Constab Ballads

Front matter

CONSTAB BALLADS

CLAUDE McKAY

CONSTAB BALLADS

De Route March

In de fus’ squad an’ de front rank, ’Side me dear Will on de right flank, From de drill-groun’ at the old camp We went marchin’ on a long tramp. In de forefront was de gay band, An’ de music it was ring grand; O how jolly were we boys, oh, As we marched ’long t’rough St. Jago! As we tramped on out de dull town, Keepin’ time so to de drum’s soun’, All de folkses as dey ran out, Started dancin’ with a glad shout. We went swingin’ do’n de steep hill, Me so happy by my dear Will, Wid our carbines slung about we, An’ our glad hearts like de air free. We drank a draught from a pure brook Dat came windin’ roun’ a lee nook; Then homeward turned from de cool spring, Wid our good S. M. commanding.

To de music wid a good will We went tramp-trampin’ up de hill, An’ back to camp strode marchin’ t’rough De sad ruins of St. Jago.

Flat-Foot Drill

Fus’ beginnin’, flat-foot drill, Larnin’ how fe mek right tu’n: Tention! keep you’ han’s dem still, Can’t you tek in dat a li’l? Hearin’ all, but larnin’ none. “But seems unno all do’n-ca’, Won’t mek up you’ min’ fe larn; Drill-instructor boun’ fe swea’, Dealin’ wid you’ class all day, Neber see such from A barn. “Right tu’n, you damn’ bungo brut’! Do it so, you mountain man; Car’ behin’ de bluff lef’ foot, Seems i’ frighten fe de boot! Why you won’t keep do’n you’ han’? “Shet you’ mout’! A wan’ no chat! Fabour say you pick up nong, Sence you nyamin’ Depôt fat An’ ’top sleep ’pon so-so mat, But A mean fe pull you’ tongue. “Wonder when unno wi’ fit Fe move up in-a fus’ squad, Use carbine an’ bayonet! Wait dough,––unno wi’ larn yet,–– Me wi’ drill you ti’ you mad.”

