The Atlanta constitution. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1885-19??, 1893-08-29
SWEETEST OF SONGS
ARE THOSE ONE HEARS FROM THE
DARKIES ON THE SAVANNAH
While Boating on the, River-HOw Pretty
Old Custom Has Boon Kept up Since
Colonial Days of the Past

is Il splashing of tho pOnderous oars In
the clear, cool river; chorus shout from
the darkies as they swing to their task;
cry of STEADY boys, steady! from the
cautious pilot. and the long, slender grey
hound of boat wheels Il graceful reverse
out into mdriver, and glides like a south
erly breeze from the plantation landing
upon the bosom of the old Savannah on
towards the city of Augusta, forty or fifty
miles below.
The RECALLING swish-swash of the oars,
like the responsive songs of the katy-dds.
echoing from side to side, grow faint ana
low far down the bending river, and the
bugles sad, yet merry blast ltself Witliders
febly up and down the murmurlng stream
and the boat is completely hidden IN the
fosgy distance with Il wreath of white
foam from the oar-paddles when Justify
there comes back from the fast departing
river wanderer Il loud mournful Groom
from one Of the darkles:
"Goodby ole Cal-ny-y-y-y!
Ole Georgy, goodbye
1t all brings back the days gone by, so
yividly and SO pleasingly that you throw
yourself full length on the bed OF clover
blossoms at your feet there by the river
and in the shadow of the big cotton tree
and it's rival, the big sycamore. close your
eyes in a gentle day dream and lose your
self in many reverles.
How it stands today, as it stood IN the
olden times, the only system of transpor-
tation between the great cotton plantations
along the South Carolina and Georgia
banks and the cities below. What quaint
ness and charm there is about 1t. HOW
simple and how strange!
Ever since the days when cotton was
unknown as the market crop of this tar
and delectable region of the south, when
tobacco culture was caught from the wild
Indians and became the pursuit of our
forefathers with no railroads to carry the
products of the undeveloped farms off to
market these rude boats have been plying
the Savannah to and from Augusta. What
an interesting bit of Georgia history
comes to your mind as you lie there under
the great sycamore and dream of the days
gone by and dead!
You can fairly smell the fragrant to-
bacco when fancy brings now and then one
of these slender pole boats down the river
from Petersburg, the dead old town that
once prospered in the fork of the two rivers
just above the very spot where You now lie
dreaming.
Dear, dead old town of Petersburg! Not
a single house left now to tell the story
of it's rise and fall. And yet many an old
citizen can remember when it was
thriving prosperous little city, with brick
stores, tobacco warehouses, ferry boats
connecting with that other thriving town
crumbled beneath the touch of time and
is now numbered among 1.-The dreams Of
things that were" You think about it all.
you wonder how these cities could have died
so soon, being then the principal townships
of the northern part of the Georgia col
Ony; you think how uncertain are human
calculations when you contemplate the
budding hopes of the men who built those
cities, drea aiming that they would be the
highest point of navigation on the Savan-
nah, and hence would some day be great
cities with steamboats, plying in and out,
u great tobacco market, forsooth where
the farmers for miles and miles would
come to trade and thus build the cities
now back 1 dS 5vef tnt Srhaas A VI g9llH1 by
the tinkle of the sheep bells as the focks
Craze over the dreary meadow lands where
those cities once stood sounds in your ears.
1t is hard to think that these same mead
ow lands were once well graded streets;
that where the sheep bells now tinkle the
busy hum of industry once resounded.
But, while this strange and sad bit of
Georgia history is troubling your mind.
you have forgotten the boat and its crew
until far down the river-so far that you
cannot even hear on the echo of the waters
the splash of the oars-there comes once
more that darky's mournful Groom:
"Goodby, ole Cal-ny-y-y-y,
Ole Georgy, goodby!'
and suddenly the scenes are shifted, and
you are face to face with the dear old
DAYS of slavery There is plaintive mel
lowness in that darky's dirge of song
that makes the dream all the more
plete, and hundred slaves seem to join
III the chorus before the strains have died
away upon the soft silent bosom of the
Savannah You look back upon the wide
stretching bottom lands all rustling with
the breeze-tossed cOrntedS. and farther
out to where the great cotton fields dress
ed out in their summer garments of white
and red blossoms glinmer in the morning
sunlight, and you think about the days
when the lords of the turf marshaled out
their armies of slaves at the rise of The
sun and sent them out over the rich and
smiling lands.
The songs of slavery days come back
you with that fragment of song the negro
boatman keeps grooming, for it really is
some remnant of an old half-forgotten song
transmitted to him through the heritage of
his enslayed father, no doubt. and the
plantation seems alive now with the har-
mony of the field hand chorus you heard
| 50 often when boy. You can hear them
| in the widespreadng fields of cotton; you
| can hear them wandering aimlessly about
| the plantation at night; you can hear them
| in the cabins down in the quarter, and you
can hear them on the boats up and down
| the river just as you heard them then. You
can hear
"Git along home, Miss Cindy." :.
| as they used to blow 1t on their quilts
and sing it and dance it in some white place
| in the road where the moon Shone bright
| est, and you can fairly see their dusky fig
| ure as you run over in your memory the
| lines of the chorus:
| I wish was a sparrow,
| A-Scratchin' In de san;
| I'd scratch my way Tomorrow
| Ter see Miss Julie Ann
| Q, git along home, Miss C1ndy
| And, then you recall that other song you
| used to hear them sing at their 'hot-sup-
| pers," or balls in the cabins, when the
| dancing was fine and shoe leather was
| given free by their masters, and hehce
| was no consequence-the song which to
your mind always carried more OF the gen.
uine darby of slavery days with 1t than
any other:
| Raccoon up de 'simmon tree,
'P0ssum on de grouD,
| Raccoon shake de simmons down,
'Possum pass EN- roun
Shoe ladies, shoe! etc.
TEeOI Songs Live to 2his Day.
Down there in the valley of the Savannah
the old songs of slavery days seem to have
lived longer than they have in most regions
! of the south.
The fact is this one delightful strip OF
southern country seems to preserve the
spirit and traditions of the Old south more