Negro Spirituals Read online

  Their best marching song, and one which was invaluable to lift their feet along, as they expressed it, was the following. There was a kind of spring and lilt to it, quite indescribable by words.

  XXIV. GO IN THE WILDERNESS.

  "Jesus call you. Go in de wilderness, Go in de wilderness, go in de wilderness, Jesus call you. Go in de wilderness To wait upon de Lord, Go wait upon de Lord, Go wait upon de Lord, Go wait upon de Lord, my God, He take away de sins of de world. "Jesus a-waitin'. Go in de wilderness, Go, &c. All dem chil'en go in de wilderness To wait upon de Lord." The next was one of those which I had heard in boyish days, brought North from Charleston. But the chorus alone was identical; the words were mainly different, and those here given are quaint enough.

  XXV. BLOW YOUR TRUMPET, GABRIEL.

  "O, blow your trumpet, Gabriel, Blow your trumpet louder;And I want dat trumpet to blow me homeTo my new Jerusalem. "De prettiest ting dat ever I doneWas to serve de Lord when I was young,So blow your trumpet, Gabriel, &c. "O, Satan is a liar, and he conjure too,And if you don't mind, he'll conjure you.So blow your trumpet, Gabriel, &c. "O, I was lost in de wilderness,King Jesus hand me de candle down.So blow your trumpet, Gabriel," &c. The following contains one of those odd transformations of proper names with which their Scriptural citations were often enriched. It rivals their text, "Paul may plant, and may polish wid water," which I have elsewhere quoted, and in which the sainted Apollos would hardly have recognized himself.

  XXVI. IN THE MORNING.

  "In de mornin', In de mornin',Chil'en? Yes, my Lord!Don't you hear de trumpet sound?If I had a-died when I was young,I never would had de race for run,Don't you hear de trumpet sound? "O Sam and Peter was fishin' in de sea,And dey drop de net and follow my Lord.Don't you hear de trumpet sound? "Dere's a silver spade for to dig my graveAnd a golden chain for to let me down.Don't you hear de trumpet sound?In de mornin',In de mornin',Chil'en? Yes, my Lord!Don't you hear de trumpet sound?" These golden and silver fancies remind one of the King of Spain's daughter in "Mother Goose," and the golden apple, and the silver pear, which are doubtless themselves but the vestiges of some simple early composition like this. The next has a humbler and more domestic style of fancy.

  XXVII. FARE YE WELL.

  "My true believers, fare ye well, Fare ye well, fare ye well,Fare ye well, by de grace of God,For I'm going home. Massa Jesus give me a little broomFor to sweep my heart clean,And I will try, by de grace of God,To win my way home." Among the songs not available for marching, but requiring the concentrated enthusiasm of the camp, was "The Ship of Zion," of which they had three wholly distinct versions, all quite exuberant and tumultuous.

  XXVIII. THE SHIP OF ZION.

  "Come along, come along, And let us go home,O, glory, hallelujah!Dis de ole ship o' Zion,Halleloo! Halleloo!Dis de ole ship o' Zion,Hallelujah! "She has landed many a tousand,She can land as many more.O, glory, hallelujah! &c. "Do you tink she will be ableFor to take us all home?O, glory, hallelujah! &c. "You can tell 'em I'm a comin',Halleloo! Halleloo!You can tell 'em I'm a comin',Hallelujah!Come along, come along," &c.

  XXIX. THE SHIP OF ZION. (Second version.)

  "Dis de good ole ship o' Zion,Dis de good ole ship o' Zion,Dis de good ole ship o' Zion,And she's makin' for de Promise Land.She hab angels for de sailors, (Thrice.)And she's, &c.And how you know dey's angels? (Thrice.)And she's, &c.Good Lord, shall I be de one? (Thrice.)And she's, &c. "Dat ship is out a-sailin', sailin', sailin',And she's, &c.She's a-sailin' mighty steady, steady, steady,And she's, &c.She'll neither reel nor totter, totter, totter,And she's, &c.She's a-sailin' away cold Jordan, Jordan, Jordan,And she's, &c.King Jesus is de captain, captain, captain,And she's makin' for de Promise Land."

