“’Well, doggone my cats ef I can’t gallop ‘roun’ ole Brer Fox, en I’m gwineter do it. I’ll show Miss Meadows en de gals dat I’m de boss er Brer Fox,’ sezee.
“Jack Sparrer up in de tree, he hear Brer Rabbit, he did, en he sing out:
“’I’m gwine tell Brer Fox! I’m gwine tell Brer Fox! Chick-a-biddy-win’-a-blowin’-acuns-fallin’! I’m gwine tell Brer Fox!’”
Uncle Remus accompanied the speech of the bird with a peculiar whistling sound in his throat, that was a marvelous imitation of a sparrow’s chirp, and the little boy clapped his hands with delight, and insisted on a repetition.
“Dis kinder tarrify Brer Rabbit, en he skasely know w’at he gwine do; but bimeby he study ter hisse’f dat de man w’at see Brer Fox fus wuz boun’ ter have de inturn, en den he go hoppin’ off to’rds home. He didn’t got fur w’en who should he meet but Brer Fox, en den Brer Rabbit, he open up:
“’W’at dis twix’ you en me, Brer Fox?’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. ‘I hear tell you gwine ter sen’ me ter ‘struckshun, en nab my fambly, en stroy my shanty,’ sezee.
“Den Brer Fox he git mighty mad.
“’Who bin tellin’ you all dis?’ sezee.
“Brer Rabbit make like he didn’t want ter tell, but Brer Fox he ‘sist en ‘sist, twel at las’ Brer Rabbit he up en tell Brer Fox dat he hear Jack Sparrer say all dis.
“’Co’se,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘w’en Brer Jack Sparrer tell me dat I flew up, I did, en I use some langwidge w’ich I’m mighty glad dey wern’t no ladies ‘roun’ nowhars so dey could hear me go on,’ sezee.
“Brer Fox he sorter gap, he did, en say he speck he better be sa’nter’n on. But, bless yo’ soul, honey, Brer Fox ain’t sa’nter fur, ‘fo’ Jack Sparrer flipp down on a ‘simmon-bush by de side er de road, en holler out:
“’Brer Fox! Oh, Brer Fox! — Brer Fox!’
“Brer Fox he des sorter canter ‘long, he did, en make like he don’t hear ‘im. Den Jack Sparrer up’n sing out agin:
“’Brer Fox! Oh, Brer Fox! Hole on, Brer Fox! I got some news fer you. Wait, Brer Fox! Hit’ll ‘stonish you.’
“Brer Fox he make like he don’t see Jack Sparrer, ner needer do he hear ‘im, but bimeby he lay down by de road, en sorter stretch hisse’f like he fixin’ fer ter nap. De tattlin’ Jack Sparrer he flew’d ‘long, en keep on callin’ Brer Fox, but Brer Fox, he ain’t sayin’ nuthin’. Den little Jack Sparrer, he hop down on de groun’ en flutter ‘roun’ ‘mongst de trash. Dis sorter ‘track Brer Fox ‘tenshun, en he look at de tattlin’ bird, en de bird he keep on callin’:
“’I got sump’n fer ter tell you, Brer Fox.’
“’Git on my tail, little Jack Sparrer,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘kaze I’m de’f in one year, en I can’t hear out’n de udder. Git on my tail,’ sezee.
“Den de little bird he up’n hop on Brer Fox’s tail.
“’Git on my back, little Jack Sparrer, kaze I’m de’f in one year en I can’t hear out’n de udder.’
“Den de little bird hop on his back.
“’Hop on my head, little Jack Sparrer, kaze I’m de’f in bofe years.’
“Up hop de little bird.
“’Hop on my toof, little Jack Sparrer, kaze I’m de’f in one year en I can’t hear out’n de udder.’
“De tattlin’ little bird hop on Brer Fox’s toof, en den — “
Here Uncle Remus paused, opened wide his mouth and closed it again in a way that told the whole story.1
“Did the Fox eat the bird all — all — up?” asked the little boy.
“Jedge B’ar come ‘long nex’ day,” replied Uncle Remus, “en he fine some fedders, en fum dat word went roun’ dat ole man Squinch Owl done kotch nudder watzizname.”
