Louisiana dance 1852

Northup, Solomon; Twelve Years a Slave; Derby, Orton, and Mulligan, Buffalo, New York, 1853; pp. 284-285

https://archive.org/stream/twelveyearsslave00nort#page/284/mode/1up

“… on Tuesday [I] went to the old Norwood place, which is the third plantation above Marshall’s, on the same side of the water.

This estate is now owned by Miss Mary McCoy, a lovely girl, some twenty years of age. She is the beauty and the glory of Bayou Boeuf. She owns about a hundred working hands, besides a great many house servants, yard boys, and young children. Her brother-in-law, who resides on the adjoining estate, is her general agent. She is beloved by all her slaves, and good reason indeed have they to be thankful that they have fallen into such gentle hands. Nowhere on the bayou are there such feasts, such merrymaking, as at young Madam McCoy’s. Thither, more than to any other place, do the old and the young for miles around love to repair in the time of the Christmas holidays; for nowhere else can they find such delicious repasts; nowhere else can they hear a voice speaking to them so pleasantly. No one is so well beloved — no one fills so large a space in the hearts of a thousand slaves, as young Madam McCoy, the orphan mistress, of the old Norwood estate.

On my arrival at her place, I found two or three hundred had assembled. The table was prepared in a long building, which she had erected expressly for her slaves to dance in. It was covered with every variety of food the country afforded, and was pronounced by general acclamation to be the rarest of dinners. Roast turkey, pig, chicken, duck, and all kinds of meat, baked, boiled, and broiled, formed a line the whole length of the extended table, while the vacant spaces were filled with tarts, jellies, and frosted cake, and pastry of many kinds. The young mistress walked around the table, smiling and saying a kind word to each one, and seemed to enjoy the scene exceedingly.

When the dinner was over the tables were removed to make room for the dancers. I tuned my violin and struck up a lively air ; while some joined in a nimble reel, others patted and sang their simple but melodious songs, filling the great room with music mingled with the sound of human voices and the clatter of many feet.

Louisiana dance 1848

Northup, Solomon; Twelve Years a Slave; Derby, Orton, and Mulligan, Buffalo, 1853; pp. 213-220

https://archive.org/stream/twelveyearsslavenort#page/213/mode/1up

The only respite from constant labor the slave has through the whole year, is during the Christmas holidays. Epps allowed us three — others allow four, five and six days, according to the measure of their generosity. It is the only time to which they look forward with any interest or pleasure. They are glad when night comes, not only because it brings them a few hours repose, but because it brings them one day nearer Christmas. It is hailed with equal delight by the old and the young; even Uncle Abram ceases to glorify Andrew Jackson, and Patsey forgets her many sorrows, amid the general hilarity of the holidays. It is the time of feasting, and frolicking, and fiddling — the carnival season with the children of bondage. They are the only days when they are allowed a little restricted liberty, and heartily indeed do they enjoy it.

It is the custom for one planter to give a “Christmas supper,” inviting the slaves from neighboring plantations to join his own on the occasion; for instance, one year it is given by Epps, the next by Marshall, the next by Hawkins, and so on. Usually from three to five hundred are assembled, coming together on foot, in carts, on horseback, on mules, riding double and triple, sometimes a boy and girl, at others a girl and two boys, and at others again a boy, a girl and an old woman. Uncle Abram astride a mule, with Aunt Phebe and Patsey behind him, trotting towards a Christmas supper, would be no uncommon sight on Bayou Boeuf.

Then, too, ”of all days i’ the year,” they array themselves in their best attire. The cotton coat has been washed clean, the stump of a tallow candle has been applied to the shoes, and if so fortunate as to possess a rimless or a crownless hat, it is placed jauntily on the head. They are welcomed with equal cordiality, however, if they come bare-headed and bare-footed to the feast. As a general thing, the women wear handkerchiefs tied about their heads, but if chance has thrown in their way a fiery red ribbon, or a cast-off bonnet of their mistress’ grandmother, it is sure to be worn on such occasions, Red — the deep blood red — is decidedly the favorite color among the enslaved damsels of my acquaintance. If a red ribbon does not encircle the neck, you will be certain to find all the hair of their woolly heads tied up with red strings of one sort or another.

