A production of the South Carolina Educational Television Network.

>> Funding for this program was provided by... ♪ ♪ ♪ [seagulls calling] ♪ ♪ [ferry horn sounding] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [indistinct chatter] ♪ ♪ [indistinct chatter] Mr.

Barksdale> Mr.

Courtney?

Mr.

Courtney> Mr.

Barksdale, I presume?

Mr.

Barksdale> Yes.

Where can he put my things?

Be careful with that bag there!

Mr.

Courtney> Put 'em in the wagon.

(silence) (silence) Mr.

Barksdale> Spencer tells me you manage the hunt club for him here on the island.

Mr.

Courtney> I live in it for him.

There's not much managing to it.

It's not exactly a hotel, you know.

Mr.

Barksdale> Look here, I hope I'm not interfering with any of your plans.

Spencer told me there'd be no difficulty.

Mr.

Courtney> We don't make many plans here on Ediwander, Mr.

Barksdale.

Whatever Spencer said is fine.

Mr.

Barksdale> You know him pretty well, I suppose.

Mr.

Courtney> Well, he's my second cousin, but who isn't around here?

Would you like to walk to the club or ride?

Mr.

Barksdale> How far is it?

Mr.

Courtney> About a mile, maybe, no further.

Mr.

Barksdale> Let's walk, then.

One thing is, I am not delicate, Mr.

Courtney.

Mr.

Courtney> Fine.

You go on up to the big house, Jacob.

We'll peruse along behind you.

Jacob> Yes, sir.

Go on.

[wagon wheels squeaking] Mr.

Barksdale> I imagine Spencer told you Mr.

Courtney> He wrote me that you'd like the Gullah language.

Mr.

Barksdale> Actually, I've already studied it.

All I need now is to test my theory on some really primitive speakers.

Mr.

Courtney> Let me tell you something, s the people on this island were Gullah slaves.

Now they're Gullah paddlers for Spencer's hunt club.

I reckon that leaves them pretty unspoiled from your point of view, doesn't it?

Mr.

Barksdale> All I care about is how they talk.

In fact, I'm rather intrigued by the way you talk.

<No.> Yes.

Something you said to your driver, ba "We'll peruse along behind you."

Mr.

Courtney> That's Gullah, all right.

I'm guess I'm a little primitive myself, the local African influence, you know Mr.

Barksdale> That's not Gullah; that's p English Peruse: to walk or saunter in the woods.

Nothing African about it.

Mr.

Courtney> You don't say.

(crickets chirping) (multiple singers) ♪ Long time, ♪ ♪ long time, ♪ long time.

♪ (male soloist) ♪ Oh, workin' in the field.

♪ (group) ♪ Long time, I ain't despairin' yet.

♪ (soloist) ♪ Oh, seekin' my Lord.

♪ (group) ♪ Long time, long time, ♪ ♪ a long time.

♪ >> Hiya, boss.

>> Howdy, Sam.

♪ Long time, ♪ I ain't despairin' yet.

♪ >> Hi, Jim.

♪ (group) ♪ Long time, long time, ♪ ♪ long time.

♪ [singing fades] Mr.

Courtney> Marvelous, isn't it?

Mr.

Barksdale> Exactly what I'm looking for.

I should have my data within a month.

[indistinct singing continues] ♪ Long time, ♪ long time... ♪ (Record plays) ♪ ...with the birds and the ♪ That's why ♪ I can hardly wait ♪ ♪ for the ♪ choo choo train.

♪ ♪ I got a mammy there, ♪ a sweetie there, ♪ ♪ a little ♪ Ford Runabout.

♪ [knocking] Mr.

Barksdale> Come in.

♪ ...you would stand ♪ right up and shout.

♪ >> Marconi's idea of a joke.

♪ I would very much rather ♪ be alone in the South, ♪ ♪ for the South is ♪ home sweet home to me.

♪ Mr.

Barksdale> Rather amusing, don't you think?

Mr.

Courtney> Very.

♪ Mr.

Barksdale> Only testing my apparatus to make sure it still works.

Mr.

Courtney> For what?

Mr.

Barksdale> This is more than just an amusing toy, Mr.

Courtney.

This is also a recording device.

You see, you change the cylinder, and you speak into the horn.

For recording some of your neighbors, of course.

That's how I'm going to prove my theory.

♪ Azalea> Mr.

