Uncle Remus

by Joel Chandler Harris

  “Den dey all put out en lef’ Brer Tarrypin at de branch, en w’en dey got good en gone, he dove down inter de water, he did, en tie de bed-cord hard en fas’ ter wunner deze yer big clay-roots, en den he riz up en gin a whoop.

  “Brer B’ar he wrop de bed-cord roun’ his han’, en wink at de gals, en wid dat he gin a big juk, but Brer Tarrypin ain’t budge. Den he take bofe han’s en gin a big pull, but, all de same, Brer Tarrypin ain’t budge. Den he tu’n ‘roun,’ he did, en put de rope cross his shoulders en try ter walk off wid Brer Tarrypin, but Brer Tarrypin look like he don’t feel like walkin’. Den Brer Wolf, he put in en hope Brer B’ar pull, but dez like he didn’t, en den dey all hope ‘im, en, bless grashus! w’iles dey wuz all a pullin’, Brer Tarrypin, he holler, en ax um w’y dey don’t take up de slack. Den w’en Brer Tarrypin feel um quit pullin’, he dove down, he did, en ontie de rope, en by de time dey got ter de branch, Brer Tarrypin, he wuz settin’ in de aidge er de water des ez natchul ez de nex’ un, en he up’n say, sezee:

  “’Dat las’ pull er yone wuz a mighty stiff un, en a leetle mo’n you’d er had me,’ sezee. ‘Youer monstus stout, Brer B’ar,’ sezee, ‘en you pulls like a yoke er steers, but I sorter had de purchis on you,’ sezee.

  “Den Brer B’ar, bein’s his mouf ‘gun ter water atter de sweetnin’, he up’n say he speck de candy’s ripe, en off dey put atter it!”

  “It’s a wonder,” said the little boy, after a while, “that the rope didn’t break.”

  “Break who?” exclaimed Uncle Remus, with a touch of indignation in his tone — “break who? In dem days, Miss Meadows’s bed-cord would a hilt a mule.”

  This put an end to whatever doubts the child might have entertained.

  1Holp; helped.

  XXVII.

  WHY MR. POSSUM HAS NO

  HAIR IN HIS TAIL.

  “Hit look like ter me,” said Uncle Remus, frowning, as the little boy came hopping and skipping into the old man’s cabin, “dat I see a young un ‘bout yo’ size playin’ en makin’ free wid dem ar chilluns er ole Miss Favers’s yistiddy, en w’en I seed dat, I drap my axe, en I come in yer en sot flat down right whar youer settin’ now, en I say ter myse’f dat it’s ‘bout time fer ole Remus fer ter hang up en quit. Dat’s des zackly w’at I say.”

  “Well, Uncle Remus, they called me,” said the little boy, in a penitent tone. “They come and called me, and said they had a pistol and some powder over there.”

  “Dar now!” exclaimed the old man, indignantly. “Dar now! w’at I bin sayin’? Hit’s des a born blessin’ dat you wa’n’t brung home on a litter wid bofe eyeballs hangin’ out en one year clean gone; dat’s w’at ‘tis! Hit’s des a born blessin’. Hit hope me up might’ly de udder day w’en I hear Miss Sally layin’ down de law ‘bout you en dem Favers chillun, yit, lo en beholes, de fus news I knows yer you is han’-in-glove wid um. Hit’s nuff fer ter fetch ole Miss right up out’n dat berryin’-groun’ fum down dar in Putmon County, en w’at yo’ gran’ma wouldn’t er stood me en yo’ ma ain’t gwineter stan’ nudder, en de nex’ time I hear ‘bout sech a come off az dis, right den en dar I’m boun’ ter lay de case ‘fo’ Miss Sally. Dem Favers’s wa’n’t no ‘count ‘fo’ de war, en dey wa’n’t no ‘count endurin’ er de war, en dey ain’t no ‘count atterwards, en w’iles my head’s hot you ain’t gwineter go mixin’ up yo’se’f wid de riff-raff er creashun.”

  The little boy made no further attempt to justify his conduct. He was a very wise little boy, and he knew that, in Uncle Remus’s eyes, he had been guilty of a flagrant violation of the family code. Therefore, instead of attempting to justify himself, he pleaded guilty, and promised that he would never do so any more. After this there was a long period of silence, broken only by the vigorous style in which Uncle Remus puffed away at his pipe. This was the invariable result. Whenever the old man had occasion to reprimand the little boy — and the occasions were frequent — he would relapse into a dignified but stubborn silence. Presently the youngster drew forth from his pocket a long piece of candle. The sharp eyes of the old man saw it at once.

  “Don’t you come a tellin’ me dat Miss Sally gun you dat,” he exclaimed, “kaze she didn’t. En I lay you hatter be monstus sly ‘fo’ you gotter chance fer ter snatch up dat piece er cannle.”

  “Well, Uncle Remus,” the little boy explained, “it was lying there all by itself, and I just thought I’d fetch it out to you.”

  “Dat’s so, honey,” said Uncle Remus, greatly mollified; “dat’s so, kaze by now some er dem yuther niggers ‘ud er done had her light up. Dey er mighty biggity, dem house niggers is, but I notices dat dey don’t let nuthin’ pass. Dey goes ‘long wid der han’s en der mouf open, en w’at one don’t ketch de tother one do.”

  There was another pause, and finally the little boy said:

  “Uncle Remus, you know you promised to-day to tell me why the ‘Possum has no hair on his tail.”

  “Law, honey! ain’t you done gone en fergot dat off’n yo’ mine yit? Hit look like ter me,” continued the old man, leisurely refilling his pipe, “dat she sorter run like dis: One time ole Brer Possum, he git so hongry, he did; dat he bleedzd fer ter have a mess er ‘simmons. He monstus lazy man, ole Brer Possum wuz, but bimeby his stummuck ‘gun ter growl en holler at ‘im so dat he des hatter rack ‘roun’ en hunt up sump’n; en w’iles he wuz rackin’ ‘roun’, who sh’d he run up wid but Brer Rabbit, en dey wuz hail-fellers, kaze Brer Possum, he ain’t bin bodder’n Brer Rabbit like dem yuther beas’s. Dey sot down by de side er de big road, en dar dey jabber en confab ‘mong wunner nudder, twel bimeby old Brer Possum, he take ‘n tell Brer Rabbit dat he mos’ pe’sh out, en Brer Rabbit, he lip up in a de a’r, he did, en smack his han’s tergedder, en say dat he know right whar Brer Possum kin git a bait er ‘simmons. Den Brer Possum, he say whar, en Brer Rabbit, he say w’ich ‘twuz over at Brer B’ar’s ‘simmon orchard.”

  “Did the Bear have a ‘simmon orchard, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked.

  “Co’se, honey, kase in dem days Brer B’ar wuz a bee-hunter. He make his livin’ findin’ bee trees, en de way he fine um he plant ‘im some ‘simmon-trees, w’ich de bees dey’d come ter suck de ‘simmons en den ole Brer B’ar he’d watch um whar dey’d go, en den he’d be mighty ap’ fer ter come up wid um. No matter ‘bout dat, de ‘simmon patch ‘uz dar des like I tell you, en ole Brer Possum mouf ‘gun ter water soon’s he year talk un um, en mos’ ‘fo’ Brer Rabbit done, tellin’ ‘im de news, Brer Possum, he put out, he did, en ‘twa’n’t long ‘fo’ he wuz perch up in de highes’ tree in Brer B’ar ‘simmon patch. But Brer Rabbit, he done ‘termin’ fer ter see some fun, en w’iles all dis ‘uz gwine on, he run ‘roun’ ter Brer B’ar house, en holler en tell ‘im w’ich dey wuz somebody ‘stroyin’ un his ‘simmons, en Brer B’ar, he hustle off fer ter ketch ‘im.

  “Eve’y now en den Brer Possum think he year Brer B’ar comin’, but he keep on sayin’, sezee:

  “’I’ll des git one mo’ ‘simmon en den I’ll go; one ‘simmon ‘mo en den I’ll go.’

  “Las’ he year Brer B’ar comin’ sho nuff, but ‘twuz de same ole chune — ‘One ‘simmon mo’ en den I’ll go’ — en des ‘bout dat time Brer B’ar busted inter de patch, en gin de tree a shake, en Brer Possum, he drapt out longer de yuther ripe ‘simmons, but time he totch de groun’ he got his foots tergedder, en he lit out fer de fence same ez a race-hoss, en ‘cross dat patch him en Brer B’ar had it, en Brer B’ar gain’ eve’y jump, twel time Brer Possum make de fence Brer B’ar grab ‘im by de tail, en Brer Possum, he went out ‘tween de rails en gin a powerful juk en pull his tail out ‘twix Brer B’ar tushes; en, lo en beholes, Brer B’ar hole so tight en Brer Possum pull so hard dat all de ha’r come off in Brer B’ar’s mouf, w’ich, ef Brer Rabbit hadn’t er happen up wid a go’d er water, Brer B’ar’d er got strankle.

  “Fum dat day ter dis,” said Uncle Remus, knocking the ashes carefully out of his pipe, “Brer Possum ain’t had no ha’r on his tail, en ne
eder do his chilluns.”

  XXVIII.

  THE END OF MR. BEAR.

  The next time the little boy sought Uncle Remus out, he found the old man unusually cheerful and good-humored. His rheumatism had ceased to trouble him, and he was even disposed to be boisterous. He was singing when the little boy got near the cabin, and the child paused on the outside to listen to the vigorous but mellow voice of the old man, as it rose and fell with the burden of the curiously plaintive song — a senseless affair so far as the words were concerned, but sung to a melody almost thrilling in its sweetness:

  “Han’ me down my walkin’-cane

  (Hey my Lily! go down de road!),

  Yo’ true lover gone down de lane

  (Hey my Lily! go down de road!).”

  The quick ear of Uncle Remus, however, had detected the presence of the little boy, and he allowed his song to run into a recitation of nonsense, of which the following, if it be rapidly spoken, will give a faint idea:

  “Ole M’er Jackson, fines’ contraction, fell down sta’rs fer to git satisfaction; big Bill Fray, he rule de day, eve’ything he call fer come one, two by three. Gwine ‘long one day, met Johnny Huby, ax him grine nine yards er steel fer me, tole me w’ich he couldn’t; den I hist ‘im over Hickerson Dickerson’s barn-doors; knock ‘im ninety-nine miles under water, w’en he rise, he rise in Pike straddle un a hanspike, en I lef’ ‘im dar smokin’ er de hornpipe, Juba reda seda breda. Aunt Kate at de gate; I want to eat, she fry de meat en gimme skin, w’ich I fling it back agin. Juba!”

  All this, rattled off at a rapid rate and with apparent seriousness, was calculated to puzzle the little boy, and he slipped into his accustomed seat with an expression of awed bewilderment upon his face.

  “Hit’s all des dat away, honey,” continued the old man, with the air of one who had just given an important piece of information. “En w’en you bin cas’n shadders long ez de ole nigger, den you’ll fine out who’s w’ich, en w’ich’s who.”

  The little boy made no response. He was in thorough sympathy with all the whims and humors of the old man, and his capacity for enjoying them was large enough to include even those he could not understand. Uncle Remus was finishing an axe-handle, and upon these occasions it was his custom to allow the child to hold one end while he applied sand-paper to the other. These relations were pretty soon established, to the mutual satisfaction of the parties most interested, and the old man continued his remarks, but this time not at random:

  “W’en I see deze yer swell-head folks like dat ‘oman w’at come en tell yo’ ma ‘bout you chunkin’ at her chilluns, w’ich yo’ ma make Mars John strop you, hit make my mine run back to ole Brer B’ar. Ole Brer B’ar, he got de swell-headedness hisse’f, en ef der wuz enny swinkin’, hit swunk too late fer ter he’p ole Brer B’ar. Leas’ways dat’s w’at dey tells me, en I ain’t never yearn it ‘sputed.”

  “Was the Bear’s head sure enough swelled, Uncle Remus?”

  “Now you talkin’, honey!” exclaimed the old man.

  “Goodness! what made it swell?”

  This was Uncle Remus’s cue. Applying the sandpaper to the axe-helve with gentle vigor, he began:

  “One time when Brer Rabbit wuz gwine lopin’ home fum a frolic w’at dey bin havin’ up at Miss Meadows’s, who should he happin up wid but ole Brer B’ar. Co’se, atter w’at done pass ‘twix um dey wa’n’t no good feelin’s ‘tween Brer Rabbit en ole Brer B’ar, but Brer Rabbit, he wanter save his manners, en so he holler out:

  “’Heyo, Brer B’ar! how you come on? I aint seed you in a coon’s age. How all down at yo’ house? How Miss Brune en Miss Brindle?’”

  “Who was that, Uncle Remus?” the little boy interrupted.

  “Miss Brune en Miss Brindle? Miss Brune wuz Brer B’ar’s ole ‘oman, en Miss Brindle wuz his gal. Dat w’at dey call um in dem days. So den Brer Rabbit, he ax him howdy, he did, en Brer B’ar, he ‘spon’ dat he wuz mighty poly, en dey amble ‘long, dey did, sorter familious like, but Brer Rabbit, he keep one eye on Brer B’ar, en Brer B’ar, he study how he gwine nab Brer Rabbit. Las’ Brer Rabbit, he up’n say, sezee:

  “’Brer B’ar, I speck I got some bizness cut out fer you,’ sezee.

  “’Wat dat, Brer Rabbit?’ sez Brer B’ar, sezee.

  “’W’iles I wuz cleanin’ up my new-groun’ day ‘fo’ yistiddy,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘I come ‘cross wunner deze yer ole time bee-trees. Hit start holler at de bottom, en stay holler plum ter de top, en de honey’s des natally oozin’ out, en ef you’ll drap yo’ ‘gagements en go ‘longer me,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘you’ll git a bait dat’ll las’ you en yo’ fambly twel de middle er nex’ mont’,’ sezee.

  “Brer B’ar say he much oblije en he b’leeve he’ll go ‘long, en wid dat dey put out fer Brer Rabbit’s new-groun’, w’ich twa’n’t so mighty fur. Leas’ways, dey got dar atter w’ile. Ole Brer B’ar, he ‘low dat he kin smell de honey. Brer Rabbit, he ‘low dat he kin see de honey-koam. Brer B’ar, he ‘low dat he kin hear de bees a zoonin’. Dey stan’ ‘roun’ en talk biggity, dey did, twel bimeby Brer Rabbit, he up’n say, sezee:

  “’You do de clim’in’, Brer B’ar, en I’ll do de rushin’ ‘roun’; you clime up ter de hole, en I’ll take dis yer pine pole en shove de honey up whar you kin git ‘er,’ sezee.

  “Ole Brer B’ar, he spit on his han’s en skint up de tree, en jam his head in de hole, en sho nuff, Brer Rabbit, he grab de pine pole, en de way he stir up dem bees wuz sinful — dat’s w’at it wuz. Hit wuz sinful. En de bees dey swawm’d on Brer B’ar’s head, twel ‘fo’ he could take it out’n de hole hit wuz done swell up bigger dan dat dinnerpot, en dar he swung, en ole Brer Rabbit, he dance ‘roun’ en sing:

  “Tree stan’ high, but honey mighty sweet —

  Watch dem bees wid stingers on der feet.’

  “But dar ole Brer B’ar hung, en ef his head ain’t swunk, I speck he hangin’ dar yit — dat w’at I speck.”

  XXIX.

  MR. FOX GETS INTO

  SERIOUS BUSINESS.

  “Hit turn out one time,” said Uncle Remus, grinding some crumbs of tobacco between the palms of his hands, preparatory to enjoying his usual smoke after supper — “hit turn out one time dat Brer Rabbit make so free wid de man’s collard-patch dat de man he tuck’n sot a trap fer ole Brer Rabbit.”

  “Which man was that, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy.

  “Des a man, honey. Dat’s all. Dat’s all I knows — des wunner dese yer mans w’at you see trollopin ‘roun’ eve’y day. Nobody ain’t never year w’at his name is, en ef dey did dey kep’ de news mighty close fum me. Ef dish yer man is bleedzd fer ter have a name, den I’m done, kaze you’ll hatter go fudder dan me. Ef you bleedzd ter know mo’ dan w’at I duz, den you’ll hatter hunt up some er deze yer niggers w’at’s sprung up sence I commence fer ter shed my ha’r.”

  “Well, I just thought, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, in a tone remarkable for self-depreciation, “that the man had a name.”

  “Tooby sho,” replied the old man, with unction, puffing away at his pipe. “Co’se. Dat w’at make I say w’at I duz. Dish yer man mout a had a name, en den ag’in he moutn’t. He mout er bin name Slip-shot Sam, en he mouter bin name ole One-eye Riley, w’ich ef ‘twuz hit ain’t bin handed roun’ ter me. But dis yer man, he in de tale, en w’at we gwine do wid ‘im? Dat’s de p’int, kase w’en I git ter huntin’ ‘roun’ ‘mong my ‘membunce atter dish yer Mister W’atyoumaycollum’s name, she ain’t dar. Now den, less des call ‘im Mr. Man en let ‘im go at dat.”

  The silence of the little boy gave consent.

  “One time,” said Uncle Remus, carefully taking up the thread of the story where it had been dropped, “hit turn out dat Brer Rabbit bin makin’ so free wid Mr. Man’s greens en truck dat Mr. Man, he tuck’n sot a trap fer Brer Rabbit, en Brer Rabbit he so greedy dat he tuck’n walk right spang in it ‘fo’ he know hisse’f. Well, ‘twa’n’t long ‘fo’ yer come Mr. Man, broozin’ ‘roun’, en
he ain’t no sooner see ole Brer Rabbit dan he smack his han’s tergedder en holler out:

  “’Youer nice feller, you is! Yer you bin gobblin’ up my green truck, en now you tryin’ ter tote off my trap. Youer mighty nice chap — dat’s w’at you is! But now dat I got you, I’ll des ‘bout settle wid you fer de ole en de new.’

  “En wid dat, Mr. Man, he go off, he did, down in de bushes atter han’ful er switches. Ole Brer Rabbit he ain’t sayin’ nuthin’, but he feelin’ mighty lonesome, en he sot dar lookin’ like eve’y minnit wuz gwineter be de nex’. En w’iles Mr. Man wuz off prepa’r’n his bresh-broom, who should come p’radin’ ‘long but Brer Fox? Brer Fox make a great ‘miration, he did, ‘bout de fix w’at he fine Brer Rabbit in, but Brer Rabbit he make like he fit ter kill hisse’f laffin’, en he up’n tell Brer Fox, he did, dat Miss Meadows’s fokes want ‘im ter go down ter der house in ‘tennunce on a weddin’, en he ‘low w’ich he couldn’t, en dey ‘low how he could, en den bimeby dey take’n tie ‘im dar w’iles dey go atter de preacher, so he be dar w’en dey come back. En mo’n dat, Brer Rabbit up’n tell Brer Fox dat his chillun’s mighty low wid de fever, en he bleedzd ter go atter some pills fer’m, en he ax Brer Fox fer ter take his place en go down ter Miss Meadows’s en have nice time wid de gals. Brer Fox, he in fer dem kinder pranks, en ‘twa’n’t no time ‘fo’ Brer Rabbit had ole Brer Fox harness up dar in his place, en den he make like he got ter make ‘as’e en git de pills fer dem sick chilluns. Brer Rabbit wa’n’t mo’n out er sight ‘fo’ yer come Mr. Man wid a han’ful er hick’ries, but w’en he see Brer Fox tied up dar, he look like he ‘stonished.

  “’Heyo!’ sez Mr. Man, sezee, ‘you done change color, en you done got bigger, en yo’ tail done grow out. W’at kin’er w’atzyname is you, ennyhow?’ sezee.