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
Whar is you manderin 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
We er gwine down in de naberhoods er Tallypoosy, an we aint
makin no fuss bout it, nudder.
I disremember, said Uncle Remus, thoughifully, whar
Oh, hits out yan, replied the old man, motioning his head as if it
was just beyond the iron gates of the depot. Hits 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 youer takin dis oman an deze chillun out dar whar dey dunno
nobody? Whars yo perwisions? eying a chest with a rope around
Dems our bedcloze, the old negro explained, noticing the
glance of Uncle Remus. All de vittles what we got we et fo we
An you speck ter retch dar safe an soun? Whars yo ticket?
Aint got none. De man say ez how deyd 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 dont you git
on dem kyarsdont you do it. Yo bes holt is de chain-gang. You
kin make yo livin dar wen you cant make it no whars else. But
dont you git on dem kyars. Ef you do, youer gone nigger. Ef you
aint got no money fer ter walk back wid, you better des bir yo nes
right here. Im a-talkin wid de bark on. I done seed deze yer
Arkinsaw emmygrants come lopein back, an some un em didnt
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. Im preachin now.
Those who watched say the quartet didnt take the cars.