Nights with Uncle Remus (48 page)

“De fus Brer Fox know 'bout de leafs comin' off, he year Brer B'ar holler on top er de hill:

“ ‘You head 'im off down dar, Brer Wolf, en I'll head 'im off 'roun' yer!'

“Brer Fox look 'roun' en he see all de leafs done come off, en wid dat he make a break, en he wasn't none too soon, n'er, kaze little mo' en de creeturs 'ud a kotch 'im.”

Without giving the little boy time to ask any questions, Uncle Remus added another verse to his Rabbit song, and harped on it for several minutes:

LXIX

The little boy wanted Uncle Remus to sing some more; but, before the old man could either consent or refuse, the notes of a horn were heard in the distance. Uncle Remus lifted his hand to command silence, and bent his head in an attitude of attention.

“Des listen at dat!” he exclaimed, with some show of indignation. “Dat aint nothin' in de roun' worl' but ole man Plato wid dat tin-hawn er his'n, en I 'boun' you he's a-drivin' de six mule waggin, en de waggin full er niggers fum de River place, en let 'lone dat, I boun' you deyer niggers strung out behime de waggin fer mo'n a mile, en deyer all er comin' yer fer ter eat us all out'n house en home, des kaze dey year folks say Chris'mus mos' yer. Hit's mighty kuse unter me dat ole man Plato aint done toot dat hawn full er holes long 'fo' dis.

“Yit I aint blamin' um,” Uncle Remus went on, with a sigh, after a little pause. “Dem ar niggers bin livin' way off dar on de River place whar dey aint no w'ite folks twel dey er done in about run'd wil'. I aint a blamin' um, dat I aint.”

Plato's horn—a long tin bugle—was by no means unmusical. Its range was limited, but in Plato's hands its few notes were both powerful and sweet. Presently the wagon arrived, and for a few minutes all was confusion, the negroes on the Home place running to greet the newcomers, who were mostly their relatives. A stranger hearing the shouts and outcries of these people would have been at a loss to account for the commotion.

Even Uncle Remus went to his cabin door, and, with the little boy by his side, looked out upon the scene—a tumult lit up by torches of resinous pine. The old man and the child were recognized, and for a few moments the air was filled with cries of:

“Howdy, Unk Remus! Howdy, little Marster!”

After a while Uncle Remus closed his door, laid way his tools, and drew his chair in front of the wide hearth. The child went and stood beside him, leaning his head against the old negro's shoulder, and the two—old age and youth, one living in the Past and the other looking forward only to the Future—gazed into the bed of glowing embers illuminated by a thin, flickering flame. Probably they saw nothing there, each being busy with his own simple thoughts; but their shadows, enlarged out of all proportion, and looking over their shoulders from the wall behind them, must have seen something, for, clinging together, they kept up a most incessant pantomime; and Plato's horn, which sounded again, to call the negroes to supper after their journey, though it aroused Uncle Remus and the child from the contemplation of the fire, had no perceptible effect upon the Shadows.

“Dar go de vittles!” said Uncle Remus, straightening himself. “Dey tells me dat dem ar niggers on de River place got appetite same ez a mule. Let 'lone de vittles w'at dey gits from Mars. John, dey eats oodles en oodles er fish. Ole man Plato say dat de nigger on de River place w'at aint got a fish-baskit in de river er some intruss
¹⁰⁷
in a fish-trap aint no 'count w'atsomever.”

Here Uncle Remus suddenly slapped himself upon the leg, and laughed uproariously; and when the little boy asked him what the matter was, he cried out:

“Well, sir! Ef I aint de fergittenest ole nigger twix' dis en Phillimerdelphy! Yer 'tis mos' Chris'mus en I aint tell you 'bout how Brer Rabbit do Brer Fox w'ence dey bofe un um live on de river. I dunner w'at de name er sense gittin de marter 'long wid me.”

Of course the little boy wanted to know all about it, and Uncle Remus proceeded:

“One time Brer Fox en Brer Rabbit live on de river. Atter dey bin livin' dar so long a time, Brer Fox 'low dat he got a mighty hankerin' atter sump'n 'sides fresh meat, en he say he b'leeve he make 'im a fish-trap. Brer Rabbit say he wish Brer Fox mighty well, but he aint honin' atter fish hisse'f, en ef he is he aint got no time fer ter make no fish-trap.

“No marter fer dat, Brer Fox, he tuck'n got 'im out some timber, he did, en he wuk nights fer ter make dat trap. Den w'en he git it done, he tuck'n hunt 'im a good place fer ter set it, en de way he sweat over dat ar trap wuz a sin—dat 'twuz.

