Bluegrass Messengers

VIII.  WORK- SONGS

THE Negro, by nature rhythmical, works better if he sings at his labor. He seems to lighten his toil, perhaps even to forget the fact that he is working, if he has a song to help him on. As a soldier can march with less fatigue if inspired by the music of a band, so a Negro's hoe or axe swings more easily to the beat of a ballad or the sighing swing of a spiritual, or any sort of song he chants at his task. He can work not only more pleasurably to himself, but more prof­itably to his employer, for he moves faster and accomplishes more if he sings. This is well recognized by those who employ bands of Negroes at various types of work, as on construction gangs, and the like, and the fact is taken advantage of. Singing is encouraged — not as an art, but as an economic factor in efficiency. Song leaders are chosen, formally or informally, their responsibility being to speed up the efforts of the workers. Sometimes these men are paid more than any of their comrades, and are required to do nothing but direct the songs.
Frances Gilchrist Wood has told me of such methods used twenty-five years ago in the phosphate mines in Florida. The song leader would be called a "Phosphate Jesse," and all he had to do was to inspire the singing. Under the thrill of music, the workers would compete madly with each other to see who could "lay the rest out," until all but one had dropped in exhaustion, almost denuded of clothes. Song leaders also directed the singing of Negroes in the turpentine camps in Florida, Mrs. Wood says. The men who worked at "box-chopping," or chopping the trees to let the turpentine run out into the boxes placed to receive it, had their own special songs.
There is a good deal of singing in tobacco factories in the South to-day, but less than formerly, since machinery has been substituted to do what once was done by hand. In the old days, the workers sang in chorus at their task; and now that the roar of wheels would drown out their voices, in some factories the machinery is stopped for brief periods during the day and the toilers rest themselves by singing. The colored employees of the Lorillard Tobacco Company, of Richmond, Virginia, have a chorus of one hundred and seventy-five voices, and they sing the old Negro folk-songs. But in former
days there was much more music during work hours. Judge Diggs of Lynchburg, Virginia, told me that in his town there used to be a large number of independent tobacco factories, at which the Negro workers sang a great deal; but these smaller plants have been taken over by a big combine, and machinery has driven out song.
Early Busby says that the night shifts of employees at his father's brickyard in East Texas sang all night long at their task.
On the big plantations of the South, certain work, as corn-shuck­ing, would be done by large bands of Negroes. Dr. John A. Wyeth told me of such occasions and the songs they called forth. On the old plantations there were square rail-pens for corn. The owner would have thousands of bushels of corn put on and then invite the Negroes on neighboring plantations to come in for an "infare." On top of the huge mound of corn the Negro leader of song would perch, while the others would be grouped all round the pyramid of yellow ears. As the workers husked, the leader would give out a line of song, which they would take up as a refrain.
Oh, rock me gently, Julie! 
  
 The refrain would come in all round, —0-0-0-0-0, harmony, the cadence pitched to high feeling. a low swell of 
 GRASSY ISLANDS 
  
  
 I'm gwine away to leave you,
O-o-o-o-o! I'm gwine away to the grassy islands,
O-o-o-o-o I
This last would be in a more lively tune.
The Negroes had unusual liberties on corn-shucking nights, and the event was one of hilarity and revelry.
Again the leader would sing, and the others follow, with some couplet such as this:
A little streak o} lean, an' a little streak o' fat, Ole Massa grumble ef yo' eat much o' dat!
WORK-SONG  (Streak of Lean)
  
  
 This has reference to weekly rations for a Negro on the old planta tions, which were three and one-half pounds of bacon and a peck of meal, with vegetables grown on the place.
Such customs have continued even in recent times. Samuel Derieux, of South Carolina, whose recent death was a loss to South­ern literature, told me of an occasion when Negroes came from miles around to his grandfather's plantation to shuck corn which had to be taken care of promptly after a fire had destroyed a big barn. The Negroes worked and sang all night, improvising inimitable har­monies from a few lines, whose words seemed nonsensical. Mr. Derieux said that when a gang of Negro workmen sing in unison they sometimes achieve extraordinary effects. He heard one gang of convicts working on the road, a chain-gang, singing a song of which he remembered only a fragment, but he recalled the mar­vellous part-singing and the harmonics evolved: 
 CITY OF REFUGE
 