Courtney?

Mr.

Courtney> Excuse me.

♪ ...very much rather... ♪ be alone in the South... ♪ than do without... Mr.

Courtney> What is it, Azalea?

Azalea> Supper ready, Mr.

Courtney.

Mr.

Courtney> We'll be right down.

[footfalls] Are you ready to eat, Barksdale?

[music stops] Mr.

Barksdale> I take it we don't dress.

Mr.

Courtney> Shoes and socks are mandatory.

[clattering] [footfalls] Mr.

Courtney> Tell me, what exactly are yo with these recordings of yours?

Mr.

Barksdale> If you really want to know, I don't believe your so-called Gullah language actually exists.

It's a dialect, 17-century English mispronounced by primitive illiterates.

Mr.

Courtney> Did it ever occur to you that those primitive illiterates created a great Congo culture long before our ancestors robbed and murdered their first Indian?

Mr.

Barksdale> Rubbish.

There's no African heritage among these people.

What they remember is slavery.

Mr.

Courtney> Then why bother to study them if they're so contemptible?

Mr.

Barksdale> One reason, my friend: rarity.

Your Gullah dialect is dying out, and nobody anywhere has made the kind of recordings I intend to make here on Ediwander.

Mr.

Courtney> You're planning to bootleg 'em, then.

How about a short one before we eat?

Mr.

Barksdale> Oh, just a little, thanks.

I really think you're missing the point.

Nobody said anything about contempt.

In fact, do you see these old dispensary bottles over here?

Mr.

Courtney> What about them?

Mr.

Barksdale> They stopped making these i They're very valuable, some of them, so I and a lot of people collect them, not because they're beautiful or skillfully made but because they are rare.

Mr.

Courtney> And that gives you pleasure?

Mr.

Barksdale> Of course it does.

That's what satisfaction is, owning what nobody else can have.

Well, shall we take the decanter with us, if you're ready to eat, that is?

Mr.

Courtney> That's an interesting theory but it can't account for the pleasure I take in a good whisky or a beautiful sunset.

Mr.

Barksdale> Oh, that's right.

Spencer told me you were something of an artist.

Mr.

Courtney> [chuckling] I dabble.

Mr.

Barksdale> Oh, no, no, no.

He said that you were serious, though not commercial.

I think that's how he put it.

Mr.

Courtney> I'm sure he did.

Mr.

Barksdale> Well then, you collect thin people's faces, for example.

Now, that is your work, the picture over there, isn't it?

The ... ?

Mr.

Courtney>...Yes... As a matter of fact, it is.

Mr.

Barksdale> I thought so.

Now, you borrowed that face, from somewhere, didn't you?

Mr.

Courtney> He was a friend of mine, a shrimper named Dr.

Eagle, the best root doctor on the island.

Mr.

Barksdale> Still, you took those primitive features and put them in your collection.

Mr.

Courtney> I didn't take anything.

There's a big difference, you know between collecting and sharing.

Azalea, this is Mr.

Barksdale.

Azalea> How you do, sir?

Mr.

Courtney> He's gonna be staying with u He'd like to talk to you some time about Gullah.

Azalea> Oh, that'd be nice.

Mr.

Courtney> And this is Thomas who helps This is Mr.

Barksdale, Thomas.

Thomas> Yes, sir.

Mr.

Courtney> Did you notice the match in Mr.

Barksdale> Why should I have?

Mr.

Courtney> I was wondering if you'd run plat-eye in your research.

Mr.

Barksdale> Well, how do you spell that?

P-L-A-T... Mr.

Courtney> You don't spell it Barksdale sometimes like two flat, shining eyes in the night.

Mr.

Barksdale> Some stray animal, no doubt.

Mr.

Courtney> Sometimes, it's sort of an apparition.

Mr.

Barksdale> Oh, the boogerman!

Mr.

Courtney> The shape of whatever is mos to lure you into the middle of nowhere and leave you there to die.

Mr.

Barksdale> That's very interesting But surely your root doctor can ward it off for a fee.

Does Dr.

Eagle make house calls by any chance?

Mr.

Courtney> Dr.

Eagle died about three years ago.

But you better believe, he carried a sulfur match with him at night, just like Azalea, to keep away the plat-eye.

Mr.

Barksdale> No, I don't understand.

Wouldn't a cross or prayer book work just as well?

