Texas Slave Narratives

Texas Slave Narrative

  Winger Van Hook

One day, about fifty years ago, Winger Van Hook was out hunting with his dog. He came to a small mountain, and as he went down this little mountain, he passed through some shinnery scrub post oak timber. It had been raining, although the rain had now ceased and the sun was shining. Looking ahead, he saw a large pile of dark-looking substance. About that time, Winger stepped on some dry sticks which made a large popping sound. At this noise, a snake rose from this dark-looking pile and raised itself up every bit of six feet from the ground. Bobby , a little white mongrel dog, growled, raised his ruff, and hit for the tall timber, but not in the direction of the snake's head. Approaching, with a seasoned stick firmly grasped in his strong right hand, the young negro approached the spot. The head of the snake had been shot to pieces but it looked like a wagon-load of snakes still on the ground. It was a black racer with a body as large as a man's leg and a head the size of a man's fist. When Winger straightened out the parts of the dead snake, it was twelve feet long. Another time Winger Van Hook , while out hunting, had crossed a stick and rider split rail fence. jus knew, Little Miss, dat an ole rail fence was gwine be full ob snakes an' shore 'nuff 'twuz. 'Bout dat time me 'n my little dog a little black 'n white spotted, long tailed dog, 'spose yo white folks would call 'im a common cur dog pup, but I tells yo he shore was a friend to me. Now dis har day whut I was speaking ob, me an' Bob (dats my little pup), why we was out huntin' fer rabbits and bof ob us was shore hungry. Well, I climbed ober dis ole fence bout three-four times chasing down a sassy cottontail. Las time whut I crost dis har fence, an' ole black racer snake who'd been a hidin' under dat fence, took atter me. As mos-n-usual 'twuz in dem days, I was bare foot dat day. Well, I tho't I was runnin', but 'fore God, Little Miss, I looked down rite 'tween my feet and I seen dem mean little ole eyes an' dat sharp wicked little ole tongue ob dat black racer! Well, tell yo, 'twuz no time to run, nor 'twuz no time to pray. I just riz and staid in de air an' quicker dan a wink, dat dog sailed through dat fence an' caught dat snake jus rite at my feet. Tell you, Miss Lindy, if dat ole black racer had got holt ob me, he would hab squeezed de libing daylights rite out ob me. Well, Bob, he jus shake 'im, till dat ole mean snake was dead an' yo know, when I straightened dat ar snake out, he was nine feet long.

Did yo ask was I ebber scairt, Miss Lindy ? Lawd, chile, yo bein' scairt when dat attymobile nearly kilt yo, why yo dunno notthing 'bout bein' scairt. Why one time, rite atter de Civil War, jus atter Miss Finney herd tell yore paw was dead had died in de war I was down in de lo'er fiel' loadin' shocks ob corn. As mos-n-usual I was bare foot. An' yo know when I lift'd up dat ar las bundle ob corn, rite dar, all snug 'n safe like he was a beddin' up fer winter, was a copperhead, a great, big wicked ole copperhead! Now I  tell yo, Miss, when I see dat ar snake I riz an' staid in de air till dat ar ole snake crawled on 'bout his biz." 'Then what did you do, Uncle Winger ?' "Oh Lawd Miss, I just got me a big ole club an' I sot out on de warpath an' I hunted an' hunted till I found dat ole copperhead an den I kilt him. How many kinds ob snakes is dar? Ah, now Miss Lindy , I dunno. How many strange ones habe I seen? Ah, I dunno, lemme see. I member when I was a shirt-tailed kid, us youngens was shore scairt ob de hoop snake. Dey had a hook in de en ob de tail to fight wib. Dey didn' crawl on de groun' like odder snakes. They'd ketch der hook in der mouth an' roll ober an' ober an' not crawl like odder snakes. When dey got mad dey would hit at anythin' wid der tail an boy, if dey ebber struck yo 'twuz shore death, least wise dat is whut de ole folks all sed. Sometime do' ole hoop snake, he would get hisself so mad an' if he couldn' fin' anythin' to hit, he'd hit at a tree and den he couldn' get his ole hook out, so he couldn' get loose an' he staid dar till he died. An' another queer snake was de knob snake. He libed 'pon de mount'ns. He was too high-toned to lib whar hit was damp in de lo'er grouns. Dey shore was big ole snakes, eight feet long an' had a body as large 'round as a stove pipe. Dey was not bad to fight, but lawd-a-massy one ob dem comin' an' blinkin' at you, make you think dat judgment day has cum. No'm I never seed any in Texas, but dey was bad in dem Tennessee mount'ns. Did you ebber hear ob de jinted snake, Miss Lindy? Why if yo hit it, it don' die. Hit will jus break into pieces an' if yo mesh one ob dem jints, well ole Mister Snake will jus squirm an' twist and wiggle 'round an' put de good parts togedder an' jine dem an' way he goes. De only way yo can kill him is to mash him in de head." 


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