The table is spread in the open air, and loaded with varieties of meat and piles of vegetables. Bacon and corn meal at such times are dispensed with. Sometimes the cooking is performed in the kitchen on the plantation, at others in the shade of wide branching trees. In the latter case, a ditch is dug in the ground, and wood laid in and burned until it is tilled with glowing coals, over which chickens, ducks, turkeys, pigs, and not unfrequently the entire body of a wild ox, are roasted. They are furnished also with flour, of which biscuits are made, and often with peach and other preserves, with tarts, and every manner and description of pies, except the mince, that being an article of pastry as yet unknown among them. Only the slave who has lived all the years on his scanty allowance of meal and bacon, can appreciate such suppers. White people in great numbers assemble to witness the gastronomical enjoyments.

They seat themselves at the rustic table — the males on one side, the females on the other. The two between whom there may have been an exchange of tenderness, invariably manage to sit opposite; for the omnipresent Cupid disdains not to hurl his arrows into the simple hearts of slaves. Unalloyed and exulting happiness lights up the dark faces of them all. The ivory teeth, contrasting with their black complexions, exhibit two long, white streaks the whole extent of the table. All round the bountiful board a multitude of eyes roll in ecstacy. Giggling and laughter and the clattering of cutlery and crockery succeed. Cuffee’s elbow hunches his neighbor’s side, impelled by an involuntary impulse of delight; Nelly shakes her finger at Sambo and laughs, she knows not why, and so the fun and merriment flows on.

“When the viands have disappeared, and the hungry maws of the children of toil are satisfied, then, next in the order of amusement, is the Christmas dance. My business on these gala days always was to play on the violin. The African race is a music-loving one, proverbially; and many there were among my fellow-bondsmen whose organs of tune were strikingly developed, and who could thumb the banjo with dexterity; but at the expense of appearing egotistical, I must, nevertheless, declare, that I was considered the Ole Bull of Bayou Boeuf. My master often received letters, sometimes from a distance of ten miles, requesting him to send me to play at a ball or festival of the whites, He received his compensation, and usually I also returned with many picayunes jingling in my pockets — the extra contributions of those to whose delight I had administered. In this manner I became more acquainted than I otherwise would, up and down the bayou. The young men and maidens of Holmesville always knew there was to be a jollification somewhere, whenever Platt Epps was seen passing through the town with his fiddle in his hand. “Where are you going now, Platt?” and “What is coming off tonight, Platt?” would be interrogatories issuing from every door and window, and many a time when there was no special hurry, yielding to pressing importunities, Platt would draw his bow, and sitting astride his mule, perhaps, discourse musically to a crowd of delighted children, gathered around him in the street.

Alas! had it not been for my beloved violin, I scarcely can conceive how I could have endured the long years of bondage. It introduced me to great houses — relieved me of many days’ labor in the field — supplied me with conveniences for my cabin — with pipes and tobacco, and extra pairs of shoes, and often-times led me away from the presence of a hard master, to witness scenes of jollity and mirth. It was my companion — the friend of my bosom — triumphing loudly when I was joyful, and uttering its soft, melodious consolations when I was sad. Often, at midnight, when sleep had fled affrighted from the cabin, and my soul was disturbed and troubled with the contemplation of my fate, it would sing me a song of peace. On holy Sabbath days, when an hour or two of leisure was allowed, it would accompany me to some quiet place on the bayou bank, and, lifting up its voice, discourse kindly and pleasantly indeed. It heralded my name round the country — made me friends, who, otherwise would not have noticed me — gave me an honored seat at the yearly feasts, and secured the loudest and heartiest welcome of them all at the Christmas dance. The Christmas dance! Oh, ye pleasure-seeking sons and daughters of idleness, who move with measured step, listless and snail-like, through the slow-winding cotillon, if ye wish to look upon the celerity, if not the “poetry of motion” — upon genuine happiness, rampant and unrestrained — go down to Louisiana, and see the slaves dancing in the starlight of a Christmas night.