Mr.

Courtney> That's what I'm trying to tell you.

Plat-eye comes from somewhere else.

It isn't just the base Christianity, and it isn't just a local invention either.

Mr.

Barksdale> Tell me, Courtney, do you believe in Plat-eye?

Mr.

Courtney> Of course not.

Mr.

Barksdale> Oh, just a little, thanks.

I must say, I am intrigued about this plat-eye.

I'd like to talk about it with some of the islanders.

Mr.

Courtney> They won't discuss it.

Mr.

Barksdale> We'll see.

All I want is some everyday conversation at first, anyhow.

They will talk for you, won't they?

Mr.

Courtney> Perhaps, they will, but don't want to treat them like specimens.

Mr.

Barksdale> [chuckles] Specimens?

You forget, I'm collecting relics, not specimens.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Mr.

Courtney> Whoa.

How you doin' this mornin', Mom Beck?

Mom Beck> Right poorly, Mr.

Courtney.

Got a chill in me bones.

Mr.

Courtney> I brought you some eggs, Mom Your chickens don't look like they're layin' to well.

Mom Beck> I means to switch 'em right good, Mr.

Courtney, soon as I get 'round to it.

Mr.

Courtney> Don't be too hard on 'em, Mo This is Mr.

Barksdale from up north.

He wants to talk to you a little bit and take down what you say in that box of his.

Mom Beck> He gonna put in that box?

The wo Mr.

Courtney> It's like writin' it on pape only that machine will do it all by itself.

Mom Beck> Do, God, if that ain't something else!

Catch my words in a box?

Mr.

Courtney> That's right, only we have to get a little closer to the box.

Now, what I wanted to ask you, Mom Beck, was about the sayin's you teach the children in the village, you know, like the one about the deer and the turtle that Thomas likes to tell me when he's late to work?

Mom Beck> Lawd, Mr.

Courtney, I don't directly know what that could be.

Mr.

Courtney> Deer have long foot.

<Yeah.> Him run fast.

<Dat's right.> Cootuh have short foot.

<Uh-huh.> Him travel slow.

Mom Beck> Yeah.

unless sometime, it better travel slow, less you get lost.

You know what the Bible say, Mr.

Courtney, it ain't matter de road, as long as he carry it in de right place.

Mr.

Barksdale> Move her closer, to the horn Courtney or get her to talk louder.

Mom Beck> Where you say your friend from Mr.

Courtney?

He use he mouth so funny.

Mr.

Courtney> He's from up north, Mom Beck From New York City.

Mom Beck> Come all that way just to catch my voice?

Mr.

Courtney> He wants to study Gullah.

That's why I brought him here to talk to you.

(Beck laughs) If you play with puppy, he lick your face!

Mr.

Barksdale> Ask her about plat-eye.

Mr.

Courtney> I don't think I can, Barksda Mr.

Barksdale> Well, I can.

Mom Beck?

Mom Beck> Yes, sir?

Mr.

Barksdale> I'm particularly interested you might not want to talk about.

If you don't, that's fine, just say so.

Mom Beck> What that?

Lay down you mommy heart.

Pick up you daddy.

Mr.

Barksdale> I would like to ask you about plat-eye.

Mom Beck> 'Bout what?

Mr.

Barksdale> Plat-eye?

Mr.

Courtney tells me it's a kind of spirit that frightens peopl Sweet Jesus, Mr.

Courtney, what you tell this New York man?

Mom Beck> I never heard of that.

Mr.

Barksdale> What was that?

Mr.

Courtney> She never heard of plat-eye.

I'd drop the subject if I were you.

Mr.

Barksdale> Mom Beck, you never even he plat-eye?

Mom Beck> I hardly met him Mr.

Courtney, but I ain't ready!

Mr.

Courtney> It's okay, Mom Beck.

Don't worry about it.

We didn't mean to wear you out with all this talking.

Mom Beck> I sorry; you ain't no mouth be putting on.

Mr.

Courtney> I know, no cause onrabble 'e mouth.

And want no witchy talk you fret for so.

Mom Beck> Yes, sir.

Me take 'um, and thank ye for de eggs.

Mr.

Barksdale> Thank you very much Mom Bec it was very nice talking to you.

Mom Beck> Yes, sir.

Mr.

Barksdale> I used up my cylinder, anyhow.

Fearful, old soul, isn't she?

