Mules and Men

by Zora Neale Hurston

  “Ah got to tell you ’bout Old Massa down in de piney woods.”

  During slavery uh nigger name Jack run off from his marster and took and hid hisself down in de piney woods.

  Ole Massa hunted and hunted but he never could ketch dat nigger.

  But Jack had uh good friend on de plantation dat useter slip ’im somethin’ t’ eat and fetch de banjo down and play ’im somethin’ every day so’s he could dance some. Jack wuz tryin’ to make it on off de mountain where Old Massa couldn’t fetch ’im back. So Ole Massa got on to dis other nigger slippin’ out to Jack but he couldn’t ketch ’im so he tole ’im if he lead ’im to where Jack wuz he’d give ’im a new suit uh clothes. So he said, “All right.”

  So he tole Old Massa to follow him and do whutever he sing. So Ole Massa said, “All right.”

  So dat day de nigger took Jack some dinner and de Banjo. So Jack et. Den he tole him, say: “Jack I got uh new song fuh yuh today.”

  “Play it and lemme dance some.”

  “It’s about Ole Massa.”

  Jack said, “I don’t give uh damn ’bout Ole Massa. Ah don’t b’long tuh him no mo’. Play it and lemme dance.”

  So he started to playin’.

  “From pine to pine, Mister Pinkney.

  From pine to pine, Mister Pinkney.”

  Jack was justa dancin’ fallin’ off de log and cuttin’ de pigeon wing—(diddle dip, diddle dip—diddle dip) “from pine to pine Mr. Pinkney.”

  White man coming closer all de time.

  “Now take yo’ time Mister Pinkney.

  Now take yo’ time Mister Pinkney.”

  (Diddle dip, diddle dip, diddle dip, diddle dip)

  “Now grab ’im now Mister Pinkney

  Now grab ’im now Mister Pinkney.”

  (Diddle dip, diddle dip, diddle dip, diddle dip)

  “Now grab ’im now Mister Pinkney.”

  So they caught Jack and put uh hundred lashes on his back and put him back to work.

  “Now Ah tole dat one for myself, now Ah got to tell one for my wife.”

  “Aw, g’wan tell de lie, Larkins, if you want to. You know you ain’t tellin’ no lie for yo’ wife. No mo’ than de rest of us. You lyin’ cause you like it.” James Presley put in. “Hurry up so somebody else kin plough up some literary and lay-by some alphabets.”

  Two mens dat didn’t know how tuh count good had been haulin’ up cawn and they stopped at de cemetery wid de last load ’cause it wuz gittin’ kinda dark. They thought they’d git thru instead uh goin’ ’way tuh one of ’em’s barn. When they wuz goin’ in de gate two ear uh cawn dropped off de waggin, but they didn’t stop tuh bother wid ’em, just then. They wuz in uh big hurry tuh git home. They wuz justa vidin’ it up. “You take dis’n an Ah’ll take dat’un, you take dat’un and Ah’ll take dis’un.”

  An ole nigger heard ’em while he wuz passin’ de cemetery an’ run home tuh tell ole Massa ’bout it.

  “Massa, de Lawd and de devil is down in de cemetery ’vidin’ up souls. Ah heard ’em. One say, 'you take that ’un an’ Ah’ll take dis’un’.”

  Ole Massa wuz sick in de easy chear, he couldn’t git about by hisself, but he said, “Jack, Ah don’t know whut dis foolishness is, but Ah know you lyin’.”

  “Naw Ah ain’t neither, Ah swear it’s so.”

  “Can’t be, Jack, youse crazy.”

  “Naw, Ah ain’t neither; if you don’ believe me, come see for yo’self.”

  “Guess Ah better go see whut you talkin’ ’bout; if you fool me, Ah’m gointer have a hundred lashes put on yo’ back in de mawnin’ suh.”

  They went on down tuh de cemetery wid Jack pushin’ Massa in his rollin’ chear, an’ it wuz sho dark down dere too. So they couldn’t see de two ears uh cawn layin’ in de gate.

  Sho nuff Ole Massa heard ’em sayin’ “Ah’ll take dis’un,” and de other say, “An’ Ah’ll take dis’un.” Ole Massa got skeered hisself but he wuzn’t lettin’ on, an’ Jack whispered tuh ’im, “Unh hunh, didn’t Ah tell you de Lawd an’ de devil wuz down here ’vidin’ up souls?”

  They waited awhile there in de gate listenin’ den they heard ’em say, “Now, we’ll go git dem two at de gate.”

