These comments, and the peals of unrestrained and unrestrainable laughter that accompanied them, drew the attention of the other negroes, and before the climax of the story had been reached, where Brother Rabbit is cruelly thrown into the brier-patch, they had all gathered around and made themselves comfortable. Without waiting to see what the effect of the “Tar Baby” legend would be, the writer told the story of “Brother Rabbit and the Mosquitoes,” and this had the effect of convulsing them. Two or three could hardly wait for the conclusion, so anxious were they to tell stories of their own. The result was that, for almost two hours, a crowd of thirty or more negroes vied with each other to see which could tell the most and the best stories. Some told them poorly, giving only meagre outlines, while others told them passing well; but one or two, if their language and their gestures could have been taken down, would have put Uncle Remus to shame. Some of the stories told had already been gathered and verified, and a few had been printed in the first volume; but the great majority were either new or had been entirely forgotten. It was night, and impossible to take notes; but that fact was not to be regretted. The darkness gave greater scope and freedom to the narratives of the negroes, and but for this friendly curtain, it is doubtful if the conditions would have been favorable to story-telling. But however favorable the conditions might have been, the appearance of a note-book and pencil would have dissipated them as utterly as if they had never existed. Moreover, it was comparatively an easy matter for the writer to take the stories away in his memory, since many of them gave point to a large collection of notes and unrelated fragments already in his possession.
In the introduction to the first volume of Uncle Remus, a lame apology was made for inflicting a book of dialect upon the public. Perhaps a similar apology should be made here; but the discriminating reader does not need to be told that it would be impossible to separate these stories from the idiom in which they have been recited for generations. The dialect is a part of the legends themselves, and to present them in any other way would be to rob them of everything that gives them vitality. The dialect of Daddy Jack, which is that of the negroes on the Sea Islands and the rice plantations, though it may seem at first glance to be more difficult than that of Uncle Remus, is, in reality, simpler and more direct. It is the negro dialect in its most primitive state—the “Gullah” talk of some of the negroes on the Sea Islands, being merely a confused and untranslatable mixture of English and African words. In the introductory notes to “Slave Songs of the United States” may be found an exposition of Daddy Jack’s dialect as complete as any that can be given here. A key to the dialect may be given very briefly. The vocabulary is not an extensive one—more depending upon the manner, the form of expression, and the inflection, than upon the words employed. It is thus an admirable vehicle for story-telling. It recognizes no gender, and scorns the use of the plural number except accidentally. “ ’E” stands for “he” “she” or “it,” and “dem” may allude to one thing, or may include a thousand. The dialect is laconic and yet rambling, full of repetitions, and abounding in curious elisions, that give an unexpected quaintness to the simplest statements. A glance at the following vocabulary will enable the reader to understand Daddy Jack’s dialect perfectly, though allowance must be made for inversions and elisions.
B’er, brother.
Beer, bear.
Bittle, victuals.
Bret, breath.
Buckra, white man, overseer, boss.
Churrah, churray, spill, splash.
Da, the, that.
Dey-dey, here, down there, right here.
Dey, there.
Enty, ain’t he? an exclamation of astonishment or assent.
Gwan, going.
Leaf, leave.
Lif, live.
Lil, lil-a, or lilly, little.
Lun, learn.
Mek, make.
Neat’, or nead, underneath, beneath.
Oona, you, all of you.
Sem, same.
Shum, see them, saw them.
Tam, time.
’Tan’, stand.
Tankee, thanks, thank you.
Tark, or tahlk, talk.
Teer, tear.
Tek, take.
T’ink, or t’ought, think, thought.
Titty, or titter, sissy, sister.
T’row, throw.
Trute, truth.
Turrer, or tarrah, the other.
Tusty, thirsty.
Urrer, other.
Wey, where.
Wun, when.
Wut, what.
Y’et or ut, earth.
Yeddy, or yerry, heard, hear.
Yent, ain’t, isn’t.
. . . It only remains to be said that none of the stories given in the present volume are “cooked.” They are given in the simple but picturesque language of the negroes, just as the negroes tell them. The Ghost-story, in which the dead woman returns in search of the silver that had been placed upon her eyes, is undoubtedly of white origin; but Mr. Samuel L. Clemens (Mark Twain) heard it among the negroes of Florida, Missouri, where it was “The Woman with the Golden Arm.” Fortunately, it was placed in the mouth of ’Tildy, the house-girl, who must be supposed to have heard her mistress tell it. But it has been negroized to such an extent that it may be classed as a negro legend; and it is possible that the white version is itself based upon a negro story. At any rate, it was told to the writer by different negroes; and he saw no reason to doubt its authenticity until after a large portion of the book was in type. His relations to the stories are simply those of editor and compiler. He has written them as they came to him, and he is responsible only for the setting. He has endeavored to project them upon the background and to give them the surroundings which they had in the old days that are no more; and it has been his purpose to give in their recital a glimpse of plantation life in the South before the war. If the reader, therefore, will exercise his imagination to the extent of believing that the stories are told to a little boy by a group of negroes on a plantation in Middle Georgia, before the war, he will need neither footnote nor explanation to guide him.
