being, for in actual life the hare is never so resourceful in his schemes for escape, never so debonair in his insouciant gaiety, never so quick of repartee, as Uncle Remus or the folk-songsters would have us imagine. These qualities of intelligence and wit are superimposed upon slight basis. The rabbit in reality shows skill in getting through fences to green gardens, prodigious appetite for nibbling young plants most beloved of gardeners or farmers, and swiftness of foot in escaping pursuers. But of Gallic wit and American humor he shows no trace in real life. Why is he so beloved of Negro workers, of folk-tales and song? Perhaps because of his defenceless-ness and his mild ways. If he nibbles young plants, it is as a hungry fellow, not a malicious vandal. How is he to know cabbages were not planted for his delectation? One recent summer I watched a baby rabbit grow up in a Dorothy Perkins rose-tangle beside a Southern porch. He ventured forth when nobody was there but me, to play leap-frog with himself on the lawn, and to lunch off a row of nasturtiums along a circling stone wall. I never bothered him, and when the owner of the porch wondered what was happening to her nasturtiums, I breathed no word of explanation. A young rabbit "on his own," as this one was, has a hard time enough dodging hawks and hounds, so I surely would set no female gardener on his track.
The rabbit appears in an innocent and engaging rdle in a song given me by Mr. Dowd, of Charleston, South Carolina. This is in the dialogue form dear to the Negro song-maker.
Mister Rabbit
"Mister Rabbit, Mister Rabbit,
Yo' ears mighty long."
"Yes, my lawd,
Dey're put on wrong!
Every little soul must shine, shine, shi-ine,
Every little soul must shi-ine, shine, shine."
MISTER RABBIT
"Mister Rabbit, Mister Rabbit,
Yo' coat might' grey."
"Yes, my lawd,
It was made dat way.
Every little soul must shine, shine, shi-ine,
Every little soul must shi-ine, shine, shine."
"Mister Rabbit, Mister Rabbit,
Yo' feet mighty red."
"Yes, my lawd,
I'm a-almost dead.
Every little soul must shine, shine, shi-ine,
Every little soul must shi-ine, shine, shine."
"Mister Rabbit, Mister Rabbit,
Yo' tail mighty white."
"Yes, my lawd,
An' I'm a-gittin' out o' sight.
Every little soul must shine, shine, shi-ine,
Every little soul must shi-ine, shine, shine."
Another song about this engaging young person was sent in by Wirt Williams, of Mississippi, as sung by Anna Gwinn Pickens.
Ole Mister Rabbit
Ole Mister Rabbit,
You're in a mighty habit,
Gwine in mah garden,
Cuttin' down mah cabbage. Urn-hum—urn-hum.
Ole Mister Rabbit,
Your hair look brown,
You 'se gwine so fas'
You'se hittin' de groun' Um-hum—um-hum.
Another variant is only slightly different:
OLE MISTER RABBIT
Ole Mister Rabbit,
You've got a mighty habit,
Of jumpin' in the garden,
And eatin' up the cabbage.
This fragment, given by Miss Emilie Walter, of Charleston, South Carolina, is in the gullah dialect:
BRA' RABBIT— (OYSCHA')
"Bra' Rabbit, wa' yere da do dere?"
"I da pickin' oyscha' fa* young gal.
Da oyscha' bite mah finger,
Da young gal tek dat fa' laugh at."
Lydia Gumbel, of Straight College, New Orleans, sends a Creole song which shows Bre'r Rabbit in festive attire, and mood:
Met Mister Rabbit one night,
All dressed in his plug hat.
He turned his nose up in the air,
Said, "I 'se gwine to Julia's ball,
So good night, possums all."
The possum is another favorite with the darky as piece de resistance for either a meal or a folk-song. The Negro is fond of singing about what lies nearest his heart, — or his stomach, — and there is no one dish more delectable to him than a fat possum planked with "sweet 'taters." In my book, "From a Southern Porch," I quote several "possum songs" at length, wherein the darky recounts the capture of the wily animal and gives detailed directions for cooking it. Here are new "possum songs" not included in that volume.
This first one comes from Texas, where it was sung by a group of Negroes working on the road. A friendly collector loitered near till he jotted down the words.
Great Big Nigger Siton' on a Log
Jakey went out a-huntin' on one moonshiny night.
He treed a possum up yonder out o' sight.
Tuck his little ax an' begin to chop,
"Look out, dere, coon! Somp'n's gwine to drop!"
In de mawnin' you shall be free,
Hoopy-doodle-doo, you shall be free,
When de good Lawd set you free.
Great big nigger sittin' 'hin' a log,
Hand on de trigger an' de eye on de hog.
Gun went bang, an' hog went zip!
Nigger run wid all his grip.
Po' mourner, you shall be free,
Hoopy-doodle, an' you shall be free,
When de good Lawd set you free.
My gal, she's de big town talk,
Her foot covers de whole sidewalk,
Her eyes like two big balls o' chalk,
Her nose is lak a long cornstalk.
Sister Mary, you shall be free,
In de mawnin' you shall be free.
Po? mourner, you shall be free,
When de good Lawd set you free.
