Lyrics & Knowledge Personal Pages Record Shop Auction Links Radio & Media Kids Membership Help
The Mudcat Cafemuddy

Post to this Thread - Sort Descending - Printer Friendly - Home


Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home

wysiwyg 24 Nov 11 - 07:14 PM
wysiwyg 24 Nov 11 - 07:16 PM
wysiwyg 24 Nov 11 - 07:17 PM
wysiwyg 24 Nov 11 - 07:20 PM
wysiwyg 24 Nov 11 - 07:21 PM
Q (Frank Staplin) 24 Nov 11 - 07:48 PM
Q (Frank Staplin) 25 Nov 11 - 02:02 PM
wysiwyg 25 Nov 11 - 06:47 PM
wysiwyg 25 Nov 11 - 06:50 PM
wysiwyg 25 Nov 11 - 06:50 PM
wysiwyg 25 Nov 11 - 06:52 PM
wysiwyg 25 Nov 11 - 06:55 PM
wysiwyg 26 Nov 11 - 09:48 AM
Share Thread
more
Lyrics & Knowledge Search [Advanced]
DT  Forum
Sort (Forum) by:relevance date
DT Lyrics:




Subject: Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home
From: wysiwyg
Date: 24 Nov 11 - 07:14 PM

This thread is for songs from the source named below.

FOR THE SOURCE BOOK AND ITS SONGS-- DIALECT ALERT and N-WORD ALERT. (These are 1800's-era African American memories as described by the author, below.)

My Southern Home: or, The South and Its People
(Electronic Edition), by William Wells Brown, 1814?-1884: http://docsouth.unc.edu/neh/brown80/brown80.html.

Funding from the National Endowment for the Humanities supported the electronic publication of this title.

Text scanned (OCR) by Ellen Decker and Melissa Graham
Images scanned by Ellen Decker, Melissa Graham and Natalia Smith
Text encoded by Lee Ann Morawski and Natalia Smith
First edition, 2000
ca. 400K
Academic Affairs Library, UNC-CH
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill,
2000.

       © This work is the property of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. It may be used freely by individuals for research, teaching and personal use as long as this statement of availability is included in the text.

Source Description:
(title page) My Southern Home: or, The South and Its People
(spine) My Southern Home
Wm. Wells Brown, M. D.
viii, 1-253, 2, ill.
Boston
A. G. Brown & Co., publishers
1880

Call number E185 .B88 (Rare Book Collection, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill)

The electronic edition is a part of the UNC-CH digitization project, Documenting the American South.
       This electronic edition has been created by Optical Character Recognition (OCR). OCR-ed text has been compared against the original document and corrected. The text has been encoded using the recommendations for Level 4 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines.
       The publisher's advertisements following p. 253 have been scanned as text.
       Original grammar, punctuation, and spelling have been preserved. Encountered typographical errors have been preserved....

Page iii

PREFACE.

         No attempt has been made to create heroes or heroines, or to appeal to the imagination or the heart.

         The earlier incidents were written out from the author's recollections. The later sketches here given, are the results of recent visits to the South, where the incidents were jotted down at the time of their occurrence, or as they fell from the lips of the narrators, and in their own unadorned dialect.

BOSTON, May, 1880.


===

~SH~


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home
From: wysiwyg
Date: 24 Nov 11 - 07:16 PM

Page 43

...While Hannah was getting ready for the nuptials, Cato amused himself by singing--


                         De happiest day I ever did see,
                         I'm bound fer my heavenly home,
                         When missis give Hannah to me,
                         Through heaven dis chile will roam.


                         CHORUS.--Go away, Sam, you can't come a-nigh me,
                         Gwine to meet my friens in hebben,
                         Hannah is gwine along;
                         Missis ses Hannah is mine,
                         So Hannah is gwine along.


                         Chorus, repeated.


                         Father Gabriel, blow your horn,
                         I'll take wings and fly away,
                         Take Hannah up in the early morn,
                         An' I'll be in hebben by de break of day.