On that particular Christmas I have now in my mind, a description whereof will serve as a description of the day generally, Miss Lively and Mr. Sam, the first belonging to Stewart, the latter to Roberts, started the ball. It was well known that Sam cherished an ardent passion for Lively, as also did one of Marshall’s and another of Carey’s boys; for Lively was lively indeed, and a heart-breaking coquette withal. It was a victory for Sam Roberts, when, rising from the repast, she gave him her hand for the first “figure” in preference to either of his rivals. They were somewhat crest-fallen, and, shaking their heads angrily, rather intimated they would like to pitch into Mr. Sam and hurt him badly. But not an emotion of wrath ruffled the placid bosom of Samuel, as his legs flew like drum-sticks down the outside and up the middle, by the side of his bewitching partner. The whole company cheered them vociferously, and, excited with the applause, they continued “tearing down” after all the others had become exhausted and halted a moment to recover breath. But Sam’s superhuman exertions overcame him finally, leaving Lively alone, yet whirling like a top. Thereupon one of Sam’s rivals, Pete Marshall, dashed in, and, with might and main, leaped and shuffled and threw himself into every conceivable shape, as if determined to show Miss Lively and all the world that Sam Roberts was of no account.

Pete’s affection, however, was greater than his discretion. Such violent exercise took the breath out of him directly, and he dropped like an empty bag. Then was the time for Harry Carey to try his hand; but Lively also soon out-winded him, amidst hurrahs and shouts, fully sustaining her well-earned reputation of being the ” fastest gal” on the bayou.

One “set” off, another takes its place, he or she remaining longest on the floor receiving the most uproarious commendation, and so the dancing continues until broad daylight. It does not cease with the sound of the fiddle, but in that case they set up a music peculiar to themselves. This is called “patting,” accompanied with one of those unmeaning songs, composed rather for its adaptation to a certain tune or measure, than for the purpose of expressing any distinct idea. The patting is performed by striking the hands on the knees, then striking the hands together, then striking the right shoulder with one hand, the left with the other — all the while keeping time with the feet, and singing, perhaps, this song :

“Harper’s creek and roarin’ ribber, Thar, my dear, we’ll live forebber;
Den we’ll go to de Ingin nation, All I want in dis creation, Is pretty little wife and big plantation.
Chorus. Up dat oak and down dat ribber, Two overseers and one little nigger”

Or, if these words are not adapted to the tune called for, it may be that “Old Hog Eye” is — a rather solemn and startling specimen of versification, not, however, to be appreciated unless heard at the South. It runneth as follows :
“Who’s been here since I’ve been gone? Pretty liltle gal wid a josey on.
Hog Eye! Old Hog Eye! And Hosey too!”
Never see de like since I was born, Here come a little gal wid a josey on.
Hog Eye! Old Hog Eye! And Hosey too!”

Or, may be the following, perhaps, equally nonsensical, but full of melody, nevertheless, as it flows from the negro’s mouth :
“Ebo Dick and Jurdan’s Jo, Them two niggers stole my yo’.
Chorus. Hop Jim along, Walk Jim along, Talk Jim along,” &c.
Old black Dan, as black as tar, He dam glad he was not dar. Hop Jim along,” &c.

Virginia dance 1838

The Farmers’ Register, A Monthly Publication, Devoted to the Improvement of the Practice and Support of the Interests of Agriculture, Edmund Ruffin, editor, Petersburg, Virginia, 1838. pp. 59-61

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The Persimmon Tree and the Beer Dance

Some years ago, I rode in the night to visit a patient, and as I passed the house of Mr. Samuel Poe, in the lower end of Prince Edward, I heard the tones of a banjor, and was told by the old gentleman, (Mr. Poe,) that his servants had brewed a barrel of persimmon beer, and he gave them the privilege of having what they called a “beer dance.” Curiosity induced me to ride to the door, accompanied by Mr. Poe, and the other gentlemen. And here, we saw rare sport! “an unco sight!” Not, however, such a sight as Tam O’Shanter saw when he peeped into “Kirk-Alloway” for the dancers there were “warlocks and witches;” here they were Virginia slaves, dancing jigs and clapping “juber,” over a barrel of persimmon beer. It occurred to me, that if Tam could have made his appearance about this time on his gray mare Meg, the scene would have frightened Maggie, more than the “bleeze” of “Kirk-Alloway;” and Tam might have roared out, “weel done Cutty Sark!” a thousand times, and the torch-lights would not have been extinguished.

The ball was opened with great ceremony by singing a song known to our Virginia slaves by the name of “who zen-John, who-za.”

“Old black bull come down de hollow.

He shake hi’ tail, you hear him bellow;

When he bellow he jar de river,

He paw de yearth, he mike it quiver.

