C151. How Old Craney-Crow Lost His Head

8. How Old Craney-Crow Lost His Head. Text Source: Told by Uncle Remus 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. Talking to the little boy Uncle Remus says that Craney-Crow is the old name for what they now call blue cranes.

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HOW OLD CRANEY-CROW LOST HIS HEAD

There was one time—I don't know the day, and I don't know the year, but it was one time—there come a big storm. The wing blowed a hurricane, and the rain rained like all the sky and the clouds in it done been turn to water. The wind blowed so hard that it lifted old Craney-Crow from his roost in the lagoons way down yonder where they live at, and fetch him up in these parts, and when he come, he come a-whirling. The wind took him up, it did, and turn him round and round, and when he lit where he did, he stagger just like he was drunk—you know how you feel when you been turning round and round. Well, that was the way with him; he was so drunk that he had to lean up against a tree.

But it weren't long 'fore he begun to feel all right, and he look round for to see where he at. He look and he look, but he ain't find out, 'cause he was a mighty far ways from home. Yet he feel the water half-way up his legs, and if old Craney-Crow is in a place where he can do a little wading, he kind of has the home-feeling—you know how that is yourself. Well, there he was, a mighty far ways from home, and yet up to his knees in water, and he just stood there, he did, and took his ease, hoping for better times by and by.

Now the place where he was blowed to was Long Cane Swamp. It ain't only just a Swamp; it's something worse than that. You can stand in the middle of it, and most hear it catch its breath, and that what make I say that it ain't no Swamp, for all it look like one. Well, there was old Craney-Crow, and there was the thing you call the Swamp, and by and by the sun riz and let his lamp shine in there in places; an then old Craney-Crow had time for to look round and see where he was at. But when he find out, he ain't know no more than what he know at first.

Now, you can say what you please, and you can laugh if you want to, but I'm a-going to tell you that the Swamp knowed that there was somebody there what ain't belong there. If you ask me how the Swamp knowed, I'll shake my head and shut my eyes; and if you ask me how I know it knowed, I'll just laugh at you. You'll had to take my word or leave it, I don't care which. But there it was. The Swamp knowed that somebody was there what ain't belong there, and it went to sleep and had bad dreams, and it keep on having them dreams all day long. The Swamp, being wide-awake all night long, is pleased to sleep enduring of the day, and so, with old Craney-Crow standing in the water, when the sun rise up, the Swamp know that something was wrong, and it went to sleep and had mighty bad dreams. 

The sun riz and riz; it come up on one side of the Swamp, and after so long a time stood over it and look down for to see what the matter. But bright as the lamp of the sun was, it can't light up the Swamp, and so it went on over and went down on the other side. The day was in about like these days is, and whiles the sun was searching round trying for to find out what the trouble is in the Swamp, old Craney-Crow was wading about in the water trying to find some frog steak for his dinner, or maybe a fish for to whet his appetite on. But there weren't nary frog nor nary fish, 'cause the Swamp done gone to sleep. The more old Craney-Crow waded the more shallerer the water got, till by and by day weren't enough for to more than wet his foots.

He say, "Hey! how come this?" But he ain't got no answer, 'cause the Swamp, with all its bad dreams, was sound asleep.

There was pools of water round and about, and old Craney-Crow went from one to the other, and from other to the other, but it ain't do him no good. He went and stood by 'em, he did, but whiles he standing there, there weren't a riffle on top of 'em. By and by he got tired of walking about, and he stood on one leg for to rest hisself—though if anybody'll tell me how you going to rest yourself with standing on one leg, I'll sit up and tell 'em tales from now till Christmas, 'cause if I get tired I can stand on one leg and do my resting that a-way.

Well, then, there was old Craney-Crow, and there was the Swamp. Old Craney-Crow was wide-awake, but the Swamp was fast asleep and dreaming bad dreams like a wild horse and wagon going down hill. But the Swamp weren't no stiller than old Craney-Crow, standing on one leg with one eye looking in the tops of the trees, and the other one looking down in the grass. But in the Swamp or out of the Swamp, time goes on and night drops down, and that's the way it done this time. And when night dropped down, the Swamp kind of stretch itself and begun to wake up. 