The possum's fondness for muscadine, a delicious variety of grape growing wild in southern woods, sometimes called fox-grape, is commented on in the following stanza given me as sung by George Ragland, of Kentucky:
I met a possum in de road,
"Bre'r Possum, whax you gwine?"
"I bless my soul and thank my stars To hunt some muscadine."
E. H. RatclifTe, of Mississippi, remembered a stanza he had heard Negroes sing in his childhood, concerning the shy, reserved ways of the possum.
I met a possum in the road,
And 'shamed he looked to be. He stuck his tail between his legs And gave the xoad to me.
I gave in my " Southern Porch" a quatrain mentioning a possum, for which a correspondent sends me a match, as announcing the birth, not of a "little gal," but of a "little boy."
Possum up de gum-stump,
Coony up de hollow; Little gal at our house
Fat as she kin wallow!
The possum figures in many other songs, but these are enough to illustrate his endearing young charms as the Negro sees them.
The natural companion for the possum is, of course, the coon, and the two are mentioned together in various folk-songs, as has already been seen. The coon has some songs in which he is celebrated alone, however, though he is not so dear to the colored heart as the possum.
W. R. Boyd, Jr., formerly of Texas, gave me a " coon" song which he remembered from hearing his father sing it in his childhood.
Settin' on a Rail
As I went out by the light of the moon,
So merrily singin, this here old tune,
Thar I spies a fat raccoon
A-settin' on a rail,
Settin' on a rail,
Settin' on a rail,
Ha-ha! Ha-ha, Ha-ha, Ha-ha!
Sleepin' mighty sound.
SETTIN' ON A RAIL
rail, Ha-ha! Ha-ha, Ha-ha, Ha-ha! Sleepin'might - y sound.
And up to him I slowly creeped, And up to him I slowly creeped, And up to him I slowly creeped, And I cotch him by de tail, And I cotch him by de tail, And I cotch him by de tail, Ha-ha! Ha-ha, Ha-ha, Ha-ha I And I yank him off dat rail.
This is an old version of the song I have found, with no ascription of authorship and no copyright, a fact that indicates its age, at least, whether it be an old minstrel song or a genuine folk-song:
As I walked out by de light ob de moon, So merrily singing dis same tune, I cum across a big raccoon,
A-sittin' on a rail, sitthV on a rail,
Sittin' on a rail, sittin' on a rail, SleephV wery sound.
I at de raccoon take a peep, An' den so softly to him creep, I found de raccoon fast asleep,
An' pull him off de rail, pull him off de rail,
Pull him off de rail, pull him off de rail, An' fling him on de ground.
De raccoon 7gan to scratch and bite, I hit him once wid all my might, I bung he eye an' spile he sight,
Oh, I'm dat chile to fight, I'm dat chile to fight, I'm dat chile to fight, I'm dat chile to fight, An' beat de banjo, too.
I tell de raccoon 'gin to pray,
While on de ground de raccoon lay,
But he jump up an' run away,
An' soon he out ob sight, soon he out ob sight, Soon he out ob sight, soon he out ob sight, Sittin' on a rail.
My ole massa dead an' gone,
A dose o' poison help him on,
De Debil say he funeral song,
Oh, bress him, let him go I bress him, let him go I Bress him, let him got bress him, let him gol An' joy go wid him, too.
De raccoon hunt so very quare, Am no touch to kill de deer, Beca'se you cotch him widout fear,
Sittin' on a rail, sittin' on a rail,
Sittin' on a rail, sittin' on a rail, Sleepin' wery sound.
Ob all de songs I eber sung
De raccoon hunt's de greatest one,
It always pleases old an' young,
An' den dey cry encore, den dey cry encore, An' den dey cry encore, den dey cry encore, An' den I cum agin.
The coon comes in as a table delicacy in a song sent by Mrs. Cammilla Breazeale, from Natchitoches, Louisiana.
My little yaller coon
Done got back here so soon,
Dat I ain't yet got
De big fat coon
For de 'tater an' de pone,
To eat in de light of de moon.
Most of the wild or forest animals that the Negro mentions in folk-songs are those that he encounters here in America, animals native to the South. But sometimes he reverts to ancestral memories, perhaps, or indulges in imaginative excursions where he meets other creatures, not seen in his rounds here. But for the mention of
"seven-up" in the first stanza of the song given below, one might fancy it a possible atavistic throw-back. But African jungles did not know that lively game, so far as we have any information, so this must be a more modern poem. It is a Creole song sent to me by Worth Tuttle Hedden, who got it from Maude Fuller, of Straight College, New Orleans.
The Monkey and the Baboon
The monkey and the baboon Playing seven-up. The monkey won the money And was scared to pick it up.
The monkey and the baboon Running a race. The monkey fell down And skint his face.
The monkey and the baboon Climbed a tree. The monkey flung a cocoanut Right at me!
A couple of other monkey fragments, tantalizing in their incompleteness, were given me by Mary Stevenson Callcott, of Texas.
Monkey married the baboon's sister, Smacked his lips and then he kissed her. Kissed so hard he raised a blister* She set up a yell.
What do you think the bride was dressed in? Green gauze veil and white glass breast-pin.
Monkey sitting on the end of a rail, Picking his teeth with the end of his tail.
