Uncle Sambo’s a gwine to be righted,
Uncle Sambo’s a gwine to be free,
And dey say dat dis darkey’s delighted
Becos you white folks can’t agree;
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow:—
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
Yes sir!
Yes sir! Yes sir, ree! Yes sir, ree!
I don't see it! I don't see it!
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
Yes sir!
Yes sir! Yes sir, ree! Yes sir, ree!
I don't see it! I don't see it!
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
O dey say dis Fremount proclamation
Hab kick up de best sort o’ fun,
But much as I lub ’mancipation,
I rader you two should stay one.
Mighty pleasant to vote wid our betters,
And pray wid white breddren but yet
I’d rader go back to my fetters
Dan see dis old Union upset.
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
Yes sir!
Yes sir! Yes sir, ree! Yes sir, ree!
I don't see it! I don't see it!
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
I’d rader go back to plantation
And stick to de cotton and cane,
Dan dat Gin’ral Waxhington nation
Should all hab been built up in vain.
O dey wen de fightin’s all ober,
Nary slave will be left in de land,
But if dey fight on, by Jehober,
Dey’ll leave nary freemen on hand.
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
Yes sir!
Yes sir! Yes sir, ree! Yes sir, ree!
I don't see it! I don't see it!
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
De last time I saw my old Massa
He’d just bid old Missus good bye,
His hand was right wet, for, I dar say,
He’d just brushed a tear from his eye:
One foot in his shiny steel stirrup,
One hand on de mane ob his Black,
He stammered out— “Boys, you must cheer up
Old Missus, if I don’t git back.”
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
Yes sir!
Yes sir! Yes sir, ree! Yes sir, ree!
I don't see it! I don't see it!
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Old Missus, de last time I met her
Dat sight make me feel berry sore,
She leanin’ agin’ de Palmetter,
He gallopin on to de war:
She went in and watched by de windo’
As long as his hoss she could see,
Den turned, wid a strange larf, and kindo’
Staggered and came to her knee.
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
Yes sir!
Yes sir! Yes sir, ree! Yes sir, ree!
I don't see it! I don't see it!
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Mayn’t Massa and Missus drop us here
Wen somebody settles dis war,
Mayn’t de banjo of dear old Virginier
Be as sweet to New York as before?
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober.
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow,
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He only a CONTRABAND now.
Uncle Sambo’s a gwine to be free,
And dey say dat dis darkey’s delighted
Becos you white folks can’t agree;
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow:—
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
Yes sir!
Yes sir! Yes sir, ree! Yes sir, ree!
I don't see it! I don't see it!
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
Yes sir!
Yes sir! Yes sir, ree! Yes sir, ree!
I don't see it! I don't see it!
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
O dey say dis Fremount proclamation
Hab kick up de best sort o’ fun,
But much as I lub ’mancipation,
I rader you two should stay one.
Mighty pleasant to vote wid our betters,
And pray wid white breddren but yet
I’d rader go back to my fetters
Dan see dis old Union upset.
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
Yes sir!
Yes sir! Yes sir, ree! Yes sir, ree!
I don't see it! I don't see it!
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
I’d rader go back to plantation
And stick to de cotton and cane,
Dan dat Gin’ral Waxhington nation
Should all hab been built up in vain.
O dey wen de fightin’s all ober,
Nary slave will be left in de land,
But if dey fight on, by Jehober,
Dey’ll leave nary freemen on hand.
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
Yes sir!
Yes sir! Yes sir, ree! Yes sir, ree!
I don't see it! I don't see it!
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
De last time I saw my old Massa
He’d just bid old Missus good bye,
His hand was right wet, for, I dar say,
He’d just brushed a tear from his eye:
One foot in his shiny steel stirrup,
One hand on de mane ob his Black,
He stammered out— “Boys, you must cheer up
Old Missus, if I don’t git back.”
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
Yes sir!
Yes sir! Yes sir, ree! Yes sir, ree!
I don't see it! I don't see it!
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Old Missus, de last time I met her
Dat sight make me feel berry sore,
She leanin’ agin’ de Palmetter,
He gallopin on to de war:
She went in and watched by de windo’
As long as his hoss she could see,
Den turned, wid a strange larf, and kindo’
Staggered and came to her knee.