Old Brer Mud Turkle opened his eyes and sneeze so hard that he roll off the bank into the water—kersplash—and he so close to old Craney-Crow that he fetched a hop sideways, and come mighty nigh stepping on Mr. Billy Black Snake. This scared him so that he fetched another hop, and mighty nigh lit on the frog what he been hunting for. The frog he say "Hey!" and dove in the mud-puddle.

After that, when old Craney-Crow move about, he lift his foots high, and he done like the ladies does when they walk in a wet place. The whole caboodle was brand new to old Craney-Crow, and he look with all his eyes, and listen with all his ears. There was something or other going on, but he can't make out what it was. He ain't never is been in no swamp before, more specially a Swamp what got life in it. He been used to marshy places, where there ain't nothing but water and high grass, but there where he find hisself after the hurricane, there weren't no big sight of water, and what grass there was, weren't longer than your finger. Instead of grass and water, there was vines, and reeds, and trees with moss on 'em that made 'em look like Grandsire Graybeard, and the vines and creepers look like they was reaching out for him.

He walked about, he did, like the ground was hot, and when he walk he look like he was on stilts, his legs was so long. He hunt round for a place for to sleep, and whiles he was doing that he took notice that there was something or other going on that he ain't never is see the like of. The jacky-my-lanterns, they lit up and went sailing round just like they was hunting for him and the frogs, they holler at him with, "What you doing here? What you doing here?" Mr. Coon rack by and laugh at him; Mr. Billy Gray Fox peep out of the bushes and bark at him; Mr. Mink show him the green eyes, and Mr. Whippoorwill scold him.

He move about, he did, and after so long a time they let him alone, and then when there weren't nobody nor nothing pestering him, he begun to look round for hisself. Peeping first in one bush and then in another, he took notice that all the birds what fly by day had done gone to bed without their heads. Look where he might, old Craney-Crow ain't see nary a bird but what had done took his head off 'fore he went to bed. Look close as he kin, he ain't see no bird with a head on. This make him wonder, and he ask hisself how come this, and the onliest answer what he can think and is that going to bed with their heads on was done gone out of fashion in that part of the country.

Now, you can say what you please about the critters and their kin — about the fowls that fly, and the feathery critters what run on the ground — you can say what you please about 'em, but they got pride; they don't want to be out of the fashion. When it comes to that, they are pretty much like folks, and that was the way with old Craney-Crow; he don't want to be out o* fashion. He ashamed for to go to bed like he always been doing, 'cause he ain't want the others for to laugh and say he was from the country district, where they don't know much. Yet, study as he might, he don't know which a-way to do for to get his head off. The others had their heads under their wing. But he ain't know that.

He look round, he did, for to see if they ain't someone he can ask about it, and he ain't had to look long neither, for there, sitting right at him, was old Brer Pop-Eye. Nobody in all the round world but Brer Rabbit! He had one name for the upland and another name for the bottom land — the swamps and the drains. Wheresomever there was any mischieviousness going on, right there was Brer Rabbit as big as life and twice as natural. He was so close to old Craney-Crow that he had to jump when he seed him.

Brer Pop-Eye say, "No needs for to be scared, friend Craney-Crow. You may be more than sure that I'm a well-wisher."

Old Craney-Crow allow, "It do me good for to hear you say so, Mr. Pop-Eye, and seeing that it's you and not someone else; I don't mind asking you how all the flying birds takes their heads off when they go to bed. it sure stumps me."

Brer Pop-Eye say, "And no wonder, friend Craney-Crow, 'cause you are stranger in there parts. There ain't nothing to hide about it. The mosquitoes is been so bad in this Swamp since the year one, and enduring of the time what's gone by, that them what live here done got in the habits of taking off their heads and putting 'em in a safe place."

The Craney-Crow allow, "But how in the name of goodness does they do it, Brer Pop-Eye?"

Mr. Pop-Eye laugh to hisself 'way down in his gizzard. He say, "They don't do it by theyself, 'cause that'd be asking too much. Oh, no! They got someone hired for to do that kind of work."

