11236	----	OLD BALLADS _Illustrated by JOHN EYRE R.B.A._ CONTENTS. COME, LASSES AND LADS COMIN' THRO' THE RYE CHERRY-RIPE ANNIE LAURIE ROBIN ADAIR MOLLY BAWN GO, HAPPY ROSE! THE ANCHOR'S WEIGH'D ALICE GRAY HOME, SWEET HOME JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO MY PRETTY JANE ROCK'D IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP THE MINSTREL BOY ON THE BANKS OF ALLAN WATER AULD LANG SYNE WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOWN THE NIGHT-PIECE TO JULIA TOM BOWLING MY LOVE IS LIKE THE RED RED ROSE WIDOW MALONE THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN CALLER HERRIN' A HUNTING WE WILL GO HEARTS OF OAK THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN THE BAY OF BISCAY O! BLACK-EYED SUSAN DUNCAN GRAY THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON THE MILLER OF DEE THE ANGEL'S WHISPER SIMON THE CELLARER AULD ROBIN GRAY BONNIE DUNDEE SALLY IN OUR ALLEY KITTY OF COLERAINE HERE'S TO THE MAIDEN OF BASHFUL FIFTEEN THE LEATHER BOTTEL WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE THE TOKEN O WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE LOVELY NAN THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL TELL ME NOT, SWEET SHE WORE A WREATH OF ROSES O NANNY, WILT THOU GO WITH ME? D'YE KEN JOHN PEEL? * * * * * COME, LASSES AND LADS. Come, lasses and lads, get leave of your dads, And away to the Maypole hie, For ev'ry fair has a sweetheart there, And the fiddler's standing by; For Willy shall dance with Jane, And Johnny has got his Joan, To trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it, Trip it up and down! "You're out," says Dick; "not I," says Nick, "'Twas the fiddler play'd it wrong;" "'Tis true," says Hugh, and so says Sue, And so says ev'ry one. The fiddler than began To play the tune again, And ev'ry girl did trip it, trip it, Trip it to the men! Then, after an hour, they went to a bow'r, And play'd for ale and cakes; And kisses too,--until they were due, The lasses held the stakes. The girls did then begin To quarrel with the men, And bade them take their kisses back, And give them their own again! "Good-night," says Harry; "good-night," says Mary; "Good-night," says Poll to John; "Good-night," says Sue to her sweetheart Hugh; "Good-night," says ev'ry one. Some walk'd and some did run, Some loiter'd on the way, And bound themselves by kisses twelve, To meet the next holiday. _Anon._ COMING THRO' THE RYE. Gin a body meet a body Comin' thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry? Ilka lassie has her laddie, Nane, they say, hae I, Yet a' the lads they smile at me When comin' thro' the rye. Gin a body meet a body Comin' frae the town, Gin a body meet a body, Need a body frown? Ilka lassie has, etc. Amang the train there is a swain I dearly lo'e mysel'; But what his name, or whaur his hame, I dinna care to tell. Ilka lassie has, etc. _Anon._ CHERRY-RIPE. Cherry-Ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones, come and buy; If so be you ask me where They do grow? I answer, There, Where my Julia's lips do smile, There's the land or cherry isle, Whose plantations fully show All the year, where cherries grow. _Herrick_. ANNIE LAURIE. Maxwelton braes are bonnie, Where early fa's the dew; And it's there that Annie Laurie Gied me her promise true; Gied me her promise true, Which ne'er forgot will be; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doun and dee. Her brow is like the snaw-drift, Her throat is like the swan, Her face it is the fairest That e'er the sun shone on; That e'er the sun shone on, And dark blue is her ee; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doun and dee. Like dew on the gowan lying, Is the fa' o' her fairy feet; And like winds in summer sighing, Her voice is low and sweet; Her voice is low and sweet, And she's all the world to me; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doun and dee. _Trad._ ROBIN ADAIR. What's this dull town to me? Robin's not near. What was't I wish'd to see, What wish'd to hear? Where's all the joy and mirth Made this town a heav'n on earth? Oh, they're all fled with thee, Robin Adair. What made th' assembly shine? Robin Adair. What made the ball so fine? Robin was there. What when the play was o'er, What made my heart so sore? Oh, it was parting with Robin Adair. But now thou'rt cold to me, Robin Adair. But now thou'rt cold to me, Robin Adair. Yet he I lov'd so well Still in my heart shall dwell; Oh, I can ne'er forget Robin Adair. _Anon._ MOLLY BAWN. Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, All lonely, waiting here for you? While the stars above are brightly shining, Because they've nothing else to do. The flowers late were open keeping, To try a rival blush with you; But their mother, Nature, set them sleeping, With their rosy faces wash'd with dew. Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, All lonely, waiting here for you? Now the pretty flowers were made to bloom, dear, And the pretty stars were made to shine; And the pretty girls were made for the boys, dear, And may be you were made for mine: The wicked watch-dog here is snarling, He takes me for a thief, you see; For he knows I'd steal you, Molly, darling, And then transported I should be. Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, All lonely, waiting here for you? _Samuel Lover_. GO, HAPPY ROSE! Go, happy Rose! and interwove With other flowers, bind my love. Tell her, too, she must not be Longer flowing, longer free, That so oft has fetter'd me. Say, it she's fretful, I have bands Of pearl and gold to bind her hands; Tell her, if she struggle still, I have myrtle rods at will, For to tame though not to kill. Take thou my blessing thus, and go, And tell her this,--but do not so! Lest a handsome anger fly Like a lightning from her eye, And burn thee up as well as I. _Herrick._ THE ANCHOR'S WEIGH'D. The tear fell gently from her eye, When last we parted on the shore; My bosom heav'd with many a sigh, To think I ne'er might see her more. "Dear youth," she cried, "and canst thou haste away? My heart will break; a little moment stay. Alas, I cannot, I cannot part from thee. The anchor's weigh'd, farewell! remember me." "Weep not, my love," I trembling said, "Doubt not a constant heart like mine; I ne'er can meet another maid, Whose charms can fix that heart like thine!" "Go, then," she cried, "but let thy constant mind Oft think of her you leave in tears behind." "Dear maid, this last embrace my pledge shall be! The anchor's weigh'd! farewell! remember me." _S.J. Arnold._ ALICE GRAY. She's all my fancy painted her, She's lovely, she's divine; But her heart it is another's, She never can be mine; Yet lov'd I as man never lov'd, A love without decay, Oh! my heart, my heart is breaking For the love of Alice Gray! Her dark brown hair is braided O'er a brow of spotless white; Her soft blue eye now languishes, Now flashes with delight; Her hair is braided not for me, The eye is turned away; Yet, my heart, my heart is breaking For the love of Alice Gray. I've sunk beneath the summer's sun, And trembled in the blast; But my pilgrimage is nearly done, The weary conflict's past: And when the green sod wraps my grave, May pity haply say, Oh! his heart, his heart is broken For the love of Alice Gray. _William Mee_. HOME, SWEET HOME. 'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home! A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek thro' the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home! home! sweet, sweet home! There's no place like home! There's no place like home! An exile from home splendour dazzles in vain, Oh I give me my lowly thatch'd cottage again! The birds singing gaily that came at my call, Give me them with the peace of mind dearer than all. Home! home! sweet, sweet home! There's no place like home! There's no place like home! _J. Howard Payne._ JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. John Anderson, my Jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my Jo. John Anderson, my Jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And monie a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my Jo. _Burns (New Version)_. MY PRETTY JANE. My pretty Jane, my pretty Jane! Ah! never, never look so shy; But meet me in the evening, While the bloom is on the rye. The spring is waning fast, my love, The corn is in the ear, The summer nights are coming, love, The moon shines bright and clear. Then, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane! Ah! never look so shy, But meet me in the evening, While the bloom is on the rye. But name the day, the wedding day, And I will buy the ring; The lads and maids in favours white And village bells shall ring. The spring is waning fast, my love, The corn is in the ear, The summer nights are coming, love, The moon shines bright and clear. Then, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane! Ah! never look so shy, But meet me in the evening, While the bloom is on the rye. _Edward Fitzball_. ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP. Rock'd in the cradle of the deep, I lay me down in peace to sleep; Secure, I rest upon the wave, For Thou, O Lord, hast pow'r to save. I know Thou wilt not slight my call, For Thou dost note the sparrow's fall, And calm and peaceful is my sleep, Rock'd in the cradle of the deep. And such the trust that still were mine, Tho' stormy winds swept o'er the brine; Or though the tempest's fiery breath Rous'd me from sleep to wreck and death! In ocean cave still safe with Thee, The germ of immortality; And calm and peaceful is my sleep, Rock'd in the cradle of the deep. _Mrs. Willard._ THE MINSTREL BOY. The Minstrel boy to the war is gone, In the ranks of death you'll find him; His father's sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him.-- "Land of song!" said the warrior-bard, "Though all the world betrays thee, _One_ sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, _One_ faithful harp shall praise thee!" The Minstrel fell!--but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under; The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, For he tore its cords asunder; And said, "No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery! Thy songs were made for the brave and free, They shall never sound in slavery!" _Thomas Moore_. ON THE BANKS OF ALLAN WATER. On the banks of Allan Water, When the sweet Springtime did fall, Was the miller's lovely daughter, The fairest of them all. For his bride a soldier sought her, And a winning tongue had he: On the banks of Allan Water, None so gay as she. On the banks of Allan Water, When brown Autumn spreads its store, Then I saw the miller's daughter, But she smiled no more; For the Summer grief had brought her, And the soldier false was he; On the banks of Allan Water, None so sad as she. On the banks of Allan Water, When the Winter snow fell fast, Still was seen the miller's daughter, Chilling blew the blast. But the miller's lovely daughter, Both from cold and care was free: On the banks of Allan Water, There a corpse lay she. _M.G. Lewis._ AULD LANG SYNE. Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' auld lang syne? CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak' a cup' o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine; But we've wandered mony a weary foot Sin auld lang syne. For auld, etc. We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, From mornin' sun till dine; But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin auld lang syne. For auld, etc. And here's a hand, my trusty frien', And gie's a hand o' thine; And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught, For auld lang syne. For auld, etc. And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup, And surely I'll be mine; And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne. For auld, etc. _Burns._ WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOWN. 'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town, In the rosy time of the year; Sweet flowers bloom'd, and the grass was down, And each shepherd woo'd his dear. Bonnie Jocky, blythe and gay, Kiss'd sweet Jenny making hay: The lassie blush'd, and frowning cried, "No, no, it will not do; I canna, canna, wonna, wonna, manna buckle to." Jocky was a wag that never would wed, Though long he had follow'd the lass: Contented she earn'd and eat her brown bread, And merrily turn'd up the grass. Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free, Won her heart right merrily: Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cried, "No, no, it will not do; I canna, canna, wonna, wonna, manna buckle to." But when he vow'd he would make her his bride, Though his flocks and herds were not few, She gave him her hand, and a kiss beside, And vow'd she'd for ever be true. Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free, Won her heart right merrily: At church she no more frowning cried, "No, no, it will not do; I canna, canna, wonna, wonna, manna buckle to." _Anon._ THE NIGHT-PIECE TO JULIA. Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow, Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. No Will-o'-th'-Wisp mislight thee, Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee; But on, on thy way, Not making a stay, Since ghost there's none to affright thee. Let not the dark thee cumber; What though the moon does slumber? The stars of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear, without number. Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me; And when I shall meet Thy silv'ry feet, My soul I'll pour into thee. _Herrick_. TOM BOWLING. Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, The darling of our crew; No more he'll hear the tempest howling, For death has broach'd him to. His form was of the manliest beauty, His heart was kind and soft; Faithful below he did his duty. But now he's gone aloft. Tom never from his word departed, His virtues were so rare; His friends were many and true-hearted, His Poll was kind and fair: And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly; Ah, many's the time and oft! But mirth is turn'd to melancholy, For Tom is gone aloft. Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, When He who all commands, Shall give, to call life's crew together, The word to pipe all hands. Thus Death, who kings and tars dispatches, In vain Tom's life has doff'd; For though his body's under hatches, His soul is gone aloft. _Charles Dibdin._ MY LOVE IS LIKE THE RED RED ROSE. My love is like the red red rose That's newly sprung in June; My love is like the melody That's sweetly played in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I; And I will love thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun; And I will love thee still, my dear, While the sands of life shall run. But, fare thee weel, my only love, And fare thee weel awhile; And I will come again, my dear, Though 'twere ten thousand mile. _Burns_. WIDOW MALONE. Did you hear of the Widow Malone, Ohone! Who lived in the town of Athlone! Ohone! Oh, she melted the hearts Of the swains in them parts, So lovely the Widow Malone, Ohone! So lovely the Widow Malone. Of lovers she had a full score, Or more, And fortunes they all had galore, In store; From the minister down To the clerk of the crown, All were courting the Widow Malone, Ohone! All were courting the Widow Malone. But so modest was Mistress Malone, 'Twas known, That no one could see her alone, Ohone! Let them ogle and sigh, They could ne'er catch her eye, So bashful the Widow Malone, Ohone! So bashful the Widow Malone. Till one Mister O'Brien, from Clare,-- How quare! It's little for blushing they care Down there, Put his arm round her waist-- Gave ten kisses at laste-- "Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone, My own!" "Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone." And the widow they all thought so shy, My eye! Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh, For why? But "Lucius," says she, "Since you've now made so free, You may marry your Mary Malone, Ohone! You may marry your Mary Malone." There's a moral contained in my song, Not wrong, And one comfort, it's not very long, But strong,-- If for widows you die, Learn to kiss, not to sigh, For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone, Ohone! Oh, they're all like sweet Mistress Malone. _Charles Lever_. THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN. And did you ne'er hear of a jolly young waterman, Who at Blackfriars Bridge used for to ply? And he feathered his oars with such skill and dexterity, Winning each heart and delighting each eye. He look'd so neat, and he row'd so steadily, The maidens all flock'd in his boat so readily; And he eyed the young rogues with so charming an air, That this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare. What sights of fine folks he oft row'd in his wherry! 'Twas clean'd out so nice, and so painted withal; He was always first oars when the fine city ladies In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall. And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering, But 'twas all one to Tom their gibing and jeering; For loving or liking he little did care, For this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare. And yet but to see how strangely things happen, As he row'd along, thinking of nothing at all, He was ply'd by a damsel so lovely and charming, That she smil'd, and so straightway in love he did fall. And would this young damsel but banish his sorrow, He'd wed her to-night, and not wait till to-morrow; And how should this waterman ever know care, When, married, was never in want of a _fair_. _Charles Dibdin_. CALLER HERRIN'. Wha'll buy caller herrin'? They're bonnie fish and halesome farin'; Buy my caller herrin', new drawn frae the Forth. When ye were sleeping on your pillows, Dreamt ye aught o' our puir fellows, Darkling as they face the billows, A' to fill our woven willows. Buy my caller herrin', They're bonnie fish and halesome farin'; Buy my caller herrin', new drawn frae the Forth. Caller herrin', caller herrin'. An' when the creel o' herrin' passes, Ladies clad in silks and laces, Gather in their braw pelisses, Toss their heads and screw their faces; Buy my caller herrin', They're bonnie fish and halesome farin'; Buy my caller herrin', new drawn frae the Forth. Noo neebor wives, come, tent my tellin', When the bonnie fish ye're sellin' At a word be aye your dealin', Truth will stand when a' things failin'; Buy my caller herrin', They're bonnie fish and halesome farin'; Buy my caller herrin', new drawn frae the Forth. Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? They're no brought here without brave darin', Buy my caller herrin', Ye little ken their worth. Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? O ye may ca' them vulgar farin'; Wives and mithers maist despairin', Ca' them lives o' men. Caller herrin', caller herrin'. _Lady Nairne_. A HUNTING WE WILL GO. The dusky night rides down the sky, And ushers in the morn; The hounds all join in glorious cry, The huntsman winds his horn. And a hunting we will go. The wife around her husband throws Her arms to make him stay: "My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows; You cannot hunt to-day." Yet a hunting we will go. Away they fly to 'scape the rout, Their steeds they soundly switch; Some are thrown in, and some thrown out, And some thrown in the ditch. Yet a hunting we will go. Sly Reynard now like lightning flies, And sweeps across the vale; And when the hounds too near he spies, He drops his bushy tail. Then a hunting we will go. Fond echo seems to like the sport, And join the jovial cry; The woods, the hills the sound retort, And music fills the sky. When a hunting we do go. At last his strength to faintness worn, Poor Reynard ceases flight; Then hungry, homeward we return, To feast away the night. And a drinking we do go. Ye jovial hunters, in the morn Prepare then for the chase; Rise at the sounding of the horn And health with sport embrace. When a hunting we do go. _Henry Fielding_. HEARTS OF OAK. Come, cheer up, my lads! 'tis to glory we steer, To add something more to this wonderful year: To honour we call you, not press you like slaves: For who are so free as the sons of the waves? Hearts of oak are our ships, Gallant tars are our men; We always are ready: Steady, boys, steady! We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again. We ne'er see our foes but we wish them to stay; They never see us but they wish us away; If they run, why, we follow, or run them ashore; For if they won't fight us, we cannot do more. Hearts of oak, etc. Britannia triumphant, her ships sweep the sea; Her standard is Justice-- her watchword, "Be free!" Then cheer up, my lads! with one heart let us sing, "Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, and king." Hearts of oak, etc. _David Garrick_. THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. I'll sing you a good old song, Made by a good old pate, Of a fine old English gentleman, Who had an old estate; And who kept up his old mansion At a bountiful old rate, With a good old porter to relieve The old poor at his gate-- Like a fine old English gentleman, All of the olden time. His hall so old was hung around With pikes, and guns, and bows, And swords and good old bucklers That had stood against old foes; 'Twas there "his worship" sat in state, In doublet and trunk hose, And quaff'd his cup of good old sack To warm his good old nose-- Like a fine old English gentleman, All of the olden time. When winter's cold brought frost and snow, He open'd his house to all; And though three-score and ten his years, He featly led the ball. Nor was the houseless wanderer E'er driven from his hall; For while he feasted all the great, He ne'er forgot the small-- Like a fine old English gentleman, All of the olden time. But time, though sweet, is strong in flight, And years roll swiftly by; And autumn's falling leaves proclaim'd The old man--he must die! He laid him down quite tranquilly, Gave up his latest sigh; And mournful stillness reign'd around, And tears bedew'd each eye-- For this good old English gentleman, All of the olden time. Now, surely this is better far Than all the new parade Of theatres and fancy balls, "At home" and masquerade! And much more economical, For all his bills were paid, Then leave your new vagaries quite, And take up the old trade-- Of a fine old English gentleman, All of the olden time. _Anon_. THE BAY OF BISCAY O! Loud roared the dreadful thunder! The rain a deluge showers! The clouds were rent asunder By lightning's vivid powers! The night, both drear and dark, Our poor devoted bark, Till next day, there she lay, In the Bay of Biscay O! Now dashed upon the billow, Our op'ning timbers creak; Each fears a wat'ry pillow, None stop the dreadful leak! To cling to slipp'ry shrouds, Each breathless seaman crowds, As she lay, till the day, In the Bay of Biscay O! At length the wished-for morrow Broke through the hazy sky; Absorbed in silent sorrow, Each heaved the bitter sigh; The dismal wreck to view, Struck horror to the crew, As she lay, on that day, In the Bay of Biscay O! Her yielding timbers sever, Her pitchy seams are rent; When Heaven, all-bounteous ever, Its boundless mercy sent! A sail in sight appears, We hail her with three cheers! Now we sail, with the gale, From the Bay of Biscay O! _Andrew Cherry._ BLACK-EYED SUSAN. All in the Downs the fleet was moored, The streamers waving in the wind, When black-eyed Susan came on board: "Oh! where shall I my true love find? Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, If my sweet William sails among your crew?" William, who high upon the yard, Rocked by the billows to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard, He sighed, and cast his eyes below: The cord glides swiftly through his glowing hands, And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands. So the sweet lark, high poised in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast (If, chance, his mate's shrill call he hear), And drops at once into her nest: The noblest captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet. Oh, Susan! Susan! lovely dear! My vows shall ever true remain; Let me kiss off that falling tear, We only part to meet again: Change as ye list, ye winds! my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee. Believe not what the landsmen say, Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; They tell thee--sailors when away In every port a mistress find! Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, For thou art present wheresoe'er I go. If to fair India's coast we sail, Thine eyes are seen in diamonds bright; Thy breath in Afric's spicy gale, Thy skin in ivory so white: Thus every beauteous object that I view Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. Though battle call me from thy arms, Let not my pretty Susan mourn; Though cannons roar, yet free from harms, William shall to his dear return: Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye. The boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosoms spread; No longer must she stay on board: They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. Her lessening boat, unwilling, rows to land; "Adieu!" she cried, and waved her lily hand. _J. Gay._ DUNCAN GRAY. Duncan Grey came here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, On blythe yule night when we were fou, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Maggie coost' her head fu' high, Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; Ha, ha, the wooing o't, Meg was deaf' as Ailsa Craig, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn; Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Time and chance are but a tide, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, Slighted love is sair to bide, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughty hizzie dee? She may gae to--France for me, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. How it comes let doctors tell. Ha, ha, the wooing o't, Meg grew sick--as he grew well, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings; And O, her een, they spak sic things! Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan was a lad o' grace, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, Maggie's was a piteous case, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan couldna be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; Now they're crouse and cantie baith, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. _Burns_. THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. There was a youth, and a well-beloved youth, And he was a squire's son; He loved the bailiff's daughter dear That lived in Islington. Yet she was coy, and would not believe That he did love her so. No; nor at any time would she Any countenance to him show. But when his friends did understand His fond and foolish mind, They sent him up to fair London An apprentice for to bind. And when he had been seven long years, And never his love could see: "Many a tear have I shed for her sake, When she little thought of me." Then all the maids of Islington Went forth to sport and play, All but the bailiff's daughter dear-- She secretly stole away. She pulled off her gown of green, And put on ragged attire, And to fair London she would go, Her true love to inquire. And as she went along the high road, The weather being hot and dry, She sat her down upon a green bank, And her true love came riding by. She started up, with a colour so red, Catching hold of his bridle-rein; "One penny, one penny, kind sir," she said, "Will ease me of much pain." "Before I give you one penny, sweetheart, Pray tell me where you were born?" "At Islington, kind sir," said she, "Where I have had many a scorn." "I pr'ythee, sweetheart, then tell to me, O tell me, whether you know The bailiff's daughter of Islington?" "She is dead, sir, long ago." "If she be dead, then take my horse, My saddle and bridle also; For I will into some far countrie, Where no man shall me know." O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth, She standeth by thy side: She is here alive, she is not dead-- And ready to be thy bride. O farewell grief, and welcome joy, Ten thousand times therefore! For now I have found my own true love, Whom I thought I should never see more. THE MILLER OF DEE. There was a jolly miller once lived on the river Dee, He danced and sang from morn till night, no lark so blithe as he; And this the burden of his song for ever used to be: "I care for nobody, no, not I, if nobody cares for me. "I live by my mill, God bless her! she's kindred, child, and wife; I would not change my station for any other in life. No lawyer, surgeon, or doctor, e'er had a groat from me, I care for nobody, no, not I, if nobody cares for me." When spring begins his merry career, oh! how his heart grows gay; No summer's drought alarms his fears, nor winter's cold decay; No foresight mars the miller's joy, who's wont to sing and say: "Let others toil from year to year, I live from day to day." Thus, like the miller, bold and free, let us rejoice and sing, The days of youth are made for glee, and time is on the wing; This song shall pass from me to thee, along the jovial ring, Let heart and voice and all agree to say, "Long live the King!" _Isaac Bickerstaffe._ THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. A baby was sleeping, Its mother was weeping, For her husband was far on the wild raging sea, And the tempest was swelling Round the fisherman's dwelling, And she cried, "Dermot, darling, oh come back to me." Her beads while she numbered, The baby still slumbered. And smiled in her face, as she bended her knee; Oh! bless'd be that warning, My child, thy sleep adorning, For I know that the angels are whispering with thee. And while they are keeping Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me, And say thou would'st rather They watch'd o'er thy father! For I know that the angels are whispering with thee. The dawn of the morning Saw Dermot returning, And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see, And closely caressing Her child with a blessing, Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee." _Samuel Lover_. SIMON THE CELLARER. Old Simon the Cellarer keeps a large store Of Malmsey and Malvoisie, And Cyprus and who can say how many more? For a chary old soul is he, A chary old soul is he; Of Sack and Canary he never doth fail, And all the year round there is brewing of ale; Yet he never aileth, he quaintly doth say, While he keeps to his sober six flagons a day: But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go; But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go. Dame Margery sits in her own still-room. And a Matron sage is she; From thence oft at Curfew is wafted a fume, She says it is Rosemarie, She says it is Rosemarie; But there's a small cupboard behind the back stair, And the maids say they often see Margery there. Now, Margery says that she grows very old And must take a something to keep out the cold! But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know Where many a flask of his best doth go; But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know Where many a flask of his best doth go. Old Simon reclines in his high-back'd chair, And talks about taking a wife; And Margery often is heard to declare She ought to be settled in life, She ought to be settled in life; But Margery has (so the maids say) a tongue, And she's not very handsome, and not very young; So somehow it ends with a shake of the head, And Simon he brews him a tankard instead; While ho! ho! ho! he will chuckle and crow, What! marry old Margery? no no, no! While ho! ho! ho! he will chuckle and crow, What! marry old Margery? no, no, no! _W. H. Bellamy_. AULD ROBIN GRAY. When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, And a' the warld to sleep are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my ee, When my gudeman lies sound by me. Young Jamie loo'd me wed, and socht me for his bride; But, saving a croun, he had naething else beside. To mak that croun a pund young Jamie gaed to sea, And the croun and the pund were baith for me. He hadna been awa a week but only twa, When my mother she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa; My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at the sea, And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courtin' me. My father couldna work and my mother couldna spin; I toiled day and nicht, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee, Said "Jennie, for their sakes, oh, marry me!" My heart it said nay, for I look'd for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wreck; The ship it was a wreck--why didna Jamie dee? Or why do I live to say, Wae's me? My father argued sair, my mother didna speak, But she lookit in my face till my heart was like to break; Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart was in the sea; And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me. I hadna been a wife a week but only four, When, sitting sae mournfully at the door, I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he, Till he said, "I'm come back for to marry thee." Oh, sair did we greet and muckle did we say, We took but ae kiss and we tore ourselves away; I wish I were dead! but I'm no like to dee; And why do I live to say, Wae's me? I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin. But I'll do my best a gude wife to be, For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me. _Lady Anne Lindsay._ BONNIE DUNDEE. To the lords of Convention, 'twas Claverhouse spoke, Ere the king's crown go down there are crowns to be broke; Then each cavalier who loves honour and me, Let him follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee. Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle my horses and call out my men, Unhook the west port, and let us gae free, For it's up with the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee. Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, The bells they ring backward, the drums they are beat, But the Provost (douce man) said, "Just e'en let it be, For the town is well rid o' that deil o' Dundee." Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc. There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth; If there's lords in the south, there are chiefs in the north, There are brave Dunevassals, three thousand times three, Will cry hey! for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee. Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc. Then awa' to the hills, to the lea, to the rocks: Ere I own an usurper I'll crouch wi' the fox; And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee Ye hae no seen the last of my bonnets and me. Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc. _Sir Walter Scott._ SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. Of all the girls that are so smart, There's none like pretty Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. There is no lady in the land That's half so sweet as Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Her father he makes cabbage-nets, And through the streets does cry 'em; Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy 'em. But sure such folks could ne'er beget So sweet a girl as Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. When she is by, I leave my work (I love her so sincerely), My master comes, like any Turk, And bangs me most severely. But let him bang his belly full, I'll bear it all for Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Of all the days that's in the week, I dearly love but one day; And that's the day that comes betwixt A Saturday and Monday. For then I'm dress'd all in my best, To walk abroad with Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. My master carries me to church, And often am I blamed Because I leave him in the lurch As soon as text is named. I leave the church in sermon time, And slink away to Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. When Christmas comes about again, Oh! then I shall have money; I'll hoard it up, and box and all I'll give it to my honey. I would it were ten thousand pounds, I'd give it all to Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. My master and the neighbours all Make game of me and Sally; And (but for her) I'd better be A slave, and row a galley. But when my seven long years are out, Oh! then I'll marry Sally: Oh! then we'll wed, and then we'll bed, But not in our alley. _Henry Carey._ KITTY OF COLERAINE. As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping With a pitcher of milk from the fair of Coleraine, When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled, And all the sweet buttermilk water'd the plain. "Oh, what shall I do now? 'Twas looking at you, now; Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again. 'Twas the pride of my dairy, O Barnay M'Leary, You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine! I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her, That such a misfortune should give her such pain. A kiss then I gave her, before I did leave her, She vow'd for such pleasure she'd break it again. 'Twas haymaking season, I can't tell the reason-- Misfortunes will never come single, that's plain-- For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine. _Edward Lysaght._ HERE'S TO THE MAIDEN OF BASHFUL FIFTEEN. Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen, Now to the widow of fifty; Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean, And here's to the housewife that's thrifty: Let the toast pass, Drink to the lass-- I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize, Now to the damsel with none, sir; Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes, And now to the nymph with but one, sir: Let the toast pass, Drink to the lass-- I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow, Now to her that's as brown as a berry; Here's to the wife with a face full of woe, And now to the damsel that's merry: Let the toast pass, Drink to the lass-- I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. For let her be clumsy, or let her be slim, Young or ancient, I care not a feather; So fill up a bumper, nay, fill to the brim, And let us e'en toast 'em together: Let the toast pass, Drink to the lass-- I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. _R. B. Sheridan._ THE LEATHER BOTT�L. 'Twas God above that made all things, The heav'ns, the earth, and all therein: The ships that on the sea do swim To guard from foes that none come in; And let them all do what they can, 'Twas for one end--the use of man. So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell That first found out the leather bottèl. Now, what do you say to these cans of wood? Oh, no, in faith they cannot be good; For if the bearer fall by the way, Why, on the ground your liquor doth lay; But had it been in a leather bottèl, Although he had fallen all had been well. So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell That first found out the leather bottèl. Then what do you say to these glasses fine? Oh, they shall have no praise of mine; For if you chance to touch the brim, Down falls the liquor and all therein. But had it been in a leather bottèl, And the stopple in, all had been well. So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell That first found out the leather bottèl. Then what do you say to these black pots three? If a man and his wife should not agree, Why, they'll tug and pull till their liquor doth spill; In a leather bottèl they may tug their fill, And pull away till their hearts do ake, And yet their liquor no harm can take. So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell That first found out the leather bottèl. Then what do you say to these flagons fine? Oh, they shall have no praise of mine; For when a lord is about to dine, And sends them to be filled with wine, The man with the flagon doth run away, Because it is silver most gallant and gay So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell That first found out the leather bottèl. A leather bottèl we know is good, Far better than glasses or cans of wood; For when a man's at work in the field Your glasses and pots no comfort will yield; But a good leather bottèl standing by Will raise his spirits whenever he's dry. So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell That first found out the leather bottèl. At noon the haymakers sit them down, To drink from their bottles of ale nut-brown; In summer, too, when the weather is warm, A good bottle full will do them no harm. Then the lads and the lasses begin to tottle, But what would they do without this bottle? So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell That first found out the leather bottèl. There's never a lord, an earl, or knight, But in this bottle doth take delight; For when he's hunting of the deer He oft doth wish for a bottle of beer. Likewise the man that works in the wood, A bottle of beer will oft do him good. So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell That first found out the leather bottèl. And when the bottle at last grows old, And will good liquor no longer hold, Out of the side you may take a clout, To mend your shoes when they're worn out; Or take and hang it up on a pin, 'Twill serve to put hinges and old things in. So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell That first found out the leather bottèl. WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE. Woodman, spare that tree, Touch not a single bough-- In youth it shelter'd me, And I'll protect it now. Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot. There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not. That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea, Say, wouldst thou hack it down? Woodman, forbear thy stroke, Cut not its earth-bound ties-- Oh, spare that aged oak, Now, towering to the skies. Oft, when a careless child, Beneath its shade I heard The wood-notes sweet and wild, Of many a forest bird. By mother kiss'd me here, My father press'd my hand, I ask thee, with a tear, Oh, let that old oak stand. My heart-strings round thee cling, Close at thy bark, old friend-- Here shall the wild bird sing, And still thy branches bend. Old tree, the storm still brave, And, woodman, leave the spot-- While I've a hand to save Thy axe shall harm it not. _General G.P. Morris._ THE TOKEN The breeze was fresh, the ship in stays, Each breaker hush'd, the shore a haze. When Jack no more on duty call'd, His true love's tokens overhaul'd; The broken gold, the braided hair, The tender motto, writ so fair, Upon his 'bacco-box he views, Nancy the poet, love the muse. "If you loves I, as I loves you, No pair so happy as we two." The storm, that like a shapeless wreck, Had strew'd with rigging all the deck, That tars for sharks had giv'n a feast, And left the ship a hulk--had ceas'd: When Jack, as with his messmates dear, He shared the grog their hearts to cheer, Took from his 'bacco-box a quid, And spell'd for comfort on the lid "If you loves I, as I loves you, No pair so happy as we two." The voyage,--that had been long and hard, But that had yielded full reward, And brought each sailor to his friend Happy and rich--was at an end: When Jack, his toils and perils o'er, Beheld his Nancy on the shore: He then the 'bacco-box display'd, And cried, and seized the yielding maid, "If you loves I, as I loves you, No pair so happy as we two." _C. Dibdin._ O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. O wert thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd shelter thee. Or did misfortune's bitter storms Around thee blaw, Thy bield should be my bosom, To share it a'. Or were I in the wildest waste, She bleak and bare, The desert were a paradise, If thou wert there, Or were I monarch o' the globe, Wi' thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my crown, Wad be my queen. _Burns._ THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, and hills and fields, The woods or steepy mountains yields. And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies; A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroider'd o'er with leaves of myrtle; A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold; A belt of straw and ivy-buds, With coral clasps and amber studs, And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May morning, If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love. _Christopher Marlowe._ LOVELY NAN. Sweet is the ship, that, under sail Spreads her white bosom to the gale; Sweet, oh! sweet's the flowing can; Sweet to poise the lab'ring oar That tugs us to our native shore, When the boatswain pipes the barge to man; Sweet sailing with a fav'ring breeze; But oh! much sweeter than all these, Is Jack's delight, his lovely Nan. The needle faithful to the north, To show of constancy the worth, A curious lesson teaches man; The needle time may rust, a squall capsize the binnacle and all, Let seamanship do all it can; My love in worth shall higher rise! Nor time shall rust, nor squalls capsize, My faith and truth to lovely Nan. I love my duty, love my friend, Love truth and merit to defend, To moan their loss who hazard ran; I love to take an honest part. Love beauty with a spotless heart, By manners love to show the man, To sail through life by honour's breeze; 'Twas all along of loving these First made me doat on lovely Nan. _C. Dibdin._ THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL. On Richmond Hill there lives a lass More bright than May-day morn, Whose charms all other maids surpass-- A rose without a thorn. This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet. Has won my right good-will; I'd crowns resign to call her mine-- Sweet lass of Richmond Hill. Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air, And wanton through the grove, Oh, whisper to my charming fair, I'd die for her I love! How happy will the shepherd be Who calls this nymph his own! Oh, may her choice be fix'd on me? Mine's fix'd on her alone. _James Upton._ TELL ME NOT, SWEET. Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such, As you, too, shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more. _Richard Lovelace._ SHE WORE A WREATH OF ROSES. She wore a wreath of roses that night when first we met, Her lovely face was smiling beneath her curls of jet; Her footsteps had the lightness, her voice the joyous tone, The tokens of a youthful heart where sorrow is unknown. I saw her but a moment, yet methinks I see her now, With a wreath of summer flowers upon her snowy brow. A wreath of orange flowers when next we met she wore, The expression of her features was more thoughtful than before, And standing by her side, was one, who strove, and not in vain, To soothe her leaving that dear home she ne'er might view again. I saw her but a moment, yet methinks I see her now, With a wreath of orange blossoms upon her snowy brow. And once again I saw that brow, no bridal wreath was there, The widow's sombre cap conceal'd her once luxuriant hair; She weeps in silent solitude, for there is no one near, To press her hand within his own, and wipe away the tear! I see her broken-hearted, and methinks I see her now, In the pride of youth and beauty, with a wreath upon her brow. _Thomas Haynes Bayly._ O NANNY, WILT THOU GO WITH ME? O Nanny, wilt thou go with me, Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town? Can silent glens have charms for thee, The lowly cot and russet gown? No longer drest in silken sheen, No longer deck'd with jewels rare, Say, can'st thou quit each courtly scene, Where thou wert fairest of the fair? O Nanny, when thou'rt far away, Wilt thou not cast a wish behind? Say, can'st thou face the parching ray, Nor shrink before the wintry wind? Oh, can that soft and gentle mien Extremes of hardship learn to bear, Nor sad regret each courtly scene, Where thou wert fairest of the fair? O Nanny, can'st thou love so true, Through perils keen with me go; Or when thy swain mishap shall rue, To share with him the pang of woe? Say, should disease or pain befall, Wilt thou assume the nurse's care, Nor wistful those gay scenes recall, Where thou wert fairest of the fair? And when at last thy love shall die, Wilt thou receive his parting breath, Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh, And cheer with smiles the bed of death? And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear, Nor then regret those scenes so gay, Where thou wert fairest of the fair? _Thomas Percy D.D._ D'YE KEN JOHN PEEL? D'ye ken John Peel with his coat so gay? D'ye ken John Peel at the break of the day? D'ye ken John Peel when he's far, far away, With his hounds and his horn in the morning? CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc. 'Twas the sound of his horn brought me from my bed, And the cry of his hounds has me ofttimes led; For Peel's view holloa would 'waken the dead, Or a fox from his lair in the morning. CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc. D'ye ken that hound whose voice is death? D'ye ken her sons of peerless faith? D'ye ken that a fox with his last breath Cursed them all as he died in the morning! CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc. Yes, I ken John Peel and auld Ruby too, Ranter and Royal and Bellman so true; From the drag to the chase, From the chase to the view, From the view to the death in the morning. CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc. And I've follow'd John Peel both often and far. O'er the rasper-fence, the gate, and the bar, From Low Denton side up to Scratchmere Scar, When we vied for the brush in the morning. CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc. Then here's to John Peel with my heart and soul. Come fill, fill to him a brimming bowl: For we'll follow John Peel thro' fair or thro' foul, While we're wak'd by his horn in the morning. CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc. _John Woodstock Graves._ 
14077	----	Proofreading Team. [Illustration: A Frog he would a-wooing go. R. Caldecott Picture Books] A FROG HE WOULD A-WOOING GO [Illustration] [Illustration] A Frog he would a-wooing go, _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! Whether his Mother would let him or no. _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach_, _Heigho, says_ ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration] So off he set with his opera-hat, _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! And on his way he met with a Rat. _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach_, _Heigho, says_ ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration] "Pray, MR. RAT, will you go with me," _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! "Pretty MISS MOUSEY for to see?" _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach_, _Heigho, says_ ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration] [Illustration] Now they soon arrived at Mousey's Hall, _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! And gave a loud knock, and gave a loud call. _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach_, _Heigho, says_ ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration] "Pray, Miss MOUSEY, are you within?" _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! "Oh, yes, kind Sirs, I'm sitting to spin." _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach_, _Heigho, says_ ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] "Pray, Miss MOUSE, will you give us some beer?" _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! "For Froggy and I are fond of good cheer." _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach_, _Heigho says_, ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] "Pray, Mr. FROG, will you give us a song? _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! "But let it be something that's not very long." _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach,_ _Heigho, says_ ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration] [Illustration] "Indeed, Miss MOUSE," replied Mr FROG, _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! "A cold has made me as hoarse as a Hog." _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach_, _Heigho, says_ ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration] "Since you have caught cold," Miss MOUSEY said. _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! "I'll sing you a song that I have just made." _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach_, _Heigho, says_ ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration] But while they were all thus a merry-making, _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! A Cat and her Kittens came tumbling in. _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach_, _Heigho, says_ ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration] [Illustration] The Cat she seized the Rat by the crown; _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! The Kittens they pulled the little Mouse down. _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach_, _Heigho, says_ ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration] This put Mr. FROG in a terrible fright; _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! He took up his hat, and he wished them good night. _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach_, _Heigho, says_ ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration] But as Froggy was crossing a silvery brook, _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! A lily-white Duck came and gobbled him up. _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach_, _Heigho, says_ ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration] [Illustration] So there was an end of one, two, and three, _Heigho, says_ ROWLEY! The Rat, the Mouse, and the little Frog-gee! _With a rowley-powley, gammon and spinach_, _Heigho, says_ ANTHONY ROWLEY! [Illustration: Randolph Caldecott's Picture Books "The humour of Randolph Caldecott's drawings is simply irresistible, no healthy-minded man, woman, or child could look at them without laughing." * * * * * _In square crown 4to, picture covers, with numerous coloured plates._ 1 John Gilpin 2 The House that Jack Built 3 The Babes in the Wood 4 The Mad Dog 5 Three Jovial Huntsmen 6 Sing a Song for Sixpence 7 The Queen of Hearts 8 The Farmer's Boy 9 The Milkmaid 10 Hey-Diddle-Diddle and Baby Bunting 11 A Frog He Would a-Wooing Go 12 The Fox Jumps over the Parson's Gate 13 Come Lasses and Lads 14 Ride a Cock Horse to Banbury Cross, &c. 15 Mrs. Mary Blaize 16 The Great Panjandrum Himself _The above selections are also issued in Four Volumes, square crown 4to, attractive bindings red edges. Each containing four different books, with their Coloured Pictures and numerous Outline Sketches._ 1 R. Caldecott's Picture Book No. 1 2 R. Caldecott's Picture Book No. 2 3 Hey-Diddle-Diddle-Picture Book 4 The Panjandrum Picture Book _And also_ _In Two Volumes, handsomely bound in cloth gilt, each containing eight different books, with their Coloured Pictures and numerous Outline Sketches._ R. Caldecott's Collection of Pictures and Songs No. 1 R. Caldecott's Collection of Pictures and Songs No. 2 * * * * * Miniature Editions. _size 5-1/2 by 4-1/2 Art Boards, flat back._ ------ FOUR VOLUMES ENTITLED R. CALDECOTT'S PICTURE BOOKS Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 4. _Each containing coloured plates and numerous Outline Sketches in the text._ * * * * * _Crown 4to, picture covers._ Randolph Caldecott's Painting Books. Three Volumes _Each with Outline Pictures to Paint, and Coloured Examples_. ----- _Oblong 4to. cloth_. A Sketch Book of R. Caldecott's. _Containing numerous sketches in Colour and black and white_. * * * * * Frederick Warne & Co--LTD LONDON & NEW YORK _The Published Prices of the above Picture Books can be obtained of all Booksellers or from the Illustrated Catalogue of the Publishers._ PRINTED AND COPYRIGHTED BY EDMUND EVANS, LTD., ROSE PLACE, GLOBE ROAD, LONDON, E.I.] 
11260	----	Proofreading Team. THE KILTARTAN HISTORY BOOK. BY LADY GREGORY. ILLUSTRATED BY ROBERT GREGORY _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ Seven Short Plays Cuchulain of Muirthemne Gods and Fighting Men Poets and Dreamers A Book of Saints and Wonders DEDICATED AND RECOMMENDED TO THE HISTORY CLASSES IN THE NEW UNIVERSITY CONTENTS The Ancient Times Goban, the Builder A Witty Wife An Advice She Gave Shortening the Road The Goban's Secret The Scotch Rogue The Danes The Battle of Clontarf The English The Queen of Breffny King Henry VIII. Elizabeth Her Death The Trace of Cromwell Cromwell's Law Cromwell in Connacht A Worse than Cromwell The Battle of Aughrim The Stuarts Another Story Patrick Sarsfield Queen Anne Carolan's Song 'Ninety-Eight Denis Browne The Union Robert Emmet O'Connell's Birth The Tinker A Present His Strategy The Man was Going to be Hanged The Cup of the Sassanach The Thousand Fishers What the Old Women Saw O'Connell's Hat The Change He Made The Man He Brought to Justice The Binding His Monument A Praise Made for Daniel O'Connell by Old Women and They Begging at the Door Richard Shiel The Tithe War The Fight at Carrickshock The Big Wind The Famine The Cholera A Long Remembering The Terry Alts The '48 Time A Thing Mitchell Said The Fenian Rising A Great Wonder Another Wonder Father Mathew The War of the Crimea Garibaldi The Buonapartes The Zulu War The Young Napoleon Parnell Mr. Gladstone Queen Victoria's Religion Her Wisdom War and Misery The Present King The Old Age Pension Another Thought A Prophecy NOTES THE KILTARTAN HISTORY BOOK THE ANCIENT TIMES "As to the old history of Ireland, the first man ever died in Ireland was Partholan, and he is buried, and his greyhound along with him, at some place in Kerry. The Nemidians came after that and stopped for a while, and then they all died of some disease. And then the Firbolgs came, the best men that ever were in Ireland, and they had no law but love, and there was never such peace and plenty in Ireland. What religion had they? None at all. And there was a low-sized race came that worked the land of Ireland a long time; they had their time like the others. Many would tell you Grania slept under the cromlechs, but I don't believe that, and she a king's daughter. And I don't believe she was handsome either. If she was, why would she have run away? In the old time the people had no envy, and they would be writing down the stories and the songs for one another. But they are too venemous now to do that. And as to the people in the towns, they don't care for such things now, they are too corrupted with drink." GOBAN, THE BUILDER "The Goban was the master of sixteen trades. There was no beating him; he had got the gift. He went one time to Quin Abbey when it was building, looking for a job, and the men were going to their dinner, and he had poor clothes, and they began to jibe at him, and the foreman said 'Make now a cat-and-nine-tails while we are at our dinner, if you are any good.' And he took the chisel and cut it in the rough in the stone, a cat with nine tails coming from it, and there it was complete when they came out from their dinner. There was no beating him. He learned no trade, but he was master of sixteen. That is the way, a man that has the gift will get more out of his own brain than another will get through learning. There is many a man without learning will get the better of a college-bred man, and will have better words too. Those that make inventions in these days have the gift, such a man now as Edison, with all he has got out of electricity." A WITTY WIFE "The Goban Saor was a mason and a smith, and he could do all things, and he was very witty. He was going from home one time and he said to the wife 'If it is a daughter you have this time I'll kill you when I come back'; for up to that time he had no sons, but only daughters. And it was a daughter she had; but a neighbouring woman had a son at the same time, and they made an exchange to save the life of the Goban's wife. But when the boy began to grow up he had no wit, and the Goban knew by that he was no son of his. That is the reason he wanted a witty wife for him. So there came a girl to the house one day, and the Goban Saor bade her look round at all that was in the room, and he said 'Do you think a couple could get a living out of this?' 'They could not,' she said. So he said she wouldn't do, and he sent her away. Another girl came another day, and he bade her take notice of all that was in the house, and he said 'Do you think could a couple knock a living out of this?' 'They could if they stopped in it,' she said. So he said that girl would do. Then he asked her could she bring a sheepskin to the market and bring back the price of it, and the skin itself as well. She said she could, and she went to the market, and there she pulled off the wool and sold it and brought back the price and the skin as well. Then he asked could she go to the market and not be dressed or undressed. And she went having only one shoe and one stocking on her, so she was neither dressed or undressed. Then he sent her to walk neither on the road or off the road, and she walked on the path beside it. So he said then she would do as a wife for his son." AN ADVICE SHE GAVE "One time some great king or lord sent for the Goban to build a _caislean_ for him, and the son's wife said to him before he went 'Be always great with the women of the house, and always have a comrade among them.' So when the Goban went there he coaxed one of the women the same as if he was not married. And when the castle was near built, the woman told him the lord was going to play him a trick, and to kill him or shut him up when he had the castle made, the way he would not build one for any-other lord that was as good. And as she said, the lord came and bade the Goban to make a cat and two-tails, for no one could make that but himself, and it was meaning to kill him on it he was. And the Goban said he would do that when he had finished the castle, but he could not finish it without some tool he had left at home. And they must send the lord's son for it--- for he said it would not be given to any other one. So the son was sent, and the Goban sent a message to the daughter-in-law that the tool he was wanting was called 'When you open it shut it.' And she was surprised, for there was no such tool in the house; but she guessed by the message what she had to do, and there was a big chest in the house and she set it open. 'Come now,' she said to the young man,' look in the chest and find it for yourself.' And when he looked in she gave him a push forward, and in he went, and she shut the lid on him. She wrote a letter to the lord then, saying he would not get his son back till he had sent her own two men, and they were sent back to her." SHORTENING THE ROAD "Himself and his son were walking the road together one day, and the Goban said to the son 'Shorten the road for me.' So the son began to walk fast, thinking that would do it, but the Goban sent him back home when he didn't understand what to do. The next day they were walking again, and the Goban said again to shorten the road for him, and this time he began to run, and the Goban sent him home again. When he went in and told the wife he was sent home the second time, she began to think, and she said, 'When he bids you shorten the road, it is that he wants you to be telling him stories.' For that is what the Goban meant, but it took the daughter-in-law to understand it. And it is what I was saying to that other woman, that if one of ourselves was making a journey, if we had another along with us, it would not seem to be one half as long as if we would be alone. And if that is so with us, it is much more with a stranger, and so I went up the hill with you to shorten the road, telling you that story." THE GOBAN'S SECRET "The Goban and his son were seven years building the castle, and they never said a word all that time. And at the end of seven years the son was at the top, and he said 'I hear a cow lowing.' And the Goban said then 'Make all strong below you, for the work is done,' and they went home. The Goban never told the secret of his building, and when he was on the bed dying they wanted to get it from him, and they went in and said 'Claregalway Castle is after falling in the night.' And the Goban said 'How can that be when I put a stone in and a stone out and a stone across.' So then they knew the way he built so well." THE SCOTCH ROGUE "One time he was on the road going to the town, and there was a Scotch rogue on the road that was always trying what could he pick off others, and he saw the Connemara man--that was the Goban--had a nice cravat, and he thought he would get a hold of that. So he began talking with him, and he was boasting of all the money he had, and the Goban said whatever it was he had three times as much as it, and he with only thirty pounds in the world. And the Scotch rogue thought he would get some of it from him, and he said he would go to a house in the town, and he gave him some food and some drink there, and the Goban said he would do the same for him on the morrow. So then the Goban went out to three houses, and in each of them he left ten pounds of his thirty pounds, and he told the people in every house what they had to do, and that when he would strike the table with his hat three times they would bring out the money. So then he asked the Scotch rogue into the first house, and ordered every sort of food and drink, ten pounds worth in all. And when they had used all they could of it, he struck with his hat on the table, and the man of the house brought out the ten pounds, and the Goban said 'Keep that to pay what I owe you.' The second day he did the same thing in another house. And in the third house they went to he ordered ten pounds worth of food and drink in the same way. And when the time came to pay, he struck the table with the hat, and there was the money in the hand of the man of the house before them. 'That's a good little caubeen,' said the Scotch rogue, 'when striking it on the table makes all that money appear.' 'It is a wishing hat,' said the Goban; 'anything I wish for I can get as long as I have that.' 'Would you sell it?' said the Scotch rogue. 'I would not,' said the Goban. 'I have another at home, but I wouldn't sell one or the other.' 'You may as well sell it, so long as you have another at home,' said the Scotch rogue. 'What will you give for it?' says the Goban. 'Will you give three hundred pounds for it?' 'I will give that,' says the Scotch rogue, 'when it will bring me all the wealth I wish for.' So he went out and brought the three hundred pound, and gave it to the Goban, and he got the caubeen and went away with it, and it not worth three halfpence. There was no beating the Goban. Wherever he got it, he had got the gift." THE DANES "The reason of the wisps and the fires on Saint John's Eve is that one time long ago the Danes came and took the country and conquered it, and they put a soldier to mind every house through the whole country. And at last the people made up their mind that on one night they would kill its soldiers. So they did as they said, and there wasn't one left, and that is why they light the wisps ever since. It was Brian Boroihme was the first to light them. There was not much of an army left to the Danes that time, for he made a great scatter of them. A great man he was, and his own son was as good, that is Murrough. It was the wife brought him to his end, Gormleith. She was for war, and he was all for peace. And he got to be very pious, too pious, and old and she got tired of that." THE BATTLE OF CLONTARF "Clontarf was on the head of a game of chess. The generals of the Danes were beaten at it, and they were vexed; and Cennedigh was killed on a hill near Fermoy. He put the Holy Gospels in his breast as a protection, but he was struck through them with a reeking dagger. It was Brodar, that the Brodericks are descended from, that put a dagger through Brian's heart, and he attending to his prayers. What the Danes left in Ireland were hens and weasels. And when the cock crows in the morning the country people will always say 'It is for Denmark they are crowing. Crowing they are to be back in Denmark.'" THE ENGLISH "It was a long time after that, the Pope encouraged King Henry to take Ireland. It was for a protection he did it, Henry being of his own religion, and he fearing the Druids or the Danes might invade Ireland." THE QUEEN OF BREFFNY "Dervorgilla was a red-haired woman, and it was she put the great curse on Ireland, bringing in the English through MacMurrough, that she went to from O'Rourke. It was to Henry the Second MacMurrough went, and he sent Strongbow, and they stopped in Ireland ever since. But who knows but another race might be worse, such as the Spaniards that were scattered along the whole coast of Connacht at the time of the Armada. And the laws are good enough. I heard it said the English will be dug out of their graves one day for the sake of their law. As to Dervorgilla, she was not brought away by force, she went to MacMurrough herself. For there are men in the world that have a coaxing way, and sometimes women are weak." KING HENRY VIII. "Henry the Eighth was crying and roaring and leaping out of the bed for three days and nights before his death. And he died cursing his children, and he that had eight millions when he came to the Throne, coining leather money at the end." ELIZABETH "Queen Elizabeth was awful. Beyond everything she was. When she came to the turn she dyed her hair red, and whatever man she had to do with, she sent him to the block in the morning, that he would be able to tell nothing. She had an awful temper. She would throw a knife from the table at the waiting ladies, and if anything vexed her she would maybe work upon the floor. A thousand dresses she left after her. Very superstitious she was. Sure after her death they found a card, the ace of hearts, nailed to her chair under the seat. She thought she would never die while she had it there. And she bought a bracelet from an old woman out in Wales that was over a hundred years. It was superstition made her do that, and they found it after her death tied about her neck." HER DEATH "It was a town called Calais brought her to her death, and she lay chained on the floor three days and three nights. The Archbishop was trying to urge her to eat, but she said 'You would not ask me to do it if you knew the way I am,' for nobody could see the chains. After her death they waked her for six days in Whitehall, and there were six ladies sitting beside the body every night. Three coffins were about it, the one nearest the body of lead, and then a wooden one, and a leaden one on the outside. And every night there came from them a great bellow. And the last night there came a bellow that broke the three coffins open, and tore the velvet, and there came out a stench that killed the most of the ladies and a million of the people of London with the plague. Queen Victoria was more honourable than that. It would be hard to beat Queen Elizabeth." THE TRACE OF CROMWELL "I'll tell you now about the trace of Cromwell. There was a young lady was married to a gentleman, and she died with her first baby, and she was brought away into a forth by the fairies, the good people, as I suppose. She used to be sitting on the side of it combing her hair, and three times her husband saw her there, but he had not the courage to go and to bring her away. But there was a man of the name of Howley living near the forth, and he went out with his gun one day and he saw her beside the forth, and he brought her away to his house, and a young baby sprang between them at the end of a year. One day the husband was out shooting and he came in upon Howley's land, and when young Howley heard the shooting he rose up and went out and he bade the gentleman to stop, for this was his land. So he stopped, and he said he was weary and thirsty, and he asked could he rest in the house. So young Howley said as long as he asked pardon he had leave to use what he liked. So he came in the house and he sat at the table, and he put his two eyes through the young lady. 'If I didn't see her dead and buried,' he said, 'I'd say that to be my own wife.' 'Oh!' said she, 'so I am your wife, and you are badly worthy of me, and you have the worst courage ever I knew, that you would not come and bring me away out of the forth as young Howley had the courage to bring me,' she said. So then he asked young Howley would he give him back his wife. 'I will give her,' he said, 'but you never will get the child.' So the child was reared, and when he was grown he went travelling up to Dublin. And he was at a hunt, and he lost the top of his boot, and he went into a shoemaker's shop and he gave him half a sovereign for nothing but to put the tip on the boot, for he saw he was poor and had a big family. And more than that, when he was going away he took out three sovereigns and gave them to the blacksmith, and he looked at one of the little chaps, and he said 'That one will be in command of the whole of England.' 'Oh, that cannot be,' said the blacksmith, 'where I am poor and have not the means to do anything for him.' 'It will be as I tell you,' said he, 'and write me out now a docket,' he said, 'that if ever that youngster will come to command Ireland, he will give me a free leg.' So the docket was made out, and he brought it away with him. And sure enough, the shoemaker's son listed, and was put at the head of soldiers, and got the command of England, and came with his soldiers to put down Ireland. And Howley saw them coming and he tied his handkerchief to the top of his stick, and when Cromwell saw that, he halted the army, 'For there is some poor man in distress,' he said. Then Howley showed him the docket his father had written. 'I will do some good thing for you on account of that,' said Cromwell; 'and go now to the top of that high cliff,' he said, 'and I'll give as much land as you can see from it.' And so he did give it to him. It was no wonder Howley to have known the shoemaker's son would be in command and all would happen him, because of his mother that got knowledge in the years she was in the forth. That is the trace of Cromwell. I heard it at a wake, and I would believe it, and if I had time to put my mind to it, and if I was not on the road from Loughrea to Ballyvaughan, I could give you the foundations of it better." CROMWELL'S LAW "I'll tell you about Cromwell and the White Friars. There was a White Friar at that time was known to have knowledge, and Cromwell sent word to him to come see him. It was of a Saturday he did that, of an Easter Saturday, but the Friar never came. On the Sunday Cromwell sent for him again, and he didn't come. And on the Monday he sent for him the third time, and he did come. 'Why is it you did not come to me when I sent before?' said Cromwell. 'I'll tell you that,' said the White Friar. 'I didn't come on Saturday,' he said, 'because your passion was on you. And I didn't come on the Sunday,' he said, 'because your passion was not gone down enough, and I thought you would not give me my steps. But I came to-day,' he said, 'because your passion is cool.' When Cromwell heard his answer, 'That is true,' he said, 'and tell me how long my law will last in Ireland.' 'It will last,' says the White Friar, 'till yesterday will come (that was Easter Sunday) the same day as our Lady Day.' Cromwell was satisfied then, and he gave him a free leg, and he went away. And so that law did last till now, and it's well it did, for without that law in the country you wouldn't be safe walking the road having so much as the price of a pint of porter in your pocket." CROMWELL IN CONNACHT "Cromwell cleared the road before him. If any great man stood against him he would pull down his castle the same as he pulled down that castle of your own, Ballinamantane, that is down the road. He never got more than two hours sleep or three, or at the most four, but starting up fearing his life would be peppered. There was a word he sounded out to the Catholics, 'To hell or Connacht,' and the reason he did that was that Connacht was burned bare, and he that thought to pass the winter there would get no lodging at all. Himself and his men travelled it, and they never met with anything that had human breath put in it by God till they came to Breffny, and they saw smoke from a chimney, and they surrounded the house and went into it. And what they saw was a skeleton over the fire roasting, and the people of the house picking flesh off it with the bits of a hook. And when they saw that, they left them there. It was a Clare man that burned Connacht so bare; he was worse than Cromwell, and he made a great slaughter in the house of God at Clonmel. The people have it against his family yet, and against the whole County of Clare." A WORSE THAN CROMWELL "Cromwell was very bad, but the drink is worse. For a good many that Cromwell killed should go to heaven, but those that are drunken never see heaven. And as to drink, a man that takes the first glass is as quiet and as merry as a pet lamb; and after the second glass he is as knacky as a monkey; and after the third glass he is as ready for battle as a lion; and after the fourth glass he is like a swine as he is. 'I am thirsty' [IRISH: Ta Tart Orm], that was one of our Lord's seven words on the Cross, where he was dry. And a man far off would have given him drink; but there was a drunkard at the foot of the Cross, and he prevented him." THE BATTLE OF AUGHRIM "That was a great slaughter at Aughrim. St. Ruth wanted to do all himself, he being a foreigner. He gave no plan of the battle to Sarsfield, but a written command to stop where he was, and Sarsfield knew no more than yourself or myself in the evening before it happened. It was Colonel Merell's wife bade him not go to the battle, where she knew it would go bad with him through a dream. But he said that meant that he would be crowned, and he went out and was killed. That is what the poem says: If Caesar listened to Calpurnia's dream He had not been by Pompey's statue slain. All great men gave attention to dreams, though the Church is against them now. It is written in Scripture that Joseph gave attention to his dream. But Colonel Merell did not, and so he went to his death. Aughrim would have been won if it wasn't for the drink. There was too much of it given to the Irish soldiers that day--drink and spies and traitors. The English never won a battle in Ireland in fair fight, but getting spies and setting the people against one another. I saw where Aughrim was fought, and I turned aside from the road to see the tree where St Ruth was killed. The half of it is gone like snuff. That was spies too, a Colonel's daughter that told the English in what place St. Ruth would be washing himself at six o'clock in the morning. And it was there he was shot by one O'Donnell, an Englishman. He shot him from six miles off. The Danes were dancing in the raths around Aughrim the night after the battle. Their ancestors were driven out of Ireland before; and they were glad when they saw those that had put them out put out themselves, and every one of them skivered." [ILLUSTRATION: WILLIAM III] THE STUARTS "As to the Stuarts, there are no songs about them and no praises in the West, whatever there may be in the South. Why would there, and they running away and leaving the country the way they did? And what good did they ever do it? James the Second was a coward. Why didn't he go into the thick of the battle like the Prince of Orange? He stopped on a hill three miles away, and rode off to Dublin, bringing the best of his troops with him. There was a lady walking in the street at Dublin when he got there, and he told her the battle was lost, and she said 'Faith you made good haste; you made no delay on the road.' So he said no more after that. The people liked James well enough before he ran; they didn't like him after that." ANOTHER STORY "Seumus Salach, Dirty James, it is he brought all down. At the time of the battle there was one of his men said, 'I have my eye cocked, and all the nations will be done away with,' and he pointing his cannon. 'Oh!' said James, 'Don't make a widow of my daughter.' If he didn't say that, the English would have been beat. It was a very poor thing for him to do." PATRICK SARSFIELD "Sarsfield was a great general the time he turned the shoes on his horse. The English it was were pursuing him, and he got off and changed the shoes the way when they saw the tracks they would think he went another road. That was a great plan. He got to Limerick then, and he killed thousands of the English. He was a great general." QUEEN ANNE "The Georges were fair; they left all to the Government; but Anne was very bad and a tyrant. She tyrannised over the Irish. She died broken-hearted with all the bad things that were going on about her. For Queen Anne was very wicked; oh, very wicked, indeed!" CAROLAN'S SONG "Carolan that could play the fiddle and the harp used to be going about with Cahil-a-Corba, that was a tambourine man. But they got tired of one another and parted, and Carolan went to the house of the King of Mayo, and he stopped there, and the King asked him to stop for his lifetime. There came a grand visitor one time, and when he heard Carolan singing and playing and his fine pleasant talk, he asked him to go with him on a visit to Dublin. So Carolan went, and he promised the King of Mayo he would come back at the end of a month. But when he was at the gentleman's house he liked it so well that he stopped a year with him, and it wasn't till the Christmas he came back to Mayo. And when he got there the doors were shut, and the King was at his dinner, and Queen Mary and the three daughters, and he could see them through the windows. But when the King saw him he said he would not let him in. He was vexed with him and angry he had broken his promise and his oath. So Carolan began to give out a song he had made about the King of Mayo and all his family, and he brought Queen Mary into it and the three daughters. Then the Queen asked leave of the King to bring him in, because he made so good a song, but the King would not give in to it. Then Carolan began to draw down the King of Mayo's father and his grandfather into the song. And Queen Mary asked again for forgiveness for him, and the King gave it that time because of the song that had in it the old times, and the old generations went through him. But as to Cahil-a-Corba, he went to another gentleman's house and he stopped too long in it and was driven out. But he came back, having changed his form, that the gentleman did not know him, and he let him in again, and then he was forgiven." 'NINETY-EIGHT "In the year '98 there were the Yeomanry that were the worst of all. The time Father Murphy was killed there was one of them greased his boots in his heart. There was one of them was called Micky the Devil in Irish; he never went out without the pitchcap and the triangle, and any rebel he would meet he would put gunpowder in his hair and set a light to it. The North Cork Militia were the worst; there are places in Ireland where you would not get a drink of water if they knew you came from Cork. And it was the very same, the North Cork, that went of their own free will to the Boer war, volunteered, asked to go that is. They had the same sting in them always. A great many of them were left dead in that war, and a great many better men than themselves. There was one battle in that war there was no quarter given, the same as Aughrim; and the English would kill the wounded that would be left upon the field of battle. There is no Christianity in war." DENIS BROWNE "There is a tree near Denis Browne's house that used to be used for hanging men in the time of '98, he being a great man in that time, and High Sheriff of Mayo, and it is likely the gentlemen were afeared, and that there was bad work at nights. But one night Denis Browne was lying in his bed, and the Lord put it in his mind that there might be false information given against some that were innocent. So he went out and he brought out one of his horses into the lawn before the house, and he shot it dead and left it there. In the morning one of the butlers came up to him and said, 'Did you see that one of your horses was shot in the night?' 'How would I see that?' says he, 'and I not rose up or dressed?' So when he went out they showed him the horse, and he bade the men to bury it, and it wasn't two hours after before two of them came to him. 'We can tell you who it was shot the horse,' they said. 'It was such a one and such a one in the village, that were often heard to speak bad of you. And besides that,' they said, 'we saw them shooting it ourselves.' So the two that gave that false witness were the last two Denis Browne ever hung. He rose out of it after, and washed his hands of it all. And his big house is turned into a convent, and the tree is growing there yet. It is in the time of '98 that happened, a hundred years ago." THE UNION "As to the Union, it was bought with titles. Look at the Binghams and the rest, they went to bed nothing, and rose up lords in the morning. The day it was passed Lady Castlereagh was in the House of Parliament, and she turned three colours, and she said to her husband, 'You have passed your treaty, but you have sold your country.' He went and cut his throat after that. And it is what I heard from the old people, there was no priest in Ireland but voted for it, the way they would get better rights, for it was only among poor persons they were going at that time. And it was but at the time of the Parliament leaving College Green they began to wear the Soutane that they wear now. Up to that it was a bodycoat they wore and knee-breeches. It was their vote sent the Parliament to England, and when there is a row between them or that the people are vexed with the priest, you will hear them saying in the house in Irish 'Bad luck on them, it was they brought misfortune to Ireland.' They wore the Soutane ever since that time." ROBERT EMMET "The Government had people bribed to swear against Robert Emmet, and the same men said after, they never saw him till he was in the dock. He might have got away but for his attention to that woman. She went away after with a sea captain. There are some say she gave information. Curran's daughter she was. But I don't know. He made one request, his letters that she wrote to him in the gaol not to be meddled with, but the Government opened them and took the presents she sent in them, and whatever was best of them they kept for themselves. He made the greatest speech from the dock ever was made, and Lord Norbury on the bench, checking and clogging him all the time. Ten hours he was in the dock, and they gave him no more than one dish of water all that time; and they executed him in a hurry, saying it was an attack they feared on the prison. There is no one knows where is his grave." O'CONNELL'S BIRTH "O'Connell was a grand man, and whatever cause he took in hand, it was as good as won. But what wonder? He was the gift of God. His father was a rich man, and one day he was out walking he took notice of a house that was being built. Well, a week later he passed by the same place, and he saw the walls of the house were no higher than before. So he asked the reason, and he was told it was a priest that was building it, and he hadn't the money to go on with. So a few days after he went to the priest's house and he asked was that true, and the priest said it was. 