What's all that debris in the cemetery over there?

Mr.

Courtney> Matter of fact that's another African tradition.

They put things associated with the dead person on his grave.

You know it's a.... Hey, what are you doing?

Come out of there, Barksdale.

That's no place for us to meddle!

(bird and cricket sounds) [bottle clinks] [high, atmospheric hum] [whispering] Barksdale!

Mr.

Barksdale whispering> Do you know what this is?

This is a first-issue, half-pint flask from the South Carolina Dispensary.

When I saw those bottles back on the mantelpiece at the club, I thought I just might find one here on this island.

But to stumble across it like this!

Mr.

Courtney> Put it back, Barksdale.

There are certain things we just don't do!

Mr.

Barksdale> Do you realize this is goin the only complete set in existence.

Mr.

Courtney> You still have to put it back!

Mr.

Barksdale> Not the remotest possibility.

I've been looking for this bottle for ten years!

I will gladly pay whomever you say as much as they ask.

Mr.

Courtney> You are robbing somebody's grave.

Mr.

Barksdale> Oh, come now, Courtney.

This bottle is of no earthly value to anyone whatsoever here in this graveyard, and no foolish superstition is going to keep me from taking it.

[distant wailing] Mr.

Courtney> Just get out of here, then.

Mr.

Barksdale> Why on earth would I want to stay?

[wailing continues] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (congregants) ♪ ...going down.

♪ ♪ Well, it's late ♪ in the evening ♪ ♪ just as the sun ♪ is going down.

♪ ♪ Talk about me ♪ much as you please.

♪ ♪ Mo' you talk, ♪ ♪ I'm gonna bend ♪ my knees.

♪ [rhythm intensifies] ♪ It is late in the evening, ♪ ♪ and the sun ♪ is going down.

♪ ♪ Oh, it's late ♪ in the evening, ♪ ♪ and the sun ♪ is going down.

♪ ♪ It is late ♪ in the evening, ♪ ♪ and the sun ♪ is going down.

♪ [cicadas buzzing and frogs croaking] [knock] [knock] [knock] [knock] Mr.

Courtney> Azalea?

Azalea!

Azalea!

Mr.

Barksdale> What is the matter?

Mr.

Courtney> Azalea's gone.

Mr.

Barksdale> Gone where?

What do you mean?

Mr.

Courtney> I mean, we don't have a cook.

I've got to straighten things out in the village if I can.

You can get yourself some breakfast, can't you?

Mr.

Barksdale> Of course.

Mr.

Courtney> Good.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Mr.

Courtney> Do you know where Azalea is, ♪ Thomas!

♪ Thomas!

Are you planning to come to work today?

Thomas> I've got de tooth' ache, boss.

I can't get out for a while.

Mr.

Courtney> Do you know where Azalea is?

<No, sir.> Mr.

Courtney> How about Jacob?

<No, sir.> Mr.

Courtney> Where is everybody else?

Thomas> They're all getting the cotton in down by the creek over there Mr.

Courtney> Oh they are?

I'll have to se for somebody else.

You tell Azalea and Jacob that, You hear?

Thomas> Yes, sir.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Mr.

Barksdale> What's the matter with your appetite, Courtney?

That crab was superb.

Mr.

Courtney> I'm a little out of sorts, Barksdale.

But I'm glad you're enjoying it so much.

Rosa knows her Charleston cooking'.

Mr.

Barksdale> Now, she is a real find, I' You know, I sent her to talk to Mom Beck for me.

Mr.

Courtney> Not about plat-eye?

Mr.

Barksdale> No, about me.

I wondered what kind of impression I had m Do you know what Mom Beck said?

Mr.

Courtney> What?

Mr.

Barksdale> "Oh, he the high-crotch man, "with he teeth broadcast all over he mouth."

[laughs] Isn't that priceless?

Mr.

Courtney> Rosa told you, she said that?

Mr.

Barksdale> After I paid her to tell me Mr.

Courtney> Somehow, that doesn't sound so scientific, Barksdale.

Mr.

Barksdale> Well now, I really can't have you accusing me of any more theft, can I?

Besides, I think we understand each other now, Rosa and I. Mr.

Courtney> You do?

Mr.

Barksdale> Yes, I think so.

Ah, Rosa.

I was wondering, by the way, what do you call this sauce?

Rosa> Yes, sir, it called Legaré sauce.