  Jack says, “Ah knows de Lawd gwine take you, and Ah ain’t gwine let de devil get me—Ah’m gwine home.” An’ he did an’ lef’ Ole Massa settin’ dere at de cemetery gate in his rollin’ chear, but when he got home, Ole Massa had done beat ’im home and wuz settin’ by de fire smokin’ uh seegar.”

  Jim Allen began to fidget. “Don’t y’all reckon we better g’wan inside? They might need us.”

  Lonnie Barnes shouted, “Aw naw—you sho is worrysome. You bad as white folks. You know they say a white man git in some kind of trouble, he’ll fret and fret until he kill hisself. A nigger git into trouble, he’ll fret a while, then g’wan to sleep.”

  “Yeah, dat’s right, too,” Eugene Oliver agreed. “Didja ever hear de white man’s prayer?”

  “Who in Polk County ain’t heard dat?” cut in Officer Richardson.

  “Well, if you know it so good, lemme hear you say it,” Eugene snapped back.

  “Oh, Ah don’t know it well enough to say it. Ah jus’ know it well enough to know it.”

  “Well, all right then, when Ah’m changing my dollars, you keep yo’ pennies out.”

  “Ah don’t know it, Eugene, say it for me,” begged Peter Noble. “Don’t pay Office no mind.”

  Well, it come a famine and all de crops was dried up and Brother John was ast to pray. He had prayed for rain last year and it had rained, so all de white folks ’sembled at they church and called on Brother John to pray agin, so he got down and prayed:

  “Lord, first thing, I want you to understand that this ain’t no nigger talking to you. This is a white man and I want you to hear me. Pay some attention to me. I don’t worry and bother you all the time like these niggers—asking you for a whole heap of things that they don’t know what to do with after they git ’em—so when I do ask a favor, I want it granted. Now, Lord, we want some rain. Our crops is all burning up and we’d like a little rain. But I don’t mean for you to come in a hell of a storm like you did last year—kicking up racket like niggers at a barbecue. I want you to come calm and easy. Now, another thing, Lord, I want to speak about. Don’t let these niggers be as sassy as they have been in the past. Keep ’em in their places, Lord, Amen.”

  Larkins White burst out:

  And dat put me in de mind of a nigger dat useter do a lot of prayin’ up under ’simmon tree, durin’ slavery time. He’d go up dere and pray to God and beg Him to kill all de white folks. Ole Massa heard about it and so de next day he got hisself a armload of sizeable rocks and went up de ’simmon tree, before de nigger got dere, and when he begin to pray and beg de Lawd to kill all de white folks, Ole Massa let one of dese rocks fall on Ole Nigger’s head. It was a heavy rock and knocked de nigger over. So when he got up he looked up and said: “Lawd, I ast you to kill all de white folks, can’t you tell a white man from a nigger?”

  Joe Wiley says: “Y’all might as well make up yo’ mind to bear wid me, ’cause Ah feel Ah got to tell a lie on Ole Massa for my mamma. Ah done lied on him enough for myself. So Ah’m gointer tell it if I bust my gall tryin’.”

  Ole John was a slave, you know. And there was Ole Massa and Ole Missy and de two li’ children—a girl and a boy.

  Well, John was workin’ in de field and he seen de children out on de lake in a boat, just a hollerin’. They had done lost they oars and was ’bout to turn over. So then he went and tole Ole Massa and Ole Missy.

  Well, Ole Missy, she hollered and said: “It’s so sad to lose these ’cause Ah ain’t never goin’ to have no more children.” Ole Massa made her hush and they went down to de water and follered de shore on ’round till they found ’em. John pulled off his shoes and hopped in and swum out and got in de boat wid de children and brought ’em to shore.

  Well, Massa and John take ’em to de house. So they was all so g
lad ’cause de children got saved. So Massa told ’im to make a good crop dat year and fill up de barn, and den when he lay by de crops nex’ year, he was going to set him free.

  So John raised so much crop dat year he filled de barn and had to put some of it in de house.

  So Friday come, and Massa said, “Well, de day done come that I said I’d set you free. I hate to do it, but I don’t like to make myself out a lie. I hate to git rid of a good nigger lak you.”

  So he went in de house and give John one of his old suits of clothes to put on. So John put it on and come in to shake hands and tell ’em goodbye. De children they cry, and Ole Missy she cry. Didn’t want to see John go. So John took his bundle and put it on his stick and hung it crost his shoulder.

  Well, Ole John started on down de road. Well, Ole Massa said, “John, de children love yuh.”