'Would you pay back the money to the man that would lend it to you?' says O'Connell. 'I would,' says the priest. So with that O'Connell gave him the money that was wanting--£50--for it was a very grand house. Well, after some time the priest came to O'Connell's house, and he found only the wife at home, so says he, 'I have some money that himself lent me.' But he had never told the wife of what he had done, so she knew nothing about it, and says she, 'Don't be troubling yourself about it, he'll bestow it on you.' 'Well,' says the priest, I'll go away now and I'll come back again.' So when O'Connell came, the wife told him all that had happened, and how a priest had come saying he owed him money, and how she had said he would bestow it on him. 'Well,' says O'Connell, 'if you said I would bestow it, I will bestow it.' And so he did. Then the priest said, 'Have you any children?' 'Ne'er a child,' said O'Connell. 'Well you will have one,' said he. And that day nine months their young son was born. So what wonder if he was inspired, being, as he was, the Gift of God." [Illustration: O'CONNELL] THE TINKER "O'Connell was a great man. I never saw him, but I heard of his name. One time I saw his picture in a paper, where they were giving out meal, where Mrs. Gaynor's is and I kissed the picture of him. They were laughing at me for doing that, but I had heard of his good name. There was some poor man, a tinker, asked help of him one time in Dublin, and he said, 'I will put you in a place where you will get some good thing.' So he brought him to a lodging in a very grand house and put him in it. And in the morning he began to make saucepans, and he was making them there, and the shopkeeper that owned the house was mad at him to be doing that, and making saucepans in so grand a house, and he wanted to get him out of it, and he gave him a good sum of money to go out. He went back and told that to O'Connell, and O'Connell said, 'Didn't I tell you I would put you in the way to get some good thing?'" A PRESENT "There was a gentleman sent him a present one time, and he bade a little lad to bring it to him. Shut up in a box it was, and he bade the boy to give it to himself, and not to open the box. So the little lad brought it to O'Connell to give it to him. 'Let you open it yourself,' says O'Connell. So he opened it, and whatever was in it blew up and made an end of the boy, and it would have been the same with O'Connell if he had opened it." HIS STRATEGY "O'Connell was a grand man; the best within the walls of the world. He never led anyone astray. Did you hear that one time he turned the shoes on his horses? There were bad members following him. I cannot say who they were, for I will not tell what I don't know. He got a smith to turn the shoes, and when they came upon his track, he went east and they went west. Parnell was no bad man, but Dan O'Connell's name went up higher in praises." THE MAN WAS GOING TO BE HANGED "I saw O'Connell in Galway one time, and I couldn't get anear him. All the nations of the world were gathered there to see him. There were a great many he hung and a great many he got off from death, the dear man. He went into a town one time, and into a hotel, and he asked for his dinner. And he had a frieze dress, for he was very simple, and always a clerk along with him. And when the dinner was served to him, 'Is there no one here,' says he, 'to sit along with me; for it is seldom I ever dined without company.' 'If you think myself good enough to sit with you,' says the man of the hotel, 'I will do it.' So the two of them sat to the dinner together, and O'Connell asked was there any news in the town. 'There is,' says the hotel man, 'there is a man to be hung to-morrow.' 'Oh, my!' says O'Connell, 'what was it he did to deserve that?' 'Himself and another that had been out fowling,' says he, 'and they came in here and they began to dispute, and the one of them killed the other, and he will be hung to-morrow.' 'He will not,' says O'Connell. 'I tell you he will,' says the other, 'for the Judge is come to give the sentence.' Well, O'Connell kept to it that he would not, and they made a bet, and the hotel man bet all he had on the man being hung. In the morning O'Connell was in no hurry out of bed, and when the two of them walked into the Court, the Judge was after giving the sentence, and the man was to be hung. '_Maisead_,' says the judge when he saw O'Connell, 'I wish you had been here a half an hour ago, where there is a man going to be hung.' 'He is not,' says O'Connell. 'He is,' says the judge. 'If he is,' says O'Connell, 'that one will never let anyone go living out of his hotel, and he making money out of the hanging.' 'What do you mean saying that?' says the judge. Then O'Connell took the instrument out of his pocket where it was written down all the hotel-keeper had put on the hanging. And when the judge saw that, he set the man free, and he was not hanged." THE CUP OF THE SASSANACH "He was over in England one time, and he was brought to a party, and tea was made ready and cups. And as they were sitting at the table, a servant girl that was in it, and that was Irish, came to O'Connell and she said, 'Do you understand Irish?' [IRISH: 'An tuigeann tu Gaedilge, O'Connell?' 'Tuigim,'] says he, 'I understand it.' 'Have a care,' says she, 'for there is in your cup what would poison the whole nation!' 'If that is true, girl, you will get a good fortune,' said he. It was in Irish they said all that, and the people that were in it had no ears. Then O'Connell quenched the candle, and he changed his cup for the cup of the man that was next him. And it was not long till the man fell dead. They were always trying to kill O'Connell, because he was a good man. The Sassanach it was were against him. Terrible wicked they were, and God save us, I believe they are every bit as wicked yet!" THE THOUSAND FISHERS "O'Connell came to Galway one time, and he sent for all the trades to come out with the sign of their trade in their hand, and he would see which was the best. And there came ten hundred fishers, having all white flannel clothes and black hats and white scarves about them, and he gave the sway to them. It wasn't a year after that, the half of them were lost, going through the fogs at Newfoundland, where they went for a better way of living." WHAT THE OLD WOMEN SAW "The greatest thing I ever saw was O'Connell driving through Gort, very plain, and an oiled cap on him, and having only one horse; and there was no house in Gort without his picture in it." "O'Connell rode up Crow Lane and to Church Street on a single horse, and he stopped there and took a view of Gort." "I saw O'Connell after he left Gort going on the road to Kinvara, and seven horses in the coach--they could not get in the eighth. He stopped, and he was talking to Hickman that was with me. Shiel was in the coach along with him." O'CONNELL'S HAT "O'Connell wore his hat in the English House of Commons, what no man but the King can do. He wore it for three days because he had a sore head, and at the end of that they bade him put it off, and he said he would not, where he had worn it three days." THE CHANGE HE MADE "O'Connell was a great councillor. At that time if there was a Catholic, no matter how high or great or learned he was, he could not get a place. But if a Protestant came that was a blockhead and ignorant, the place would be open to him. There was a revolution rising because of that, and O'Connell brought it into the House of Commons and got it changed. He was the greatest man ever was in Ireland. He was a very clever lawyer; he would win every case, he would put it so strong and clear and clever. If there were fifteen lawyers against him--five and ten--he would win it against them all, whether the case was bad or good." THE MAN HE BROUGHT TO JUSTICE "Corly, that burned his house in Burren, was very bad, and it was O'Connell brought him to the gallows. The only case O'Connell lost was against the Macnamaras, and he told them he would be even with them, and so when Corly, that was a friend of theirs, was brought up he kept his word. There was no doubt about him burning the house, it was to implicate the Hynes he did it, to lay it on them. There was a girl used to go out milking at daybreak, and she awoke, and the moon was shining, and she thought it was day, and got up and looked out, and she saw him doing it." THE BINDING "O'Connell was a great man, wide big arms he had. It was he left us the cheap tea; to cheapen it he did, that was at that time a shilling for one bare ounce. His heart is in Rome and his body in Glasnevin. A lovely man, he would put you on your guard; he was for the country, he was all for Ireland." HIS MONUMENT "There is a nice monument put up to O'Connell in Ennis, in a corner it is of the middle of a street, and himself high up on it, holding a book. It was a poor shoe-maker set that going. I saw him in Gort one time, a coat of O'Connell's he had that he chanced in some place. Only for him there would be no monument; it was he gathered money for it, and there was none would refuse him." A PRAISE MADE FOR DANIEL O'CONNELL BY OLD WOMEN AND THEY BEGGING AT THE DOOR "Dan O'Connell was the best man in the world, and a great man surely; and there could not be better than what O'Connell was. "It was from him I took the pledge and I a child, and kept it ever after. He would give it to little lads and children, but not to any aged person. Pilot trousers he had and a pilot coat, and a grey and white waistcoat. "O'Connell was all for the poor. See what he did at Saint Patrick's Island--he cast out every bad thing and every whole thing, to England and to America and to every part. He fought it well for every whole body. "A splendid monument there is to him in Ennis, and his fine top coat upon him. A lovely man; you'd think he was alive and all, and he having his hat in his hand. Everyone kneels down on the steps of it and says a few prayers and walks away. It is as high as that tree below. If he was in Ireland now the pension would go someway right. "He was the best and the best to everyone; he got great sway in the town of Gort, and in every other place. "I suppose he has the same talk always; he is able to do for us now as well as ever he was; surely his mercy and goodness are in the town of Gort. "He did good in the world while he was alive; he was a great man surely; there couldn't be better in this world I believe, or in the next world; there couldn't be better all over the world. "He used to go through all nations and to make a fight for the poor; he gave them room to live, and used to fight for them too. There is no doubt at all he did help them, he was well able to do it." RICHARD SHIEL "As to Shiel, he was small, dressed very neat, with knee-breeches and a full vest and a long-skirted coat. He had a long nose, and was not much to look at till he began to speak, and then you'd see genius coming out from him. His voice was shrill, and that spoiled his speech sometimes, when he would get excited, and would raise it at the end. But O'Connell's voice you would hear a mile off, and it sounded as if it was coming through honey," THE TITHE WAR "And the Tithes, the tenth of the land that St. Patrick and his Bishops had settled for their own use, it was to Protestants it was given. And there would have been a revolution out of that, but it was done away with, and it is the landlord has to pay it now. The Pope has a great power that is beyond all. There is one day and one minute in the year he has that power if it pleases him to use it. At that minute it runs through all the world, and every priest goes on his knees and the Pope himself is on his knees, and that request cannot be refused, because they are the grand jury of the world before God. A man was talking to me about the burying of the Tithes; up on the top of the Devil's Bit it was, and if you looked around you could see nothing but the police. Then the boys came riding up, and white rods in their hands, and they dug a grave, and the Tithes, some image of them, was buried. It was a wrong thing for one religion to be paying for the board of the clergy of another religion." THE FIGHT AT CARRICKSHOCK "The Tithe War, that was the time of the fight at Carrickshock. A narrow passage that was in it, and the people were holding it against the police that came with the Proctor. There was a Captain defending the Proctor that had been through the Battle of Waterloo, and it was the Proctor they fired at, but the Captain fell dead, and fourteen police were killed with him. But the people were beat after, and were brought into court for the trial, and the counsel for the Crown was against them, Dougherty. They were tried in batches, and every batch was condemned, Dougherty speaking out the case against them. But O'Connell, that was at that time at Cork Assizes, heard of it, and he came, and when he got to the door the pony that brought him dropped dead. He came in and he took refreshment--bread and milk--the same as I am after taking now, and he looked up and he said 'That is no law.' Then the judge agreed with him, and he got every one of them off after that; but only for him they would swing. The Tithes were bad, a farmer to have three stacks they's take the one of them. And that was the first time of the hurling matches, to gather the people against the Tithes. But there was hurling in the ancient times in Ireland, and out in Greece, and playing at the ball, and that is what is called the Olympian Games." THE BIG WIND "As to the Big Wind, I was on my elder sister's back going to a friend beyond, and when I was coming back it was slacked away, and I was wondering at the holes in the houses." "I was up to twelve year at the time of the Big Wind that was in '39, and I was over at Roxborough with my father that was clearing timber from the road, and your father came out along the road, and he was wild seeing the trees and rocks whipped up into the sky the way they were with the wind. But what was that to the bitter time of the Famine that came after?" THE FAMINE "The Famine; there's a long telling in that, it is a thing will be remembered always. That little graveyard above, at that time it was filled full up of bodies; the Union had no way to buy coffins for them. There would be a bag made, and the body put into it, that was all; and the people dying without priest, or bishop, or anything at all. But over in Connemara it was the dogs brought the bodies out of the houses, and asked no leave." THE CHOLERA "The cholera was worse again. It came from foreign, and it lasted a couple of years, till God drove it out of the country. It is often I saw a man ploughing the garden in the morning till dinner time, and before evening he would be dead. It was as if on the wind it came, there was no escape from it; on the wind, the same as it would come now and would catch on to pigs. Sheds that would be made out in the haggards to put the sick in, they would turn as black as your coat. There was no one could go near them without he would have a glass of whiskey taken, and he wouldn't like it then." A LONG REMEMBERING "The longest thing I remember is the time of the sickness, and my father that was making four straw mats for four brothers that died, and that couldn't afford coffins. The bodies were put in the mats and were tied up in them. And the second thing I remember is the people digging in the stubble after the oats and the wheat; to see would they meet a potato, and sometimes they did, for God sent them there." THE TERRY ALTS "The Terry Alts were a bad class; everything you had they'd take from you. It was against herding they began to get the land, the same as at the present time. And women they would take; a man maybe that hadn't a perch of land would go to a rich farmer's house and bring away his daughter. And I, supposing, to have some spite against you, I'd gather a mob and do every bad thing to destroy you. That is the way they were, a bad class and doing bad deeds." THE '48 TIME "Thomas Davis was a great man where poetry is concerned, and a better than Thomas Moore. All over Ireland his poetry is, and he would have done other things but that he died young. That was the '48 time. The '48 men were foolish men; they thought to cope with the English Government. They went to O'Connell to get from him all the money he had gathered, for they had it in their head to use that to make a rise against England. But when they asked O'Connell for it he told them there was none of it left, not one penny. Buying estates for his children he used it, and he said he spent it on a monastery. I don't know was he speaking truth. Mahon made a great speech against him, and it preyed on O'Connell, and he left the country and went away and died in some place called Genoa. He was a very ambitious man, like Napoleon. He got Emancipation; but where is the use of that? There's Judge O'Brien, Peter the Packer, was calling out and trying to do away with trial by jury. And he would not be in his office or in his billet if it wasn't for O'Connell. They didn't do much after, where they didn't get the money from O'Connell. And the night they joined under Smith O'Brien they hadn't got their supper. A terrible cold night it was, no one could stand against it. Some bishop came from Dublin, and he told them to go home, for how could they reach with their pikes to the English soldiers that had got muskets. The soldiers came, and there was some firing, and they were all scattered. As to Smith O'Brien, there was ten thousand pounds on his head, and he hid for a while. Then at the last he went into the town of Clonmel, and there was a woman there in the street was a huckster, and he bade her give him up to the Government, for she would never earn money so easy. But for all she was worth she wouldn't do that. So then he went and gave himself up, and he was sent to Australia, and the property was given to his brother." A THING MITCHELL SAID "Mitchell was kept in Clonmel gaol two years before he was sent to Australia. He was a Protestant, and a very good man. He said in a speech, where was the use of meetings and of talking? It was with the point of their bayonet the English would have to be driven out of Ireland. It was Mitchell said that." THE FENIAN RISING "It was a man from America it came with. There was one Mackie was taken in a publichouse in Cork, and there was a policeman killed in the struggle. Judge O'Hagan was the judge when he was in the dock, and he said, 'Mr. Mackie, I see you are a gentleman and an educated man; and I'm sorry,' he said, 'that you did not read Irish history.' Mackie cried when he heard that, for indeed it was all spies about him, and it was they gave him up." A GREAT WONDER "The greatest wonder I ever saw was one time near Kinvara at a funeral, there came a car along the road and a lady on it having a plaid cloak, as was the fashion then, and a big hat, and she kept her head down and never looked at the funeral at all. I wondered at her when I saw that, and I said to my brother it was a strange thing a lady to be coming past a funeral and not to look on at it at all. And who was on the car but O'Gorman Mahon, escaping from the Government, and dressed up as a lady! He drove to Father Arthur's house at Kinvara, and there was a boat waiting, and a cousin of my own in it, to bring him out to a ship, and so he made his escape." ANOTHER WONDER "I saw Clerkenwell prison in London broken up in the time of the Fenians, and every ship and steamer in the whole of the ocean stopped. The prison was burned down, and all the prisoners consumed, and seven doctors' shops along with it." FATHER MATHEW "Father Mathew was a great man, plump and red in the face. There couldn't be better than what he was. I knew one Kane in Gort he gave a medal to, and he kept it seventy years. Kane was a great totaller, and he wouldn't drink so much as water out of a glass, but out of a cup; the glass might have been used for porter at some time. He lost the medal, and was in a great way about it, but he found it five years after in a dung-heap. A great totaller he was. Them that took the medal from Father Mathew and that kept it, at their death they would be buried by men dressed in white clothes." THE WAR OF THE CRIMEA "My husband was in the war of the Crimea. It is terrible the hardships he went through, to be two months without going into a house, under the snow in trenches. And no food to get, maybe a biscuit in the day. And there was enough food there, he said, to feed all Ireland; but bad management, they could not get it. Coffee they would be given, and they would be cutting a green bramble to strive to make a fire to boil it. The dead would be buried every morning; a big hole would be dug, and the bodies thrown in, and lime upon them; and some of the bodies would be living when they were buried. My husband used to try to revive them if he saw there was life in them, but other lads wouldn't care--just to put them down and have done. And they were allowed to take nothing--money, gold watches, and the like, all thrown in the ground. Sure they did not care much about such things, they might be lying in the same place themselves to-morrow. But the soldiers would take the money sometimes and put it in their stocking and tie the stocking below the ankle and below the knee. But if the officer knew that, they would be courtmartialed and punished. He got two medals--one from the English and one from the Emperor of Turkey. Fighting for the Queen, and bad pay she gave him. He never knew what was the war for, unless it might be for diminishing the population. We saw in the paper a few years ago there was a great deal of money collected for soldiers that had gone through hardship in the war, and we wrote to the War Office asking some of it for him. But they wrote back that there were so many young men crippled in the Boer war there was nothing to be spared for the old. My husband used to be saying the Queen cared nothing for the army, but that the King, even before he was King, was better to it. But I'm thinking from this out the King will get very few from Ireland for his army." [Illustration: W.E. GLADSTONE] GARIBALDI "There was one of my brothers died at Lyons in France. He had a place in Guinness's brewery, and earning £3 10s. a week, and it was the time Garibaldi, you might have heard of, was out fighting. There came a ship to Dublin from France, calling for soldiers, and he threw up his place, and there were many others threw up their place, and they went off, eleven hundred of them, in the French ship, to go fighting for their religion, and a hundred of them never came back. When they landed in France they were made much of and velvet carpets spread before them. But the war was near over then, and when it had ended they were forgotten, and nothing done for them, and he was in poverty at Lyons and died. It was the nuns there wrote a letter in French telling that to my mother." "And Napoleon the Third fought for the Pope in the time of Garibaldi. A great many Irishmen went out at that time, and the half of them never came back. I met with one of them that was in Russell's flour stores, and he said he would never go out again if there were two hundred Popes. Bad treatment they got--black bread, and the troops in the Vatican well fed; and it wasn't long till Victor Emanuel's troops made a breach in the wall." THE BUONAPARTES "Napoleon the Third was not much. He died in England, and was buried in a country church-yard much the same as Kiltartan. But Napoleon the First was a great man; it was given out of him there never would be so great a man again. But he hadn't much education, and his penmanship was bad. Every great man gave in to superstition. He gave into it when he went to ask the gipsy woman to divine, and she told him his fate. Through fire and a rock she said that he would fall. I suppose the rock was St. Helena, and the fire was the fire of Waterloo. Napoleon was the terror of England, and he would have beat the English at Waterloo but for treachery, the treachery of Grouchy. It was, maybe, not his fault he was treacherous, he might be the same as Judas, that had his treachery settled for him four thousand years before his birth. There was a curse on Napoleon the Third because of what Napoleon the First had done against the Church. He took Malta one time and landed there, and by treachery with the knights he robbed a church that was on the shore, and carried away the golden gates. In an ironclad he put them that was belonging to the English, and they sank that very day, and were never got up after, unless it might be by divers. And two Popes he brought into exile. But he was the friend of Ireland, and when he was dying he said that. His heart was smashed, he said, with all the ruling Princes that went against him; and if he had made an attack on Ireland, he said, instead of going to Moscow the time he did, he would have brought England low. And the Prince Imperial was trapped. It was the English brought him out to the war, and that made the nations go against him, and it was an English officer led him into the trap the way he never would come to the Throne." [Illustration: LOUIS NAPOLEON] THE ZULU WAR "I was in the army the time of the Zulu war. Great hardship we got in it and plenty of starvation. It was the Dutch called in the English to help them against the Zulus, that were tricky rogues, and would do no work but to be driving the cattle off the fields. A pound of raw flour we would be given out at seven o'clock in the morning, and some would try to make a cake, and some would put it in a pot with water and be stirring it, and it might be eleven o'clock before you would get what you could eat, and not a bit of meat maybe for two days." THE YOUNG NAPOLEON "There was a young Napoleon there, the grandson of Napoleon the First, that was a great man indeed. I was in the island where he was interred; it is a grand place, and what is not natural in those parts, there are two blackthorn bushes growing in it where you go into the place he was buried. And as to that great Napoleon, the fear of him itself was enough to kill people. If he was living till now it is hard to say what way would the world be. It is likely there'd be no English left in it, and it would be all France. The young Napoleon was at the Zulu war was as fine a young man as you'd wish to lay an eye on; six feet four, and shaped to match. As to his death, there was things might have been brought to light, but the enquiry was stopped. There was seven of them went out together, and he was found after, lying dead in the ground, and his top coat spread over him. There came a shower of hailstones that were as large as the top of your finger, and as square as diamonds, and that would enter into your skull. They made out it was to save himself from them that he lay down. But why didn't they lift him in the saddle and bring him along with them? And the bullet was taken out of his head was the same every bit as our bullets; and where would a Zulu get a bullet like that? Very queer it was, and a great deal of talk about it, and in my opinion he was done away with because the English saw the grandfather in him, and thought he would do away with themselves in the time to come. Sure if he spoke to one of them, he would begin to shake before him, officers the same as men. We had often to be laughing seeing that." PARNELL "Parnell was a very good man, and a just man, and if he had lived to now, Ireland would be different to what it is. The only thing ever could be said against him was the influence he had with that woman. And how do we know but that was a thing appointed for him by God? Parnell had a back to him, but O'Connell stood alone. He fought a good war in the House of Commons. Parnell did a great deal, getting the land. I often heard he didn't die at all--it was very quick for him to go. I often wondered there were no people smart enough to dig up the coffin and to see what is in it, at night they could do that. No one knows in what soil Robert Emmet was buried, but he was made an end of sure enough. Parnell went through Gort one day, and he called it the fag-end of Ireland, just as Lady Morgan called the North the Athens of Ireland." MR. GLADSTONE "Gladstone had the name of being the greatest statesman of England, and he wasn't much after all. At the time of his death he had it on his mind that it was he threw the first stone at Parnell, and he confessed that, and was very sorry for it. But sure there is no one can stand all through. Look at Solomon that had ten hundred wives, and some of them the finest of women, and that spent all the money laid up by Father David. And Gladstone encouraged Garibaldi the time he attacked the Vatican, and gave him arms, Parnell charged him with that one time in the House of Commons, and said he had the documents, and he hadn't a word to say. But he was sorry at Parnell's death, and what was the use of that when they had his heart broke? Parnell did a great deal for the Irish, and they didn't care after; they are the most displeasing people God ever made, unless it might be the ancient Jews." QUEEN VICTORIA'S RELIGION "Queen Victoria was loyal and true to the Pope; that is what I was told, and so is Edward the Seventh loyal and true, but he has got something contrary in his body. It is when she was a girl she put on clothes like your own--lady's clothes--and she went to the Pope. Did she turn Catholic? She'd be beheaded if she did; the Government would behead her; it is the Government has power in England." HER WISDOM "As to the last Queen, we thought her bad when we had her, but now we think her good. She was a hard woman, and she did nothing for Ireland in the bad years; but I'll give you the reason she had for that. She had it in her mind always to keep Ireland low, it being the place she mostly got her soldiers. That might not be good for Ireland, but it was good for her own benefit. The time the lads have not a bit to eat, that is the time they will go soldiering." WAR AND MISERY "There was war and misery going on all through Victoria's reign. It was the Boer war killed her, she being aged, and seeing all her men going out, and able to do nothing. Ten to one they were against the Boers. That is what killed her. It is a great tribute to the war it did that." THE PRESENT KING "The present King is very good. He is a gentleman very fond of visiting, and well pleased with every class of people he will meet." THE OLD AGE PENSIONS "The old age pension is very good, and as to taxes, them can't pay it that hasn't it. It is since the Boer War there is coin sent back from Africa every week that is dug from the goldpits out there. That is what the English wanted the time they went to war; they want to close up the minerals for themselves. If it wasn't for the war, that pension would never be given to Ireland. They'd have been driven home by the Boers if it wasn't for the Irish that were in the front of every battle. And the Irish held out better too, they can starve better than the rest, there is more bearing in them. It wasn't till all the Irish were killed that the English took to bribing. Bribed Botha they did with a bag of gold. For all the generals in England that are any good are Irish. Buller was the last they had, and he died. They can find no good generals at all in England, unless they might get them very young." ANOTHER THOUGHT "It was old money was in the Treasury idle, and the King and Queen getting old wanted to distribute it in the country it was taken from. But some say it was money belonging to captains and big men that died in the war and left no will after them. Anyway it is likely it will not hold; and it is known that a great many of those that get it die very soon." A PROPHECY "It is likely there will be a war at the end of the two thousand, that was always foretold. And I hear the English are making ships that will dive the same as diving ducks under the water. But as to the Irish Americans, they would sweep the entire world; and England is afraid of America, it being a neighbour." NOTES I have given this book its name because it is at my own door, in the Barony of Kiltartan, I have heard a great number of the stories from beggars, pipers, travelling men, and such pleasant company. But others I have heard in the Workhouse, or to the north of Galway Bay, in Connemara, or on its southern coast, in Burren. I might, perhaps, better have called the little book Myths in the Making. A sociable people given to conversation and belief; no books in the house, no history taught in the schools; it is likely that must have been the way of it in old Greece, when the king of highly civilised Crete was turned by tradition into a murderous tyrant owning a monster and a labyrinth. It was the way of it in old France too, one thinks, when Charlemagne's height grew to eight feet, and his years were counted by centuries: "He is three hundred years old, and when will he weary of war?" Anyhow, it has been the way of modern Ireland--the Ireland I know--and when I hear myth turned into history, or history into myth, I see in our stonebreakers and cattle drivers Greek husbandmen or ancient vinedressers of the Loire. I noticed some time ago, when listening to many legends of the Fianna, that is about Finn, their leader, the most exaggerated of the tales have gathered; and I believe the reason is that he, being the greatest of the "Big Men," the heroic race, has been most often in the mouths of the people. They have talked of him by their fire-sides for two thousand years or so; at first earlier myths gathered around him, and then from time to time any unusual feats of skill or cunning shown off on one or another countryside, till many of the stories make him at the last grotesque, little more than a clown. So in Bible History, while lesser kings keep their dignity, great Solomon's wit is outwitted by the riddles of some countryman; and Lucifer himself, known in Kiltartan as "the proudest of the angels, thinking himself equal with God," has been seen in Sligo rolling down a road in the form of the _Irish Times_. The gods of ancient Ireland have not escaped. Mananaan, Son of the Sea, Rider of the Horses of the Sea, was turned long ago into a juggler doing tricks, and was hunted in the shape of a hare. Brigit, the "Fiery Arrow," the nurse of poets, later a saint and the Foster-mother of Christ, does her healing of the poor in the blessed wells of to-day as "a very civil little fish, very pleasant, wagging its tail." Giobniu, the divine smith of the old times, made a new sword and a new spear for every one that was broken in the great battle between the gods and the mis-shapen Fomor. "No spearpoint that is made by my hand," he said, "will ever miss its mark; no man it touches will ever taste life again." It was his father who, with a cast of a hatchet, could stop the inflowing of the tide; and it was he himself whose ale gave lasting youth: "No sickness or wasting ever comes on those who drink at Giobniu's Feast." Later he became a saint, a master builder, builder of a house "more shining than a garden; with its stars, with its sun, with its moon." To-day he is known as the builder of the round towers of the early Christian centuries, and of the square castles of the Anglo-Normans. And the stories I have given of him, called as he now is, "the Goban Saor," show that he has fallen still farther in legend from his high origin. As to O'Connell, perhaps because his name, like that of Finn and the Goban, is much in the mouths of the people, there is something of the absurd already coming into his legend. The stories of him show more than any others how swiftly myths and traditions already in the air may gather around a memory much loved and much spoken of. He died only sixty years ago, and many who have seen and heard him are still living; and yet he has already been given a miraculous birth, and the power of a saint is on its way to him. I have charged my son, and should I live till he comes to sensible years, I will charge my grandson, to keep their ears open to the growth of legend about him who was once my husband's friendly enemy, and afterwards his honoured friend. I do not take the credit or the discredit of the opinions given by the various speakers, nor do I go bail for the facts; I do but record what is already in "the Book of the People." The history of England and Ireland was shut out of the schools and it became a passion. As to why it was shut out, well, I heard someone whisper "Eugene Aram hid the body away, being no way anxious his scholars should get a sight of it." But this also was said in the barony of Kiltartan. The illustrations are drawn from some delft figures, ornaments in a Kiltartan house. A. GREGORY. COOLE PARK, _November_, 1909. 
3001	----	Society's Child (Janis Ian) Copyright (c) 1966 Taosongs Two (BMI) Admin. by Bug Come to my door, baby Face is clean and shining black as night My mama went to answer You know that you looked so fine Now I could understand the tears & the shame She called you boy instead of your name When she wouldn't let you inside When she turned and said "But honey, he's not our kind" She says I can't see you any more, baby Can't see you any more Walk me down to school, baby Everybody's acting deaf and blind Until they turn and say "Why don't you stick to your own kind" My teachers all laugh, their smirking stares Cutting deep down in our affairs Preachers of equality Think they believe it Then why won't they just let us be? They say I can't see you any more, baby Can't see you any more One of these days I'm gonna stop my listening Gonna raise my head up high One of these days I'm gonna raise up My glistening wings and fly But that day will have to wait for a while Baby, I'm only society's child When we're older, things may change But for now this is the way they must remain I say I can't see you any more, baby Can't see you any more No, I don't want to see you any more Baby 