Who-zen-John, who-za.”

This was a sky rocket thrown out, as a prelude to the grand exhibition, and will give the reader some idea of what is to follow. Those who could not get seats in the house, took their stand outside, peeping in the door and through the logs, making remarks on the dancers; and here I will observe, that there was a complete Babel jargon, a confusion of tongues!

“Down the road, come show me de motion.” “Set to your partner, Dolly.”—”Cut him out, Gabe.”—”Sal, does put her foot good.”—”Yonder come de coal-black horse.”—”The yallow roan’s up! hear how he lumbers! he’s a rael stormer, ring clipper, snow-belcher iind drag out.'”—”Congo is a scrouger; he’s up a sum, and no hug-eater

lell you; he carries a broad row, weeds out every

thing—hoes de corn, and digs de inters.”—”Molly

look like kildeejshe move like, handsaw—see how

she shake herself”—”Hello! in there, I wish

you all sen’ us out some simmon beer.” “Lnr!

tee how Aggy shake her foot! she. ken pull the

whip-saw down.”—”Nick? come here and see

Ben cross hi’ bow-legs! look at hi’ mouf! when

he grin, hi’ mouf and teeth like hen-nets full o’

eggs,”—”Nick.! | reckon if* Tamar’s cat stay in

theremuch longer, they will mash her guts out; her

skin ‘on/ hold peas.”—”Come here, Gabe; come,

if you please; Jackson’s Dick is dancing with

Ellington’s Nance! see how she quivers! Now.

Nance!—Try, Nance!—She does but look pret-

ty.—When she sets and turns, she is like a picler

i—and she is fine form, hack. Dick shan’t have

Nance; I’ll kick him high as the meat house first.”

[Sings.] “She bin to the north, she bin to the

south, she bin to the east, she bin to the west,

she bin so far beyond the sun, and she is

the gal lor me.”—”Dick had’nt no business

dancing with Nance; he ain’t a man of gump-

tion. I tried him, and he can’t he made to

understand the duramatical part of the function,

the function of the fundamental, and the imperaliiy

of diirimental things. Gabe? Dick’s a lool, and

vou may tell him Sambo says so: he is knoek-

knee’d, and ugly enough to eat Gumbo.” “Well.

| know that; sing on Sambo.”

“I went from the great-house, down to the kitchen,

To get a knot of light-wood to see to go fishing,

To treat granny Dinah;

I went to the stable, I cotch master gray hor<s«,

I clap the saddle pon him and he trot like ilo’nk care.

He do’/ifrcare, he do’nk care.

Having become tired of this out of door conversation, we concluded to view the group in the house. Here the banjor-man, was seated on the beer barrel, in an old chair. A long white cowtail, queued with red ribbon, ornamented his head, and hnng gracefully down his back ; over this he wore a three-cocked hat, decorated with peaCock feathers, a rose cockade, a bunch of ripe persimmons, and to cap the climax, three pods of red pepper as a top-knot. Tumming his banjor, grinning with ludicrous gesticulations and playing off bis wild notes to the company. Before him stood two athletic blacks, with open mouth and pearl while teeth, clapping Juber to the notes of the banjor ; the fourth black man held in his right hand a jug gourd of persimmon beer, and in his left, a dipper or water-gourd, to serve the company; while two black women were employed in filling the fire-place, six feet square, with larded persimmon dough. The rest of the company, male and female, were dancers, except a little squat wench, who held the torch light. I had neverseen Juber clapped to the banjor before, and you may suppose I looked upon such a novel scene, with some degree of surprise. Indeed i con

templated the dancing group, wiih sensations of

i wonder and astonishment! The clappers rested

I the right foot on the heel, and i:s clap on the floor

was in perfect unison with the notes of the banjor,

and palms of the hand* on the corresponding ex-

tremities; while the dancers were all jigging it

‘away in the merriest possible gaiety of heart,

having the most lodricuous twists, wry jerks, and

1 Hcxile contortions of the body and limbs, thut hu-

man imagination can divine.

“The whole world is a ball we find,

The water dances to the wind;

The sea itself, at night and noon,

Kist-s and dances to the moon.

The earth and planets round the sun,

Still dance; nor will their dance be done.

Till nature in one blast is blended;

Then may we say the ball is ended.”