Bennie's Departure

All dat week was cold an’ dreary, An’ I worked wid heavy heart; All my limbs were weak an’ weary, When I knew that we would part; An’ I thought of our first meeting On dat pleasant day o’ June, Of his kind an’ modest greeting When we met dat afternoon; Of de cáprice o’ de weader, How de harsh rain fell dat day, How we kissed de book togeder, An’ our hearts were light an’ gay; How we started homewards drivin’, Last civilian drive in train; How we half-feared de arrivin’, Knowin’ we were not free again; How we feared do’n to de layin’ By of our loved old-time dress, An’ to each udder kept sayin’ All might be unhappiness; How our lives be’n full o’ gladness, Drillin’ wid hearts light an’ free; How for days all would be sadness When we quarrelled foolishly. An’ de sad, glad recollection Brought a strange thrill to my soul, ’Memberin’ how his affection Gave joy in a barren wul’: As I thought then, my mind goin’ Back to mem’ries, oh! so dear,–– As I felt de burden growin’, Jes’ so shall I write it here. We were once more on de drill-ground, Me so happy by his side, One in passion, one in will, bound By a boundless love an’ wide: Daily you would see us drinkin’ Our tea by de mess-room door, Every passin’ moment linkin’ Us togeder more an’ more. After little lazy leanin’, Sittin’ on de window-sill, Me would start our carbine-cleanin'’ For de eight o’clock big drill: ’Fo’ me he be’n always ready, An’ as smart as smart could be; He was always quick, yet steady, Not of wav’rin’ min’ like me. When de time was awful dull in De ole borin’ Depôt-school, An’ me face was changed an’ sullen, An’ I kicked against de rule, He would speak to me so sweetly, Tellin’ me to bear my fate, An’ his lovin’ words completely Helped me to forget de hate. An’ my heart would start a-pinin’ Ef, when one o’clock came roun’, He was not beside me dinin’, But be’n at some duty boun’: Not a t’ing could sweet me eatin'’, Wid my Bennie ’way from me; Strangely would my heart be beatin’ Tell I knew dat he was free. When at last he came to table, Neider one could ever bate Tell in some way we were able To eke out each udder plate All me t’oughts were of my frennie Then an’ in de after days Ne’er can I forget my Bennie Wid him nice an’ pleasant ways. In de evenin’ we went walkin’, An’ de sweet sound of his voice, As we laughed or kept a-talkin’, Made my lovin’ heart rejoice: Full of happiness we strolled on, In de closin’ evenin’ light, Where de stately Cobre rolled on Gurglin’, murm’rin’ in de night; Where de rushin’ cánal waters Splashed t’rough fields of manchinic, Wid deir younger tender daughters Grow’n’ togeder, lush an’ t’ick, Round’ de mudder tall an’ slimber Wid her scalloped leaves o’ blue, In de evenin’ light a-limber, Or a-tossin’ to an’ fro. Back to barracks slowly strollin’, Leavin’ de enticin’ soun’ O’ de Cobre proudly rollin’ T’rough de old deserted town; Pas’ de level well-kept meadows O’ de spacious prison-land, Where de twilight’s fallin’ shadows Scattered at de moon’s command. So we passed ’long, half unwillin’, T’rough de yawnin’ barrack-gate, Our poo’ hearts wid disdain fillin’ O’ de life we’d larnt to hate; Visions of a turgid ocean Of our comrades’ noise an’ woes, An’ a ne’er-ceasin’ commotion Sorrowfully ’fo’ us rose. We mixed in de tumult, waitin’ Fe de moment o’ release, De disorder never ’batin’, Never ’batin’ in de leas’ Wid de anger in us growin’, We grew vexed from black to blue, All de hot blood t’rough us flowin’, As we hungered for tattoo. While some o’ de men were strong in Rum o’ Wray an’ Nephew fame, We sat do’n wid ceaseless longin’ Till at last de tattoo came: Jes’ then we were no more snappy, But be’n even in fe fun Once again we felt quite happy After de roll-call was done. Claspin’ of our hands togeder, Each to each we told good-night, Dreamed soon o’ life’s broken ledder An’ de wul’s perplexin’ fight, Of de many souls a-weepin’ Burdened do’n wid care an’ strife, While we sweetly lay a-sleepin’, Yet would grumble ’bout our life. Once his cot was next beside me, But dere came misfortune’s day When de pleasure was denied me, For de sergeant moved him ’way: I played not fe mind de movin’ Though me heart wid grief be’n full; ’Twas but one kin’ o’ de provin’ O’ de ways o’ dis ya wul’. ’Fo’ we tu’n good, came de warnin’ O’ de rousin’ bugle-soun’, An’ you’d see us soon a marnin’ To de bat’-house hurryin’ down, Leavin’ udders yawnin’, fumblin’, Wid deir limbs all stiff an’ ole, Or ’pon stretchin’ out an’ grumblin’, Say’n’ de water be’n too col’. In a jiffy we were washin’, Jeerin’ dem, de lazy type, All about us water dashin’ Out o’ de ole-fashion’ pipe: In a lee while we were endin’,— Dere was not much time to kill,— Arms an’ bay’nets wanted tendin’ ’Fo’ de soon-a-marnin’ drill. So we spent five months togeder, He was ever staunch an’ true In sunshine or rainy weader, No mind what wrong I would do: But dere came de sad heart-rendin’ News dat he must part from me, An’ I nursed my sorrow, bendin’ To de grim necessity. All dat week was cold an’ dreary, An’ I worked wid heavy heart; All my limbs were weak an’ weary When I knew dat we would part; All de fond hopes, all de gladness Drooped an’ faded from our sight, An’ an overwhelmin’ sadness Came do’n on de partin’ night. In de dim light I lay thinkin’ How dat sad night was our last, My lone spirit weakly sinkin’ ’Neat’ de mem’ries o’ de past: As I thought in deepest sorrow, He came,—sat do’n by my side, Speakin’ o’ de dreaded morrow An’ de flow o’ life’s dark tide. Gently fell the moonbeams, kissin’ ’Way de hot tears streamin’ free, While de wind outside went hissin’ An’ a-moanin’ for poor me: Then he rose, but after bended, Biddin’ me a last good-bye; To his cot his steps he wended, An’ I heard a deep-drawn sigh. ’Twas de same decisive warnin’ Wakin’ us as in de past, An’ we both washed soon a marnin’ ’Neat’ de ole pipe fe de last; We be’n filled wid hollow laughter, Rather tryin’ to take heart, But de grief returned when after Came de moment fe depart. Hands gripped tight, but not a tear fell As I looked into his face, Said de final word o’ farewell, An’ returned back to my place: At my desk I sat me dry-eyed, Sometimes gave a low-do’n moan, An’ at moments came a sigh sighed For my Bennie dat was gone.

