“Simon, he went off in de woods, en started in ter clearin’ up de six acres. Well, sir, dem pebbles en dat ax, dey done de work—dey did dat. Simon could’a’ bin done by de time de dinner-horn blowed, but he hung back kaze he ain’t want de man fer ter know dat he doin’ it by cunjerments.
“When he shuck de pebbles de ax ’ud cut, en de trees ’ud fall, en de lim’s ’ud drap off, en de logs ’ud roll up terge’er, en de bresh ’ud pile itself up. Hit went on dis away twel by de time it wuz two hours b’ sun, de whole six acres wuz done cleaned up.
“ ’Bout dat time de man come ’roun’, he did, fer ter see how de work gittin’ on, en, mon! he wuz ’stonish’. He ain’t know w’at ter do er say. He ain’t want ter give up his daughter, en yit he ain’t know how ter git out’n it. He walk ’roun’ en ’roun’, en study, en study, en study how he gwine rue de bargain. At las’ he walk up ter Simon, he did, en he say:
“ ‘Look like you sort er forehanded7 wid your work.’
“Simon, he ’low: ‘Yasser, w’en I starts in on a job I’m mighty restless twel I gits it done. Some er dis timber is rough en tough, but I bin had wuss8 jobs den dis in my time.’
“De man say ter hisse’f: ‘W’at kind er folks is dis chap?’ Den he say out loud: ‘Well, sence you er so spry, dey’s two mo’ acres ’cross de branch dar. Ef you’ll clear dem up ’fo’ supper you kin come up ter de house en git de gal.’
“Simon sorter scratch his head, kaze he dunner whedder de pebbles gwine ter hol’ out, yit he put on a bol’ front en he tell de man dat he’ll go ’cross dar en clean up de two acres soon ez he res’ a little.
“De man he went off home, en soon’s he git out er sight, Simon went ’cross de branch en shook de pebbles at de two acres er woods, en t’want no time skacely ’fo’ de trees wuz all cut down en pile up.
“De man, he went home, he did, en call up Susanna, en say:
“ ‘Daughter, dat man look like he gwine git you, sho’.’
“Susanna, she hang ’er head, en look like she fretted, en den she say she don’t keer nuthin’ fer Simon, nohow.”
“Why, I thought she wanted to marry him,” said the little boy.
“Well, honey, w’en you git growed up, en git whiskers on yo’ chin, en den atter de whiskers git gray like mine, you’ll fin’ out sump’n ’n’er ’bout de wimmin folks. Dey ain’t ne’er say ’zackly w’at dey mean, none er um, mo’ ’speshually w’en dey er gwine on ’bout gittin’ married.
“Now, dar wuz dat gal Susanna what I’m a-tellin’ you ’bout. She mighty nigh ’stracted ’bout Simon, en yit she make ’er daddy b’lieve dat she ’spize ’im. I ain’t blamin’ Susanna,” Uncle Remus went on with a judicial air, “kase she know dat ’er daddy wuz a witch en a mighty mean one in de bargain.
“Well, atter Susanna done make ’er daddy b’lieve dat she ain’t keerin’ nothin’ ’tall ’bout Simon, he ’gun ter set his traps en fix his tricks. He up’n tell Susanna dat atter ’er en Simon git married dey mus’ go upsta’rs in de front room, en den he tell ’er dat she mus’ make Simon go ter bed fus’. Den de man went upsta’rs en tuck’n tuck all de slats out’n de bedstid ceppin’ one at de head en one at de foot. Atter dat he tuck’n put some foot-valances ’roun’ de bottom er de bed—des like dem w’at you bin see on yo’ gran’ma bed. Den he tuck’n sawed out de floor und’ de bed, en dar wuz de trap all ready.