Chorus
You better run,
You better run,
You better run to de City of Refuge,
You better run!
The basses would go to impressive depths, while the tenors and bari­tones would curl all round the heavier tones in improvised runs and quavers.
Mr. Derieux told of the singing of one Jake, who had what one folk-song calls "a ponstrous voice/' and who was a famous song leader. Jake ran a boot-legging joint in the bushes near a certain "baptizing pond" in South Carolina, and when the crowds assem­bled for a baptizing he did a rushing business. On one occasion a white man who had come to attend the ceremony called Jake aside and requested refreshment.
" Yessir, boss/' Jake replied, "but you have to wait awhile. My time be baptized next. After that I 'tend to you."
The customer was acquiescent, and so, after Jake emerged from the water and changed to dry clothes, he hastened to go on breaking the dry law.
Mr. Derieux said that he had lived near a convict camp in South Carolina and gone often to listen to the prisoners sing as they worked. A certain band of life-termers, who had been together for a long time, had sung together so much that they were in fine voice, and had wonderful harmony of part-singing. They sang all day-Sunday, as they had nothing else to do.
Mr. Derieux described the iron cage that was moved about for the gang to sleep in at night — something like a Pullman car, only very different as to comfort and looks. The convicts would be chained to the cage on Sunday, but allowed certain freedom of movement. They sang all day. He vividly recalled fragments of their songs.
0, Lawd, ain't dey rest fo' de weary one?
One star in de east, One star in de west. And I wish dat star was in mah breast!
Let us cross ober de ribber, Let us cross ober de ribber, Let us cross ober de ribber, An' rest.
Come across, Moses, Don't get lost.
Spread yo' rod an' come across. Jesus, Jesus died on de cross.
These convicts sang, while the hard-faced guards watched them ceaselessly and the bloodhounds lay beside them.
Dr. Boyd, of Nashville, Tennessee, an elderly man very promi­nent in religious work among his race, discussed with me the various types of work-singing among the Negroes. He said that the music and the words changed in every state, and to know the reasons for the change one would have to know the history of industrial condi­tions in each locality. He said that in Virginia the singing was more like that of a choir. In tobacco factories there would always be a leader, who would lead in singing, and a marvellous sort of group-singing resulted. In South Carolina the work was chiefly done out of doors, — as in rice-fields, and so forth, — where the laborers sang corn-songs. In turning the water through the rice, the leader would start off with a song, and the other laborers would follow as they came up to him. In Mississippi the Negroes sang as they worked hoeing or picking cotton in the fields, sometimes near together and sometimes scattered. In Louisiana the workers in the sugar-cane fields varied as to their singing, the cane cutters singing one way and the haulers another. In Texas, which was a new country, the sing­ing was made up of almost all types.
The cotton-field has heard much of this communal singing, as any Southerner knows. J. E. Morrow reports a scene from Texas:
"A number of 'hands' were in a cotton patch, and they con­stantly sang as they went down the rows. Groups of kindred spirits would sing one song together, or each sing a stanza alone, as fancy suggested. One of the favorites was this. One of the groups in the cotton patch — and the fastest — had for its leader an old man. He was apparently tireless, or so engrossed with his singing that he never slacked exertion. His favorite was the first stanza in this song. As he sang, the others added their contribution, with the following composite result.
"Would n't drive so hard but I needs de arns, Would n't drive so hard but I needs de arns. Snatchin' an' a-crammin' it in my sack, Gotter have some cotton if it breaks my back. Would n't drive so hard, but I needs de arns, Would n't drive so hard, but I needs de arns."
The workers on the sugar plantations in southern Louisiana have their songs, as one given me by Alvin Belden, of New Orleans. The "row" referred to here is the long line of young cane, though it might as well be a row of cotton or corn. 
 ROW AFTER ROW
Chorus
Row after row, my baby, Row after row, my baby, Row after row, my baby, Row after row.
When I think of her the rows get shorter, For I find my work is through; So I keep on a-hoein' an' a-hoein', Thinkin' of Miss Lindy Lou.
Chorus
/The rhythmic possibilities of the washboard in the hands of a Negress are all but illimitable. J There are many " rubbing songs," but .one example, a Creole song from Louisiana given by Mrs. George Deynoodt and Mrs. La Rose, of New Orleans will serve. 
 TOUT PITIT NEGRESSE 
  
  
selle, les blanchiseuses! A, al - la, mam-selle, les blanchiseuses!]