  XXX. THE SHIP OF ZION (Third version.)

  "De Gospel ship is sailin',Hosann -- sann.O, Jesus is de captain,Hosann -- sann.De angels are de sailors,Hosann-sann.O, is your bundle ready?Hosann-sann.O, have you got your ticket?Hosann -- sann." This abbreviated chorus is given with unspeakable unction.

  The three just given are modifications of an old camp-meeting melody; and the same may be true of the three following, although I cannot find them in the Methodist hymn-books. Each, however, has its characteristic modifications, which make it well worth giving. In the second verse of this next, for instance, "Saviour" evidently has become "soldier."

  XXXI. SWEET MUSIC.

  "Sweet music in heaven,Just beginning for to roll.Don't you love God?Glory, hallelujah! "Yes, late I heard my soldier say,Come, heavy soul, I am de way.Don't you love God?Glory, hallelujah! "I'll go and tell to sinners roundWhat a kind Saviour I have found.Don't you love God?Glory, hallelujah! "My grief my burden long has been,Because I was not cease from sin.Don't you love God?Glory, hallelujah!"

  XXXII. GOOD NEWS.

  "O, good news! O, good news!De angels brought de tidings down,Just comin' from de trone. "As grief from out my soul shall fly,Just comin' from de trone;I'll shout salvation when I die,Good news, O, good news!Just comin' from de trone. "Lord, I want to go to heaven when I die,Good news, O, good news! &c. "De white folks call us a noisy crew,Good news, O, good news!But dis I know, we are happy too,Just comin' from de trone."

  XXXIII. THE HEAVENLY ROAD.

  "You may talk of my name as much as you please,And carry my name abroad,But I really do believe I'm a child of GodAs I walk in de heavenly road.O, won't you go wid me? (Thrice.)For to keep our garments clean. "O, Satan is a mighty busy ole man,And roll rocks in my way; But Jesus is my bosom friend,And roll 'em out of de way.O, won't you go wid me? (Thrice.)For to keep our garments clean. "Come, my brudder, if you never did pray,I hope you may pray to-night;For I really believe I'm a child of GodAs I walk in de heavenly road.O, won't you," &c. Some of the songs had played an historic part during the war. For singing the next, for instance, the negroes had been put in jail in Georgetown, S. C., at the outbreak of the Rebellion. "We'll soon be free," was too dangerous an assertion; and though the chant was an old one, it was no doubt sung with redoubled emphasis during the new events. "De Lord will call us home," was evidently thought to be a symbolical verse; for, as a little drummer-boy explained to me, showing all his white teeth as he sat in the moonlight by the door of my tent, "Dey tink de Lord mean for say de Yankees."

  XXXIV. WE'LL SOON BE FREE.

  "We'll soon be free,We'll soon be free,We'll soon be free,When de Lord will call us home.My brudder, how long,My brudder, how long,My brudder, how long,'Fore we done sufferin' here?It won't be long (Thrice.)'For de Lord will call us home.We'll walk de miry road (Thrice.)Where pleasure never dies.We'll walk de golden street (Thrice.)Where pleasure never dies.My brudder, how long (Thrice.)'Fore we done sufferin' here?We'll soon be free (Thrice.)When Jesus sets me free.We'll fight for liberty (Thrice.)When de Lord will call us home." The suspicion in this case was unfounded, but they had another song to which the Rebellion had actually given rise. This was composed by nobody knew whom, -- though it was the most recent, doubtless, of all these "spirituals," -- and had been sung in secret to avoid detection. It is certainly plaintive enough. The peck of corn and pint of salt were slavery's rations.

  XXXV. MANY THOUSAND GO.

  "No more peck o' corn for me,No more, no more, -- No more peck o' corn for me,Many tousand go. "No more driver's lash for me, (Twice.) No more, &c. "No more pint o' salt for me, (Twice.) No more, &c. "No more hundred lash for me, (Twice.)No more, &c. "No more mistress' call for me, No more, no more, -- No more mistress' call for me,Many tousand go." Even of this last composition, however, we have only the approximate date, and know nothing of the mode of composition. Allan Ramsay says of the Scotch songs, that, no matter who made them, they were soon attributed to the minister of the parish whence they sprang. And I always wondered, about these, whether they had always a conscious and definite origin in some leading mind, or whether they grew by gradual accretion, in an almost unconscious way. On this point I could get no information, though I asked many questions, until at last, one day when I was being rowed across from Beaufort to Lad
ies' Island, I found myself, with delight, on the actual trail of a song. One of the oarsmen, a brisk young fellow, not a soldier, on being asked for his theory of the matter, dropped out a coy confession. "Some good sperituals," he said, "are start jess out o' curiosity. I been a-raise a sing, myself, once."