35592	----	SOME CURRENT FOLK-SONGS OF THE NEGRO BY W. H. THOMAS, College Station, Texas _Read before the Folk-Lore Society of Texas, 1912_ PUBLISHED BY THE FOLK-LORE SOCIETY OF TEXAS WILL THOMAS AND THE TEXAS FOLK-LORE SOCIETY Now that this brochure is being reprinted by the Texas Folk-Lore Society, I take the opportunity to say a word concerning its author and its history. Although not a numbered publication, =Some Current Folk-Songs of the Negro= (1912) was the first item produced by the Texas Folk-Lore Society. At the time dues to the Society were two-bits a year--not enough to allow a very extensive publication. Number I (now reprinted under the title of =Round the Levee=) was not issued until 1916; then it was seven more years before another volume was issued, since which time, 1923, the Society has sent out a book annually to its members. The credit for initiating the Society's policy of recording the lore of Texas and the Southwest belongs to Will H. Thomas. At the time his pamphlet was issued, he was president of the organization, to which office he was elected again in 1923. His idea was that people who work with folk-lore should not only collect it but interpret it and also enjoy it. This view is expressed in his delightful essay on "The Decline and Decadence of Folk Metaphor," in =Publications= Number II (=Coffee in the Gourd=) of the Society. The view is thoroughly representative of the man, for Will Thomas was a vigorous, sane man with a vigorous, sane mind. He had a sense of humor and, therefore, a sense of the fitness of things. For nearly thirty years he taught English in the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas, and I have often wished that more professors of English in the colleges and universities over the country saw into the shams and futilities and sheer nonsense that passes for "scholarship" as thoroughly as he saw into them. Yet he was tolerant. He was a salt-of-the-earth kind of man. He was born of the best of old-time Texas stock on a farm in Fayette County, January 11, 1880; he got his collegiate training at Austin College, Sherman, and the University of Texas and then took his Master's degree at Columbia University. He was co-editor, with Stewart Morgan, of two volumes of essays designed for collegians. He died March 1, 1935. Gates Thomas, Professor of English in Southwestern State Teachers College at San Marcos, who has done notable work in Negro folk songs and who is one of the nestors and pillars of the Texas Folk-Lore Society, is his brother. J. FRANK DOBIE Austin, Texas April, 1936 SOME CURRENT FOLK-SONGS OF THE NEGRO AND THEIR ECONOMIC INTERPRETATION. BY W. H. THOMAS, COLLEGE STATION, TEXAS. _Mr. President, Members of the Folk-Lore Society, Ladies and Gentlemen:_ I should first like to say a word as to why I have been given the honor of addressing this meeting. Mr. Lomax is solely to blame for that. A short while after this society was organized, Mr. Lomax approached me one day while I was holding an examination and asked me to join the society and to make a study of the negro songs. He did so, no doubt, out of a knowledge of the fact that as I had lived all by life in a part of the State where the negroes are thick, and as I was then devoting my summers to active farming where negroes were employed, I would, therefore, have an excellent opportunity for studying the negro and his songs, as the geologist would say, _in situ_. You will notice that I have taken as my title, "Some Current Folk-Songs of the Negro and Their Economic Interpretation." Now it is somewhat misleading at this day and time to speak of the negro as a "folk." That word seems to me to be applicable only to a people living in an industry in which economic function has not been specialized. So it would be more accurate to speak of "negro class lore." The class that I am treating of is the semi-rural proletariat. So far as my observation goes, the property-holding negro never sings. You see, property lends respectability, and respectability is too great a burden for any literature to bear, even our own. Although we generally think of beliefs, customs, and practices, when we hear the word "folk-lore" used, I believe all treatises on the subject recognize songs, sayings, ballads, and arts of all kinds as proper divisions of the subject. So a collection and study of the following songs is certainly not out of place on a program got up by this society. Now just one word more under this head. I have found it very difficult to keep separate and distinct the study of folk-lore and the study of folk-psychology. The latter has always been extremely interesting to me; hence I can't refrain from sharing with you the two following instances: A negro girl was once attending a protracted meeting when she "got religion" and went off into a deep swoon, which lasted for two whole days, no food or drink being taken in the meantime. A negro explained to me as follows: "Now when that nigger comes to, if she's been possumin', she sho' will be hungry; but if she hasn't been possumin', it will be just the same as if she had been eatin' all the time." The other instance is that of an old negro who just before he died had been lucky enough to join a burial association which guaranteed to its members a relatively elaborate interment. So, when this old negro died, the undertaker dressed him out in a nice black suit, patent leather shoes, laundered shirt and collar, and all that. His daughter, in relating the incident after the funeral, said: "Bless your life, when they put Pappy in that coffin, he looked so fine that he just _had_ to open his eyes and look at his self." I imagine that folk-lore appeals differently to different individuals according to what intellectual or cultural interest predominates their beings. I suppose that the first interest in folk-lore was that of the antiquarian. Then came the interest of the linguist and the literateur. But it seems to me that if the pursuit of folk-lore is to be thoroughly worth while to-day the interest must above all be psychological and sociological. At least these are my interests in the subject. For instance, take that piece of well known folk-lore--the belief that by hanging a dead snake on a barbed wire fence--one can induce rain in a time of drought. I would give almost anything to know just how the two ideas "hanging a snake on a fence" and "raining" were ever associated. But I can perhaps still better illustrate my attitude by relating a piece of Herbert Spencerian lore. Herbert Spencer tells in his autobiography of this incident that he met with while on one of his annual trips to Scotland. The house at which he was a guest contained a room which bore the reputation of being haunted. It was in this room that Herbert Spencer was asked to sleep. So he did and lay awake most of the night, though not out of fear that the ghost would choose that particular night to pay a visit, but out of a philosophical curiosity to figure out the origin of such a "fool" belief. In reference to these songs, when I say that I am interested in a study of origins, I do not mean the origin of any particular song, but the origin of the songs as a social phenomenon. Or to put it interrogatively, why do the members of this particular class sing, and why do their songs contain the thoughts that they do? I believe it is pretty generally agreed today that any well-defined period of literature is merely the reflection of some great economic change. I notice that the critics have begun to speak of Victorian literature as merely the ornament of nineteenth century prosperity--the prosperity that was incident to the utilization of steam as motive power. Now a great change has come into the negro's economic life within the past two decades. Its causes have been two. He has come into competition with the European immigrant, whose staying qualities are much greater than his; and agriculture has been changing from a feudalistic to a capitalistic basis, which requires a greater technical ability than the negro possesses. The result is that he is being steadily pushed into the less inviting and less secure occupations. To go into the intricacies of my thesis would be to abuse the privilege of the program; so I shall have to content myself with merely stating it. The negro, then, sings because he is losing his economic foothold. This economic insecurity has interfered most seriously with those two primal necessities--work and love--and you will notice that the thoughts in all these songs cluster around these two ideas. So much for the interpretation; now for the appreciation. It has been my experience that where a knowledge of the negro's every day, or rather every-night, life is lacking, the appreciation of these songs is never very keen. Hence, in order to make it certain that you will appreciate these songs, I deem it necessary to try to acquaint you with the life of one of the "songsters." Otherwise I am afraid that too many of you will look upon these songs as absolutely puerile. Remember that a greater man than you or I once declared the ancient ballads to be without merit and also maintained that he could write, on the spur of the moment, a stanza that was just as good and that contained just as much meaning. Whereupon, being challenged he sat down and wrote: "I put my hat upon my head and went into the Strand, And there I met another man with his hat in his hand." The colored semi-rural proletarian, then--how shall I describe him so that you may see him in your mind's eye, as I read these songs? I don't know how many of you are already acquainted with him, but, if any of you have ever tried to employ him profitably, I am sure you will never forget him. Perhaps I can picture him best by using the method of contrast. Let us follow one as he works with a white man, the latter, of course, being boss. We shall start with the morning. The white man rises early and eats his breakfast. My proletarian doesn't rise at all for the chances are that he has never gone to bed. At noon they "knock off." While the white man is preparing to eat his lunch, the "nigger" has already done so and is up in the bed of a wagon or on a plank underneath a tree fast asleep, usually with his head in the sun. At nightfall, the white man eats supper and spends the evening reading or with his family. Not so my proletarian. He generally borrows thirty-five cents from the white man, steps out the back gate, gives a shrill whistle or two, and allows how he believes he'll "step off a piece to-night." As I have not been on the farm much for the last two years. I have been unable to use the Boswellian method of recording these songs but have had to depend mostly on memory. The result is that some of them are not complete and some may not be textually correct. Of course the collection is not anything like an exhaustive one. If you consider these songs as the negro's literature, you will notice some striking parallels between its history and that of English literature. As all of you know, English literature for several centuries was little more than paraphrases of various parts of the Bible. The first songs I shall read you are clearly not indigenous but are merely revamping the Biblical incidents and reflections of the sect disputes of the whites. The first song here presented is one that I heard twenty years ago as it was sung on the banks of a creek at a "big baptizing." It is entitled: TELL ALL THE MEMBERS I'M A NEW BORN. I went to the valley on a cloudy day. O good Lord! My soul got so happy that I couldn't get away. Chorus. Tell all the members I'm a new-born, I'm a new-born, I'm a new-born, O Lord! I'm a new-born baby, born in the manger, Tell all the members I'm a new-born. Read the Scriptures, I am told, Read about the garment Achan stole. Chorus. Away over yonder in the harvest fields, O good Lord! Angels working with the chariot wheels. Chorus. Away over yonder, got nothing to do, O good Lord! But to walk about Heaven and shout Halloo. Chorus. I'm so glad, I don't know what about, O good Lord! Sprinkling and pourings done played out. Chorus. Here are two more of the same kind: PREACHING IN THE WILDERNESS. Daniel in that lion's den, He called God A'mighty for to be his friend; Read a little further, 'bout the latter clause: The angel locked them lions' jaws. Refrain. Oh, Daniel, hallelujah; Oh, Daniel, preaching in that wilderness. Old man Adam, never been out; Devil get in him, he'll jump up and shout; He'll shout till he give a poor sister a blow, Then he'll stop right still and he'll shout no more. Refrain. P's for peter; in his word He tells us all not to judge; Read a little further and you'll find it there, I knows the tree by the fruit it bear. Refrain. SAVE ME FROM SINKING DOWN. Seven stars in his right hand, Save me from sinking down. All stars move at his command, Save me from sinking down. Refrain. Oh, my Lord, save me from sinking down. John was a Baptist, so am I, Save me from sinking down. And he heard poor Israel's cry, Save us from sinking down. The following is only a snatch, but it is enough to show that the economic factor was not yet predominant. In it we still see traces of the Bible's influence: O Lord, sinner, you got to die, It may be to-day or to-morrow. You can't tell the minute or the hour, But, sinner, you've got to die. Refrain. We now come to songs originated by the present generation of negroes. They all deal with work and love. The following might be entitled: THE SONG OF THE FORTUNATE ONE. The reason why I don't work so hard, I got a gal in the white folks' yard; And every night about half past eight, I steps in through the white man's gate; And she brings the butter, and the bread, and the lard; That's the reason why I don't work so hard. The next I have termed the "Skinner's Song." Skinner is the vernacular for teamster. The negro seldom carries a watch, but still uses the sun as a chronometer; a watch perhaps would be too suggestive of regularity. Picture to yourself several negroes working on a levee as teamsters. About five o'clock you would hear this: I lookt at the sun and the sun lookt high; I lookt at the Cap'n and he wunk his eye; And he wunk his eye, and he wunk his eye, I lookt at the Cap'n and he wunk his eye. I lookt at the sun and the sun lookt red; I lookt at the Cap'n and he turned his head; And he turned his head, and he turned his head, I lookt at the Cap'n and he turned his head. The negro occasionally practices introspection. When he does, you are likely to hear something like this: White folks are all time bragging, Lord, Lord, Lord, 'Bout a nigger ain't nothing but waggin, Lord, Lord, Lord. Or, White folks goes to college; niggers to the field; White folks learn to read and write; niggers learn to steal. Or, Beauty's skin deep, but ugly's to the bone. Beauty soon fades, but ugly holds its own. The following is the only song in which I think I detect insincerity. Now the negro may have periods of despondency, but I have never been able to detect them. THE RAILROAD BLUES. I got the blues, but I haven't got the fare, I got the blues, but I haven't got the fare, I got the blues, but I am too damn'd mean to cry. Some folks say the rolling blues ain't bad; Well, it must not 'a' been the blues my baby had. Oh! where was you when the rolling mill burned down? On the levee camp about fifteen miles from town My mother's dead, my sister's gone astray, And that is why this poor boy is here to-day. If any of you have high ideas about the universal sacredness of domestic ties, prepare to shed them now. It has often been said that the negro is a backward race. But this is not true. In fact, he is very forward. He had invented trial marriage before sociology was a science. The following songs are only too realistic: FIRST. I dreamt last night I was walking around, I met that nigger and I knocked her down; I knocked her down and I started to run, Till the sheriff done stopped me with his Gatling gun. I made a good run, but I run too slow, He landed me over in the Jericho; I started to run off down the track, But they put me on the train and brought me back. SECOND. Says, when I die, Bury me in black, For if you love that of woman of mine, I'll come a sneakin' back; For if you love that woman of mine, I'll come a sneakin' back. THIRD. If you don't quit monkeying with my Lulu, I'll tell you what I'll do; I'll fling around your heart with my razor; I'll shoot you through and through. That the negro's esthetic nature may be improving is indicated by the following song. For tremendousness of comparison, I know nothing to equal it. It is entitled: THE BROWN-SKINNED WOMAN. A brown-skinned woman and she's chocolate to the bone. A brown-skinned woman and she smells like toilet soap. A black-skinned woman and she smells like a billy goat. A brown-skinned woman makes a freight train slip and slide. A brown-skinned woman makes an engine stop and blow. A brown-skinned woman makes a bulldog break his chain. A brown-skinned woman makes a preacher lay his Bible down. I married a woman; she was even tailor made. You will find plenty of economics in the following song. The present-day negro early made that most fatal of all discoveries: namely, that a man can really live in this world without working. Hence his _beau ideal_ is the gambler, and his _bête noir_ is the county jail or the penitentiary. THE GAMBLER'S PANTS. What kind of pants does a gambler wear? Great big stripes, cost nine a pair. JACK O' DIAMONDS. Jack o' Diamonds, Jack o' Diamonds, Jack o' Diamonds is a hard card to roll. Says, whenever I gets in jail, Jack o' Diamonds goes my bail; And I never, Lord, I never, Lord, I never was so hard up before. You may work me in the winter, You may work me in the fall; I'll get e-ven, I'll get e-ven, I'll get even through that long summer's day. Jack o' Diamonds took my money, And the piker got my clothes; And I ne-e-ver, and I ne-e-ver, Lord, I never was so hard run before. Says, whenever I gets in jail, I'se got a Cap'n goes my bail; And a Lu-u-la, and a Lu-u-la, And a Lulu that's a hard-working chile. TO HUNTSVILLE. The jurymen found me guilty, the judge he did say: "This man's convicted to Huntsville, poor boy, For ten long years to stay." My mammy said, "It's a pity." My woman she did say: "They're taking my man to Huntsville, poor boy, For ten long years to stay." Upon that station platform we all stood waiting that day, Awaiting that train for Huntsville, poor boy, For ten long years to stay. The train ran into the station, the sheriff he did say: "Get on this train for Huntsville, poor boy, For ten long years to stay." Now, if you see my Lula, please tell her for me, I've done quit drinking and gambling, poor boy, And getting on my sprees. DON'T LET YOUR WATCH RUN DOWN, CAP'N. Working on the section, dollar and a half a day, Working for my Lula; getting more than pay, Cap'n, Getting more than pay. Working on the railroad, mud up to my knees, Working for my Lula; she's a hard old girl to please, Cap'n, She's a hard girl to please. So don't let your watch run down, Cap'n, Don't let your watch run down. BABY, TAKE A LOOK AT ME. I went to the jail house and fell on my knees, The first thing I noticed was a big pan of peas. The peas was hard and the bacon was fat; Says, your oughter seen the niggers that was grabbin' at that. Refrain. Oh, Lord, Baby, take a look at me! Brandy, whisky, Devil's Island gin, Doctor said it would kill him, but he didn't tell him when. Refrain. Oh, Lord, Baby, take a look at me! DON'T YOU LEAVE ME HERE. Don't you leave me here, don't you leave me here, For if you leave me here, babe, they'll arrest me sure. They'll arrest me sure. For if you leave me here, babe, they'll arrest me sure. Don't leave me here, don't leave me here, For if you leave me here, you'll leave a dime for beer. Why don't you be like me, why don't you be like me? Quit drinking whisky, babe, let the cocaine be. It's a mean man that won't treat his woman right. The following is a tragedy in nine acts: FRANKIE. Frankie was a good girl, as everybody knows, She paid a hundred dollars for Albert a suit of clothes; He was her man, babe, but she shot him down. Frankie went to the bar-keeper's to get a bottle of beer; She says to the bar-keeper: "Has my living babe been here?" He was her man, babe, but he done her wrong. The bar-keeper says to Frankie: "I ain't going to tell you no lie, Albert passed 'long here walking about an hour ago with a nigger named Alkali." He was her man, babe, but he done her wrong. Frankie went to Albert's house; she didn't go for fun; For, underneath her apron was a blue-barrel 41. He was her man, babe, but he done her wrong. When Frankie got to Albert's house, she didn't say a word, But she cut down upon poor Albert just like he was a bird. He was her man, babe, but she shot him down. When Frankie left Albert's house, she lit out in a run, For, underneath her apron was a smoking 41. He was her man, babe, but he done her wrong. "Roll me over, doctor, roll me over slow, Cause, when you rolls me over, them bullets hurt me so; I was her man, babe, but she shot me down." Frankie went to the church house and fell upon her knees, Crying "Lord 'a' mercy, won't you give my heart some ease? He was my man, babe, but I shot him down." Rubber-tired buggy, decorated hack, They took him to the graveyard, but they couldn't bring him back. He was her man, babe, but he done her wrong. And, once more, the female of the species was more deadly than the male. Transcriber's Notes: Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. Passages in bold are indicated by =bold=. 
45240	----	provided by The Internet Archive FRONTIER BALLADS By Joseph Mills Hanson With Pictures in Color and Other Drawings by Maynard Dixon 1910 [Illustration: 010] [Illustration: 011] MY CREED |NOW, this is the simple, living faith of a humble heart and mind, Drunk up from the storm-brewed Western streams, breathed in with the prairie wind. My paints are crude and my pictures rude, but if some worth they show Which those may see who have thoughts as free, the rest may let them go. I hold that the things which make earth good may work most harm in use If the wit of men heed not the line 'twixt temperance and abuse, For speech or mood, or drink or food may be a curse at will, Though, rightly weighed, they only aid the cup of life to fill. I hold that the silent sea and plain, the mountain, wood, and down. Are better haunts for the feet of men than the streets of the roaring town, And that those who tread for the price of bread in the thronging hives of toil Will stronger grow with the more they know of the kiss of the virgin soil. I hold that our sons should learn to love, not gods of gold and greed, But the virile men of brain and brawn who served our country's need, And should more delight in a clean-cut fight, stout blade and courage whole, That the morbid skill of a critic's drill in the core of a sin-sick soul. Three stars that shine on the trail of life can make man's pathway bright, And one is the strength of the living God, that stands in his heart upright, And one is a noble woman's love, on which his heart may lean, And one is the sight of his country's flag, to keep his courage keen. Who knows the balm of the summer's calm or the chords of the blizzard's hymn And finds not God in blast and breeze, his sense is strangely dim. For he whose ear is attuned can hear the very planets sing That the soul of man, by a God-wrought plan, is the heir of creation's King. Who feels the joy of the golden days with her who shares his mood In the sun-washed wastes of the prairie hills or the breaks of the tangled wood; Who has won the fate of a steel-true mate, real comrade, friend and wife, He tastes the kiss of Elysian bliss in instant, earthly life. Who sees the gleam of the Stars and Stripes, on land or sea displayed, Atilt in the reek of the battle-smoke or aloft o'er the marts of trade-- Unless his veins are the sluggish drains for the blood of a craven race.-- He will gain new life for a better strife, whatever the odds he face. So that is the rede and the homely creed of one who has spelled it forth In the rivers' sweep and the splendors deep of the stars of the hardy North; To some, I ween, it may seem but mean; too short, too blunt, too plain, But if those I touch who have felt as much, it will not have been in vain. I. SOLDIER SONGS DAKOTA MILITIA (1862) NO "scare-heads" in big city papers, No "puffs" in Department reports, No pictures by "special staff artists" Of assaults on impregnable forts; We are far from the war-vexed Potomac, Our fights are too small to make news; We are merely Dakota militia, Patrolling the frontier for Sioux. Three hundred-odd "empire builders," Gathered in from three hundred-odd claims, Far scattered across the wide prairies From Pierre to the mouth of the James. Perhaps they seemed little or nothing, Our losses, our toil, and our pain, The rush of the war ponies, tearing Through cornfields and yellowing grain; The whoop of the hostile at midnight, The glare of the flaming log shacks, A beacon of hate and destruction As we fled, with the foe at our backs; Our women and young driven, weeping, Exhausted, half-naked, afraid, To the refugee huts of Vermillion Or the sun-smitten Yankton stockade. Small things to a Nation embattled, But great to the pioneer band Who are blazing the roads of the future Through the wastes of a wilderness land. We plod past the desolate coulées In the sweltering afternoon heat. While the far ridges shine in a waving blue line Where the earth and the brazen sky meet. No sound save the hoofs of the column As they swish through the dry prairie grass, No life anywhere save a hawk, high in air, Gazing down as we wearily pass. There is never a foe we may grapple In the heat of a steel-clashing fray. For the quarry we hunt is a shadow in front That flits, and comes never to bay; A feather of smoke to the zenith, The print of a hoof in the sod, A shot from the grass where the far flankers pass Sending one more poor comrade to God. Would we rest when the day's work is over And the stars twinkle out in the sky? There is double patrol round the lean water-hole And the picketed horses hard by. Breast-down in the rain-rutted gully. With muskets clutched close in our hands, The hours of night drag their heavy-winged flight Like Eternity's slow falling sands. While the Great Dipper, pinned to the Pole Star, Swings low in the dome of the North And, faint through the dark, sounds the prairie wolf's bark Or a snake from the weeds rustles forth. And the darkness that chokes like a vapor Is thronged with the visions which come Of children and wife and the dear things of life That peopled the lost cabin home. Till the East flushes red with the morning And the dawn-wind springs fresh o'er the plain, And the reveille's note from the bugle's clear throat Calls us up to our labors again. We were not in the fight at Antietam, We never have seen Wilson's Creek, We were guiding our trains over Iowa's plains While the shells at Manassas fell thick, But we're waging a war for a new land As the East wages war for the old, That the mountains and plains of the red man's domains May be brought to Columbia's fold, And though only a squad of militia That the armies back East never knew, We are playing a game which is largely the same With the truculent, turbulent Sioux. [Illustration: 024] THE GIRL OF THE YANKTON STOCKADE |YES, it's pretty, this town. And it's always been so; We pioneers picked it for beauty, you know. See the far-rolling bluffs; mark the trees, how they hide All its streets, and, beyond, the Missouri, bank-wide, Swinging down through the bottoms. Up here on the height Is the college. Eh, sightly location? You're right! It has grown, you may guess, since I've been here; but still It is forty-five years since I looked from this hill One morning, and saw in the stockade down there Our women and children all gathered at prayer, While we, their defenders, with muskets in rest Lay waiting the Sioux coming out of the West. They had swept Minnesota with bullet and brand Till her borders lay waste as a desert of sand, When we in Dakota awakened to find That the red flood had risen and left us behind. Then we rallied to fight them,--Sioux, Sissetons, all Who had ravaged unchecked to the gates of Saint Paul. Is it strange, do you think, that the women took fright That morning, and prayed; that men, even, turned white When over the ridge where the college now looms We caught the first glitter of lances and plumes And heard the dull trample of hoofs drawing nigh, Like the rumble of thunder low down in the sky? Such sounds wrench the nerves when there's little to see; It seemed madness to stay, it was ruin to flee. But, handsome and fearless as Anthony Wayne, Our captain, Frank Ziebach, kept hold on the rein, Like a bugle his voice made us stiffen and thrill-- "Stand steady, boys, steady! And fire to kill!" So the most of us stayed. But when dangers begin You will always find some who are yellow within. We had a few such, who concluded to steer For the wagon-train, parked in the centre and rear. They didn't stay long! But you've heard, I dare say, Of the girl who discouraged their running away. What, no? Never heard of Miss Edgar? Why, sir, Dakota went wild with the praises of her! As sweet as a hollyhock, slender and tall, And brave as the sturdiest man of us all. By George, sir, a heroine, that's what she made. When her spirit blazed out in the Yankton stockade! The women were sobbing, for every one knew She must blow out her brains if the redskins broke through, When into their midst, fairly gasping with fright, Came the panic-struck hounds who had fled from the fight. They trampled the weak in their blind, brutal stride, Made straight for the wagons and vanished inside. Then up rose Miss Edgar in anger and haste And grasped the revolver that hung at her waist; She walked to the wagon which nearest her lay, She wrenched at the back-flap and tore it away, Then aiming her gun at the fellow beneath She held it point-blank to his chattering teeth. "Go back to your duty," she cried, "with the men! Go back, or you'll never see sunrise again! Do you think, because only the women are here, You can skulk behind skirts with your dastardly fear? Get out on the ground. Take your gun. About, face! And don't look around till you're back in your place!" Well, he minded; what's more, all the others did, too. That girl cleared the camp of the whole scurvy crew, For a pistol-point, hovering under his nose, Was an argument none of them cared to oppose. Yet so modest she was that she colored with shame When the boys on the line began cheering her name! Well, that's all; just an echo of old border strife When the sights on your gun were the guide-posts of life. Harsh times breed strong souls, by eternal decree, Who can breast them and win--but it's always struck me That the Lord did an extra good job when He made Miss Edgar, the girl of the Yankton stockade. [Illustration: 028] [Illustration: 029] THE BALLAD OF SERGEANT ROSS |THE south wind's up at the break of dawn From the dun Missouri's breast, It has tossed the grass of the Council Hill And wakened the flames on its crest; The flames of the sentry fires bright, Ablaze on the prairies pale, Where sixty men of the Frontier Corps Are guarding the Government Trail. A rattle of hoofs from the northern hills, A steed with a sweat-wrung hide And Olaf Draim, of the Peska Claim, Swings off at the captain's side. A limb of the sturdy Swedes is he, Marauders in days of old, But the swart of his face is stricken white And the grip of his hand is cold. "Now, hark ye, men of the Frontier Corps, I ride from the Beaver Creek, Where I saw a sight at the grim midnight That might turn a strong man weak. "Chief Black Bear's out from the Crow Creek lands, The buzzards his track have showed; Last eve he pillaged at Old Fort James, To-day on the Firesteel road, "And Corporal Stowe, of the Frontier Corps, On furlough to reap his grain, At the Peska stage-house lieth dead With his wife and his children twain." Then up and spoke First Sergeant Ross, Who had bunked with Corporal Stowe: "By the glory of God, they shall pay in blood The debt of that dastard blow! "Ye know the path to the Crow Creek lands; It is sown with this spawn of hell, And there's deep ravine and there's plum-hedge green To shelter a foeman well. "Now, who of my comrades mounts with me For a murdered mess-mate's wrong, That the Sioux who rides with those scalps at his side May swing from a hempen thong?" Of three-score men there were only ten Would gird for that chase of death. Quoth Ross: "As ye please. For the cur, his fleas, But men for the rifle's breath." They have tightened cinches and passed the lines Ere the lowland mists have flown; The men are astride of the squadron's best, And Ross, of the Captain's roan. They ride till the crickets have sought the shade; They ride till the sun-motes glance; And they have espied on a far hillside The whirl of the Sioux scalp-dance. Then it's up past the smouldering stage-house barn And out by the well-curb's marge; The Sioux are a-leap for the tether-ropes:-- "Revolvers! Guide centre! Charge!" The Sioux, they flee like a wild wolf-pack At the flick of the shot-tossed sod, Six braves have lurched to the fore fetlocks And two of the Sergeant's squad. But Ross has tightened his sabre-belt And given the roan his head, And set his pace for a single chase, A furlong's length ahead. He has set his pace for the chief, Black Bear, Who shrinks from a strong man's strife But flaunts in the air the long, brown hair Of the scalp of the Corporal's wife. The eight, they follow like swirled snow-spume, A-drive o'er an ice-bound bar, But the redskin's track is the dim cloud-wrack That streams in the sky afar. They ride till the hearts of their steeds are dead And they gallop with lolling tongues, And the tramp of their feet is a rhythmic beat To the sob of their panting lungs. And two are down in a prairie draw And three on a chalk-stone ledge. And three have won to the Bon Homme Run And stuck in the marsh-land sedge. But Black Bear's horse still holds the course, Though her breath is a thick-drawn moan, And a length behind is the straining stride Of the Captain's steel-limbed roan. The Sergeant rides with a loose-thrown rein, Nor sabre nor shoot will he Till the pony has pitched at a gopher mound And flung her rider free; And Ross has wrenched the knife from his hand And smitten him to the ground;-- "Did ye think to win to the Bijou Hills, Ye whelp of a Blackfoot hound? "I had riddled your carcass this six miles back And left ye to rot on the plain, Had the blood of the slaughtered not called on me That I hail ye to Peska again, "To point this lesson to all your tribe. That the price of a white man's soul No longer goes, in the mart of death, Unpaid to its last dark goal. "Wherefore, that your tribesmen may see and feel The cost of a white man's wrong, And to sweeten the rest of my mess-mate's kin, Ye shall swing from a hempen thong." He has slung the chief to the saddle-bow, Triced up in his own raw-hide, And has borne him back to the stage-house yard, All bleak on the green hillside. And they swung him at dawn from a scaffold stout, As a warning to all his kind, To fatten the birds and to scare the herds And to sport with the prairie wind. [Illustration: 033] THE SPRINGFIELD CALIBRE FIFTY |WAS wrought of walnut blocks and rolled rod steel, I was hammered, lathed, and mandrelled, stock and plate, I was gauged and tested, bayonet to heel, Then shipped for service, twenty in a crate. For I was the calibre fifty, Hi!--dough-boys, you haven't forgot The click of my tumblers shifty And the kick of the butt when I shot? I was nothing too light on your shoulder, You were glad when you stacked me o' nights, But I'd drill an Apach' From the thousand-yard scratch If you'd only hold straight on the sights--old sights! My trusty old Buffington sights! In oil-soaked chests at Watervliet I've laid, I have rusted in Vancouver through the rains, I have scorched on Fort Mohave's baked parade, And caked with sand at Sedgwick on the plains. For I led every march on the border, And I taught every rookie to fight; Though he'd curse me in close marching order, Lord!--he'd hug me on picket at night As he thought of the herd-guard at Buford When Sitting Bull swooped within reach, And 'twas every man's life, It was bullet and knife Had my cartridges jammed in the breech--lock breech! In my solid block, hammer-lock breech! It was I who lashed the Modocs from their lair With Wheaton in the Tule Lava Bed; It was I who drove Chief Joseph to despair When I streaked the slopes of Bear Paw with his dead. For I was a proof most impressive-- The Springfield the infantry bore-- To redskins with spirits aggressive That peace is more healthful than war; I showed them on Musselshell River And again, yet more plain, at Slim Butte; They were plucky as sin But they had to come in When they found how the Springfield could shoot-- Shoot, shoot! How my blue-bottle barrel could shoot! I was Vengeance when, with Miles through trackless snow, The "fighting Fifth" took toll for Custer's fall; I was Justice when we flayed Geronimo; I was Mercy to the famished horde of Gall. Oh, I was slow-plodding and steady; Not hot, like the carbine, to raid, But when he found trouble too ready He was glad of his big brother's aid; For sometimes he'd scatter the outposts, Then wait, if the foe proved too stout, Till, at "Front into line!" It was business of mine While the infantry volleyed the rout--rout, rout! While I cleared out the village in rout! But those years have sped; long silent are my lips; Now my sturdy grandson rules the host I knew, And a drab-clad army trusts his five-shell clips As of old the blue-clad held my one shot true. Still, my dotage takes solace of glory From my turbulent youth and its scenes. As vivid with valorous story As the isles of the far Philippines. Though the steel-jacket smokeless is sovereign And I'm proud of my name on his crest, It was black smoke and lead When the skirmish lines spread With the Springfield that conquered the West--West, West! With the hard-fighting arm of the West! [Illustration: 036] A GARRISON CHRISTMAS |NOW, all you homesick rookies who are blue on Christmas Day, Though bunked in pleasant barracks, come listen to my lay! When you're stationed snug at Flagler, Leavenworth, or Hampton Roads, Where the postman three times daily brings your Christmas cheer in loads, What ground have you for kicking? You would glorify your fate If you'd been in old Fort Buford on Christmas, '68! Just a bunch of squatty cabins built of cottonwoods and clay With roofs of sod and sedge-grass and windows stuffed with hay, And when the winter blizzards came howling overhead And we couldn't reach the timber, we burned our bunks, instead, While, camped around the gullies, lay five hundred Sioux in wait; That's how we stood at Buford on Christmas, '68! We were out beyond the border a thousand miles or more, A wilderness of drifting snows behind us and before; Just a bunch of U. S. doughboys, hollow-eyed from march and fight, For you bet we all kept busy with Sitting Bull in sight, And our old buzz-saw he'd captured never let us sleep too late When he used it as a war-drum around Christmas, '68! I remember well that morning, it was twenty-four below, With a bright sun striking crystals from the endless fields of snow. We had finished with our breakfast of beans and bacon-fat, When someone cried, "Look yonder, along the bluffs! What's that?" We looked, then cheered like demons. The mail-guard, sure as fate! A welcome sight, I tell you, on Christmas, '68! They ploughed in through the snow-drifts across the barrack-yard, Their fur caps rimmed with hoar-frost, their horses breathing hard. They bore orders from headquarters, but we soldiers bade them hail Because they'd brought us, also, our sacks of Christmas mail. We had never hoped till springtime to have that precious freight; Was it strange it raised our spirits on Christmas, '68? We crowded in a corner around old Sergeant "Jack"-- A Santa Claus in chevrons with a mail-bag for his pack-- And with horse-play, yells, and laughter we greeted every flight As he called the names and fired them their bundles left and right. For some there came no tokens, but they kept their faces straight And smiled at others' fortune on Christmas, '68. "Tom Flint!" A woollen muffler from his sister back in Maine. "James Bruce!" His father'd sent him a silver watch and chain. "Hans Goetz!" A flute and song-book from the far-off Baltic's shore. "George Kent!" A velvet album from his folks in Baltimore. And how we cheered the pictures from the girls in every State To their sweethearts in the army, on Christmas, '68! "Fred Gray!" A sudden silence fell on that noisy place. Poor Fred lay in the foot-hills with the snow above his face. But his bunkie loosed the package of its wrappings, one by one-- 'Twas a Bible from his mother, with a blessing for her son. And the hardest heart was softened as we thought of our deadmate And that lonely, stricken mother on Christmas, '68. But the Sergeant raised the shadow as he shouted, "Jerry Clegg!" In hospital was Jerry with a bullet through his leg-- The gayest lad in Buford---and we plunged out through the drifts To take his package to him, forgetting our own gifts. 'Twas a green silk vest from Dublin, and, bedad, it sure was great To hear old Jerry chuckle on Christmas, '68! Thus it went, with joke and banter--what a romping time we had! The redskins in the coulées must have thought we'd gone clean mad, For they started popping bullets at the sentinels on guard And we had to stop our nonsense, and sortie good and hard. But that was daily routine--always got it, soon or late-- If we hadn't, we'd felt lonely on Christmas, '68. So I'm here to tell you rookies who are kicking on your lot That you don't know service hardship as we got it, served up hot, For the Philippines are easy and Hawaii is a snap When compared to fighting Injins over all the Western map, And, next time you start to growling when your mail's an hour late, Just recall the boys at Buford, on Christmas, '68! [Illustration: 040] [Illustration: 041] TROOP HORSES |OH, you hear a lot these days Of the automatic ways That the experts have devised for spillin' gore; Cycle squadrons, motor vans, All fixed up on modern plans For a rapid transit, quick installment war. Now, that sort of thing may go When you have a thoughtful foe Who will stick to graded roads with all his forces, But when we were boys in blue, Playing cross-tag with the Sioux, We were satisfied to get along on horses. Oh, the horses, sleek and stout When the squadrons started out, How they pranced along the column as the bugles blew the "Trot!" They might weaken and go lame, But they'd never quit the game, And they'd bring us back in safety if they weren't left to rot. When there came a sudden tack In the travois' dusty track And we knew the reds were headin' for the timber and the rocks, With the infantry and trains Thirty miles back on the plains, Then the horses were the boys that got the knocks. Oh, the horses, roan and bay, Without either corn or hay, But a little mess o' dirty oats that wouldn't feed a colt; Who could blame 'em if they'd bite Through the picket-ropes at night? When a man or horse is hungry, ain't he bound to try and bolt? When the trail got light and thin And the ridges walled us in, And the flankers had to scramble with their toes and finger-nails, While the wind across the peaks Whipped the snow against our cheeks, Then the horses had to suffer for the badness of the trails. Oh, the horses, lean and lank, With the "U. S." on their flank And a hundred-weight of trumpery a-dangle all around; How they sweated, side by side. When the stones began to slide And they couldn't find a footing or an inch of solid ground. But they'd stand the racket right Till the redskins turned to fight And up among the fallen pines we heard their rifles crack; Hi!--the three-year vet'rans stormed While the skirmish lines were formed At the snub-nosed little carbines that they couldn't fire back! And the horses, standing there With their noses in the air-- How they kicked and raised the devil down among the tangled trees! They didn't mind the shooting, But they'd try to go a-scooting When they got a whiff of redskin on the chilly mountain breeze. Still, I've not a word of blame For those horses, just the same; A yelping Injun, daubed with clay, he isn't nice to see. And I ain't forgot the day When my long-legg'd Texas bay Wasn't scared enough of Injuns not to save my life for me. I was lyin' snug and low In a hollow full of snow When the hostiles flanked the squadron from a wooded ridge near by, And, of course, the boys, at that, Sought a cooler place to chat, But they didn't know they'd left me with a bullet in my thigh! But the redskins understood-- Bet your life they always would!