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Garnett Laidlaw Bakst,
4700 Kellwood Avenue
Chicago, Illinois
COOKTINE IN MANHATTAN
On a bright October afternoon I walked along pier -lined West
Street that borders the Hudson shore in New York City. Near at
hand the city roared past; beyoudIrose the Jersey daft's. Here,,,
on West Street there is always a crowding and pushing of ocean
vessels --transatlantic and coastwise ships; freighter and "luxury
liners" -saying in at their berths, thrusting sharp prows against the
very city pavements, or edging away from their wharves in the wake
of straining tug:boats. Today/there were, as always, crowds of
stevedores, longdhoremen, and dock laborers on hand, buay about the
loading and unloading of cargoes arriving from, or destined fort the
ports of the seven seas. Stolidly these men want about their work -ft
Hungarians, Italians, Irishmen, Germans, Swedes, with a fair scattering
of the native born product. They seemed to toil with a grim desperation
as though the work they did was distasteful but necessary.
Among the crowd of laborers on this particular day, however,
was one --a powerful, gray-haired old Negro —who alone seemed to be
enjoying his back -breaking duties. For he was staging at his work.
Singingt-chanting, in a rhythmical barbaric sort of regularity, a
kind of mug that awoke vague nostalgia longings in ref innards.
Goonjinet Was it possible, I asked myself, that here in New
York there was a steantoat roustabout --a "Coonjine Nigger" -.from
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the Mississippi country? A stray from my native Midlands and South?
Looking at him closely I could not doubt it. Be wore the
conventional old battered hat turned up in front, the gunny seek
fastened with nails across his chest and shoulders.
Anyone reared along the Inland rivers would knew that this was
the dharacteristic dress of the steamboat roustabout, from Cairo, In.
to St. Louis; from Cincinnati to New Orleans.
I listened carefully to his song as he laid down on the dock a
large box from his shoulder and turned back to the ship again.
Love her in de sunshine,
Love her in de rain!
Treats her like a white gal,
She give my neck a paint
De mot I does for Sadie Ise
De less dat woman thinks er met
bad never beard the words before but his manner of singing
them smacked undeniably of the river Negro. There was a guileless
naivete that I could not mistake.
Back in the days when the queenly white steamboats of the
Mississippi, the Ohto and Illinois Rivers, were busy carrying the
freight and passengers of the American Inland mpre, an army of freight
handlers was necessary to take care of the loading and unloading.
At one tine in the middle of the nineteenth century before the rail-
roads had fully come, nearly two thousand steamboats steamed gracefully
along the rivers. One fairly good-sized boat carried fifty roustabouts.
The you can at once apprehend the great need, for itrong arms
and backs to do the loading and unloading at the city landings where
the boats touched.
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Along the rivers that border outhern Illinois, Kentucky and.
the Southern States, Negroes gravitated instinctively to the river
life. Steamboating appealed to them because of its inherently
nomadic character, its constant change of sdmaes its hours of pleasant
idleness on deck, between landings, when a black boy could rest and
sleep and roll the spotted ivories *with his buddies. The wages were
relatively good. Particularly, the food was plentiful and substantial.
And that was an important factor in any job/
And so from the beginning of steam transportation on the Mississippi
(1817) the Negro, as a freiOht handler -..known locally as a roustabouts
or in the vernacular a "rousterw-mbecame an important figure in the
mid -American scene., Especially .after the long arm of emancipation
had freed the slaves and they sought out 0 their own careers.
A roustabout's job while it lasted. .rolling cotton bales over
the stageplaaks, carrying tierces of lard and sides of bacon, swing,
ing a recalcitrant pig calf over the shoulder, carrying it squealing
along, working in all kinds of weathers and under the constant tongue
lashings of a profane and two-fisted steamboat mate. .was about as
hard a job as could be found. Yet the Negfoes loved it because there
was plenty of tine between landings for nrestin' up."
And there was another way to lighten the labor. If a boy put his
mind on his work and kept it there, he could not long stand up under
the strain. .But if he sang while he worked, "bkiiikeAlti)sig\spirItiZsa_
"lizAlnkitlf/Eibi3gr While his back bent and the sweat trickled
.copiously from his pores, he would forget his weariness.
