Stories Mammy Told Me

THESE are some of the stories told to a little girl on a sugar plantation in Southern Louisiana sixty years ago. Every night when she was put to bed some delightful adventure would be related by her old

Negro mammy, who drew them from a seemingly inexhaustible repertoire. Mammy was middle-aged, very straight, with a kind, intelligent face. She was usually dressed in blue or purple calico, with white apron, collar, and cuffs, immaculately clean, and she always wore a bandanna handkerchief on her head, tied in a mysterious and beautiful way which in Louisiana was called a tignon. The tales that follow are typical of the bedtime stories which in those days were told to children by beloved Negro mammies in all parts of the South.

MR. DOG LEARNS TO WHISTLE

What you want Mammy to tell you ’bout to-night, honey? ’Bout why Mr. Dog is always a-chasin’ Mr. Rabbit?

Well, in de ol’ time Mr. Dog had a tiny little mouf, more smaller dan Mr. Rabbit. He don’t mind ’bout dat, ’cepen fer one thing — he cain’t whistle like Mr. Rabbit. So one day Mr. Dog ax Mr. Rabbit how come he cain’t whistle pretty like Mr. Rabbit, an’ Mr. Rabbit he say it’s ’cause Mr. Dog’s mouf is too little. ‘If you’s willin’,’ says Mr. Rabbit, ‘I kin cut yo’ mouf fer you so’s you kin whistle good’; an’ Mr. Dog he say all right.

So he lay hisse’f down and let Mr. Rabbit climb onter his back, an’ Mr. Rabbit git out he pocket knife an’ cut Mr. Dog’s mouf — bof sides mos’ back to de years! Den he tell Mr. Dog to see ef he kin whistle. But we’n Mr. Dog try to whistle, all de soun’ dat come outen he mouf is ‘Woof! Woof!’ — an’ Mr. Rabbit jes’ set by de road an’ mos’ bus’ he sides laughin’. Dis make Mr. Dog so mad he cain’t see, but w’en he try to ketch Mr. Rabbit, Mr. Rabbit he jes’ ain’t dere — he done lef ’ lickerty split up de road.

An’ fum dat time on Mr. Dog been lookin’ fer Mr. Rabbit to pay ’im back fer dis-yere trick. An’ dat’s how come Mr. Dog is always a-chasin’ Mr. Rabbit whenebber he lay eyes on ’im.

MR. ROOSTER’S FINE CLOTHES

Yes, chile, dey wuz fren’s in de ol’ time — all de critters wuz fren’s. In dat day an’ age Mr. Alligator an’ Mr. Rooster wuz bof co’tin’ two sisters, an’ one evenin’ Mr. Rooster he say to Mr. Alligator, ‘Come along, le’s us go an’ call on de young ladies up at dey house.’

But Mr. Alligator he say, ‘No, I cain’t go, ’cause I ain’t got no fittin’ clo’s to put on to hide ma bumpy back.’

Dat make Mr. Rooster feel kinder sorry fer ’im, so he say, ‘I kin len’ you a fine suit er clo’s,’ ’cause Mr. Rooster he always have mo’ clo’s den he kin put on.

So he dressed Mr. Alligator up mighty fine an’ dey went to see de ladies. Mr. Alligator wuz so well please wid hisse’f, an’ behave hisse’f so well, an’ tol’ de ladies sich funny tales, dat nobody ain’t pay no ’tention to Mr. Rooster. After a while he got tired sittin’ dere by hisse’f, so he walked out on de gallery an’ flop his wings like dis, ‘Plop, plop, plop,’ an’ throwed back his haid an’ hollered, ’I wants all my things back!’

De young ladies dey looks at Mr. Alligator an’ dey say, ‘Wot you got dat belong to Mr. Rooster?’

Mr. Alligator he say, ’I’se borr’d he hat,’ an’ he went out an’ give Mr. Rooster he hat. Den he went back an’ commence talkin’ to de ladies.

But Mr. Rooster he flop his wings ag’in, ‘Plop, plop, plop! I wants all my things back! ’

De ladies say, ‘Wot you got dat belong to Mr. Rooster?’

Dis time Mr. Alligator he say, ’I’se borr’d he shoes,’ an’ he went out an’ take off Mr. Rooster’s shoes an’ give ’um to him. Den he went back ag’in an’ commence talking to de ladies.

But Mr. Rooster he flop his wings ag’in, ‘Plop, plop, plop,’ an’ hollered louder den ever, ‘I wants all my things back!’

An’ de ladies say, ‘ Wot is you got now dat belong to Mr. Rooster?’

But Mr. Alligator wuz ’shame to tell ’em, so he say, ‘You’ll have to ’scuse me, ladies. It’s time fer me to be goin’ home.’ So he lef’, an’ w’en he got to Mr. Rooster, bless yo’ heart ef he did n’t jump on Mr. Rooster an’ pull all his tail fedders out.

An’ dey ain’t never been fren’s, fum dat day twell now.

WHY MR. SQUIRREL LIVES IN A TREE

You know, honey, in de ol’ time de an mals use’ to crop de lan’ jes’ like folks, an’ Mr. Bear, Mr. Pig, an’ Mr. Squerl dey done ’greed ’mong deyse’f to go croppin’ on shares.