                         CHORUS.--Go away, Sam, you can't come a-nigh me,
                         Gwine to meet my friens in hebben,
                         Hannah is gwine along;
                         Missis ses Hannah is mine,
                         So Hannah is gwine along.


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home
From: wysiwyg
Date: 24 Nov 11 - 07:17 PM

.... This remark was addressed to a tall, lank, hollow-jawed old man, in the congregation, with a great shock of "grizzled gray" hair.

         "Wait a minit, Brother Louder, till I git on my glasses!" was the reply of Brother Creek, who proceeded to draw from his pocket an oblong tin case, which opened and shut with a tremendous snap, from which he drew a pair of iron-rimmed spectacles. These he carefully "dusted" with his handkerchief, and then turned to the hymn which the preacher had selected and read out to the congregation. After considerable deliberation, and some

Page 90

clearing of the throat, hawking, spitting, etc., and other preliminaries, Brother Creek, in a quavering, split sort of voice, opened out on the tune.

         Louder seemed uneasy. It was evident that he feared a failure on the part of the worthy brother. At the end of the first line, he exclaimed:--

         "'Pears to me, Brother Creek, you hain't got the right miter."

         Brother Creek suspended operations a moment, and replied, "I am purty kerrect, ginerally, Brother Louder, an' I'm confident she'll come out all right!"

         "Well," said Louder, "we'll try her agin," and the choral strain, under the supervision of Brother Creek, was resumed in the following words:--


                         "When I was a mourner just like you,
                         Washed in the blood of the Lamb,
                         I fasted and prayed till I got through,
                         Washed in the blood of the Lamb.


                         CHORUS.--"Come along, sinner, and go with us;
                         If you don't you will be cussed.


                         "Religion's like a blooming rose,
                         Washed in the blood of the Lamb,
                         As none but those that feel it knows,
                         Washed in the blood of the Lamb."--Cho.

         The singing, joined in by all present, brought the enthusiasm of the assembly up to white heat, and the shouting, with the loud "Amen," "God save the sinner," "Sing it, brother, sing it," made the welkin ring.


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home
From: wysiwyg
Date: 24 Nov 11 - 07:20 PM

Page 92

         As the grain was brought in from the field, it was left in a pile near the corn-cribs. The night appointed, and invitations sent out, slaves from plantations five or six miles away, would assemble and join on the road, and in large bodies march along, singing their melodious plantation songs.

         To hear three or four of these gangs coming from different directions, their leaders giving out the words, and the whole company joining in the chorus, would indeed surpass anything ever produced by "Haverly's Ministrels," and many of their jokes and witticisms were never equalled by Sam Lucas or Billy Kersands.

         A supper was always supplied by the planter on whose farm the shucking was to take place. Often when approaching the place, the singers would speculate on what they were going to have for supper. The following song was frequently sung:--


                         "All dem puty gals will be dar,
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
                         Dey will fix it fer us rare,
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
                         I know dat supper will be big,
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
                         I think I smell a fine roast pig,
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
                         A supper is provided, so dey said,
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
                         I hope dey'll have some nice wheat bread,
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
                         I hope dey'll have some coffee dar,
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
Page 93


                         I hope dey'll have some whisky dar,
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
                         I think I'll fill my pockets full,
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
                         Stuff dat coon an' bake him down,
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
                         I speck some niggers dar from town,
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
                         Please cook dat turkey nice an' brown.
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
                         By de side of dat turkey I'll be foun,
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
                         I smell de supper, dat I do,
                         Shuck dat corn before you eat.
                         On de table will be a stew,
                         Shuck dat corn, etc."

         Burning pine knots, held by some of the boys, usually furnished light for the occasion. Two hours is generally sufficient time to finish up a large shucking; where five hundred bushels of corn is thrown into the cribs as the shuck is taken off. The work is made comparatively light by the singing, which never ceases till they go to the supper table. Something like the following is sung during the evening:


                         "De possum meat am good to eat,
                         Carve him to de heart;
                         You'll always find him good and sweet,
                         Carve him to de heart;
                         My dog did bark, and I went to see,
                         Carve him to de heart.
                         And dar was a possum up dat tree,
                         Carve him to de heart.

