NDANNA BALLADS 



HOWARD WEEDEN 



LIBRARY GF CONGRESS. 

(^ i Ci.aii. , Copyright No....._.. 

1% ^ 3 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



BANDANNA BALLADS 



V 




AND FANCY HEARS THE ADVENT ROLL 



THROUGH THAT OLD NEGRO S SOUL 



I " 



(/V 74.) 



Bandanna Ballads 



INCLUDING 



"Shadows on the Wall" 

Verses and Pictures by 

Howard Weeden 



INTRODUCTION BY JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS 




NEW YORK 
DOUBLEDAY & McCLURE COMPANY 

1899 



TWO COPIES RECEIVKD^ 

Library of Congrei8| 
OfflQe of tb« 



)V2S1B99 

Register of Copyrightflk 






47728 

CoPYKMGHT, i8q9, HY 

DOUBLEDAY & McCLURE CO. 




SECOND COPY* 






DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF ALL 
THE FAITHFUL MAMMIES WHO EVER 
SUNG SOUTHERN BABES TO REST 



INTRODUCTION 

I AM fortunate indeed in having- the op- 
portunity to attach my name, even in a 
casual way, to the dehghtful materials out 
of which this volume is fashioned, for these 
materials not only possess a vital and an 
inherent charm of their own, but shed an 
illumination over all the various efforts, 
good, bad, and indifferent, that have been 
made to throw the figures of the old-time 
plantation negroes on the literary canvas. 
What has been attempted by many hands 
wielding the pen is here carried to comple- 
tion by a woman's hand wielding the brush. 
This volume may therefore be said to be 
the connectinor link between the art that is 
prolix and the art that is precise, between 
the art that suggests and the art that fulfils. 
The two arts have met and joined hands 



Introduction 

before, but never, so far as I know, under 
such satisfactory conditions and with such 
complete success ; for, as has been intimated, 
these memorial portraits illustrate the work 
of every conscientious writer who has en- 
deavored to depict the character and indi- 
viduality of the "quality negroes" familiar 
to the vSouthern plantations before the war — 
not only illustrate it, but give it a fresh 
claim to consideration. 

It is safe to say that never before has an 
artist cauorht with such vital and startling 
distinctness, such moving fidelity, the char- 
acters which gave to the old plantation, if 
not its chiefest charm, at least one of its 
most enchanting features. Moreover, these 
memorial portraits arrive upon the scene in 
the very nick and point of time. A new 
generation has arisen, and it has l)ecome 
incredulous and sceptical in regard to the 
traditions and legends of the old plantation 
in general, and of the old-time quality negro 
in particular. These newcomers find a touch 



Introduction 

of romance in the reports that come to them 
from their forbears ; their curiosity receives 
a filhp ; they would Hke to beheve in the 
substance of what they hear ; but they 
Hve in a commercial age, and have a hard 
grip on what is practical and concrete. 
They look about them for some confirma- 
tion of the stories that are told, and they 
find not a shred. If there were negroes in 
the old days so quaint and gentle, so tender- 
hearted and devoted, that novelists and 
writers of tales never tire of crownino- them 
with the halos that are convenient to fiction, 
what has become of them ? Why have they 
disappeared from the face of the earth, leav- 
ing no trace behind ? Why have they left 
no successors ? Such is the attitude of an 
incredulous generation, engaged in trying to 
snatch a few tufts of hair from the seventy- 
and-seven thousand prongs of the money- 
demon's tail. 

Not long ago, a Northern gentleman, who 
has been in the South loner enous^h to make 

<_> o 



Introduction 

his mark there, wrote to an author of his 
acquaintance protesting against the whole- 
sale method of making saints of the old-time 
negroes. " If you want to display genuine 
art," he said, "give it the relish of reality. 
Paint the negroes as they now are. When 
you do this, I'll take a thousand copies of 
your book, and send them broadcast among 
my friends in New York and Massachusetts." 
Well, the art of Miss Weeden's book is 
not only an answer to the sceptical, but is a 
welcome and necessary explanation of the 
plantation legends that have been preserved. 
Whatever the negroes are now, whatever 
they may become in the cold-storage con- 
ditions of our commercial environment, these 
portraits present unimpeachable evidence of 
what they were. The art with which the 
facts are set forth is so felicitous in its 
touch, so faithful and so informing, that it 
goes deeper than character and individu- 
ality : it revives and resurrects the period ; 
in some mysterious way it restores the 



