Every morning, he’d ask John, “How are you getting along over there with your family?” John said, “Well, I’m doing all right, Old Marster. (High-pitched whiny) I’m fair’s a middling and spick as a ham, coffee in the kittle, bread on the fire, if that ain’t living I hope I die.”
The Old Boss checked on John. And he saw his hams and lard and biscuits all laid up in John’s place. (In those days people branded their hams with their own name.) He said, “John, I can see why you’re living so high. You got all my hams and things up there.” “Oh, no,” John told him. “those ain’t none of your ’am. Boss, God give me them ham, God is good, just like you, and God been looking out for me, because I pray every night.”
Boss said, “I’m still going to kill you John, because I know that’s my meat.”
Old John was real slick. He asked his Marster, “Tonight meet me at the old ’simmon tree. I’m going to show you God is good to me. I’m going to have some of your same ham, some of your same lard, and some of your same flour.”
So that night about eight o’clock (it was dark by then in the winter), John went for his partner. They get everything all set up in the tree before John goes for Old Boss. They go out to the tree. Old Boss brings along his double-barreled shotgun, and he tells John, “Now if you don’t get my flour and stuff, just like you said you would, you will never leave this tree.”
So John gets down on his knees and begins to pray. “Now, Lord, I never axed you for nothing that I didn’t get. You know Old Marster here is about to kill me, thinking I’m stealing. Not a child of yours would steal, would he, Lord?” He says, “Now I’m going to pat on this three times. And I want you to rain down persimmons.” John patted on the tree three times and his partner shook down all the persimmons all over Old Boss. Boss shakes himself and says, “John, Old Boss is so good to you, why don’t you have God send my meat down?”
John said, “Don’t get impatient: I’m going to talk to him a little while longer for you.” So John prayed, “Now Lord, you know me and I know you. Throw me down one of Old Boss’s hams with his same brand on it.”
Just at that time the ham hit down on top of Old Boss’s head. Old Boss grabbed the ham, and said, “John, I spec you better not pray no more.” (Old Boss done got scared.) But John kept on praying and the flour fell. Old Boss told John, “Come on John, don’t pray no more.” “I just want to show you I’m a child of God,” John tells him, and he prays again. “Send me down a sack of Old Boss’s sugar, the same weight and the same name like on all his sacks.”
“John, if you pray any more no telling what might happen to us,” Boss said. “I’ll give you a forty-acre farm and a team of mules if you don’t pray no more.” John didn’t pay no attention; he prayed some more. “Now God, I want you to do me a personal favor. That’s to hop down out of the tree and horsewhip the hell out of Old Boss.” So his buddy jumped out with a white sheet and laid it on Old Boss.
Boss said, “You see what you gone done, John; you got God down on me. From now on you can go free.”
SOURCE: Richard M. Dorson, ed., American Negro Tales, 131–32. Told by Tommy Carter.
Drawing on the folkloric motif of “man behind statue (tree) speaks and pretends to be God (spirit),” this tale shows John in a position of abject prayer and supplication, yet still able to get the better of Old Boss and win his freedom by staging a pantomime in which another slave “lords” it over a double-barreled-shotgun-toting master.
OLD MASTER AND OKRA
Old Master had to go down to New Orleans on business, and he left his number-one slave named Okra in charge of things. Okra declared to himself he goin’ to have a good time whilst Old Master was away, and the thing he did the very first mornin’ was to go out and tell the other slaves, “Now you get on with your affairs. Old Master gone to New Orleans and we got to keep things goin’.”
Then Okra went in the kitchen to cook himself up some food, and in the process of doin’ so he got ruffled and spilled the bacon grease on top of the stove. It burst up into a big fire, and next thing you know that house was goin’ up in flame and smoke. Okra he went out the window and stood off a ways, lookin’ real sorry. By the time the other hands got there, wasn’t nothin’ else to do but look sorry. They was so busy with lookin’ that they never noticed that the sparks lit in the wood lot and set it afire too. Well, Okra ordered everybody out to the wood lot to save it, but by then the grass was sizzlin’ and poppin’, a regular old prairie fire roarin’ across the fields, burnin’ up the cotton and everything else. They run over there with wet bags to beat it out, but next thing they knowed, the pasture was afire and all Old Master’s cattle was a-goin’, throttle out and racin’ for the Texas Badlands.