Gone he, de little sunshine o’ my life, Leavin’ me ’lone to de Depôt’s black strife, Dear little comrade o’ lecture an’ drill, Loved comrade, like me of true stubborn will: Oft, in de light o’ de fast sinkin’ sun, We’d frolic togeder aroun’ de big gun; Oft would he laughingly run after me, Chasin’ me over de wide Depôt lea; Oft would he teach me de folly o’ pride When, me half-vexed, he would sit by my side;— Now all is blackness t’rough night an’ t’rough day, For my heart’s weary now Bennie’s away.

Consolation

I took my marnin’ bat’ alone, An’ wept for Bennie dat was gone; An’ after,—sittin’, weepin’ long,— Some one came askin’ wha’ be’n wrong: But only chokin’ sobs he heard, My mout’ could never speak a word. An’ so for long days all was grief, An’ never could I get relief; My heart be’n full of emptiness, With naught to love an’ naught to bless. I ’member de familiar scene:— I sat out on de Depôt green, Restin’ agains’ de big great gun: De long rays o’ de settin’ sun Were thrown upon the sombre wall; I heard de rousin’ bugle-call In chorus soundin’ o’ retreat; A ray o’ light shone on my seat, A soft dull shade of changin’ gold, So pleasant, lovely to behold: A moment,—an’ I was alone, De wanin’ evenin’ sun was gone. I sat do’n still; de evenin’ light Passed on, an’ it fell night, dark night. ’Twas autumn: feelin’ rather chill, I rose, led by my aimless will, An’ went up to the second floor, Sat on a bench agains’ de door. A comrade came an’ sat by me, Restin’ a hand upon my knee; De lantern old was burnin’ dim, But bright ’nough for me to see him:— One searchin’ look into his face, I gave him in my heart a place. I never knew a nicer mind, He was so pleasant an’ so kind; An’ oh! the sweetness of his voice That made my lonely heart rejoice. It all comes back so vividly,— The comfort that he brought to me; The ray of hope, the pure pure joy He gave a poor forsaken boy; In walk or talk his tender care, His deep concern for my welfare. His comin’ filled the larger part Of de great void made in my heart When on dat cruel awful day My faithful Bennie went away. ’Tis not de way o’ dis ya wul’ Dat any miserable soul Should know a little lastin’ peace, Should taste endurin’ happiness. De harmless tabby o’ de house Plays kindly wid de frightened mouse, Till, when it nearly loses dread, Good Lard! de little thing is dead. So wid de man, toy of a Will E’er playin’ with him to its fill, To-day alive, to-morrow slain,— Thus all our pleasure ends in pain. Where’er I roam, whate’er the clime, I’ll never know a happier time; I seemed as happy as could be, When—everything was torn from me. De fateful day I ’member still, De final breakin’ o’ my will, Again de sayin’ o’ good-bye, My poor heart’s silent wailin’ cry; My life, my soul, my all be’n gone, And ever since I am alone.