Page 94


                         CHORUS.--"Carve dat possum, carve dat possum children,
                         Carve dat possum, carve him to de heart;
                         Oh, carve dat possum, carve dat possum children,
                         Carve dat possum, carve him to de heart.


                         "I reached up for to pull him in,
                         Carve him to de heart;
                         De possum he began to grin,
                         Carve him to de heart;
                         I carried him home and dressed him off,
                         Carve him to de heart;
                         I hung him dat night in de frost,
                         Carve him to de heart.


                         CHORUS.--"Carve dat possum, etc.


                         "De way to cook de possum sound,
                         Carve him to de heart;
                         Fust par-bile him, den bake him brown,
                         Carve him to de heart;
                         Lay sweet potatoes in de pan,
                         Carve him to de heart;
                         De sweetest eatin' in de lan,'
                         Carve him to de heart.


                         CHORUS.--Carve dat possum, etc."

         Should a poor supper be furnished, on such an occasion, you would hear remarks from all parts of the table,--

         "Take dat rose pig 'way from dis table."

         "What rose pig? you see any rose pig here?"

         "Ha, ha, ha! Dis ain't de place to see rose pig."

         "Pass up some dat turkey wid clam sauce."
Page 95

         "Don't talk about dat turkey; he was gone afore we come."

         "Dis is de las' time I shucks corn at dis farm."

         "Dis is a cheap farm, cheap owner, an' a cheap supper."

         "He's talkin' it, ain't he?"

         "Dis is de tuffest meat dat I is been called upon to eat fer many a day; you's got to have teeth sharp as a saw to eat dis meat."

         "Spose you ain't got no teef, den what you gwine to do?"

         "Why, ef you ain't got no teef you muss gum it!"

         "Ha, ha, ha!" from the whole company, was heard.

         On leaving the corn-shucking farm, each gang of men, headed by their leader, would sing during the entire journey home. Some few, however, having their dogs with them, would start on the trail of a coon, possum, or some other game, which might keep them out till nearly morning.


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home
From: wysiwyg
Date: 24 Nov 11 - 07:21 PM

... To the Christmas holidays, the slaves were greatly indebted for winter recreation; for long custom had given to them the whole week from Christmas day to the coming in of the New Year.

         On "Poplar Farm," the hands drew their share of clothing on Christmas day for the year. The clothing for both men and women was made up by women kept for general sewing and housework. One pair of pants, and two shirts, made the entire stock for a male field hand.
Page 96

         The women's garments were manufactured from the same goods that the men received. Many of the men worked at night for themselves, making splint and corn brooms, baskets, shuck mats, and axe-handles, which they would sell in the city during Christmas week. Each slave was furnished with a pass, something like the following:--

       "Please let my boy, Jim, pass anywhere in this county, until Jan. 1, 1834, and oblige

Respectfully,

"JOHN GAINES, M.D.
" 'Poplar Farm,' St. Louis County, Mo."

         With the above precious document in his pocket, a load of baskets, brooms, mats, and axe-handles on his back, a bag hanging across his shoulders, with a jug in each end,--one for the whiskey, and the other for the molasses,--the slaves trudged off to town at night, singing,--


                         "Hurra, for good ole massa,
                         He give me de pass to go to de city.
                         Hurra, for good ole missis,
                         She bile de pot, and giv me de licker.
                         Hurra, I'm goin to de city."


                         "When de sun rise in de mornin',
                         Jes' above de yaller corn,
                         You'll fin' dis nigger has take warnin',
                         An's gone when de driver blows his horn.