1An Atlanta friend heard this story in Florida, but an alligator was substituted for the fox, and a little boy for the rabbit. There is another version in which the impertinent gosling goes to tell the fox something her mother has said, and is caught; and there may be other versions. I have adhered to the middle Georgia version, which is characteristic enough. It may be well to state that there are different versions of all the stories — the shrewd narrators of the mythology of the old plantation adapting themselves with ready tact to the years, tastes, and expectations of their juvenile audiences.
XX.
HOW MR. RABBIT
SAVED HIS MEAT.
“One time,” said Uncle Remus, whetting his knife slowly and thoughtfully on the palm of his hand, and gazing reflectively in the fire — “one time Brer Wolf —”
“Why, Uncle Remus!” the little boy broke in, “I thought you said the Rabbit scalded the Wolf to death a long time ago.”
The old man was fairly caught and he knew it; but this made little difference to him. A frown gathered on his usually serene brow as he turned his gaze upon the child — a frown in which both scorn and indignation were visible. Then all at once he seemed to regain control of himself. The frown was chased away by a look of Christian resignation.
“Dar now! W’at I tell you?” he exclaimed as if addressing a witness concealed under the bed. “Ain’t I done tole you so? Bless grashus! ef chilluns ain’t gittin’ so dey knows mo’n ole fokes, en dey’ll spute longer you en spute longer you, ceppin der ma call um, w’ich I speck twon’t be long ‘fo’ she will, en den I’ll set yere by de chimbly-cornder en git some peace er mine. W’en ole Miss wuz livin’,” continued the old man, still addressing some imaginary person, “hit ‘uz mo’n enny her chilluns ‘ud dast ter do ter come ‘sputin’ longer me, en Mars John’ll tell you de same enny day you ax ‘im.”
“Well, Uncle Remus, you know you said the Rabbit poured hot water on the Wolf and killed him,” said the little boy.
The old man pretended not to hear. He was engaged in searching among some scraps of leather under his chair, and kept on talking to the imaginary person. Finally, he found and drew forth a nicely plaited whip-thong with a red snapper all waxed and knotted.
“I wuz fixin’ up a w’ip fer a little chap,” he continued, with a sigh, “but, bless grashus! ‘fo’ I kin git ‘er done, de little chap done grow’d up twel he know mo’n I duz.”
The child’s eyes filled with tears and his lips began to quiver, but he said nothing; whereupon Uncle Remus immediately melted.
“I ‘clar’ to goodness,” he said, reaching out and taking the little boy tenderly by the hand, ‘ef you ain’t de ve’y spit en image er ole Miss w’en I brung ‘er de las’ news er de war. Hit’s des like skeerin’ up a ghos’ w’at you ain’t fear’d un.”
Then there was a pause, the old man patting the little child’s hand caressingly.
“You ain’t mad, is you, honey?” Uncle Remus asked finally, “kaze ef you is, I’m gwine out yere en butt my head ‘gin de do’ jam’.”
But the little boy wasn’t mad. Uncle Remus had conquered him and he had conquered Uncle Remus in pretty much the same way before. But it was some time before Uncle Remus would go on with the story. He had to be coaxed. At last, however, he settled himself back in the chair and began:
“Co’se, honey, hit mout er bin ole Brer Wolf, er hit mout er bin er n’er Brer Wolf; it mout er bin ‘fo’ he got kotch up wid, er it mout er bin afterwards. Ez de tale wer gun to me des dat away I gin it unter you. One time Brer Wolf wuz comin’ ‘long home fum a fishin’ frolic. He s’anter ‘long de road, he did, wid his string er fish ‘cross his shoulder, wen fus news you know ole Miss Pa’tridge, she hop outer de bushes en flutter ‘long right at Brer Wolf nose. Brer Wolf he say ter hisse’f dat old Miss Pa’tridge tryin’ fer ter toll ‘im ‘way fum her nes’, en wid dat he lay his fish down en put out inter de bushes whar ole Miss Pa’tridge come fum, en ‘bout dat time Brer Rabbit, he happen ‘long. Dar wuz de fishes, en dar wuz Brer Rabbit, en w’en dat de case w’at you speck a sorter innerpen’ent man like Brer Rabbit gwine do? I kin tell you dis, dat dem fishes ain’t stay whar Brer Wolf put um at, en w’en Brer Wolf come back dey wuz gone.