Introduction 

atmosphere and color of the time. And 
each portrait stands out a httle masterpiece, 
harmonious, powerful, charged with feeling, 
and illuminated by the imagination that 
makes its creations more real than life itself. 
Here are to be found the courtesy, the re- 
finement, the dignity, the touch of conde- 
.scension which the old-time neo^roes cauofht 
from their masters and mistresses. 

Here, too, are portrayed the contradic- 
tions that orave relish and zest to the neofro 
character — independence with loyalty, pride 
with gentleness, officiousness with zeal, per- 
verseness with graciousness, captiousness 
with affection — and the flavor of gentility 
which was the result of neither apishness 
nor servility. Alas ! that the successors and 
descendants of these old necrroes should 
now everywhere answer to the name of 
"coons," and that their rich melodies should 
be degraded into the vulgar and disgusting 
" rao^-time " sones ! 

But, sooner or later, Time will play havoc 



Introduction 

with all things over which it claims do- 
minion, and in many directions the South 
has had a surfeit of such chancres as havoc 
involves. Therefore I am moved to thank 
Heaven for the beautiful eenius that has 
snatched from the past and preserved the 
handful of memories embodied in this book. 
For me, and for all who are in love with 
simplicity, there is a story behind each pa- 
thetic face here pictured, and, indeed, some- 
thing of the kind is more than intimated in 
the verses that face the portraits — verses that 
accompany this symphony of art like a sweet 
and softly-played refrain, recurring and filling 
up the pauses. In the midst of the furious 
striving for effect, characteristic of our brief 
day, the simplicity and modesty of these 
little poems are very striking. They flutter 
across the page as shy and as delicate as the 
yellow falling leaves of the mimosa blown 
past a dear old lady's window years and 
years ago. 

Joel Chandler Harris. 



The Contents 

BANDANNA BALLADS 

Mammy's Lullaby, 2 

Theology, 6 

Old Times, 10 

A Child's Eyes, 14 

Homesick, 18 

The Interpreter, 22 

Eventide, 26 

When Mammy Dies, 30 

SHADOWS ON THE WALL 

Mother and Mammy, 34 
The Old Boatman, 38 
Aunt Judy and the Painter, 42 
Two Lovers and Lizette, 46 



The Contents 

The Banjo of the Past, 50 

'Possum Time, 54 

Too Late, 58 

A Studio Dispute, 62 

A Regret, 66 

Beaten Biscuit, 70 

A Plantation Hymn, 74 

A Banjo Song, yy 

The Borrowed Child, 80 

The Devil's Garden, 86 

Easy Living, 90 



BANDANNA BALLADS 



BANDANNA BALLADS 

Mammy's Lullaby 

" Swing low, sweet Chariot," low enough 

To give some heavenly rest 
To dis poor restless little one 

Dat sobs on Mammy's breast. 

*' Swing low, sweet Chariot," wid your load 

Of angels snowy drest. 
And throw a dream out to de chile 

'Most sleep on Mammy's breast. 

" Swing low, sweet Chariot," so dat She 

May look into de nest, 
An' see how sound her baby sleeps 

At last — on Mammy's breast ! 



THEOLOGY 



Theology 

We only had one chile an' hit 

We named Theolotrv : 

He came on Sunday, so he fit 

A Sunday name ; besides 

De boy was so confusing like 

We thought he'd make a preacher, 

An' white folks jes' for devilment 

Dey called him Little Beecher ! 

Well, though Theology was smart, 

He was dat small an' thin 

Dat by an' by he died — an' den 

De angels took him in. 

Perhaps by time I gits to Heaben 

He'll be a growed up preacher 

Wid ancrels orivin' him for short 

De white folks' name of " Beecher." 



OLD TIMES 



Old Times 

I haven't cooked a 'Possum- -Lord ! 