  “Yassuh.”

  “John, I love yuh.”

  “Yassuh.”

  “And Missy like yuh!”

  “Yassuh.”

  “But ’member, John, youse a nigger.”

  “Yassuh.”

  Fur as John could hear ’im down de road he wuz hollerin’, “John, Oh John! De children loves you. And I love you. De Missy like you.”

  John would holler back, “Yassuh.”

  “But ’member youse a nigger, tho!”

  Ole Massa kept callin’ ’im and his voice was pitiful. But John kept right on steppin’ to Canada. He answered Ole Massa every time he called ’im, but he consumed on wid his bag.

  SIX

  Tookie Allen passed by the mill all dressed up in a tight shake-baby.1 She must have thought she looked good because she was walking that way. All the men stopped talking for a while. Joe Willard hollered at her.

  “Hey, Tookie, how do you like your new dress?”

  Tookie made out she didn’t hear, but anybody could tell that she had. That was why she had put on her new dress, and come past the mill a wringing and twisting—so she could hear the men talking about her in the dress.

  “Lawd, look at Tookie switchin’ it and lookin’ back at it! She’s done gone crazy thru de hips.” Joe Willard just couldn’t take his eyes off of Tookie.

  “Aw, man, you done seen Tookie and her walk too much to be makin’ all dat miration over it. If you can’t show me nothin’ better than dat, don’t bring de mess up,” Cliff Ulmer hooted. “Less tell some more lies on Ole Massa and John.”

  “John sho was a smart nigger now. He useter git de best of Ole Massa all de time,” gloated Sack Daddy.

  “Yeah, but some white folks is smarter than you think,” put in Eugene Oliver.

  For instance now, take a man I know up in West Florida. He hired a colored man to clear off some new ground, but dat skillet blonde2 was too lazy to work. De white man would show him what to do then he’s g’wan back to de house and keep his books. Soon as he turned his back de nigger would flop down and go to sleep. When he hear somebody comin’ he’d hit de log a few licks with de flat of de ax and say, “Klunk, klunk, you think Ah’m workin’ but Ah ain’t.”

  De white man heard him but he didn’t say a word. Sat’day night come and Ole Cuffee went up to de white man to git his pay. De white man stacked up his great big ole silver dollars and shook ’em in his hand and says, “Clink, clink, you think I’m gointer pay you, but I ain’t.”

  By that time somebody saw the straw boss coming so everybody made it on into the mill. The mill boss said, “What are y’all comin’ in here for? Ah ain’t got enough work for my own men. Git for home.”

  The swamp gang shuffled on out of the mill. “Umph, umph, umph,” said Black Baby. “We coulda done been gone if we had a knowed dat.”

  “Ah told y’all to come an’ go inside but you wouldn’t take a listen. Y’all think Ah’m an ole Fogey. Young Coon for running but old coon for cunning.”

  We went on back to the quarters.

  When Mrs. Bertha Allen saw us coming from the mill she began to hunt up the hoe and the rake. She looked under the porch and behind the house until she got them both and placed them handy. As soon as Jim Allen hit the steps she said:

  “Ah’m mighty proud y’all got a day off. Maybe Ah kin git dis yard all clean today. Jus’ look at de trash and dirt! And it’s so many weeds in dis yard, Ah’m liable to git snake bit at my own door.”

  “Tain’t no use in you gittin’ yo’ mouf all primped up for no hoein’ and rakin’ out of me, Bertha. Call yo’ grandson and let him do it. Ah’m too old for dat,” said Jim testily.

  “Ah’m standin’ in my tracks and steppin’ back on my abstract3—Ah ain’t gointer rake up no yard. Ah’m goin’ fishin’,” Cliffert Ulmer snapped back. “Grandma, you worries mo’ ’bout dis place than de man dat owns it. You ain’t de Everglades Cypress Lumber Comp’ny sho nuff. Youse just shacking in one of their shanties. Leave de weeds go. Somebody’ll come chop ’em some day.”

  “Naw, Ah ain’t gointer leave ’em go! You and Jim would wallow in dirt right up to yo’ necks if it wasn’t for me.”

  Jim threw down his jumper and his dinner bucket. “Now, Ah’m goin’ fishin’ too. When Bertha starts her jawin’ Ah can’t stay on de place. Her tongue is hung in de middle and works both ways. Come on Cliff, less git de poles!”

  “Speck Ah’m gointer have to make a new line for my trout pole,” Cliff said. “Dat great big ole fish Ah hooked las’ time carried my other line off in his mouth, ’member?”

