“’Kase ef dey is, you k’n des put
my name down wid de migrashun niggers.”
WHEN Uncle Remus went down to the passenger depot
one morning recently, the first sight that caught
his eye was an old negro man, a woman, and two children
sitting in the shade near the door of the baggage-room.
One of the children was very young, and the quartet
was altogether ragged and forlorn-looking. The
sympathies of Uncle Remus were immediately aroused.
He approached the group by forced marches, and finally
unburdened his curiosity.
“Whar is you m’anderin’ unter, pard?”
The old negro, who seemed to be rather suspicious,
looked at Uncle Remus coolly, and appeared to be considering
whether he should make any reply. Finally, however,
he stretched himself and said:
“We er gwine down in de naberhoods er Tallypoosy,
an we ain’t makin’ no fuss ’bout
it, nudder.”
“I disremember,” said Uncle Remus, thoughtfully,
“whar Tallypoosy is.”
“Oh, hit’s out yan,” replied the
old man, motioning his head as if it was just beyond
the iron gates of the depot. “Hit’s
down in Alabam. When we git dar, maybe well go
on twel we gits ter Massasip.”
“Is you got enny folks out dar?” inquired
Uncle Remus.
“None dat I knows un.”
“An’ you er takin’ dis ‘oman
an’ deze chillun out dar whar dey dunno nobody?
Whar’s yo’ perwisions?” eying a chest
with a rope around it.
“Dem’s our bedcloze,” the old
negro explained, noticing the glance of Uncle Remus.
“All de vittles what we got we e’t ‘fo’
we started.”
“An’ you speck ter retch dar safe an soun’?
Whar’s yo’ ticket?”
“Ain’t got none. De man say ez how
dey’d pass us thoo. I gin a man a fi’-dollar
bill ‘fo’ I lef’ Jonesboro, an’
he sed dat settled it.”
“Lemme tell you dis,” said Uncle Remus,
straightening up indignantly: “you go an’
rob somebody an’ git on de chain-gang, an’
let de ’oman scratch ‘roun’ yer an’
make ‘er livin’; but don’t you git
on dem kyars—don’t you do it.
Yo’ bes’ holt is de chain-gang. You
kin make yo’ livin’ dar w’en you
can’t make it no whars else. But don’t
you git on dem kyars. Ef you do, you er gone
nigger. Ef you ain’t got no money fer ter
walk back wid, you better des b’il’ yo’
nes’ right here. I’m a-talkin’
wid de bark on. I done seed deze yer Arkinsaw
emmygrants come lopin’ back, an’ some
un ’em didn’t have rags nuff on ’em
fer ter hide dere nakidness. You leave dat box
right whar she is, an, let de ’oman take wun
young un an you take de udder wun, an’ den you
git in de middle er de big road an’ pull out
fer de place whar you come fum. I’m preachin’
now.”
Those who watched say the quartet didn’t take
the cars.
UNCLE Remus met a police officer recently.
“You ain’t hear talk er no dead nigger
nowhar dis mawnin’, is you, boss?” asked
the old man earnestly.