Okra went to the barn for the horses, but soon’s he opened the door they bolted and was gone. “If’n I can get that ox team hitched,” Okra said, “I’ll go on down to Colonel Thatcher’s place and get some help.” Well, minute he started to put the yoke on them oxen, the left-hand ox lit out and was gone. The right-hand ox went after him, and the both of ’em just left Okra holdin’ the ox yoke up in the air. When Old Master’s huntin’ dog see them oxen go off that way, he figured something was wrong, and he sold out, barkin’ and snappin’ at their heels.
’Bout that time Okra looked around and found all the slaves had took off, too, headin’ North and leavin’ no tracks. He was alone, and he had to digest all that misery by himself.
Week or two went by, and Okra went down to meet the boat Old Master comin’ back on. Old Master got off feelin’ pretty good. Told Okra to carry his stuff and say, “Well, Okra, how’d things go while I was away?”
“Fine, just fine,” Okra say. “I notice they’re fixin’ the bridge over Black Creek. Ain’t that good?”
“Yeah,” Old Master say, “that’s fine, Okra, just fine. Soon’s we get home I’m goin’ to change my clothes and do some quail shootin’.”
“Captain,” Okra say, hangin’ his head, “I got a little bad news for you.”
“What’s that?” Old Master say.
“You ain’t neither goin’ qual huntin’,” Okra say, “your huntin’ dog run away.”
Old Master took it pretty good. He say, “Well, don’t worry about it none, he’ll come back. How’d he happen to run away?”
“Chasin’ after the right-hand ox,” Okra say. “That ox just lit out one mornin’.”
“Where to?” Old Master say.
“I don’t know where to,” Okra say. “He was tryin’ to catch up with the left-hand ox.”
Old Master began to frown now, and he say to Okra, “You mean the whole ox team is gone? How come?”
“I was yokin’ em up to go after Colonel Thatcher, after the horses bolted,” Okra say.
“How come the horses bolted?” Old Boss say.
“Smoke from the pasture grass. That’s what scared all your livestock and made ’em break down the fence and run for the swamp.”
“You mean all my livestock is gone? Okra, I goin’ to skin you. How’d that pasture get on fire?”
Okra he just stood there lookin’ foolish, scratchin’ his head. “Reckon the fire just came across from the cotton field, Captain,” he say.
“You mean my cotton’s burned!” Old Master holler. “How’d that happen?”
“Couldn’t put it out, Captain. Soon as we see it come over there from the wood lot, we went down with wet bags but we couldn’t handle it. Man, that was sure a pretty cotton field before the fire got there.”
Right now Old Master was lookin’ pretty sick. He talk kind of weak. “Okra, you tryin’ to tell me the wood lot’s gone too?”
“I hate to tell you, Captain, but you guessed it,” Okra say, kind of sad. “Imagine, all them trees gone, just ’cause of one lonesome spark.”
Old Master couldn’t hardly talk at all now. He just whisperin’. “Okra,” he say, “Okra, where’d that spark come from?”
“Wind blew it right from the house,” Okra say. “It was when the big tim
bers gave and came down. Man, sparks flew in the air a mile or more.”
“You mean the house burned up?” Old Master say.
“Oh, yeah, didn’t I tell you?” Okra reply. “Didn’t burn up, though, as much as it burned down.”
By now Old Master was a miserable sight, pale as a ghost and shakin’ all over.
“Okra, Okra,” Old Master say, “let’s go get the field hands together and do somethin’!”
“Can’t do that,” Okra say, “I forget to tell you, they’s all sold out for Michigan.”
Old Master just set there shakin’ his head back and forth. “Okra,” he say, “why didn’t you come right out with it? Why you tell me everything was fine?”
“Captain, I’m sorry if I didn’t tell it right,” Okra say. “Just wanted to break it to you easy.”
SOURCE: Harold Courlander, ed., Terrapin’s Pot of Sense, 76–79.