Tout pitit Negresse en bas bayou, A-pe laver chimise ye* mama! A, alia, mamselle, les blanchiseusesl A, alia, mamselle, les blanchiseuses!
Tout pitit Negre en bas bayou, A-pe frotter culotte ye' papa! A, alia, monsieur, les blanchisseurs! A, alia, monsieur, les blanchisseurs!
This says (in English):
A very little Negress down on the bayou Washing shirts, oh, mama! Oh, lady, the washerwomen! Oh, lady, the washerwomen!
A very little Nigger boy down on the bayou, Scrubbing underclothes, oh, papa! Oh, man, the washerman! Oh, man, the washerman!
There are various occupational songs that interest the collector and reveal the Negro's habit of making his work something more than mere machine movements — characterizing it, so to speak, giv­ing it dramatic values./If that spirit could be carried over into all in­dustry and even professional work, perhaps there would be less labor unrest than at present. Work is dignified when it is shown to be im­portant enough to have a song addressed to it, when it is lyrically apostrophized. The Negro has little of the detached, impersonal attitude toward life or any aspect of it, but thinks and speaks sub­jectively. Even the street cries in the South are musical, as Harriet Kershaw Leiding has shown in her interesting booklet about Charleston, "Street Cries of an Old City." So, in New Orleans, the chimney-sweep announces himself by a weird cry, half wail and half chant, which can scarcely be imitated, but which is very impressive: Ramonee la chemine latannier! And Miss Emilie Walter has given me the cry of the watermelon vendor in South Carolina: "Barka-lingo, watermelon! Barka-lingo, watermelon!" with its musical in­tonations and echoing fall.
In Texas, especially at Waco, I am told, the bootblacks sing at their work, songs passed from one to another, or improvisations, which they call "shine reels," and which serve not only to entertain the customer whose shoes are being polished, but to make less weary the waiting time for those who have not yet ascended the throne. The boys who black the shoes of the Baylor University students are, or used to be several years ago (I left Waco some years ago and cannot speak definitely now), adept at remembering or im­provising these reels. Early Busby gave me one recently that he recalled having heard sung at these bootblack establishments.
SHINE REEL
"Where wuz you, Sweet Mama, When de boat went down? " "On de deck, Baby,
Hollerin', ' Alabama bounT"
James E. Morrow gives several of the shine reels featured by these singers, of which the following is an example:
Yon'er goes my Nora, gittin' drunk ergin, Yon'er goes my Nora, gittin' drunk ergin.
Oh, Miss Sudie!
She's got good booty,
Di'mon' rings and fine clo'es too,
But dat Nigger ain't gonna get
Nothin' from me.
Oh, dat woman can't friss me. Yon'er goes my Nora, gittin' drunk ergin!
Mr. Morrow says: "The Negro who sang this song was shining my shoes, and when I asked him to give another verse, he stopped. A little substantial persuasion, however, brought forth another, which he timed to the strokes of his shining cloth as it was drawn across my shoes.
" Another Negro boy had a different shine reel, for they all have something of the sort. He was shy and would sing but one.
"I went to de ribber an' my gal went, too,
Stepped in de boat an' de boat went through. Down de ribber we went, singin' an' er-huggin' an' er-kissin', She say, 'You can't lose me, Charlie.'"
Work-songs of the Arkansas Negroes have been collected by Mrs. Richard Clough Thompson, of Pine Bluff, who sends some of them for this volume. She gives a woodchopper's song, which must be impressive, intoned in the solitude of the woods, as the chopper wields his shining axe to bring down one of the big trees. The song of the Negro is more philosophic in its acceptance of inevitability than is that of the poet of Woodman, Spare That Tree, and its solemn tones have harmonious accompaniment in the ringing sound of the axe as it strikes the tree trunk.
Woodchopper's Song
Ole Mister Oak Tree, yo' day done cornel
Zim-zam-zip-zoom! Gwine chop you down an' cahy you home!
Birn-bam-biff-boom!
Buhds in de branches fin' anodder nes'!
Zim-zam-zip-zoom! Ole Mister Oak Tree, he gwine to hees res'!
Bim-bam-biff-boom!
White folks callin' for day wahm wintah rlah!
Zim-zam-zip-zoom! Lif' de axe, Black Boy, hyah, hyah, hyah!
Bim-bam-birl-boom!
Mrs. Thompson says: "It is difficult to represent the musical sounds of the refrain, which are like hissing, humming, whistling, and long-drawn-out crooning tones emphasized by the blows of the axe."
Mrs. Thompson also sends a spinning-song, a favorite of the Negro women in the days when spinning was done at home, by hand.
Spinning-Song
Spin, ladies, spin all day, Spin, ladies, spin all day.
Sheep shell corn,
Rain rattles up a horn, Spin, ladies, spin all day, Spin, ladies, spin all day, Spin, ladies, spin all day.
In her record of slavery days, called "When I Was a Little Girl," Anna Hardeman Meade gives a song that "Nervy" used, to make butter come, when the churning proved a long and tiresome task. This is in the nature of an invocation as well as an apostrophe, since churns may be hoodooed so effectually that the butter will never come unless some special means be used to lift the evil charm. At the old plantation Penultima Nervy used to sing:
Come, butter, come! De King an' de Queen Is er-standin' at de gate, Er-waitinJ for some butter An* a cake. Oh, come, butter, come!
The pickaxe is a good musical instrument in the hands of a Negro man — or, at least, it serves as tuning-fork to line out the metre. Clare Virginia Forrest contributes this fragment of a work-song, which she says was sung by Negroes working on the roads in Nor­folk, Virginia.
Oh, dis pickaxe am too heavy, Dis pickaxe am too heavy, Dis pickaxe am too heavy,
Too heavy for my strength!
Professor Samuel Wolfe, of Columbia University, sang for me the following, which he heard a group of Negroes singing as they made a tennis court. The foreman of the gang sang the lines, and others gave the antiphonal "Lawd, Lawd!" This evidently originated as
a mine song.
I'm a minder, I'ma minder,
In de col' ground.
Lawd, Lawd, Lawd, Lawdl I'm a minder, I'ma minder,
In de coF ground.
Lawd, Lawd, Lawd, Lawd!
The rhythmic swing of the pick and its emphatic stroke to indi­cate a caesura, or the end of a line, makes this group-singing an im­pressive thing. In the songs which follow, the dash shows the point at which the pick is raised or brought down, and represents an em­phatic Ugh! or grunt, at the end of a musical phrase. Even these grunts that the Negro gives are harmonious with the song, and not a discord, as one might suppose, the musical intonations being sur­prisingly varied.
Samuel A. Derieux reported to me several work-songs, which he heard gangs of Negroes sing. When he was a rodman helping in construction works, he would hear roving Negroes sing at their con­struction jobs.
WORK-SONG
Oh, baby, — what you gwine to do? — Three C Railroad — done run through! —
Chorus
Me and my pardner, — him and me! — Him and me-e-e — him and me! — Him and me! —
Oh, baby, — what you gwine to do? — Seaboard Air-line — done run through! —
Chorus
Oh, baby, — what you gwine to do? — B and 0 Railroad — done run through! —
Chorus
Each stanza celebrates the completion of some railroad or public work, so that a list of them would give a history of construction work in the South, where these roving bands of Negroes had been employed. There are endless possibilities for stanza subjects, as one would suppose.
Mr. Derieux said that he heard a paid gang of Negroes working on a road at Greenville, South Carolina, when wages were a dollar a day. They sang an antiphonal chant,
Million dollars — Million days! —
Dr. Oren More, of Charlotte, North Carolina, gave Miss Gulledge a work-song that he had heard Negroes singing in a brickyard and clay-pit in South Carolina, when he was ten years old. The first part is the same as I've Been Working on the Railroad, and was sung by Negroes working with picks at what they called a "pick party."
WORK-SONG
Thought I fell in — ten foot o' water, — Thought I fell in — ten foot o' water, — Thought I fell in — ten foot o' water, — Over my head, — over my head. —
Jay bird sat on — a hick'ry limb, — Jay bird sat on — a hick'ry limb, — Jay bird sat on — a hick'ry limb, — Over my head, — over my head. —
Jean Feild, of Richmond, gives a work-song she has heard from Virginia Negroes:
WORK-SONG