“Yit atter so long a time, he got 'er sot, en den he tuck'n wash he face en han's en go home. All de time he 'uz fixin' un it up, Brer Rabbit 'uz settin' on de bank watchin' 'im. He sot dar, he did, en play in de water, en cut switches fer ter w'ip at de snake-doctors,
¹⁰⁸
en all dat time Brer Fox, he pull en haul en tote rocks fer ter hol' dat trap endurin' a freshet.

“Brer Fox went home en res' hisse'f, en bimeby he go down fer ter see ef dey any fish in he trap. He sorter fear'd er snakes, but he feel 'roun' en he feel 'roun', yit he aint feel no fish. Den he go off.

“Bimeby, 'long todes de las' er de week, he go down en feel 'roun' 'g'in, yit he aint feel no fish. Hit keep on dis away twel Brer Fox git sorter fag out. He go en he feel, but dey aint no fish dar. Atter w'ile, one day, he see de signs whar somebody bin robbin' he trap, en he low ter hisse'f dat he'll des in about watch en fine out who de somebody is.

“Den he tuck'n got in he boat en paddle und' de bushes on de bank en watch he fish-trap. He watch all de mornin'; nobody aint come. He watch all endurin' er atter dinner; nobody aint come. 'Long todes night, w'en he des 'bout makin' ready fer ter paddle off home, he year fuss on t'er side de river, en' lo en beholes, yer come Brer Rabbit polin' a boat right todes Brer Fox fish-trap.

“Look lak he dunner how to use a paddle, en he des had 'im a long pole, en he'd stan' up in de behime part er he boat, en put de een' er de pole 'g'in de bottom, en shove 'er right ahead.

“Brer Fox git mighty mad w'en he see dis, but he watch en wait. He 'low ter hisse'f, he did, dat he kin paddle a boat pearter dan anybody kin pole um, en he say he sho'ly gwine ketch Brer Rabbit dis time.

“Brer Rabbit pole up ter de fish-trap, en feel 'roun' en pull out a great big mud-cat; den he retch in en pull out n'er big mud-cat; den he pull out a big blue cat, en it keep on dis away twel he git de finest mess er fish you mos' ever laid yo' eyes on.

“Des 'bout dat time, Brer Fox paddle out fum und' de bushes, en make todes Brer Rabbit, en he holler out:

“ ‘Ah-yi! Youer de man w'at bin robbin' my fish-trap dis long time! I got you dis time! Oh, you nee'nter try ter run! I got you dis time sho'!'

“No sooner said dan no sooner done. Brer Rabbit fling he fish in he boat en grab up de pole en push off, en he had mo' fun gittin' way fum dar dan he y-ever had befo' in all he born days put terge'er.”

“Why didn't Brother Fox catch him, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy.

“
Shoo!
Honey, you sho'ly done lose yo' min' 'bout Brer Rabbit.”

“Well, I don't see how he could get away.”

“Ef you'd er bin dar you'd er seed it, dat you would. Brer Fox, he wuz dar, en he seed it, en Brer Rabbit, he seed it, en e'en down ter ole Brer Bull-frog, a settin' on de bank, he seed it. Now, den,” continued Uncle Remus, spreading out the palm of his left hand like a map and pointing at it with the forefinger of his right, “w'en Brer Rabbit pole he boat, he bleedz ter set in de behime een', en w'en Brer Fox paddle he boat,
he
bleedz ter set in de behime een'. Dat bein' de state er de condition, how Brer Fox gwine ketch 'im? I aint 'sputin' but wat he kin paddle pearter dan Brer Rabbit, but de long en de shorts un it is, de pearter Brer Fox paddle de pearter Brer Rabbit go.”

The little boy looked puzzled. “Well, I don't see how,” he exclaimed.

“Well, sir!” continued Uncle Remus, “w'en de nose er Brer Fox boat git close ter Brer Rabbit boat all Brer Rabbit got ter do in de roun' worl' is ter take he pole en put it 'g'in Brer Fox boat en push hisse'f out de way. De harder he push Brer Fox boat back, de pearter he push he own boat forrerd. Hit look mighty easy ter ole Brer Bull-frog settin' on de bank, en all Brer Fox kin do is ter shake he fist en grit he toof, w'iles Brer Rabbit sail off wid de fish.”

LXX

The arrival of the negroes from the River place added greatly to the enthusiasm with which the Christmas holidays were anticipated on the Home place, and the air was filled with laughter day and night. Uncle Remus appeared to be very busy, though there was really nothing to be done except to walk around and scold at everybody and everything, in a good-humored way, and this the old man could do to perfection.