A general assembly of the wild animals is made in a song about Noah and his roll-call in the Ark. "Norah" and his Ark are familiar and fond themes to the folk-songster, and we see countless variations on the situation. But in this particular " arkaic " ditty, the emphasis is on the animals rather than on Noah, or his household, or his labors in constructing his famous vessel.
Did n't old Noah build him an ark, Build it out of hickory bark; Animals come in one by one, Cow a-chewing a caraway bun.
Chorus
Hallelu, Hallelu, Hallelujah to de Lamb.
Hallelu, Hallelu. Hallelu, Hallelu, Hallelujah to de Lamb,
Hallelu, Hallelu.
Animals come in two by two,
Rhinoceros an* kangaroo.
Animals come in three by three,
Bear a-huggin' a bumble-y bee. Chorus
Animals come in four by four,
Noah go mad an' shouted for more.
Animals come in five by five,
Thus the animals did arrive. Chorus
Animals come in six by six,
Hyena laughed at the monkey's tricks.
Animals come in seben by seben,
Said the ant to the elephant,
*' Who's you shoving?'' Chorus
Animals come in eight by eight,
Noah hollered, " Go shut dat gate."
Animals come in nine by nine,
Noah hollered, " Go cut dat line." Chorus
The creation of the animals, as well as their later convocation into the Ark, is told in a Creation song sung for me by Dr. Merle St. Croix Wright.
Story of Creation
First He made a sun, Then He made a moon, Then He made a possum, Then He made a coon.
All de other creatures He made 'em one by one; Stuck 'em on de fence to dry As soon as they was done.
STORY OF CREATION
--Music--
picks up - on de string. Zing, zing, zing, zing, Zing, Zing, Zing.]
Refrain
Walk-ee-in, walk-ee-in, Walk in, I say. Walk into de parlor And hear de banjo play. Walk into de parlor And hear de Niggers sing, And watch de Nigger's fingers As he picks upon de string.
Zing, zing, zing, zing,
Zing, Zing, Zing.
Old Mudder Eve Could n't sleep widout a pillow, And de greatest man dat ever lived Was Jack de Giant-killer.
Old Noah, he was a mighty man An' built a mighty ark, And got all de critters in Jes* before dark.
'Long come de elephant, Noah, says he, "You're drunk." "Oh, no sir," said de elephant. "I'se stopped to pack my trunk."
The domestic animals come in for their share of attention also in Negro folk-songs. The horse, the mule, the dog, the cat, the pig, and so forth are celebrated suitably in song. Familiarity breeds not contempt, but comradeship, it would seem, and surely "critters" would render service more willingly if the songs sung in their presence, or to them, were about them as well.
John Trotwood Moore, of Nashville, Tennessee, contributes an ancient fragment about an old grey horse — not the famous "ole grey horse" that came "tearin' out o' de wilderness, down in Ala-bam'," but another, obviously from Tennessee.
Come down to Tennessee
(Ride er ole grey horse). Yaller gal's de gal for me
(Ride er ole grey horse). Kiss her under de mulberry tree
(Ride er ole grey horse). Oh my, Nigger, don't you see, Better come to Tennessee?
The old grey horse from Alabam' had his match in the mare of similar color and speed, sung of in certain quarters.
The old grey mare come a-tearin' out o' the wilderness, Tearin' out o' the wilderness, Tearin' out o' the wilderness.
The old grey mare come a-tearin' out o' the wilderness, Down in Alabam'.
The old grey mare, she ain't what she used to be, She ain't what she used to be, She ain't what she used to be. The old grey mare, she ain't what she used to be, Down in Alabam'.
Douglas Batchelor, formerly of North Carolina, insists that the old grey horse he knew came "trottin"' out of the wilderness; but maybe horses in North Carolina are less speedy. I have been told that army men have added stanzas to this "old grey mare," which no one seems willing to give me.
A little pony constitutes the inspiration for a song from Dorothy Renick, of Texas — a beast that must have been as difficult to turn as an awkward automobile in the hands of a woman driving it the first time.
I had a little pony,
I rode him down town.
And ev'ry time I turned him round,
Turn him on an acre ground I
Boots and shoe-line come down, Lady shoe-line come down; Boots and shoe-line come down, Lady shoe-line come down.
Then there is the little pony I used to hear my mother sing about — an animal beloved of the slaves on her childhood's plantation.
I had a little pony,
His name was Jack; I rid his tail
To save his back.
A certain folk-stanza occurs repeatedly in varying forms, the only elements that remain constant being a river and a horse — unsta-tionary as they both might seem. One says:
I went to the river
And could n't get across. Jumped on a Nigger-back And thought he was a hoss.
Mr. Dowd, formerly of Charleston, South Carolina, gives this version:
Sister Cyahiine
I went to de river
An' I could n't get across;
Down by de river.
I jumped on a Nigger-back
An' thought he was a hoss.
Cyarline, O Cyarlinel Can't you dance de pea-vine? Aunt Jemima, o-l-ol
Charles Carroll of New Orleans sings it after this fashion:
I went to the river And could n't get across. Jumped on an alligator And thought it was a horse.
Mrs. Hatchell, New Orleans, knows this form:
I went to the river, And could n't get across; Paid five dollars For an old blind horse.
A nonsense fragment about an antique equine was given by Mrs. W. D. Martin.