Help me drive 'er,— Help me drive Jer, — Help me drive 'er, — uh, home! —
Little Mary, — Little Mary, — Little Mary, — uh, home! —
To de mountain, — To de mountain, — To de mountain, — uh, home! —
The most famous of these work-songs is a ballad relating the exploits and the fate of one "John Henry." Tradition among the Negroes has it that the hero of this was a big, handsome Negro, a steel-driver on the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad. He did his work with sledge and hand-drill, and resented the intrusion of machines to compete with hand work. He boasted that he could work faster than any steam-driller, and won in the contest staged, but died as he laid down his triumphant hammer.
John Harrington Cox has made a study of the origin and variants of this ballad, the results of which are found in his volume, "Folk-Songs of the South," which the Harvard University Press has just issued. His researches have yielded extremely valuable material, re-
vealing the manner in which a ballad may spring into being and grow by accretion, while it is circulated orally over a large territory. Professor Cox was lucky enough even to find a photograph of John Henry on the scaffold.
Lucy Dickinson Urquhart, of Lynchburg, sends this version of the hammer work-song. She says of it: " You know how Negroes working on the roads, in a quarry, or some work of that sort, all lift their picks or hammers together, singing, and come down together, letting their breath out in unison, with a sort of long grunt. Dashes are used here to indicate the grunts. The tune to this is the first part of Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing"                           ,
Ef I had 'bout — fo'ty-five doUahs — All in gol', yas — all in gol' — I'd be rich as — oF man Cahtah — Wealth untoF, yas — wealth untoF.
Dis oF hammah — kill John Henry — Kill him daid, yas — kill him daid — Knock de brains out — of mah pahdner — In his haid, yas — in his haid.
I'm gwine back to — South Ca'lina — Fah away, yas — fah away. — I'm gwine see my — Esmeraldy — I cain't stay, no — I cain't stay.
Mrs. Urquhart says, further: "There used to be an old salt works near here, where Negroes worked, stripped to the waist, raking the salt out of the boiling brine. They sang together after this fashion while they worked. But the song given above was to the accom­paniment of hammers."
Wirt A. Williams, from Mississippi, sends a variant known among the Negroes in his state, which suggests another sort of tragedy com­mitted with a hammer:
Dis is de hamma killed John Henry, Killed 'im daid, killed 'im daid. Busted de brains all outen my partner, In his haid, yes, in his haid.
Ef I had 'bout forty-five dollars, All in gold, yes, all in gold, I'd be rich as old man Cyarter, Wealth untold, yes, wealth untold!
Edwin Swain says that the Negroes in Florida years ago sang a hammer work-song which gives at least a mountain setting to the fatality, though it does little to clear up the mystery otherwise. 
  
 WORK-SONG 
  
  
  
 On de mountain — over yonder — Killed mah pardner — killed him dead killed him dead. — 
  