                         Hurra, for good ole massa,
                         He giv me de pass to go to de city.
                         Hurra for good ole missis,
                         She bile de pot, and give me de licker.
                         Hurra, I'm goin to de city."
Page 97

         Both the Methodists and Baptists,--the religious denominations to which the blacks generally belong,--never fail to be in the midst of a revival meeting during the holidays, and, most of the slaves from the country hasten to these gatherings. Some, however, spend their time at the dances, raffles, cock-fights, foot-races, and other amusements that present themselves.


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home
From: Q (Frank Staplin)
Date: 24 Nov 11 - 07:48 PM

William Wells Brown was an abolitionist whose compilation, 1848, reprint 1849, The Anti-Slavery Harp: A Collection of Songs for Anti-Slavery Meetings, contained poems by a number of anti-slavery writers. Published by Bela Marsh, Boston.

The book is online:
http://utc.iath.virginia.edu/abolitn/absowwbahp.html


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home
From: Q (Frank Staplin)
Date: 25 Nov 11 - 02:02 PM

"Cave dat possum, carve him to the heart"-
A verse which in various forms came down to The Skillet Lickers, Macon, and others.


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home
From: wysiwyg
Date: 25 Nov 11 - 06:47 PM

...Passing into a street where the colored people are largely represented, I met another head peddler. This man had a tub on his head and with a musical voice was singing:--


                         "Here's yer chitlins, fresh an' sweet,
                         Who'll jine de Union?

Page 173


                         Young hog's chitlins hard to beat,
                         Who'll jine de Union?
                         Methodist chitlins, jest been biled,
                         Who'll jine de Union?
                         Right fresh chitlins, dey ain't spiled,
                         Who'll jine de Union?
                         Baptist chitlins by de pound,
                         Who'll jine de Union?
                         As nice chitlins as ever was found,
                         Who'll jine de Union?

         "Here's yer chitlins, out of good fat hog; jess as sweet chitlins as ever yer see. Dees chitlins will make yer mouf water jess to look at 'em. Come an' see 'em."

         At this juncture the man took the tub from his head, sat it down, to answer a woman who had challenged his right to call them "Baptist chitlins."

         "Duz you mean to say dat dem is Baptiss chitlins?"

         "Yes, mum, I means to say dat dey is real Baptist chitlins, an' nuffin' else."

         "Did dey come out of a Baptiss hog?" inquired the woman.

         "Yes, mum, dem chitlins come out of a Baptist hog."

         "How duz you make dat out?"

         "Well, yer see, dat hog was raised by Mr. Roberson, a hard-shell Baptist, de corn dat de hog was fatted on was also raised by Baptists, he was killed and dressed by Geemes Boone, an' you all know dat he'e as big a Baptist as ever lived."

         "Well," said the woman, as if perfectly satisfied, "lem-me have two poun's."
Page 174

         By the time the man had finished his explanation, and weighed out her lot, he was completely surrounded with women and men, nearly all of whom had their dishes to get the choice morsel in.

         "Now," said a rather solid-looking man. "Now, I want some of de Meth-diss chitlins dat you's bin talking 'bout."

         "Here dey is, ser."

         "What," asked the purchaser, "you take 'em all out of de same tub?"

         "Yes," quickly replied the vender.

         "Can you tell 'em by lookin' at 'em?" inquired the chubby man.

         "Yes, ser."

         "How duz you tell 'em?"

         "Well, ser, de Baptist chitlins has bin more in de water, you see, an' dey's a little whiter."

         "But, how duz I know dat dey is Meth-diss?"

         "Well, ser, dat hog was raised by Uncle Jake Bemis, one of de most shoutin' Methodist in de Zion connection. Well, you see, ser, de hog pen was right close to de house, an' dat hog was so knowin' dat when Uncle Jake went to prayers, ef dat hog was squeelin' he'd stop. Why, ser, you could hardly get a grunt out of dat hog till Uncle Jake was dun his prayer. Now, ser, ef dat don't make him a Methodist hog, what will?"

         "Weigh me out four pounds, ser."

         "Here's your fresh chitlins, Baptist chitlins, Methodist chitlins, all good an' sweet."