-- And they came a-lopin' downward for this short-hair scalp of mine, While I wondered how I'd be "Soldier a la fricassee," For I didn't know my Texan hadn't bolted with the line, Till I heard a crunchin' sound, And when I looked around, With the reins against his ankles, there that blaze-face rascal stood! He was shiverin' with fright, But he hadn't moved a mite, For he'd never learned to travel till I told him that he should. And he stayed, that Texan did, Till I'd crawled and rolled and slid Down beside him in the hollow and the stirrup-strap could find, And I somehow reached the saddle And hung on--I couldn't straddle-- While he galloped for the squadron with the Sioux strung out behind. Oh, the horses from the range, They've got hearts; it isn't strange If they raise a little Hades when the drill gets hot and fast; But I'd like to see a chart Of the automobile cart That will save a man on purpose when the shots are singin' past. Now, the boys in blue, you bet, Earn whatever praise they get, But they're not the only ones who never lag, For the good old Yankee horses, They are always with the forces When the battle-smoke is curling round the flag! And I don't believe the men Who make drawings with a pen Can ever build a thing of cranks and wheels That will starve and work and fight, Summer, winter, day or night. Like that same old, game old horse that thinks and feels. [Illustration: 045] A KHAKI KICK |BACK there in Washington, people may stare, Easy-chair officers sputter and swear, Bureaucrats legislate--what do we care? Down in the ranks we don't follow the styles; Here's health to the General, Nelson A. Miles! I've been readin' in the papers and I'm feelin' pretty mad At the shabby sort of treatment that a game old soldier's had. And the soldier I'm referrin' to, who's so surprisin' game, Is Miles, Lieutenant General--I guess you've heard the name? Now, the pointers that a twelve-year duty sergeant hasn't got On the secrets of the Service, are a quite extensive lot; But he may make observations, while a-wearin' out his shoes, Not just in strict accordance with the War Department's views. I've seen some bits of service of a somewhat stirrin' brand When the West was callin' lusty for a civilizin' hand, And, myself, I've had some practice in that missionary work With the men who did the business, from the buttes to Albuquerq'. They've sent some stunnin' strategists, so history records, To show the noble red man how the Nation loves its wards, And some was politicians, and some was soft of heart, And some was full of ginger, but couldn't make a start. But the man who knew his business as the king-bird knows the hawk; Who started with the rifle and finished with the talk; Who wouldn't stop for bluffin' when he once got started right, Was him I'm tellin' you about--you bet he came to fight! I know he's no West Pointer--I've a notion, what is more, That it isn't only Pointers who may-know the game of war, And if he's a little partial to the medals on his chest He's got a darned good right to be; he earned 'em in the West. For I've follered him in winter through those blamed Montana snows When the hills was stiff as granite and the very air was froze, And seen him ridin' out in front to lead the double-quick When the lines went into action on the banks of Rosebud Creek. I've lurched across the Painted Plains, my temples like to burst, And seen men suckin' out their veins to quench their burnin' thirst, With the sky a blazin' furnace and the earth a bakin' sea, And he was there beside us--and was just as dry as we. Oh, hang these army politics, when jealousy and spite Can rob a veteran of his praise, his dearest, hard-earned right! There's just one kind of officer enlisted men can like-- The kind who keeps his bearings when the shots begin to strike. And that's the kind that Miles has been; he never ducked or flinched; He was always in the mix-up when the lines of battle clinched; He's whipped out Rebs and redskins and he's made some Dagos dance, And he's good for lots more fightin' if he ever gets the chance. And here's the moral to this talk--I'll ask no price, but thanks: Miles may not have a stand-in, but he's solid with the ranks! Back there in Washington, people may stare, Easy-chair officers sputter and swear, Bureaucrats legislate--what do we care? Down in the ranks we don't follow the styles; Here's a health to the General, Nelson A. Miles! [Illustration: 048] SERGEANT NOONAN EXPLAINS |JAMES Noonan, private, 'B' Troop, made sergeant on the field For leading charge on hostiles, compelling them to yield." That's the way the record reads, but, sure, it isn't so; Ye mind, I'm Sergeant Noonan and I guess I ought to know! I'll tell ye how it happened, dead straight, without no frills. We'd tracked a Cheyenne war-band clean through the Blacksnake Hills, Till, on the march one mornin', they jumped us from the right, Three hundred bucks in war-paint, well armed and full of fight. We'd fifty men in column--no time to close a rank-- We yanked our horses sideways and fired by the flank, But, though we volleyed through 'em and dropped the foremost ones, The rest came on like devils, right up against our guns. Now half our boys were rookies who'd never smelt a fight; The yappin' Cheyenne war-whoop just turned 'em blue with fright. They started breakin' column and first we veterans knew, The troop had gone to blazes and let the redskins through. The sergeants clubbed their carbines, the Captain prayed and swore; It didn't stop the rookies; they wouldn't stand for more. Then a bullet caught my mustang and ploughed him underneath And he bolted toward the hostiles with the bit between his teeth. Thinks I, "Here's good-bye, Jimmie; but I'll make these heathen grunt," So I grabbed my Colt and opened as we sailed into their front. But they cleared a passage for me and I couldn't trust my eyes When their outfit broke and scattered, scootin' back across the rise. Then I turned and, there behind me, all strung out along my trail, Came the boys of "B" Troop, ridin' like a sizzin' comet's tail, With their horses at the gallop and revolvers poppin' gay For they thought I'd led a rally when my mustang ran away! So that's the way it happened, in brief, without no frills, That day the Cheyennes jumped us among the Blacksnake Hills, Which is why I claim the chevrons that I'm sportin' on my sleeve Was won by my old mustang and dead against my leave. LARAMIE TRAIL |ACROSS the crests of the naked hills, Smooth-swept by the winds of God, It cleaves its way like a shaft of gray, Close-bound by the prairie sod. It stretches flat from the sluggish Platte To the lands of forest shade; The clean trail, the lean trail, The trail the troopers made. It draws aside with a wary curve From the lurking, dark ravine, It launches fair as a lance in air O'er the raw-ribbed ridge between: With never a wait it plunges straight Through river or reed-grown brook; The deep trail, the steep trail, The trail the squadrons took. They carved it well, those men of old, Stern lords of the border war, They wrought it out with their sabres stout And marked it with their gore. They made it stand as an iron band Along the wild frontier; The strong trail, the long trial, The trail of force and fear. For the stirring note of the bugle's throat Ye may hark to-day in vain, For the track is scarred by the gang-plow's shard And gulfed in the growing grain. But wait to-night for the moonrise white; Perchance ye may see them tread The lost trail, the ghost trail, The trail of the gallant dead. [Illustration: 051] 'Twixt cloud and cloud o'er the pallid moon From the nether dark they glide And the grasses sigh as they rustle by Their phantom steeds astride. By four and four as they rode of yore And well they know the way; The dim trail, the grim trail, The trail of toil and fray. With tattered guidons spectral thin Above their swaying ranks, With carbines swung and sabres slung And the gray dust on their flanks. They march again as they marched it then When the red men dogged their track, The gloom trail, the doom trail, The trail they came not back. They pass, like a flutter of drifting fog, As the hostile tribes have passed, As the wild-wing'd birds and the bison herds And the unfenced prairies vast, And those who gain by their strife and pain Forget, in the land they won, The red trail, the dead trail, The trail of duty done. But to him who loves heroic deeds The far-flung path still bides, The bullet sings and the war-whoop rings And the stalwart trooper rides. For they were the sort from Snelling Fort Who traveled fearlessly The bold trail, the old trail, The trail to Laramie. II. PRAIRIE SONGS THE CALL OF THE WIND |THE wind comes rollicking out of the West (Oh, wind of the West, so free!) With the scent of the plains on its heaving breast. (Oh, plains that I no more see!) It cries through the smoky and roaring town Of the tossing grass and the hillsides brown Where the cattle graze as the sun goes down. (Oh, sun on the prairie sea!) And this is the song that the West wind sings; (Oh, call of the wind, have done!) That the worth of life is the joy it brings. (Oh, joy that is never won!) That the stainless sky and the virgin sod Hold richer wealth, of the peace of God, Than the streets where the weary toilers plod. (Oh, streets that the heart would shun!) But, wind of the West, in vain thy voice, (Oh, why must the voice be vain?) If joy were all, 'twere an easy choice. (Oh, choice that is fraught with pain!) The road of life is a hard, hard way But yet, if we hold to the path, it may Lead back to the land of dreams some day. (Yes, back to the plains again!) [Illustration: 058] THE FUR TRADERS |THE moon, on plain and bluff and stream, Casts but a faint and fitful gleam, For, striving in a ghostly race, The clouds that rack across her face Now leave her drifting, white and high, In some clear lake of purple sky And then, like waves with crests upcurled, Obscure her radiance from the world. Across the wild Missouri's breast Which lies in icy armor dressed, The north wind howls and moans. Wrenching the naked trees that stand Like skeletons along the strand, To shrill and creaking groans. On distant butte and wide coteau Is snow and never-ending snow: Whirling aloft in spiral clouds, Weaving in misty, crystal shrouds, Then floating back to earth again To drift across the frozen plain In strangely sculptured trough and crest, Like some slow ocean's heaving breast. Such night is not for mortal kind To fare abroad; the bitter wind, The restless snows, the frost-locked mold Bid living creatures seek their hold And leave to Winter's monarch will The solitudes of vale and hill. The buffalo, whose legions vast A few short moons ago have passed Adown these bleak hillsides, Now graze full many a league away Where, through the genial southern day The winds of Matagorda Bay Caress their shaggy hides. The wolves have sought their coverts deep In dark ravine and coulée steep, Where cedar thickets, dense and warm, Afford protection from the storm, And every creature of the plains Has left his well-beloved domains To seek, or near or far, A haven where warm-blooded life May cower from the dreadful strife Of hyperborean war. But see, across yon barren swell Where wind and snow-rime weave a spell Of phantoms o'er the hill, What awkward creatures of the night Come creeping, snail-like, on the sight, Halting and slow, in weary plight But ever onward still? Their limbs are long and lank and thin, Their forms are swathed from foot to chin In garments rude of bison skin. Upon each broad and stalwart back Is strapped a huge and weighty pack, Their coarse and ragged hair Streams back from brows whose dusky stain Is dyed by blizzard, wind, and rain, They are a fearsome pair; Lone pilgrims of the coteau vast. They seem like cursed souls, outcast To roam forever there. Yet hark! Adown the cold wind flung, What voice of merriment gives tongue? 'Tis human laughter, deep and strong, And now, all suddenly, a song Rings o'er the prairie lone! A chanson old, whose rhythm oft Has lingered on the breezes soft That kiss the storied Rhone, Or floated up from lips of love To some dark casement, high above The streets of Avignon, Where lovely eyes, all maidenly, Glance shyly forth, that they may see What lover comes to serenade Ere drawing back the latticed shade To toss a red rose down. What fickle fate, what strange mischance Has brought this song of sunny France To ride upon the blizzard crest That mantles o'er the wild Northwest? To find its echoes sweet In barren butte and stark cliff-side, Whose beetling summits override The fierce Missouri's murky tide; To rouse the scurrying feet Of antelope and lean coyote; To hear its last, long, witching note, Caught in the hoot-owl's dismal throat, Sweep by on pinions fleet. Full far these errant sons of Gaul Have journeyed from the gray sea-wall That fronts on fair Marseilles, But still the spirit of their race Bids them to turn a dauntless face On whate'er Fates prevail. The storm may drive to bush and den The creatures of the field and fen, But neither storm nor darksome night Nor ice-bound stream nor frowning height Can check or turn or put to flight These iron-hearted men. Across the flats of stinging sands, Through thickets, woods, and sere uplands, Their weary pathway shows; Toward some far fort of logs and stakes Deep hidden in the willow brakes, Right onward still it goes Persistently, an unblazed track, Bent from the cheerless bivouac Of some poor, prairie Indian band Whose chill and flimsy tepees stand Half buried in the snows. Yet what of costly merchandise That wealth may covet, commerce prize, Can these adventurers wring From that ill-fed, barbarian horde As seems to them a meet reward For all the risk and toil and pain They've suffered on the winter plain Amid their journeying? Ah, wealth enough is garnered there, Though not of gold or jewels rare, To rouse the white man's longing greed And send his servants forth with speed To lay the treasure bare. The trinkets cheap these traders brought The savages have dearly bought, Persuaded guilelessly to pay A ten times doubled usury In furs of beavers and of minks, Of silver fox and spotted lynx. For all their rich and varied store Of peltries, gathered from the shore, The wood, the prairie, and the hill By trapper's art and hunter's skill, The traders' heavy packs now fill. A journey far those furs must go From these wild fastnesses of snow, By travois, pack, and deep bateau; By keel-boat, sloop, and merchantman Till half a hemisphere they span, Ere they will lie, at last, displayed By boulevard and esplanade In Europe's buzzing marts of trade. These marten skins, so soft and warm, May wrap some Russian princess' form And shield her from the Arctic storm That howls o'er Kroonstadt's bay; That robe, a huge black bear which, dressed, May cloak some warrior monarch's breast As, gazing o'er the battle crest, He sees the foemen's legions pressed In panic, from the fray. But it is not the destinies Which may, perchance, beyond the seas, Await these rare commodities, That chiefly signify, Though king and knight and princess fair Should leave the coteaus stripped and bare Their pride to gratify. But this; that in the storm to-night. Through cloudy gloom, through pale moonlight, Two men still press along. Not hiding, as the wolf and hind, From blinding snow and bitter wind Nor, like the Indian, crouching low Above a brush-fire's feeble glow But, vigorous and strong, Hasting their bidden task to close Whate'er obstructions interpose And parrying Fortune's adverse blows Right gaily, with a song. Plains of the mighty, virgin West, Plains in cold, sterile beauty dressed, Your time of fruit draws near! Creatures of thicket, vale and shore, Tribes of the hills, your reign is o'er, The conquerer is here! His footprints mark your secret grounds, His voice upon your air resounds, His name, unto your utmost bounds, Is one of strength and fear. The magic of his virile powers Shall change your desert wastes to bowers, Your nakedness to shade; Shall stretch broad, rustling ranks of corn Along your stony crests forlorn And wheat-fields, dappling in the sun, Where your mad autumn fires have run. The trails your bison made Shall grow beneath his hurrying feet To highway broad and village street, Along whose grassy sides shall sleep Meadows and orchards, fruited deep; Homesteads and schools and holy fanes To prove that all these fertile plains Are turned by God's eternal plan To serve the onward march of man, Which sweeping down the vale of time With gathering strength and hope sublime Is never checked nor stayed. COWBOY SONG |WE are up in the morning ere dawning of day And the grub-wagon's busy and flap-jacks in play, While the herd is astir over hillside and swale With the night-riders rounding them into the trail. Come, take up your cinches And shake up your reins; Come, wake up your bronco And break for the plains; Come, roust those red steers from the long chaparral, For the outfit is off for the railroad corral! The sun circles upward, the steers as they plod Are pounding to powder the hot prairie sod, And it seems, as the dust turns you dizzy and sick That you'll never reach noon and the cool, shady creek. But tie up your kerchief And ply up your nag; Come, dry up your grumbles And try not to lag; Come, now for the steers in the long chaparral, For we're far on the way to the railroad corral! The afternoon shadows are starting to lean When the grub-wagon sticks in a marshy ravine And the herd scatters further than vision can look, For you bet all true punchers will help out the cook! So shake out your rawhide And snake it up fair; Come, break in your bronco To taking his share! Come, now for the steers in the long chaparral, For it's all in the drive to the railroad corral! [Illustration: 065] But the longest of days must reach evening at last, When the hills are all climbed and the creeks are all passed, And the tired herd droops in the yellowing light; Let them loaf if they will, for the railroad's in sight! Come, strap up the saddle Whose lap you have felt; So flap up your holster And snap up your belt; Good-bye to the steers and the long chaparral; There's a town that's a trump by the railroad corral! CHRISTMAS EVE AT KIMBALL |MET a chap the other night, down on Halsted Street, Holdin' up Mike Kelley's bar, sippin' mint an' rye; I'd just hit the Stock Yards with a cattle-train o' meat, Loped around to Kelly's place, singein' hot an' dry. This here chap was somethin' rare; Henglish tweeds an' gloves, Stripey collar round his neck, sparks to throw away, He was givin' 'em a song, 'bout the town he loves, How they hit "the pace that kills," down on old Broadway. Heaved a wistful, weepy sigh 'twould make a bay steer groan When he told us what a spangled, rompin' time he'd had Christmas Eve a year ago, just before he'd blown Out into the "Woolly," where we don't know shrimps from shad. Claimed along 'bout three a. m. they found an apple girl Sleepin' in a doorway; stole her fruit to raise a fuss, Then they made her do a Midway Turkish dancin' whirl 'Fore they'd pay the damage--an' he called that generous! Awful homesick yarn it was. 'Peared he couldn't find Nothin' in the whoopin' line warm enough out West. Made me sort o' weary, so, to ease my mind, I dug up a Christmas tale an' let him take a rest. Mind the Northwest homestead boom, twenty-odd years back, When Dakota stuck her nose above the waves o' fame? I was pottin' coyotes from a Brule County shack, Burnin' hay an' eatin' pork an' holdin' down my claim. Not a strictly stirrin' life; quite a lot less gay Than workin' in a grave-yard, a-plantin' of remains. Notion hit me Christmas time to take a holiday; Roped the cayuse, strapped my guns, an' struck across the plains. Galloped into Kimball 'long 'bout milkin' time, Wind a-whoopin' from the North, cold as billy hell-- Ever known a prairie town in its infant prime? Kimball was a corker an' I've seen some pretty swell. Just a bunch o' dry goods boxes dumped along a rise, Cracks plugged up with pitch an' tar, stove-pipes stickin' through, But, you bet, that little burg was sure enough the prize Fer stirrin' up a tinted time an' startin' it to brew. Thought I'd have a quiet night; Lord, it wa'n't no use! First bumped into Billy Stokes, up from Bijou Hills, We wandered into "Rancher's Rest," spang onto "Shorthorn" Bruce, Charlie Gates an' "Doc" Lemar, curin' of their chills. Well, that closed the "quiet" act; things was due to burn. Dabbled with the red-eye till the lamp-lights ringed an' soared. Then Lemar got wealthy an' thought he'd take a turn Spinnin' out his sinkers on the racy roulette board. Oh, the time was lovely (fer the man behind the wheel!) Stokes an' "Shorthorn" joined the game, just to try their luck, Charlie, landin' on the bar, started off a reel; Then the banker "rolled the roll"--an' the blame thing stuck! "Fixed!" yells Bill an' "Shorthorn," whippin' out their pipes; Banker backed ag'in the wall, huntin' fer a crack, Air just pink with cuss-words, runnin' round in stripes, Doors an' winders full o' folks, none a-comin' back. "Doc" was just a-prancin' round, gettin' things in range, So's to shoot the whole joint up without no undue pause, When we heerd a little voice, thin an' mighty strange, Pipin' up from somewheres, "Mister, is you Santa Claus?" Well, I swan, if that there shack had gathered up an' r'ared An' galloped off across the street, we'd not been more knocked out Than when we seen that little girl, blue-eyed an' curly-haired, A-standin' in the bar-room, half-way 'twixt a smile an' pout. Say, we ducked them guns o' ours underneath our hats 'S if the Sheriff's deputies had just come jumpin' in. We sure was worse kerflummuxed than a lot o' sneakin' rats, Caught a-stealin' barley in some feller's stable-bin. That there little lady stood an' looked around a spell, Then she toddled to Lemar an' looked up in his eyes: "Oo's the big, long-whiskered man I'se heard my Mama tell, 'At brings nice fings to everyone what's good an' never cries. "Mama's good; I'se tried to be"--her eyes began to fill-- "But she says 'at Santa Claus can't come this Christmas Day. I don't see why; since Papa's in that still place on the hill She never gets no p'itty clo'es, nor me nice toys for play. "She told me, though, 'at Santa Claus was here in town to-night An' so I fought I'd dess slip out an' find him if I could An' see if he's dot sump'n left--I fought, perhaps, he might-- An', mister, if you's Santy, tan we have it, if we's good?" I've seen "Doc" get ditched an' wrecked with forty cars o' steers An' take it like a mallard duck, paradin' in the rain; Never thought he'd learned to know there was such things as tears, Which shows it's hard to figger how a feller works his brain. He turned round an' raked his stakes from off that roulette board, An' the whiskey wasn't guilty for his huskiness o' voice: "Boys," says he, "I pass this deal right here an', by the Lord, I blow my wad on somethin' else--you all kin take yer choice. "It's well enough to whoop things up an' get a gorgeous head But mighty wise to recolleck yer coin's just gone to grass. I'm a-goin' to take a whirl at Santy Claus, instead, Wish that toys was in my line, but maybe these'll pass." Every cent he skirmished, from his hat-band to his pants, Went into the apron that the little one held out; Rest of us, we follered suit, scrappin' fer the chance, Then we took her to the door an' finished with a shout. But, before we let her go--shameful sort o' trick!-- Made her kiss us all good-night; "Doc" took his right slow. I just sucked my breath all in an' hustled through it quick; Still, she didn't seem to mind; guess she didn't know.-- "Now," says I, "my homesick friend" (to him on Halsted Street), "You're a painful sort o' sight, crackin' up Broadway. Kimball, Brule County, was an ace-high flush to beat An' I'd backed her to the limit fer a winner in the play. "But the beauty-spot on Kimball an' the boys that made her hum Was the fact that rye an' roulette didn't petrify their souls; Simply tip 'em to the theory that yer luck was on the bum An' they'd cut the game instanter an' deliver up their rolls. "An' if I'd a wife an' children an' was billed fer Canaan's Strand I'd take a sight more pleasure in a-turnin' up my toes If I left 'em to the mercies o' that old Dakota land Than in your plug-hat city where the money-grubber grows." [Illustration: 072] A LAMENT |RAWHIDE" Smith's gone crazy. "Rawhide" was my pard. Used to be a daisy; Say, it's mighty hard! Down at Twin Buttes City "Rawhide" met a maid, Young an' slim an' pretty An' she turned his haid. We jest started dancin' Frolicsome an' gay-- Hang the pay-day prancin' When it ends that way! Say! that little creature Got him roped all right; First I knew, a preacher Had spliced 'em good an' tight. Now he's gone to farmin' Way off from the range. Says his place is charmin'; Lord, he's gettin' strange! No more pal to cheer me Ridin' herd at night; No more comrade near me, Game fer fun or fight. One coat did fer cover Cold nights when it stormed, But them nights is over; "Rawhide" Smith's reformed! JESUS GARCIA |DOWN in Sonora's wide, white lands, Lost in the endless waste of sands, Lies, like a blot of gray and brown, Nacozari, a desert town. All day long through its narrow street Children play in the dust and heat, Naked of limb and dark of face, Lithe as fawns in their careless grace, Chattering shrill in a half-caste speech Far from the Spanish the school rooms teach. All day long by the doorways small Cut through the thick adobe wall, Or in the narrow belts of shade Here and there by the flat roofs made, Lounge the indolent, swarthy men, Moving sluggishly now and then Better to scan their dicing throws Under their low-tipped sombreros. But, for the most, content to lie Drowsing the listless hours by, Watching, each, as the thin, blue jet Curls from his drooping cigarette. All day long, from the dawn's first flush When the mass is said in the morning hush Till fall of eve, when the vesper's peal Calls the faithful again to kneel, Nothing rouses the quiet place, Lulled in the desert's hushed embrace, Save when out of the distance dim, Over the far horizon's rim, Sudden a purring whisper comes, Rising swift, like the throb of drums, And the iron track which stretches forth, Straight as a lance from south to north, Quivers and sings in the mighty strain From the grinding wheels of a through-bound train Then, for a space, as the whistle screams, Nacozari awakes from dreams. Women and children, boys and men Stream to the station platform then, Eager to gaze from its long plank walk, With gesturing arms and rapid talk, At the huge machine like a comet hurled From the mystical zone of the outer world. Thus it was on one summer's day, While the land in its noontide slumber lay With never a living creature near Save a lizard, perhaps, by a cactus spear Basking himself in the fervid heat, Or, high aloft, like a pirate fleet, A flock of vultures on lazy wing Circling wide in a watchful ring, That into the street of the desert town A long, slow freight came rolling down, Laden with goods of Northern yield For Mexican mine and town and field. Rumbling in with failing speed It came to rest like a. tired steed, With the mogul engine's dusty flank Close by the massive water-tank, As if it longed, like a living thing, To quench its thirst at the cooling spring Of the thousand-foot artesian well, Sunk through the desert's crusted shell. Just as it stopped with a grinding jar Rattling back from car to car, Out of the engine-cab swung clear Jesus Garcia, the engineer, Sooted and grimed to his finger-tips But the lilt of a song on his smiling lips, For he was handsome and young and strong And love was the theme of his murmured song. Slowly he passed his engine by Scanning its length with a practiced eye, Touching a polished slide-valve here. Or there, a shaft of the running-gear, Which done, he turned in a boyish mood To a group of children who, gaping, stood At the side of the track, too wonder-bound To move a limb or to make a sound. Into their midst Garcia sprung And a chubby lad to his shoulder swung, Who, laughing, clutched at his corded neck Like a sailor tossed on a rocking deck. Perhaps to the Mexican engineer The child suggested a vision dear Of a little boy of his very own In a white-washed cottage at Torreon, And the dark-eyed mother who, day by day, Told beads for her husband, far away, And watched, as the trains steamed forth and back, For his mogul engine along the track. But only a moment, with swinging feet, The baby perched on his lofty seat, For suddenly down by the cars in rear There rang a shriek of unbridled fear. Garcia turned, in amaze looked back; A score of men from the railroad track Were rushing away in a frantic race As if they had looked on a demon's face, And then, as he turned, the cause was plain For half-way back in the standing train A flame licked out from a box-car's side, Yellow and spiteful, a handbreadth wide. His cheek grew pale, but his lips still smiled As he slipped from his shoulder the startled child, Nor even forgot in his haste to place A good-bye kiss on the upturned face; Then he sprang to the street with a bound and gazed Intent, at the spot where the fire blazed. Barely a glance was enough to tell It was a car which he knew full well-- Shipped in bond by a fast freight line, Bound for a great Sonora mine-- Filled to the roof and loaded tight With closed-tiered boxes of dynamite; Enough, if its deadly strength found vent, To rock the land like a billowed tent, Sweeping the town from the desert sand Clean as the palm of an opened hand. What did he do, the engineer, Face to face with this mortal fear? Turn, as the rest, to the desert wide, Mad with dread, for a place to hide, Leaving the town and its helpless folk Doomed to death at a single stroke? No! Though only a peon born Heart like his might a king adorn! Waving his arms to his frightened crew, Such as remained, a scattered few, Garcia uttered a warning shout-- "Undile! Vamos!" ("Run! Get out!") Leaped to his engine waiting there, Opened the throttle, released the air, And started the jets for the sand to run On the glassy rails where the drivers spun, Till, biting the steel with a spurt of fire Sputtering back from each grinding tire, The monster conquered its straining load And, gathering speed on the curveless road, It rolled from the town and left it whole. Like death torn loose from a stricken soul. But looking backward with stern-set face, Throttle gripped in a firm embrace, Garcia goaded his panting steed Ever and ever to faster speed. Knowing still if the blow should fall It would shatter the village wall from wall. Now from the sides of the car behind, Fanned by its flight through the rushing wind, Burst the flames in a lashing sheet Peeling the paint with its fervid heat, Vomiting sparks like a fiery hail On the cars that rocked in its lurid trail. Still the mogul, in giant flight, Swaying drunkenly left and right, Strained to the race, while the rails it trod Thundered behind it, rod by rod; Still in its cab, foredoomed, alone. Waiting death like a man of stone, Stood Garcia, his feet braced wide To the pitch and plunge of the engine's stride, With never a frown to show he knew Regret for the task he was there to do. Hardly a mile had his wild train fled Into the desert straight ahead, When a flare of light to his vision came As if the world were engulfed in flame. Perhaps it fell on his closing eyes Like the great, white light of Paradise; Perhaps, in the roar which smote him there, Too deep for a mortal ear to bear, He heard but the Heavenly trumpet-roll Blown clear to welcome a hero's soul. At least, if any have won to rest In the fair, green land of the ever blest By earning their right therein to dwell, Jesus Garcia deserved it well, For in the blast that strewed his train, Torn in fragments, along the plain. Only his soul went forth to meet The final call at his Master's feet. So it is that to-day, alone, In a white-washed cottage at Torreon, A brown-skinned woman with sad, dark eyes Looks on her child at his play, and sighs, Knowing well she will hark in vain For her husband's step at the door again. Or watch, as the trains steam back and forth, For his mogul engine out of the North. So it is that when evening falls, Draping the dull adobe walls Fold on fold in its tender mist, Purple and blue and amethyst, And Nacozari kneels down to pray At the vesper call from the chapel gray, Many an orison of love Is wafted up to the stars above For the peace of Jesus Garcia's soul; He who had saved the village whole By the utmost gift which a man can give-- Life, that his fellow men might live. A CHRISTMAS LETTER |Dear miss: For this pink stationery Forgive me; it's all I could find In Buck Dalton's store at the Ferry, So I took it--I hope you won't mind. For it's Christmas good wishes I'm sending, Though in words not the best ever slung, To you, where the Tiber is wending. From me, on the banks of the Tongue. Perhaps you've forgotten the morning When your car of the Overland Mail Broke loose on a curve, without warning, And was ditched by the spread of a rail? I was herding near by in the valley, And I pulled out your father and you, And I found that your name, Miss, was Sallie, And--well, I remember. Do you? You were there for five hours at least, Miss, Then the whistle, a smile, a last word, And you rolled away to the East, Miss, While I galloped back to the herd. You back to your world and its beauties. New York, Paris, Rome, and all those, I, back to a cowboy's rough duties In sunshine and rainstorm and snows. But to-night I'm alone in the shack here On my quarter-square Government claim, While coyotes are yelping out back here-- You'd be scared, Miss, I guess, by the same. The moonlight is white on the river, And the long, frozen miles of the plain Seem to shrink in the north wind and shiver And wish it was summer again. It's different where you are, I reckon, Leastways from the books it must be, Where the green hills of Italy beckon And the Tiber sings down to the sea; Where the red roses always are climbing And the air smells of olives and pines, And at evening the vesper bells' chiming Floats up toward the far Apennines. You like it, no doubt, and you'd never See beauties that nature can hold Where the snow lies in drifts on the river And the prairies are empty and cold. But somehow I wouldn't forego it For all of those soft, southern lands. I breathe it and feel it and know it; It grips me as if it had hands. The stars in the night, how they glisten! The plains in the day, how they spread! There's room to stand up in, and listen, And know there's a God overhead. And then, when the summer is coming And the cattle start out on the trails, And you hearken at dawn to the drumming Of prairie-hens down in the swales. Why, Italy simply ain't in it!-- But, Miss, here I'm talking too free. Excuse me; my thoughts for a minute Got sort of the better of me. It was just about Christmas I started; To me, it was only a name Till that day when we met, talked and parted, But since it has not been the same. For you gave me a new kind of notion Of the countries and people and such On the trails that lie over the ocean-- I guess we don't differ so much. And Christmas is chuck full of spirit That everywhere under the sun Warms up anyone who comes near it And fills them with good-will and fun. So I want you to know from this letter That the time by the train wreck with you Made me know all humanity better And like the whole bunch better, too. And I hope, if it seems like presuming That a letter shall come to your door In the land where the roses are blooming From me, on the Tongue's icy shore, You'll forgive, Miss, an uncultured party In the spirit of Christmas, and take These thanks and good wishes, all hearty, From Your most sincere CHEYENNE JAKE. THE COYOTEVILLE PEACE MEETING |WE held a peace convention in Coyoteville last night, A reg'lar Haygue Tribunal fer order, law, an' right, Fer we'd about concluded that fightin' come too free An' municipal conditions wasn't all they ought to be. "Dad" Sykes had been to Denver an' Blake to Omaha, An' they come back a-preachin' of the sights which they had saw, How no one carried weepons an' folks was nice an' mild. An', compared with them there cities, Coyoteville was wild. In Coyoteville the habit of some gentlemen at nights, If they felt in pleasant spirits, was to puncture out the lights. Also, in questions dealin' with a social poker game They was prone to draw their irons an' argue with the same. All which, from "Dad" Sykes' view-point, an' likewise Mister Blake's, Was morally pervertin' an' the biggest of mistakes, Since Coyoteville's best people had begun a-takin' pride In makin' her the model of the cattle-countryside. Therefore, we held a meetin' in the Frou-Frou Dancin' Hall; "Dad" Sykes he played first fiddle an' Blake was there to call-- I mean that Sykes persided an' Billy wrote it down When motions was perpounded on how to run the town. "Bat" Blarcum broached the idee, supported by a speech, That the closin' of the thirst-joints was the only thing would reach, Since liquor bred dissension which only blood could stop As he knew from observation, though he "never touched a drop!" Then Pierpont Robyn Stebbins arose an' begged to say. That the road to civic virtue lay quite another way: To punish weepon toters would be the proper feat-- Jest confiscate their weepons an' make 'em clean the street. But Bobby Earl was doubtful of Pierpont Robyn's plan; He thought that cleaning roadways would humiliate a man. "Bat" Blarcum felt as Earl did, an' inferred that Stebbins' scheme Was degenerate an' Eastern an' an iridescent dream. Then Pierpont stood up coldly an' stated to the Chair That Mister Earl's opinions would be weighty anywhere, Therefore he meekly yielded, lest he be crushed indeed By the most substantial leader of the law an' order creed. Now Bobby weighed three hundred an' it somewhat nettled him To be ridiculed in public there by Stebbins, who was slim, But the Chairman wouldn't hear him till Pierpont's partner, Drew, Had made some observations about "Bat" Blarcum, too. Which last, he said he hated to cast aspersions 'round, But he felt "Bat's" plan of action was very far from sound, An' he questioned these reformers whose reform was brought about Through a hate for rum engendered by the Keeley curin' route. He finished; whereat Bobby raised objections an' was pained At the style of Stebbins' language--an' Bobby was sustained. Then Stebbins said the Chairman might be strong an' somethin' more, But he dared not try sustainin' Mister Earl down on the floor! By this time indications made it plain to persons there That a spirit of contention was a-breedin' in the air, Fer Drew jumped through a window as Blarcum slowly rose, While Bobby Earl was aimin' fer Pierpont Stebbins' nose. The other folks concluded it was gettin' time they went, An' started fer the doorways by unanimous consent, While the Chair came down on Stebbins regardless of the law, An' Blake propelled the Minutes at Mister Blarcum's jaw. There'll be a bunch of fun'rals in Coyoteville today; Some well-known ex-reformers in the leadin' parts will play; An' Coyoteville's considerin' this lesson o'er an' o'er, That peace may have its battles as well, sometimes, as war. [Illustration: 086] [Illustration: 087] THE SONG OF THE WINCHESTER |FULL heir to the twist-bored yager gun with its half-inch slug, I stand; His rest was the Forty-niner's arm, as mine is the sportsman's hand. I am king of my day as he of his, from the swamp to the saw-backed spur, And there's never a trail but has heard the hail of the ringing Winchester! I've saved the leaguered wagon-train from the scalping-knife and stake; I have held the lead through the blind stampede in the bison's dust-dimmed wake; By the reeking dives of the placer camp I have killed for a careless jest, And I've raped the loot from the stage-coach boot at the bandit's stern behest. Away in the dusk of the Arctic night, where the frozen rivers flow And the fringed aurora floods and fades on the endless fields of snow, The hardy hunters trust my sights and my spinning bullet's speed When they seek the lair of the great white bear or the haunt of the gray wolf's breed. The steaming glades of the Amazon, where the crouching jaguar springs, Have felt the breath of the whirring death my long-necked cartridge brings, And the wind-whipped crests where the condor nests on the roof-ribs of the world Have marked the thin, blue jet of smoke from my flashing muzzle hurled. Oh, I am the mate of the deep-lunged men, stout son of a martial line, From Uruguay to the Kootenay, from mangrove-reef to pine; In the throbbing glare of the desert air, by the rocks where the rapids purr, There is never a gun for fight or fun like the steel-blue Winchester! PRAIRIE FIRE |OVER the lonely prairie The autumn twilight dies; Quick, fitful winds through the hollows pass That moan and sigh in the long, dry grass, And ever a kildee cries. The hovering darkness gathers; But what is the rose tint there, That flushes the far horizon Like a turbulent city's glare? It gathers and grows and widens, It swallows the southward sky And the timid wind, like a hunted deer, Makes pause to hearken, then leaps in fear And wails as it hurries by. The heavens glow red to the zenith In the ominous, fevered light, And the glimmering hilltops waver, Sharp-drawn on the walls of night. And now, as a wide-flung army, Hurled hot on the foemen's spears, With plumes of smoke on its tossing head, With flaring banners and lances red, The wavering flood appears. It runs like a wolf in hunger, It roars like a mountain storm, And before it the fleeing creatures Far over the prairie swarm. Pigeon and grouse and plover, The air is alive with wings, And the firm ground shakes with the pounding feet Of bellowing bison in mad retreat And the panic of smaller things. Behind them the flames speed onward O'er level and slope and swale, And the grass is melted to embers, Whirled high on the parching gale. As strong as the ocean's billows, As fierce as the blizzard's breath, Is aught in Nature that may withstand The league-long sweep of this scorching brand That clutters the plains with death? Ahead is a waiting darkness, A shadow athwart the glare, And the wild things have turned them to it, For they know there is safety there. The river, at last, the river! A haven where all may hide. With toil-spent lungs and with straining feet They reel from the smoke and the peeling heat To plunge in its grateful tide. While the tongue of the hungry demon Licks out on the naked sand, And slavers its baffled fury And sinks, like a dying hand. Over the lonely prairie So wan, the white moonrise grows; From out of the North a chill wind rides That spins the ash on the black hillsides And, fading, an ember glows. The clustered diamonds of midnight Flash keen in the purple deep, The hollows and hills are empty; The desolate prairies sleep. III. RIVER SONGS [Illustration: 094] THE MISSOURI |WHEN the hollow void of Chaos By the sun's first flame was lit, And morning kissed the new earth's leaden sky, When the hand of God reached downward To the ocean's utmost pit And reared the ragged continents on high, From the naked, dripping ranges Of the Rocky's granite sweep, In a pathway through the quaking mud-plains torn, Surged a waste of briny waters, Roaring backward to the deep, And the great Missouri, king of floods, was born. It was there when, dank and noisome, On the primal beds of shale The fern and cycad forests fringed its shore, And its depths have heaved in whirlpools To the thresh of fin and tail As the monster sea-snakes closed in deadly war. Foot by foot through crumbling valleys It has fought the Glacial Drift As from out the North the rock-fanged moraines spread, Hurling seas of thunderous waters Through the slowly strangling rift Where the ice-floes ground and gritted in its bed. Huge of limb and tusked like tree-trunks, When the evening sun hung low Slugged the mammoths down to gambol in its tide, And 'twas there that, ringed and goaded By the cave-men's spears and bows, They fell in blinded agony and died. So, for dim, uncounted aeons Did the torrent sweep along, Rolling centuries like pebbles in its sands, And the prairies sprung and blossomed And the bison herds grew strong, And the red men camped and hunted through its lands. Till there came at last a season When a gaunt-limbed figure burst Through the woods that lipped the current's whirling foam, And the flint-lock that he shifted As he stooped to quench his thirst Told the wilderness the first white man was come! He, the white man, the magician, Searcher, soldier, settler, lord, Heir to all the crusted cycles of the past! What were endless, lagging eras While earth's wealth was being stored To the pageant of his power at the last? Came new visions to the river; Came the voyageur's swift canoe, Gliding ghost-like to the silent, dipping oar; And the blunt-bowed keel-boat harnessed To its brawny, sweating crew, As they trailed the long cordelle-rope up the shore. Came the block-house of the fur-trade, Where the trappers brought their spoil From bison-range and log-laced beaver fall; French and half-breed, Sioux and Yankee, Flinging out a season's toil For a week of drunken revelry and brawl. Up the swinging, bluff-bound reaches Where the lonely bittern boomed Throbbed a dull, insistent whisper, growing strong, As the steamboat, flame-winged herald To an age forespent and doomed, Waked the woodlands with its piston's pulsing song. Reeling down the rain-washed gullies To its fertile, grassy vales The Missouri saw the weary ox-teams plod; Saw the red scouts on the ridges, Heard the shots and dying wails, Knew the unmarked graves beneath the prairie sod. It has watched the thin, gray dust-cloud With the summer heat-haze blent, And the glint below of swords and bridle-chains, As some squad of blue-clad troopers, Like a wolf-pack on the scent, Trailed the fleeing travois' track across the plains. It has seen the long-horned cattle Take the bisons' pasture lands, Seen the cornfields spread where once the wild grass stood, Marked the railroad bind the prairies, League by league, with iron bands, Felt the dizzy bridge-span leap its own dark flood. Till the cow-town's rutted roadways Into asphalt pavements grew. By wires webbed and busy markets walled, And the steel-trussed office building Reared its cornice to the blue Where the shanties of the mining camp had sprawled. Now the hissing, rock-jammed rapids Where of yore the fish-hawks bred, Hear the thirsty turbines mumble in the gorge, Tearing twice ten thousand horse-power From the prisoned waters' head To drive the distant smelter, mill and forge. Now lakes of water ripple Where before the sands lay dry, And beyond the concrete walls which hold them caged-- Run shimmering, silver channels Through fields of wheat and rye Where yesterday the searing sand-storm raged. But splendid though the epic Of the river's wondrous past As Homer e'er could sing or Milton pen, It will know its grandest numbers In the ages yet uncast When its worth shall yield full measure unto men. In this storehouse of the Nations, Where but thousands prosper now, The homes of teeming millions soon shall be; On this noble waste of waters, Untouched by steamer's prow, Shall roll a people's commerce toward, the sea. Unto us and to our children Will be dealt the untold gains If, shaping Nature's promise into deeds, We accept the willing service Of this Titan of the plains And compel its mighty muscles to our needs, Till its flood runs deep and constant To the Mississippi's tide, And the wedded torrents down the South are hurled, Pouring forth their fleets of plenty O'er oceans far and wide To bear our country's riches to the world. [Illustration: 099] THE OLD CARRY _(Near the mouth of the Missouri River is a narrow tongue of land between that stream and the Mississippi over which the Sioux Indians, on their expeditions in early days, were accustomed to transport their goods and boats in order to avoid the long journey around the point by water. Hence the locality received its name, Portage des Sioux.)