In the preparation of this volume the writer has been placed under obligations to many kind friends. But for the ready sympathy and encouragement of the proprietors of “The Atlanta Constitution”—but for their generosity, it may be said—the writer would never have found opportunity to verify the stories and prepare them for the press. He is also indebted to hundreds of kind correspondents in all parts of the Southern States, who have interested themselves in the work of collecting the legends. He is particularly indebted to Mrs. Helen S. Barclay, of Darien, to Mr. W. O. Tuggle, to Hon. Charles C. Jones, Jr., to the accomplished daughters of Mr. Griswold, of Clinton, Georgia, and to Mr. John Devereux, Jr., and Miss Devereux, of Raleigh, North Carolina.
J. C. H.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
ANONYMOUS, “WORD SHADOWS”
Atlantic Monthly 67 (1891), 143–44
The anonymous author of this article inadvertently captured the poetry of the folkloric imagination, and his many efforts to disparage and belittle black speech backfire when we look at the parade of examples that enliven and invigorate the English language.
WORD SHADOWS
(in “Contributors’ Club”)
If shadows of material objects are grotesque, even more so are the shadows cast by words from fairly educated lips into the minds of almost totally ignorant people. Display in utterance of these quaint word-shadows, if one may so call them, makes dialect.
This grotesquerie, this quaint transformation of something well known, real, and admirable into something queer, fanciful, and awkward, yet bearing resemblance to the fair formation it shadows, gives to dialect writing and to dialect speech that piquant flavor that all the world favors. Especially is this true of that lately full fashionable style of literary production, song and story, in negro dialect. The words of our language that enter the mind of the old-time negro have indeed found their way into a
dusky realm. Here is with us a race which has wholly forgotten its own language, or whatever methods of communication it made use of in its African home. The language of an utterly diverse race it must perforce employ, since it has lost the tongue of its own people. Into the minds of the individuals of this race, a people hardly a century out of barbarism, the light of civilization shines with dazzling effect. The language they must use is the growth of centuries of civilization, its roots reaching to even older civilizations, its branches grafted with luxuriant word-growths of almost every nation on earth. It is little wonder that this language of ours assumes in these startled brains most fanciful shapes. To take down some of these shadowy effects, with our language for cause, would be to make a dialect dictionary, a glossary of plantation patois, a work for which, happily, there is now no need. But an effort to show a few of these vague, dusky shapes that our words take on may not be wholly uninteresting.
See, for instance, how our simple word “fertilizer” becomes on the tongue of an old darky gardener “pudlie.” A giant is dubbed a “high-jinted man.” A maid who will prove obedient to orders is described as an “orderly gal.” A piece of ground that shows a bad yield of cotton or corn is called “failery lan’.” Farming in the mouth of a negro laborer is “crapping.” The favorite food of the cotton-field hand, the food he cannot live without, the strengthening bread made from corn meal, has its expressive name, “John Constant.” Wheaten bread, a rare treat to the field hand, is “Billy Seldom.” Bacon has its name, “Ole Ned.” The best field laborer is the “lead hoe hand.” To quit work for the day is to “lay by.” To rise early to go to the field is “ter be in patch by hour by sun.” An early breakfast is “a soon brekkus.” Our word “accuse”—alas! One the negro often has occasion to use—is “ ’scuse.” There are too few of the race who have not been, at some time or other, “ ’scuse of a pig,” “ ’scuse of a cow,” “ ’scuse of cotton-pickin’ by night,” “ ’scuse of a pa’r shoes,” and so on down a long list of material and tempting articles.
The quaint technical phrases that the negroes make use of in their business talk are innumerable. To be ready to hire for a cook is to be “des on han’ ter jump in de cook-pot.” In ironing, to leave a cluster of wrinkles on the garment in hand is to put “cat-faces” on it. To wash only for visitors to a town or village is to “des only take in trans’ washin’.” To take day boarders is to take “transoms.” To say that one is obliged to turn a hand to anything is to say, “Ever’ little drug dere is, I hatter wag it.”
A half-starved calf is a “calf dat’s been whipped wid de churn-dasher.” A good ploughman is a “noble plough han’.” Rich land is “strong ground.” To keep down grass is to “fight wid Gen’al Green.”
