“Brer Fox, he stay still, en Mr. Man, he talk on:
“’Hit’s mighty big luck,’ sezee, ‘ef w’en I ketch de chap w’at nibble my greens, likewise I ketch de feller w’at gnyaw my goose,’ sezee, en wid dat he let inter Brer Fox wid de hick’ries, en de way he play rap-jacket wuz a caution ter de naberhood. Brer Fox, he juk en he jump, en he squeal en he squall, but Mr. Man, he shower down on ‘im, he did, like fightin’ a red was’nes’.”
The little boy laughed, and Uncle Remus supplemented this endorsement of his descriptive powers with a most infectious chuckle.
“Bimeby,” continued the old man, “de switches, dey got frazzle out, en Mr. Man, he put out atter mo’, en w’en he done got fa’rly outer yearin’, Brer Rabbit, he show’d up, he did, kaze he des bin hidin’ out in de bushes lis’nin’ at de racket, en he ‘low hit mighty funny dat Miss Meadows ain’t come ‘long, kaze he done bin down ter de doctor house, en dat’s fudder dan de preacher, yit. Brer Rabbit make like he hurr’in’ on home, but Brer Fox, he open up, he did, en he say:
“’I thank you fer ter tu’n me loose, Brer Rabbit, en I’ll be ‘blije,’ sezee, ‘kaze you done tie me up so tight dat it make my head swim, en I don’t speck I’d las’ fer ter git ter Miss Meadows’s,’ sezee.
“Brer Rabbit, he sot down sorter keerless like, en begin fer ter scratch one year like a man studyin’ ‘bout sump’n.
“’Dat’s so, Brer Fox,’ sezee, ‘you duz look sorter stove up. Look like sump’n bin onkoamin’ yo’ ha’rs,’ sezee.
“Brer Fox ain’t sayin’ nothin’, but Brer Rabbit, he keep on talkin’:
“’Dey ain’t no bad feelin’s ‘twix’ us, is dey, Brer Fox? Kaze ef dey is, I ain’t got no time fer ter be tarryin’ ‘roun’ yer.’
“Brer Fox say w’ich he don’t have no onfrennelness, en wid dat Brer Rabbit cut Brer Fox loose des in time fer ter hear Mr. Man w’isserlin up his dogs, en one went one way en de udder went nudder.”
XXX.
HOW MR. RABBIT SUCCEEDED
IN RAISING A DUST.
“In dem times,” said Uncle Remus, gazing admiringly at himself in a fragment of looking-glass, “Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox, en Brer Coon, en dem yuther beas’s go co’tin’ en sparklin’ ‘roun’ de naberhood mo’ samer dan folks. ‘Twan’t no ‘Lemme a hoss,’ ner ‘Fetch me my buggy,’ but dey des up’n lit out en tote deyse’f. Dar’s ole Brer Fox, he des wheel ‘roun’ en fetch his flank one swipe wid ‘is tongue en he’d be koam up; en Brer Rabbit, he des spit on his han’ en twis’ it ‘roun’ ‘mongst de roots un his years en his ha’r’d be roach. Dey wuz dat flirtashus,” continued the old man, closing one eye at his image in the glass, “dat Miss Meadows en de gals don’t see no peace fum one week een’ ter de udder. Chuseday wuz same as Sunday, en Friday wuz same as Chuseday, en hit come down ter dat pass dat w’en Miss Meadows ‘ud have chicken-fixins fer dinner, in ‘ud drap Brer Fox en Brer Possum, en w’en she’d have fried greens in ‘ud pop ole Brer Rabbit, twel ‘las’ Miss Meadows, she tuck’n tell de gals dat she be dad-blame ef she gwineter keep no tavvun. So dey fix it up ‘mong deyse’f, Miss Meadows en de gals did, dat de nex’ time de gents call dey’d gin um a game. De gents, dey wuz a co’tin, but Miss Meadows, she don’t wanter marry none un um, en needer duz de gals, en likewise dey don’t wanter have um pester’n ‘roun’. Las’, one Chuseday, Miss Meadows, she tole um dat ef dey come down ter her house de nex’ Sat’day evenin’, de whole caboodle un um ‘ud go down de road a piece, whar der wuz a big flint rock, en de man w’at could take a sludge-hammer en knock de dus’ out’n dat rock, he wuz de man w’at ‘ud git de pick er de gals. Dey all say dey gwine do it, but ole Brer Rabbit, he crope off whar der wuz a cool place under some jimson weeds, en dar he sot wukkin his mind how he gwineter git dus’ out’n dat rock. Bimeby, w’ile he wuz a settin’ dar, up he jump en crack his heels tergedder en sing out:
“’Make a bow ter de Buzzard en den ter de Crow,
Takes a limber-toe gemmun fer ter jump Jim Crow,’
en wid dat he put out for Brer Coon house en borrer his slippers. W’en Sat’day evenin’ come, dey wuz all dere. Miss Meadows en de gals, dey wuz dere; en Brer Coon, en Brer Fox, en Brer Possum, en Brer Tarrypin, dey wuz dere.”