For such a lonof loner time, 
It seems to me I've lost somehow 

De very chune an' rhyme. 

De times is changed, an' we ain't got 

De consolations which 
We're 'bleeged to have if we would cook 

De 'Possum sweet an' rich. 

De cabin an' de big fire-place 

Dey neither one is lef — 
With fires so good de 'Possum would 

Almos' jes' cook his se'f. 

I ought to think 'bout Canaan, but 
It's Ole Times crowds my mind, 

An' maybe when I gits to Heaben 
It's Ole Times dat I'll find! 



lO 



A CHILD'S EYES 



A Child's Eyes 

In the dusk of Chloe'g rich brown cheek 

The dimples are never at rest, 
And bright would the glee of her young face 
be, 

Did not the eyes protest. 

Chloe wears her dusky hair 

Twisted, elfin-wise ; 
And her face is in bloom with the smiles 
which illume 

All saving her solemn eyes. 

And no one knows how the idle face. 

So young and so nearly glad. 
Found and hid in its melting eyes 

That Something so deep and sad ! 



14 



HOMESICK 



Homesick 

I lone to see a cotton field 

Once more before I go, 
All hot an' splendid, roll its miles 

Of sunny summer snow ! 

I lonof to feel de warm sweet wind 

Blow down de river bank, 
Where fields of wavin' sugar cane, 

Are orrowin' rich an' rank. 

I long to see dat Easy World 
Where no one's in a flurry ; 

And where, when it comes time to die, 
Dis nigger needn't hurry ! 



i8 



THE INTERPRETER 



The Interpreter 

The world Is a mighty confusin' big place 
For a nigger like me, you know, 

An' de only safe thing I have found, has 
been 
To keep a good grip on my hoe ! 

You can always depend on de fields an' de 
sky 

Whichever way other things go — 
An' de res' will get plain in time to de man 

Who keeps a good grip on his hoe ! 



22 



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EVENTIDE 



Eventide 

A child all wearied with its day 

Of laughter, tears, and play, 

Is gathered, 'gainst its will, to rest 

At eve on Mammy's breast. 

She bends above him, dark and calm, 

And, tender as a psalm. 

She lays a long kiss on his lips. 

Till in that soft eclipse 

He melts away to sweet release 

And sleeps in smiling peace. 

Some day I, too, shall go to rest 

Upon a kind Dark Breast, 

And feel my soul slip through a kiss 

As dark and kind — as this ! 



26 



WHEN MAMMY DIES 



When Mammy Dies 

We're always young till mammy dies ; 
But when her hand no longer lies 
As once it did upon our head 
We feel that youth with her has Red. 

We watch her wing her way to Rest, 
And see ourselves upon her breast, 
Our young selves — cradled as of yore- 
Now borne from us forevermore. 

We hear their last faint lullaby 
Blown softly backward from the sky. 
And as they soar beyond our reach 
We wave farewell to each, to each ! 



30 




( 



MOTHER AND MAMMY 



Mother and Mammy 

Amonor the ranks of shininor saints 
Disguised in heavenly splendor, 

Two Mother-faces wait for me, 
Familiar still, and tender. 

One face shines whiter than the dawn, 

And steadfast as a star ; 
None but my Mother's face could shine 

So briorht — ^and be so far ! 

The other dark one leans from Heaven, 

Brooding still to calm me ; 
Black as if ebon Rest had found 

Its image in my Mammy ! 



34 



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THE OLD BOATMAN 



The Old Boatman 

I changed my name, when I got free, 

To " Mister" like the res', 
But now dat I am going Home, 

I likes de ol' name bes'. 

Sweet voices callin' "Uncle Rome," 

Seem ringin' in my ears ; 
An' swearin' sort o' sociable, 

or Master's voice I hears. 

De way he used to call his boat, 

Across de river: '' Rome ! 
You damn ol' nigger, come an' bring 

Dat boat, an' row me home ! " 

He's passed Heaven's River now, an' soon 

He'll call across its foam : 
"You, Rome, you damn ol' nigger, loose 

Your boat, an' come on Home !" 