The rude ballad set to Juber, corresponds admirably with the music and actors in this wild fantastic, dance. While the clappers were laboring in the performance of their office, they responded at the same to the notes of the banjor.

“Juber up and Juber down,

Juber all around de town,

Juber dis, and Juber dat,

And Juber roun’ the siinmon vat.

Hoe corn, hill tobacco,

Get over double trouble, Juber boys, Juber.

Uncle Phil, he went to mill.

He suck de sow, he starve de pig,

Eat the simmon, gi’ me deseed,

1 told him, I was not in need.

Hoe corn! bill tobacco!

Get over double trouble, Juber boys, Juber.

Aunt Kate? look on the hi»h shelf,

Take down the husky dumpMu,

I’ll cat it wi’ my simmon cake,

To cure the rotten belly-ach.

Hoe corn! hill tobacco!

Get over double trouble, Juber boy Juber.

Raccoon went to simmon town,

To choose the rotten from de soun,

Dare he sot upon a sill,

Kating of a whip-poor-will.

Hoe corn! hill lobaccco!

Get over double trouble, Juber boys Juber.”

When supper was announced, the banjor-man, was first served; then the clappers and beer bearer, and lastly, the beaux and their partners. Each had a huge loaf of larded persimmon bread with a gourd of beer.

Thus ended the beer dance, and as I lefi the house, I thought to myself, that Virginia slaves, were the happiest of the human race—and I still think so.

“The learn’d is happy, nature to explore.

The fool is happy that he knows no more.”

Solomon the wisest man, says—” in much wisdom, there is much grief: and he that increase! h knowledge, increaeeth sorrow.”

The, beer dance, I have attempted to describe, is a faint representation of what actually occurred. It r»quires an abler pen to it justice; I feel mortified that I cannot give a more vivid and glowing ilesj cri))!inn ofthese black beaux, who acleil so conspicuous Ii part with )heir partners in the persimmon junket. The broad grin, the smile of the liule. squat wench, seen through Iter torch-light, (lie hutniil lip, the twist or the tongue, the white teeth, lite olilti| le look, the glance nl’ the eye, the loss of the head, the quaint how, tne curved shin, the handy leg, the niinhle jiir. the aflecled airol the wenches. J the profuse perspiration, the cloud of dust, the hi-‘ rid mom, ilie phiz of the hanjor man, the banjor’s j turn, turn, tarn, and Jitbi’r’s song and clap, would \ call forth the combined talent? and lively imagination of a Win, an Irving, a Burns, an Addison, and Diyden. And if a northern abolitionist, with his pocket filled with inflammatory documents mid resolutions, could have witnessed such a scene in Virginia, he would, in my opinion, have consign ed Ihem lu the Haines; Ins great love for the blacks, to the contrary notwithstanding.

In conclusion, [ offer no apology for introducing in your columns, and bringing before your intelligent readers, such a novel, rude production, as the beer dance. We are to derive from such scenes in this lile, much useful instruction; the poet, divine, statesman, philosopher, and all mankind, may be benefited by looking down in lili?, in order to explore the dark corners of nature.

There is thisconsolutiun to be derived from the scene I have described; the pleasing recollection that God has placed us high in the scale of human beings; and we should all appreciate its worth.

I drink you the following sentiment, in a glass of persimmon ale: May the product of the persimmon tree, substitute Ibreign wines, molasses, sugar, tea, and code.e, and save the “‘old dominion” thousands annually.

With sentiments of regard, and esteem, I am,

Your obedient servant.

William B. Smith.

Louisiana dance 1844

from the book Twelve Years a Slave, Narrative of Solomon Northup, a citizen of New York, kidnapped in Washington city in 1841, and rescued in 1853, from a cotton plantation near the Red River in Louisiana, published in 1853

https://archive.org/stream/twelveyearsslave00nort#page/181/mode/1up

Slave owner Edwin Epps of Louisiana would sometimes come back to his cotton plantation drunk. If in a good mood, there would be a dance. Solomon Northup would be the fiddler. The dance could last all night.