"And where can I find him, Brer Pop-Eye?" says old Craney-Crow, says he.

Brer Pop-Eye allow, "He'll be round directly; he always have to go round for to see that he ain't miss none of 'em."

Old  Craney-Crow sort of study, he did, and then he allow, "How does they get their heads back on, Brer Pop-Eye?"

Brer Pop-Eye shook his head. He say, "I'd tell you if I knowed, but I had to stay up so much at night, that 'long about the time when they gets their heads put on, I'm sound asleep and snoring right along. If you say so, I'll hunt up the doctor what does the business, and I expect he'll accommodate you—I can promise you that much, since you been so polite."

Old Craney-Crow laugh and say, "I done find out in my time that there don't nothing pay like politeness, specially if she's genuine."

With that, Brer Pop-Eye put out, he did, for to find Brer Wolf. Knowing pretty well where he was, it weren't long 'fore here they come galloping back.

Brer Pop-Eye say, "Mr. Craney-Crow, this is Mr. Doc Wolf; Mr. Doc Wolf, this is Mr. Craney-Crow; glad for to make you acquainted, gents."

After they been made acquainted, old Craney-Crow tell Doc Wolf about his troubles, and how he want to do like the rest of the flying critters, and Doc Wolf rub his chin and put his thumb in his waistcoat pocket for all the world like a sure enough doctor. He say to old Craney-Crow that he ain't so mighty certain and sure that he can help him much. He say that in all his born days he ain't never see no flying critter with such a long neck, and that he'll had to be mighty particular how he fool with it.

He went close, he did, and feel of it and fumble with it, and all the time his mouth was watering. He say, "You'll have to hold you head lower, Mr. Craney-Crow," and with that he snap down on it, and that was the last of that Craney-Crow. He ain't never see his home no more, and more than that, old Doc Wolf slung him across his back and cantered off home.

And that's the reason that the Craney-Crows all fly so fast when they come through this part of the country.

C151. Baer (p. 142). How Old Craney-Crow Lost His Head

This is Chase151.

Types ...
Motifs
J2413.4.2 fowl makes another animal believe that he has had his neck cut off; neck hidden under his wing
Notes
There are African versions. Namwanga: "Cock hides his head under his wing when hare calls; cock's wife said she cut off cock's head and sent it to have the feathers plaited; cock then pretends his head had been sent back and takes it from under his wing; hare asks his wife to do the same for him and he dies."

Arewa has 3 versions of rooster playing trick of hyena or hare, and see Werner on her notions about a hare cycle with this episode being the end of the hare.

Versions collected in Mississippi in 1925 (Fauset), with rabbit getting his head cut off to imitate turkey gobbler or guinea.

Bascom has 25 African and 23 American versions!

C151. How Old Craney-Crow Lost His Head (original spelling)

8. How Old Craney-Crow Lost His Head. Text Source: Told by Uncle Remus by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. You can click here for the standardized spelling plus all notes to the story.

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Folks useter call um Craney-Crows, but now dey ain’t got no name but des plain blue crane—an’ I dunner whedder dey er wuff sech a big name. Yit I ain’t got nothin’ ag’in um dat I knows un. Mo’ dan dat, when I ermembers ’bout de ol’ grandaddy crane what drifted inter deze parts, many’s de long time ago, ’twouldn’t take much fer ter make me feel right sorry fer de whole kit an’ bilin’ un um—dey er sech start natchul fools. When I think er dat ol’ Great-Grandaddy Crane, I dunner whedder ter laugh er cry.

Dey wuz one time—I dunno de day, an’ I dunno de year, but ’twuz one time—dey come a big storm. De win’ blow’d a harrycane, an’ de rain rained like all de sky an’ de clouds in it done been turn ter water. De win’ blow’d so hard dat it lifted ol’ Craney-Crow fum his roost in de lagoons way down yan’ whar dey live at, an’ fotch ’im up in deze parts, an’ when he come, he come a-whirlin’. De win’ tuck ’im up, it did, an’ turn ’im roun’ an’ roun’, an’ when he lit whar he did, he stagger des like he wuz drunk—you know how you feel when you been turnin’ roun’ an’ roun’. Well, dat wuz de way wid him; he wuz so drunk dat he hatter lean up ag’in a tree.