Fire Practice

Pam-pa-pam, pam-pa-pam, pam-pa-pam, Hea’ de fire-bugle blow! Pam-pa-pam, pam-pa-pam, pam-pa-pam, Depôt boys, tu’n do’n below! Runnin’ do’n out o’ de big barrack-room, Haulin’ de two engine out o’ de shed; Formin’ up into a long double line, Wait tell de fus’ wud o’ cómmand is said. Soon as we hea’ it we start t’rough de gate, Wid buckets, ledder, an’ engine an’ key: Joyously happy, with right cheery will Tramp we away from de big Depôt lea. Whole line in twos we go marchin’ along, List’nin’ de tramp-trampin’ tune of our feet, Side winks a-givin’ our gals as we pass Merrily, nimbly along White Church Street. At de shrill soun’ o’ de whistle we halt, An’ when de engine an’ all is fixed square, We start a-pumpin’ wid might an’ wid main, Sendin’ clear water chock up in de air. Pumpin’ an’ pumpin’ an’ pumpin’ away, Pumpin’ in earnest, yet pumpin’ wid fun, Once more again by de whistle we stop,— An’ den de day’s fire-practice is done. Pam-pa-pam, pam-pa-pam, pam-pa-pam, Hea’ de fire-bugle blow! Pam-pa-pam, pam-pa-pam, pam-pa-pam, Depôt boys, tu’n do’n below!

Note.—The first and last stanzas go to the following tune in F, two-four time: 1st bar; crotchet rest, quaver rest, 2 semiquavers C third space. 2nd bar; quaver C, 2 semiquavers A (the 3rd below), 2 semiquavers F (3rd below again). 3rd bar; crotchet F, quaver rest, 2 semiquavers C (middle C). 4th bar; 2 semiquavers F, 2 semiquavers middle C, crotchet F. 5th bar; same as 1st; 6th, same as 2nd; 7th, same as 3rd. 8th bar; dotted quaver F, semi-quaver F, dotted quaver middle C, semiquaver middle C. 9th bar; minim F.

Second-Class Constable Alston

I watched him as his cheek grew pale, He that once was strong and hale; The red had faded all away, And left it ashen, dull and gray. One Monday night he came to me, Rested his head upon my knee: “O Mac, me feel so sick,” he said, “I t’ink me poor boy soon wi’ dead.” I did my best to calm his fears, He opened up his breast in tears; I’ll ne’er forget the sight I saw, His body strewn with bumps—all raw. That night we listened to his moans, The hot fever was in his bones; He tossed and tossed about until, All his strength spent, he lay down still. Many a weary weary day In the hospital he lay, Till one morn torture turned to peace, For death had brought him his release. The funeral, oh it was grand! We honoured him with arms and band; And not a man but turned away Wet-eyed from where his comrade lay.

Last Words of the Dying Recruit

Where’s you’ tender han’, mumma, Dat would fingle up me jaw When de fever burned so deep, An’ A couldn’ get no sleep? Where’s de voice me love’ to hear Whisp’rin’ sweetest words o’ cheer?— Voice dat taught me A B C As me leaned ’pon mumma’s knee. Look de ’panish-needle grass Growin’ by de gully pass! Is dat fe me ducky hen Cacklin’ roun’-a rabbit pen? Hea’ de John-t’whits in-a glee Singin’ in de mammee tree! Listen, comin’ up de dale Chirpin’s o’ de nightingale! All de chune dem die away:— Do you see de shinin’ ray On da’ tiny buttercup? ’Tis de sun a-comin’ up. Now’s full time fe me to wake, ’Causen we ha’ bread fe bake; Git up, Sam, you lazy wretch, For de beas’ dem fe go ketch: Ef you ’low de sun fe grow, Grass-lice wi’ sure mek you know; S’arch up to de ole-groun’ side, For de jack wi’ ’tan’ deh hide. Mumma, me wan’ go a school, Te-day we gwin’ play tom-fool: Quick! Gi’e me my book an’ slate, For I doana want fe late. Sister, wha’ de doctor t’ink? Say mumma a lower sink? Lard! ef she gwin’ go lef’ we, Wha’ de use o’ life fe me? Sister, sister, a no true, Mumma caan’ dis dead ’way so; Sister, sister, leave me ’lone, Me won’ believe dat she gone. Ah! no fe her own han’ now Restin’ on me fevered brow? Mumma, lay me ’pon you’ breas’, Mek me get a drop o’ res’. Mumma!—a whe’ mumma deh? Mumma!—mumma gone away? Gone, oh gone is eberyt’ing, But de funny fancies cling. Aye, t’enk God, me mumma come! Ma, no lef’ me, tek me home; Tek me from de awful strife Of dis miserable life.