Mr.

Barksdale> It's very delicious.

Rosa> Yes, sir, thank you.

Mr.

Barksdale> Legaré?

Mr.

Courtney> It's spelled L-E-G-A-R-E.

It's a Lowcountry name.

Mr.

Barksdale> Oh, I know, I know.

"I, too, walking through the waste "and wintry hours of the past "have, in the furrows made by griefs, the seeds of future harvests cast."

Mr.

Courtney> I beg your pardon?

Mr.

Barksdale> That's Legaré, Charleston poet.

Mr.

Courtney> I confess, you astonish me, Barksdale.

That's not the sort of thing I'd expect you to know.

Mr.

Barksdale> Oh, really?

Why ever not?

I suppose-- [glass rattling violently] [clattering and footfalls] Mr.

Courtney whispering> Just a minute.

Rosa!

Mr.

Barksdale> What's the matter?

Mr.

Courtney> Rosa.

Mr.

Barksdale> Rosa?

Mr.

Courtney> You know what's happened as well as I do, Barksdale.

If you won't put it back, I will!

Mr.

Barksdale> Courtney!

[chuckles breathlessly] Mr.

Barksdale> I thought I'd better put it Mr.

Courtney> Where is it?

Mr.

Barksdale> Courtney... you're acting irrational.

Mr.

Courtney> You refuse to give it back?

Mr.

Barksdale> I refuse to act like a superstitious kook.

And frankly, handling the servants is not Now, if you don't mind, I would like to get back to work on my notes before I need Dr.

Eagle as much as you apparently do.

Mr.

Courtney> You're a fool, Barksdale.

Mr.

Barksdale> Quite possibly.

Good night.

[distant singing and clapping] ♪ By and by, ♪ when the morning comes... ♪ ♪ when all the saints ♪ are gathered home, ♪ ♪ we will tell ♪ the story ♪ ♪ of how ♪ we overcome ♪ ♪ and we'll understand it ♪ better by and by.

♪ ♪ By and by, oh, Lord, ♪ when the morning comes... ♪ [scraping sound] [high, atmospheric hum] [loud scrape] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [gasps sharply] ♪ Mr.

Barksdale> Is it time?

I was just about to get up and work anyway.

This insomnia's getting on my nerves.

Mr.

Courtney> Better leave this island, Barksdale.

If you won't put the bottle back, take it with you!

Just get out of here.

Mr.

Barksdale> Still working for Dr.

Eagle Mr.

Courtney> It's the flask, and you know it.

[coughing] Damn you!

Mr.

Barksdale> This is fever.

I should have had Spencer give me some serum before I came here.

Mr.

Courtney> For God's sake, man, what are you trying to prove?

Mr.

Barksdale> That there is no such thing... as Gullah.

I haven't changed my mind.

Mr.

Courtney> Barksdale, I can feel it too.

I know what's keeping you awake.

I can feel it now!

Mr.

Barksdale> I have no idea what you are talking about.

Mr.

Courtney> God help us both, then.

♪ ♪ [snoring quietly] [insects whirring] [bobwhites and whip-poor-wills calling] [distant singing and stomping] ♪ [singing intensifies] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [mysterious music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [knock] [insects whirring] Mr.

Courtney> Barksdale!

[frog and cricket sounds] [wind whistling] [breathing heavily] [glass chimney rattling] [shivering and ragged breathing] [car horn honking] oo-ooh-gah, oo-ooh-gah [bird sounds] Spencer> Hey-hey!

Hey, Courtney!

You're a hell of a fellow, Courtney!

You think I got nothing' to do except nurse you and Barksdale in this godforsaken jungle?

God almighty, man!

Are you hung over as you look?

Mr.

Courtney> How'd you get here?

Spencer> On the ferryboat.

Put my car on a barge and towed it over.

Let me get a look at you.

Mr.

Courtney> I'm all right.

Spencer> The hell you are!

Mr.

Courtney> It's Barksdale who's in trouble.

Spencer> I know.

He wrote me he needed some serum.

Where is he?

Mr.

Courtney> Gone.

He wandered off last night headed towards the swamp.

Spencer> What are you talking' about?

Why would Barksdale go wandering off by himself in the swamp?

Mr.

Courtney> Get him to tell you that.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Mr.

Courtney> Barksdale!