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There is in every rightly constructed Negro a profound sense of
rhythm, an inherent love for the beat and timing of music, running
back to African days. He sings as naturally as he eats. It was to
alleviate the weariness of carrying freiet On -and off the steamboats,
that the roustaboutt sang. And the songs they sang and the shuffling,
loose kneed dance -job -trot to which they timed their movements, became
known among themselves as the Coonjine.
It was such a song that I heard this gray haired brawny Negro
singing on the West Street docks, a thousand miles away from the
Mississippi country, on this October afternoon.
(NO one seams to know definitely where the name ncoonjine" came
from. Harris Dickson, well known author of Vicksburg, Mies., and
an authority on Negro lore, says that the word is possibly at African
origin and points out the word "Coonjai" was the African term for a
tribal dance. But, Judge Dickson explains further, roustabouts didn't
run much to "derivations" to Greek or Latin roots. Whenever they
wanted a lard they made it up offhand, and usually the word they coined
filled the bill so perfectly that it stuck. It may have been 1W3 with
Coonjine.)
Coonjine songs were not spirituals --neither the genuine nor the
"Broadway" variety. There was nothing spiritual about tbmn that
have been able to discover.
Into these songs the rousters put the problems and the incidents
of the day's labor, the characteristics of the people they met. The
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peculiarities of a mate or captain or fellow rouster; the speed and
qualities of a particular boat; the charms or meanness of a woman
friend; domestic matters --all these were subjects which the steamboat
roustabouts wove into the texture of the Coonjine songs with which they
lightened the labor of steamboat work. Composed sometimes on the spur
of the moment, or garbled versions of songs previously heard, often
the words were ridiculous, sometimes senseless, but nearly always
ludicrous with occasionally a touch of pathos:
Old roustabout aint gat no home,
Make his living on his shoulder bquel
There came a lull in the unloading of the ship. The Negro exhaled
gustily, mopped his brow and chancing to glance in my direction,
grinned and Shook his head.
"Sho' is hots" he announced, "and man is I tiredi"
I beckoned him over to one aids.
"What boats you work on?" I asked him. "Ever roust on the
Kate Adams?"
At Mlich his smile broadened and he broke out in a loud guffaw.
"Go 'long, B0881 You come frum down on the River? Lewd, Lewd!
Yessur, I sho'ly did wuk on de ole Lorin Kate. (Dat's whut we useter
call de Kate Adams). wuk on Cap 'n Buck Leyhets Golden Nagle, too,
an, on de CitrerIouisville and City or Cincinnati, up an de Ohio River.
One time, 'bout fifteen years ago, I rousted for Ole Captn. Cooley pp
de Ouachita River. Yassuh!" Be turned scornfully to the group of
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laborers still carrying articles of freight, 'Mese hyUh dagoes and
furriners--dey don't know nuthin' bout roustin'l Day doan know nothin'
bout Coonjine, like us does out on de river."
"Do you remember any more of those Coonjine songs?" I asked him;
Whereupon he at once became a trifle reticent and embarrassed.
"Lawsy, hit wuz so long ago I mos' fergit 'am. I useter know a
lot dam songs when I wuz a young buck. But senee I done got ole, I
got ne a wife and jined de chu'ch and fergit mos' all dam ole Coonjine
songs."
"But you were singing just now," I told him.
"WUz I?" he askod, his eyes wide. "Well, dat dat wuz jes cause
I wuz workin', boss!" Presently he resumed: "I 'members one song we
uster sing on de Lizzie Bay, when she was running from Ragtown ter Cairo."
“Ragtown? Where was that?"
"AW dat's jes' de name de rousterS give her Cincinnati. SO
many rags wuz sold and shipped out on de boats ter make paper outen.
net song went dish here way:
De ole Lizzie Bay she comint roun' de ben'
All she's a doin' is killint up man.
Do ole Lizzie Bay abets a mighty fine boat
But hit take nine syphon ter keep her afloat.
"An' boss, you member dat song bout
Who been hyuh sints I bin gone?
Big ole rouster wid a derby on,
Layin' right Aar in my bed
Wid his heels crack open like cracklin' bread.