Bound fe Duty

Tramp, tramp, tramp, we go a-trampin’, Pólicemen on duty boun’ From de Depôt to de city, For dere’s racin’-time come roun’. Wid our great cloaks buttoned round we, Our best trampin’ boots all strong, Kit-bags, helmet-bags in each hand, We go merrily along. Tramp, tramp, tramp, we go a-trampin’, Stoutly marchin’ t’rough de rain; Soon we’ll all be tucked quite snugly In a corner o’ de train. Our light hearts are filled wid gladness, As we’re sweetly whirled away From de station to de city, For it means some extra pay. Passin’ cane-fields all a-racin’, Lush bananas coated blue, We’re whirled onward to de city, Where dere’s work for us to do.

Bumming

Of all de people I don’t like, A chief one is de bummer; He bums around from morn to night T’rough winter an’ t’rough summer. Ef we should go aroun’ John’s shop, An’ he ketch scent o’ rum’s up, You’ll soon see’m pokin’ up him nose Wid him bare-face an’ comes-up. Ef we are smokin’ cigarette, He wants a part of it too; An’ ebery bluff you gi’e to him, He’s answer got to fit you. Anedder thing I really hate Is, when de touris’ come in, To see some people flockin’ dem, An’ ebery one a-bummin’. I think it is an ugly sight To see a bummin’ bobby; Yet plenty o’ dem tek it for A precious piece of hobby. I proud ’nuff o’ me uniform Not ever to be rummy; Much mo’ fe lower do’n mese’f An’ mek my min’ feel bummy. If people like to see somet’ing, It is a bobby quaffin’ A glass or two o’ common rum,— Then drunk,—dey start a-laughin’. I tell you, all my comrades dear, Dough your pay might be little, Don’t cringe an’ fawn ’fore richer men, Deir pelf’s not wort’ a tittle. My pay is small, an’ yet I live An’ feel proud as a lord too; Ef you’ll be men you soon will find How much it can reward you. De honest toil is pure as gold, An’ he who wuks a penny Can mek his life as much wort’ while As he who earns a guinea. Our trouble is dat those above Do oftentimes oppress; But we’ll laugh at or pity dem, Or hate dem mo’ or less. So we mus’ mek de best o’ t’ings, An’ never be too rummish; ’Twill help us many ways, an’ ’top Us all from bein’ bummish.

De Dog-Driver's Frien'

Stay your hasty hands, my comrades, I must speak to you again; For you beat de dog ’dout mussy, An’ dey are we night-time frien’. Treat dem kindly, treat dem kindly, For dey are God’s creatures too; You have no more claim, dear comrades, On de earth dan what dey do. ’Cos you locked him up in barracks T’rough some failin’ point o’ his, You mus’ beatin’ him so badly For de little carelessness ? Treat dem kindly, etc. When de hours are cold an’ dreary, An’ I’m posted on me beat, An’ me tired heavy body Weighs upon me weary feet; When I think of our oppressors Wid mixed hatred an’ don’-care, An’ de ugly miau of tom-puss Rings out sharply on de air, Oftentimes dem come aroun’ me Wid dem free an’ trusting soul, Lying do’n or gambolling near me Wid a tender sort o’ gro’l: An’ I snap my fingers at them, While dey wag dem tail at me; Can you wonder dat I love dem, Dem, me night-time company ? Treat dem kindly, etc. Sometimes dey’re a bit too noisy Wid deir long leave-taking bark; But I tell you what, it cheers me When de nights are extra dark. So, dear comrades, don’t ill-treat him, You won’t mek me talk in vain; ’Member, when de hours are dreary, He’s de poor dog-driver’s frien’. Treat dem kindly, etc.