_ |ROUND by tawny, foam-lipp'd streams, Portage des Sioux, In thy name what romance dreams, Portage des Sioux! But thy trails, once deep and worn, Now lie gulfed in rustling corn, And thy forest depths are shorn, Portage des Sioux. Where are all the dusky feet, Portage des Sioux, Trod thy pathways like a street, Portage des Sioux? Nevermore thy vales shall know Flash of spear and twang of bow, Nor the evening camp-fire's glow, Portage des Sioux. Yet when summer moonlight falls, Portage des Sioux, On thy glades and forest walls, Portage des Sioux, Phantom figures seem to go 'Neath the branches bending low, Moccasined and pacing slow, Portage des Sioux. And the hoot-owl's mournful rune, Portage des Sioux, Quavers toward the sailing moon, Portage des Sioux, While, where shore and river meet, Sob the waves with pulsing feet Like a tom-tom's dying beat, Portage des Sioux. JAKE DALE |WHAT, stranger, you never heerd tell o' Jake, Jake Dale, o' the "Lucky George"? You must 'a' been raised in the East, my son, If you never clapped ears to the yarn that's spun Of Jakey Dale an' the race he won In the year o' the big ice gorge. Come March in the Spring o' '81, An' the river broke at Pierre An' come rantin' down on the clean rampage. She marked 36 on the Yankton gauge, Which I reckon you know is some of a stage, An' she covered the bottoms here. The "George" was hitched on the city bar Close up by the railroad track. When the row began we fixed her strong, Rigged seven hawsers where two belong; She'd 'a' taken an acre o' soil along If she'd dragged in the grindin' pack. But along one night the drift-ice stopped; The flood run clear as June, Fer the stuff had jammed in Hagin's Bend An' choked the channel from end to end, An' it fought an' screamed like a wild-cat, penned, In the light o' the cold March moon. Yeh see that p'int acrost the bar With the riffle o' shoal below? Well, that's where the widow o' old Buck Slack Oncet had a claim an' a drift-wood shack. Where she lived an' slaved with her young-un pack, All which was some time ago. Well, we on the "George" had tumbled out-- The roar o' the jam was wild-- When we heerd a cry through the shriekin' night, An' there on the p'int, in the pale moonlight, A-wavin' an' yellin' with all her might, Stood Buck Slack's youngest child. An' we knowed, without darin' to say the word, They was tripped fer the Great Unknown, Fer the gorge had slapped the current round An' cut 'em off from the higher ground, An' the hand that could save 'em from bein' drowned Was the hand of God alone. Then all at oncet we heerd a yell An', down 'cross the willow bank, A-layin' a course that was skeercely snug, Came Jakey Dale with his whiskey jug, As drunk as the mate of a log-raft tug, An' a-swearin' somethin' rank. "You rust-chawed fragments o' junk," sez he, "Now what do you think you've found? A-standin' 'round on this old bilge tank Like a bunch o' frogs on a floatin' plank; Be ye lookin' fer gold in yon cut-bank?" An' then he heerd that sound. As quick as the jump of a piston-rod He was over the wheel-box guard, An' before we could Agger on stoppin' him He had slashed the falls from the long-boat's rim An' was out past the slush o' the channel's brim, A-pullin' quick an' hard. He sidled his tub through that rippin' flume While we stood on the "George" an' swore. The boy was loony with raw-corn gin, But he reckoned his course to the width of a pin, Ran straight to the eddy an' clawed her in, An' staggered himself ashore. Now, stranger, I want to ask you, flat, If a man with his head-piece right, Would 'a' piled eight folks in that skiff's inside Fer a half-mile pull through that mill-race tide An' think to land safe at the end o' the ride? Well, Jake Dale did, that night. When he shoved her off from the gumbo p'int She reeled like a sawyer snag, Then the current caught her along the beam An' she whirled around an' shot down stream With the foam from her bow like a cloud o' steam, As fast as a red-tail stag. Good Lord, the fright in them children's cries! It curdled a feller's blood, Them river men ain't a prayerful race, But that night more'n one sort o' hid his face An' sent up a plea to the Throne o' Grace To guide them through the flood. An' then that gorge sent up a roar That shook the solid ground; The sort that splits yer ears in two When a side-wheel packet drops a flue An' blows six b'ilers amongst her crew, An' cooks them that ain't drowned. She was breakin' loose like an avalanche, Slipped free on a mountain side. Jake Dale turned 'round an' give one look An' read the truth like a printed book, Then bent to his oars till the keel-post shook, An' pulled fer the "George's" side. He jammed her bow through the buckin' tide Till the painter floated free; With blinded eyes an' drippin' skin He fought fer the race he had set to win Like a soldier fights, till the ice rolled in An' ground against her lee. But he'd got her up to ropin' range An' we hauled her to the rail. When he'd landed the last one, safe an' sound, Jake follered, an' says, as he looked around, "You fellers fetch out that jug you found, I'm as dry as the Mormon Trail!" Well, stranger, that there is the yarn o' Jake, Jake Dale, o' the "Lucky George." He wasn't no saint with a gilt-edged crown; His language would shatter a church-steeple down; He'd a thirst in his throat that nothin' could drown, An' a fist like a blacksmith's forge. But, all the same, he'd a Christian soul If he hadn't the Christian creed, An' a better heart, by a blame long shot, Than some pious folks that brag a lot On savin' their souls, but haven't got No time fer their brother's need. An' I reckon the Lord has found a place In the Kingdom o' the Lamb Fer the man that cast his own fears by An' showed that he wasn't afeared to die Fer the sake of a frightened baby's cry, That night o' the big ice jam. THE ENGINEER OF THE "GOLDEN HIND" |SLIM JACK" BRITT, of the packet "Golden Hind," Runnin' the Missouri 'fore the railroads spoiled the trade, Engineer, and a good one of his kind, Claimed to have no feelin's; 'twas the only brag he made. Come what might, he didn't give a hang; Watch a Levee shootin' scrape and never turn a hair, Stand and chew while some other boat went bang! And blew her decks and b'ilers half a mile up in the air. News of death didn't bother him, Never showed no feelin's by word or sigh or frown. Gabr'el's Trump wouldn't worried Slim, He'd just hump his shoulders and screw a steam-valve down. Well, one day, out from Omaha, Way late in November and makin' our last run, Blizzard come, quick and thick and raw, Slim was at the engines when the storm begun. Boat chuck full, passengers and freight, Had to get 'em somewhere 'fore the freeze-up brought us to, So we run, crowdin' on the gait And hopin' that a blind snag wouldn't rip our bottom through. All at once a woman screamed aloud-- "Men, the boat's on fire! For God's sake, run ashore!" Then, of course, panic in the crowd, Shrieks and groans and curses and the fire's growin' roar. Down below, 'round the fires there Crew all took the fever, run up front and prayed-- All but Slim. He didn't seem to care; Didn't have no feelin's and so he stayed. Pilot yelled through the speakin' tube,-- "Can you keep the paddles goin' while I make a landin', Jack?" "Blamed hot here, but I'll mind yer signals, Rube; I ain't got no feelin's," was all Slim hollered back. Through the roof, down the fire came While he worked his levers, blisterin' like tar, Blind and black, stickin' to the game Till she'd made her landin', broad against the bar. Someone then jumped across the side, Dragged him from the fire and toted him ashore. Might as well just have let it slide; Slim was done with engines for good and evermore. But he spoke, just 'fore he got through, Lookin' at the people in a sort o' mild surprise-- "Don't thank me, and don't be sorry, too-- I ain't got no feelin's," said Slim, and closed his eyes. [Illustration: 107] THE "PAULINE" |A MISSOURI tramp was the boat "Pauline" An' she ran in '78; She was warped in the hull an' broad o' beam, An' her engines sizzled with wastin' steam, An' a three-mile jog against the stream Was her average runnin' gait. Sing ho! fer the rickety "Pauline" maid, The rottenest raft in the Bismarck trade, An' her captain an' her mate. The new "North Queen" come up in June, Fresh launched from the Saint Joe ways, As speedy a craft as the river'd float-- She could buck the bends like a big-horn goat-- An' she hauled astern o' that "Pauline" boat On one o' them nice spring days. Sing ho! fer the "Pauline," puffin' hard, With her captain up on the starboard guard, A-watchin' the "North Queen" raise. The "Queen," she drew to the "Pauline's" wheel An' her captain come a-bow; "I'll give yeh three miles the lead," says he, "An' beat yeh at that into Old Santee." "Come on," says the "Pauline's" chief, "an' see! I'm a-waitin' fer yeh now." Sing ho! fer the captains, grim an' white With the smothered hate of an old-time fight An' the chance fer a new-time row. So the sassy "Queen" strung out behind An' let the distance spread, Till the "Pauline" headed Ackley's Bend An' herself come in at the lower end; Then her slow-bell speed begun to mend Fer the space that the old boat led. Sing ho! fer the clerks an' the engineers A-swabbin' the grease on the runnin' gears An' settin' the stroke ahead. Puff-puff! they went by the flat sand-bars, Chug-chug! where the currents spun, An' the "Pauline's" stokers were not to blame Fer her tall, black stacks were spoutin' flame, But the "Queen" crawled up on her, just the same, Two miles to the "Pauline's" one. Sing ho! fer the steam-chest's poundin' cough, A-shakin' the nuts o' the guy-rods off To the beat o' the piston's run. The "Queen" pulled up on the old boat's beam At the mouth o' Chouteau Creek, An' the "Pauline's" captain stamped an' swore, Fer the wood bulged out o' the furnace door, An' the steam-gauge hissed with the load it bore, But she couldn't do the trick. Sing ho! fer the pilot at the wheel A-shavin' the choals on a twelve-inch keel, Enough to scare yeh sick. The "Queen" was doin' her level best An' she wasn't leadin' far-- Fer the "Pauline" stuck like a barber's leech-- But she let her siren whistle screech When she led the way into Dodson's Reach, Three miles from Santee Bar. Sing ho! fer the "Pauline's" roustabout A-rollin' the Bismarck cargo out, Big barrels o' black pine tar. The "Pauline's" chief was a sight to see As he stood on the swingin' stage. "I'll beat that pop-eyed levee-rat If he banks his fires with bacon fat; Pile in that tar an' let her scat An' never mind the gauge!" Sing ho! fer the boilers singein' red An' the black smoke vomitin' overhead From the furnace' flamin' rage. An' she gained, that rattle-trap mud-scow did, While her wake got white with spray, An' forty rods from the landin'-plank Her bow was a-beam o' the "North Queen's" flank An' her pilot rushin' her fer the bank To block the "North Queen's" way. Sing ho! fer the boilers' burstin' roar As they hurl them loose from the splittin' floor, An' tear the decks away. But the captain bold of the ex-"Pauline," He didn't stop a bit, Fer he flew with the wreckage through the air, An' fell on the landin', fair an' square, An' the "Queen" run in an' found him there, R'ared up from where he'd lit. An' he yelled: "You rouster, I've won the race! Go git a boat that can keep my pace, Yer 'North Queen' doesn't fit!" AFTERGLOW (On the Missouri) |TWILIGHT on the river, summer everywhere, Prairie flowers perfuming the warm June air, Breezes stirring softly on the high bluff's crest Where stand a lad and maiden, looking toward the West. Just a lad and maiden, standing, hand in hand, While the lights are fading from the sunset's fairyland, While on butte and buttress dies the crimson afterglow And the mists creep upward from the river far below. Down there in the valley house lights twinkle out, Homeward-wending cattle low, laughing children shout, While those two stand dreaming of another home to be, Close beside the river, slipping swiftly toward the sea. O, thou broad, strong river, rolling from the North, Dost thou, too, see visions, from the centuries spun forth? See a lad and maiden in some summer long ago Gazing from the hilltop on the shadowed vale below? Dusky, slender lovers, clasping hand in hand While the tepee fires flicker down there on the strand-- Wild, unconquered children of the forest and the plain, Dreaming, softly dreaming that same old dream again! River of the Northland, in thy banks of living green, Many are the visions that thy changing tides have seen, Yet they came and vanished with Time's ceaseless onward flow, Grew and bloomed and faded like the sunset's afterglow. Only this was changeless in the centuries agone, Only this will change not as the countless years speed on; Ever to the hilltop, looking westward o'er the land Will come some lad and maiden, dreaming, hand in hand; In the twilight dreaming of a happy home to be Beside thy restless waters, sweeping silent toward the sea, Ever in the gloaming while time shall ebb and flow Love will build its castles in the crimson afterglow. 
21300	----	Joyce Wilson, Espe (Nada Prodanovic), and the PG Finale Project Team. [Transcriber's notes: -Page vii: The word following "view of what Owen" was unclear, and may not be the "Writes" which has been chosen. -(Mus. Not.) following a title means that the original book contains musical notation for that song.] COWBOY SONGS AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS What keeps the herd from running, Stampeding far and wide? The cowboy's long, low whistle, And singing by their side. COWBOY SONGS AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS COLLECTED BY JOHN A. LOMAX, M.A. THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS SHELDON FELLOW FOR THE INVESTIGATION OF AMERICAN BALLADS, HARVARD UNIVERSITY WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY BARRETT WENDELL _New York_ THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1929 _All rights reserved_ COPYRIGHT, 1910, 1916, By STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1910. Reprinted April, 1911; January, 1915. New Edition with additions, March, 1916; April, 1917; December, 1918; July, 1919. Reissued January, 1927. Reprinted February, 1929. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. BY BERWICK & SMITH CO. _To_ MR. THEODORE ROOSEVELT WHO WHILE PRESIDENT WAS NOT TOO BUSY TO TURN ASIDE--CHEERFULLY AND EFFECTIVELY--AND AID WORKERS IN THE FIELD OF AMERICAN BALLADRY, THIS VOLUME IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED Cheyenne Aug 28th 1910 Dear Mr. Lomax, You have done a work emphatically worth doing and one which should appeal to the people of all our country, but particularly to the people of the west and southwest. Your subject is not only exceedingly interesting to the student of literature, but also to the student of the general history of the west. There is something very curious in the reproduction here on this new continent of essentially the conditions of ballad-growth which obtained in mediæval England; including, by the way, sympathy for the outlaw, Jesse James taking the place of Robin Hood. Under modern conditions however, the native ballad is speedily killed by competition with the music hall songs; the cowboys becoming ashamed to sing the crude homespun ballads in view of what Owen Writes calls the "ill-smelling saloon cleverness" of the far less interesting compositions of the music-hall singers. It is therefore a work of real importance to preserve permanently this unwritten ballad literature of the back country and the frontier. With all good wishes, I am very truly yours Theodore Roosevelt CONTENTS PAGE ARAPHOE, OR BUCKSKIN JOE 390 ARIZONA BOYS AND GIRLS, THE 211 BILL PETERS, THE STAGE DRIVER 100 BILLY THE KID 344 BILLY VENERO 299 BOB STANFORD 265 BONNIE BLACK BESS 194 BOOZER, THE 304 BOSTON BURGLAR, THE 147 BRIGHAM YOUNG, I 399 BRIGHAM YOUNG, II 401 BRONC PEELER'S SONG 377 BUCKING BRONCHO 367 BUENA VISTA BATTLEFIELD 34 BUFFALO HUNTERS 185 BUFFALO SKINNERS, THE 158 BULL WHACKER, THE 69 BY MARKENTURA'S FLOWERY MARGE 224 CALIFORNIA JOE 139 CALIFORNIA STAGE COMPANY 411 CALIFORNIA TRAIL 375 CAMP FIRE HAS GONE OUT, THE 322 CHARLIE RUTLAGE 267 CHOPO 371 COLE YOUNGER 106 CONVICT, THE 290 COW CAMP ON THE RANGE, A 358 COWBOY, THE 96 COWBOY AT CHURCH, THE 246 COWBOY AT WORK, THE 352 COWBOY'S CHRISTMAS BALL, THE 335 COWBOY'S DREAM, THE 18 COWBOY'S LAMENT, THE 74 COWBOY'S LIFE, THE 20 COWBOY'S MEDITATION, THE 297 COWGIRL, THE 251 COWMAN'S PRAYER, THE 24 CROOKED TRAIL TO HOLBROOK, THE 121 DAN TAYLOR 51 DAYS OF FORTY-NINE, THE 9 DEER HUNT, A 379 DESERTED ADOBE, THE 350 DISHEARTENED RANGER, THE 261 DOGIE SONG 303 DOWN SOUTH ON THE RIO GRANDE 331 DREARY BLACK HILLS, THE 177 DREARY, DREARY LIFE, THE 233 DRINKING SONG 305 DRUNKARD'S HELL, THE 395 DYING COWBOY, THE 3 DYING RANGER, THE 214 FAIR FANNIE MOORE 219 FOOLS OF FORTY-NINE, THE 404 FOREMAN MONROE 174 FRECKLES, A FRAGMENT 360 FULLER AND WARREN 126 FRAGMENT, A 306 FRAGMENT, A 309 FREIGHTING FROM WILCOX TO GLOBE 207 GAL I LEFT BEHIND ME, THE 342 GOL-DARNED WHEEL, THE 190 GREAT ROUND-UP, THE 282 GREER COUNTY 278 HABIT, THE 327 HAPPY MINER, THE 409 HARD TIMES 103 HARRY BALE 172 HELL IN TEXAS 222 HELL-BOUND TRAIN, THE 345 HERE'S TO THE RANGER 354 HER WHITE BOSOM BARE 271 HOME ON THE RANGE, A 39 HORSE WRANGLER, THE 136 I'M A GOOD OLD REBEL 94 JACK DONAHOO 64 JACK O' DIAMONDS 292 JERRY, GO ILE THAT CAR 112 JESSE JAMES 27 JIM FARROW 237 JOE BOWERS 15 JOHN GARNER'S TRAIL HERD 114 JOLLY COWBOY, THE 284 JUAN MURRAY 276 KANSAS LINE, THE 22 LACKEY BILL 83 LAST LONGHORN, THE 197 LIFE IN A HALF-BREED SHACK 386 LITTLE JOE, THE WRANGLER 167 LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY, THE 187 LONE BUFFALO HUNTER, THE 119 LONE STAR TRAIL, THE 310 LOVE IN DISGUISE 77 MCCAFFIE'S CONFESSION 164 MAN NAMED HODS, A 307 MELANCHOLY COWBOY, THE 263 METIS SONG OF THE BUFFALO HUNTERS 72 MINER'S SONG, THE 25 MISSISSIPPI GIRLS 108 MORMON SONG 182 MORMON BISHOP'S LAMENT, THE 47 MUSTANG GRAY 79 MUSTER OUT THE RANGER 356 NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM 413 NIGHT-HERDING SONG 324 OLD CHISHOLM TRAIL, THE 58 OLD GRAY MULE, THE 403 OLD MAN UNDER THE HILL, THE 110 OLD PAINT 329 OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT, THE 117 OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT, THE 348 OLD TIME COWBOY 365 ONLY A COWBOY 124 PECOS QUEEN, THE 369 PINTO 340 POOR LONESOME COWBOY 32 PRISONER FOR LIFE, A 200 RAILROAD CORRAL, THE 318 RAMBLING BAY 397 RAMBLING COWBOY, THE 244 RANGE RIDERS, THE 269 RATTLESNAKE--A RANCH HAYING SONG 315 RIPPING TRIP, A 407 ROAD TO COOK'S PEAK 388 ROOT HOG OR DIE 254 ROSIN THE BOW 280 ROUNDED UP IN GLORY 393 SAM BASS 149 SHANTY BOY, THE 252 SILVER JACK 332 SIOUX INDIANS 56 SKEW-BALL BLACK, THE 243 SONG OF THE "METIS" TRAPPER, THE 320 STATE OF ARKANSAW, THE 226 SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE 258 TAIL PIECE 326 TEXAS COWBOY, THE 229 TOP HAND 373 TEXAS RANGERS 44 TRAIL TO MEXICO, THE 132 U.S.A. RECRUIT, THE 249 UTAH CARROLL 66 WARS OF GERMANY, THE 204 WAY DOWN IN MEXICO 314 WESTWARD HO 37 WHEN THE WORK IS DONE THIS FALL 53 WHOOPEE-TI-YI-YO, GIT ALONG LITTLE DOGIES 87 WHOSE OLD COW 362 WILD ROVERS 383 WINDY BILL 381 U-S-U RANGE 92 YOUNG CHARLOTTIE 239 YOUNG COMPANIONS 81 ZEBRA DUN, THE 154 INTRODUCTION It is now four or five years since my attention was called to the collection of native American ballads from the Southwest, already begun by Professor Lomax. At that time, he seemed hardly to appreciate their full value and importance. To my colleague, Professor G.L. Kittredge, probably the most eminent authority on folk-song in America, this value and importance appeared as indubitable as it appeared to me. We heartily joined in encouraging the work, as a real contribution both to literature and to learning. The present volume is the first published result of these efforts. The value and importance of the work seems to me double. One phase of it is perhaps too highly special ever to be popular. Whoever has begun the inexhaustibly fascinating study of popular song and literature--of the nameless poetry which vigorously lives through the centuries--must be perplexed by the necessarily conjectural opinions concerning its origin and development held by various and disputing scholars. When songs were made in times and terms which for centuries have been not living facts but facts of remote history or tradition, it is impossible to be sure quite how they begun, and by quite what means they sifted through the centuries into the forms at last securely theirs, in the final rigidity of print. In this collection of American ballads, almost if not quite uniquely, it is possible to trace the precise manner in which songs and cycles of song--obviously analogous to those surviving from older and antique times--have come into being. The facts which are still available concerning the ballads of our own Southwest are such as should go far to prove, or to disprove, many of the theories advanced concerning the laws of literature as evinced in the ballads of the old world. Such learned matter as this, however, is not so surely within my province, who have made no technical study of literary origins, as is the other consideration which made me feel, from my first knowledge of these ballads, that they are beyond dispute valuable and important. In the ballads of the old world, it is not historical or philological considerations which most readers care for. It is the wonderful, robust vividness of their artless yet supremely true utterance; it is the natural vigor of their surgent, unsophisticated human rhythm. It is the sense, derived one can hardly explain how, that here is expression straight from the heart of humanity; that here is something like the sturdy root from which the finer, though not always more lovely, flowers of polite literature have sprung. At times when we yearn for polite grace, ballads may seem rude; at times when polite grace seems tedious, sophisticated, corrupt, or mendacious, their very rudeness refreshes us with a new sense of brimming life. To compare the songs collected by Professor Lomax with the immortalities of olden time is doubtless like comparing the literature of America with that of all Europe together. Neither he nor any of us would pretend these verses to be of supreme power and beauty. None the less, they seem to me, and to many who have had a glimpse of them, sufficiently powerful, and near enough beauty, to give us some such wholesome and enduring pleasure as comes from work of this kind proved and acknowledged to be masterly. What I mean may best be implied, perhaps, by a brief statement of fact. Four or five years ago, Professor Lomax, at my request, read some of these ballads to one of my classes at Harvard, then engaged in studying the literary history of America. From that hour to the present, the men who heard these verses, during the cheerless progress of a course of study, have constantly spoken of them and written of them, as of something sure to linger happily in memory. As such I commend them to all who care for the native poetry of America. BARRETT WENDELL. Nahant, Massachusetts, July 11, 1910. COLLECTOR'S NOTE Out in the wild, far-away places of the big and still unpeopled west,--in the cañons along the Rocky Mountains, among the mining camps of Nevada and Montana, and on the remote cattle ranches of Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona,--yet survives the Anglo-Saxon ballad spirit that was active in secluded districts in England and Scotland even after the coming of Tennyson and Browning. This spirit is manifested both in the preservation of the English ballad and in the creation of local songs. Illiterate people, and people cut off from newspapers and books, isolated and lonely,--thrown back on primal resources for entertainment and for the expression of emotion,--utter themselves through somewhat the same character of songs as did their forefathers of perhaps a thousand years ago. In some such way have been made and preserved the cowboy songs and other frontier ballads contained in this volume. The songs represent the operation of instinct and tradition. They are chiefly interesting to the present generation, however, because of the light they throw on the conditions of pioneer life, and more particularly because of the information they contain concerning that unique and romantic figure in modern civilization, the American cowboy. The profession of cow-punching, not yet a lost art in a group of big western states, reached its greatest prominence during the first two decades succeeding the Civil War. In Texas, for example, immense tracts of open range, covered with luxuriant grass, encouraged the raising of cattle. One person in many instances owned thousands. To care for the cattle during the winter season, to round them up in the spring and mark and brand the yearlings, and later to drive from Texas to Fort Dodge, Kansas, those ready for market, required large forces of men. The drive from Texas to Kansas came to be known as "going up the trail," for the cattle really made permanent, deep-cut trails across the otherwise trackless hills and plains of the long way. It also became the custom to take large herds of young steers from Texas as far north as Montana, where grass at certain seasons grew more luxuriant than in the south. Texas was the best breeding ground, while the climate and grass of Montana developed young cattle for the market. A trip up the trail made a distinct break in the monotonous life of the big ranches, often situated hundreds of miles from where the conventions of society were observed. The ranch community consisted usually of the boss, the straw-boss, the cowboys proper, the horse wrangler, and the cook--often a negro. These men lived on terms of practical equality. Except in the case of the boss, there was little difference in the amounts paid each for his services. Society, then, was here reduced to its lowest terms. The work of the men, their daily experiences, their thoughts, their interests, were all in common. Such a community had necessarily to turn to itself for entertainment. Songs sprang up naturally, some of them tender and familiar lays of childhood, others original compositions, all genuine, however crude and unpolished. Whatever the most gifted man could produce must bear the criticism of the entire camp, and agree with the ideas of a group of men. In this sense, therefore, any song that came from such a group would be the joint product of a number of them, telling perhaps the story of some stampede they had all fought to turn, some crime in which they had all shared equally, some comrade's tragic death which they had all witnessed. The song-making did not cease as the men went up the trail. Indeed the songs were here utilized for very practical ends. Not only were sharp, rhythmic yells--sometimes beaten into verse--employed to stir up lagging cattle, but also during the long watches the night-guards, as they rode round and round the herd, improvised cattle lullabies which quieted the animals and soothed them to sleep. Some of the best of the so-called "dogie songs" seem to have been created for the purpose of preventing cattle stampedes,--such songs coming straight from the heart of the cowboy, speaking familiarly to his herd in the stillness of the night. The long drives up the trail occupied months, and called for sleepless vigilance and tireless activity both day and night. When at last a shipping point was reached, the cattle marketed or loaded on the cars, the cowboys were paid off. It is not surprising that the consequent relaxation led to reckless deeds. The music, the dancing, the click of the roulette ball in the saloons, invited; the lure of crimson lights was irresistible. Drunken orgies, reactions from months of toil, deprivation, and loneliness on the ranch and on the trail, brought to death many a temporarily crazed buckaroo. To match this dare-deviltry, a saloon man in one frontier town, as a sign for his business, with psychological ingenuity painted across the broad front of his building in big black letters this challenge to God, man, and the devil: _The Road to Ruin_. Down this road, with swift and eager footsteps, has trod many a pioneer viking of the West. Quick to resent an insult real or fancied, inflamed by unaccustomed drink, the ready pistol always at his side, the tricks of the professional gambler to provoke his sense of fair play, and finally his own wild recklessness to urge him on,--all these combined forces sometimes brought him into tragic conflict with another spirit equally heedless and daring. Not nearly so often, however, as one might suppose, did he die with his boots on. Many of the most wealthy and respected citizens now living in the border states served as cowboys before settling down to quiet domesticity. A cow-camp in the seventies generally contained several types of men. It was not unusual to find a negro who, because of his ability to handle wild horses or because of his skill with a lasso, had been promoted from the chuck-wagon to a place in the ranks of the cowboys. Another familiar figure was the adventurous younger son of some British family, through whom perhaps became current the English ballads found in the West. Furthermore, so considerable was the number of men who had fled from the States because of grave imprudence or crime, it was bad form to inquire too closely about a person's real name or where he came from. Most cowboys, however, were bold young spirits who emigrated to the West for the same reason that their ancestors had come across the seas. They loved roving; they loved freedom; they were pioneers by instinct; an impulse set their faces from the East, put the tang for roaming in their veins, and sent them ever, ever westward. That the cowboy was brave has come to be axiomatic. If his life of isolation made him taciturn, it at the same time created a spirit of hospitality, primitive and hearty as that found in the mead-halls of Beowulf. He faced the wind and the rain, the snow of winter, the fearful dust-storms of alkali desert wastes, with the same uncomplaining quiet. Not all his work was on the ranch and the trail. To the cowboy, more than to the goldseekers, more than to Uncle Sam's soldiers, is due the conquest of the West. Along his winding cattle trails the Forty-Niners found their way to California. The cowboy has fought back the Indians ever since ranching became a business and as long as Indians remained to be fought. He played his part in winning the great slice of territory that the United States took away from Mexico. He has always been on the skirmish line of civilization. Restless, fearless, chivalric, elemental, he lived hard, shot quick and true, and died with his face to his foe. Still much misunderstood, he is often slandered, nearly always caricatured, both by the press and by the stage. Perhaps these songs, coming direct from the cowboy's experience, giving vent to his careless and his tender emotions, will afford future generations a truer conception of what he really was than is now possessed by those who know him only through highly colored romances. The big ranches of the West are now being cut up into small farms. The nester has come, and come to stay. Gone is the buffalo, the Indian warwhoop, the free grass of the open plain;--even the stinging lizard, the horned frog, the centipede, the prairie dog, the rattlesnake, are fast disappearing. Save in some of the secluded valleys of southern New Mexico, the old-time round-up is no more; the trails to Kansas and to Montana have become grass-grown or lost in fields of waving grain; the maverick steer, the regal longhorn, has been supplanted by his unpoetic but more beefy and profitable Polled Angus, Durham, and Hereford cousins from across the seas. The changing and romantic West of the early days lives mainly in story and in song. The last figure to vanish is the cowboy, the animating spirit of the vanishing era. He sits his horse easily as he rides through a wide valley, enclosed by mountains, clad in the hazy purple of coming night,--with his face turned steadily down the long, long road, "the road that the sun goes down." Dauntless, reckless, without the unearthly purity of Sir Galahad though as gentle to a pure woman as King Arthur, he is truly a knight of the twentieth century. A vagrant puff of wind shakes a corner of the crimson handkerchief knotted loosely at his throat; the thud of his pony's feet mingling with the jingle of his spurs is borne back; and as the careless, gracious, lovable figure disappears over the divide, the breeze brings to the ears, faint and far yet cheery still, the refrain of a cowboy song: Whoopee ti yi, git along, little dogies; It's my misfortune and none of your own. Whoopee ti yi, git along, little dogies; For you know Wyoming will be your new home. As for the songs of this collection, I have violated the ethics of ballad-gatherers, in a few instances, by selecting and putting together what seemed to be the best lines from different versions, all telling the same story. Frankly, the volume is meant to be popular. The songs have been arranged in some such haphazard way as they were collected,--jotted down on a table in the rear of saloons, scrawled on an envelope while squatting about a campfire, caught behind the scenes of a broncho-busting outfit. Later, it is hoped that enough interest will be aroused to justify printing all the variants of these songs, accompanied by the music and such explanatory notes as may be useful; the negro folk-songs, the songs of the lumber jacks, the songs of the mountaineers, and the songs of the sea, already partially collected, being included in the final publication. The songs of this collection, never before in print, as a rule have been taken down from oral recitation. In only a few instances have I been able to discover the authorship of any song. They seem to have sprung up as quietly and mysteriously as does the grass on the plains. All have been popular with the range riders, several being current all the way from Texas to Montana, and quite as long as the old Chisholm Trail stretching between these states. Some of the songs the cowboy certainly composed; all of them he sang. Obviously, a number of the most characteristic cannot be printed for general circulation. To paraphrase slightly what Sidney Lanier said of Walt Whitman's poetry, they are raw collops slashed from the rump of Nature, and never mind the gristle. Likewise some of the strong adjectives and nouns have been softened,--Jonahed, as George Meredith would have said. There is, however, a Homeric quality about the cowboy's profanity and vulgarity that pleases rather than repulses. The broad sky under which he slept, the limitless plains over which he rode, the big, open, free life he lived near to Nature's breast, taught him simplicity, calm, directness. He spoke out plainly the impulses of his heart. But as yet so-called polite society is not quite willing to hear. It is entirely impossible to acknowledge the assistance I have received from many persons. To Professors Barrett Wendell and G.L. Kittredge, of Harvard, I must gratefully acknowledge constant and generous encouragement. Messrs. Jeff Hanna, of Meridian, Texas; John B. Jones, a student of the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas; H. Knight, Sterling City, Texas; John Lang Sinclair, San Antonio; A.H. Belo & Co., Dallas; Tom Hight, of Mangum, Oklahoma; R. Bedichek, of Deming, N.M.; Benjamin Wyche, Librarian of the Carnegie Library, San Antonio; Mrs. M.B. Wight, of Ft. Thomas, Arizona; Dr. L.W. Payne, Jr., and Dr. Morgan Callaway, Jr., of the University of Texas; and my brother, R.C. Lomax, Austin;--have rendered me especially helpful service in furnishing material, for which I also render grateful thanks. Among the negroes, rivermen, miners, soldiers, seamen, lumbermen, railroad men, and ranchmen of the United States and Canada there are many indigenous folk-songs not included in this volume. Of some of them I have traces, and I shall surely run them down. I beg the co-operation of all who are interested in this vital, however humble, expression of American literature. J.A.L. Deming, New Mexico, August 8, 1910. COWBOY SONGS AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS THE DYING COWBOY[1] "O bury me not on the lone prairie," These words came low and mournfully From the pallid lips of a youth who lay On his dying bed at the close of day. He had wailed in pain till o'er his brow Death's shadows fast were gathering now; He thought of his home and his loved ones nigh As the cowboys gathered to see him die. "O bury me not on the lone prairie Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me, In a narrow grave just six by three, O bury me not on the lone prairie. "In fancy I listen to the well known words Of the free, wild winds and the song of the birds; I think of home and the cottage in the bower And the scenes I loved in my childhood's hour. "It matters not, I've oft been told, Where the body lies when the heart grows cold; Yet grant, Oh grant this wish to me, O bury me not on the lone prairie. "O then bury me not on the lone prairie, In a narrow grave six foot by three, Where the buffalo paws o'er a prairie sea, O bury me not on the lone prairie. "I've always wished to be laid when I died In the little churchyard on the green hillside; By my father's grave, there let mine be, And bury me not on the lone prairie. "Let my death slumber be where my mother's prayer And a sister's tear will mingle there, Where my friends can come and weep o'er me; O bury me not on the lone prairie. "O bury me not on the lone prairie In a narrow grave just six by three, Where the buzzard waits and the wind blows free; Then bury me not on the lone prairie. "There is another whose tears may be shed For one who lies on a prairie bed; It pained me then and it pains me now;-- She has curled these locks, she has kissed this brow. "These locks she has curled, shall the rattlesnake kiss? This brow she has kissed, shall the cold grave press? For the sake of the loved ones that will weep for me O bury me not on the lone prairie. "O bury me not on the lone prairie Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me, Where the buzzard beats and the wind goes free, O bury me not on the lone prairie. "O bury me not," and his voice failed there, But we took no heed of his dying prayer; In a narrow grave just six by three We buried him there on the lone prairie. Where the dew-drops glow and the butterflies rest, And the flowers bloom o'er the prairie's crest; Where the wild cayote and winds sport free On a wet saddle blanket lay a cowboy-ee. "O bury me not on the lone prairie Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me, Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the crow flies free O bury me not on the lone prairie." O we buried him there on the lone prairie Where the wild rose blooms and the wind blows free, O his pale young face nevermore to see,-- For we buried him there on the lone prairie. Yes, we buried him there on the lone prairie Where the owl all night hoots mournfully, And the blizzard beats and the winds blow free O'er his lowly grave on the lone prairie. And the cowboys now as they roam the plain,-- For they marked the spot where his bones were lain,-- Fling a handful of roses o'er his grave, With a prayer to Him who his soul will save. "O bury me not on the lone prairie Where the wolves can howl and growl o'er me; Fling a handful of roses o'er my grave With a prayer to Him who my soul will save." [Footnote 1: In this song, as in several others, the chorus should come in after each stanza. The arrangement followed has been adopted to illustrate versions current in different sections.] The Dying Cowboy (Mus. Not.) "O bu-ry me not on the lone prai-rie," These words came low ... and mourn-ful-ly ... From the pal-lid lips of a youth who lay On his dy-ing bed at the close of day. THE DAYS OF FORTY-NINE We are gazing now on old Tom Moore, A relic of bygone days; 'Tis a bummer, too, they call me now, But what cares I for praise? It's oft, says I, for the days gone by, It's oft do I repine For the days of old when we dug out the gold In those days of Forty-Nine. My comrades they all loved me well, The jolly, saucy crew; A few hard cases, I will admit, Though they were brave and true. Whatever the pinch, they ne'er would flinch; They never would fret nor whine, Like good old bricks they stood the kicks In the days of Forty-Nine. There's old "Aunt Jess," that hard old cuss, Who never would repent; He never missed a single meal, Nor never paid a cent. But old "Aunt Jess," like all the rest, At death he did resign, And in his bloom went up the flume In the days of Forty-Nine. There is Ragshag Jim, the roaring man, Who could out-roar a buffalo, you bet, He roared all day and he roared all night, And I guess he is roaring yet. One night Jim fell in a prospect hole,-- It was a roaring bad design,-- And in that hole Jim roared out his soul In the days of Forty-Nine. There is Wylie Bill, the funny man, Who was full of funny tricks, And when he was in a poker game He was always hard as bricks. He would ante you a stud, he would play you a draw, He'd go you a hatful blind,-- In a struggle with death Bill lost his breath In the days of Forty-Nine. There was New York Jake, the butcher boy, Who was fond of getting tight. And every time he got on a spree He was spoiling for a fight. One night Jake rampaged against a knife In the hands of old Bob Sine, And over Jake they held a wake In the days of Forty-Nine. There was Monte Pete, I'll ne'er forget The luck he always had, He would deal for you both day and night Or as long as he had a scad. It was a pistol shot that lay Pete out, It was his last resign, And it