“Brer Wolf, h
e sot down en scratch his head, he did, en study en study, en den hit sorter rush into his mine dat Brer Rabbit bin ‘long dar, en den Brer Wolf, he put out fer Brer Rabbit house, en w’en he git dar he hail ‘im. Brer Rabbit, he dunno nuthin’ tall ‘bout no fishes. Brer Wolf he up’n say he bleedzd ter b’leeve Brer Rabbit got dem fishes. Brer Rabbit ‘ny it up en down, but Brer Wolf stan’ too it dat Brer Rabbit got dem fishes. Brer Rabbit, he say dat if Brer Wolf b’leeve he got de fishes, den he give Brer Wolf lief fer ter kill de bes’ cow he got. Brer Wolf, he tuck Brer Rabbit at his word, en go off ter de pastur’ en drive up de cattle en kill Brer Rabbit bes’ cow.
“Brer Rabbit, he hate mighty bad fer ter lose his cow, but he lay his plans, en he tell his chilluns dat he gwineter have dat beef yit. Brer Wolf, he bin tuck up by de patter-rollers ‘fo’ now, en he mighty skeerd un um, en fus news you know, yer come Brer Rabbit hollerin’ en tellin’ Brer Wolf dat de patter-rollers comin’.
“’You run en hide, Brer Wolf,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘en I’ll stay yer en take keer er de cow twel you gits back,’ sezee.
“Soon’s Brer Wolf hear talk er de patter-rollers, he scramble off inter de underbresh like he bin shot out’n a gun. En he want mo’n gone ‘fo’ Brer Rabbit, he whirl in en skunt de cow en salt de hide down, en den he tuck’n cut up de kyarkiss en stow it ‘way in de smoke-‘ouse, en den he tuck’n stick de een’ er de cow-tail in de groun’. Atter he gone en done all dis, den Brer Rabbit he squall out fer Brer Wolf:
“’Run yer, Brer Wolf! Run yer! Yo’ cow gwine in de groun’! Run yer!’
“W’en ole Brer Wolf got dar, w’ich he come er scootin’, dar wuz Brer Rabbit hol’in’ on ter de cow-tail, fer ter keep it fum gwine in de groun’. Brer Wolf, he kotch holt, en dey ‘gin a pull er two en up come de tail. Den Brer Rabbit, he wink his off eye en say, sezee:
“’Dar! de tail done pull out en de cow gone,’ sezee.
“But Brer Wolf he wer’n’t de man fer ter give it up dat away, en he got ‘im a spade, en a pick-axe, en a shovel, en he dig en dig fer dat cow twel diggin’ wuz pas’ all endu’unce, en ole Brer Rabbit he sot up dar in his front po’ch en smoke his seegyar. Eve’y time ole Brer Wolf stuck de pick-axe in de clay, Brer Rabbit, he giggle ter his chilluns:
“’He diggy, diggy, diggy, but no meat dar! He diggy, diggy, diggy, but no meat dar!’
“Kaze all de time de cow wuz layin’ pile up in his smoke-‘ouse, en him en his chilluns wuz eatin’ fried beef en inguns eve’y time dey mouf water.
“Now den, honey, you take dis yer w’ip,” continued the old man, twining the leather thong around the little boy’s neck, “en scamper up ter de big ‘ouse en tell Miss Sally fer ter gin you some un it de nex’ time she fine yo’ tracks in de sugar-bairl.”
XXI.
MR. RABBIT MEETS
HIS MATCH AGAIN.