De old hoss kick
And a hippy-doodle.
De old hoss kick
And a hippy-doodle.
The old hoss kick hard in the stable,
And he could n't git his foot out
Because he was n't able I
The little pony whose rider chose a queer position for economic reasons had its running-mate in an old mule that was treated in like fashion:
I had a old mule,
His name was Jack,
I rode on his tail to save his back.
The lightning roll, the thunder flash,
An' split my coat-tail clear to smash.
The mule seems an unpoetic subject, on the whole, and it would perhaps be dangerous to take vers liberties with him, for his feet, while perhaps not strictly metrical in their movement, have their own crude emphasis. But poets or "songsters" refuse to be fettered as to inspiration, and so the mule, too, has his celebrants in song. The lyric outburst given below was contributed by Mary Stevenson Callcott, of Texas. It is fervent and sincere in its emotion, one must confess.
NEGRO FOLK-SONGS
WHOA, MULE!
Whoa, mule, whoa, mule, whoa, mule, I tell you,
Whoa, mule, I say!
Tied a slip-knot in his tail
And his head slipped through the collar.
Lordy, lordy, save us,
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw!
Lordy, lordy, save us!
Whoa, mule, I say!
Chorus
Whoa, mule, I tell you, Whoa, mule, I say! Ain't got time to kiss you now, But don't you run away.
What a spontaneous expression of romance and realism is found in a song sent from Mississippi by Wirt A. Williams! The "mulie" referred to here is not a mule, as urban readers might ignorantly suppose, but an ox without horns.
Last Year Was a Fine Crap Year
Last year was a fine crap year
On corn and peas and 'maters;
My pa did n't raise no cotton and corn,
But, oh, good Lord, the 'tatersl
Chorus Haw, Buck, haw, Buck, haw! Who made de back band? Say you don't know? Soon as I git my crap laid by I'se gwine home to Julie.
Last year I ploughed de horny ox, Dis year I ploughs de mulie. Soon as I git my crap laid by I'se gwine home to Julie.
Chorus
I know of no modern, sophisticated poets who metrically eulogize a hound or billy-goat — unless the one responsible for
You got to quit kickin' my dog around, I don't care if he is a hound,
be considered a case in point. But after all, why should not the faithful though unhandsome brute who companions the Negro's hours of idleness be lyricized, as well as, say, a bird or stag or some creature indifferent to his existence?
The unknown author of the song contributed by Mrs. Bartlett seems to have felt strongly on her subject. Mrs. Bartlett writes: "There is another that Mr. Bartlett used to delight the children with. I used to know a colored chambermaid at Hollins, named Penny, who said something like it, only her 'speech' had to do with a rabbit; but she used the same nonsensical interruptions and assumed the same expression of inspired idiocy that Mr. Bartlett deems fitting for the proper interpretation of Ole Aunt Dinah.'1
Ole Aunt Dinah — sick in bed,
Eegisty — ogisty I Sent for the doctah — doctah said,
Eegisty — ogisty I "Git up, Dinah,—
Ring-ding-ah-ding — ah You ain't sick.
Eegisty — ogisty!
All you need
Ring-ding-ah-ding — ah! Is a hickory stick!"
Eegisty-ogisty — ring-ding-ah-ding — ah I
The dashes stand for peculiar "spittings and puffings with the lips, that defy expression. However, they are an important part of the rhythm of the incantation. There is another verse which I write out without attempting the gutterals and fanciful refrains, though they must be understood as accompanying it:
Ole Aunt Dinah went to town,
Riding a billy-goat, leading a hound.
Hound barked, billy-goat jumped, Set Aunt Dinah straddle of a stump.
This might be compared with the predicament of one Daniel Tucker, in the fragment given by Mary Stevenson Callcott and others:
Old Dan Tucker went to town,
Riding a horse and leading a hound. The hound did bark, the horse did jump, And left Dan Tucker straddle of a stump.
Who knows what dateless tragedy in some colored farm was responsible for the outburst reported by Mrs. A. J. Smith, from Texas? At least let us rejoice that the comforts of literature are left to the singer, even if his dogs are dead.
Jtmmtk-Ma~Riley-Oh 1
I looked down the road And I seed de dust a-risin'..
Jimmie-ma-riley-oh! The big dog dead An' the little one a-pizened.
Jimmie-ma-riley-oh! And when I get a new book I read it to the chillun.
Jimmie-ma-riley-oh I
This suggests the version sent by Mrs. Richard Clough Thompson, of Arkansas, though the latter omits the dogs:
I look up de road and see de dust a-risin',
Johnny kum a-rango way! Did you eber see a yaller gal lickhV 'lasses candy?
Johnny kum a-rango way!
Hoover would give at least practical, if not poetic, approval of the fragment sung by Anne Gilmer, wherein the lowly pig has his meed of mention. She learned it from Negroes at Orange, Texas.
O-O-OH, SISTREN AN' BRED'REN
O-o-oh, sistren an' bred'ren,
Don't you think it is a sin For to go to .peel potatoes
An' to cas' away de skin? De skin feeds de pigs, An' de pigs feeds you. O-o-oh, sistren an' bred'ren, Is not dat true ?