The night before Christmas eve, however, the little boy saw a light in Uncle Remus's cabin, and he interpreted it as in some sort a signal of invitation. He found the old man sitting by the fire and talking to himself:

“Ef Mars. John and Miss Sally specks me fer ter keep all deze yer niggers straight deyer gwine ter be diserp'inted—dat dey is. Ef dey wuz 'lev'm Remuses 'twouldn't make no diffunce, let 'lone one po' old cripple creetur lak me. Dey aint done no damage yit, but I boun' you be termorrer night dey'll tu'n loose en tu'n de whole place upside down, en t'ar it up by de roots, en den atter hit's all done gone en done, yer'll come Miss Sally a layin' it all at ole Remus do'. Nigger aint got much chance in deze yer low-groun's, mo' speshually w'en dey gits ole en cripple lak I is.”

“What are they going to do to-morrow night, Uncle Remus?” the little boy inquired.

“Now w'at make you ax dat, honey?” exclaimed the old man, in a grieved tone. “You knows mighty well how dey done las' year en de year 'fo' dat. Dey tuck'n cut up 'roun' yer wuss'n ef dey uz wil' creeturs, en termorrer night dey'll be a hollin' en whoopin' en singin' en dancin' 'fo' it git dark good. I wish w'en you go up ter de big house you be so good ez ter tell Miss Sally dat ef she want any peace er min' she better git off'n de place en stay off twel atter deze yer niggers git dey fill er Chris'mus. Goodness knows, she can't speck a ole cripple nigger lak me fer ter ketch holt en keep all deze yer niggers straight.”

Uncle Remus would have kept up his vague complaints, but right in the midst of them Daddy Jack stuck his head in at the door, and said:

“Oona bin fix da' 'Tildy gal shoe. Me come fer git dem shoe; me come fer pay you fer fix dem shoe.”

Uncle Remus looked at the grinning old African in astonishment. Then suddenly the truth dawned upon him and he broke into a loud laugh. Finally he said:

“Come in, Brer Jack! Come right 'long in. I'm sorter po'ly myse'f, yit I'll make out ter make you welcome. Dey wuz a quarter dollar gwine inter my britches-pocket on de 'count er dem ar shoes, but ef youer gwine ter pay fer um 'twon't be but a sev'mpunce.”

Somehow or other Daddy Jack failed to relish Uncle Remus's tone and manner, and he replied, with some display of irritation:

“Shuh-shuh! Me no come in no'n 'tall. Me no pay you se'm-punce. Me come fer pay you fer dem shoe; me come fer tek um 'way fum dey-dey.”

“I dunno 'bout dat, Brer Jack, I dunno 'bout dat. De las' time I year you en 'Tildy gwine on, she wuz 'pun de p'ints er knockin' yo' brains out. Now den, s'pozen I whirls in en gins you de shoes, en den 'Tildy come 'long en ax me 'bout um, w'at I gwine say ter 'Tildy?”

“Me pay you fer dem shoe,” said Daddy Jack, seeing the necessity of argument, “un me tek um wey da lil 'Tildy gal bin stay. She tell me fer come git-a dem shoe.”

“Well, den, yer dey is,” said Uncle Remus, sighing deeply as he handed Daddy Jack the shoes. “Yer dey is en youer mo' dan welcome, dat you is. But spite er dat, dis yer quarter you flingin' way on um would er done you a sight mo' good dan w'at dem shoes is.”

This philosophy was altogether lost upon Daddy Jack, who took the shoes and shuffled out with a grunt of satisfaction. He had scarcely got out of hearing before 'Tildy pushed the door open and came in. She hesitated a moment, and then, seeing that Uncle Remus paid no attention to her, she sat down and picked at her fingers with an air quite in contrast to her usual “uppishness,” as Uncle Remus called it.

“Unk Remus,” she said, after a while, in a subdued tone, “is dat old Affikin nigger bin yer atter dem ar shoes?”

“Yas, chile,” replied Uncle Remus, with a long-drawn sigh, “he done bin yer en got um en gone. Yas, honey, he done got um en gone; done come en pay fer 'm, en got um en gone. I sez, sez I, dat I wish you all mighty well, en he tuck'n tuck de shoes en put. Yas, chile, he done got em en gone.”

Something in Uncle Remus's sympathetic and soothing tone seemed to exasperate 'Tildy. She dropped her hands in her lap, straightened herself up and exclaimed:

“Yas I'm is gwine ter marry dat ole nigger an' I don't keer who knows it. Miss Sally say she don't keer, an' t'er folks may keer ef dey wanter, an' much good der keerin' 'll do um.”

'Tildy evidently expected Uncle Remus to make some characteristic comment, for she sat and watched him with her lips firmly pressed together and her eyelids half-closed—an attitude of defiance significant enough when seen, but difficult to describe. But the old man made no response to the challenge. He seemed to be very busy. Presently 'Tildy went on: