“ ‘Howdy, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. ‘You look sorter stuck up dis mawnin’,’ sezee, en den he rolled on de groun’ en laft en laft twel he couldn’t laff no mo’. ‘I speck you’ll take dinner wid me dis time, Brer Rabbit. I don laid in some calamus root, en I ain’t gwineter take no skuse,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.”
Here Uncle Remus paused, and drew a two-pound yam out of the ashes.
“Did the fox eat the rabbit?” asked the little boy to whom the story had been told.
“Dat’s all de fur de tale goes,” replied the old man. “He mout, an den agin he moutent. Some say Judge B’ar come ’long en lossed ’im—some say he didn’t. I hear Miss Sally callin’. You better run ’long.”
SOURCE: Joel Chandler Harris, Uncle Remus, His Songs and His Sayings: The Folk-Lore of the Old Plantation, 23–25.
Harris’s rendition of the Tar Baby story has become the canonical one, and it is contained within a frame that shows Uncle Remus telling the stories to a “little boy,” son of a plantation owner.
The Tar Baby’s inability to feel and Brer Rabbit’s response to its silence can be seen in symbolic terms as the slave’s stoic attitude and the master’s inability to take in and validate the silent suffering of a slave. The Tar Baby, an inert being without consciousness or agency, cannot respond and operate within relevant social codes. “It is his being ignored and her being ill-mannered that annoy, then infuriate him,” Toni Morrison tells us about Brer Rabbit. Gendered female, the Tar Baby can be seen as a trope for passive resistance, for a refusal to follow the “genteel” codes of Southern manners. Aggression can manifest itself through a form of silence that exaggerates the lack of agency that was the lot of black slaves.
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1 sho’s: sure as
2 fool ’im wid dat: fool him with that
3 went ter wuk: went to work
4 turkentime: turpentine
5 tuck dish yer: took this here
6 he so ’er: he put her
7 gwine ter be: was going to be
8 hatter wait long, nudder: have to wait long, neither
9 kaze bimbeby: because by and by
10 dez ez sassy: just as sassy
11 sym’tums seem ter segashuate: symptoms seem to sagaciate. “How does your corporosity sagaciate?” was a regional expression, used chiefly in the South, to ask, in an amusing way, how someone was faring. The phrase made it into James Joyce’s Ulysses, when one of the characters asks: “Your corporosity sagaciating O.K.?”
12 squall out: shouted
13 wunner yo’: one of your
HOW MR. RABBIT WAS TOO SHARP FOR MR. FOX
“Uncle Remus,” said the little boy one evening, when he had found the old man with little or nothing to do, “did the fox kill and eat the rabbit when he caught him with the Tar-Baby?”
“Law, honey, ain’t I tell you ’bout dat?” replied the old darkey, chuckling slyly. “I ’clar ter grashus I ought er tole you dat, but old man Nod wuz ridin’ on my eyelids ’twel a little mo’n I’d a dis’member’d my own name, en den on to dat here come yo’ mammy hollerin’ atter you.
“W’at I tell you w’en I fus’ begin? I tole you Brer Rabbit wuz a monstus soon creetur;1 leas’ways da’s w’at I laid out fer ter tell you. Well, den honey, don’t you go en make no udder calkalashuns,2 kaze in dem days Brer Rabbit en his fambly wuz at de header de gang w’en enny racket wuz on han’, en dar dey stayed. Fo’ you begins fer ter wip yo’ eyes ’bout Brer Rabbit, you wait en see whar’bouts Brer Rabbit gwineter fetch up at. But da’s neer yer ner dar.3
“W’en Brer Fox fine Brer Rabbit mixt up wid de Tar-Baby, he feel mighty good, en he roll on de groun’ en laff. Bimeby he up’ say, sezee:
“ ‘Well, I speck I got you dis time, Brer Rabbit,’ sezee; ‘maybe I ain’t but I speck I is. You been runnin’ roun’ here sassin’ atter me a mighty long time, but I speck you done come ter de een’ er de row. You bin cuttin’ up yo’ capers en bouncin’ roun’ in dis neighborhood ontwel you come ter b’leeve y’se’f de boss er de whole gang.4 En den youer allers some’rs whar you got no bizness,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. ‘Who ax you fer ter come en strike up a ’quaintance wid dish yer Tar-Baby? En who stuck you up dar whar you iz? Nobody in de roun’ worl. You des tuck en jam yo’se’f on dat Tar-Baby widout waitin’ fer enny invite,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘en dar you is, en dar you’ll stay twel I fixes up a bresh-pile and fires her up, kaze I’m gwineter bobbycue you5 dis day, sho’,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.
“Den Brer Rabbit talk might ’umble.
“ ‘I don’t keer w’at you do wid me, Brer Fox,’ sezee, ‘so you don’t fling me in dat brier-patch.6 Roas’ me, Brer Fox,’ sezee, ‘but don’t fling me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee.
“ ‘Hit’s so much trouble fer ter kindle a fier,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘dat I speck I’ll hatter hang you,’ sezee.
“ ‘Hang me des ez high as you please, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘but do fer de Lord’s sake don’t fling me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee.
“ ‘I ain’t got no string,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘en now I speck I’ll hatter drown you,’ sezee.
“ ‘Drown me des ez deep ez you please, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘but do don’t fling me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee.
“ ‘Dey ain’t no water nigh,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘en now I speck I’ll hatter skin you,’ sezee.
“ ‘Skin me, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘snatch out my eyeballs, t’ar out my years by de roots,7 en cut off my legs,’ sezee, ‘but do please, Brer Fox, don’t fling me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee.
“Co’se Brer Fox wanter hurt Brer Rabbit bad ez he kin, so he cotch ’im by de behime legs en slung ’im right in de middle er de brier-patch. Dar wuz a considerbul flutter what Brer Rabbit struck de bushes, en Brer Fox sorter hand ’roun’ fer ter see w’at wuz gwineter happen. Bimeby he hear somebody call ’im, en way up de hill he see Brer Rabbit settin’ cross-legged on a chinkapin8 log koamin’ de pitch outen his har wid a chip. Den Brer Fox know dat he bin swop off mighty bad. Brer Rabbit wuz bleedzed fer ter fling back some er his sass, en he holler out:
“ ‘Bred en bawn in a brier-patch, Brer Fox—bred en bawn in a brier-patch!’ en wid dat he skip out des ez lively ez a cricket in de embers.”
SOURCE: Joel Chandler Harris, Uncle Remus, His Songs and His Sayings: The Folk-Lore of the Old Plantation, 29–31.
As Uncle Remus points out, what Brer Fox can’t do with his feet, he accomplishes with his head. And in this case Brer Rabbit appeals to Brer Fox’s baser instincts, enumerating a host of cruel ways of torturing and killing him and pleading for anything but the briar patch. That site might be considered a perilous outcome for most, but Brer Rabbit has made a career of learning to navigate his way around thorns.
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1 a monstus soon creetur: a very speedy animal
2 calkalashuns: calculations
3 neer yer ner dar: neither here nor there
4 de boss er de whole gang: Brer Rabbit, as the trickster who always triumphs, is in fact the “boss of the whole gang.”
5 I’m gwineter bobbycue you: Barbecuing Brer Rabbit is the first in an inventory of tortures that include hanging and dismemberment.
6 brier-patch: Brer Rabbit makes himself a home in a thorny environment that provides him protection from predators.
7 t’ar out my years by de roots: tear my hair out by the roots
8 chinkapin: dwarf chestnut
TAR BABY
Dis was a time a dry weather. All de an’mals was press to get water. Dey dug a well an’ did reach water. Nancy was not allowed to drink from dis well, ’cause he would not dig. All de people come to drink from dis well, but Nancy was not supposed to come. Still he did come. Dey try all manner a t’ing to cotch Nancy, but dey could not. No matter what dey do, Nancy would get ’way. Dey not able to hol’ him.
Dese peo
ple decide to fix up a tar baby. Dis was done, an’ dey put de tar baby on de water. Each come to drink. None a dese people would touch de tar baby. Dey knew it was a tar baby. In tar baby hand was something sweet to eat. Now hyar come Nancy to steal some a dis water.
When he see de tar baby, t’ink dat it was fine gal. Say, “Hello dere, gal! what dat you got to eat?” De tar baby could not make any reply. When Nancy get his full drink, come to dis gal. “Come on, me fine gal! gi’ me some a dat sweet!” he could not persuade dis tar baby. He get fussed, an’ say dat he would take de food if she not gi’ he some. He reach to get de food; but de tar baby stuck it, an’ he not able to pull it off. He get in a rage. Tell de gal dat he will butt. She not move. He in rage for fair. “Mine gal, I gwin’ hit you a big butt.” An’ he gave butt. His head got caught.
“Look out dere! I hit you, gal! Let me go my head! Don’ fool me, gal! Loose my head! I hit you one wid dis hand!” He was stick fas’. When tar baby not loose him, he fire wid his one hand. It get stuck fas’.
“What matter you, gal?” he twist an’ pullin’. Not able to get hand away. He swipe wid de oder hand. It stuck. “If you play dis way, gal, you will be hurted. Loose me, I say! Now you gwine get boot. Leggo me, ’fore I gi’ you dis boot!” She would not. He boot, an’ his foot stuck. When she not leggo wid any a him, he try de las’ foot. He stuck wid head an’ his hands an’ his foot too. Nancy was caught in dis way. Dey an’mals come an’ find him so.
But Nancy did get away. I don’ know how he manage, but dey not smart to hol’ him. He get caught; but somet’ing he do, an’ dey is fool. Nancy too smart for des an’mals.
SOURCE: John H. Johnson, “Folk-Lore from Antigua, British West Indies,” Journal of American Folklore (1921), 53.
The informant for “Tar Baby” was George W. Edwards, a native of Antigua, one of the islands in the Lesser Antilles. Edwards was fifty years old at the time that he told the tale in 1920, and he was assisted to some extent by his thirty-year-old wife. Among Antiguans, there is a saying that “if you talk Nancy stories in the day, you will go blind,” and as a result the stories Johnson collected in Antigua were recorded at night, in sessions lasting an hour or two. Interestingly, Johnson reports that Nancy is voiced as having nasal speech (he is said to have spent so much time in conversation with animals that he now talks as they do), but he “looks like any other man you see.”
TAR BABY
Once upon a time, a very good time,
Monkey chew tobacco and spit white lime.
There was once a man name Be-Rabbie and another name Be-Fox.
They use to go in a man field and steal all his things out. Now this man set a tar baby there to catch these thief. Now, when these chap saw this tar girl, Be-Rabbie went to this tar girl. He said “Oh, look, this pretty girl! Oh, my! Let me kiss her.” And when he kiss her, his mouth stick; and when his mouth stick, he do all kinds of things to get his mouth off. Then he said, “My father say anybody hold me, I must strike them.” And when he struck, his hands stick. And he said, “I bet I kick you.” And his foot stick. And he said, “I bet I butt you.” And his forehead stick. And when the owner of the place came, he said, “This is the fellow that has been doing the stealing.” And he took him off. And they all made up a large fire. And there was a large piece of prickle. And they asked him which one he would go into. And he said, “Don’t put me in the prickle, else I will die.” And they say, “You don’t want to go in the prickle, but I am going to put you there.” And when they put him into the prickle, he said, “Oh, you stupid people! This just where I was born!” And he was unharm.
E bo ben.
My story is end.
SOURCE: Elsie Clews Parsons, Folk-Tales of Andros Island, Bahamas, 15.
Elsie Clews Parsons describes the inhabitants of Andros as “of mixed origins and of a mobile habit.” She notes that as the islanders migrate from one place to another, they carry their “ol’ storee” with them. Bahamian tales have formulaic endings and beginnings, and the ending, in particular, is supposed to connect the story to the occasion of its telling. Parsons points out that the common Bahamian opening for stories, as in the rhyme that begins the tale above, is closely related to a Scottish and English verse that precedes the telling of a fairy tale:
Once upon a time when pigs spoke rhyme
And monkeys chewed tobacco,
And hens took snuff to make them tough,
And ducks went quack, quack, quack, O!
ANANSI AND THE TAR BABY
Once Mrs. Anansi had a large field. She planted it with peas. Anansi was so lazy he would never do any work. He was afraid that they would give him none of the peas, so he pretended to be sick. After about nine days, he called his wife an’ children an’ bid them farewell, tell them that he was about to die, an’ he ask them this last request, that they bury him in the mids’ of the peas-walk, but firs’ they mus’ make a hole through the head of the coffin an’ also in the grave so that he could watch the peas for them while he was lying there. An’ one thing more, he said, he would like them to put a pot and a little water there at the head of the grave to scare the thieves away. So he died and was buried.
