C032. The Blacksmith and the Devil

32. Jacky-My-Lantern. Text Source: Uncle Remus, His Songs and His Sayings by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. I have removed the frame material and standardized the spelling; click here for the original spelling plus all notes to the story.

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THE BLACKSMITH and THE DEVIL

Whiles I was crossing the branch just now, I come upwith a Jacky-my-lantern, and she was burning worse than a bunch of lightning-bugs, man. I know'd she was a-fixing for to lead me into that quagmire down in the swamp, and I steered clear of her. Ye sir. I did that.

One time, there was a blacksmith man, and this here blacksmith man, he took and stuck closer by his dram than he did by his bellows. Monday morning he'd get on a spree, and all that week he'd be on a spree, and the next Monday morning he'd take a fresh start. By and by, one day, after the blacksmith been spreeing 'round and cussing mightily, he hear a sort of rustling fuss at the door, and in walk the Bad Man.

The Bad Man, the Ole Boy hisself. He done hide his horns, and his tail, and his hoof, and he come dress up like white folks. He took off his hat and he bow, and then he tell the blacksmith who he is, and that he done come after him.

Then the blacksmith, he begun to cry and beg, and he beg so hard and he cry so loud that the Bad Man say he make a trade with him. At the end of one year the spirit of the blacksmith was to be his, and enduring of that time the blacksmith must put in his hottest licks in the interest of the Bad Man, and then he put a spell on the chair the blacksmith was setting in, and on his sledge-hammer. The man what sat in the chair couldn't get up unless the blacksmith let him, and the man what pick up the sledge'd have to keep on knocking with it till the blacksmith say quit; and then he gave him money plenty, and off he put.

The blacksmith, he sail in for to have his fun, and he have so much that he done clean forgot about his contract, but by and by, one day he look down the road, and there he see the Bad Man coming, and then he knowed the year was out.

When the Bad Man got in the door, the blacksmith was pounding away at a horse-shoe, but he weren't so busy that he didn't ask him in. The Bad Man sort of do like he ain't got no time for to tarry, but the blacksmith say he got some little jobs that he pleased to finish up, and then he ask the Bad Man for to set down a minute; and the Bad Man, he took and sat down, and he sat in that chair what he done conjured on, course, there he was.

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Then the blacksmith, he begun to poke fun at the Bad Man, and he ask him don't he want a dram, and won't he hitch his chair up little nigher the fire, and the Bad Man, he beg and he beg, but it weren't doing no good, 'cause the blacksmith allow that he going to keep him there till he promise that he let him off one year more, and, sure enough, the Bad Man promise that if the blacksmith let him up he give him another showing.

So then the blacksmith gave the word, and the Bad Man saunter off down the big road, setting traps and laying his program for to catch more sinners.

The next year it pass same like the other one. At the appointed time here come the Old Boy after the blacksmith, but still the blacksmith had some jobs that he pleased to finish up, and he ask the Bad Man for to take hold of the sledge and he help him out; and the Bad Man, he allow that rather than be dispolite, he don't care if he do hit her a biff or two; and with that he grab up the sledge, and there he was again, 'cause he done conjured the sledge so that whosomever took her up can't put her down unless the blacksmith say the word. They palavered there, they did, till by and by the Bad Man he up and let him off another year.

Well, then, that year pass same as the other one. Month in and month out that man was rolling in dram, and by and by here come the Bad Man. The blacksmith cry and he holler, and he rip 'round and tear his hair, but it just like he didn't, 'cause the Bad Man grab him up and cram him in a bag and tote him off.

While they was going along they come up with a passel of folks what was having one of there here Fourth of July barbecues, and the Ole Boy, he allow that maybe he can get some more game, and what do he do but join in with 'em. He lines in and he talk politics same like the other folks, till by and by dinnertime come 'round, and they ask him up, which agreed with his stomach, and he deposit his bag underneath the table alongside the other bags what the hungry folks'd brung.

No sooner did the blacksmith get back on the ground than he begun to work his way out of the bag. He crept out, he did, and then he took and change the bag. He took and took another bag and lay it down where this here bag was, and then he crept out of the crowd and lay low in the underbrush.

Last, when the time come for to go, the Old Boy up with his bag and slung her on his shoulder, and off he put for the Bad Place. When he got there he took and drop the bag off of his back and call up the imps, and they just come a-squalling and a-capering, which I expect they must have been hungry. Leastaways they just swarmed 'round, hollering out, "'Daddy, what you brung—daddy, what you brung?"