To Inspector W. E. Clark

(On His Return)

We welcome you, dear Sir, again; But oh! de comin’ brings us pain, For though we greet you glad to-day, Once more you’re bound to go away: We grieve now deeper than before To know you’ll be wid us no more. We fought o’ meetin’ you in gladness; But no, our hearts are filled with sadness To learn why we must part from you, An officer so dear an’ true: Our prayer is dat de Fates will bless You an’ your kin wid health an’ peace. Farewell, dear Sir, farewell again!— A farewell fraught wi’ deepest pain: De very ringin’ o’ de bell Sounds like a wailin’ of farewell; We feel it deeply, to de core, To know you’ll be wid us no more.

Papine Corner

When you want to meet a frien’, Bide up to Papine, Where dere’s people to no en’, Old, young, fat an’ lean: When you want nice gals fe court An’ to feel jus’ booze’, Go’p to Papine as a sport Dress’ in ge’man clo’es. When you want to be jus’ broke, Ride up wid your chum, Buy de best cigars to smoke An’ Finzi old rum: Stagger roun’ de sort o’ square On to Fong Kin bar; Keep as much strengt’ dat can bear You do’n in de car. When you want know Sunday bright, Tek a run up deh When ’bout eight o’clock at night Things are extra gay: Ef you want to see it cram’, Wait tell night is dark, An’ beneat’ your breat’ you’ll damn Coney Island Park. When you want see gals look fine, You mus’ go up dere, An’ you’ll see them drinkin’ wine An’ all sorts o’ beer: There you’ll see them walkin’ out, Each wid a young man, Watch them strollin’ all about, Flirtin’ all dem can. When you want hear coarsest jokes Passin’ rude an’ vile, Want to see de Kingston blokes,— Go up dere awhile: When you want hear murderin’ On de piano, An’ all sorts o’ drunken din, Papine you mus’ go. Ef you want lost póliceman, Go dere Sunday night, Where you’ll see them, every one Lookin’ smart an’ bright: Policeman of every rank, Rural ones an’ all, In de bar or on de bank, Each one in them sall. Policeman dat’s in his beat, Policeman widout, Policeman wid him gold teet’ Shinin’ in him mout’; Policeman in uniform Made of English blue, P’liceman gettin’ rather warm, Sleuth policeman too. Policeman on plain clo’es pass, Also dismissed ones; See them standin’ in a mass, Talkin’ ’bout them plans: Policeman “struck off de strengt’ Physical unfit,” Hear them chattin’ dere at lengt’ ’Bout a diffran’ kit. When you want meet a surprise, Tek de Papine track; Dere some things will meet you’ eyes Mek you tu’n you’ back: When you want to see mankind Of “class” family In a way degra’ them mind, Go ’p deh, you will see. When you want a pleasant drive, Tek Hope Gardens line; I can tell you, man alive, It is jolly fine: Ef you want to feel de fun, You mus’ only wait Until when you’re comin’ do’n An’ de tram is late.

Disillusioned

Can you leave me so, my Dan, Can you leave you’ little Fan ’Ter all o’ me lub fe you?— An’ my heart is still true, true. Can you leave me, leave me so, Full me heart wid grief an’ woe, Leave me to a bitter fate, When I’m in dis awful state? ’Member you de days gone by When for me you said you’d die? How you let me see you’ heart, Vowing we could never part? ’Member you my foolish pride When we be’n up mountain-side? How you go do’n ’pon you’ knee, Sayin’ you’d be true to me? An’ I followed you away Do’n to dis ya dreary bay; Fool to lef’ me mudder’s home, When she said me shouldn’ come! Now, sake ob a to’n-bred miss, You mus’ treat me laka dis! Tramplin’ me under you’ feet, Tu’nin’ me out in de street. Will she warm you when you’re chill? Will you get of lub you’ fill? Will she starve herse’f fe you, As I always use’ fe do? Will a to’n gal go bare-feet, Jes’ fe try mek two ends meet? Will she car’ water an’ wash, Jes’ fe help out you’ lee cash? Is she sweet an’ undefile’ As you took me, jes’ a chil’, ’Fo’ I knew about de wul’, Gave to you my pure pure soul? Will you leave me all forlorn ’Fo’ de lilly baby’s born?— Who wi’ eber tek me in Wid dis dreadful load o’ sin? Foolish, foolish young gals who T’ink a constab could be true! Foolish, foolish every one Who will trus’ a póliceman! Dem wi’ ondly try fe rob All de good you mighta hab; An’ ’fo’ you can count de cost, You wi’ find you’se’f lost, lost. Will you leave me, heartless Dan, For a risky to’n woman? When I’m burdened do’n wid woe, Will you leave me, leave me so?