caught Pete dead sure in the door In the days of Forty-Nine. Of all the comrades that I've had There's none that's left to boast, And I am left alone in my misery Like some poor wandering ghost. And as I pass from town to town, They call me the rambling sign, Since the days of old and the days of gold And the days of Forty-Nine. Days of Forty-Nine (Mus. Not.) You are gaz-ing now on old Tom Moore, A rel-ic of by-gone days; 'Tis a bum-mer now they call me. But what cares I for praise; It is oft, says I, for days gone by, It's oft do I repine For those days of old when we dug out the gold, In the days of For-ty-nine, In those days of old when we dug out the gold, In the days of For-ty-nine. JOE BOWERS My name is Joe Bowers, I've got a brother Ike, I came here from Missouri, Yes, all the way from Pike. I'll tell you why I left there And how I came to roam, And leave my poor old mammy, So far away from home. I used to love a gal there, Her name was Sallie Black, I asked her for to marry me, She said it was a whack. She says to me, "Joe Bowers, Before you hitch for life, You ought to have a little home To keep your little wife." Says I, "My dearest Sallie, O Sallie, for your sake, I'll go to California And try to raise a stake." Says she to me, "Joe Bowers, You are the chap to win, Give me a kiss to seal the bargain,"-- And I throwed a dozen in. I'll never forget my feelings When I bid adieu to all. Sal, she cotched me round the neck And I began to bawl. When I begun they all commenced, You never heard the like, How they all took on and cried The day I left old Pike. When I got to this here country I hadn't nary a red, I had such wolfish feelings I wished myself most dead. At last I went to mining, Put in my biggest licks, Came down upon the boulders Just like a thousand bricks. I worked both late and early In rain and sun and snow, But I was working for my Sallie So 'twas all the same to Joe. I made a very lucky strike As the gold itself did tell, For I was working for my Sallie, The girl I loved so well. But one day I got a letter From my dear, kind brother Ike; It came from old Missouri, Yes, all the way from Pike. It told me the goldarndest news That ever you did hear, My heart it is a-bustin' So please excuse this tear. I'll tell you what it was, boys, You'll bust your sides I know; For when I read that letter You ought to seen poor Joe. My knees gave 'way beneath me, And I pulled out half my hair; And if you ever tell this now, You bet you'll hear me swear. It said my Sallie was fickle, Her love for me had fled, That she had married a butcher, Whose hair was awful red; It told me more than that, It's enough to make me swear,-- It said that Sallie had a baby And the baby had red hair. Now I've told you all that I can tell About this sad affair, 'Bout Sallie marrying the butcher And the baby had red hair. But whether it was a boy or girl The letter never said, It only said its cussed hair Was inclined to be red. THE COWBOY'S DREAM[2] Last night as I lay on the prairie, And looked at the stars in the sky, I wondered if ever a cowboy Would drift to that sweet by and by. Roll on, roll on; Roll on, little dogies, roll on, roll on, Roll on, roll on; Roll on, little dogies, roll on. The road to that bright, happy region Is a dim, narrow trail, so they say; But the broad one that leads to perdition Is posted and blazed all the way. They say there will be a great round-up, And cowboys, like dogies, will stand, To be marked by the Riders of Judgment Who are posted and know every brand. I know there's many a stray cowboy Who'll be lost at the great, final sale, When he might have gone in the green pastures Had he known of the dim, narrow trail. I wonder if ever a cowboy Stood ready for that Judgment Day, And could say to the Boss of the Riders, "I'm ready, come drive me away." For they, like the cows that are locoed, Stampede at the sight of a hand, Are dragged with a rope to the round-up, Or get marked with some crooked man's brand. And I'm scared that I'll be a stray yearling,-- A maverick, unbranded on high,-- And get cut in the bunch with the "rusties" When the Boss of the Riders goes by. For they tell of another big owner Whose ne'er overstocked, so they say, But who always makes room for the sinner Who drifts from the straight, narrow way. They say he will never forget you, That he knows every action and look; So, for safety, you'd better get branded, Have your name in the great Tally Book. [Footnote 2: Sung to the air of _My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean_.] THE COWBOY'S LIFE[3] The bawl of a steer, To a cowboy's ear, Is music of sweetest strain; And the yelping notes Of the gray cayotes To him are a glad refrain. And his jolly songs Speed him along, As he thinks of the little gal With golden hair Who is waiting there At the bars of the home corral. For a kingly crown In the noisy town His saddle he wouldn't change; No life so free As the life we see Way out on the Yaso range. His eyes are bright And his heart as light As the smoke of his cigarette; There's never a care For his soul to bear, No trouble to make him fret. The rapid beat Of his broncho's feet On the sod as he speeds along, Keeps living time To the ringing rhyme Of his rollicking cowboy song. Hike it, cowboys, For the range away On the back of a bronc of steel, With a careless flirt Of the raw-hide quirt And a dig of a roweled heel! The winds may blow And the thunder growl Or the breezes may safely moan;-- A cowboy's life Is a royal life, His saddle his kingly throne. Saddle up, boys, For the work is play When love's in the cowboy's eyes,-- When his heart is light As the clouds of white That swim in the summer skies. [Footnote 3: Attributed to James Barton Adams.] THE KANSAS LINE Come all you jolly cowmen, don't you want to go Way up on the Kansas line? Where you whoop up the cattle from morning till night All out in the midnight rain. The cowboy's life is a dreadful life, He's driven through heat and cold; I'm almost froze with the water on my clothes, A-ridin' through heat and cold. I've been where the lightnin', the lightnin' tangled in my eyes, The cattle I could scarcely hold; Think I heard my boss man say: "I want all brave-hearted men who ain't afraid to die To whoop up the cattle from morning till night, Way up on the Kansas line." Speaking of your farms and your shanty charms, Speaking of your silver and gold,-- Take a cowman's advice, go and marry you a true and lovely little wife, Never to roam, always stay at home; That's a cowman's, a cowman's advice, Way up on the Kansas line. Think I heard the noisy cook say, "Wake up, boys, it's near the break of day,"-- Way up on the Kansas line, And slowly we will rise with the sleepy feeling eyes, Way up on the Kansas line. The cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life, All out in the midnight rain; I'm almost froze with the water on my clothes, Way up on the Kansas line. THE COWMAN'S PRAYER Now, O Lord, please lend me thine ear, The prayer of a cattleman to hear, No doubt the prayers may seem strange, But I want you to bless our cattle range. Bless the round-ups year by year, And don't forget the growing steer; Water the lands with brooks and rills For my cattle that roam on a thousand hills. Prairie fires, won't you please stop? Let thunder roll and water drop. It frightens me to see the smoke; Unless it's stopped, I'll go dead broke. As you, O Lord, my herd behold, It represents a sack of gold; I think at least five cents a pound Will be the price of beef the year around. One thing more and then I'm through,-- Instead of one calf, give my cows two. I may pray different from other men But I've had my say, and now, Amen. THE MINER'S SONG[4] In a rusty, worn-out cabin sat a broken-hearted leaser, His singlejack was resting on his knee. His old "buggy" in the corner told the same old plaintive tale, His ore had left in all his poverty. He lifted his old singlejack, gazed on its battered face, And said: "Old boy, I know we're not to blame; Our gold has us forsaken, some other path it's taken, But I still believe we'll strike it just the same. "We'll strike it, yes, we'll strike it just the same, Although it's gone into some other's claim. My dear old boy don't mind it, we won't starve if we don't find it, And we'll drill and shoot and find it just the same. "For forty years I've hammered steel and tried to make a strike, I've burned twice the powder Custer ever saw. I've made just coin enough to keep poorer than a snake. My jack's ate all my books on mining law. I've worn gunny-sacks for overalls, and 'California socks,' I've burned candles that would reach from here to Maine, I've lived on powder, smoke, and bacon, that's no lie, boy, I'm not fakin', But I still believe we'll strike it just the same. "Last night as I lay sleeping in the midst of all my dream My assay ran six ounces clear in gold, And the silver it ran clean sixteen ounces to the seam, And the poor old miner's joy could scarce be told. I lay there, boy, I could not sleep, I had a feverish brow, Got up, went back, and put in six holes more. And then, boy, I was chokin' just to see the ground I'd broken; But alas! alas! the miner's dream was o'er. "We'll strike it, yes, we'll strike it just the same, Although it's gone into some other's claim. My dear old boy, don't mind it, we won't starve if we don't find it, And I still believe I'll strike it just the same." [Footnote 4: Printed as a fugitive ballad in _Grandon of Sierra_, by Charles E. Winter.] JESSE JAMES Jesse James was a lad that killed a-many a man; He robbed the Danville train. But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard Has laid poor Jesse in his grave. Poor Jesse had a wife to mourn for his life, Three children, they were brave. But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard Has laid poor Jesse in his grave. It was Robert Ford, that dirty little coward, I wonder how he does feel, For he ate of Jesse's bread and he slept in Jesse's bed, Then laid poor Jesse in his grave. Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor, He never would see a man suffer pain; And with his brother Frank he robbed the Chicago bank, And stopped the Glendale train. It was his brother Frank that robbed the Gallatin bank, And carried the money from the town; It was in this very place that they had a little race, For they shot Captain Sheets to the ground. They went to the crossing not very far from there, And there they did the same; With the agent on his knees, he delivered up the keys To the outlaws, Frank and Jesse James. It was on Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright, They robbed the Glendale train; The people they did say, for many miles away, It was robbed by Frank and Jesse James. It was on Saturday night, Jesse was at home Talking with his family brave, Robert Ford came along like a thief in the night And laid poor Jesse in his grave. The people held their breath when they heard of Jesse's death, And wondered how he ever came to die. It was one of the gang called little Robert Ford, He shot poor Jesse on the sly. Jesse went to his rest with his hand on his breast; The devil will be upon his knee. He was born one day in the county of Clay And came from a solitary race. This song was made by Billy Gashade, As soon as the news did arrive; He said there was no man with the law in his hand Who could take Jesse James when alive. Jesse James (Mus. Not.) Jes-se James was a lad that killed a-ma-ny a man; He robbed the Dan-ville train; But that dirt-y lit-tle cow-ard that shot Mis-ter How-ard Has laid poor Jes-se in the grave. REFRAIN. Poor Jes-se had a wife to mourn for his life. Three chil-dren, they were brave; But that dir-ty lit-tle cow-ard That shot Mis-ter How-ard Has laid poor Jes-se in the grave. POOR LONESOME COWBOY I ain't got no father, I ain't got no father, I ain't got no father, To buy the clothes I wear. I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy, I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy, I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy And a long ways from home. I ain't got no mother, I ain't got no mother, I ain't got no mother To mend the clothes I wear. I ain't got no sister, I ain't got no sister, I ain't got no sister To go and play with me. I ain't got no brother, I ain't got no brother, I ain't got no brother To drive the steers with me. I ain't got no sweetheart, I ain't got no sweetheart, I ain't got no sweetheart To sit and talk with me. I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy, I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy, I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy And a long ways from home. BUENA VISTA BATTLEFIELD On Buena Vista battlefield A dying soldier lay, His thoughts were on his mountain home Some thousand miles away. He called his comrade to his side, For much he had to say, In briefest words to those who were Some thousand miles away. "My father, comrade, you will tell About this bloody fray; My country's flag, you'll say to him, Was safe with me to-day. I make a pillow of it now On which to lay my head, A winding sheet you'll make of it When I am with the dead. "I know 'twill grieve his inmost soul To think I never more Will sit with him beneath the oak That shades the cottage door; But tell that time-worn patriot, That, mindful of his fame, Upon this bloody battlefield I sullied not his name. "My mother's form is with me now, Her will is in my ear, And drop by drop as flows my blood So flows from her the tear. And oh, when you shall tell to her The tidings of this day, Speak softly, comrade, softly speak What you may have to say. "Speak not to her in blighting words The blighting news you bear, The cords of life might snap too soon, So, comrade, have a care. I am her only, cherished child, But tell her that I died Rejoicing that she taught me young To take my country's side. "But, comrade, there's one more, She's gentle as a fawn; She lives upon the sloping hill That overlooks the lawn, The lawn where I shall never more Go forth with her in merry mood To gather wild-wood flowers. "Tell her when death was on my brow And life receding fast, Her looks, her form was with me then, Were with me to the last. On Buena Vista's bloody field Tell her I dying lay, And that I knew she thought of me Some thousand miles away." WESTWARD HO I love not Colorado Where the faro table grows, And down the desperado The rippling Bourbon flows; Nor seek I fair Montana Of bowie-lunging fame; The pistol ring of fair Wyoming I leave to nobler game. Sweet poker-haunted Kansas In vain allures the eye; The Nevada rough has charms enough Yet its blandishments I fly. Shall Arizona woo me Where the meek Apache bides? Or New Mexico where natives grow With arrow-proof insides? Nay, 'tis where the grizzlies wander And the lonely diggers roam, And the grim Chinese from the squatter flees That I'll make my humble home. I'll chase the wild tarantula And the fierce cayote I'll dare, And the locust grim, I'll battle him In his native wildwood lair. Or I'll seek the gulch deserted And dream of the wild Red man, And I'll build a cot on a corner lot And get rich as soon as I can. A HOME ON THE RANGE Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam, Where the deer and the antelope play, Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day. Home, home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play; Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day. Where the air is so pure, the zephyrs so free, The breezes so balmy and light, That I would not exchange my home on the range For all of the cities so bright. The red man was pressed from this part of the West, He's likely no more to return To the banks of Red River where seldom if ever Their flickering camp-fires burn. How often at night when the heavens are bright With the light from the glittering stars, Have I stood here amazed and asked as I gazed If their glory exceeds that of ours. Oh, I love these wild flowers in this dear land of ours, The curlew I love to hear scream, And I love the white rocks and the antelope flocks That graze on the mountain-tops green. Oh, give me a land where the bright diamond sand Flows leisurely down the stream; Where the graceful white swan goes gliding along Like a maid in a heavenly dream. Then I would not exchange my home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play; Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day. Home, home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play; Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day. Home on the Range (Mus. Not.) Oh, give me a home where the buf-fa-lo roam, Where the deer and the an-te-lope play;... Where sel-dom is heard a dis-cour-ag-ing word And the skies are not cloud-y all day. Home, home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play; Where sel-dom is heard a dis-cour-ag-ing word And the skies are not cloud-y all day. TEXAS RANGERS Come, all you Texas rangers, wherever you may be, I'll tell you of some troubles that happened unto me. My name is nothing extra, so it I will not tell,-- And here's to all you rangers, I am sure I wish you well. It was at the age of sixteen that I joined the jolly band, We marched from San Antonio down to the Rio Grande. Our captain he informed us, perhaps he thought it right, "Before we reach the station, boys, you'll surely have to fight." And when the bugle sounded our captain gave command, "To arms, to arms," he shouted, "and by your horses stand." I saw the smoke ascending, it seemed to reach the sky; The first thought that struck me, my time had come to die. I saw the Indians coming, I heard them give the yell; My feelings at that moment, no tongue can ever tell. I saw the glittering lances, their arrows round me flew, And all my strength it left me and all my courage too. We fought full nine hours before the strife was o'er, The like of dead and wounded I never saw before. And when the sun was rising and the Indians they had fled, We loaded up our rifles and counted up our dead. And all of us were wounded, our noble captain slain, And the sun was shining sadly across the bloody plain. Sixteen as brave rangers as ever roamed the West Were buried by their comrades with arrows in their breast. 'Twas then I thought of mother, who to me in tears did say, "To you they are all strangers, with me you had better stay." I thought that she was childish, the best she did not know; My mind was fixed on ranging and I was bound to go. Perhaps you have a mother, likewise a sister too, And maybe you have a sweetheart to weep and mourn for you; If that be your situation, although you'd like to roam, I'd advise you by experience, you had better stay at home. I have seen the fruits of rambling, I know its hardships well; I have crossed the Rocky Mountains, rode down the streets of hell; I have been in the great Southwest where the wild Apaches roam, And I tell you from experience you had better stay at home. And now my song is ended; I guess I have sung enough; The life of a ranger I am sure is very tough. And here's to all you ladies, I am sure I wish you well, I am bound to go a-ranging, so ladies, fare you well. THE MORMON BISHOP'S LAMENT I am a Mormon bishop and I will tell you what I know. I joined the confraternity some forty years ago. I then had youth upon my brow and eloquence my tongue, But I had the sad misfortune then to meet with Brigham Young. He said, "Young man, come join our band and bid hard work farewell, You are too smart to waste your time in toil by hill and dell; There is a ripening harvest and our hooks shall find the fool And in the distant nations we shall train them in our school." I listened to his preaching and I learned all the role, And the truth of Mormon doctrines burned deep within my soul. I married sixteen women and I spread my new belief, I was sent to preach the gospel to the pauper and the thief. 'Twas in the glorious days when Brigham was our only Lord and King, And his wild cry of defiance from the Wasatch tops did ring, 'Twas when that bold Bill Hickman and that Porter Rockwell led, And in the blood atonements the pits received the dead. They took in Dr. Robertson and left him in his gore, And the Aiken brothers sleep in peace on Nephi's distant shore. We marched to Mountain Meadows and on that glorious field With rifle and with hatchet we made man and woman yield. 'Twas there we were victorious with our legions fierce and brave. We left the butchered victims on the ground without a grave. We slew the load of emigrants on Sublet's lonely road And plundered many a trader of his then most precious load. Alas for all the powers that were in the by-gone time. What we did as deeds of glory are condemned as bloody crime. No more the blood atonements keep the doubting one in fear, While the faithful were rewarded with a wedding once a year. As the nation's chieftain president says our days of rule are o'er And his marshals with their warrants are on watch at every door, Old John he now goes skulking on the by-roads of our land, Or unknown he keeps in hiding with the faithful of our band. Old Brigham now is stretched beneath the cold and silent clay, And the chieftains now are fallen that were mighty in their day; Of the six and twenty women that I wedded long ago There are two now left to cheer me in these awful hours of woe. The rest are scattered where the Gentile's flag's unfurled And two score of my daughters are now numbered with the world. Oh, my poor old bones are aching and my head is turning gray; Oh, the scenes were black and awful that I've witnessed in my day. Let my spirit seek the mansion where old Brigham's gone to dwell, For there's no place for Mormons but the lowest pits of hell. DAN TAYLOR Dan Taylor is a rollicking cuss, A frisky son of a gun, He loves to court the maidens And he savies how it's done. He used to be a cowboy And they say he wasn't slow, He could ride the bucking bronco And swing the long lasso. He could catch a maverick by the head Or heel him on the fly, He could pick up his front ones Whenever he chose to try. He used to ride most anything; Now he seldom will. He says they cut some caper in the air Of which he's got his fill. He is done and quit the business, Settled down to quiet life, And he's hunting for some maiden Who will be his little wife,-- One who will wash and patch his britches And feed the setting hen, Milk old Blue and Brindy, And tend to baby Ben. Then he'll build a cozy cottage And furnish it complete, He'll decorate the walls inside With pictures new and sweet. He will leave off riding broncos And be a different man; He will do his best to please his wife In every way he can. Then together in double harness They will trot along down the line, Until death shall call them over To a bright and sunny clime. May your joys be then completed And your sorrows have amend, Is the fondest wish of the writer,-- Your true and faithful friend. WHEN WORK IS DONE THIS FALL A group of jolly cowboys, discussing plans at ease, Says one, "I'll tell you something, boys, if you will listen, please. I am an old cow-puncher and here I'm dressed in rags, And I used to be a tough one and take on great big jags. "But I've got a home, boys, a good one, you all know, Although I have not seen it since long, long ago. I'm going back to Dixie once more to see them all; Yes, I'm going to see my mother when the work's all done this fall. "After the round-ups are over and after the shipping is done, I am going right straight home, boys, ere all my money is gone. I have changed my ways, boys, no more will I fall; And I am going home, boys, when work is done this fall. "When I left home, boys, my mother for me cried, Begged me not to go, boys, for me she would have died; My mother's heart is breaking, breaking for me, that's all, And with God's help I'll see her when the work's all done this fall." That very night this cowboy went out to stand his guard; The night was dark and cloudy and storming very hard; The cattle they got frightened and rushed in wild stampede, The cowboy tried to head them, riding at full speed. While riding in the darkness so loudly did he shout, Trying his best to head them and turn the herd about, His saddle horse did stumble and on him did fall, The poor boy won't see his mother when the work's all done this fall. His body was so mangled the boys all thought him dead, They picked him up so gently and laid him on a bed; He opened wide his blue eyes and looking all around He motioned to his comrades to sit near him on the ground. "Boys, send mother my wages, the wages I have earned, For I'm afraid, boys, my last steer I have turned. I'm going to a new range, I hear my Master's call, And I'll not see my mother when the work's all done this fall. "Fred, you take my saddle; George, you take my bed; Bill, you take my pistol after I am dead, And think of me kindly when you look upon them all, For I'll not see my mother when work is done this fall." Poor Charlie was buried at sunrise, no tombstone at his head, Nothing but a little board and this is what it said, "Charlie died at daybreak, he died from a fall, And he'll not see his mother when the work's all done this fall." SIOUX INDIANS I'll sing you a song, though it may be a sad one, Of trials and troubles and where they first begun; I left my dear kindred, my friends, and my home, Across the wild deserts and mountains to roam. I crossed the Missouri and joined a large train Which bore us over mountain and valley and plain; And often of evenings out hunting we'd go To shoot the fleet antelope and wild buffalo. We heard of Sioux Indians all out on the plains A-killing poor drivers and burning their trains,-- A-killing poor drivers with arrows and bow, When captured by Indians no mercy they show. We traveled three weeks till we came to the Platte And pitched out our tents at the end of the flat, We spread down our blankets on the green grassy ground, While our horses and mules were grazing around. While taking refreshment we heard a low yell, The whoop of Sioux Indians coming up from the dell; We sprang to our rifles with a flash in each eye, "Boys," says our brave leader, "we'll fight till we die." They made a bold dash and came near to our train And the arrows fell around us like hail and like rain, But with our long rifles we fed them cold lead Till many a brave warrior around us lay dead. We shot their bold chief at the head of his band. He died like a warrior with a gun in his hand. When they saw their bold chief lying dead in his gore, They whooped and they yelled and we saw them no more. With our small band,--there were just twenty-four,-- And the Sioux Indians there were five hundred or more,-- We fought them with courage; we spoke not a word, Till the end of the battle was all that was heard. We hitched up our horses and we started our train; Three more bloody battles this trip on the plain; And in our last battle three of our brave boys fell, And we left them to rest in a green, shady dell. THE OLD CHISHOLM TRAIL Come along, boys, and listen to my tale, I'll tell you of my troubles on the old Chisholm trail. Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya, Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya. I started up the trail October twenty-third, I started up the trail with the 2-U herd. Oh, a ten dollar hoss and a forty dollar saddle,-- And I'm goin' to punchin' Texas cattle. I woke up one morning on the old Chisholm trail, Rope in my hand and a cow by the tail. I'm up in the mornin' afore daylight And afore I sleep the moon shines bright. Old Ben Bolt was a blamed good boss, But he'd go to see the girls on a sore-backed hoss. Old Ben Bolt was a fine old man And you'd know there was whiskey wherever he'd land. My hoss throwed me off at the creek called Mud, My hoss throwed me off round the 2-U herd. Last time I saw him he was going cross the level A-kicking up his heels and a-running like the devil. It's cloudy in the West, a-looking like rain, And my damned old slicker's in the wagon again. Crippled my hoss, I don't know how, Ropin' at the horns of a 2-U cow. We hit Caldwell and we hit her on the fly, We bedded down the cattle on the hill close by. No chaps, no slicker, and it's pouring down rain, And I swear, by god, I'll never night-herd again. Feet in the stirrups and seat in the saddle, I hung and rattled with them long-horn cattle. Last night I was on guard and the leader broke the ranks, I hit my horse down the shoulders and I spurred him in the flanks. The wind commenced to blow, and the rain began to fall, Hit looked, by grab, like we was goin' to loss 'em all. I jumped in the saddle and grabbed holt the horn, Best blamed cow-puncher ever was born. I popped my foot in the stirrup and gave a little yell, The tail cattle broke and the leaders went to hell. I don't give a damn if they never do stop; I'll ride as long as an eight-day clock. Foot in the stirrup and hand on the horn, Best damned cowboy ever was born. I herded and I hollered and I done very well, Till the boss said, "Boys, just let 'em go to hell." Stray in the herd and the boss said kill it, So I shot him in the rump with the handle of the skillet. We rounded 'em up and put 'em on the cars, And that was the last of the old Two Bars. Oh it's bacon and beans most every day,-- I'd as soon be a-eatin' prairie hay. I'm on my best horse and I'm goin' at a run, I'm the quickest shootin' cowboy that ever pulled a gun. I went to the wagon to get my roll, To come back to Texas, dad-burn my soul. I went to the boss to draw my roll, He had it figgered out I was nine dollars in the hole. I'll sell my outfit just as soon as I can, I won't punch cattle for no damned man. Goin' back to town to draw my money, Goin' back home to see my honey. With my knees in the saddle and my seat in the sky, I'll quit punching cows in the sweet by and by. Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya, Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya. The Old Chisholm Trail (Mus. Not.) Come a-long, boys, and list-en to my tale, I'll tell you of my trou-bles on the old Chisholm trail. REFRAIN Co-ma ti yi you-pe, you-pe ya, you-pe ya, Co-ma ti yi you-pe, you-pe ya. JACK DONAHOO Come, all you bold, undaunted men, You outlaws of the day, It's time to beware of the ball and chain And also slavery. Attention pay to what I say, And verily if you do, I will relate you the actual fate Of bold Jack Donahoo. He had scarcely landed, as I tell you, Upon Australia's shore, Than he became a real highwayman, As he had been before. There was Underwood and Mackerman, And Wade and Westley too, These were the four associates Of bold Jack Donahoo. Jack Donahoo, who was so brave, Rode out that afternoon, Knowing not that the pain of death Would overtake him soon. So quickly then the horse police From Sidney came to view; "Begone from here, you cowardly dogs," Says bold Jack Donahoo. The captain and the sergeant Stopped then to decide. "Do you intend to fight us Or unto us resign?" "To surrender to such cowardly dogs Is more than I will do, This day I'll fight if I lose my life," Says bold Jack Donahoo. The captain and the sergeant The men they did divide; They fired from behind him And also from each side; It's six police he did shoot down Before the fatal ball Did pierce the heart of Donahoo And cause bold Jack to fall. And when he fell, he closed his eyes, He bid the world adieu; Come, all you boys, and sing the song Of bold Jack Donahoo. UTAH CARROLL And as, my friend, you ask me what makes me sad and still, And why my brow is darkened like the clouds upon the hill; Run in your pony closer and I'll tell to you the tale Of Utah Carroll, my partner, and his last ride on the trail. 'Mid the cactus and the thistles of Mexico's fair lands, Where the cattle roam in thousands, a-many a herd and brand, There is a grave with neither headstone, neither date nor name,-- There lies my partner sleeping in the land from which I came. We rode the range together and had rode it side by side; I loved him as a brother, I wept when Utah died; We were rounding up one morning, our work was almost done, When on the side the cattle started on a mad and fearless run. The boss man's little daughter was holding on that side. She rushed; the cattle saw the blanket, they charged with maddened fear. And little Varro, seeing the danger, turned her pony a pace And leaning in the saddle, tied the blanket in its place. In leaning, she lost her balance and fell in front of that wild tide. Utah's voice controlled the round-up. "Lay still, little Varro," he cried. His only hope was to raise her, to catch her at full speed, And oft-times he had been known to catch the trail rope off his steed. His pony reached the maiden with a firm and steady bound; Utah swung out from the saddle to catch her from the ground. He swung out from the saddle, I thought her safe from harm, As he swung in his saddle to raise her in his arm. But the cinches of his saddle had not been felt before, And his back cinch snapt asunder and he fell by the side of Varro. He picked up the blanket and swung it over his head And started across the prairie; "Lay still, little Varro," he said. Well, he got the stampede turned and saved little Varro, his friend. Then he turned to face the cattle and meet his fatal end. His six-shooter from his pocket, from the scabbard he quickly drew,-- He was bound to die defended as all young cowboys do. His six-shooter flashed like lightning, the report rang loud and clear; As the cattle rushed in and killed him he dropped the leading steer. And when we broke the circle where Utah's body lay, With many a wound and bruise his young life ebbed away. "And in some future morning," I heard the preacher say, "I hope we'll all meet Utah at the round-up far away." Then we wrapped him in a blanket sent by his little friend, And it was that very red blanket that brought him to his end. THE BULL-WHACKER I'm a lonely bull-whacker On the Red Cloud line, I can lick any son of a gun That will yoke an ox of mine. And if I can catch him, You bet I will or try, I'd lick him with an ox-bow,-- Root hog or die. It's out on the road With a very heavy load, With a very awkward team And a very muddy road, You may whip and you may holler, But if you cuss it's on the sly; Then whack the cattle on, boys,-- Root hog or die. It's out on the road These sights are to be seen, The antelope and buffalo, The prairie all so green,-- The antelope and buffalo, The rabbit jumps so high; It's whack the cattle on, boys,-- Root hog or die. It's every day at twelve There's something for to do; And if there's nothing else, There's a pony for to shoe; I'll throw him down, And still I'll make him lie; Little pig, big pig, Root hog or die. Now perhaps you'd like to know What we have to eat, A little piece of bread And a little dirty meat, A little black coffee, And whiskey on the sly; It's whack the cattle on, boys,-- Root hog or die. There's hard old times on Bitter Creek That never can be beat, It was root hog or die Under every wagon sheet; We cleaned up all the Indians, Drank all the alkali, And it's whack the cattle on, boys,-- Root hog or die. There was good old times in Salt Lake That never can pass by, It was there I first spied My China girl called Wi. She could smile, she could chuckle, She could roll her hog eye; Then it's whack the cattle on, boys,-- Root hog or die. Oh, I'm going home Bull-whacking for to spurn, I ain't got a nickel, And I don't give a dern. 'Tis when I meet a pretty girl, You bet I will or try, I'll make her my little wife,-- Root hog or die. THE "METIS" SONG OF THE BUFFALO HUNTERS BY ROBIDEAU Hurrah for the buffalo hunters! Hurrah for the cart brigade! That creak along on its winding way, While we dance and sing and play. Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade! Hurrah for the Pembinah hunters! Hurrah for its cart brigade! For with horse and gun we roll along O'er mountain and hill and plain. Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade! We whipped the Sioux and scalped them too, While on the western plain, And rode away on our homeward way With none to say us nay,-- Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade! Hurrah! Mon ami, mon ami, hurrah for our black-haired girls! That braved the Sioux and fought them too, While on Montana's plains. We'll hold them true and love them too, While on the trail of the Pembinah, hurrah! Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade of Pembinah! We have the skins and the meat so sweet. And we'll sit by the fire in the lodge so neat, While the wind blows cold and the snow is deep. Then roll in our robes and laugh as we sleep. Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! THE COWBOY'S LAMENT As I walked out in the streets of Laredo, As I walked out in Laredo one day, I spied a poor cowboy wrapped up in white linen, Wrapped up in white linen as cold as the clay. "Oh, beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly, Play the Dead March as you carry me along; Take me to the green valley, there lay the sod o'er me, For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong. "I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy," These words he did say as I boldly stepped by. "Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story; I was shot in the breast and I know I must die. "Let sixteen gamblers come handle my coffin, Let sixteen cowboys come sing me a song, Take me to the graveyard and lay the sod o'er me, For I'm a poor cowboy and I know I've done wrong. "My friends and relations, they live in the Nation, They know not where their boy has gone. He first came to Texas and hired to a ranchman, Oh, I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong. "Go write a letter to my gray-haired mother, And carry the same to my sister so dear; But not a word of this shall you mention When a crowd gathers round you my story to hear. "Then beat your drum lowly and play your fife slowly, Beat the Dead March as you carry me along; We all love our cowboys so young and so handsome, We all love our cowboys although they've done wrong. "There is another more dear than a sister, She'll bitterly weep when she hears I am gone. There is another who will win her affections, For I'm a young cowboy and they say I've done wrong. "Go gather around you a crowd of young cowboys, And tell them the story of this my sad fate; Tell one and the other before they go further To stop their wild roving before 'tis too late. "Oh, muffle your drums, then play your fifes merrily; Play the Dead March as you go along. And fire your guns right over my coffin; There goes an unfortunate boy to his home. "It was once in the saddle I used to go dashing, It was once in the saddle I used to go gay; First to the dram-house, then to the card-house, Got shot in the breast, I am dying to-day. "Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin; Get six pretty maidens to bear up my pall. Put bunches of roses all over my coffin, Put roses to deaden the clods as they fall. "Then swing your rope slowly and rattle your spurs lowly, And give a wild whoop as you carry me along; And in the grave throw me and roll the sod o'er me, For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong. "Go bring me a cup, a cup of cold water, To cool my parched lips," the cowboy said; Before I turned, the spirit had left him And gone to its Giver,--the cowboy was dead. We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly, And bitterly wept as we bore him along; For we all loved our comrade, so brave, young, and handsome, We all loved our comrade although he'd done wrong. LOVE IN DISGUISE As William and Mary stood by the seashore Their last farewell to take, Returning no more, little Mary she said, "Why surely my heart will break." "Oh, don't be dismayed, little Mary," he said, As he pressed the dear girl to his side, "In my absence don't mourn, for when I return I'll make little Mary my bride." Three years passed on without any news. One day as she stood by the door A beggar passed by with a patch on his eye, "I'm home, oh, do pity, my love; Have compassion on me, your friend I will be. Your fortune I'll tell besides. The lad you mourn will never return To make little Mary his bride." She startled and trembled and then she did say, "All the fortune I have I freely give If what I ask you will tell unto me,-- Say, does young William yet live?" "He lives and is true and poverty poor, And shipwreck has suffered beside; He'll return no more, because he is poor, To make little Mary his bride." "No tongue can tell the joy I do feel Although his misfortune I mourn, And he's welcome to me though poverty poor, His jacket all tattered and torn. I love him so dear, so true and sincere, I'll have no other beside; Those with riches enrobed and covered with gold Can't make little Mary their bride." The beggar then tore the patch from his eye, His crutches he laid by his side, Coat, jacket and bundle; cheeks red as a rose, 'Twas William that stood by her side. "Then excuse me, dear maid," to her he said, "It was only your love I tried." So he hastened away at the close of the day To make little Mary his bride. MUSTANG GRAY There once was a noble ranger, They called him Mustang Gray; He left his home when but a youth, Went ranging far away. But he'll go no more a-ranging, The savage to affright; He has heard his last war-whoop, And fought his last fight. He ne'er would sleep within a tent, No comforts would he know; But like a brave old Tex-i-an, A-ranging he would go. When Texas was invaded By a mighty tyrant foe, He mounted his noble war-horse And a-ranging he did go. Once he was taken prisoner, Bound in chains upon the way, He wore the yoke of bondage Through the streets of Monterey. A senorita loved him, And followed by his side; She opened the gates and gave to him Her father's steed to ride. God bless the senorita, The belle of Monterey, She opened wide the prison door And let him ride away. And when this veteran's life was spent, It was his last command To bury him on Texas soil On the banks of the Rio Grande; And there the lonely traveler, When passing by his grave, Will shed a farewell tear O'er the bravest of the brave. And he'll go no more a-ranging, The savage to affright; He has heard his last war-whoop, And fought his last fight. YOUNG COMPANIONS Come all you young companions And listen unto me, I'll tell you a story Of some bad company. I was born in Pennsylvania Among the beautiful hills And the memory of my childhood Is warm within me still. I did not like my fireside, I did not like my home; I had in view far rambling, So far away did roam. I had a feeble mother, She oft would plead with me; And the last word she gave me Was to pray to God in need. I had two loving sisters, As fair as fair could be, And oft beside me kneeling They oft would plead with me. I bid adieu to loved ones, To my home I bid farewell, And I landed in Chicago In the very depth of hell. It was there I took to drinking, I sinned both night and day, And there within my bosom A feeble voice would say: "Then fare you well, my loved one, May God protect my boy, And blessings ever with him Throughout his manhood joy." I courted a fair young maiden, Her name I will not tell, For I should ever disgrace her Since I am doomed for hell. It was on one beautiful evening, The stars were shining bright, And with a fatal dagger I bid her spirit flight. So justice overtook me, You all can plainly see, My soul is doomed forever Throughout eternity. It's now I'm on