In fairy tales, the survivors generally live happily ever after, but folktales can pile on disasters in ways that are so excessive that they become tragicomic rather than catastrophic. Okra decides to have a “good time” after Old Master leaves, and he touches off a chain of events that leads to the loss of everything the slaveholder owns, including the slaves, who flee North. Fractured by irony, the tale turns the “good time” into a “bad time” for Old Master. The exchanges between Okra and Old Master cleverly disguise a sense of triumph in the liberation of slaves who “leave no tracks,” only the loss and destruction of property.
“Old Master and Okra,” from Harold Courlander, ed., Terrapin’s Pot of Sense, 1957. Reprinted by permission of the Emma Courlander Trust.
A LAUGH THAT MEANT FREEDOM
There were some slaves who had a reputation for keeping out of work because of their wit and humor. These slaves kept their masters laughing most of the time, and were able, if not to keep from working altogether, at least to draw the lighter tasks.
Nehemiah was a clever slave, and no master who had owned him had ever been able to keep him at work, or succeeded in getting him to do heavy work. He would always have some funny story to tell or some humorous remark to make in response to the master’s questioning or scolding. Because of this faculty for avoiding work, Nehemiah was constantly being transferred from one master to another. As soon as an owner found out that Nehemiah was outwitting him, he sold Nehemiah to some other slaveholder. One day, David Wharton, known as the most cruel slave master in Southwest Texas, heard about him.
The illustrator Rue Knapp sketched this portrait of Nehemiah and his master for the story “A Laugh That Meant Freedom.” Reproduced from Encyclopedia of Black Folklore and Humor by Henry D. Spalding. Illustrated by Rue Knapp. By arrangement with Jonathan David Publishers, Inc., www.jdbooks.com.
“I bet I can make that rascal work,” said David Wharton, and he went to Nehemiah’s master and bargained to buy him.
The morning of the first day of his purchase, David Wharton walked over to where Nehemiah was standing and said, “Now you are going to work, you understand. You are going to pick four hundred pounds of cotton today.”
“Wal, Massa, dat’s aw right,” answered Nehemiah, “but ef Ah meks you laff, won’ yuh lemme off fo’ terday?”
“Well,” said David Wharton, who had never been known to laugh, “if you make me laugh, I won’t only let you off for today, but I’ll give you your freedom.”
“Ah decl’, Boss,” said Nehemiah, “yuh sho’ is uh goodlookin’ man.”
“I am sorry I can’t say the same thing about you,” retorted David Wharton.
“Oh, yes, Boss, yuh could,” Nehemiah laughed out, “yuh could, if yuh tole ez big uh lie ez Ah did.”
David Wharton could not help laughing at this; he laughed before he thought. Nehemiah got his freedom.
SOURCE: J. Frank Dobie, ed., Tone the Bell Easy, 14–15.
This tale broadcasts the advantages of lying, showing how it enables one slave to win his freedom. Wit and humor rarely sufficed in real life to lighten assigned labors, but here they appear capable of softening even the “most cruel” master. The use of nonstereotypical names and real places gives the story an aura of authenticity, even as it remains one of the tallest of tales in suggesting that laughter can be liberating in a literal sense.
“A Laugh That Meant Freedom,” from J. Frank Dobie, ed., Tone the Bell Easy. University of Texas Press, Austin, TX. Publications of the Texas Folklore Society 10 (1932): 14–15.
HOW BUCK WON HIS FREEDOM
Buck was the shrewdest slave on the big Washington plantation. He could steal things almost in front of his master’s eyes without being detected. Finally, after having had his chickens and pigs stolen until he was sick, Master Harry Washington called Buck to him one day and said, “Buck, how do you manage to steal without getting caught?”
“Dat’s easy, Massa,” replied Buck, “dat’s easy. Ah kin steal yo’ clo’es right tonight, wid you a-guardin’ ’em.”
“No, no,” said the master, “you may be a slick thief, but you can’t do that. I will make a proposition to you: If you steal my suit of clothes tonight, I will give you your freedom, and if you fail to steal them, then you will stop stealing my chickens.”
“Aw right, Massa, aw right,” Buck agreed. “Dat’s uh go!”