Well, one day Mr. Bear wuz ploughin’, an’ he say, ‘Dis-yere ploughshare sho’ is dull. I gotta ca’y it to de blacksmit’ to git it sharpen’.’ An’ Mr. Pig he say dat all right. So Mr. Bear he lef’ wid de ploughshare. W’en he got to de man’s house an’ ax ’im ’bout sharp’nin’ it, de man say, ‘I cain’t stop ma wuck right now, but I kin fix it fer you dis evenin’. You kin stay yere to-night an’ go home by sunup to-morrer.’

So Mr. Bear he say, ‘Thank you, sah.’

Well, w’en de man’s son Roody corned in, de man say, ‘Come on, son, we gwine to kill Mr. Bear.’ An’ dat night dey kilt Air. Bear an’ salt him down in de barrel.

De nex’ day Mr. Pig he say, ‘I gotta go see whar is Mr. Bear. Maybe he done los’ hisse’f in de woods.’ So Air. Pig he went to de blacksmit’ an’ ax him is he seen Mr. Bear. De man say he ain’t seen him sence yestiddy; but ef Mr. Pig kin wait till he git thoo de wuck he doin’ he’ll go wid him an’ he’p him look fer Mr. Bear in de woods.

So Mr. Pig he say, ‘Thank you, sah.’

Well, ’long toward sundown dey start out to look fer Mr. Bear, an’ dey look an’ dey look, all thoo de woods, till hit’s dark night. Den de man say, ‘ You kin stay yere tonight, an ’ I ’ll he’p you ag’in to look fer him to-morrer.’

An’ Mr. Pig he say, ‘Thank you, sail.’

Soon as Mr. Pig drops off to sleep, de man calls Roody, an’ dey kills Mr. Pig an’ salts him down in de barrel.

Well, w’en Mr. Squerl seed dat Mr. Bear an’ needer Mr. Pig ain’t comed home, he got oneasy in his min’, an’ he say he better go look fer ’um, ’cause maybe dey done los’ deyse’f in de woods, or done gotten inter some kin’ er trouble. So he go to de man’s house an’ ax him did he see Mr. Bear an’ Mr. Pig. De man say he ain’t seen ’em sence yestiddy, but maybe dey done los’ deyse’f in de woods, an’ ef Mr. Squerl kin wait till mawnin’ he gwine he’p him look fer ’um.

So Mr. Squerl he say, ‘Thank you, sah,’ an’ de man tol’ Mr. Squerl he kin sleep in de baid wid Roody.

Well, Mr. Squerl wait till Roody wuz asleep, den he take Roody’s clo’s an’ put ’em on, an got back inter de bank An fore long de man come in, an’, secin’ Roody’s clo’s on Mr. Squerl, he lean down an’ say, ‘Come on, son, we gwine kill Mr. Squerl an’ salt him down.’ Wid dat Mr. Squerl he jump up an’ grab de axe an’ chop off Roody’s haid befo’ de man come back wid de light. Den he he’p de man salt him down in de barrel, an’ arter de man done gone back to baid Mr. Squerl tooken Roody’s haid an’ chunk it in de barrel.

In de mawnin’ de man say, ‘Come on, son, le’s us see how much meat we-all’s got in de barrel,’ an’ w’en he open de barrel de fust thing he seed wnz Roody’s haid. Den he made a grab fer Mr. Squerl, but Mr. Squerl wuz too quick fer him. He jes’ frisk he tail an’ wuz up iu a tree befo’ you could wink yo’ eye.

De man say, ‘Jes’ you wait till I gits ma gun,’ but he say to hisse’f, ‘Somebody got to watch Mr. Squerl so he don’t git outer de tree.’ So he calls Mr. Bullfrog an’ ax him ef he’ll watch Mr. Squerl while he gits his gun fum de house.

Air. Bullfrog he answer, ‘Awt, awt, ef you gib me de haid. Awt, awt, ef you gib me de haid.’

So de man say he ’grees to dat, an’ he go to git he gun.

Den Mr. Squerl, settin’ up in de tree, he look all about to see ef he kin fin’ sumpin to chunk at Mr. Bullfrog, but he cain’t fin’ nuttin’, till at las’ he feel in de pocket ob Roody’s coat an’ fin’ a plug er terbacker. He bites offen a big piece an’ chaws it up good, an’ den he ’owed it down — spang! — onter Mr. Bullfrog’s haid. It spatter into he eyes, so Mr. Bullfrog is plum blind, an’ dat’s how Mr. Squerl got de chance to git down outer de tree an’ git on home.

An’ he ain’t never fergot how he save hisse’f fum de man dat time w’en he clumb up de tree. He take to livin’ in a tree fum den on, an’ frisk hisse’f up in de high branches soon’s anybody look like he want to ketch ’im. I guess you notice dat. Well, dat’s why.

Ain’t you sleep yit, honey? You want Alammy to sing you dat song ’bout goin’ to res’?

SARA AVERY MCILHENNY