“Where was the Rabbit?” the little boy asked.
“Youk’n put yo’ ‘pennunce in ole Brer Rabbit,” the old man replied, with a chuckle. “He wuz dere, but he shuffle up kinder late, kaze w’en Miss Meadows en de ballunce un um done gone down ter de place, Brer Rabbit, he crope ‘roun’ ter de ash-hopper, en fill Brer Coon slippers full er ashes, en den he tuck’n put um on en march off. He got dar atter ‘w’ile, en soon’s Miss Meadows en de gals seed ‘im, dey up’n giggle, en make a great ‘miration kaze Brer Rabbit got on slippers. Brer Fox, he so smart, he holler out, he did, en say he lay Brer Rabbit got de groun’-eatch, but Brer Rabbit, he sorter shet one eye, he did, en say, sezee:
“’I bin so useter ridin’ hoss-back, ez deze ladies knows, dat I’m gittin’ sorter tender-footed;’ en dey don’t hear much mo’ fum Brer Fox dat day, kaze he ‘member how Brer Rabbit done bin en rid him; en hit ‘uz des ‘bout much ez Miss Meadows en de gals could do fer ter keep der snickers fum gittin’ up a ‘sturbance ‘mong de congergashun. But, never mine dat, old Brer Rabbit, he wuz dar, en he so brash dat leetle mo’ en he’d er grab up de sludge-hammer en er open up de racket ‘fo’ ennybody gun de word; but Brer Fox, he shove Brer Rabbit out’n de way en pick up de sludge hisse’f. Now den,” continued the old man, with pretty much the air of one who had been the master of similar ceremonies, “de progance wuz dish yer: Eve’y gent wer ter have th’ee licks at de rock, en de gent w’at fetch de dus’ he wer de one w’at gwineter take de pick er de gals. Ole Brer Fox, he grab de sludge-hammer, he did, en he come down on de rock — blim! No dus’ ain’t come. Den he draw back en down he come ag’in — blam! No dus’ ain’t come. Den he spit in his han’s, en give ‘er a big swing en down she come — ker-blap! En yit no dus’ ain’t flew’d. Den Brer Possum he make triul, en Brer Coon, en all de ballunce un um ‘cep’ Brer Tarrypin, en he ‘low dat he got a crick in his neck. Den Brer Rabbit, he grab holt er de sludge, en he lipt up in de a’r en come down on de rock all at de same time — pow! — en de ashes, dey flew’d up so, dey did, dat Brer Fox, he tuck’n had a sneezin’ spell, en Miss Meadows en de gals dey up’n koff. Th’ee times Brer Rabbit jump up en crack his heels tergedder en come down wid de sludge-hammer — ker-blam! — en eve’y time he jump up, he holler out:
“’Stan’ fudder, ladies! Yer come de dus’!’ en sho nuff, de dus’ come.
“Leas’ways,” continued Uncle Remus, “Brer Rabbit got one er de gals, en dey had a weddin’ en a big infa’r.”
“Which of the girls did the Rabbit marry?” asked the little boy, dubiously.
“I did year tell un ‘er name,” replied the old man, with a great affectation of interest, “but look like I done gone en fergit it off’n my mine. Ef I don’t disremember,” he continued, “hit wuz Miss Molly Cottontail, en I speck we better let it go at dat.”