So then they open the bag, and lo and beholds, out jump a big bull-dog, and the way he shook 'em little imps was a caution, and he kept on gnawing on 'em till the Old Boy open the gate and turn him out.

After a long time, the blacksmith he took and die, and when he go to the Good Place the man at the gate don't know who he is, and he can't squeeze in.

Then he go down to the Bad Place, and knock. The Ole Boy, he look out, he did, and he knowed the blacksmith the minute he laid eyes on him; but he shake his head and say, says he, "You'll have 'scuse me, Brer Blacksmith, 'cause I done had experience along with you. You'll have to go somewheres else if you want to raise any racket," says he, and with that he shut the door.

And they do say, that since that day the blacksmith been sort of hovering 'round 'twixt the heavens and the earth, and dark nights he shine out so folks call him Jacky-my-lantern. That's what they tells me. It may be wrong or it may be right, but that's what I hears.

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C032. Baer (p. 56). Jacky-my-Lantern

This is Chase032.

Types ATU0330 Smith outwits the devil.
Motifs A2817 origin of the will-o-the-wisp / jack-o-lantern
D1413.5 bench to which person sticks
M0211 man sells soul to devil
Q0565 man admitted to neither heaven nor hell; he has tricked the devil
K0526 substituting bag??? (Baer does not specify)
K0527 substituting bag??? (Baer does not specify)
Notes
Baer notes that both Harris and Crane dismiss the story as too European. but also: "The incident of the smith's escape by substituting bags (K0526 and K0527) is not in the Thompson summary of the tale type, but is extremely popular in African talls and calls to mind Piersen's above-mentioned comment on syncretism (Chase031).

about motif-mixing: "The Negro tale teller, in including the substituted sacks episode as part of the story is availing himself of a tradition more noted among African than among European tale-tellers, the tradition of using what might be called free-floating motifs. Int he episodic animal tales of Africa, certain motifs, such as holding up the rock or tree, blinding the guard, tar-baby, substituted sack, can be incorporated into tales in varying order and with varying emphases. It is not surprising to find the tradition maintained when retelling a European tale."

C032. The Blacksmith and the Devil (original spelling)

32. Jacky-My-Lantern. Text Source: Uncle Remus, His Songs and His Sayings by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. I have removed the frame material; click here for the standardized spelling plus all notes to the story.

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THE BLACKSMITH and THE DEVIL

W'iles I wuz crossin' de branch des now, I come up wid a Jacky-my-lantern, en she wuz bu'nin' wuss'n a bunch er lightnin'-bugs, mon. I know'd she wuz a fixin' fer ter lead me inter dat quogmire down in de swamp, en I steer'd cle'r an' er. Yasser. I did dat.

One time, dere wuz a blacksmif man, en dish yer blacksmif man, he tuck'n stuck closer by his dram dan he did by his bellus. Monday mawnin' he'd git on a spree, en all dat week he'd be on a spree, en de nex' Monday mawnin' he'd take a fresh start. Bimeby, one day, atter de blacksmif bin spreein''roun' en cussin' might'ly, he hear a sorter rustlin' fuss at de do', en in walk de Bad Man.

De Bad Man, de Ole Boy hisse'f. He done hide his hawns, en his tail, en his hoof, en he come dress up like w'ite fokes. He tuck off his hat en he bow, en den he tell de blacksmif who he is, en dat he done come atter 'im.

Den de black-smif, he gun ter cry en beg, en he beg so hard en he cry so loud dat de Bad Man say he make a trade wid 'im. At de een' er one year de sperit er de blacksmif wuz to be his'n en endurin' er dat time de blacksmif mus' put in his hottes' licks in de intruss er de Bad Man, en den he put a spell on de cheer de blacksmif was settin' in, en on his sludge-hammer. De man w'at sot in de cheer couldn't git up less'n de blacksmif let 'im, en de man w'at pick up de sludge 'ud hatter keep on knockin' wid it twel de blacksmif say quit; en den he gun 'im money plenty, en off he put.