         And in an hour's time the peddler, with his empty

Page 175

tub upon his head, was making his way out of the street, singing,--


                         "Methodist chitlins, Baptist chitlins,
                         Who'll jine de Union?"

         Hearing the colored cotton-growers were to have a meeting that night, a few miles from the city, and being invited to attend, I embraced the opportunity. Some thirty persons were assembled, and as I entered the room, I heard them chanting--


                         Sing yo' praises! Bless de Lam!
                         Getting plenty money!
                         Cotton's gwine up--'deed it am!
                         People, ain't it funny?


                         CHORUS.--Rise, shine, give God the glory.
                         Repeat glory.]


                         Don't you tink hit's gwine to rain?
                         Maybe was, a little;
                         Maybe one ole hurricane
                         'S bilin' in de kittle!--Chorus.


                         Craps done fail in Egypt lan'--
                         Say so in de papers;
                         Maybe little slight o' hand
                         'Mong de specerlaters.--Chorus.


                         Put no faith in solemn views;
                         Keep yo' pot a smokin',
                         Stan' up squah in yo' own shoes--
                         Keep de debble chokin'!--Chorus.

Page 176


                         Fetch me 'roun' dat tater juice!
                         Stop dat sassy grinnin'!
                         Turn dat stopper clean a-loose--
                         Keep yo' eye a skinnin'!--Chorus.


                         Here's good luck to Egypt lan'!
                         Hope she ain't a-failin'!
                         Hates to see my fellerman
                         Straddle ob de pailin'!--Chorus.

         The church filled up; the meeting was well conducted, and measures taken to protect cotton-raisers, showing that these people, newly-made free, and uneducated, were looking to their interests.


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home
From: wysiwyg
Date: 25 Nov 11 - 06:50 PM

... THE night was dark, the rain descended in torrents from the black and overhanging clouds, and the thunder, accompanied with vivid flashes of lightning, resounded fearfully, as I entered a negro cabin in South Carolina. The room was filled with blacks, a group of whom surrounded a rough board table, and at it sat an old man holding in his hand a

Page 155

watch, at which all were intently gazing. A stout negro boy held a torch which lighted up the cabin, and near him stood a Yankee soldier, in the Union blue, reading the President's Proclamation of Freedom.

         As it neared the hour of twelve, a dead silence prevailed, and the holder of the time-piece said,--"By de time I counts ten, it will be midnight an' de lan' will be free. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine,--" just then a loud strain of music came from the banjo, hanging upon the wall, and at its sound the whole company, as if by previous arrangement, threw themselves upon their knees, and the old man exclaimed,--"O, God, de watch was a minit' too slow, but dy promises an' dy mercy is allers in time; dou did promise dat one of dy angels should come an' give us de sign, an' shore 'nuff de sign did come. We's grateful, O, we's grateful, O, Lord, send dy angel once moe to give dat sweet sound."

         At this point another strain from the banjo was heard, and a sharp flash of lightning was followed by a clap of thunder, such as is only heard in the tropics. The negroes simultaneously rose to their feet and began singing; finishing only one verse, they all fell on their knees, and Uncle Ben, the old white-haired man, again led in prayer, and such a prayer as but few outside of this injured race could have given. Rising to their feet, the leader commenced singing:--

Page 156


                         "Oh! breth-er-en, my way, my way's cloudy, my way,
                         Go send dem angels down.
                         Oh! breth-er-en, my way, my way's cloudy, my way,
                         Go send dem angels down.
                         There's fire in de east an' fire in de west,
                         Send dem angels down.
                         An' fire among de Methodist,
                         O, send dem angels down.
                         Ole Sa-tan's mad, an' I am glad,
                         Send dem angels down.
                         He missed the soul he thought he had,
                         O, send dem angels down.
                         I'll tell you now as I tole afore,
                         Send dem angels down.
                         To de promised lan' I'm bound to go,
                         O, send dem angels down.
                         Dis is de year of Jubilee,
                         Send dem angels down.
                         De Lord has come to set us free,
                         O, send dem angels down."