Miss Gilmer says that the Negro rendition of this is dramatic. The O-o-oh should be wound up with circular motion of the hand.
The cat appears less often in Negro folk-song than most of the "beasties," but does come in occasionally, as the "yaller cat" that Juba killed. The Cat Came Back is not a folk-song, but it is in oral circulation in the South, and has experienced some slight folk-changes.
A shout-song from the Tidewater district of South Carolina, given by Miss Emilie Walters, mentions the various animals in rather curious fashion. The idea seems to be that the singer's feelings will not be hurt by any metaphor likening him to a lower creature.
YOU CALL ME DOG, I DON* KER
You call me dog,. . I don* ker, Oh, rock-um Jub - a - lee!]
You call me dog, I don' ker,
Oh, my Lord! You call me dog, I don* ker,
Oh, rockum jubalee!
You call me cat, I don' ker,
Oh, my Lord! You call me cat, I don' ker,
Oh, rockum jubalee!
You call me mule, I don: ker,
Oh, my Lord! You call me mule, I don' ker,
Oh, rockum jubalee!
You call me snake, I don' ker,
Oh, my Lord! You call me snake, I don' ker,
Oh, rockum jubalee!
This was used to teach very young children to "shout and clap," which was done in syncopated1 time as an accompaniment. The verses were endless, as every known and unknown biological specimen was introduced.
Mrs. Ratcliffe of Natchez has two felines in a fragment of folksong she gave me:
Mary, she did dream a dream,
As she was floating down the stream.
When she woke, she gave a sigh,
The grey cat kicked out the black cat's eye!
Birds and fowls also enter into the biological folk-song of the Negro. Feathers, wild and tame alike, flit through the lines, for the Negro makes comrades of the creatures that come into his life. He shows this difference from the sophisticated poet in that he devotes
more attention to realism and less to sentimentalism, has more humor and less of the pathetic fallacy. He does not go into adjectival ecstasies over the song of the mocking-bird — or any other bird, so far as I know; nor does he choose the conventional effusions of comparison. A bird is to him not a goddess of the sky, but a human being, a creature not of moonlit magic but of sunshine actuality, not a thing to be worshipped from afar but to be hailed as comrade of the field. In other words, a bird, not a trim-Shakespeare, not a light-winged dryad of the trees, no unbodied joy, or glow-worm golden, or anything of the sort. The darky of the South deals with birds in his own familiar manner.
The jay-bird, that lovely thing with a rascal nature and a ribald tongue, is well enough understood by the black man who works in the open near him all day and is convinced that you never see jaybirds on Friday because that day they all spend in torment, carrying sand for the devil. So there is no mawkish admiration for his beauty, no misconception of his attitudinizing. When the Negro sings of him this is what he says:
Jay-bird sittin' on a hickory limb; He winked at me and I winked at him, And I picked up a rock an' hit him on the chin. And he said, "Now, look here, Mr. Wilson, Don't you do dat agin."
Chorus
Jim crack corn — I don't care,
Jim crack corn — I don't care,
Jim crack corn — I don't care,
'Cause Massa's gone away.
Here the jay borrows for his own use the saucy chorus of an old Negro folk-song.
Or the audacious bird may be addressed as Mrs. Tom Bartlett reports, in a version which was one of her father's favorites. She writes: "In reading your book, 'From a Southern Porch/ I was reminded of two songs that suggested themselves very naturally after reading the classic, Possum up a Gum-stumP that was one of my father's favorites, and Raccoon up a Simmon Tree"
Jay-bird settin' on a hickory limb; I picked up a rock an' hit him on the chin. "Good God, Nigger! Don't you do that again!" Whoo-jamboree, a-whoo-whoo!
Ole Massa and Mistis ridin* in a hack, That's what gives a Nigger the pain in the back! With a whoo-jamboree, a-whoo-whoo; A whoo-jamboree, a-whoo-whoo!
The Negro is not limited to the birds which poets usually lyricize, — the lark, the nightingale, the mocking-bird, — but he knows some the classic poets never heard of. He is bound by no traditions, but sings what pleases him. He is liberated from conventional concepts, first because he is born free of nature, and then because he makes his song for his own pleasure, not to please some crabbed editor shut up in a dark cell in Manhattan. He is not even interested in his audience, for he sings to himself in the field, and if the cotton rows or the rail fence dislike his metre, at least they say nothing about it. The Negro can see the dramatic values and the character interest in a bird not usually regarded with affection, as in the "Hawkie" reported by Wirt Williams from Mississippi.
Hawkie Is a Schemes' Bird
Hawkie is a schemin' bird, He schemes all round the sky; He schemes into my chicken house And makes my chickens fly.
Chorus
Git along down town,
Git along down town,
Git along down to Vickburg town
For to lay my 'baccer down.
Went up on de mountain To give my horn a blow; Thought I heard my sweetheart say, "Yonder comes my beau."
Chorus Climbed up on a mountain To cut me a load of cane, To make me a barrel o' sorghum For to sweeten Liza Jane.
Chorus Got a train in Cairo Sixteen coaches long; All I want dat train to do Is to fotch my gal along.
Chorus
What member of the Poetry Society of America would apostrophize a buzzard, I ask you? Yet the colored man of the field finds fellowship even there, as we see in a stanza reported by Professor W. A. Kern, of Randolph-Macon Woman's College, Lynchburg, Virginia.