XXXI.
A PLANTATION WITCH.
The next time the little boy got permission to call upon Uncle Remus, the old man was sitting in his door, with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands, and he appeared to be in great trouble.
“What’s the matter, Uncle Remus?” the youngster asked.
“Nuffde matter, honey — mo’ dan dey’s enny kyo fer. Ef dey ain’t some quare gwines on ‘roun’ dis place I ain’t name Remus.”
The serious tone of the old man caused the little boy to open his eyes. The moon, just at its full, cast long, vague, wavering shadows in front of the cabin. A colony of tree-frogs somewhere in the distance were treating their neighbors to a serenade, but to the little boy it sounded like a chorus of lost and long-forgotten whistlers. The sound was wherever the imagination chose to locate it — to the right, to the left, in the air, on the ground, far away or near at hand, but always dim an
d always indistinct. Something in Uncle Remus’s tone exactly fitted all these surroundings, and the child nestled closer to the old man.
“Yasser,” continued Uncle Remus, with an ominous sigh and a mysterious shake of the head, “ef dey ain’t some quare gwines on in dish yer naberhood, den I’m de ball-headest creetur ‘twix’ dis en nex’ Jinawerry wus a year ‘go, w’ich I knows I ain’t. Dat’s what.”
“What is it, Uncle Remus?”
“I know Mars John bin drivin’ Cholly sorter hard terday, en I say ter myse’f dat I’d drap ‘roun’ ‘bout dus’ en fling nudder year er corn in de troffen kinder gin ‘im a techin’ up wid de kurrier-koam; en bless grashus! I ain’t bin in de lot mo’n a minnit ‘fo’ I seed sump’n wuz wrong wid de hoss, and sho’ nuff dar wuz his mane full er witch-stirrups.”
“Full of what, Uncle Remus?”
“Full er witch-stirrups, honey. Ain’t you seed no witch-stirrups? Well, w’en you see two stran’ er ha’r tied tergedder in a hoss’ mane, dar you see a witch-stirrup, en, mo’n dat, dat hoss done bin rid by um.”
“Do you reckon they have been riding Charley?” inquired the little boy.
“Co’se, honey. Tooby sho dey is. W’at else dey bin doin’?”
“Did you ever see a witch, Uncle Remus?”
“Dat ain’t needer yer ner dar. W’en I see coon track in de branch, I know de coon bin ‘long dar.”
The argument seemed unanswerable, and the little boy asked, in a confidential tone:
“Uncle Remus, what are witches like?”
“Dey comes diffunt’, responded the cautious old darkey. “Dey comes en dey cunjus fokes. Squinch-owl holler eve’y time he see a witch, en w’en you hear de dog howlin’ in de middle er de night, one un um’s mighty ap’ ter be prowlin’ ‘roun’. Cunjun fokes kin tell a witch de minnit dey lays der eyes on it, but dem w’at ain’t cunjun, hit’s mighty hard ter tell w’en dey see one, kase dey might come in de ‘pearunce un a cow en all kinder beas’s. I ain’t bin useter no cunjun myse’f, but I bin livin’ long nuff fer ter know w’en you meets up wid a big black cat in de middle er de road, wid yaller eyeballs, dars yo’ witch fresh fum de Ole Boy. En, fuddermo’, I know dat ‘tain’t proned inter no dogs fer ter ketch de rabbit w’at use in a berryin’-groun’. Dey er de mos’ ongodlies’ creeturs w’at you ever laid eyes on,” continued Uncle Remus, with unction. “Down dar in Putmon County yo’ Unk Jeems, he make like he gwineter ketch wunner dem dar graveyard rabbits. Sho nuff, out he goes, en de dogs ain’t no mo’n got ter de place fo’ up jump de ole rabbit right ‘mong um, en atter runnin’ ‘roun’ a time or two, she skip right up ter Mars Jeems, en Mars Jeems, he des put de gun-bairl right on ‘er en lammed aloose. Hit tored up de groun’ all ‘roun’, en de dogs, dey rush up, but dey wan’t no rabbit dar; but bimeby Mars Jeems, he seed de dogs tuckin’ der tails ‘tween der legs, en he look up, en dar wuz de rabbit caperin’ ‘roun’ on a toomstone, en wid dat Mars Jeems say he sorter feel like de time done come w’en yo’ gran’ma was ‘specktin’ un him home, en he call off de dogs en put out. But dem wuz ha’nts. Witches is deze yer kinder fokes wat kin drap der body en change inter a cat en a wolf en all kinder creeturs.”