“Dere wuz nudder man dat sorter play it sharp on Brer Rabbit,” said Uncle Remus, as, by some mysterious process, he twisted a hog’s bristle into the end of a piece of thread — an operation which the little boy watched with great interest. “In dem days,” continued the old man, “de beastesses kyar’d on marters same ez fokes. Dey went inter fahmin’, en I speck ef de troof wuz ter come out, dey kep’ sto’, en had der camp-meetin’ times en der bobbycues w’en de wedder wuz ‘greeble.”
Uncle Remus evidently thought that the little boy wouldn’t like to hear of any further discomfiture of Brer Rabbit, who had come to be a sort of hero, and he was not mistaken.
“I thought the Terrapin was the only one that fooled the Rabbit,” said the little boy, dismally.
“Hit’s des like I tell you, honey. Dey ain’t no smart man, ‘cep’ w’at dey’s a smarter. Ef ole Brer Rabbit hadn’t er got kotch up wid, de nabers ‘ud er tuck ‘im for a h’ant, en in dem times dey bu’nt witches ‘fo’ you could squinch yo’ eyeballs. Dey did dat.”
“Who fooled the Rabbit this time?” the little boy asked.
When Uncle Remus had the bristle “sot” in the thread, he proceeded with the story:
“One time Brer Rabbit en ole Brer Buzzard ‘cluded dey’d sorter go snacks, en crap tergedder. Hit wuz a mighty good year, en de truck tu’n out monstus well, but bimeby, w’en de time come fer dividjun, hit come ter light dat ole Brer Buzzard ain’t got nuthin’. De crap wuz all gone, en dey want nuthin’ dar fer ter show fer it. Brer Rabbit, he make like he in a wuss fix’n Brer Buzzard, en he mope ‘roun’, he did, like he fear’d dey gwineter sell ‘im out.
“Brer Buzzard, he ain’t sayin’ nuthin’, but he keep up a monstus thinkin’, en one day he come ‘long en holler en tell Brer Rabbit dat he done fine rich gole-mine des ‘cross de river.
“’You come en go ‘longer me, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Tukky Buzzard, sezee. ‘I’ll scratch en you kin grabble, en ‘tween de two un us we’ll make short wuk er dat gole-mine,’ sezee.
“Brer Rabbit, he wuz high up fer de job, but he study en study, he did, how he gwineter git ‘cross de water, kaze ev’y time he git his foot wet all de fambly kotch cole. Den he up’n ax Brer Buzzard how he gwine do, en Brer Buzzard he up’n say dat he kyar Brer Rabbit ‘cross, en wid dat ole Brer Buzzard, he squot down, he did, en spread his wings, en Brer Rabbit, he mounted, en up dey riz.” There was a pause.
“What did the Buzzard do then?” asked the little boy.
“Dey riz,” continued Uncle Remus, “en w’en dey lit, dey lit in de top er de highest sorter pine, en de pine w’at dey lit in wuz growin’ on er ilun, en de ilun wuz in de middle er de river, wid de deep water runnin’ all ‘roun’. Dey ain’t mo’n lit ‘fo’ Brer Rabbit, he know w’ich way de win’ ‘uz blowin’, en by de time ole Brer Buzzard got hisse’f ballunce on a lim’, Brer Rabbit, he up’n say, sezee:
“’W’iles we er res’n here, Brer Buzzard, en bein’s you bin so good, I got sump’n fer ter tell you,’ sezee. ‘I got a gole-mine er my own, one w’at I make myse’f, en I speck we better go back ter mine ‘fo’ we bodder ‘longer yone,’ sezee.
“Den ole Brer Buzzard, he laff, he did, twel he shake, en Brer Rabbit, he sing out:
“’Hole on, Brer Buzzard! Don’t flop yo’ wings w’en you laff, kaze den ef you duz, sump’n ‘ill drap fum up yer, en my gole-mine won’t do you no good, en needer will yone do me no good.’
“But ‘fo’ dey got down fum dar, Brer Rabbit done tole all ‘bout de crap, en he hatter promus fer ter ‘vide fa’r en squar. So Brer Buzzard, he kyar ‘im back, en Brer Rabbit he walk weak in de knees a mont’ atterwuds.”
XXII.
A STORY ABOUT THE
LITTLE RABBITS.