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“Then there must be a merry-making. Then all must move to the measure of a tune. Then Master Epps must needs regale his melodious ears with the music of a fiddle. Then did he become buoyant, elastic, gaily “tripping the light fantastic toe” around the piazza and all through the house. Tibeats, at the time of my sale, had informed him I could play on the violin. He had received his Information from Ford. Through the importunities of Mistress Epps, her husband had been induced to purchase me one during a visit to New-Orleans. Frequently I was called into the house to play before the family, mistress being passionately fond of music. All of us would be assembled In the large room of the great house, whenever Epps came home in one of his dancing moods. No matter how worn out and tired we were, there must be a general dance. When properly stationed on the floor, I would strike up a tune. “Dance, you d — d niggers, dance,” Epps would shout. Then there must be no halting or delay, no slow or languid movements; all must be brisk, and lively, and alert. “Up and down, heel and toe, and away we go,” was the order of the hour. Epps’ portly form mingled with those of his dusky slaves, moving rapidly through all the mazes of the dance. Usually his whip was in his hand, ready to fix all about the ears of the presumptuous thrall, who dared to rest a moment, or even stop to catch his breath. When he was himself exhausted, there would be a brief cessation, but it would be very brief. With a slash, and crack, and flourish of the whip, he would shout again, “Dance, niggers, dance,” and away they would go once more, pell-mell, while I, spurred by an occasional sharp touch of the lash, sat in a corner, extracting from my violin a marvelous quick-stepping tune. The mistress often upbraided him, declaring she would return to her father’s house at Cheneyville ; nevertheless, there were times she could not restrain a burst of laughter, on witnessing his uproarious pranks. Frequently, we were thus detained until almost morning. Bent with excessive toil — actually suffering for a little refreshing rest, and feeling rather as if we could cast ourselves upon the earth and weep, many a night in the house of Edwin Epps have his unhappy slaves been made to dance and laugh.”

Arkansas dance 1860

from the book Uncle Gabe Tucker; or Reflection, Song, and Sentiment in the Quarters, by John Alfred Macon, written in 1882, published in Philadelphia 1883. p. 78-80.

https://archive.org/stream/unclegabetucker00macogoog#page/n86/mode/2up

The illustration in the front of the book shows this to be in a slave quarters. It is likely during slavery around the year 1860. The location is not given but several items seem to be in the southern United States, probably Arkansas. It is a longways dance with fiddler and prompter. The prompter seems to be frustrated and wanting to goad the dancers along. Sometimes he is complimentary, too.

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TERPSICHORE IN THE QUARTERS.

Listen when I call de figgers! Watch de music es you go!

Chassay forrard! (Now look at ’em! some too fas’ an’ some too slow !)

Step out when I gibs de order; keep up eben wid de line;

What’s got in dem lazy niggers? Stop dat stringin’ out behin’!

All go forrard to de centre! Balance ‘roun’ an’ den go back!

Keep on in de proper ‘rection, right straight up an’ down de crack!

Moobe up sides an’ mind de music; listen when you hear me speak!

(Jes’ look at dem Pea Ridge niggers, how dey’s buckin’ ‘gin de Creek!)

Dat’s de proper action, Sambo! den you done de bizniss right!

Now show ’em how you knocked de splinters at de shuckin’ t’udder night;

Try to do your lebbel bes’, an’ stomp it like you use to do!

Jes’ come down on de “Flat Creek step,” an’ show de Ridge a thing or two!

Now look at dat limber Jonah tryin’ to tech de fancy fling!

(Who ebber seed a yaller nigger dat could ‘cut de pidgin- wing’?)

Try dat lick agin, dar, Moses; tell you what, dat’s hard to beat!

(How kin sich a little nigger handle sich a pile o’ feet!)

Swing your corners! Turn your pardners! (‘Pears de motion’s gittin’ slow.)

What’s de matter wid de music? Put some rosgum on dat bow!

Moobe up, Tom, — don’t be so sleepy! Let ’em see what you kin do!

Light off in de “gra’-vine-twis,” an’ knock de “double-shuffle,” too!

Gosh! dat double-j’inted Steben flings a hifalutin’ hoof!

He kicks de dus’ plum out de planks, an’ jars de shingles on de roof!

Steady, now, an’ check de motion! Let de fiddler stop de chune!

I smell de ‘possum froo de crack, an supper’s gwine to call you soon!

De white folks come it mighty handy, waltzin’ ‘roun’ so nice an’ fine;

But when you come to reg’lar dancin’, niggers leabes ’em way behin’!

