Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE HANGING OF BLACK CUDJO (1780); A DIALECT BALLAD, by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE HANGING OF BLACK CUDJO (1780); A DIALECT BALLAD, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Well, maussa! If you wants to heer, I'll tell you 'bout um 'true
Last Line: "but sabe dat gab to stuff de years of de next fool you meet!'"
Subject(s): American Revolution; Capital Punishment; Marion, Francis (1737-1795); Slavery; Hanging; Executions; Death Penalty; Serfs


"WELL, Maussa! if you wants to heer, I'll tell you 'bout um 'true.
Doh de berry taut ob dat bad time is fit to tun me blue;
A sort ob brimstone blue on black, wid jist a stare o' wite,
As when dem cussed Tory come fur wuck deir hate dat nite!

"Mass Tom and me was born, I think, 'bout de same year and day,
And we was boys togedder, Boss! in ebbery sport and play --
Ole missis gib me to Mass Tom wid her las' failin bret:
Aud so I boun' -- in conscience boun', fur stick to him till det.

"At las' ole Maussa, he teck sick wid chill and feber high,
And de good Dokter shake'e head, and say he sur fur die,
And so true 'nuff de sickness bun' and freeze out all he life,
And soon ole Maussa sleep in peace long side e' fateful wife.

"Den ebbery ting de lan' could show, de crap, de hoss, de cows.
Wid all dem nigger in de fiel', and all dem in de house,
Dey b'long to my Mass Tom fur true, and so dat berry year,
He pick me out from all de folks to meck me Obersheer!

"I done my bes', but niggars, sir -- dey seems a lazy pack,
One buckra man will do mo' wuck dan five and twenty black,
I jeered dem and I wolloped dem, and cussed dem too -- but law!
De Debble self could nebber keep dem rascal up to tau!

"But still we done as good as mose, wid cotton, rice and corn,
Till in de year dat 'Nuttin' tall' (my oldest chile) was born,
De Tory war, de bloody war, 'bout which you've heerd dem tell,
Come down on all de country yeh, as black and hot as hell!

"Mass Tom he jine de Whig, you know; in course I follow him,
And Gor' a mighty! how he slash dem Tory limb from limb,
When fust I heer the war-cry shout and see de flow ob blood' --
I long fur hide this woolly head like cootah in de mud!

"But Lawd! I soon git n'used to blood, de broadswed and de strife,
And nebber care a pig tail eend fur 'tudder folks's life;
Only, I heerd my Maussa yell thro' all dem battle-call,
And sneaked dis big fat karkiss up betwixt him and de ball!

"Well, sir! one day Mass Tom come home, 'e close and hoss blood red,
And say sense all dem Tory kill, he gwine dat once to bed;
'I needs a long fine snooze,' sez he, 'so don't you wake me soon,
'But Cudjo! let me snore oncalled till late to-morrow noon!';

"Somehow, my mine misgib me dem; so by de kitchin light,
I sot and smoked, with open ears, a listenen' true de nite:
And when de fus cock crow, I heer a fur soun, down de road,
And knowed 'um fur de hosses' trot, and de clash ob spur and sword:

"Quick I run outside in de yad, and quick outside de gate --,
And there I see de Tory come as fas' and sho' as fate;
I run back to my Maussa room, and den wid pull and push
I shub 'um by de side way out, and hide 'um in de bush!

"He only hab he nite shut on, and how he rabe and cuss!
'But Maussa! hush,' sez I, 'before you meck dis matter wuss;'
I tun to fin' some hidin' too, but de moon shine bright as sun,
And de d -- d Tory ride so swif', dey ketch me on de run.

"Den, dey all screech togedder, loud, 'Boy, is your Boss widin?
'Say where he hide, or by de Lawd! your life not wut a pin!'
I trembled at dese horrid tret, but sweer my Boss was fled,
Yet when, or where, poor Cudjo knowed no better dan de dead.

"One Tory debble teck my head, another teck my foot
To drag me like a Chrismass hog to de ole oak tree root;
Dey fling a tick rope roun' my neck, dey drawed me quick and high,
I seed a tousan' million star a-flashin' from de sky.

"And den I choke, and all de blood keep rushin' to my head
I tried to yell, but only groaned, and guggled low enstead;
Till ebbery ting growed black as nite, and my last taut was, sho,
Dis nigger is a gone coon now, he'll see de wuld no mo'!

"But, Boss! I was a hale man den, and tough as tough could be;
Dey loose de rope and let me down quite safely from de tree;
But when I seed and heered agen, come de same furious cry,
'Say where your Maussa hide, you dog, quick, quick, or else you die!'

"I gib dem de same answer still, and so, dey hang me higher;
I feel de same hot chokin' sob; see de same starry fire;
Dey heng me twice, tree time dey heng; but de good Lawd was dere,
And Jesus self, he bring me safe from all de pain and fear.

"Mose dead dey lef' me, stiff and cole, stretched on de swashy groun'
While all de house, big house and small, was blazin', fallin' roun'.
When pore Mass Tom from out de briar creep in he half-torn shut,
To bless and ring me by bote han' dere in de damp and dut!

"And when de war was ober, Boss, Mass Tom, he come to me,
And say, I sabe he life dat time, and so he meck me free;
'I'll gib you house and lan' (sez he,) 'and wid dem plough and mule,'
I tenk him kind, 'but Boss,' (says I,) 'wha' meck you think me fool?'

"'If you, Mass Tom, was like," (sez I,) some buckra dat I know,
Cudjo bin run and hug de swamp -- Lawd bless you! -- long ago,
But I got all ting dat I want, wid not one tax to pay;
Now go long, Maussa! why you wish for dribe ole Cuj away?

"'I nebber see free nigger yet, but what he lie and steal,
Lie to 'e boss, 'e wife, 'e chile, in de cabin, and de fiel' --
And as for tieffin', dem free cuss is all like 'lightfoot Jack,'
Who carry de lass blanket off from he sick mudder back!

"'I stays wid you, (sez I again,) I meck de nigger wuck,
I wuck myself, and may be, Boss, we'll bring back de ole luck;
But don't you pizen me no more wid talk ob "freedom sweet,"
But sabe dat gab to stuff de years of de next fool you meet!'"





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net