But ’twant long ’fo’ he ’gun ter feel all right, an’ he look roun’ fer ter see whar he at. He look an’ he look, but he ain’t fin’ out, kaze he wuz a mighty fur ways fum home. Yit he feel de water half-way up his legs, an’ ef ol’ Craney-Crow is in a place whar he kin do a little wadin’, he kinder has de home-feelin’—you know how dat is yo’se’f.

Well, dar he wuz, a mighty fur ways fum home, an’ yit up ter his knees in water, an’ he des stood dar, he did, an’ tuck his ease, hopin’ fer better times bimeby.

Now, de place whar he wuz blow’d ter wuz Long Cane Swamp. ’Tain’t only des a Swamp; it’s sump’n wuss ’n dat. You kin stan’ in de middle un it, an’ mos’ hear it ketch its breff, an’ dat what make I say dat ’tain’t no Swamp, fer all it look like one.

Well, dar wuz ol’ Craney-Crow, an’ dar wuz de Thing you call de Swamp, an’ bimeby de sun riz an’ let his lamp shine in dar in places; an den’ ol’ Craney-Crow had time fer ter look roun’ an’ see whar he wuz at. But when he fin’ out, he ain’t know no mo’ dan what he know at fus’.

Now, you kin say what you please, an’ you kin laugh ef you wanter, but I’m a-gwine ter tell you dat de Swamp know’d dat dey wuz somebody dar what ain’t b’long dar. Ef you ax me how de Swamp know’d, I’ll shake my head an’ shet my eyes; an’ ef you ax me how I know it know’d, I’ll des laugh at you. You’ll hatter take my word er leave it, I don’t keer which. But dar ’twuz. De Swamp know’d dat somebody wuz dar what ain’t b’long dar, an’ it went ter sleep an’ had bad dreams, an’ it keep on havin’ dem dreams all day long.

De Swamp, bein’ wide-awake all night long, is bleeze ter sleep endurin’ er de day, an’ so, wid ol’ Craney-Crow stannin’ in de water, when de sun rise up, de Swamp know dat sump’n wuz wrong, an’ it went ter sleep an’ had mighty bad dreams. De sun riz an’ riz; it come up on one side er de Swamp, an’ atter so long a time stood over it an’ look down fer ter see what de matter. But bright ez de lamp er de sun wuz, it can’t light up de Swamp, an’ so it went on over an’ went down on t’er side.

De day wuz in about like deze days is, an’ whiles de sun wuz s’archin’ roun’ tryin’ fer ter fin’ out what de trouble is in de Swamp, ol’ Craney-Crow wuz wadin’ ’bout in de water tryin’ ter fin’ some frog steak fer his dinner, er maybe a fish fer ter whet his appetite on. But dey wa’n’t nary frog ner nary fish, kaze de Swamp done gone ter sleep. De mo’ ol’ Craney-Crow waded de mo’ shallerer de water got, twel bimeby day wa’n’t nuff fer ter mo’ dan wet his foots.

He say, "Hey! how come dis?" But he ain’t got no answer, kaze de Swamp, wid all its bad dreams, wuz soun’ asleep.

Dey wuz pools er water roun’ an’ about, an’ ol’ Craney-Crow went fum one ter de yuther, an’ fum yuther ter t’other, but ’tain’t do him no good. He went an’ stood by um, he did, but whiles he stannin’ dar, dey wa’n’t a riffle on top un um.

Bimeby he got tired er walkin’ about, an’ he stood on one leg fer ter res’ hisse’f—dough ef anybody’ll tell me how you gwineter res’ yo’se’f wid stannin’ on one leg, I’ll set up an’ tell um tales fum now tell Chris’mus, kaze ef I git tired I kin stan’ on one leg an’ do my restin’ dat a-way.