Old King Buzzard floating high,
" Sho do wish old cow would die."
Old cow died, old calf cried,
"Oh mourner, you shall be free."
What camaraderie is shown in such lines as those to a woodpecker, sent in by Elsie Brown, of Asheville, North Carolina!
Peckerwood, peckerwood, What makes your head so red? You peck out in the sun so long, It's a wonder you ain't dead.
A Negro on Howard Snyder's plantation in Mississippi summed up considerable of his philosophy of life, as well as of nature study, in stanzas which lack logical sequence but seem fervent and sincere.
Monkey settin' on de end uf a rail Pickin' his teeth wid de end uf his tail. Mulberry leaves un' calico sleeves, All school teachers is so hard to please.
Red bird settin' up in de 'sirnmon tree, Possum settin' on de ground; Sparrow come along un' say, " Shake dem 'simmons down."
De hen dip de snuff, De rooster chew terbaccer, De guinea don't chew But strut her sulf.
Pigs under de table Rats on de shelf. I'm so tired uf sleepin' All by my sulf.
The Negro is interested in the domestic fowls perhaps mote than in wild birds, and drumsticks move him to song more spontaneously than feathered vocal cords, it would seem. He feels midnight inspiration at times, but not from rheumatic waiting to hear a nightingale warble. No, he goes in search of his thrills and finds them in
unpoetic places. For instance, there is the song about "my ol' friend, as cute as a mouse," who stole into the chicken house and lifted all the hens, which is in my "From a Southern Porch/' and so should not be repeated here. But a similar song with a differing chorus, given by Louise Garwood, of Houston, Texas, may appropriately be given.
Fragment prom Pore Mohrnah
Creepin' in de henhouse on mah knees, Thought ah heard a chicken sneeze! 'Twan't no thin' but a rooster savin' his prayers, Makin' a speech to de hens upstairs.
Chorus
Pore mournah, you shall be free, In de mornin' you shall be free! Pore mournah, you shall be free, When de good Lawd sets you free!
Mah or* Mistis promised me
When she dies she'd set me free.
She libed so long dat her head got bald;
Don't b'lieve old Mistis gwine die aytall.
Chorus As ah was goin' down de road, Wid a hahd team an' a heavy load, Ah cracked dat whip an' de mule he sprung, But de ole hoss busted de wagon-tongue!
The license, poetic and otherwise, associated with "hen-houses" is illustrated by the variations which oral circulation has given to the song Dar's a Lock on the Chicken-house Door, which Professor Kittredge tells me is a comparatively modern stage-piece.
And of course every Southerner knows:
Chickens in de bread tray,
Scratchin' out de dough. Granny, will yo' dog bite?
No, chile, no! Granny, will yo' dog bite?
No, chile, no!
Then there is the ambitious chicken in the stanza given me by an old colored cook in Waco:
SHANGHAI CHICKEN
Shang - hai chick - en an* he grow so tall, Hoo - day!
Hoo-day! Takedat egg a month to fall, Hoo-day! Hoo-day!
Shanghai chicken an* he grow so tall,
Hooday! Hooday! Take dat egg a month to fall,
Hooday I Hooday I
Other fowls have their tribute of praise, even if chickens do come first. The ditty concerning one Aunt Patsy and her old grey goose, which appeared in the first chapter of this volume, has its variants as well. The owner of the unfortunate goose appears diversely as Aunt Nancy, Aunt Abby, and so on, but the goose remains constant, always old and always grey, and its sad fate ever the same. Professor Kittredge writes me, concerning this lament: "This is borrowed from the whites. My grandfather, born in New Hampshire in 1798, used to sing it, 'Tell Aunt Dinah/ etc." But I am reluctant to surrender this favorite to the whites — especially the Yankees! Lois Upshaw, of Dallas, Texas, gives a version with a little additional tune.
Go Tell Aunt Tabbie
Go tell Aunt Tabbie, Go tell Aunt Tabbie, Go tell Aunt Tabbie, The old grey goose is dead.
The one she was a-savin', The one she was a-savin', The one she was a-savin' To make a feather bed.
Chorus She was in the pond a-swimmm', In the pond a-swimmin^ In the pond a-swirnmin,, An* now she is dead;
She was in the pond a-swimmm', In the pond a-swimmm', Caught her foot on a 'simmon root, An' a turtle got her head.
GO TELL AUNT TABBIE
The turkey, ungraceful though beloved fowl, scrambles through a somewhat repetitious song contributed by Miss EmiHe Walters of Charleston, South Carolina, as sung years ago by the Negroes of that section.
Rock to See de Turkey Run
Rock to see de turkey run, Run, run, run, run, run, run. Rock to see de turkey run, Run, run, run, run, run, run. Rock to see de turkey run, Run, run, run.
There are various other examples, as the song
I had a little rooster
And my rooster pleased me,
which goes on for some length- And there is the round about the rooster who would persist in crowing before day — an annoying enough habit, as anyone will concede. Too, there is the guinea, who appeared in the lullaby where "the guinea's on her nest." I have heard snatches of an entertaining barnyard song chanted by an old Negro in Abilene, where the rooster crows, "Preacher's cbmin* tomorrow!" and the other fowls respond characteristically; but I have not been able to get it.