♪ ♪ ♪ Spencer> I should have told you more about him, Courtney.

I should have warned you.

Mr.

Courtney> About what?

Spencer> You know, about the burr undernea I should have told you what made him so damnably cold and supercilious.

Mr.

Courtney> What do you mean?

Spencer> It's hard to imagine, but he was hopelessly in love about ten years ago, grinning' like a fool every time this woman looked in his direction.

Oh, he would have died for her all right.

He would have done anything for her... but he couldn't do the one thing she wanted.

Mr.

Courtney> What was that?

Spencer> Play.

Just didn't know how.

Well, he knew how to be sarcastic and even clever, but he just couldn't figure out how to let himself go.

So he just grinned that ghastly grin of his.

Mr.

Courtney> What happened?

Spencer> Oh, she dropped him.

One day, she was finally bored with it all, so she cut him off, just like that in fron at a house party in the country.

I mean, it was brutal.

Mr.

Courtney> [whispering] Where is she now?

Spencer> Who, Celia?

Somewhere in Europe, I think, married, a couple of children.

But I'll tell you what.

He'd drop everything and go in a second if she called him right now.

She was that beautiful.

Mr.

Courtney> I know.

Long, auburn hair and that odd way of standing, holding her elbow in her hand, looking' at you from under that cascade of hair.

Spencer> How do you know that?

Mr.

Courtney> I saw her last night.

Spencer> You what?

Mr.

Courtney> As plainly as I see you right now, she came for Barksdale.

Spencer> Well, that's impossible I know she's in Europe!

Mr.

Courtney> She wore a sort of jasmine perfume, heavy, almost musky.

Spencer> He must have described her to you.

Mr.

Courtney> No, he didn't I saw her!

But I didn't know who she was until you told me.

Spencer> What's going' on here, Courtney?

Mr.

Courtney> Listen, Spencer, we both grew up around here.

We know the Gullah legends, and we know about plat-eye.

Spencer> We know about possums on the beach!

Mr.

Courtney> Barksdale took a flask from Wouldn't put it back.

All of a sudden, the village was empty.

Fires and singing' at night.

Then, finally... plat-eye to lure Barksdale away.

Spencer> Look here, even if I believed all it still wouldn't explain how you could see a figment in Barksdale's mind.

Mr.

Courtney> I can't explain it myself.

Spencer> It's just not possible.

Mr.

Courtney> But that's what happened!

♪ ♪ ♪ Mr.

Courtney> Barksdale!

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Mr.

Courtney> Is he still alive?

Spencer> Barely; we got to get him to Charleston.

♪ ♪ [coughs] Spencer> Put him on the running' board.

[coughing and gagging] Mr.

Barksdale> [weakly, shivering] Courtne What are you doing to me?

You know I need to work.

Mr.

Courtney> You're going to a hospital, Barksdale.

Don't argue with me.

Mr.

Barksdale> Mr.

Spencer, You got my letter.

Spencer> I got it.

You should have written sooner.

Mr.

Barksdale> We were having trouble with Spencer> Courtney told me.

Mr.

Barksdale> I've been...so feverish.

Spencer> You're feverish now.

[ferry horn sounding] Spencer> We got to hurry.

Mr.

Courtney> Come on, Barksdale.

Mr.

Barksdale> Wait, please, Courtney.

What about my things?

Mr.

Courtney> I'll send 'em on to Charleston.

Mr.

Barksdale> Oh, please, be quick about it.

I have some important research in there.

I need it right away.

Spencer> You really ought to come with us, You're not at well yourself.

Mr.

Courtney> I'll be all right.

Spencer> I doubt it.

Here's some quinine, just in case.

You ready, Barksdale?

Don't you want a ride?

I can drop you near the club.

Mr.

Courtney> I don't want to slow you up.

By the way, Barksdale... did you leave everything in your room?

[engine starts] (multiple singers) ♪ Long time, long time... ♪ ♪ ♪ Long time, ♪ I ain't despairin' yet.

♪ (male soloist) ♪ Workin' in the field.

♪ (group) ♪ Long time, long time, ♪ ♪ a long time.

♪ Mornin', boss.

(soloist) ♪ Workin' in the field.

♪ >> Morning.

(group) ♪ Long time, I ain't despairin' yet.

♪ (soloist) ♪ Workin' in the field.

♪ (group) ♪ Long time, ♪ ♪ long time, ♪ ♪ a long time.