38 



AUNT JUDY AND THE PAINTER 



Aunt Judy and the Painter 

I can't allow my picture took 

De way you wants to draw — 
A-leavin' off my Freedom-look 

For fashions 'fore de war. 

You'd have my dress, you say, "be plain, 

Of dat dull quiet blue, 
Dat caught from years of sun and rain, 

Its tender faded hue." 

An' on my ''head a turban red 

Worn wid a stately grace — " 
*' To harmonize — " I think you said, 

" Wid my rich, dark brown face." 

No, Lord ! my picture can't be caught 

By man wid no sich manners ; 
Dat's 'zactly why de war was fought — 

To end dem same bandannas ! 



42 



TWO LOVERS AND LIZETTE 



Two Lovers and Lizette 

Who, me? In love, an' wid Lizette? 

You better b'lieve I ain't ; 
No sassy gal like dat could give 

Dis nigger heart-complaint. 

If Gord don't love her more den I, 

Den all I got to say 
Is, dat her soul's in danger sho'. 

An' she had better pray ! 

It's her, dat is in love wid me ; 

An' I jes laughs an' tell her, 
" De fruit dat draps d'out bein' shook 

Is sho' to be too meller ! " 

But all de same, you talks too much 

To suit me, 'bout Lizette: 
Some gent'man's nigger gwine get hurt 

About dat same gal yet ! 



46 






THE BANJO OF THE PAST 



The Banjo of the Past 

You ax about dat music made 

On banjos long ago, 
An' wants to know why it ain't played 

By niggers any mo'. 

Dem banjos b'longed to by-gone days 
When times an' chunes was rare, 

When we was gay as children — 'case, 
We didn't have a care. 

But when we got our freedom, we 
Found projeckin' was done ; 

Our llvin' was to make — you see. 
An' dat lef out de fun. 

We learned to vote an' read an' spell. 
We learned de taste ob tears — 

An' when you gets dat 'sponsible, 
De banjo disappears ! 



50 



'POSSUM TIME 



'Possum Time 

When autumn skies are deeper blue 
Than any skies June ever knew ; 
When frost has touched the mellow air 
Till yellow leaves fall everywhere ; 
When wild grapes scent the wind with wine, 
And ripe persimmons give the sign, 
Then Life seems happy as a rhyme 
Because — it's nearly 'Possum time ! 

When fires roar on the cabin-hearth, 
And ovens bubble low in mirth ; 
When sweet potatoes slowly bake, 
And Mammy makes her best ash-cake ; 
When Daddy climbs the " jice " and throws 
A string of peppers clown, it shows. 
That Life is happier than a rhyme. 
Because at last — it's 'Possum time ! 



54 



TOO LATE 



Too Late 

Yes, Master, dat's jes' what I think : 

Dat F'reedom is first rate. 
I only means to say it came 

For some of us, too late ! 

De days dat you call "slavery days" 
Seemed happy ones, you see, 

Becase I was so young an' gay 
An' Dinah was wid me. 

But jes' as Freedom come along 

My Dinah up an' died ; 
An' I got ol' an' couldn't learn 

De new ways, dough I tried. 

So when dey talks 'bout being free. 
An' I don't seem to heed 'em, 

You may jes' know my heart's brimful, 
An' tears has drownded F reedom ! 



58 



A STUDIO DISPUTE 



A Studio Dispute 

In vain my palette bears a score 
Of browns, and yellows, too ; 

In vain I ask of other eyes 
What is my model's hue ? 

" A glow from Afric suns," I cry, 

" Still lingers in her face, 
And keeps a light there, as if llame 

Shone throuofh an amber vase ! " 

A Poet near my easel thinks 

Her color-scheme was laid 
By that old Singer who once called 

A girl "The Nut-Browne Mayde." 

Old Remus looks to where she sits. 
Posing with half-turned head. 

And says : "You gent'men bof is wrong, 
Dat ual is Lrinoer-bread ! " 



62 



A REGRET 



A Regret 

Dar's always somethin' wantin' 

In my joy at bein' free, 
When I think oV Master didn't 

Live to share dat joy with me. 

Dem was mighty big plantations 
Dat he owned before de war 

An' he, de kindes' master 
Dat darkies ever saw. 