So catholic are the Negro's interests in nature that he sees rhyme-worthy inspiration even in reptiles, from which most poets shudder away. True, Milton mentions one serpent of distinction, but on account of his diabolic nature, which raised him to dignity. He did not write of the snake as a snake. Now, the darky can appreciate the essential reptilian qualities and respect the cleverness of even the picaresque rattler. There is one memorable rattlesnake that writhes its way through many variants of an old quatrain, as in the second stanza of a song given by Elizabeth Dickinson, of Birmingham, Alabama.
There Was an Old Nigger, His Name Was Dr. Peck
There was an old Nigger, his name was Dr. Peck; He fell in de well an' broke his neck. De cause ob de fall was all his own, 'Case he orter look atter de sick An' let de well alone I
Chorus
You shall be free, mourners,
You shall be free,
When de good Lawd set you free.
As I was goin' through de old cornfield, A rattlesnake bit me on de heel. I turned right round for to run my best, An' run my head right in a hornet's nest.
Chorus
The bullfrog, too, springs into notice in these old folk-songs. Various basso stanzas announce his personality and actions, as the one given by Anne Gilmer, of Orange, Texas, which was learned from Negro nurses.
BULLFROG
jine dat heavenly band, Where dere ain't an-y weep-in' an-y mo'.. .
Bullfrog jumped in de middle ob de spring,
An' I ain't a-gwine to weep no mo'. He tied his tail to a hick'ry limb,
An' I ain't a-gwine to weep no mo'.
Chorus
Fare ye well, my ladies,
I'll jine dat heavenly band,
Where dere ain't any weepin' any mo'.
Fare ye well, my ladies,
I'll jine dat heavenly band,
Where dere ain't any weepin' any mo'.
He kicked an' he r'ared an' he could n't make a jump,
An' I ain't a-gwine to weep no mo'. He kicked an' he r'ared an' he could n't make a jump,
An* I ain't a-gwine to weep no mo'.
Chorus
The bullfrog that E. H. Ratclifle, of Natchez, Mississippi, remembered must have been in a rampageous mood.
The bullfrog jumped from the bottom of a well,
And swore that he was just from hell;
He tied his tail to a hickory stump
And he r'ared and he pitched but he could n't make a jump.
Other reptilian folk appear in a song given by Josephine Pankey of Little Rock, Arkansas, which was sung by slaves before the war and was "fiddled" for the Negro dancers.
Old Dan Tucker
Oh, Daniel Tucker on the railroad track,
Pinnin' the engine to his back, Trirnmin, the corners of the railroad wheel,
Give him the toothache in his heel.
Chorus
Oh, Sambo, pore boy,
Oh, Sambo, pore boy I The frog wanted to come,
But he did n't have the chance.
The cricket played the fiddle,
An' the tadpole danced. The frog wanted to come,
But he did n't have the chance.
Chorus
I sympathize with the disappointment of the frog and wonder what ill fate it was that kept him back. I have an affectionate interest in frogs and toads, and still grieve for my pets, Nip and Tuck, twin little toads in "From a Southern Porch." But the most famous frog is he that has a ballad all his own, recorded here in an earlier chapter, describing his wooing.
Fish seem not to have been caught much in folk-song, but I have found at least one stanza, a fragment sung years ago by the Negroes in Angelina County, Texas.
Catfish runnin' down de stream, Yes, my Lawd, I'll meet you. Run so hard he could n't be seen, Yes, my Lawd, I'll meet you.
Insects, too, have their shrill little part in this biological orchestration. The cricket fiddler mentioned above is not by himself, for there are various others, as the flea I quoted in my "Southern Porch,"
as quick at repartee as at hopping, and the bedbug from that same volume, not so gifted as the June bug and the lightning bug — but arriving at his objective "jes' de same." There is the "grass-mo whopper settin' on a sweet potato vine" in the same Porch milieu, picked from his attractive setting by "Mr. Turkey Gobble-wobble,'' who came walking up behind him in an unsportsmanlike manner. Since the music was not given in the former volume, I will add it here. A different form of it appears in a spiritual sent by Lucy Dickinson Urquhart, of Lynchburg, Virginia.
Zaccheus Climbed the Sycamo' Tree
Zaccheus climbed the sycamo' tree,
Few days, few days! Zaccheus climbed the sycamo' tree,
Few days, get along home. Oh, he's way up yondeh — oh, he's way up yondeh, Oh, he's way up yondeh in dat sycamo' tree.
Zaccheus climbed his Lord fo' to see,
Few days, few days! Zaccheus climbed his Lord fo' to see,
Few days, get along home. Oh, he's way up yondeh — oh, he's way up yondeh, Oh, he's way up yondeh, in dat sycamo' tree!
Mrs. Urquhart says: "The following stanza may have been improvised by some less reverent mind. But that only goes to show that it is a real folk-song, in that it is a composite production."
Grasshopper settin' on a sweet 'tater vine,
Few days, few days! Shangai rooster crope up behine,
Few days, git along home. Oh, he's way up yondeh — oh, he's way up yondeh, Oh, he's way up yondeh, in dat syc'mo' tree!