.I whoop my woman and I black her eye,
But I won't out her thioat kaze I skeered she
might die.
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I had heard garbled versions of this epic at various river towns,
even as I had heard variations of that well-nigh unprintable song with
the recurring refrain of "Raugo Rango" and the often twisted, "Roll,
Roll.“
This seemed to please him mightily. Under pressure, and in acknow-
ledgement of some silver change, he recalled others of the songs he
had chanted years ago, in the days when the big steamboats ran —recalled
than slowly, one by one, each song suggesting another. Standing there
with him in the West Street pier shed, I gathered a sizeable collection
of Coonjine songs. Many, I have no doubt, bore only a slight resemblance
to the original wordings. For roustabouts felt, so long as they
preserved the thought and central idea and rhythm of a sang, they
could change the wards at will. Sometime they abandoned the existing
words and made up new words of their own. I have heard different
versions of barely recognizable Coonjine songs in various towns from
St. Louis to the Delta. Once, an antiquated porter at the old Holliday
House, fronting the river at Cairo, Ill.", .sang this one for me:
"Whar wuz you last night?
0 tell me whar you wuz las' night?
Rattin' on de lob
In Saint Chawles Hotel."
Which requires some explanation. "Ratting" in rouster lingo for
"loafing." The St. Charles Hotel referred, not to the historical
hostelry in New Orleans of that name, tot to a warm cleared space
beneath the steamboat boilers on the lower deck on any boat where the
rousters, whenever they were able to dodge the vigilant eye of the mate,
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were wont to hide away and sleep.
Many a boat has been loaded, down in the cotton country, to the
tune of a two line doggerel:
I °haws my terbacker and I spits my juice,
Gwinter love my gal til hit ain't no use:
Roustabouts were always hungry. Near the steamboat landing in
Vicksburg *here stood, back in the eighties and nineties, an old brick
bakery which specialized in "nigger belly" --that is, long slabs of
ginger bread which sold et the rate of two for five cents. The roust-
abouts called it "boozum bread."
Boozum bread, boozum bread,
I eats dat stuff till I dam near dead:
--sang the roustabouts of the Belle of the Bends of the Senator Cordell
or the Belle Memphis, or any other of a dozen boats. Which also
requires sons explanation. In carrying articles of freight up and
dovn the stageplank a roustabout had to use both hands to balance it
on his shoulder or head. Soe be would stuff a strip of ginger bread
under his shirt bosom next to his skin, the top extending up almost to
his collar. By ducking his chin he could bit out chunks of the stuff
(soon softened by sweat) without interference with his work. 14410e
the mum, Boozum (bosom) bread.
Vicksburg roustabouts were also partial to this song, which had
reference to a certain one-armed hard -fisted steamboat mete, named
Lew Brown.
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Taint no use tar dodgin' roun'
Dat ole mate joss' behime you.
Better out dat step and coonjine out
Dat ole Jess behime ycu:
But the songs eulogising the boats themselves stick longer in my
mind than any others. There was something intensely personal about a
steamboat. To the men who manned and owned and operated them, steam-
boats had personality. Hence the qualities of certain boats live
today in Coonjine songs.
The boats of the Lee Line, in the Memphis -New Orleans trade
until a few years ago, fed th passengers and crews well; tut paid
notoriously lag wages. Still the Negroes liked to work for the Lee
Line. The reason is to be found in this sang:
Reason I likes de Lea Line trade,
Sleep 411 night wid de chambermaid.
She gime ODBO pie and she gimme some cake.
An' I git her all de money datl ever make.
The Anchor Line boats (running from 1869-1911) were each named
for a Mississippi River City, and fine St. Louis and New Orleans packets,
noted for speed, sumptious cabins and elaborate cuisine. I once met,
up on the Ohio River, an old roustabout Who called himself Ankline Bob..'.
because, he said, he had worked for the Anchor Line. Bob had the
lagdom on the different Anchor Line boats:
Dqrwuks you hawd but day feeds you fine
On dem big boats er de Andhca. Line.
There was intense rivalry between the different boats of this
lime. Notably that between the City of Cairo and the City of Monroe.