  “Aw, dat wasn’t no trout got yo’ line; dat’s whut you tell us, but dat was a log bit yo’ hook dat time.” Larkins White twitted.

  “Yes dat was a trout, too now. Ah’m a real fisherman. Ah ain’t like y’all. Ah kin ketch fish anywhere. All Ah want to know, is there any water. Man, Ah kin ketch fish out a water bucket. Don’t b’lieve me, just come on down to de lake. Ah’ll bet, Ah’ll pull ’em all de fish out de lake befo’ y’all git yo’ bait dug.”

  “Dat’s a go,” shouted Larkins. “Less go! Come on de rest of y’all to see dis thing out. Dis boy ’bout to burst his britches since he been chawin’ tobacco reg’lar and workin’ in de swamp wid us mens.”

  Cliff picked up the hoe and went ’round behind the house to dig some bait. Old Jim went inside and got the spool of No. 8 cotton and a piece of beeswax and went to twisting a trout line. He baptized the hook in asafetida and put his hunting knife in his pocket, met Cliffert at the gate and they were off to join the others down by the jook. Big Sweet and Lucy got out their poles and joined us. It was almost like a log-rolling4 or a barbecue. The quarters were high. The men didn’t get off from work every day like this.

  We proaged on thru the woods that was full of magnolia, pine, cedar, oak, cypress, hickory and many kinds of trees whose names I do not know. It is hard to know all the trees in Florida. But everywhere they were twined with climbing vines and veiled in moss.

  “What’s de matter, Ah don’t hear no birds?” complained Eugene Oliver. “It don’t seem natural.”

  Everybody looked up at one time like cows in a pasture.

  “Oh you know how come we don’t hear no birds. It’s Friday and de mocking bird ain’t here,” said Big Sweet after a period of observation.

  “What’s Friday got to do with the mockin’ bird?” Eugene challenged.

  “Dat’s exactly what Ah want to know,” said Joe Wiley.

  “Well,” said Big Sweet. “Nobody never sees no mockin’ bird on Friday. They ain’t on earth dat day.”

  “Well, if they ain’t on earth, where is they?”

  “They’s all gone to hell on Friday with a grain of sand in they mouth to help out they friend.” She continued:

  Once there was a man and he was very wicked. He useter rob and steal and he was always in a fight and killin’ up people. But he was awful good to birds and mockin’ birds was his favorite. This was a long time ago before de man first started to buildin’ de Rocky Mountains. Well, ’way after while somebody kilt him, and being he had done lived so bad, when he died he went straight to hell.
/>   De birds all hated it mighty bad when they seen him in hell, so they tried to git him out. But the fire was too hot so they give up—all but de mockin’ birds. They come together and decided to tote sand until they squenched de fire in hell. So they set a day and they all agreed on it. Every Friday they totes sand to hell. And that’s how come nobody don’t never see no mockin’ bird5 on Friday.

  Joe Wiley chuckled. “If them mockin’ birds ever speck to do dat man any good they better git some box-cars to haul dat sand. Dat one li’l grain they totin’ in their bill ain’t helpin’ none. But anyhow it goes to show you dat animals got sense as well as peoples.” Joe went on—

  Now take cat-fish for instances. Ah knows a man dat useter go fishin’ every Sunday. His wife begged him not to do it and his pastor strained wid him for years but it didn’t do no good. He just would go ketch him a fish every Sabbath. One Sunday he went and just as soon as he got to de water he seen a great big ole cat-fish up under some water lilies pickin’ his teeth with his fins. So de man baited his pole and dropped de hook right down in front of de big fish. Dat cat grabbed de hook and took out for deep water. De man held on and pretty soon dat fish pulled him in. He couldn’t git out. Some folks on de way to church seen him and run down to de water but he was in too deep. So he went down de first time and when he come up he hollered—“Tell my wife.” By dat time de fish pulled him under again. When he come up he hollered, “Tell my wife—” and went down again. When he come up de third time he said: “Tell my wife to fear God and cat-fish,” and went down for de last time and he never come up no mo’.

  “Aw, you b’lieve dat old lie?” Joe Willard growled. “Ah don’t.”

  “Well, Ah do. Nobody ain’t gointer git me to fishin’ on Sunday,” said Big Sweet fervently.

  “How come nothin’ don’t happen to all dese white folks dat go fishin’ on Sunday? Niggers got all de signs and white folks got all de money,” retorted Joe Willard.