That night about nine o’clock the master called his wife into the bedroom, got on his Sunday suit of clothes, laid it out on the table, and told his wife about the proposition he had made with Buck. He got on one side of the table and had his wife get on the other side, and they waited. Pretty soon, through a window that was open, the master heard the mules and horses in the stable lot running as if someone were after them.
“Here, wife,” said he, “you take this gun and keep an eye on this suit. I’m going to see what’s the matter with those animals.”
Buck, who had been out to the horse lot and started the stampede to attract the master’s attention, now approached the open window. He called out, “Ol’ lady, ol’ lady, ol’ lady, you better hand me that suit. That damn thief might steal it while I’m gone.”
The master’s wife, thinking that it was her husband asking for the suit, took it from the table and handed it out the window to Jack. This is how Buck won his freedom.
SOURCE: J. Frank Dobie, ed., Tone the Bell Easy, 15–16.
The “master thief” tale is a familiar one in many cultures, with a young man from a poor family as the expert in theft. He steals everything from horses and dogs to bedcovers and wedding rings, and, in the end, he is banished from his native land, pardoned, and in some cases, as in this one, rewarded.
“How Buck Won His Freedom,” from J. Frank Dobie, ed., Tone the Bell Easy. University of Texas Press, Austin, TX. Publications of the Texas Folklore Society 10 (1932): 15–16.
VOICES IN THE GRAVEYARD
One night two slaves on the Byars plantation entered the potato house of the master and stole a sack of sweet potatoes. They decided that the best place to divide them would be down in the graveyard, where they would not be disturbed. So they went down there and started dividing the potatoes.
Another slave, Isom, who had been visiting a neighboring plantation, happened to be passing that way on the road home, and, hearing voices in the graveyard, he decided to stop and overhear what was being said. It was too dark for him to see, but when he stopped he heard one of the thieves saying in a sing-song voice, “Ah’ll take dis un, an’ yuh can take dat un. Ah’ll take dis un, an’ yuh can take dat un.”
“Lawd, ha’ mercy,” said Isom to himself. “Ah b’lieve dat Gawd an’ de debbil am down hyeah dividin’ up souls. Ah’s gwine an’ tell ol’ Massa.”
Isom ran as fast as he could up to the master’s house and said, “Massa, Massa, Ah’s passin’ tho’oo de graveya’d jes’ now, an’ what yuh reckon Ah heerd? Gawd an’ de debbil’s down dar dividin’ up souls. Ah sho’ b’lieves de Day oh Judgment am come.”
“You don’t know what you are talking about,” said the master. “That’s foolish talk. You k
now you are not telling the truth.”
“Yas, sah, Massa, yas, sah, Ah is. Ef yuh don’ b’lieve hit, cum go down dar yo’se’f.”
“All right,” said the master. “And if you are lying to me, I am going to whip you good tomorrow.”
“Aw right, Massa,” said Isom, “ ’case Gawd an’ de debbil sho’ am down dere.”
Sure enough, when Isom and the master got near the graveyard, they heard the sing-song voice saying, “Yuh take dis un, an’ Ah’ll take dat un. Yuh take dis un, an’ Ah’ll take dat un.”
“See dar, didn’ Ah tell yuh, Massa?” said Isom.
In the meantime, the two darkies had almost finished the division of the potatoes, but remembered they had dropped two over by the fence—where Isom and the master were standing out of sight. Finally, when they had only two potatoes left, the one who was counting said, “Ah’ll take dese two an’ yuh take dem two over dere by de fence.”
Upon hearing this, Isom and the master ran home as fast as they could go. After this the master never doubted Isom’s word about what he saw or heard.
SOURCE: J. Frank Dobie, ed., Tone the Bell Easy, 39–40.
There are many versions of this tale about dividing up souls in the graveyard, and the story belongs to a tale type known as “the murderer’s house.” In that international tale type, two young men see the owner of a house take a knife and hear him say, “No matter how young they are they have to die.” The owner is referring to domestic animals, but the two men believe that they are the targets. The tale can be traced back to a British source from the sixth century about dividing souls on Judgment Day.
“Voices in the Graveyard,” from J. Frank Dobie, ed., Tone the Bell Easy. University of Texas Press, Austin, TX. Publications of the Texas Folklore Society 10 (1932): 39–40.
The Annotated African American Folktales Page 51