All this time he was only pretending to be dead, an’ every night at twelve o’clock he creep out of the grave, pick a bundle of peas, boil it, and after having a good meal, go back in the grave to rest. Mistress Anansi was surprised to see all her peas being stolen. She could catch the thief no-how. One day her eldest son said to her, “Mother, I bet you it’s my father stealing those peas!” At that Mrs. Anansi got into a temper, said, “How could you expect your dead father to rob the peas!”
He said, “Well, mother, I soon prove it to you.” He got some tar an’ he painted a stump at the head of the grave an’ he put a hat on it.
When Anansi came out to have his feast as usual, he saw this thing standing in the groun’. He said, “Good-evening, sir!” but got no reply. Again he said, “Good-evening, sir!” an’ still no reply. “If you don’ speak to me I’ll kick you!” He raise his foot an’ kick the stump an’ the tar held it there like glue. “Let me go, let me go, sir, or I’ll knock you down with my right hand!” That hand stuck fas’ all the same. An’ he raise his lef’ foot an’ gave the stump a terrible blow. That foot stuck. Anansi was suspended in air an’ had to remain there till morning. Anansi was so ashamed that he climb up beneath the rafters an’ there he is to this day.
SOURCE: Martha Warren Beckwith, ed., Jamaica Anansi Stories, 25–26.
Martha Beckwith was a student of Franz Boas and collected Jamaican folklore in the 1920s. In her introduction to a volume of Anansi tales told in Jamaica, she points out that folktales are collectively referred to as “Nancy stories.” She also emphasizes how Jamaican storytelling is dominated by the trickster figure, whom she describes as follows: “Anansi is the culture hero of the Gold Coast—a kind of god—just as Turtle of the Slave coast and Hare (our own Brier rabbit) of the Bantu people. ‘Anansi stories’ regularly form the entertainment during wake-nights, and it is difficult not to believe that the vividness with which these animal actors take part in the story springs from the idea that they really represent the dead in the underworld whose spirits have the power, according to the native belief, of taking animal form” (1–2).
THE RABBIT AND THE TAR WOLF
Once there was such a long spell of dry weather that there was no more water in the creeks and springs, and the animals held a council to see what to do about it. They decided to dig a well, and all agreed to help except the Rabbit, who was a lazy fellow, and said, “I don’t need to dig for water. The dew on the grass is enough for me.” The others did not like this, but they went to work together and dug their well.
They noticed that the Rabbit kept sleek and lively, although it was still dry weather and the water was getting low in the well. They said, “That tricky Rabbit steals our water at night,” so they made a wolf of pine gum and tar and set it up by the well to scare the thief. That night the Rabbit came, as h
e had been coming every night, to drink enough to last him all next day. He saw the queer black thing by the well and said, “Who’s there?” but the tar wolf said nothing. He came nearer, but the wolf never moved, so he grew braver and said, “Get out of my way or I’ll strike you.” Still the wolf never moved and the Rabbit came up and struck it with his paw, but the gum held his foot and it stuck fast. Now he was angry and said, “Let me go or I’ll kick you.” Still the wolf said nothing. Then the Rabbit struck again with his hind foot, so hard that it was caught in the gum and he could not move, and there he stuck until the animals came for water in the morning. When they found who the thief was they had great sport over him for a while and then got ready to kill him, but as soon as he was unfastened from the tar wolf he managed to get away.
SOURCE: James Mooney, Myths of the Cherokee, 272–73.
THE RABBIT AND THE TAR WOLF (Second Version)
Once upon a time there was such a severe drought that all streams of water and all lakes were dried up. In this emergency the beasts assembled together to devise means to procure water. It was proposed by one to dig a well. All agreed to do so except the hare. She refused because it would soil her tiny paws. The rest, however, dug their well and were fortunate enough to find water. The hare, beginning to suffer and thirst, and having no right to the well, was thrown upon her wits to procure water. She determined, as the easiest way, to steal from the public well. The rest of the animals, surprised to find that the hare was so well supplied with water, asked her where she got it. She replied that she arose betimes in the morning and gathered the dewdrops. However the wolf and the fox suspected her of theft and hit on the following plan to detect her:
The Annotated African American Folktales Page 28