“Well, sir, Simon come up ter de house, en de man make like he mighty glad fer ter see ’im, but Susanna, she look like she mighty shy. No matter ’bout dat; atter supper Simon en Susanna got married. Hit ain’t in de tale wedder dey sont fer a preacher er wedder dey wuz a squire browsin’ ’roun’ in de neighborhoods, but dey had cake wid reezins in it, en some er dish yer silly-bug w’at got mo’ foam in it den dey is dram,9 en dey had a mighty happy time.
“W’en bedtime come, Simon en Susanna went upsta’rs, en w’en dey got in de room, Susanna kotch ’im by de han’, en helt up her finger. Den she whisper en tell ’im dat ef dey don’t run away fum dar dey bofe gwine ter be kil’t. Simon ax ’er how come, en she say dat ’er daddy want ter kill ’im kaze he sech a nice man. Dis make Simon grin; yit he wuz sorter restless ’bout gittin’ ’way fum dar. But Susanna, she say wait. She say:
“ ‘Pick up yo’ hat en button up yo’ coat. Now, den, take dat stick er wood dar en hol’ it ’bove yo’ head.’
“W’iles he stan’in’ dar, Susanna got a hen egg out’n a basket, den she got a meal-bag, en a skillet. She ’low:
“ ‘Now, den, drap de wood on de bed.’
“Simon done des like she say, en time de wood struck de bed de tick en de mattruss went a-tumblin’ thoo de floor. Den Susanna tuck Simon by de han’ en dey run out de back way ez hard ez dey kin go.
“De man, he woz down dar waitin’ fer de bed ter drap. He had a big long knife in he han’, en time de bed drapped, he lit on it, he did, en stobbed it scan’lous. He des natchully ripped de tick up, en w’en he look, bless gracious, dey ain’t no Simon dar. I lay dat man wuz mad den. He snorted ’roun’ dar twel blue smoke come out’n his nose, en his eye look red like varmint eye in de dark. Den he run upsta’rs en dey ain’t no Simon dar, en nudder wuz dey any Susanna.
Edward Windsor Kemble, famous for illustrating Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, created the illustrations for “The Adventures of Simon and Susanna” and the other tales in Harris’s Daddy Jake: The Runaway. Kemble was criticized by the Hampton Camera Club for creating caricatures of African Americans.
“Gentermens! den he git madder. He rush out, he did, en look ’roun’, en ’way off yander he see Simon en Susanna des a-runnin’, en a-holdin’ one nudder’s han’.”
“Why, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, “I thought you said it was night?”
“Dat w’at I said, honey, en I’ll stan’ by it. Yit, how many times dis blessid night is I got ter tell you dat de man wuz a witch? En bein’ a witch, co’se he kin see in de dark.
“Well, dish yer witch-man, he look off en he see Simon en Susanna runnin’ ez hard ez dey kin. He put out atter um, he did, wid his knife in his han’, an’ he kep’ on a gainin’ on um. Bimeby, he got so close dat Susanna say ter Simon:
“ ‘Fling down yo’ coat.’
“Time de coat tech de groun’, a big thick woods sprung up whar it fell. But de man, he cut his way thoo it wid de knife, en kep’ on a-pursuin’ atter um.
“Bimeby, he got so close dat Susanna drap de egg on de groun’, en time it fell a big fog riz up fum de groun’, en a little mo’ en de man would a got los’. But atter so long a time fog got blowed away by de win’, en de man kep’ on a-pursuin’ atter um.
“Bimeby, he got so close dat Susanna drap de meal-sack, en a great big pon’ er water kivered de groun’ whar it fell. De man wuz in sech a big hurry dat he tried ter drink it dry, but he ain’t kin do dis, so he sot on de bank en blow’d on de water wid he hot breff, en atter so long a time de water made hits disappearance, en den he kep’ on a-pursuin’ atter um.