But de care of dem was heavy, 
Makin' him de slave, not we — 

An' often I have heard him say 
He wished dat he was me ! 

An' if he jes' was livin'. 

He would have his wish, you see- 
Dem niid'eers couldn't own him now, 

An' Master would be free. 



66 




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BEATEN BISCUIT 



Beaten Biscuit 

Of course I'll L^ladly give de rule 

I meks beat biscuit by, 
Doueb I ain't sure dat vou will mek 

Dat bread de same as I. 

'Case cookin's like religion is — 
Some's 'lected, an' some ain't, 

An' rules don't no more mek a cook 
Den sermons mek a Saint. 

Well, 'bout de 'grediances required 

I needn't mention dem, 
Of course you knows of fiour and things. 

How much to put, an' when ; 

But soon as you is got dat dough 
Mixed up all smoove an' neat, 

Den's when your genius gwine to show, 
To get dem biscuit beat ! 

Two hundred licks is what I gives 

For home-folks, never fewer. 

An' if I'm 'spectin' company in, 

I ogives five hundred sure ! 

70 




X 



A PLANTATION HYMN 



A Plantation Hymn 

Far clown the west still crlows the liorht, 

Though elsewhere it is night. 

The fields are quiet as the stars, 

Save some one at the bars 

Whose full heart, quivering- to the brim 

Flows over in a hymn. 

It sends its strangely solemn tide 

Of Hallelujahs, wide — ■ 

Across the fields, and up as far 

As to the fartherest star. 

Till all the Southern night's in bloom 

With Sonor and vStar-sown crloom — 

And Fancy hears the Advent roll 

Through that old negro's soul ! 



74 



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A Banjo Song 

I plays cle banjo better now 
Dan him clat taught me do, 

Becase he plays for all de worl' 
An' I jes' plays — for You. 

He learns his chimes^ I jes' lets down 

A banjo string or two 
Into de deepest of my heart, 

An' draws up chunes for You. 

Slowly dey comes swingin' up 

A-quiverin' through and through, 

Till wid a rush of tinolin' notes 
Dey reaches light — an' You. 

I never knows if dey will shine 

Wet wid tears or dew ; 
I only knows dat, dew or tears, 

Dey shine becase of You. 



THE BORROWED CHILD 



The Borrowed Chilcf* 

My chile ? Lord no, she's none o' mine, 

She's des one I have tried 
To put in place of Anna Jane — 

My little one what died. 

Dat's lono^ ao^o ; no one but me 

Knows even where she lies : 
But in her place I've always kept 

A borrowed chile, her size. 

As soon as it outgrows my chile, 

I lets it or^, riorht straio-ht — 
An' takes another in its place 

To match dat Heabenh^ mate. 



80 



The Borrowed Child 

It's took a siorht o' chillun, sho', 

To ease dat dull ol' pain, 
An' keep de pretty likeness fresh 

Of my dead Anna Jane. 

Der's more den forty years, you see, 
Since she has been in Heaben, 

But wid de anofels years don't count- 
So she's still only seben. 

Time treats us all up dere, des lak 

It do white ladies here — 
It teches 'em so liijht — one's still 

A gal at forty year ! 



83 



THE DEVIL'S GARDEN 



The Devil's Garden 

On Master's ol' plantation, where 

I Hved before de war, 
A field called '' Devil's Garden " was 

De worst you ever saw. 

De work right dere it was so hard 
We knew de Devil made it ; 

And often found a hoof-track dere 
Where he had been an' laid it. 

When Freedom came I wanted ease ;- 

So off from dere I put ; 
But somehow^ ever\' job I've tried 

Has show^ed de cloven-foot ! 



86 



EASY LIVING 



Easy Living 

Dar's two times in de year dat Gord 

Made for de nigger sho', 
Two times when he's so rich he don't 
Ask Gord for nothin' mo' : 

Blackberry time is one ; for den 

He neither hoes nor sows ; 
De nigger knows his daily bread 

Right on de bushes grows. 

De other's Watermilion time ; 

An' den — Lord bless your soul ! 
Bof bread an' water orrows for him, 

In one big cool green bowl ! 



90 




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