Well, den, dar wuz ol’ Craney-Crow, an’ dar wuz de Swamp. Ol’ Craney-Crow wuz wide-awake, but de Swamp wuz fast asleep an’ dreamin’ bad dreams like a wil’ hoss an’ waggin gwine down hill. But de Swamp wa’n’t no stiller dan ol’ Craney-Crow, stannin’ on one leg wid one eye lookin’ in de tops er de trees, an’ de yuther one lookin’ down in de grass. But in de Swamp er out’n de Swamp, time goes on an’ night draps down, an’ dat’s de way it done dis time.

An’ when night drapped down, de Swamp kinder stretch itse’f an’ ’gun ter wake up. Ol’ Brer Mud Turkle opened his eyes an’ sneeze so hard dat he roll off de bank inter de water—kersplash—an’ he so close ter ol’ Craney-Crow dat he fetched a hop sideways, an’ come mighty nigh steppin’ on Mr. Billy Black Snake. Dis skeer’d ’im so dat he fetched an’er hop, an’ mighty nigh lit on de frog what he been huntin’ fer. De frog he say "hey!" an’ dove in de mud-puddle.

Atter dat, when ol’ Craney-Crow move ’bout, he lif’ his foots high, an’ he done like de ladies does when dey walk in a wet place. De whole caboodle wuz bran’ new ter ol’ Craney-Crow, an’ he look wid all his eyes, an’ lissen wid all his years. Dey wuz sump’n n’er gwine on, but he can’t make out what ’twuz. He ain’t never is been in no swamp befo’, mo’ speshually a Swamp what got life in it. He been useter ma’shy places, whar dey ain’t nothin’ but water an’ high grass, but dar whar he fin’ hisse’f atter de harrycane, dey wa’n’t no big sight er water, an’ what grass dey wuz, wa’n’t longer ’n yo’ finger. Stidder grass an’ water, dey wuz vines, an’ reeds, an’ trees wid moss on um dat made um look like Gran’suh Graybeard, an’ de vines an’ creepers look like dey wuz reachin’ out fer ’im.

He walked about, he did, like de groun’ wuz hot, an’ when he walk he look like he wuz on stilts, his legs wuz so long. He hunt roun’ fer a place fer ter sleep, an’ whiles he wuz doin’ dat he tuck notice dat dey wuz sump’n n’er gwine on dat he ain’t never is see de like un.

De jacky-ma-lantuns, dey lit up an’ went sailin’ roun’ des like dey wuz huntin’ fer ’im an’ de frogs, dey holler at ’im wid, "What you doin’ here? What you doin’ here?" Mr. Coon rack by an’ laugh at ’im; Mr. Billy Gray Fox peep out’n de bushes an’ bark at ’im; Mr. Mink show ’im de green eyes, an’ Mr. Whipperwill scol’ ’im.

He move ’bout, he did, an’ atter so long a time dey let ’im ’lone, an’ den when dey wa’n’t nobody ner nothin’ pesterin’ ’im, he ’gun ter look roun’ fer hisse’f. Peepin’ fust in one bush an’ den in an’er, he tuck notice dat all de birds what fly by day had done gone ter bed widout der heads. Look whar he mought, ol’ Craney-Crow ain’t see na’er bird but what had done tuck his head off ’fo’ he went ter bed. Look close ez he kin, he ain’t see no bird wid a head on. Dis make ’im wonder, an’ he ax hisse’f how come dis, an’ de onliest answer what he kin think un is dat gwine ter bed wid der heads on wuz done gone out er fashion in dat part er de country.

Now, you kin say what you please ’bout de creeturs an’ der kin’—’bout de fowls dat fly, an’ de feathery creeturs what run on de groun’—you kin say what you please ’bout um, but dey got pride; dey don’t wanter be out’n de fashion. When it comes ter dat, deyer purty much like folks, an’ dat ’uz de way wid ol’ Craney-Crow; he don’t wanter be out er fashion. He ’shame’ fer ter go ter bed like he allers been doin’, kaze he ain’t want de yuthers fer ter laugh an’ say he ’uz fum de country deestrick, whar dey dunno much. Yit, study ez he mought, he dunner which a-way ter do fer ter git his head off. De yuthers had der heads un’ der wing. But he ain’t know dat.