Cotch Donkey

Ko how de jackass Lay do’n in de road; An’ him ondly car’ Little bit o’ load. Kue, jackass, git up! ’Tan’ up ’pon you’ foot! Dis ya load no load, You’s a lazy brut’. Me no know wha’ mek Pa won’ swop you too; For dere’s not a t’ing Wut while you can do. Ef you car’ no load, It is all de same; Hamper on or no, ’Tis de ushal game. Póliceman a come Fe go mek a row, All because o’ you Wid you’ wutless now. “See ya, Sah, no min’, Dis a fe me luck; De jackass is bad, Him no wan’ fe wuk. Tekde hamper off?’ Him no hab no cut: Me deh tell you say De jackass no wut. “Lard! me Gahd o’ me! Him got one lee ’cratch: Dat is not’in’, Sah, For him always cotch. Do, Sah, let me off, Ef fe te-day one; For a no de ’cratch Cause him fe lay do’n.” Now because o’ you Dem gone bring me up; An’ wha’ hu’t me mos’, You caan’ wuk a tup. Ef dem summons me, Mek me pay few mac, Dat caan’ mek me ’top Wuk you wid sore back.

Me Whoppin' Big-Tree Boy

I’m aweary weary standin’, wid me heart chock-full o’ grief, An’ a great lump in me bosom, an’ A canna’ get relief: Walkin’ up an’ do’n de road, I see a whoppin’ Syrian-boy, An’ I grudge him, yes I grudge him for his heart so full o’ joy. ’Twas a hot, hot day o’ brain-work, an’ me heart was sick an’ sad, As I staggered ’long de car-line, but de boy’s cheek made me glad: Wid his han’s dem set akimbo in a mannish sort o’ way, Said he “Do wha’ it you like, but A wi’ wuk no mo’ te-day.” An’ de Syrian grew astonished as he looked upon his load, Which de whoppin’ big-tree boy had tumbled in de middle road: He was boun’ fe Lawrence Tavern, business called him dere to-night, An’ he begged his ole-time carrier jes’ to help him out his plight. “Nummo wuk at all fe me is my determination still; Me no care damn wha’ you say, an’ you can jes’ do wha’ you will: Me deh go right back to to’n, yah, underneat’ me old big-tree; All dem boys wid eboe-light dem, dem is waitin’ deh fe me. “Now I’m free fe talk abouten all de people whe’ you rob, How you sell wha’ no wut gill self to black naygur for a bob; But me eboe-light wi’ sure talk, of dat you can have no doubt, Fe revenge de quantity o’ poor poor people you play out. “Jes’ becausen say dem poo’ so, an’ t’rough poverty dem mus’ Tek a couple o’ t’ings from you dat you’re trick enough fe trus’, You robbin’ dem so badly; but A sorry fe you dough, How we boys beneat’ de big-tree really mean fe mek you know.” Then I roared, I roared with laughter, although posted on my beat, Till I half forgot de sore pain in me bosom an’ my feet: Ah! I wish I knew a little, jes’ a little of de joy Dat Nature has bestowed on you, my whoppin’ big-tree boy.

A Recruit on the Corpy

Me an’ de corpy drink we rum, An’ corpy larn me how fe bum; Last night me gie ’m de last-last tup, Yet now him come an’ bring me up. He’ll carry me ’fo’ officer, An’ rake up’ t’ings fe charge me for; An’ all because dese couple days Me couldn’ gie ’m de usual raise. Last night, when it come to roll-call, Dis corpy couldn’ ’ten’ at all: We didn’ mek de S.M. see ’m, But only put things ’traight fe him. An’ we, like big fools, be’n deh fret Ober de corpy drunk to deat’: We all treat him so very kin’, Aldough him ha’ such dutty min’. We tek him drunken off de car, We tek him drunken out de bar, We wake him drunken ’pon him guard, An’ yet we neber claim reward. All bad contráry things me do, Corpy see me an’ let me go; But ’causen me no ha’ a tup, Fe not’in’ ’tall him bring me up.