Arkansas dance 1882

from the book Uncle Gabe Tucker; or Reflection, Song, and Sentiment in the Quarters, by John Alfred Macon, written in 1882, published in Philadelphia 1883. p. 26-28.

https://archive.org/stream/unclegabetucker00macogoog#page/n34/mode/2up

This description is of a four couple square dance. Not sure of the location as this writer works in the imagination. It’s somewhere in the southern United States, likely Arkansas. The whole book is set in slave quarters. There is a fiddler and a caller. Might be a quadrille because the prompt is “Head couples forward.”

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ON DANCING.

”Uncle Gabe, is it wrong to dance?” some one asked the old man as he sat by the fire mending the broom.

” ‘Ax me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies,’ ” answered Uncle Gabe, apparently not disposed to engage in conversation. There was a short silence in the cabin, and then the old man spoke without further questioning :

“S’posin’ dey ax you does you like mushmilions, what you gwine tell ’em ? You gwine say, right orf, you like ’em, ’cause you does like ’em; but dat don’t mean you like green mushmilions, nor rotten mushmilions, do it? Co’se it don’t. Well, so ’tis wid dancin’. De right sort o’ dancin’ don’t hu’t nobody ; but dar’s some dancin’ dat wa’n’t made for ‘specterble people.

“Now, las’ Sat’day night I was ten miles up de creek in de Sixteen’ Section, an’ dey got up a dance dat was de wrong sort, sho! De thing didn’t look right at de very start, an’ I knowed trouble was comin’ ; dey had all sorts o’ outlandish niggers on hand, an’ eben down to some Injuns fum de counties j’inin’ on de wes’. Well, ’twas a public sort o’ thing an’ eb’rybody was boss. Well, arterwhile de fiddler got on a borrul an’ went to chunin’ up. Den he started orf, an’ de prompter he gun out de wuds, ‘head couples, forrud!’ Den you jes’ oughter seen what a mess ’twas! All de dancers in de room come right togedder in a pile, an’ sich a-jammin’ an’ a-pushin’ an’ a-stumblin’ ’bout, you nebber did see; an’ it all come ’bout jes’ dis way: nobody didn’t know which was de head couples; de Sixteen’ Section niggers ‘lowed dey was de head couples ’cause dey was dancin’ ‘cordin’ to de cracks in de flo’ ; an’ de Slab Town niggers ‘lowed dey was de head couples ’cause dey was dancin’ ‘cordin’ to de fireplace; an’ de cracks an’ de fire-place didn’t run togedder as dey does in mos’ houses. Well, dey got to squabblin’ pow’ful ; de Sixteen’ Section stood up for de cracks an’ Slab Town stood up for de fireplace. Dey was ’bout to start out fightin’, an somebody blowed out de lights, an’ de whole thing busted up an’ de folks went ‘way mad as yaller jackits.

“Now dat sort o’ dancin’ is wus’n none, an’ you young folks better keep ‘way fum dat sort o’ doin’s. Ef you gwine to dance, why, dance at de right time, in de right place, an’ wid de right sort o’ folks. Ef you go to de right sort o’ party, ’tain’t no mo’ harm dancin’ dan ’tis settin’ in de cornder talkin’ ’bout coon-tracks. ‘Tain’t no harm to hab pledger, ef ’tis de right kind o’ pledger. Sassages is good things tell de sassage-man gits to mistookin’ de dorg-house for de hog-pen, an’ dat sort o’ alters de case. Blackberries is good ‘nough tell you shet down on one whar one o’ des outlandish-smellin’ bugs been roostin’ all night. An’ so ’tis wid eb’ry sort o’ ‘joyment. ‘Tain’t no sin in de right sort o’ dancin’ an’ de right sort o’ music. I b’liebe it gin’ally make folks better. I don’t b’liebe old Satan kin play a fiddle or dance a jig to save his life. He got too much wuk to do to fool ‘long o’ dem sort o’ things.

“You see, we’s all wukin’ in de vinyud, in de hopes o’ de life to come. We’s got a big job befo’ us, an’ we got to be keerful what we do an’ which way we go. But ef a man weed his row ‘cordin’ to his power an’ his knowledge, I don’t b’liebe de Lord will watch him too close ef he let go de hoe-handle once in a while to spit on his hands, or ef he ‘casionally takes a bite orf de ripe bunches on de gra’-vines.”