 Wid mah hammer — killed mah pardner —
Over yonder — killed him dead — killed him dead. —
Evelyn Cary Williams, of Lynchburg, sends a version taken down from the singing of Charles Calloway, of Bedford County, Virginia, a Negro worker on the road.
Nine-pound Hammer
Nine-pound hammer —
Kill John Henry —
But't won't kill me, babe, —
'Twon'tkillme!
If I live — To see December — I'm goin' home, love, — I'm goin' home.
I'm goin' back — To the red-clay country — That's my home, babe, — That's my home.
Joseph Turner, of Hollins, Virginia, has a variant a little more mixed:
WORK-SONG
Nine-pound hammer, nine-pound hammer, nine-pound hammer, Can't kill me, can't kill me, can't kill me; Nine-pound hammer can't kill me!
Oh, my papa and my mamma think I'm dead, think I'm dead, Oh, my papa and my mamma think I'm dead!
Who shot Ida? who shot Ida? who shot Ida
In de laig? Who shot Ida? who shot Ida? who shot Ida
In de laig?
One wonders who was Ida, who sent a bullet her way, and what she had to do with John Henry. She and her wounded "laig" obscure the tradition here, and raise all sorts of questions. Contemporary legends are as fascinating and elusive as those of past centuries, and we are faced with various mysteries in this epic career of John Henry.
Wirt A. Williams furnishes another song from Mississippi, which introduces John Henry as a corpse, but only to dispose of him quickly and pass to other problems, such as the difficulty of dealing with women-folk and the dangers of stealing chickens.
John Henry's Dead
John Henry's dead, And de las' words he said, "Never let your honey Have her way."
'Way back, 'way back,
'Way back in Alabama, 'way back.
"If you let her have her way, She 'll lead you off astray, Keep you in trouble All your days."
'Way back, 'way back,
'Way back in Alabama, 'way back.
"De chickens in my sack, De bloodhounds on my track, Going to make it to my shanty If I can."
'Way back, 'way back,
'Way back in Alabama, 'way back.
John Henry has " died more deaths than one" in legend; for, while some of the songs about him represent him as expiring of a hammer, others show his demise to be intimately connected with a rope
around his neck — the other end being held in the sheriff's hands. He is reported to have murdered another Negro over twenty-five cents, — or over a woman,—or over a card quarrel, and to have paid the penalty for it.
Ex-Governor McCorkie of West Virginia wrote to Mr. Cox about Hardy: "It was about 1872 that he was in this section. This was before the day of steam-drills and the drill work was done by two powerful men who were special steel-drillers. They struck the steel from side to side, and sang a song they improvised as they worked." He also says that John Hardy (alias Henry) was the most famous steel-driller ever in his section, and one of the handsomest men in the country, "black as a kittle in hell," he was called. Such romantic characters present puzzlements to the law, but they lend romance to folk-lore, and John Henry is a very real person to the southern Negro who sings of him.
Here is a hammer-song that has to do with a more ancient event than John Henry's untimely taking-off. It is a spiritual adapted to use as a work-song, for the antiphonal questions and responses mark the rhythmic strokes of the hammer — which tool here is given power of thought and speech. 
 NORAH
Norah was a hundred and twenty years builcuV de ark of God, And ev'ry time his hammer ring, Norah cried, "Amen!"
Chorus
Well, who build de ark? Norah build it. Who build de ark? Norah build it. Who build de ark? Norah build it,
Cut his timber down.
Fust thing dat Norah done,
Cut his timber down. Second thing dat Norah done,
Hewed it all around.
Norah was a hundred and twenty years buildin' de ark of God, And ev'ry time his hammer ring, Norah cried, "Amen!"
Chorus Well, who build de ark? Norah build it.
Hammer keep a-ringin', said, "Norah build it!" Well, who build de ark? Norah build it. Who build de ark? Norah build it. Who build de ark? Norah build it,
Cut his timber down.
Some of the problems of the ante-bellum Negro with respect to his work are shown in his folk-songs. The pathos with which a slave would yearn toward the hope of ultimate freedom, freedom possible only upon the will of the master, and liable to be denied by circum­stance as well as greed, appears in variants of an old song.
Garmet Eskew gave me the following version, which is very old:
MY OLE MISTIS
My ole mistis promised me,
When she died she'd set me free. But now ole mistis dead an' gone,
An' lef' ole Sambo hoein' corn.
Chorus
Oh, Johnny, get de hoecake, my dear, Oh, Johnny, get de hoecake.
My ole marster promised me
When he died he'd set me free. But he libed so long an* died so po',
He lef' ole Sambo hoein' de same old row.
This tune is like I Am Coming to the Cross. Which came first?
Lucy Dickinson Urquhart sends this one that her grandmother used to sing, as she learned it from the slaves. Here the chorus of The Blue-tailed Fly comes in, as it has a habit of doing, bobbing up in places where it does not belong.
My oP master promised me
When he died he'd set me free. Now ol' master dead and gone
An' leP dis Nigger a-hoein' up corn.
Chorus
Jim crack corn, I don't care, Jim crack corn, I don't care, Jim crack corn, I don't care, OF massa's gone away.
My ol' missis promised me
When she died she'd set me free. Done lived along twel her head got bald,
Don't believe ol' missis gwine to die at all.
Chorus
In this version and the one given next, the old darky is nameless; he voices anonymous woes, none the less poignant because not spe­cifically related to a name and place. The other is one that Mr. Bartlett sings, calling it iV Mona.
My ole misitis said to me,
"When I die I'se goin' to set you free." Teeth fell out and her haid got bald,
Clean lost the notion of dyin' at all!
Chorus Po' Mona, you shall be free, Gooba-looba, Nigger, you shall be free. Keep a-shoutin', Nigger, you shall be free, When the good Lawd sets you free.
Some folks say that Niggers don't steal,
But — I found three in my cornfield; One had a shovel and one had a bell,
And t'other little Nigger went runnin' like------
Chorus
A more proper version of the last two lines runs:
One had a shovel and one had a hoe,
And if that ain't stealing well, I don't know!
Chorus
If you want to go to Heb'n, I tell you what to do,
Jes' grease yo' feet with mutton soo\ When the devil gets after you with them greasy hands,
Jes' slip right over in the Promised Lan'!
Chorus
Mrs. Bartlett says: "I suppose 'Mona' should be more correctly 'Mourner,' but I spell phonetically."
John Trotwood Moore, of Nashville, librarian of the State Li­brary of Tennessee, contributes a slightly different stanza, wherein the victim of fate appears as one Bre'r Washington.
My ole marster promised me
Ef I broke de record he'd set me free.
My ole marster dead and gone,
He lef' Bre'r Washington hillin' up corn.
A somewhat sentimentalized reflection of slavery, stressing both work and food as the Negro viewed them, is in an old-time song sent in by Mrs. Bartlett, in the old days. Virginia, it will be remem­bered, was considered a happier, more considerate setting for slavery than certain other states. To be sold from Virginia and taken "down south" was considered a cruel blow.
'Way Down in Ole Virginia
'Way down in ole Virginia Where I was bred and born, On the sunny side of that country I used to hoe the corn.
Like childhood's happy moments, When I was going away, I strayed away from the old place, And I could n't stay away!
Chorus
And I could n't,
And I would n't,
And I could n't stay away!
And I could n't,
And I would n't,
And I could n't stay away!
Well, my ole mistis, she was good and kind,
She was good and kind to me.
She fed me awful good meat and bread
And sometimes hominy.
Well, my ole mistis, she was good and kind,
She was good and kind to me.
She fed me awful good meat and bread
And sometimes hominy.
Chorus
Well, my ole master, he was good and kind,
He was good and kind to me.
He fed me awful good meat and bread
And sometimes hominy.
Well, my ole master, he was good and kind,
He was good and kind to me.
He fed me awful good meat and bread
And sometimes hominy.
Chorus
Judge W. R. Boyd, of Texas, remembers much of the slave-life in the South, and recalls vividly the songs the Negroes on the planta­tions used to sing, not only at their labor, but as they went to and from their work. For instance, he says that the slaves used to give a peculiar singing call, something between a yodel and a chant, as they went to their work in the early morning. My mother also has told me of this, and has spoken of its weird, uncanny effect of eerie, re­mote pathos. 
  