Pay-Day

Dere’s a little anxious crowd Jes’ outside de barrack gate, All a-t’inkin’ deir own way Dat de pay is kept back late: Faces of all types an’ shades, Brown an’ yaller, black an’ gray, Dey are waitin’, waitin’ dere, For it’s póliceman pay-day. Clearly seen among dem all Is a colourless white face Anxious more dan every one, Fine type of an alien race: He is waitin’ for some cash On de goods trust’ tarra day,— Our good frien’ de Syrian,— For it’s policeman pay-day. Wid a lee piece of old clot’ ’Pon her curly glossy hair, Print frock an’ old bulldog boots Tatters all t’rough wear an’ tear, She is waitin’, ober-bex’, Our mess-woman, mudder Mell, An’ ’twould grieve you’ heart to hear ’Bouten wha’ she’s got to tell. Six long fortnight come an’ gone Since some constab hol’ her up, An’, wid all de try she try, She can neber get a tup: “Me wi’ tell Inspector F—— ’Bout de ’ole o’ i’ to-day, An’ den me wi’ really see Ef him caan’ boun’ dem fe pay. “Man dem, wid dem hungry gut, Six long fortnight nyam me rash; Not a gill me caan’ get when Chiny dah dun fe him cash Fe de plenty t’ings me trus’, Sal’ fish, pork, an’ flour, an’ rice, Onion an’ ingredients, Jes’ fe mek de brukfus’ nice.” See de waitin’ midnight girl Wid her saucy cock-up lips, An’ her strongly-built black hands Pressed against her rounded hips: She has passed de bound’ry line, An’ her womanhood is sold; Wonder not then, as you gaze, Dat, though young, she looks so bold. Once she roamed de country woods Wid a free an’ stainless soul, But she left for Kingston’s slums, Gave herself up to de wul’: She has trod de downward course, Never haltin’ on de way; Dere’s no better time for her Dan a póliceman pay-day. Waits de slimber ball-pan man, Waits de little ice-cream lad, Waits our washerwoman Sue,— All deh chat how pólice bad; Each one sayin’ police vile, Yet deir faces all betray Dat for dem dere’s no rag time Laka policeman pay-day. Inside in de ord’ly room Things are movin’ very fine; Constab standin’ in a row Hea’ de jinglin’ o’ de coin; Constab wid a solemn face, Constab only full o’ fun, Marchin’ in de ord’ly room As dem name call one by one. Quick march!—halt!—a sharp right tu’n, Wid de right han’ smart salute, All attention poker-stiff, An’ a-standin’ grave an’ mute: Office-clerk calls out de name, Officer hands de amount To Sa’an’ Major standin’ by, Who gives it a second count. ’Ter all de formalities, Dis an’ dat an’ warra not, Salute,—’tion,—right about turn,— Den de precious pay is got: Lee gone to de réward fund T’rough a blot’ defaulter-sheet, Run do’n by sub-officers, Or caught sleepin’ on dem beat; Den dere’s somet’ing gone fe kit; Uniform mus’ smart an’ nice, Else de officer won’ t’ink Dat a bobby’s wutten price. All dem way de money go; So de payin’-out fe some, When de fortnight dem come roun’, Bégin-a ord’ly room. Now comes payin’ up de debts To de miscellaneous crowd Waitin’ by de barrack-gate, Chattin’, chattin’ very loud: Payin’, payin’ all de time, From a poun’ do’n to a gill, Whole fortnight-pay partly done, Yet rum-money lef’ back still. Strollin’ t’rough de gate at night, Drinkin’ Finzi tell dead drunk, Barely standin’ at tattoo,— After tumblin’ in-a bunk; All de two-an’-four is done, So-so trust nong ebery day Tell de fortnight comes again An’ we get de little pay.