         One more short prayer from Uncle Ben, and they arose, clasped each other around the neck, kissed, and commenced shouting, "Glory to God, we's free."

         Another sweet strain from the musical instrument was followed by breathless silence, and then Uncle Ben said, "De angels of de Lord is wid us still, an' dey is watching ober us, fer ole Sandy tole us moe dan a mont ago dat dey would."


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home
From: wysiwyg
Date: 25 Nov 11 - 06:50 PM

... The laugh of the man in blue was only stopped by Uncle Ben's striking up the following hymn, in which the whole company joined:--


                         "A storm am brewin' in de Souf,
                         A storm am brewin' now.
                         Oh! hearken den, and shut your mouf,
                         And I will tell you how:
                         And I will tell you how, ole boy,
                         De storm of fire will pour,
                         And make de black folks sing for joy,
                         As dey neber sing afore.


                         "So shut your mouf as close as deafh,
                         And all you niggas hole your breafh,
                         And do de white folks brown!


                         "De black folks at de Norf am ris,
                         And dey am comin' down--
                         And coming down, I know dey is,
                         To do de white folks brown!
                         Dey'll turn ole Massa out to grass,
                         And set de niggas free,
                         And when dat day am come to pass
                         We'll all be dar to see!


                         "So shut your mouf as close as deafh
                         And all you niggas hole your breafh,
                         And I will tell you how.


                         "Den all de week will be as gay
                         As am de Chris'mas time;

Page 160


                         We'll dance all night and all de day,
                         And make de banjo chime,
                         And make de banjo chime, I tink,
                         And pass de time away,
                         Wid 'nuf to eat and 'nuf to drink,
                         And not a bit to pay!


                         "So shut your mouf as close as deafh,
                         And all you niggas hole your breafh,
                         And make de banjo chime."


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home
From: wysiwyg
Date: 25 Nov 11 - 06:52 PM

... I went to the market, for I always like to visit the markets on Saturday, for there you see "life among the lowly," as you see it nowhere else. Colored men and women have a respectable number of stalls in the Norfolk market, the management of which does them great credit.

         But the costermongers, or street-venders, are the men of music. "Here's yer nice vegables--green corn, butter beans, taters, Irish taters, new, jess bin digged; come an' get 'em while dey is fresh. Now's yer time; squash, Calafony quash, bess in de worl'; come an' git 'em now; it'll be Sunday termorrer, an' I'll be gone to church. Big fat Mexican peas, marrer fat squash, Protestant squash, good Catholic vegables of all kinds."


                         Now's yer time to git snap-beans,
                         Okra, tomatoes, an' taters gwine by;
                         Don't be foolish virgins;
                         Hab de dinner ready
                         When de master he comes home,
                         Snap-beans gwine by.

         Just then the vender broke forth in a most musical voice:

Page 210


                         Oh! Hannah, boil dat cabbage down,
                         Hannah, boil 'em down,
                         And turn dem buckwheats round and round,
                         Hannah, boil 'em down.
                         It's almost time to blow de horn,
                         Hannah, boil 'em down,
                         To call de boys dat hoe de corn,
                         Hannah, boil 'em down.


                         Hannah, boil 'em down,
                         De cabbage just pulled out de ground,
                         Boil 'em in de pot,
                         And make him smoking hot.


                         Some like de cabbage made in krout,
                         Hannah, boil 'em down,
                         Dey eat so much dey get de gout,
                         Hannah, boil 'em down,
                         Dey chops 'em up and let dem spoil,
                         Hannah, boil 'em, down;
                         I'd rather hab my cabbage boiled,
                         Hannah, boil 'em down.


                         Some say dat possum's in de pan,
                         Hannah, boil 'em down,
                         Am de sweetest meat in all de land,
                         Hannah, boil 'em down;
                         But dar is dat ole cabbage head,
                         Hannah, boil 'em down,
                         I'll prize it, children, till I's dead,
                         Hannah, boil 'em down.