 Hoo ah hoo Hoo ah hoo Hoo ah hoo Hoo ah hoo Hoo ah hoo!   Hoo ah hoo!
Hoo ah hoo!   Hoo ah hoo!
Hoo ah hoo!   Hoo ah hoo!
Hoo ah hoo!   Hoo ah hoo!
Judge Boyd says that about sunset the Negroes on the plantation, before the war, would sing as follows:
Oh, Miss Liza, oh, mah darlin'! —hoo ah hoo! Gwine away to leave you — hoo ah hoo! Gwine away to-morrow — hoo ah hoo! Ain't you mighty sorry? — hoo ah hoo!
Oh, Miss Liza, oh, mah honey! —hoo ah hoo! Comin' back to see you — hoo ah hoo! Won't you be mah honey? — hoo ah hoo! Gives you all mah money — hoo ah hoo!
Oh, Miss Liza, oh, mah lovie! — hoo ah hoo! Don't you know ah lub you? — hoo ah hoo! Come to me, mah baby! — hoo ah hoo! Don't you want to marry? — hoo ah hoo!
Freedom as well as slavery has its perplexities and complications, and work has not become rosy for the Negro now, simply because he is paid wages instead of clothes and keep. He works for somebody else much as he did in earlier times, if his folk-songs are to be be­lieved. Howard Odum gives a song in the Journal of American Folk­lore, illustrating this aspect of the Negro's life.
Ain't It Hard to Be a Nigger?
Well, it makes no difference
How you make out yo' time,
White man sho' bring a Nigger out behin'.
Chorus
Ain't it hard, ain't it hard,
Ain't it hard to be a Nigger, Nigger, Nigger?
Ain't it hard, ain't it hard?
For you can't git yo' money when it's due.
Nigger an' white man
Playin' seven-up, Nigger win de money,
Skeered to pick 'em up.
If a Nigger git 'rested
An' can't pay his fine, Dey sho' send him out
To de county gang.
A Nigger went to a white man,
An' asked him for work; White man told de Nigger,
"Yes, git out o' yo' shirt."
Nigger got out o' his shirt,
An' went to work; When pay-day come,
White man say he ain't work 'nufL
If you work all de week,
An' work all de time, White man sho' to bring
Nigger out behin'.
A Negro at J. H. Williams's gin at Natchez, Louisiana, was over­heard singing to himself as he looked at a bale of cotton:
Here sits de woodpecker
Learning how to figger, All for de white man
And nothing for de Nigger!
A similar sentiment of ironic comparison is expressed in an old song sent me by Judge Boyd, who says that it was sung by slaves before the war.
Monday mornm/ 'way 'io' day, White folks got me gwine. Sad'day night when de sun go down, True lub in my mind.
Chorus
Oh, ho, Miss Mary, oh, ho, mah darling Hi, hi, Miss Mary, oh, ho, mah honey I
Little bees suck de blossoms,
Big bees eats de honey. Niggers make de cotton an' corn,
White folks 'ceive de money.
Chorus
Certain reactions to the hardships of labor as the black man sees them are in a song given by Mary Lee Thurman, of Washington, through the courtesy of Mary Boyd, of Richmond.
Hear dem Bells 1
All day I works in de cotton an* de corn, My feet and my hands are sore, Waiting for Gabriel to blow his horn, So I won't have to work any more.
Chorus Hear dem bells — oh, don't you hear dem bells? Dey's ringing out de glory of de dawn. Hear dem bells — oh, don't you hear dem bells? Dey's ringing out de glory of de dawn.
I sings an' I shouts wid all my might To drive away de cold; An' de bells keep a-ringin' in de gospel light, Tell de story of de Lamb is told.
Chorus
I goes to church in de early morn, De birds all a-settin' in de tree, Sometimes my clothes gets very much worn, 'Case I wear dem out at de knee.
Chorus
The darky in the song fragment sent me by Mrs. Cammilla Brea-zeale, of Louisiana, was evidently in a mournful and resentful mood. His razor sounds alarmingly bellicose.
Workin' on de levee,
Yes, I am, Wid my razor in my hand. Don't love nobody —
Nobody loves me.
The Negro is considered to be temperamentally indifferent to the value of time, evidently feeling with Browning that time is for dogs and apes — and, he might add, white folks. Ee has eternity. Yet he on occasion feels a sense of the importance of passing hours, as in the stanza given by Betty Jones (through the courtesy of Profes­sor J. C. Metcalfe, of the University of Virginia), where he looks at his watch — the sun.
Look at the sun, See how he run — God Almighty'll catch you With your work undone!
The Negro is not eager to work overtime, as a song heard by Pro­fessor W. H. Thomas, and included in a paper read before the Texas Folk-lore Society, will attest. Professor Thomas calls this the Skinner's Song. " Skinner is the vernacular for teamster. The Negro seldom carries a watch, but still uses the sun as a chronom­eter; a watch would be too suggestive of regularity. Picture to yourself several Negroes working on a levee as teamsters. About five o'clock you would hear this:
SKINNER'S SONG

"I looked at de sun and de sun looked high, I looked at de Cap'n and he wunk his eye; And he wunk his eye, and he wunk his eye, I looked at de Cap'n and he wunk his eye.
"I looked at de sun and de sun looked red, I looked at de Cap'n and he turned his head; And he turned his head, and he turned his head, I looked at de Cap'n and he turned his head."
The Cap'n here referred to is the boss, who must give the signal be­fore the Negroes can stop work for the day.
The Cap'n and the time element are brought together in another song heard by Professor Thomas, the title of which is touching in its suggestive anxiety: DonH Let Your Watch Run Down, Cafn!
The struggle between love and the cruel necessities of enforced work are wailfully uttered in a song given by Evelyn Cary Williams, of Lynchburg, who took it down from the singing of Charles Callo­way.
WORK-SONG
Six months in jail ain't so long, baby,
It's workin' on the county farm.
Got my pick an' shovel now, baby,
Yo' true lub is gone.
Who's gwine to be yo' true lub, baby,
When I 'm gone?
Who gwine to bring you chickens, honey,
When I'm workin' on the county farm?
Mr. Jack Busby, in North Carolina, overheard another songster singing, as he ploughed, a ditty concerning the contrasts of his life:
Hardest work I ever done
Was ploughin' round a pine; Easiest work I ever done
Was h'uggin' dat gal o' mine.
J. E. Morrow, of Texas, says of another work-song he sends: "A convict was riding one of the mules to a road-grader. As he moved along he would burst into song:
"I'se gwine to stan' In my back do', An' I'se gwine ter hab — Let deDebbil blab! — Dat gal wid de blue dress on.
Oh, swing dat gal wid de blue dress on,
Swing, you Niggers, swing!
"As he sang the last line, the team turned about, and I could not decide whether he was giving instructions to other drivers or whether that was the last of his song. Anyway, it came in with the tune and he sang no more."
The tendency of workers to loaf on the job when the boss is not by is revealed in their song. The Negroes dearly love moments of re­laxation, and snatch them regardless of regulations. For example, Elsie Brown reports a chant which workers in Tennessee used to sing when — lounging idly, in the absence of the foreman — they would see him coming and pass the word along musically:

Mrs. Richard Clough Thompson says of an Arkansas work-song: " A group of Negroes had knocked off work and were idling along the road, when they spied their master coming, and, realizing that de­tection and punishment were inevitable, they began to improvise a song after this fashion:
"Stan' boys, stan', Dah's now no use a-runnin7,
Use a-runnin7. Look upon yondah hill An' see oF massa coming
Massa comin7,
See 7im comin7.
"Bowie knife in one hand An7 pistol in de tother. Stan', boys, stan7, Brother stan7 by brother, Stan' by brother.
"Oberseer wid his stick, Stick am comin7 floppin7,
Floppin7, floppin7, Niggahs, ef you run away Ruckus bound to happen,
Ruckus bound to happen.
" At the word one of the boys fell down and the rest gathered around him, so that the plantation owner and his overseer arrived to find the Negroes carrying with mournful faces a darky boy seemingly un­conscious."
But not all the disadvantages are on the side of the colored man, as others of his songs suggest. The Negro is an optimist and has his own philosophy to comfort him. In contrasting his lot with that of the white man, he may have a mood to see that he is the fortunate one. He is less worried by income and inheritance taxes, and can himself perceive other advantages. At least, the Negro responsible for the song given me by Mrs. M. L. Riddle, of eastern Tennessee, felt that way about his life.
I'm a Nachel-bawn Reaches.
De white man say de times is hahd, Nigger never worries, 'case he trust in de Lawd. No matter how hahd de times may be, Chickens never roost too high foh me.
I'M A NACHEL-BAWN REACHER 
  