To leave the technicalities for generalities, we find that any matter that is but ill adjusted is a matter “squowow”; ill adjusted in a lesser degree is “weewow.” A well-arranged matter is pronounced all “commojious,”—a shadow of our word “commodious.” A matter well accomplished is “essentially done”; as, for instance, “When she cooks, she des essentially cooks good.” A person fit to adorn wealth is a “high-minded person,” or “big-minded,” or “great-minded.” A wealthy person is one “stout in worldly goods.” A proud person is an “umptious somebody.” One who is only proud enough is “proud to de ikle.” One who is slightly petted by good Dame Fortune is “des pettish.” To be in trouble or distress is to “walk on de wearied line.” To live easily and happily is to live “jobly and wid pleadjure.” To be ill is to “have a misery.” To be quite well is to be “des sorter tollerble.” Entertaining conversation becomes in that shadow-language “mockin’-bird talk.” A girl who loves to stay at home, what the poets would call “a home-keeping heart,” becomes a “homely gal”; keeping for the word its English meaning, not its American perversion.
A queer gamut of color they run in their descriptions of their race: “a dark man,” “a bright man,” “a light gal,” “a mustee ’oman,” “a gingerbread boy,” a “honey-colored lady.”
Entering the mystic world, we find that a ghost is “a hant.” Magic, black art, becomes “conjure”; the accent on the first syllable. Entering the world of song, we find that all lively lyrics are “sinner-songs,” or “reels,” or “corn-hollers,” “jump-up-songs,” or “chunes dat skip wid de banjo.” Religious songs are “member-songs” or “hymn-chunes.” Long chants are “spirituelles.”
The dweller in the realm of negro religious beliefs and forms of worship endows our language with meanings entirely new to our experience. Not to be a church member is to be “settin’ on de sinner-seat,” “still in de open fiel’,” “drinkin’ de cup er damnation,” and many other such phrases. To enter the church is to “jine de band,” to “take up de cup er salvation,” to “git a seat wid de members,” to “be gethered in,” to “put on a shine-line gyarment,” and so on ad infinitum.
SOURCE: Bruce Jackson, The Negro and His Folklore in Nineteenth-Century Periodicals, 25.
ALICE MABEL BACON, “FOLK-LORE AND ETHNOLOGY CIRCULAR LETTER” AND LETTERS IN RESPONSE TO THE CALL
To: Graduates of the Hampton Normal School and others who may be interested
Southern Workman 22 (1893), 179–81
Alice Mabel Bacon served as editor of the Hampton Institute’s monthly magazine, the Southern Workman, and launched a Folk-Lore and Ethnology Department in 1893. Below is Bacon’s appeal for the value of folklore, followed by a set of letters lauding her initiative.
FOLK-LORE AND ETHNOLOGY
CIRCULAR LETTER
To Graduates of the Hampton Normal School and others who may be interested.
Dear Friends:
The American Negroes are rising so rapidly from the condition of ignorance and poverty in which slavery left them, to a position among the cultivated and civilized people of the earth, that the time seems not far distant when they shall have cast off their past entirely, and stand an anomaly among civilized races, as a people having no distinct traditions, beliefs or ideas from which a history of their growth may be traced. If within the next few years care is not taken to collect and preserve all traditions and customs peculiar to the Negroes, there will be little to reward the search of the future historian who would trace the history of the African continent through the years of slavery to the position which they will hold a few generations hence. Even now the children are growing up with little knowledge of what their ancestors have thought, or felt, or suffered. The common-school system with its teachings is eradicating the old and planting the seeds of the new, and the transition period is likely to be a short one. The old people, however, still have their thoughts on the past, and believe and think and do much as they have for generations. From them and from the younger ones whose thoughts have been moulded by them in regions where the school is, as yet, imperfectly established, much may be gathered that will, when put together and printed, be of great value as material for history and ethnology.
But, if this material is to be obtained, it must be gathered soon and by many intelligent observers stationed in different places. It must be done by observers who enter into the homes and lives of the more ignorant colored people and who see in their beliefs and customs no occasion for scorn, or contempt, or laughter, but only the showing forth of the first child-like, but still reasoning philosophy of a race, reaching after some interpretation of its surroundings and its antecedents. To such observers, every custom, belief or superstition, foolish and empty to others, will be of value and will be worth careful preservation. The work cannot be done by white people, much as many of them 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 among the more ignorant of their own race, teaching, preaching, practising medicine, carrying on business of any kind that brings them into close contact with the simple, old-time ways of their own people. We want to get all such persons interested in this work, and to get them to note down their observat
ions along certain lines and send them in to the Editor of the Southern Workman. We hope sooner or later to join all such contributors together into a Folk-Lore Society and to make our work of value to the whole world, but our beginning will be in a corner of the Southern Workman and we have liberty to establish there a department of Folk-lore and Ethnology.
Notes and observations on any or all of the following subjects will be welcomed.
1.Folk-tales—The animal tales about Brer. Fox and Brer. Rabbit and the others have been well told by many white writers as taken down from the lips of Negroes. Some of them have been already traced back to Africa; many are found existing, with slight variations among Negroes and Indians of South as well as North America. These, with other stories relating to deluges, the colors of different races and natural phenomena of various kinds, form an important body of Negro mythology. Any additions to those already written out and printed, or other variations on those already obtained would be of great value.
The Annotated African American Folktales Page 65