“Simon en Susanna wuz des a-runnin’, but run ez dey would, de man kep’ a-gainin’ on um, en he got so close dat Susanna drapped de skillet. Den a big bank er darkness fell down, en de man ain’t know which away ter go. But atter so long a time de darkness lif’ up, en de man kep’ on a-pursuin’ atter um. Mon, he made up fer los’ time, en he got so close dat Susanna say ter Simon:
“ ‘Drap a pebble.’
“Time Simon do dis a high hill riz up, but de man clum it en kep’ on atter um. Den Susanna say ter Simon:
“ ‘Drap nudder pebble.’
“Time Simon drap de pebble, a high mountain growed up, but de man crawled up it en kep’ on atter um. Den Susanna say:
“ ‘Drap de bigges’ pebble.’
“No sooner is he drap it den a big rock wall riz up, en hit wuz so high dat de witch-man can’t git over. He run up en down, but he can’t find no end, en den, atter so long a time, he turn ’roun’ en go home.
“On de yuther side er dis
high wall, Susanna tuck Simon by de han’, en say:
“ ‘Now we kin res’.’
“En I reckon,” said the old man slyly,10 “dat we all better res’.”
Radically different from other tales in the collection, this story from Harris’s third installment of Uncle Remus tales, Daddy Jake, the Runaway (1889), is closer to European lore, which is full of impossible challenges as well as stories about magic flight. Harris added a note about the source: “This story was told to one of my little boys three years ago by a Negro named John Holder. I have since found a variant (or perhaps the original) in Theal’s Kaffir Folktales.” Theal’s Kaffir folktales are themselves a curious mix of European and Africa lore and thus not a reliable source of unadulterated African tales. Simon and Susanna are, of course, common names in the Southern United States.
Click here to advance to the next section of the text.
1 Affi’kin: African
2 beaus: suitors
3 spishuns: suspicions
4 sparrer-nes’: sparrow nest
5 bleege: obliged
6 borry de ax: borrow the ax
7 forehanded: looking to the future
8 wuss: worse
9 dram: something to drink
10 said the old man slyly: whether the “old man” refers to Susanna’s father or Uncle Remus is not entirely clear, and “slyly” adds a clever twist to the ending.
PART VII
FOLKLORE FROM THE SOUTHERN WORKMAN AND THE JOURNAL OF AMERICAN FOLKLORE
In 1893 Alice Mabel Bacon (1858–1918) went to the Hampton Institute in Virginia to teach and serve as an administrator. The Hampton Institute, now known as Hampton University, is a private, historically black, school founded by leaders of the American Missionary Association. Booker T. Washington was one of its earliest students. The school’s mission was to train and educate teachers, and it was located at a site that had once been a refuge for slaves fleeing the Confederacy.
The daughter of a New Haven, Connecticut, white abolitionist minister, Alice Bacon quickly grew into a new role at an institution where her sister was serving as assistant principal. Bacon became the editor of the Southern Workman, the journal of the Hampton Institute, and she launched a Folklore and Ethnology Department for the purpose of building bridges between educated blacks and those they had left behind in the rural South. Folklore constituted for her a body of knowledge passed down from generation to generation and included folktales, customs, autobiographical accounts, survivals of African traditions, ceremonies and superstitions, proverbs and sayings, and songs both sacred and secular.
Bacon declared that members of the group would “collect and preserve all traditions and customs peculiar to the Negroes.” She recognized that the work could not be done by “white people,” but rather by “intelligent and educated colored people who are at work all through the South among the more ignorant of their own race.” In 1893, the Hampton Folklore Society, composed mainly of African American members, was founded. It met regularly for six years and published monthly columns in the Folklore and Ethnology section of the Southern Workman. By the time Alice Bacon left the Institute in 1899, a rich repertoire had been put together and documented in the columns of the Hampton Institute’s monthly publication.
The Hampton Normal and Agricultural Institute buildings, from the December 1893 cover of the Southern Workman, the Hampton Institute’s monthly journal.