Then there was the "po' inch-worm" in the spiritual Keep A-Inchin' Along, and the "inchin' wurum" that cut down the "go'd vine" which had grown up to shade the luckless Jonah from the sun, in the chant from South Carolina.
Mississippi Negroes sing nonsensically,
Shoo fly, don't you bodder me, Shoo fly, don't you bodder me,
Shoo fly, don't you bodder me, For I belongs to Company G.
I am told that this was originally a minstrel song.
In my childhood I have heard Texas Negroes sing a stanza based
on the slang phrase "no flies on," meaning nothing to complain of in
a person. I recall being shocked at their license, but I think they did
not mean to be irreverent-There 's flies on me, There's flies on you, But there ain't no flies on Jesus.
A typical Southern picture of the old-time plantation, where the kitchen was in a building separate from the "big house," is given in a stanza contributed by Isabel Walker, of Richmond, Virginia. This was a favorite song of an old Negro, Laurence Newbill, now dead, who had been a family slave.
Milk and de veal Six weeks old, Mice and skippers Gettin' mighty bold! Long-tailed mouse Wid a pail of souse, Skippin' frum de kitchen, To de white folks' house!
This is a variant of a stanza of Keemo Kimo, a banjo song found in George Christy and Wood's "New Song Book," 1864.
The blue-tailed fly is an insect that figures in folk-song, as the following, given by Mary Burnley Gwathmey, of Tidewater district, Virginia, attests:
De Blue-tail Fly
When I was young I used to wait On Massa an' hand him de plate, An' pass de bottle when he git dry An' bresh away de blue-tail fly.
Chorus
Jim crack corn, I don't care, Jim crack corn, I don't care, Jim crack corn, I don't care, Ole Massa's gone away.
DE BLUE-TAIL FLY
pass de bot-tle when he git dry An'bresh a - way de blue-tail fly.
Den arter dinner Massa sleep, He bid dis Nigger vigil keep; An' when he gwine to shut his eye, He tell me watch de blue-tail fly.
Chorus
An' when he ride in de arternoon, I foiler wid a hickory broom; De pony being berry shy, When bitten by de blue-tail fly.
Chorus
One day he ride aroun' de farm; De flies so numerous dey did swarm; One chance to bite 'im on de thigh, De debble take dat blue-tail fly.
Chorus
De pony run, he jump an' pitch, An' tumble Massa in de ditch. He died, an' de jury wondered why; De verdic' was de blue-tail fly.
Chorus
Dey laid 'im under a 'simmon tree; His epitaph am dar to see: "Beneath dis stone I'm forced to lie, All by de means ob de blue-tail fly."
Chorus
Ole Massa gone, now let 'im rest; Dey say all t'ings am for de best. I nebber forget till de day I die, Ole Massa an' dat blue-tail fly.
Chorus
Major Beverly Douglass improvised this stanza years ago:
If you should come in summertime To ole Virginia's sultry clime, And in de shade you chance to He, You'll soon find out dat blue-tail fly.
Chorus
Garnett Eskew, of West Virginia, sang some of it in a different way, as:
I won't forgit till de day I die
How Master rode de blue-tail fly. Dat pony r'ar, dat pony kick,
An' flinged old Master in de ditch.
These illustrate variants on the minstrel song, Jim Crack Corn, found in "The Negro Melodist," 1857, and elsewhere.
Even the mosquito has its song, as that sung by the Louisiana Negroes in the Creole patois, contributed by Mrs. George Dynoodt, of New Orleans.
LA PLUIE TOMBE
La pluie tombe, Crapeau chante, Oin, oin! oin, oin! oin, oin! M'a pale baigner moin. La pluie tombe, Marin-gouin crie, M'a pale noyer moin. La pluie tombe, Marin-gouin crie, M'a pale noyer moin. Oin, oin I oin, oin! oin, oin!
This, roughly translated, says:
The rain falls,
The frog croaks,
Wee-wee! wee-wee! wee-wee!
Tells me to come into the water.
The rain falls,
The mosquito cries,
Tells me to drown myself.
Wee-wee! wee-wee! wee-wee!
Then, of course, one recalls the boll weevil, most famous of insects, picaresque, determined, resourceful, which has an elaborate ballad all its own, The Boll Weevil, recorded in an earlier chapter of this volume. And there is the abumberly-bee,J that gathers honey all day long and "stows hit in de ground."
One might go on indefinitely giving these folk-songs wherein the Negro intimately addresses the live creatures about him, with affectionate understanding of their good points, but not blinded as to their shortcomings. He likes them. They interest him, and his poetry is of the things that honestly appeal to him, not of what he thinks a conventional public or white-collared editors expect him to praise. He may deal with his subjects impersonally, as figures in a universal comedy in which he is an observer. Or he may treat them subjectively, comparing his lot with theirs, as in the stanza I have heard my mother sing, and also given by May Terry Goodman, which will do to close with.
DEY ALL GOT A MATE BUT ME
gag-in' in deir tab-its, An' dey all got a mate but me.]
Dere's de fox an' de hare,
De badger an' de bear,
An' de birds in de greenwood tree,
An' de cunnin' little rabbits,
All engagin' in deir habits,
An' dey all got a mate but me.