De blacksmif, he sail in fer ter have his fun, en he have so much dat he done clean forgot 'bout his contrack, but bimeby, one day he look down de road, en dar he see de Bad Man comin', en den he know'd de year wuz out. W'en de Bad Man got in de do', de blacksmif wuz poundin' 'way at a hoss-shoe, but he wa'n't so bizzy dat he didn't ax 'im in. De Bad Man sorter do like he ain't got no time fer ter tarry, but de blacksmif say he got some little jobs dat he bleedzd ter finish up, en den he ax de Bad Man fer ter set down a minnit; en de Bad Man, he tuck'n sot down, en he sot in dat cheer w'at he done conju'd en, co'se, dar he wuz. Den de blacksmif, he 'gun ter poke fun at de Bad Man, en he ax him don't he want a dram, en won't he hitch his cheer up little nigher de fier, en de Bad Man, he beg en he beg, but 'twan't doin' no good, kase de blacksmif 'low dat he gwineter keep 'im dar twel he prommus dat he let 'im off one year mo', en, sho nuff, de Bad Man prommus dat ef de black-smif let 'im up he give 'im a n'er showin'. So den de blacksmif gun de wud, en de Bad Man sa'nter off down de big road, settin' traps en layin' his progance fer ter ketch mo' sinners.

De nex' year hit pass same like t'er one. At de 'p'inted time yer come de Ole Boy atter de blacksmif, but still de blacksmif had some jobs dat he bleedzd ter finish up, en he ax de Bad Man fer ter take holt er de sludge en he he'p 'im out; en de Bad Man, he 'low dat r'er'n be disperlite, he don't keer ef he do hit 'er a biff er two; en wid dat he grab up de sludge, en dar he wuz 'gin, kase he done conju'd de sludge so dat whosomedever tuck 'er up can't put 'er down less'n de blacksmif say de wud. Dey perlaver'd dar, dey did, twel bimeby de Bad Man he up'n let 'im off n'er year.

Well, den, dat year pass same ez t'er one. Mont' in en mont' out dat man wuz rollin' in dram, en bimeby yer come de Bad Man. De blacksmif cry en he holler, en he rip 'roun' en t'ar his ha'r, but hit des like he didn't, kase de Bad Man grab 'im up en cram 'im in a bag en tote 'im off. W'iles dey wuz gwine 'long dey come up wid a passel er fokes w'at wuz havin' wanner deze yer fote er July bobbycues, en de Ole Boy, he 'low dat maybe he kin git some mo' game, en w'at do he do but jine in wid um. He lines in en he talk politics same like t'er fokes, twel bimeby dinnertime come 'roun', en dey ax 'im up, w'ich 'greed wid his stummuck, en he pozzit his bag underneed de table 'longside de udder bags w'at de hongry fokes'd brung.

No sooner did de blacksmif git back on de groun' dan he 'gun ter wuk his way outer de bag. He crope out, he did, en den he tuck'n change de bag. He tuck'n tuck a n'er bag en lay it down whar dish yer bag wuz, en den he crope outer de crowd en lay low in de underbresh.

Las', w'en de time come fer ter go, de Ole Boy up wid his bag en slung her on his shoulder, en off he put fer de Bad Place. W'en he got dar he tuck'n drap de bag off'n his back en call up de imps, en dey des come a squallin' en a caperin', w'ich I speck dey mus' a bin hongry. Leas'ways dey des swawm'd 'roun', hollerin' out, "'Daddy, w'at you brung—daddy, w'at you brung?"

So den dey open de bag, en lo en behol's, out jump a big bull-dog, en de way he shuck dem little imps wuz a caution, en he kep' on gnyawin' un um twel de Ole Boy open de gate en t'un 'im out.

Atter 'long time, de blacksmif he tuck'n die, en w'en he go ter de Good Place de man at de gate dunner who he is, en he can't squeeze in. Den he go down ter de Bad Place, en knock. De Ole Boy, he look out, he did, en he know'd de blacksmif de minnit he laid eyes on 'im; but he shake his head en say, sezee, "You'll hatter skuze me, Brer Blacksmif, kase I dun had 'speunce 'longer you. You'll hatter go some'rs else ef you wanter raise enny racket," sezee, en wid dat he shet do do.

En dey do say, dat sense dat day de blacksmif bin sorter huv'rin' 'roun' 'twix' de heavens en de ye'th, en dark nights he shine out so fokes call 'im Jacky-my-lantern. Dat's w'at dey tells me. Hit may be wrong er't maybe right, but dat's w'at I years.