“Papa says there ain’t any witches,” the little boy interrupted.
“Mars John ain’t live long ez I is,” said Uncle Remus, by way of comment. “He ain’t bin broozin’ ‘roun’ all hours er de night en day. I know’d a nigger w’ich his brer wuz a witch, kaze he up’n tole me how he tuck’n kyo’d ‘im; en he kyo’d ‘im good, mon.”
“How was that?” inquired the little boy.
“Hit seem like,” continued Uncle Remus, “dat witch fokes is got a slit in de back er de neck, en w’en dey wanter change derse’f, dey des pull de hide over der head same ez if ‘twuz a shut, en dar dey is.”
“Do they get out of their skins?” asked the little boy, in an awed tone.
“Tooby sho, honey. You see yo’ pa pull his shut off? Well, dat des ‘zackly de way dey duz. But dish yere nigger w’at I’m tellin’ you ‘bout, he kyo’d his brer de ve’y fus pass he made at him. Hit got so dat fokes in de settlement didn’t have no peace. De chilluns ‘ud wake up in de mawnins wid der ha’r tangle up, en wid scratches on um like dey bin thoo a brier-patch, twel bimeby one day de nigger he ‘low dat he’d set up dat night en keep one eye on his brer; en sho’ nuff dat night, des ez de chickens wuz crowin’ fer twelve, up jump de brer an pull off his skin en sail out’n de house in de shape un a bat, en w’at duz de nigger do but grab up de hide, en turn it wrongsudout’ards en sprinkle it wid salt. Den he lay down en watch fer ter see w’at de news wuz gwineter be. Des ‘fo’ day yer come a big black cat in de do’, en de nigger git up, he did, en druv her away. Bimeby, yer come a big black dog snuffin’ roun’, en de nigger up wid a chunk en lammed ‘im side er de head. Den a squinchowl lit on de koam er de house, en de nigger jam de shovel in de fier en make ‘im flew away. Las’, yer come a great big black wolf wid his eyes shinin’ like fier coals, en he grab de hide and rush out. ‘Twa’n’t long ‘fo’ de nigger year his brer holler’n en squallin’, en he tuck a light, he did, en went out, en dar wuz his brer des a waller’n on de groun’ en squirmin’ ‘roun’, kaze de salt on de skin wuz stingin’ wuss’n ef he had his britches lineded wid yaller-jackets. By nex’ mawnin’ he got so he could sorter shuffle ‘long, but he gun up cunjun, en ef dere wuz enny mo’ witches in dat settlement dey kep’ mighty close, en dat nigger he ain’t skunt hisse’f no mo’ not endurin’ er my ‘membunce.”
The result of this was that Uncle Remus had to take the little boy by the hand and go with him to the “big house,” which the old man was not loath to do; and, when the child went to bed, he lay awake a long time expecting an unseemly visitation from some mysterious source. It soothed him, however, to hear the strong, musical voice of his sable patron, not very far away, tenderly contending with a lusty tune; and to this accompaniment the little boy dropped asleep:
“Hit’s eighteen hunder’d, forty-en-eight,
Christ done made dat crooked way straight —
En I don’t wanter stay here no longer;
Hit’s eighteen hunder’d, forty-en-nine,
Christ done turn dat water inter wine —
En I don’t wanter stay here no longer.”
XXXII.
“JACKY-MY-LANTERN.”1
Upon his next visit to Uncle Remus, the little boy was exceedingly anxious to know more about witches, but the old man prudently refrained from exciting the youngster’s imagination any further in that direction. Uncle Remus had a board across his lap, and, armed with a mallet and a shoe-knife, was engaged in making shoe-pegs.