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober,
Yes sir!
Yes sir! Yes sir, ree! Yes sir, ree!
I don't see it! I don't see it!
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He’s only a Contraband now!
Mayn’t Massa and Missus drop us here
Wen somebody settles dis war,
Mayn’t de banjo of dear old Virginier
Be as sweet to New York as before?
O dey say dat dis darkey’s in clober.
But ’deed I don’t see it nohow,
Uncle Sambo’s best days are all ober,
He only a CONTRABAND now.
Contributed by Bernart Bartleby - 2015/8/27 - 14:50
Scusate, direi di mettere da parte, almeno per il momento questa canzone perchè potrebbe trattarsi (vedi anche il "nigger speak" adottato) di un testo nostalgico dei tempi della schiavitù: "I giorni migliori per zio Sambo sono passati, adesso lui è soltanto un contraband"...
La questione non è semplice perchè l'abolizionismo nordista non fu sempre genuino (in fondo l'Unità degli USA non fu poi tanto diversa dall'Unità d'Italia, una guerra di occupazione), il Sud aveva le sue ragioni da difendere e l'"emancipazione" dei neri fu spesso un pretesto, tant'è che al sud lo schiavismo non fu affatto sradicato e tutt'al più si passò al segregazionismo.
La questione non è semplice perchè l'abolizionismo nordista non fu sempre genuino (in fondo l'Unità degli USA non fu poi tanto diversa dall'Unità d'Italia, una guerra di occupazione), il Sud aveva le sue ragioni da difendere e l'"emancipazione" dei neri fu spesso un pretesto, tant'è che al sud lo schiavismo non fu affatto sradicato e tutt'al più si passò al segregazionismo.
Bernart Bartleby - 2015/8/28 - 09:47
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Parole e musica di Frank Wardlaw
Testo trovato su Public Domain Music, nella sezione “American Civil War Music (1861-1865)”
Altrove la canzone viene datata al 1864 e attribuita a tal George H. Miles, che però è forse solo il curatore della raccolta “Said the Rose, and Other Lyrics” (1907) in cui il testo del brano è incluso.
“Contraband” oggi non significa altro che “contrabbando” ma all’epoca erano chiamati “contrabands” gli schiavi afroamericani fuggiaschi che ancora non erano stati dichiarati liberi o che si univano alle truppe dell’Unione. “Contraband” significava quindi che quel negro non era più schiavo ma nemmeno ancora libero. I contrabands si raccoglievano in campi quasi sempre posti nelle vicinanze di un accampamento militare o di un fortino nordista, ma vivevano in completa separazione dai bianchi, anche se da questi assistiti.
Molti contrabands chiesero ed ottennero (o fu loro imposto, o non avevano molte alternative…) di combattere nelle fila dell’Unione, ma i vertici militari non consentirono la creazione di unità miste: i contrabands furono destinati ai reggimenti delle United States Colored Troops, dove già erano integrati americani di origine asiatica, o delle isole del Pacifico, o indigeni nativi. Unità militari come i cosiddetti Buffalo Soldiers – i pellenera che dopo la Guerra Civile vennero mandati ad ammazzare i pellerossa - erano interamente costituite da schiavi fuggiaschi ma “di contrabbando”, non liberi e finalmente… segregati!
Il più grande campo di concentramento di negri fuggiaschi era il Grand Contraband Camp nei pressi di Hampton, in Virginia, chiamato dai suoi ospiti “Slabtown” (sinonimo di slum, letteralmente agglomerato di baracche di lamiera). Ma verso la fine della guerra i campi dei contrabands negli Stati ribelli sconfitti dall’Unione erano un centinaio, compresa la famosa “Freedman's Colony” di Roanoke Island, North Carolina, fondata dall’esercito dopo aver conquistato e requisito un forte sudista, dove oltre 3.500 contrabands vissero in modo quasi del tutto autosufficiente per qualche anno. Alcune centinaia di loro non se ne andarono mai e lì vivono ancora i loro discendenti.