He look roun’, he did, fer ter see ef dey ain’t some un he kin ax ’bout it, an’ he ain’t hatter look long nudder, fer dar, settin’ right at ’im, wuz ol’ Brer Pop-Eye. Nobody in all de roun’ worl’ but Brer Rabbit! He had one name fer de uplan’ an’ an’er name fer de bottom lan’—de swamps an’ de dreens.

Wharsomever dar wuz any mischieviousness gwine on, right dar wuz Brer Rabbit ez big ez life an’ twice ez natchul. He wuz so close ter ol’ Craney-Crow dat he hatter jump when he seed ’im.

Brer Pop-Eye say, "No needs fer ter be skeer’d, frien’ Craney-Crow. You may be mo’ dan sho dat I’m a well-wisher."

Ol’ Craney-Crow ’low, "It do me good fer ter hear you sesso, Mr. Pop-Eye, an’ seein’ dat it’s you an’ not some un else, I don’t min’ axin’ you how all de flyin’ birds takes der heads off when dey go ter bed. It sho stumps me."

Brer Pop-Eye say, "An’ no wonder, frien’ Craney-Crow, kaze youer stranger in deze parts. Dey ain’t nothin’ ter hide ’bout it. De skeeters is been so bad in dis Swamp sence de year one, an’ endurin’ er de time what’s gone by, dat dem what live here done got in de habits er takin’ off der heads an’ puttin’ um in a safe place."

“De Craney-Crow ’low, "But how in de name er goodness does dey do it, Brer Pop-Eye?"

Mr. Pop-Eye laugh ter hisse’f ’way down in his gizzard. He say, "Dey don’t do it by deyse’f, kaze dat ’ud be axin’ too much. Oh, no! dey got some un hired fer ter do dat kin’ er work."

"An’ whar kin I fin’ ’im, Brer Pop-Eye?" sez ol’ Craney-Crow, sezee.

Brer Pop-Eye ’low, "He’ll be roun’ terreckly; he allers hatter go roun’ fer ter see dat he ain’t miss none un um."

Ol’ Craney-Crow sorter study, he did, an’ den he ’low, "How does dey git der heads back on, Brer Pop-Eye?"

Brer Pop-Eye shuck his head. He say, "I’d tell you ef I know’d, but I hatter stay up so much at night, dat ’long ’bout de time when dey gits der heads put on, I’m soun’ asleep an’ sno’in’ right along. Ef you sesso, I’ll hunt up de doctor what does de business, an’ I speck he’ll commerdate you—I kin prommus you dat much, sence you been so perlite."

Ol’ Craney-Crow laugh an’ say, "I done fin’ out in my time dat dey don’t nothin’ pay like perliteness, speshually ef she’s ginnywine."

Wid dat, Brer Pop-Eye put out, he did, fer ter fin’ Brer Wolf. Knowin’ purty well whar he wuz, ’twant long ’fo’ here dey come gallopin’ back.

Brer Pop-Eye say, "Mr. Craney-Crow, dis is Mr. Dock Wolf; Mr. Dock Wolf, dis is Mr. Craney-Crow; glad fer ter make you ’quainted, gents."

Atter dey been made ’quainted, ol’ Craney-Crow tell Dock Wolf ’bout his troubles, an’ how he wanter do like de rest er de flyin’ creeturs, an’ Dock Wolf rub his chin an’ put his thumb in his wescut pocket fer all de worl’ like a sho nuff doctor. He say ter ol’ Craney-Crow dat he ain’t so mighty certain an’ sho dat he kin he’p ’im much. He say dat in all his born days he ain’t never see no flyin’ creetur wid sech a long neck, an’ dat he’ll hatter be mighty intickler how he fool wid it.

He went close, he did, an’ feel un it an’ fumble wid it, an’ all de time his mouf wuz waterin’ des like yone do when you see a piece er lemon pie.

He say, "You’ll hatter hol’ yo’ head lower, Mr. Craney-Crow," an’ wid dat he snap down on it, an’ dat wuz de last er dat Craney-Crow. He ain’t never see his home no mo’, an’ mo’ dan dat, ol’ Dock Wolf slung ’im ’cross his back an’ cantered off home.

An’ dat’s de reason dat de Craney-Crows all fly so fas’ when dey come thoo dis part er de country.