A current events class at the Hampton Normal and Agricultural Institute photographed by Frances Benjamin Johnston in 1899. Commissioned by the Hampton Institute administration, Johnston’s photographs of daily activities at the Hampton Institute were exhibited at the 1900 Paris Exposition and widely published in promotional materials. They became iconic representations of the Hampton Institute, cited as visual evidence of its success.
The Hampton folklorists believed that what they were collecting contained “the beginnings of all arts and sciences, and ceremonies and religion.” Foundational and fundamental to understanding a culture, folktales had been passed down from one generation to the next as a verbal tradition that was poetic rather than scientific, abounding in “metaphors, figures, similes, imaginative flights, humorous designations, saws and sayings” (Southern Workman, 23 [1894]: 191). Still, the students were to engage with folklore “in a spirit of scientific inquiry” and take a critical view of the superstitions, songs, lore, and wisdom that constituted folk traditions of a rural population.
Robert Russa Moton, ca. 1907. Moton, a Hampton Institute administrator later named principal of Tuskegee Institute, was an active member of the Hampton Folklore Society. He represented the Hampton Institute at the 1894 annual meeting of the American Folklore Society.
Alice Mabel Bacon, ca. 1893. Bacon, editor of the Southern Workman, set up the Hampton Institute Folklore Society in a December 1893 column urging readers to submit notes and observations about “traditions and customs peculiar to the Negroes.”
Anna Julia Cooper in her master’s gown, ca. 1923. Cooper, a scholar and activist, supported and contributed to the work of the Hampton Folklore Society, providing an important critical perspective on scientific modes of studying folklore. Cooper delivered an address at the 1894 Hampton Folklore Conference and served as interim editor of the Southern Workman, overseeing the Folklore and Ethnology section.
The Folk-lore and Ethnology column first appeared in the December 1893 issue of the Southern Workman. Readers were urged to submit notes and observations about “traditions and customs peculiar to the Negroes” before modern schooling succeeded in “eradicating the old and planting the seeds of the new.” Seven subject categories were listed as a guide for contributors: customs, “Traditions of ancestry in Africa,” “African words surviving in speech or song,” superstitions, proverbs, and song lyrics and music.
The official monthly journal of the Hampton Normal and Agricultural Institute, the Southern Workman, was published from 1872 to 1939. Its content was designed to appeal to students, alumni, and benefactors of the school, as well as politically sympathetic general readers.
The author of the column, likely Alice Mabel Bacon, editor of the Southern Workman and founder of the Hampton Folklore Society, stated that the work of collecting folklore “cannot be done by white people, much as they would enjoy the opportunity of doing it, but must be done by the intelligent and educated colored people who are at work all through the South . . . carrying on business of any kind that brings them into close contact with the simple, old-time ways of their own people.”
BRER RABBIT’S BOX, WITH APOLOGIES TO JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS
Southern Workman 28 (1899), 25–26
T. J. Bolden submitted the story below, with its brilliant punch line that undermines the value and values of the Uncle Remus stories.
BRER RABBIT’S BOX
With Apologies to Joel Chandler Harris
by T. J. BOLDEN (Class ’99)
“One time while Brer Rabbit was off at school, Thanksgivin’ cum ’roun’, en he got a box from home.”
“I didn’t know the rabbit ever went to school, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy.
“Co’se Brer Rabbit went to school,” said the old man indignantly. “How yo’ spec’s he goin’ ter know how to do all dem smart things what he done widout he went to school. How some never, if yo’ doan wanter hear dis story, den yo’ ken say he didn’t went to school, dat’s all I’se got to say ’bout it.”
The little boy saw his mistake and urged Uncle Remus to go on with the story.
“Ez I was sayin’,” proceeded the old man, “Brer Rabbit got a gre’t big box from home, full ob de nices’ tings yo’ ever laid eyes on. Dyar wuz spyar ribs, sweet ’taters, chitlins, cracklin’ bread, turkey and cake in dis yer box, en w’en Brer Rabbit opened it he smack his mouf w’en he thought ’bout how he gwine to eat ’em all en not gi’ Brer Fox en Brer Wolf none.