♪ (soloist) ♪ Workin' in the field.

♪ (group) ♪ Long time, ♪ ♪ I ain't despairin' yet.

♪ [fading] ♪ Long time, long time... ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Amazing grace, ♪ how sweet the sound... ♪ Narrator> Africans brought the religion of their homelands to America.

Spiritual traditions are a common thread which link many cultures.

This church service in Eastern North Carolina may seem far removed from this rare footage of a Congo funeral procession photographed in 1926 by an American missionary.

However, as we shall see, they share some common ground.

Rev.

Gershon Fiawoo> The Black people, though they left Africa a long time ago, you can still see-- rediscover-- that they have not forgotten their roots.

In their cooking, dancing, marriage life, family life, and so forth, they are still... Africans.

>> And he went into all the regions about Narrator> Reverend Gershon Fiawoo is a Presbyterian minister in Red Springs, North Carolina.

Born in Togo, a small country in western Africa, he studied at Edinburgh before moving to the United States.

Rev.

Fiawoo> There are certain things good in the African way of life, and there are certain things good in the Christian way of life.

I put them together.

You see, the African, when I say that he is a Christian, yeah, I grant him that.

But in time of crisis, he will go to what?

The ancestral gods.

And I suspect that even the Black Americans, some of them, in time of crisis, they have to turn to the ancestral gods.

And I don't have anything against it.

And I'm not putting it down.

It is not only in Jerusalem that we can worship.

[chuckles] Narrator> The cultural and religious homeland for many people in North Carolina and the Southeastern United States is the central region of Africa we know today as Gabon, Congo-Brazzaville, Cabinda, Zaire, and Angola.

More North American slaves came from here than from any other single area of the West African coast.

Much of this region surrounding the Congo River was inhabited by the Bakongo people.

Their influence was widespread, and the long-lived Congo culture should be regarded as one of the great classical civilizations of the world.

Even today, as this Haitian painting shows, Congo influence can be found throughout the Caribbean and much of the United States.

In North Carolina, researcher Lil Fenn uncovered some remarkable evidence of this legacy in the decorations on graves in many rural cemeteries.

Fenn> Well, I was a graduate student at Yale doing work in African and Afro-American art history.

A professor told me that you can find some Congo influence in black cemeteries in the South.

I thought I'd be lucky if I found one grave that showed some Congo decorative influence.

And I took a drive to North Carolina over spring break in, I guess it was 1983, and was just amazed at what I found.

I found really tremendous Congo influence in black cemeteries throughout North Carolina, and since then, I've found it in black cemeteries elsewhere in the South.

Narrator> Some of Fenn's research revolved around a study of the Congo explanation of the universe.

For the Bakongo, the entire cosmos can be summarized by a diamond figure representing the daily movement of the sun through the sky.

Diamonds appear repeatedly in Congo artistic masterpieces.

[drumming and chanting] ♪ The right-hand corner of this diamond represents the sun rising over the eastern horizon, a movement corresponding to birth, the time of a person's entry into the world.

The top corner of the diamond is noon.

In the sun cycle, noon is when the sun is strongest.

In the life cycle, it is the time when a person is strongest, during the vigorous years of early adulthood.

At the western or left-hand corner of this diamond, the sun sets, its light fading slowly, much as life itself ebbs from a dying person.

But it is the bottom corner of the diamond that is of interest to us.

This is the world of the dead, a mirror-like image that is the inversion of the world of the living.

The Bakongo believe the dead continue to influence events in the world of the living.

By placing special objects on graves, the Bakongo communicate with the deceased.

In demonstrating their love and respect for the ancestors, the living hope to receive love and respect in return.

One of the most common themes in Congo grave decoration is that of inversion.

Because the world of the dead is upside-down in relation to that of the living, grave decorations are often upended so that the objects will be correctly oriented for the spirit of the ancestor.

Fenn> This grave in Bladen County, North C is really a classic example of that.

It's hard to make out from this wider shot, but when you look closer, you can see a coffee cup that's been very deliberately turned upside-down and placed in the center of this woman's grave.

Right next to the upside-down coffee cup is another grave that's also decorated simply and elegantly with a plastic candy dish turned upside-down.

In the same county, in another church cemetery, there's a woman's grave with a beautiful green bowl inverted on top of it.