Both were fine and fast, but the Cairo was once said to have a slight
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edge for speed on the Monroe. Whereupon the roustabouts on the Monroe
would sing:
De City of Cairo's a nighty big gun,
But lamas tell you whut de Monroe done:
She lee Baton Rouge at haff pass one
Ant gitkier Vicksburg at de settin' or de sun.
Another Anchor Liner, the City of Providence, was nicknamed by the
roustabouts "The Trusty Trust" for the reason that her mate was always
.willing to trust a rouster with a dollar until pay day. They would sing:
Ms and ma woman done had a rue.
Gwinter take a little trip on de Trusty Trus't
I owes de lanlady fifty cents,
0winter roust on de Providence
A song which was popular in Anerica twenty years ago was "Alabama
Bound." An ex -roustabout on the St. Louis levee once explained to me
that this song was originally a Coonjine song. The steamboat Saltillo
was a doughty little sternwheeler which late in the evening used, to
pull away periodically from the landing and turn her nose southward
down the Mississippi. At Cairo she would turn into the Ohio and up
that stream to the mouth of the TOUUDS008 River, following the lovely
channel of that river back into the Mnecle Shoals section of Alabama
Which the great government dams are today being built to improve
navigation.
With their usual happy facility for conferring euphonious nicknames,
the Negroes called the Saltillo the Sal Teller.
Sal Teller leave St. Lcoey
Wid her lights tu'n down.
And you'll know by dat
She's Alabama bound.
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Alabama bound!
Sbe's Alabama bound!
You'll know by dat
She's Alabama bound!
Doan you leave ne here!
Doan you leave ma here!
Ef you's gwine away and am n comin' back
Leave a dine for beer!
Leave a dime for beer
Leave a dime far beer!
Brother, if yu gmine away
Leave a dine for beer!
I ask de mate
Ter sell me some gin;
Says, I pay you, mister
When de Stack comes in
When de Stack cones in
When de Stack cones In!
Says, I pay you mister,
When de Stack comes in.
The name Stack, recurring several times in the song, referred to
one of the Lee Line boats, the Stacker Lee.
Mates aid captain, far from objecting to coonjine, encouraged their
roustabouts to sing. There was a sound utilitarian reason for this.
Anyone who has worked with Negroes knows that they will work better
When they work to =BAC, fining their movements to the beat of the tune.
A thousand tons at miscellaneous freight and a few hundred bales of
ootton could be loaded, to the beat and time of Coonjine, in half the
time that songless labor would demand.
Coning up the Mississippi on Captain Cooley's little sternwheeler
Ouachita in company with Roark Bradford, one early spring, I learned
this song fxonithat skillful portrayer of the Negro character:
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(This was a cotton -loading song heard frequently on the docks
at New Orleans).
Catfish swimmin' in de river
Nigger wid a hook and line
Says de catfish, Loolyere, Nigger,
You sin' got me dis tima.
Come on, bale (spoken) got yuht
And there was another value to Coonjine. Moving in perfect time
meant that the rousters' feet hit the stageplank with unifomm pre-
cision. A wise thing, too: For if a rouster should step upon the
vibrating boards out of time, and thus catch the rebound of the stage
plank, he was very likely to be catapulted with his load over into
that muddy bourne from which no roustabout returns --or rarely so.
A general opinion prevails throughout the River Southland that
nobody but the Negroes can sing Coonjine. This may be true, for if you
have ever tried to capture a Coonjine tuna from hearing a Negro sing it,
you must have realized how utterly futile it is to put down in cold
black and white on paper the color and barbaric beauty of the tones.
However, an attempt is being made --as this is written --by an
accomplished musical composer in Paducah, Kentucky, to bring out a
book of Coonjine songs with music. Such a collection mould be an
invaluable addition to our vanishing Americana.
For this p*nse of American life is fast vanishing. With the coming
of the railroads, the steamboats (as we knew them once) have gone.
So have the black freight handlers Who by their songs and ever -rebounding
good nature, added much to the pleasure of steamboat travel. Many of the
old roustabouts have died. More have left 4r native South and come to
the north to lire with grown-up "chillens." You will find them, not only
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on the West Street docks in New York, but in Cleveland, Chicago,
Cincinnati aad other cities.
And to those black "creators of 2'nerican folklore" the writer
ascribes this brief tribute.