         This song, given in his inimitable manner, drew the women to the windows, and the crowd around

Page 211

the vegetable man in the street, and he soon disposed of the contents of his cart. Other venders who "toted" their commodities about in baskets on their heads, took advantage of the musical man's company to sell their own goods. A woman with some really fine strawberries, put forth her claims in a very interesting song; the interest, however, centered more upon the manner than the matter:--


                         "I live fore miles out of town,
                         I am gwine to glory.
                         My strawberries are sweet an' soun',
                         I am gwine to glory.
                         I fotch 'em fore miles on my head,
                         I am gwine to glory.
                         My chile is sick, an' husban' dead,
                         I am gwine to glory.
                         Now's de time to get 'em cheap,
                         I am gwine to glory.
                         Eat 'em wid yer bread an' meat,
                         I am gwine to glory.
                         Come sinner get down on your knees,
                         I am gwine to glory.
                         Eat dees strawberries when you please,
                         I am gwine to glory."

         Upon the whole, the colored man of Virginia is a very favorable physical specimen of his race; and he has peculiarly fine, urbane manners. A stranger judging from the surface of life here, would undoubtedly say that that they were a happy, well-to-do people. Perhaps, also, he might say: "Ah, I see. The negro is the same everywhere--a hewer of

Page 212

wood, a peddler of vegetables, a wearer of the waiter's white apron. Freedom has not altered his status."

         Such a judgment would be a very hasty one. Nations are not educated in twenty years.


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home
From: wysiwyg
Date: 25 Nov 11 - 06:55 PM

When visitors were at "Poplar Farm," Dr. Gaines would frequently call in Cato to sing a song or crack a joke, for the amusement of the company. On one occasion, requesting the servant to give a toast, at the same time handing the negro a glass of wine, the latter took the glass, held it up, looked at it, began to show his ivory, and said:


                         "De big bee flies high,
                         De little bee makes de honey,
                         De black man raise de cotton,
                         An' de white man gets de money."

         The same servant going to meeting one Sabbath, was met on the road by Major Ben. O'Fallon, who was riding on horseback, with a hoisted umbrella to keep the rain off. The Major, seeing the negro trudging along bareheaded and with something under his coat, supposing he had stolen some article which he was attempting to hide said, "What's that you've got under your coat, boy?"

         "Nothin', sir, but my hat," replied the slave, and at the same time drawing forth a second-hand beaver.

         "Is it yours?" inquired the Major.

         "Yes, sir," was the quick response of the negro.

         "Well," continued the Major, "if it is yours, why

Page 67

don't you wear it and save your head from the rain?"

         "Oh!" replied the servant, with a smile of seeming satisfaction, "de head belongs to massa an' de hat belongs to me. Let massa take care of his property, an' I'll take care of mine."


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Sec Songs/Spirituals @ My Southern Home
From: wysiwyg
Date: 26 Nov 11 - 09:48 AM

The above were posted in no particular order. The snips of text that surrounded the songs are posted so that people wishing to discuss them can see a bit of the context in which the author placed them.

I came across these while hearing a long audiobook, driving, on the way home from Chicago. I probably missed a few in traffic, so I'll be going thru the text as time permits to see if there are more. If anyone wants to add any FROM THIS BOOK I'd be glad of the help.

I've invited a few friends (from an AR group I'm in) here, to discuss. I hope they are not too busy to do so and that if they do they will receive Mudcat's warm welcome!

~Susan


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate
  Share Thread:
More...

Reply to Thread
Subject:  Help
From:
Preview   Automatic Linebreaks   Make a link ("blue clicky")


Mudcat time: 24 February 11:20 PM EST

[ Home ]

All original material is copyright © 1998 by the Mudcat Café Music Foundation, Inc. All photos, music, images, etc. are copyright © by their rightful owners. Every effort is taken to attribute appropriate copyright to images, content, music, etc. We are not a copyright resource.