[94] This story was recorded at Chapel Hill, N. C., but, as far as we can tell it came originally from Stone Mountain, Ga. It is given as nearly as possible in the words in which it was told.
“One day John Henry lef’ rock quarry on way to camp an’ had to go through woods an’ fiel’. Well, he met big black bear an’ didn’t do nothin’ but shoot ’im wid his bow an’ arrer, an’ arrer went clean through bear an’ stuck in big tree on other side. So John Henry pulls arrer out of tree an’ pull so hard he falls back ’gainst ’nother tree which is full o’ flitterjacks, an’ first tree is full o’ honey, an’ in pullin’ arrer out o’ one he shaken down honey, an’ in failin’ ’gainst other he shaken down flitterjacks. Well, John Henry set there an’ et honey an’ flitterjacks an’ set there an’ et honey an’ flitterjacks, an’ after while when he went to git up to go, button pop off’n his pants an’ kill a rabbit mo’ ’n hundred ya’ds on other side o’ de tree. An’ so up jumped brown baked pig wid sack o’ biscuits on his back, an’ John Henry et him too.
“So John Henry gits up to go on through woods to camp for supper, ’cause he ’bout to be late an’ he mighty hongry for his supper. John Henry sees lake down hill and thinks he’ll git him a drink o’ water, cause he’s thirsty, too, after eatin’ honey an’ flitterjacks an’ brown roast pig an’ biscuits, still he’s hongry yet. An’ so he goes down to git drink water an’ finds lake ain’t nothin’ but lake o’ honey, an’ out in middle dat lake ain’t nothin but tree full o’ biscuits. An’ so John Henry don’t do nothin’ but drink dat lake o’ honey dry. An’ he et the tree full o’ biscuits, too.
“An’ so ’bout that time it begin’ to git dark, an’ John Henry sees light on hill an’ he think maybe he can git sumpin to eat, cause he’s mighty hongry after big day drillin’. So he look ’roun’ an’ see light on hill an’ runs up to house where light is an’ ast people livin’ dere, why’n hell dey don’t give him sumpin’ to eat, ’cause he ain’t had much. An’ so he et dat, too.
“Gee-hee, hee, dat nigger could eat! But dat ain’t all, cap’n. Dat nigger could wuk mo’ ’n he could eat. He’s greates’ steel driller ever live, regular giaunt, he wus; could drill wid his hammer mo’ ’n two steam drills, an’ some say mo’ ’n ten. Always beggin’ boss to git ’im bigger hammer, always beggin’ boss git ’im bigger hammer. John Henry wus cut out fer big giaunt driller. One day when he wus jes’ few weeks ol’ settin’ on his mammy’s knee he commence cryin’ an’ his mommer say, “John Henry, whut’s matter, little son?” An’ he up an’ say right den an’ dere dat nine-poun’ hammer be death o’ him. An’ so sho’ ’nough he grow up right ’way into bigges’ steel driller worl’ ever see. Why dis I’s tellin’ you now wus jes’ when he’s young fellow; waits til’ I tells you ’bout his drillin’ in mountains an’ in Pennsylvania. An’ so one day he drill all way from Rome, Georgia, to D’catur, mo’ ’n a hundred miles drillin’ in one day, an’ I ain’t sure dat wus his bes’ day. No, I ain’t sure dat wus his bes’ day.
“But, boss, John Henry wus a regular boy, not lak some o’ dese giaunts you read ’bout not likin’ wimmin an’ nothin’. John Henry love to come to town same as any other nigger, only mo’ so. Co’se he’s mo’ important an’ all dat, an’ co’se he had mo’ wimmin ’an anybody else,’some say mo’ ’n ten, but as to dat I don’t know. I means, boss, mo’ wimmen ’an ten men, ’cause, Lawd, I specs he had mo’ ’n thousand wimmin’. An’ John Henry wus a great co’tin’ man, too, cap’n. Always wus dat way. Why, one day when he settin’ by his pa’ in san’ out in front o’ de house, jes’ few weeks old, women come along and claim him fer deir man. An’ dat’s funny, too, but it sho’ wus dat way all his life. An’ so when he come to die John Henry had mo’ wimmin, all dressed in red an’ blue an’ all dem fine colors come to see him dead, if it las’ thing they do, an’ wus mighty sad sight, people all standin’ ’roun’, both cullud an’ white.”
Of course, no Negro believes that the foregoing story is true. But there are innumerable stories which stay within the bounds of possibility—though not always probability, to be sure—and which are thoroughly believed by the Negroes who tell them. One of the most widespread of these, and at the same time interesting and artistic, was concluded as follows by a North Carolina Negro workman:
“An’ John Henry beat dat ol’ steam drill down, but jes’ as he took his las’ stroke he fell over daid wid de hammer in his han’. Dey buried him dere in de tunnel, an’ now dey got his statue carved in solid rock at de mouth o’ de Big Ben’ tunnel on de C. & O.—das right over dere close to Asheville somewhere. No, I ain’t never been dere, but dere he stan’, carved in great big solid rock wid de hammer in his han’.”
CHAPTER XIV
SOME TYPICAL NEGRO TUNES
We have pointed out again and again the utter futility of trying to describe accurately the singing of a group of Negroes when they are at their best. A group of twenty workers singing, carrying various parts, suiting song to work, and vying with one another for supremacy in variations and innovations—this is a scene which defies musical notation and description. And yet the picture which we have tried to present in this volume would certainly be incomplete without the addition of some of the simple melodies of typical workaday songs. They are added, therefore, merely as final touches to the picture rather than as attempts to reproduce the complex harmonies of Negro songs.