“W’iles I wuz crossin’ de branch des now,” he said, endeavoring to change the subject, “I come up wid a Jacky-my-lantern, en she wuz bu’nin’ wuss’n a bunch er lightnin’-bugs, mon. I know’d she wuz a fixin’ fer ter lead me inter dat quogmire down in de swamp, en I steer’d cle’r un ‘er. Yasser. I did dat. You ain’t never seed no Jacky-my-lantuns, is you, honey?”
The little boy never had, but he had heard of them, and he wanted to know what they were, and thereupon Uncle Remus proceeded to tell him.
“One time,” said the old darkey, transferring his spectacles from his nose to the top of his head and leaning his elbows upon his peg-board, “dere wuz a blacksmif man, en dish yer blacksmif man, he tuck’n stuck closer by his dram dan he did by his bellus. Monday mawnin’ he’d git on a spree, en all dat week he’d be on a spree, en de nex’ Monday mawnin’ he’d take a fresh start. Bimeby, one dat, atter der blacksmif bin spreein’ ‘roun’ en cussin’ might’ly, he hear a sorter rustlin’ fuss at de do’, en in walk de Bad Man.”
“Who, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked.
“De Bad Man, honey; de Ole Boy hisse’f right fresh from de ridjun w’at you year Miss Sally readin’ ‘bout. He done hide his hawns, en his tail, en his hoof, en he come dress up like w’ite fokes. He tuck off his hat en he bow, en den he tell de blacksmif who he is,
en dat he done come atter ‘im. Den de blacksmif, he gun ter cry en beg, en he beg so hard en he cry so loud dat de Bad Man say he make a trade wid ‘im. At de een’ er one year de sperit er de blacksmif wuz to be his’n, en endurin’ er dat time de blacksmif mus’ put in his hottes’ licks in de intruss er de Bad Man, en den he put a spell on de cheer de blacksmif was settin’ in, en on his sludge-hammer. De man w’at sot in de cheer couldn’t git up less’n de blacksmif let ‘im, en de man w’at pick up de sludge ‘ud hatter keep on knockin’ wid it twel de blacksmif say quit; en den he gun ‘im money plenty, en off he put.
“De blacksmif, he sail in fer ter have his fun, en he have so much dat he done clean forgot ‘bout his contrack, but bimeby, one day he look down de road, en dar he see de Bad Man comin’, en den he know’d de year wuz out. W’en de Bad Man got in de do’, de blacksmif wuz poundin’ ‘way at a hoss-shoe, but he wa’n’t so bizzy dat he didn’t ax ‘im in. De Bad Man sorter do like he ain’t got no time fer ter tarry, but de blacksmif say he got some little jobs dat he bleedzd ter finish up, en den he ax de Bad Man fer ter set down a minnit; en de Bad Man, he tuck’n sot down, en he sot in dat cheer w’at he done conju’d, en, co’se, dar he wuz. Den de blacksmif, he ‘gun ter poke fun at de Bad Man, en he ax him don’t he want a dram, en won’t he hitch his cheer up little nigher de fier, en de Bad Man, he beg en he beg, but ‘twan’t doin’ no good, kase de blacksmif ‘low dat he gwineteer keep ‘im dar twel he promus dat he let ‘im off one year mo’, en, sho nuff, de Bad Man promus dat ef de blacksmif let ‘im up he give ‘im a n’er showin’. So den de blacksmif gun de wud, en de Bad Man sa’nter off down de big road, settin’ traps en layin’ his progance fer ter ketch mo’ sinners.
“De nex’ year hit pass same like t’er one. At de ‘p’inted time yer come de Ole Boy atter de blacksmif, but still de blacksmif had some jobs dat he bleedzd ter finish up, en he ax de Bad Man fer ter take holt er de sludge en he’p ‘im out; en de Bad Man, he ‘low dat r’er’n be disperlite, he don’t keer ef he do hit ‘er a biff er two; en wid dat he grab up de sludge, en dar he wuz ‘gin, kase he done conju’d de sludge so dat whosomedever tuck ‘er up can’t put ‘er down less’n de blacksmif say de wud. Dey perlaver’d dar, dey did, twel bimeby de Bad Man up’n let ‘im off n’er year.
Uncle Remus Stories Page 13