In Orange County, there's a grave with two jars, just regular glass jars, turned upside-down on the top of the stone.

Narrator> To ensure that the spirit of the has no need to wander, the Bakongo often cover graves with favorite or frequently-used household objects.

Fenn> Most of the objects that we've been looking at on these graves are household objects, the common objects that you or I would find around our house.

In another cemetery in Bladen County, there's a striking grave that's been marked with, of all things, a pressure cooker.

You can see the handle of the pressure cooker near the flowers.

Elsewhere in North Carolina, in Robeson County, you'll see then you need to look closely, but you can make out an aluminum coffee pot that's been placed on a grave.

There's a whole different category of objects that are really associated primarily with men's graves.

In Moore County, for instance, there's a grave marked by the axel of an automobile.

When I first came to North Carolina to do research, the very first grave that I found that really began to convince me that there was more to this than I had originally thought was a grave in Cumberland County at the Swans Creek Missionary Baptist Church, a grave of a man named William Rudolph Coachman, which, as you can see, was marked with a really very beautiful sculpture that entailed the wheel of a car with a hubcap, a very shiny hubcap that shines in the sun, with two wrenches welded to it.

Doris Coachman Warren> That was his work.

He was a mechanic at the motor pool at Fort Bragg.

He and another fellow, Sergeant Barnes, was running a service station there on Murchison Road.

Sergeant Barnes made this and put on his grave.

Narrator> Sometimes, the familiar diamond is shown as a mountain and its reflection on the water.

The line which separates these two worlds is known as the kalunga line.

As in other cultures, water divides the living from the dead.

The Bakongo believe that living people can catch glimpses of the spirit world in the sparkling reflections of the sun on water and other shiny objects.

Fenn> Among the most common objects found are broken glass and tinfoil, things that glisten, that gleam in the sun.

In Robeson County, there's a beautiful, shiny, round vase holding some flowers.

Also, you can find flower pots that have been covered with regular kitchen aluminum foil that shines in the sun.

In Harnett County, somebody has taken a jar, broken the bottom off of it in a very symbolic act that frees the spirit of the jar to travel with the spirit of the deceased and placed this jar on top of a stick that's in a fashion very similar to this Congo grave in this much, much earlier photograph.

Other shiny objects are marbles which appear in a great number of headstones in North Carolina.

Obviously, marbles capture the gleam of the sun, capture the glisten of the sun, and they're usually embedded in cement headstones.

Narrator> The Bakongo believe that action between the spirit and living worlds is a normal and healthy occurrence.

Nowhere is this dynamism more clearly symbolized than in the pipe decoration.

The Bakongo used hollow reeds stuck in the ground to provide symbolic conduits between the worlds of the living and the dead.

Fenn> Just as hollow reeds provided a conduit on Congo graves, so pipes are used to provide a conduit or a means of communication with the dead on black graves, Congo-influenced graves, in North Carolina.

This is very apparent on this grave in Moore County, and a similar grave in Bladen County is decorated with a smaller, plastic water pipe.

Watery themes appear over and over again in Congo-influenced graves.

It's hard to make out from a distance, but when you look closer, you can find graves with a great number of conch shells placed on them.

Conch shells, obviously, come from the sea, so they embody a watery connection to the spirit world.

Furthermore, the shells are white.

The Bakongo believe that the color of the world of the dead is white, a chalky hue.

It's much more common to find seashells marking graves and decorating graves in those areas of North Carolina near the coast.

Further inland, you find a transition from seashells to white rocks.

I think the meaning is probably the same, but it's simply a matter of finding the seashells.

Seashells are harder to find as you move inland.

The pitchers hold water.

Sometimes they hold the water that waters the flowers on graves.

But you find far too many pitchers on graves, or I've found far too many pitchers on graves, to be simply a matter of watering the flowers.

One reason that I believe the pitchers have this heavier symbolic meaning is the fact that most pitchers that I've encountered in black cemeteries are broken.

They're broken to free the spirit of the pitcher so that it can travel with and sustain the spirit of the deceased.

Narrator> Marble, rock, tile, pipe, pitcher, shell... they seem, to some, odd memorials.

Yet, they represent a tradition often forgotten or misunderstood, one which has survived centuries of oppression and distortion.

Fenn> I've been very struck to visit a few that also contain some of these decorative traditions.

It's taught me how Afro-American we have all become.

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