In writing this little volume, I had for my primary object the idea of keeping alive many of the old stories, legends, traditions, games, hymns, and superstitions of the Southern slaves, which, with this generation of negroes, will pass away. There are now no more dear old “Mammies” and “Aunties” in our nurseries, no more good old “Uncles” in the workshops, to tell the children those old tales that have been told to our mothers and grandmothers for generations—the stories that kept our fathers and grandfathers quiet at night, and induced them to go early to bed that they might hear them the sooner.
Nor does my little book pretend to be any defence of slavery. I know not whether it was right or wrong (there are many pros and cons on the subject); but it was the law of the land, made by statesmen from the North as well as the South, long before my day, or my father’s or grandfather’s day; and, born under that law a slave-holder, and the descendant of slave-holders, raised in the heart of the cotton section, surrounded by negroes from my earliest infancy, “I KNOW whereof I do speak”; and it is to tell of the pleasant and happy relations that existed between master and slave that I write this story of Diddie, Dumps, and Tot.
The stories, plantation games, and Hymns are just as I heard them in my childhood. I have learned that Mr. Harris, in Uncle Remus, has already given the “Tar Baby”; but I have not seen his book, and, as our versions are probably different, I shall let mine remain just as “Chris” told it to the “chil’en.”
I hope that none of my readers will be shocked at the seeming irreverence of my book, for that intimacy with the “Lord” was characteristic of the negroes. They believed implicitly in a Special Providence and direct punishment or reward, and that faith they religiously tried to impress upon their young charges, white or black; and “heavy, heavy hung over our heads” was the DEVIL!
The least little departure from a marked-out course of morals or manners was sure to be followed by, “Nem’ min’, de deb’l gwine git yer.”
And what the Lord ’lowed and what he didn’t ’low was perfectly well known to every darky. For instance, “he didn’t ’low no singin’ uv week-er-day chunes uv er Sunday,” nor “no singin’ uv reel chunes” (dance music) at any time; nor did he “’low no sassin’ of ole pussons.”
The “chu’ch membahs” had their little differences of opinion. Of course they might differ on such minor points as “immersion” and “sprinklin’,” “open” or “close” communion; but when it came to such grave matters as “singin’ uv reel chunes,” or “sassin’ uv ole pussons,” Baptists and Methodists met on common ground, and stood firm.
Nor did our Mammies and Aunties neglect our manners. To say “yes” or “no” to any person, white or black, older than ourselves was considered very rude; it must always be “yes, mam,” “no, mam”; “yes, sir,” “no, sir”; and those expressions are still, and I hope ever will be, characteristic of Southerners.
The child-life that I have portrayed is over now; for no hireling can ever be to the children what their Mammies were, and the strong tie between the negroes and “marster’s chil’en” is broken forever.
So, hoping that my book (which claims no literary merit) will serve to amuse the little folks, and give them an insight into a childhood peculiar to the South in her palmy days, without further preface I send out my volume of Plantation Child-life.
LOUISE-CLARKE PYRNELLE.
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