  
 Chorus
Fma nachel-bawn readier, Jus' a nachel-bawn readier, Jus' a nachel-bawn readier, Dat's no lie.
Once I knew a man by de name of Freeze, Among de gals he was all de cheese. He was twice as frosty as his name, He ever lacked de letter dat never came.
Chorus
Alas, pore Freeze got in a fight, De coons drew deir razors an* carved him right. Dey parted his body from his breath somehow, It cuts no ice where he is now.
Chorus I'm a nachel-bawn freezer, Jus' a nachel-bawn freezer, Jus' a nachel-bawn freezer, Dat's no lie.
The more restful aspects of colored existence are lyricized in these folk-songs, as well as the hardships and vicissitudes. Sometimes the Negro decides to strike — to leave off labor and take his ease, as in the outburst sent by Professor O. W. Kern, of Randolph-Macon Woman's College, Virginia.
Ain't gwine to work no more,
Labor is tiresome shore.
Best occupation am recreation,
Life's mighty short, you know.
No use to pinch an' save,
Can't take it to your grave;
Peter won't know if you're rich or pore,
So ain't gwine to work no more.
Don't you worry, honey, ef the world goes wrong,
Oh, baby, I love you. Don't you worry, honey, ef the year seems long,
111 be true. Every cloud you know must have a silver limn'
Shinin' bright. Don't you mind a little trouble, Life is only just a bubble,
All will come right.
If the Negro philosophizes that all's well in his part of the world, he feels he has a reason for it. The optimism of the singer of the fol­lowing song, sent by Professor Kern, has its explanation in the last stanza. Who would not feel contented if assured of devoted love and easy living at once?
Dat's All Right
Sometime soon, it ain't gwine to be long,
My honey's gwine to wake up, an' find me gone.
All up an' down dis ole railroad track
My honey's gwine to watch for me to come back.
Chorus Dat's all right, dat's all right, Dat's all right, babe, dat'll be all right. I'll be with you right or wrong. When you see a good thing, shove it along. Dat's all right, babe, dat'll be all right.
Went down to my honey's house, 'bout four o'clock; Knocked on de door, an' de door was locked.
Turned right around an' I shook my head; I looked in de window, an' my honey was dead.
Chorus
Dere ain't no use in my workin' so hard, For I got a gal in de white folks' yard; She brings me meat an' she brings me lard, Dere ain't no use in my workin' so hard.
Chorus
Some Alabama Negroes have the same tuneful reaction to this situation, for Harriet Fitts contributes a song of much the same spirit, sung by old Aunt Maria, which even adds the consolation of religion to the material blessings. Truly, a comforting concept of life, for those who can accept it!
Ain't No Use 0' My Workin5 So Hard
Ain't no use o' my workin' so hard, darlin', Ain't no use o' my workin' so hard, darlin'; I got a gal in de white folks' yard. She kill a chicken, She bring me de wing; Ain't I livin' on an easy thing, Honey babe?
Chorus
Shout, you mourners, an' you shall be free, Shout, you mourners, an' you shall be free, When de good Lawd set you free.
Nigger an' a rooster had a fight;
Rooster knocked de Nigger clean out o' sight. Nigger say, "Rooster, dat's all right; I git you at de chicken-coop to-morrow night."
Chorus
In Texas, also, something of the same idea prevails, if one may judge from the stanza reported by Roberta Anderson. This likewise ends with evangelistic fervor of assurance.
Oh, my gal's de queen o' de cards, She wucks down yonder in de white folks' yards, Brings in money every day, Thinks I'm wuckin', but I ain't built dat way; It's too hard!
Oh, you shall be free
When de gpod Lawd set you free!
A like easy philosophy is expressed in another song of economic adjustments:
Me 'n' my baby an' my baby's frien' Can pick mo' cotton dan a cotton gin. Oh, sugar babe, darlin' man!
I got a baby an' a honey, too, Honey don't love me but my baby do. Oh, sugar babe, darlin' man!
Boat's up de ribber an' she won't come down, B'lieve to mah soul she's water-boun', Oh, my ragtime Liza Jane!
Me'n' my wife an' a bob-tailed dog Crossed de ribber on a hollow log. She fell in, dog did, too.
Middlin' er meat an' er bucket o' lard, I got a gal in de white folks' yard.
I'se er-livin' easy, God knows I'm er-livin' high!
Charles Carroll reports that twenty years ago he saw a group of Negro prisoners being taken to a convict farm, near Hearne, Texas, and heard them sing,
I got a gal, her name is Maude, Lives right over in de white folks' yahd; Cooks dat turkey, brings me some, I ain't ever gwine to want for nothing.
Surely that was optimism shown under difficulties. Maude must have had to exert herself to justify their belief in her, but let us hope she was equal to the -emergency.
Professor Thomas, of Agricultural and Mechanical College, Texas, has likewise heard the song of the Negro who is the equivalent for " squawman" with respect to material support. He calls it the Song of the Fortunate One.
The reason why I don't work so hard,
I got a gal in the white folks' yard;
And every night about half-past eight
I steps in through the white man's gate;
And she brings the butter, and the bread and the lard.
That's the reason why I don't work so hard.
Of course, the southern housewife views such a situation less pleas-urably, but she is not composing folk-songs about it, so her attitude is negligible.
Some races are by nature musical, while others are not. The Negro is instinctively a creature of rhythm and harmony, though prevented by circumstances and his own inertia from cultivating his talent; while noteworthy individuals of the present day show the possibili­ties of development when ambition is added to that native gift. But the Negro, even when he makes not the least effort to improve his voice, finds in it great pleasure. It can cheer his lonely hours, and en­liven his communal labor, not only reconciling him to the necessity for work, but, in a measure at least, making of that time a joy. Yet now he is singing less at his work than formerly — I do not know why. Perhaps it is because machinery has taken the place of hand work, and stills song with its noise, or perhaps he has come to look down upon the simple joy of singing and has not yet reached the ap­preciation of the value of that song.
Professor Thomas, in his discussion of the plantation Negro of Texas and his song as he has observed them, gives an economic in­terpretation of this folk-singing which is interesting, though I am not sure that I agree with him in his conclusions. I quote some discon­nected sentences to suggest his ideas.
"The class I am treating of is the semi-rural proletariat. So far as my observation goes, the property-holding Negro never sings. You see, property lends respectability, and respectability is too great a burden for any literature to bear, even our own. . . .
"A great change has come into the Negro's economic life in the past two decades. Its causes have been two. He has come into com­petition with the European immigrant, whose staying qualities are much greater than his; and agriculture has been changing from a feudalistic to a capitalistic basis, which requires a greater technical ability than the Negro possesses. The result is that he is being steadily pushed into the less inviting and less secure occupations. . . . The Negro, then, sings, because he is losing his economic foot­hold. This economic insecurity has interfered most seriously with those two primal necessities — work and love."