  My dream was fulfilled, and I had traced out, not the poem alone, but the poet. I implored him to proceed.

  "Once we boys," he said, "went for tote some rice, and de nigger-driver, he keep a-callin' on us; and I say, 'O, de ole nigger-driver!' Den anudder said, 'Fust ting my mammy tole me was, notin' so bad as nigger-driver.' Den I made a sing, just puttin' a word, and den anudder word."

  Then he began singing, and the men, after listening a moment, joined in the chorus as if it were an old acquaintance, though they evidently had never heard it before. I saw how easily a new "sing" took root among them.

  XXXVI. THE DRIVER.

  "O, de ole nigger-driver!O, gwine away!Fust ting my mammy tell me,O, gwine away!Tell me 'bout de nigger-driver,O, gwine away!Nigger-driver second devil,O, gwine away!Best ting for do he driver,O, gwine away!Knock he down and spoil he labor,O, gwine away!" It will be observed that, although this song is quite secular in its character, its author yet called it a "spiritual." I heard but two songs among them, at any time, to which they would not, perhaps, have given this generic name. One of these consisted simply in the endless repetition -- after the manner of certain college songs -- of the mysterious line, "Rain fall and wet Becky Martin."

  But who Becky Martin was, and why she should or should not be wet, and whether the dryness was a reward or a penalty, none could say. I got the impression that, in either case, the event was posthumous, and that there was some tradition of grass not growing over the grave of a sinner; but even this was vague, and all else vaguer.

  The other song I heard but once, on a morning when a squad of men came in from picket duty, and chanted it in the most rousing way. It had been a stormy and comfortless night, and the picket station was very exposed. It still rained in the morning when I strolled to the edge of the camp, looking out for the men, and wondering how they had stood it. Presently they came striding along the road, at a great pace, with their shining rubber blankets worn as cloaks around them, the rain streaming from these and from their equally shining faces, which were almost all upon the broad grin, as they pealed out this remarkable ditty: --

  HANGMAN JOHNNY.

  "O, dey call me Hangman Johnny!O, ho! O, ho!But I never hang nobody,O, hang, boys, hang! "O, dey call me Hangman Johnny!O, ho! O, ho!But we'll all hang togedder,O, hang, boys, hang!" My presence apparently checked the performance of another verse, beginning, "De buckra 'list for money," apparently in reference to the controversy about the pay-question, then just beginning, and to the more mercenary aims they attributed to the white soldiers. But "Hangman Johnny" remained always a myth as inscrutable as "Becky Martin."

  As they learned all their songs by ear, they often strayed into wholly new versions, which sometimes became popular, and entirely banished the others. This was amusingly the case, for instance, with one phrase in the popular camp-song of "Marching Along," which was entirely new to them until our quartermaster taught it to them, at my request. The words, "Gird on the armor," were to them a stumbling-block, and no wonder, until some ingenious ear substituted, "Guide on de army," which was at once accepted, and became universal.

  "We'll guide on de army, and be marching along." is now the established version on the Sea Islands.

  These quaint religious songs were to the men more than a source of relaxation; they were a stimulus to courage and a tie to heaven. I never overheard in camp a profane or vulgar song. With the trifling exceptions given, all had a religious motive, while the most secular melody could not have been more exciting. A few youths from Savannah, who were comparatively men of the world, had learned some of the "Ethiopian Minstrel" ditties, imported from the North. These took no hold upon the mass; and, on the other hand, they sang reluctantly, even on Sunday, the long and short metres of the hymnbooks, always gladly yielding to the more potent excitement of their own "spirituals." By these they could sing themselves, as had their fathers before them, out of the contemplation of their own low estate, into the sublime scenery of the Apocalypse. I remember that this minor-keyed pathos used to seem to me almost too sad to dwell upon, while slavery seemed destined to last for generations; but now that their patience has had its perfect work, history cannot afford to lose this portion of its record. There is no parallel instance of an oppressed race thus sustained by the religious sentiment alone. These songs are but the vocal expression of the simplicity of their faith and the sublimity of their long resignation.