“Fine um whar you will en w’en you may,” re marked Uncle Remus with emphasis, “good chilluns allers gits tuck keer on. Dar wuz Brer Rabbit’s chilluns; dey minded der daddy en mammy fum day’s een’ ter day’s een’ W’en ole man Rabbit say ‘scoot,’ dey scooted, en w’en ole Miss Rabbit say ‘scat,’ dey scatted. Dey did dat. En dey kep der cloze clean, en dey ain’t had no smut on der nose nudder.”
Involuntarily the hand of the little boy went up to his face, and he scrubbed the end of his nose with his coat-sleeve.
“Dey wuz good chilluns,” continued the old man, heartily, “en ef dey hadn’t er bin, der wuz one time w’en dey wouldn’t er bin no little rabbits — na’er one. Dat’s w’at.”
“What time was that, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked.
“De time w’en Brer Fox drapt in at Brer Rabbit house, en didn’t foun’ nobody dar ceppin’ de little Rabbits. Ole Brer Rabbit, he wuz off some’rs raiding on a collard patch, en ole Miss Rabbit she wuz tendin’ on a quiltin’ in de naberhood, en wiles de little Rabbits wuz playin’ hidin’-switch, in drapt Brer Fox. De little Rabbits wuz so fat dat dey fa’rly make his mouf water, but he ‘member ‘bout Brer Wolf, en he skeered fer ter gobble um up ceppin’ he got some skuse. De little Rabbits, dey mighty skittish, en dey sorter huddle deyse’f up tergedder en watch Brer Fox motions. Brer Fox, he sot dar en study w’at sorter skuse he gwineter make up. Bimeby he see a g
reat big stalk er sugar-cane stan’in’ up in de cornder, en he cle’r up his th’oat en talk biggity:
“’Yer! you young Rabs dar, sail ‘roun’ yer en broke me a piece er dat sweetnin’-tree,’ sezee, en den he koff.
De little Rabbits, dey got out de sugar-cane, dey did, en dey rastle wid it, en sweat over it, but twan’t no use. Dey couldn’t broke it. Brer Fox, he make like he ain’t watchin’, but he keep on holler’n:
“’Hurry up dar, Rabs! I’m a waitin’ on you.’
“En de little Rabbits, dey hustle ‘roun’ en rastle wid it, but dey couldn’t broke it. Bimeby dey hear little bird singin’ on top er de house, en de song w’at de little bird sing wuz dish yer:
“‘Take yo’ toofies en gnyaw it,
Take yo’ toofies en saw it,
Saw it en yoke it,
En den you kin broke it.’
“Den de little Rabbits, dey git mighty glad, en dey gnyawed de cane mos’ ‘fo’ ole Brer Fox could git his legs oncrosst, en w’en dey kyard ‘im de cane, Brer Fox, he sot dar en study how he gwineter make some mo’ skuse fer nabbin’ un um, en bimeby he git up en git down de sifter w’at wuz hangin’ on de wall, en holler out:
“’Come yer, Rabs! Take dish yer sifter, en run don’t de spring en fetch me some fresh water.’
“De little Rabbits, dey run don’t de spring, en try ter dip up de water wid de sifter, but co’se hit all run out, en hit keep on runnin’ out, twell bimeby de little Rabbits sot down en ‘gun ter cry. Den de little bird settin’ up in de tree he begin fer ter sing, en dish yer’s de song wa’t he sing:
“‘Sifter hole water same ez a tray,
Ef you fill it wid moss en dob it wid clay;
De Fox git madder de longer you stay —
Fill it wid moss en dob it wid clay.’
“Up dey jump, de little Rabbits did, en dey fix de sifter so ‘twon’t leak, en den dey kyar de water ter ole Brer Fox. Den Brer Fox he git mighty mad, en p’int out a great big stick er wood, en tell de little Rabbits fer ter put dat on de fier. De little chaps dey got ‘roun’ de wood, dey did, en dey lif’ at it so hard twel dey could see der own sins, but de wood ain’t budge. Den dey hear de little bird singin’, en dish yer’s de song w’at he sing:
Uncle Remus Stories Page 10