“Brer Fox done see Brer Rabbit w’en he kyar de box to his room so he holler out:
“ �
��Hey, Brer Rabbit, w’at dat yo’ got dar?’
“ ‘Taint nuttin’ but a box er ol’ papers whar Miss ’Oman jes’ done gin me,’ en Brer Rabbit mek ’ase to git to he room fo’ Brer Fox ker ketch up wid ’im.
“Brer Fox wuz mighty s’prised w’en he heah Brer Rabbit talk ’bout de box ob ol’ papers, kase he know dat Brer Rabbit aint never kear so much ’bout paper dat he got to kyar ol’ ones to he room, so arter he scratch he haid en fleck1 for some time, he rive at de conclusion dat Brer Rabbit mus’ did have somefin’ better’n ol’ papers in dat air box en dat he better ’vestigate de mattah.
“So bimeby, ’fo’ Brer Rabbit done got thoo lookin’ at de nice tings in de box he heah sumpin’ ‘Bim! Bim!’ on de do’. Co’se he know ’tis Brer Fox so he slip de box under de baid en grab he his’ry en mek preten’ like he studden. Presin’ly anudder knock come: ‘Bap! Bap!’ ‘Come in!’ holler Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox walk in. Brer Rabbit busy studden he hist’ry. ‘ ’Pears to be so mighty taken up wid yer box ob ol’ papers, yo’ cyarnt hear nobody w’en dey knocks on yo’ do’,’ sez Brer Fox sezee. ‘O!’ sez Brer Rabbit, kinder innercent like, ‘I’se jes studden my histry.’ But all de time Brer Rabbit thinkin’ ’bout how he gwine sarcumwent2 Brer Fox. Bimeby he shet up de his’try and turnin’ to Brer Fox he sez: ‘Brer Fox yo’ ain’t nevah is had no simmon beer is yo’?’ Brer Fox kinder sot he ears up w’en he hear dat questum kase he allers hankerin’ arter sumpin’ good, so he sez: ‘Naw Brer Rabbit, I ain’t nevah is had much es I want,’ and wid dat Brer Rabbit went to de box en got out a mejium size bottle whar he done fin’ in dar. Co’se he aint tell Brer Fox what else he got in dar.
“Now Brer Rabbit allers hear dat if yo’ drink simmon beer on de increase ob de moon, yo’ is bound to swell up, en if yo’ drinks nuff yo’ is bound to bus’ open, but Brer Fox is so greedy he ain’t thinkin’ ’bout whedder de moon increasin’ or decreasin’ so he jes’ tek de bottle en turn it up to he haid en dreen every drap. But Brer Fox wa’nt hahdly thoo smackin’ he lips en wishin’ for mo’, w’en he ’gin to swell up. W’en he see he sides ’gin to stick out en de mis’ry ’gin to run thoo him, he ’gin to git skeered, en he eyes gin to stick out like stack racks. Brer Rabbit he know dat Brer Fox ain’t drink nuff to bus’ him open, but he jes’ want skeer Brer Fox, so he hollers out: ‘Lawdy Brer Fox, w’at’s de mattah wid yo’? W’at yo’ want drink all dat simmon beer for? ’Pears like harf un it would ha’ bin nuff for any gemman, but, aw naw, yo’s got to drink all in de bottle. Now jes’ see w’at’s done happen to yo’.’ Brer Fox ain’t wait to hear no mo’. He jes’ bolt outen dat room en nex’ thing Brer Rabbit hear, Brer Fox sick in de hospital. Brer Rabbit kinder smile w’en de folks tell ’im ’bout de diffunt things w’at de mattah wid Brer Fox, kase he is de only one wha’ know de right thing, but he ve’y well satisfied kase Brer Fox ain’t git none ob his odder good things.”
The Annotated African American Folktales Page 37