the scaffold, My moments are not long; You may forget the singer But don't forget the song. LACKEY BILL Come all you good old boys and listen to my rhymes, We are west of Eastern Texas and mostly men of crimes; Each with a hidden secret well smothered in his breast, Which brought us out to Mexico, way out here in the West. My parents raised me tenderly, they had no child but me, Till I began to ramble and with them could never agree. My mind being bent on rambling did grieve their poor hearts sore, To leave my aged parents them to see no more. I was borned and raised in Texas, though never come to fame, A cowboy by profession, C.W. King, by name. Oh, when the war was ended I did not like to work, My brothers were not happy, for I had learned to shirk. In fact I was not able, my health was very bad, I had no constitution, I was nothing but a lad. I had no education, I would not go to school, And living off my parents I thought it rather cool. So I set a resolution to travel to the West, My parents they objected, but still I thought it best. It was out on the Seven Rivers all out on the Pecos stream, It was there I saw a country I thought just suited me. I thought I would be no stranger and lead a civil life, In order to be happy would choose myself a wife. On one Sabbath evening in the merry month of May To a little country singing I happened there to stray. It was there I met a damsel I never shall forget, The impulse of that moment remains within me yet. We soon became acquainted, I thought she would fill the bill, She seemed to be good-natured, which helps to climb the hill. She was a handsome figure though not so very tall; Her hair was red as blazes, I hate it worst of all. I saw her home one evening in the presence of her pap, I bid them both good evening with a note left in her lap. And when I got an answer I read it with a rush, I found she had consented, my feelings was a hush. But now I have changed my mind, boys, I am sure I wish her well. Here's to that precious jewel, I'm sure I wish her well. This girl was Miss Mollie Walker who fell in love with me, She was a lovely Western girl, as lovely as could be, She was so tall, so handsome, so charming and so fair, There is not a girl in this whole world with her I could compare. She said my pockets would be lined with gold, hard work then I'd leave o'er If I'd consent to live with her and say I'd roam no more. My mind began to ramble and it grieved my poor heart sore, To leave my darling girl, her to see no more. I asked if it made any difference if I crossed o'er the plains; She said it made no difference if I returned again. So we kissed, shook hands, and parted, I left that girl behind. She said she'd prove true to me till death proved her unkind. I rode in the town of Vagus, all in the public square; The mail coach had arrived, the post boy met me there. He handed me a letter that gave me to understand That the girl I loved in Texas had married another man. So I read a little farther and found those words were true. I turned myself all around, not knowing what to do. I'll sell my horse, saddle, and bridle, cow-driving I'll resign, I'll search this world from town to town for the girl I left behind. Here the gold I find in plenty, the girls to me are kind, But my pillow is haunted with the girl I left behind. It's trouble and disappointment is all that I can see, For the dearest girl in all the world has gone square back on me. WHOOPEE TI YI YO, GIT ALONG LITTLE DOGIES As I walked out one morning for pleasure, I spied a cow-puncher all riding alone; His hat was throwed back and his spurs was a jingling, As he approached me a-singin' this song, Whoopee ti yi yo, git along little dogies, It's your misfortune, and none of my own. Whoopee ti yi yo, git along little dogies, For you know Wyoming will be your new home. Early in the spring we round up the dogies, Mark and brand and bob off their tails; Round up our horses, load up the chuck-wagon, Then throw the dogies upon the trail. It's whooping and yelling and driving the dogies; Oh how I wish you would go on; It's whooping and punching and go on little dogies, For you know Wyoming will be your new home. Some boys goes up the trail for pleasure, But that's where you get it most awfully wrong; For you haven't any idea the trouble they give us While we go driving them all along. When the night comes on and we hold them on the bedground, These little dogies that roll on so slow; Roll up the herd and cut out the strays, And roll the little dogies that never rolled before. Your mother she was raised way down in Texas, Where the jimson weed and sand-burrs grow; Now we'll fill you up on prickly pear and cholla Till you are ready for the trail to Idaho. Oh, you'll be soup for Uncle Sam's Injuns; "It's beef, heap beef," I hear them cry. Git along, git along, git along little dogies You're going to be beef steers by and by. Whoopee Ti Yi Yo, Git Along Little Dogies (Mus. Not.) As I was a-walk-ing one morn-ing for pleasure, I spied a cow-punch-er all rid-ing a-lone; His hat was throw'd back and his spurs was a-jing-lin', As he ap-proach'd me a-sing-in' this song: REFRAIN. Whoopee ti yi yo, git a-long little dog-ies, Its your mis-for-tune and none of my own. Whoop-ee ti yi yo, git a-long lit-tie dog-ies, For you know Wy-o-ming will be your new home. THE U-S-U RANGE O come cowboys and listen to my song, I'm in hopes I'll please you and not keep you long; I'll sing you of things you may think strange About West Texas and the U-S-U range. You may go to Stamford and there see a man Who wears a white shirt and is asking for hands; You may ask him for work and he'll answer you short, He will hurry you up, for he wants you to start. He will put you in a wagon and be off in the rain, You will go up on Tongue River on the U-S-U range. You will drive up to the ranch and there you will stop. It's a little sod house with dirt all on top. You will ask what it is and they will tell you out plain That it's the ranch house on the U-S-U range. You will go in the house and he will begin to explain; You will see some blankets rolled up on the floor; You may ask what it is and they will tell you out plain That it is the bedding on the U-S-U range. You are up in the morning at the daybreak To eat cold beef and U-S-U steak, And out to your work no matter if it's rain,-- And that is the life on the U-S-U range. You work hard all day and come in at night, And turn your horse loose, for they say it's all right, And set down to supper and begin to complain Of the chuck that you eat on the U-S-U range. The grub that you get is beans and cold rice And U-S-U steak cooked up very nice; And if you don't like that you needn't complain, For that's what you get on the U-S-U range. Now, kind friends, I must leave you, I no longer can remain, I hope I have pleased you and given you no pain. But when I am gone, don't think me strange, For I have been a cow-puncher on the U-S-U range. I'M A GOOD OLD REBEL Oh, I'm a good old rebel, that's what I am; And for this land of freedom, I don't care a damn, I'm glad I fought agin her, I only wish we'd won, And I don't axe any pardon for anything I've done. I served with old Bob Lee, three years about, Got wounded in four places and starved at Point Lookout; I caught the rheumatism a-campin' in the snow, But I killed a _chance_ of Yankees and wish I'd killed some mo'. For I'm a good old rebel, etc. I hate the constitooshin, this great republic too; I hate the mouty eagle, an' the uniform so blue; I hate their glorious banner, an' all their flags an' fuss, Those lyin', thievin' Yankees, I hate 'em wuss an' wuss. For I'm a good old rebel, etc. I won't be re-constructed! I'm better now than them; And for a carpet-bagger, I don't give a damn; So I'm off for the frontier, soon as I can go, I'll prepare me a weapon and start for Mexico. For I'm a good old rebel, etc. THE COWBOY All day long on the prairies I ride, Not even a dog to trot by my side; My fire I kindle with chips gathered round, My coffee I boil without being ground. I wash in a pool and wipe on a sack; I carry my wardrobe all on my back; For want of an oven I cook bread in a pot, And sleep on the ground for want of a cot. My ceiling is the sky, my floor is the grass, My music is the lowing of the herds as they pass; My books are the brooks, my sermons the stones, My parson is a wolf on his pulpit of bones. And then if my cooking is not very complete You can't blame me for wanting to eat. But show me a man that sleeps more profound Than the big puncher-boy who stretches himself on the ground. My books teach me ever consistence to prize, My sermons, that small things I should not despise; My parson remarks from his pulpit of bones That fortune favors those who look out for their own. And then between me and love lies a gulf very wide. Some lucky fellow may call her his bride. My friends gently hint I am coming to grief, But men must make money and women have beef. But Cupid is always a friend to the bold, And the best of his arrows are pointed with gold. Society bans me so savage and dodge That the Masons would ball me out of their lodge. If I had hair on my chin, I might pass for the goat That bore all the sins in the ages remote; But why it is I can never understand, For each of the patriarchs owned a big brand. Abraham emigrated in search of a range, And when water was scarce he wanted a change; Old Isaac owned cattle in charge of Esau, And Jacob punched cows for his father-in-law. He started in business way down at bed rock, And made quite a streak at handling stock; Then David went from night-herding to using a sling; And, winning the battle, he became a great king. Then the shepherds, while herding the sheep on a hill, Got a message from heaven of peace and goodwill. The Cowboy (Mus. Not.) Music by the "Kid" All day on the prai-rie in the sad-dle I ride, Not e-ven a dog, boys, to trot by my side. My fire I must kin-dle with chips gathered round, And boil my own cof-fee with-out be-ing ground. I wash in a pool and I wipe on a sack, I car-ry my ward-robe all on my back. BILL PETERS, THE STAGE DRIVER Bill Peters was a hustler From Independence town; He warn't a college scholar Nor man of great renown, But Bill had a way o' doing things And doin' 'em up brown. Bill driv the stage from Independence Up to the Smokey Hill; And everybody knowed him thar As Independence Bill,-- Thar warn't no feller on the route That driv with half the skill. Bill driv four pair of horses, Same as you'd drive a team, And you'd think you was a-travelin' On a railroad driv by steam; And he'd git thar on time, you bet, Or Bill 'u'd bust a seam. He carried mail and passengers, And he started on the dot, And them teams o' his'n, so they say, Was never known to trot; But they went it in a gallop And kept their axles hot. When Bill's stage 'u'd bust a tire, Or something 'u'd break down, He'd hustle round and patch her up And start off with a bound; And the wheels o' that old shack o' his Scarce ever touched the ground. And Bill didn't low no foolin', And when Inguns hove in sight And bullets rattled at the stage, He druv with all his might; He'd holler, "Fellers, give 'em hell, I ain't got time to fight." Then the way them wheels 'u'd rattle, And the way the dust 'u'd fly, You'd think a million cattle, Had stampeded and gone by; But the mail 'u'd get thar just the same, If the horses had to die. He driv that stage for many a year Along the Smokey Hill, And a pile o' wild Comanches Did Bill Peters have to kill,-- And I reckon if he'd had good luck He'd been a drivin' still. But he chanced one day to run agin A bullet made o' lead, Which was harder than he bargained for And now poor Bill is dead; And when they brung his body home A barrel of tears was shed. HARD TIMES Come listen a while and I'll sing you a song Concerning the times--it will not be long-- When everybody is striving to buy, And cheating each other, I cannot tell why,-- And it's hard, hard times. From father to mother, from sister to brother, From cousin to cousin, they're cheating each other. Since cheating has grown to be so much the fashion, I believe to my soul it will run the whole Nation,-- And it's hard, hard times. Now there is the talker, by talking he eats, And so does the butcher by killing his meats. He'll toss the steelyards, and weigh it right down, And swear it's just right if it lacks forty pounds,-- And it's hard, hard times. And there is the merchant, as honest, we're told. Whatever he sells you, my friend, you are sold; Believe what I tell you, and don't be surprised To find yourself cheated half out of your eyes,-- And it's hard, hard times. And there is the lawyer you plainly will see, He will plead your case for a very large fee, He'll law you and tell you the wrong side is right, And make you believe that a black horse is white,-- And it's hard, hard times. And there is the doctor, I like to forgot, I believe to my soul he's the worst of the lot; He'll tell you he'll cure you for half you possess, And when you're buried he'll take all the rest,-- And it's hard, hard times. And there's the old bachelor, all hated with scorn, He's like an old garment all tattered and torn, The girls and the widows all toss him a sigh, And think it quite right, and so do I,-- And it's hard, hard times. And there's the young widow, coquettish and shy, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye, But when she gets married she'll cut quite a dash, She'll give him the reins and she'll handle the cash,-- And it's hard, hard times. And there's the young lady I like to have missed, And I believe to my soul she'd like to be kissed; She'll tell you she loves you with all pretence And ask you to call again some time hence,-- And it's hard, hard times. And there's the young man, the worst of the whole. Oh, he will tell you with all of his soul, He'll tell you he loves you and for you will die, And when he's away he will swear it's a lie,-- And it's hard, hard times. COLE YOUNGER Am one of a band of highwaymen, Cole Younger is my name; My crimes and depredations have brought my friends to shame; The robbing of the Northfield Bank, the same I can't deny, For now I am a prisoner, in the Stillwater jail I lie. 'Tis of a bold, high robbery, a story to you I'll tell, Of a California miner who unto us befell; We robbed him of his money and bid him go his way, For which I will be sorry until my dying day. And then we started homeward, when brother Bob did say: "Now, Cole, we will buy fast horses and on them ride away. We will ride to avenge our father's death and try to win the prize; We will fight those anti-guerrillas until the day we die." And then we rode towards Texas, that good old Lone Star State, But on Nebraska's prairies the James boys we did meet; With knives, guns, and revolvers we all sat down to play, A-drinking of good whiskey to pass the time away. A Union Pacific railway train was the next we did surprise, And the crimes done by our bloody hands bring tears into my eyes. The engineerman and fireman killed, the conductor escaped alive, And now their bones lie mouldering beneath Nebraska's skies. Then we saddled horses, northwestward we did go, To the God-forsaken country called Min-ne-so-te-o; I had my eye on the Northfield bank when brother Bob did say, "Now, Cole, if you undertake the job, you will surely curse the day." But I stationed out my pickets and up to the bank did go, And there upon the counter I struck my fatal blow. "Just hand us over your money and make no further delay, We are the famous Younger brothers, we spare no time to pray." MISSISSIPPI GIRLS Come, all you Mississippi girls, and listen to my noise, If you happen to go West, don't you marry those Texian boys; For if you do, your fortune will be Cold jonny-cake and beefsteak, that's all that you will see,-- Cold jonny-cake and beefsteak, that's all that you will see. When they go courting, here's what they wear: An old leather coat, and it's all ripped and tore; And an old brown hat with the brim tore down, And a pair of dirty socks, they've worn the winter round. When one comes in, the first thing you hear Is, "Madam, your father has killed a deer"; And the next thing they say when they sit down Is, "Madam, the jonny-cake is too damned brown." They live in a hut with hewed log wall, But it ain't got any windows at all; With a clap-board roof and a puncheon floor, And that's the way all Texas o'er. They will take you out on a live-oak hill And there they will leave you much against your will. They will leave you on the prairie, starve you on the plains, For that is the way with the Texians,-- For that is the way with the Texians. When they go to preaching let me tell you how they dress; Just an old black shirt without any vest, Just an old straw hat more brim than crown And an old sock leg that they wear the winter round,-- And an old sock leg that they wear the winter round. For your wedding supper, there'll be beef and cornbread; There it is to eat when the ceremony's said. And when you go to milk you'll milk into a gourd; And set it in the corner and cover it with a board; Some gets little and some gets none, For that is the way with the Texians,-- For that is the way with the Texians. THE OLD MAN UNDER THE HILL There was an old man who lived under the hill, Chir-u-ra-wee, lived under the hill, And if he ain't dead he's living there still, Chir-u-ra-wee, living there still. One day the old man went out to plow, Chir-u-ra-wee, went out to plow; 'Tis good-bye the old fellow, and how are you now, Sing chir-u-ra-wee, and how are you now. And then another came to his house, Chir-u-ra-wee, came to his house; "There's one of your family I've got to have now, Sing chir-u-ra-wee, got to have now. "It's neither you nor your oldest son, Chir-u-ra-wee, nor your oldest son." "Then take my old woman and take her for fun, Sing chir-u-ra-wee, take her for fun." He takened her all upon his back, Chir-u-ra-wee, upon his back, And like an old rascal went rickity rack, Sing chir-u-ra-wee, went rickity rack. But when he got half way up the road, Chir-u-ra-wee, up the road, Says he, "You old lady, you're sure a load," Sing chir-u-ra-wee, you're sure a load. He set her down on a stump to rest, Chir-u-ra-wee, stump to rest; She up with a stick and hit him her best. Sing chir-u-ra-wee, hit him her best. He taken her on to hell's old gate, Chir-u-ra-wee, hell's old gate, But when he got there he got there too late, Sing chir-u-ra-wee, got there too late. And so he had to keep his wife, Chir-u-ra-wee, had to keep his wife, And keep her he did for the rest of his life. Sing chir-u-ra-wee, for the rest of his life. JERRY, GO ILE THAT CAR Come all ye railroad section men an' listen to my song, It is of Larry O'Sullivan who now is dead and gone. For twinty years a section boss, he niver hired a tar-- Oh, it's "j'int ahead and cinter back, An' Jerry, go ile that car!" For twinty years a section boss, he niver hired a tar, But it's "j'int ahead an cinter back, An' Jerry, go ile that car-r-r!" For twinty years a section boss, he worked upon the track, And be it to his cred-i-it he niver had a wrack. For he kept every j'int right up to the p'int wid the tap of the tampin-bar-r-r; And while the byes was a-swimmin' up the ties, It's "Jerry, wud yez ile that car-r-r!" God rest ye, Larry O'Sullivan, to me ye were kind and good; Ye always made the section men go out and chop me wood; An' fetch me wather from the well an' chop me kindlin' fine; And any man that wouldn't lind a hand, 'twas Larry give him his Time. And ivery Sunday morni-i-ing unto the gang he'd say: "Me byes, prepare--yez be aware the ould lady goes to church the day. Now, I want ivery man to pump the best he can, for the distance it is far-r-r; An' we have to get in ahead of number tin-- So, Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!" 'Twas in November in the winter time and the ground all covered wid snow, "Come put the hand-car-r-r on the track an' over the section go!" Wid his big soger coat buttoned up to his t'roat, all weathers he would dare-- An' it's "Paddy Mack, will yez walk the track, An' Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!" "Give my respects to the roadmas-ther," poor Larry he did cry, "An lave me up that I may see the ould hand-car before I die. Come, j'int ahead an' cinter back, An' Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!" Then lay the spike maul upon his chist, the gauge, and the ould claw-bar-r-r, And while the byes do be fillin' up his grave, "Oh, Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!" JOHN GARNER'S TRAIL HERD Come all you old timers and listen to my song; I'll make it short as possible and I'll not keep you long; I'll relate to you about the time you all remember well When we, with old Joe Garner, drove a beef herd up the trail. When we left the ranch it was early in the spring, We had as good a corporal as ever rope did swing, Good hands and good horses, good outfit through and through,-- We went well equipped, we were a jolly crew. We had no little herd--two thousand head or more-- And some as wild a brush beeves as you ever saw before. We swung to them all the way and sometimes by the tail,-- Oh, you know we had a circus as we all went up the trail. All things went on well till we reached the open ground, And then them cattle turned in and they gave us merry hell. They stampeded every night that came and did it without fail,-- Oh, you know we had a circus as we all went up the trail. We would round them up at morning and the boss would make a count, And say, "Look here, old punchers, we are out quite an amount; You must make all losses good and do it without fail Or you will never get another job of driving up the trail." When we reached Red River we gave the Inspector the dodge. He swore by God Almighty, in jail old John should lodge. We told him if he'd taken our boss and had him locked in jail, We would shore get his scalp as we all came down the trail. When we reached the Reservation, how squirmish we did feel, Although we had tried old Garner and knew him true as steel. And if we would follow him and do as he said do, That old bald-headed cow-thief would surely take us through. When we reached Dodge City we drew our four months' pay. Times was better then, boys, that was a better day. The way we drank and gambled and threw the girls around,-- "Say, a crowd of Texas cowboys has come to take our town." The cowboy sees many hardships although he takes them well; The fun we had upon that trip, no human tongue can tell. The cowboy's life is a dreary life, though his mind it is no load, And he always spends his money like he found it in the road. If ever you meet old Garner, you must meet him on the square, For he is the biggest cow-thief that ever tramped out there. But if you want to hear him roar and spin a lively tale, Just ask him about the time we all went up the trail. THE OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT Come all of you, my brother scouts, And join me in my song; Come, let us sing together Though the shadows fall so long. Of all the old frontiersmen That used to scour the plain, There are but very few of them That with us yet remain. Day after day they're dropping off, They're going one by one; Our clan is fast decreasing, Our race is almost run. There were many of our number That never wore the blue, But, faithfully, they did their part, As brave men, tried and true. They never joined the army, But had other work to do In piloting the coming folks, To help them safely through. But, brothers, we are falling, Our race is almost run; The days of elk and buffalo And beaver traps are gone. Oh, the days of elk and buffalo! It fills my heart with pain To know these days are past and gone To never come again. We fought the red-skin rascals Over valley, hill, and plain; We fought him in the mountain top, And fought him down again. These fighting days are over; The Indian yell resounds No more along the border; Peace sends far sweeter sounds. But we found great joy, old comrades, To hear, and make it die; We won bright homes for gentle ones, And now, our West, good-bye. THE LONE BUFFALO HUNTER It's of those Texas cowboys, a story I'll tell; No name I will mention though in Texas they do dwell. Go find them where you will, they are all so very brave, And when in good society they seldom misbehave. When the fall work is all over in the line-camp they'll be found, For they have to ride those lonesome lines the long winter round; They prove loyal to a comrade, no matter what's to do; And when in love with a fair one they seldom prove untrue. But springtime comes at last and finds them glad and gay; They ride out to the round-up about the first of May; About the first of August they start up the trail, They have to stay with the cattle, no matter rain or hail. But when they get to the shipping point, then they receive their tens, Straightway to the bar-room and gently blow them in; It's the height of their ambition, so I've been truly told, To ride good horses and saddles and spend the silver and gold. Those last two things I've mentioned, it is their heart's desire, And when they leave the shipping point, their eyes are like balls of fire. It's of those fighting cattle, they seem to have no fear, A-riding bucking broncos oft is their heart's desire. They will ride into the branding pen, a rope within their hands, They will catch them by each forefoot and bring them to the sands; It's altogether in practice with a little bit of sleight, A-roping Texas cattle, it is their heart's delight. But now comes the rising generation to take the cowboy's place, Likewise the corn-fed granger, with his bold and cheeky face; It's on those plains of Texas a lone buffalo hunter does stand To tell the fate of the cowboy that rode at his right hand. THE CROOKED TRAIL TO HOLBROOK Come all you jolly cowboys that follow the bronco steer, I'll sing to you a verse or two your spirits for to cheer; It's all about a trip, a trip that I did undergo On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh. It's on the seventeenth of February, our herd it started out, It would have made your hearts shudder to hear them bawl and shout, As wild as any buffalo that ever rode the Platte, Those dogies we were driving, and every one was fat. We crossed the Mescal Mountains on the way to Gilson Flats, And when we got to Gilson Flats, Lord, how the wind did blow; It blew so hard, it blew so fierce, we knew not where to go, But our spirits never failed us as onward we did go,-- On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh. That night we had a stampede; Christ, how the cattle run! We made it to our horses; I tell you, we had no fun; Over the prickly pear and catclaw brush we quickly made our way; We thought of our long journey and the girls we'd left one day. It's long by Sombserva we slowly punched along, While each and every puncher would sing a hearty song To cheer up his comrade as onward we did go, On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh. We crossed the Mongollen Mountains where the tall pines do grow, Grass grows in abundance, and rippling streams do flow; Our packs were always turning, of course our gait was slow, On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh. At last we got to Holbrook, a little gale did blow; It blew up sand and pebble stones and it didn't blow them slow. We had to drink the water from that muddy little stream And swallowed a peck of dirt when we tried to eat a bean. But the cattle now are shipped and homeward we are bound With a lot of as tired horses as ever could be found; Across the reservation no danger did we fear, But thought of wives and sweethearts and the ones we love so dear. Now we are back in Globe City, our friendship there to share; Here's luck to every puncher that follows the bronco steer. ONLY A COWBOY Away out in old Texas, that great lone star state, Where the mocking bird whistles both early and late; It was in Western Texas on the old N A range The boy fell a victim on the old staked plains. He was only a cowboy gone on before, He was only a cowboy, we will never see more; He was doing his duty on the old N A range But now he is sleeping on the old staked plains. His crew they were numbered twenty-seven or eight, The boys were like brothers, their friendship was great, When "O God, have mercy" was heard from behind,-- The cattle were left to drift on the line. He leaves a dear wife and little ones, too, To earn them a living, as fathers oft do; For while he was working for the loved ones so dear He was took without warning or one word of cheer. And while he is sleeping where the sun always shines, The boys they go dashing along on the line; The look on their faces it speaks to us all Of one who departed to the home of the soul. He was only a cowboy gone on before, He was only a cowboy, we will never see more; He was doing his duty on the old N A range But now he is sleeping on the old staked plains. FULLER AND WARREN Ye sons of Columbia, your attention I do crave, While a sorrowful story I do tell, Which happened of late, in the Indiana state, And a hero not many could excel; Like Samson he courted, made choice of the fair, And intended to make her his wife; But she, like Delilah, his heart did ensnare, Which cost him his honor and his life. A gold ring he gave her in token of his love, On the face was the image of the dove; They mutually agreed to get married with speed And were promised by the powers above. But the fickle-minded maiden vowed again to wed To young Warren who lived in that place; It was a fatal blow that caused his overthrow And added to her shame and disgrace. When Fuller came to hear he was deprived of his dear Whom he vowed by the powers to wed, With his heart full of woe unto Warren he did go, And smilingly unto him he said: "Young man, you have injured me to gratify your cause By reporting that I left a prudent wife; Acknowledge now that you have wronged me, for although I break the laws, Young Warren, I'll deprive you of your life." Then Warren, he replied: "Your request must be denied, For your darling to my heart she is bound; And further I can say that this is our wedding day, In spite of all the heroes in town." Then Fuller in the passion of his love and anger bound,-- Alas! it caused many to cry,-- At one fatal shot killed Warren on the spot, And smilingly said, "I'm ready now to die." The time was drawing nigh when Fuller had to die; He bid the audience adieu. Like an angel he did stand, for he was a handsome man, On his breast he had a ribbon of blue. Ten thousand spectators did smite him on the breast, And the guards dropped a tear from the eye, Saying, "Cursed be she who caused this misery, Would to God in his stead she had to die." The gentle god of Love looked with anger from above And the rope flew asunder like the sand. Two doctors for the pay they murdered him, they say, They hung him by main strength of hand. But the corpse it was buried and the doctors lost their prey, Oh, that harlot was bribed, I do believe; Bad women to a certainty are the downfall of men, As Adam was beguiled by Eve. Fuller and Warren (Mus. Not.) Ye sons of Co-lum-bia, your at-ten-tion I do crave, While a sor-ri-ful sto-ry I do tell, Which hap-pened of late in the In-di-an-a state, And a he-ro ... not ma-ny could ex-cel. Like Sam-son he court-ed, made choice of the fair, And in-tend-ed ... to make her his wife; But she, like De-li-la,... his heart did en-snare, Which cost him his hon-or and his life. THE TRAIL TO MEXICO I made up my mind to change my way And quit my crowd that was so gay, To leave my native home for a while And to travel west for many a mile. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. 'Twas all in the merry month of May When I started for Texas far away, I left my darling girl behind,-- She said her heart was only mine. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. Oh, it was when I embraced her in my arms I thought she had ten thousand charms; Her caresses were soft, her kisses were sweet, Saying, "We will get married next time we meet." Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. It was in the year of eighty-three That A.J. Stinson hired me. He says, "Young fellow, I want you to go And drive this herd to Mexico." Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. The first horse they gave me was an old black With two big set-fasts on his back; I padded him with gunny-sacks and my bedding all; He went up, then down, and I got a fall. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. The next they gave me was an old gray, I'll remember him till my dying day. And if I had to swear to the fact, I believe he was worse off than the black. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. Oh, it was early in the year When I went on trail to drive the steer. I stood my guard through sleet and snow While on the trail to Mexico. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. Oh, it was a long and lonesome go As our herd rolled on to Mexico; With laughter light and the cowboy's song To Mexico we rolled along. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. When I arrived in Mexico I wanted to see my love but could not go; So I wrote a letter, a letter to my dear, But not a word from her could I hear. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. When I arrived at the once loved home I called for the darling of my own; They said she had married a richer life, Therefore, wild cowboy, seek another wife. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. Oh, the girl she is married I do adore, And I cannot stay at home any more; I'll cut my way to a foreign land Or I'll go back west to my cowboy band. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. I'll go back to the Western land, I'll hunt up my old cowboy band,-- Where the girls are few and the boys are true And a false-hearted love I never knew. Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. "O Buddie, O Buddie, please stay at home, Don't be forever on the roam. There is many a girl more true than I, So pray don't go where the bullets fly." Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. "It's curse your gold and your silver too, God pity a girl that won't prove true; I'll travel West where the bullets fly, I'll stay on the trail till the day I die." Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. THE HORSE WRANGLER I thought one spring just for fun I'd see how cow-punching was done, And when the round-ups had begun I tackled the cattle-king. Says he, "My foreman is in town, He's at the plaza, and his name is Brown, If you'll see him, he'll take you down." Says I, "That's just the thing." We started for the ranch next day; Brown augured me most all the way. He said that cow-punching was nothing but play, That it was no work at all,-- That all you had to do was ride, And only drifting with the tide; The son of a gun, oh, how he lied. Don't you think he had his gall? He put me in charge of a cavyard, And told me not to work too hard, That all I had to do was guard The horses from getting away; I had one hundred and sixty head, I sometimes wished that I was dead; When one got away, Brown's head turned red, And there was the devil to pay. Sometimes one would make a break, Across the prairie he would take, As if running for a stake,-- It seemed to them but play; Sometimes I could not head them at all, Sometimes my horse would catch a fall And I'd shoot on like a cannon ball Till the earth came in my way. They saddled me up an old gray hack With two set-fasts on his back, They padded him down with a gunny sack And used my bedding all. When I got on he quit the ground, Went up in the air and turned around, And I came down and busted the ground,-- I got one hell of a fall. They took me up and carried me in And rubbed me down with an old stake pin. "That's the way they all begin; You're doing well," says Brown. "And in the morning, if you don't die, I'll give you another horse to try." "Oh say, can't I walk?" says I. Says he, "Yes, back to town." I've traveled up and I've traveled down, I've traveled this country round and round, I've lived in city and I've lived in town, But I've got this much to say: Before you try cow-punching, kiss your wife, Take a heavy insurance on your life, Then cut your throat with a barlow knife,-- For it's easier done that way. CALIFORNIA JOE Well, mates, I don't like stories; Or am I going to act A part around the campfire That ain't a truthful fact? So fill your pipes and listen, I'll tell you--let me see-- I think it was in fifty, From that till sixty-three. You've all heard tell of Bridger; I used to run with Jim, And many a hard day's scouting I've done longside of him. Well, once near old Fort Reno, A trapper used to dwell; We called him old Pap Reynolds, The scouts all knew him well. One night in the spring of fifty We camped on Powder River, And killed a calf of buffalo And cooked a slice of liver. While eating, quite contented, I heard three shots or four; Put out the fire and listened,-- We heard a dozen more. We knew that old man Reynolds Had moved his traps up here; So picking up our rifles And fixing on our gear We moved as quick as lightning, To save was our desire. Too late, the painted heathens Had set the house on fire. We hitched our horses quickly And waded up the stream; While down close beside the waters I heard a muffled scream. And there among the bushes A little girl did lie. I picked her up and whispered, "I'll save you or I'll die." Lord, what a ride! Old Bridger Had covered my retreat; Sometimes that child would whisper In voice low and sweet, "Poor Papa, God will take him To Mama up above; There is no one left to love me, There is no one left to love." The little one was thirteen And I was twenty-two; I says, "I'll be your father And love you just as true." She nestled to my bosom, Her hazel eyes so bright, Looked up and made me happy,-- The close pursuit that night. One month had passed and Maggie, We called her Hazel Eye, In truth was going to leave me, Was going to say good-bye. Her uncle, Mad Jack Reynolds, Reported long since dead, Had come to claim my angel, His brother's child, he said. What could I say? We parted, Mad Jack was growing old; I handed him a bank note And all I had in gold. They rode away at sunrise, I went a mile or two, And parting says, "We will meet again; May God watch over you." By a laughing, dancing brook A little cabin stood, And weary with a long day's scout, I spied it in the wood. The pretty valley stretched beyond, The mountains towered above, And near its willow banks I heard The cooing of a dove. 'Twas one grand pleasure; The brook was plainly seen, Like a long thread of silver In a cloth of lovely green; The laughter of the water, The cooing of the dove, Was like some painted picture, Some well-told tale of love. While drinking in the country And resting in the saddle, I heard a gentle rippling Like the dipping of a paddle, And turning to the water, A strange sight met my view,-- A lady with her rifle In a little bark canoe. She stood up in the center, With her rifle to her eye; I thought just for a second My time had come to die. I doffed my hat and told her, If it was just the same, To drop her little shooter, For I was not her game. She dropped the deadly weapon And leaped from the canoe. Says she, "I beg your pardon; I thought you was a Sioux. Your long hair and your buckskin Looked warrior-like and rough; My bead was spoiled by sunshine, Or I'd have killed you sure enough." "Perhaps it would've been better If you'd dropped me then," says I; "For surely such an angel Would bear me to the sky." She blushingly dropped her eyelids, Her cheeks were crimson red; One half-shy glance she gave me And then hung down her head. I took her little hand in mine; She wondered what it meant, And yet she drew it not away, But rather seemed content. We sat upon the mossy bank, Her eyes began to fill; The brook was rippling at our feet, The dove was cooing still. 'Tis strong arms were thrown around her. "I'll save you or I'll die." I clasped her to my bosom, My long lost Hazel Eye. The rapture of that moment Was almost heaven to me; I kissed her 'mid the tear-drops, Her merriment and glee. Her heart near mine was beating When sobbingly she said, "My dear, my brave preserver, They told me you were dead. But oh, those parting words, Joe, Have never left my mind, You said, 'We'll meet again, Mag,' Then rode off like the wind. "And oh, how I have prayed, Joe, For you who saved my life, That God would send an angel To guide you through all strife. The one who claimed me from you, My Uncle, good and true, Is sick in yonder cabin; Has talked so much of you. "'If Joe were living darling,' He said to me last night, 'He would care for you, Maggie, When God puts out my light.'" We found the old man sleeping. "Hush, Maggie, let him rest." The sun was slowly setting In the far-off, glowing West. And though we talked in whispers He opened wide his eyes: "A dream, a dream," he murmured; "Alas, a dream of lies." She drifted like a shadow To where the old man lay. "You had a dream, dear Uncle, Another dream to-day?" "Oh yes, I saw an angel As pure as mountain snow, And near her at my bedside Stood California Joe." "I'm sure I'm not an angel, Dear Uncle, that you know; These hands that hold your hand, too, My face is not like snow. "Now listen while I tell you, For I have news to cheer; Hazel Eye is happy, For Joe is truly here." It was but a few days after The old man said to me, "Joe, boy, she is an angel, And good as angels be. "For three long months she hunted, And trapped and nursed me too; God bless you, boy, I believe it, She's safe along with you." The sun was slowly sinking, When Maggie, my wife, and I Went riding through the valley, The tear-drops in her eye. "One year ago to-day, Joe, I saw the mossy grave; We laid him neath the daisies, My Uncle, good and brave." And comrade, every springtime Is sure to find me there; There is something in the valley That is always fresh and fair. Our love is always kindled While sitting by the stream, Where two hearts were united In love's sweet happy dream. THE BOSTON BURGLAR I was born in Boston City, a city you all know well, Brought up by honest parents, the truth to you I'll tell, Brought up by honest parents and raised most tenderly, Till I became a roving man at the age of twenty-three. My character was taken then, and I was sent to jail. My friends they found it was in vain to get me out on bail. The jury found me guilty, the clerk he wrote it down, The judge he passed me sentence and I was sent to Charleston town. You ought to have seen my aged father a-pleading at the bar, Also my dear old mother a-tearing of her hair, Tearing of her old gray locks as the tears came rolling down, Saying, "Son, dear son, what have you done, that you are sent to Charleston town?" They put me aboard an eastbound train one cold December day, And every station that we passed, I'd hear the people say, "There goes a noted burglar, in strong chains he'll be bound,-- For the doing of some crime or other he is sent to Charleston town." There is a girl in Boston, she is a girl that I love well, And if I ever gain my liberty, along with her I'll dwell; And when I regain my liberty, bad company I will shun, Night-walking, gambling, and also drinking rum. Now, you who have your liberty, pray keep it if you can, And don't go around the streets at night to break the laws of man; For if you do you'll surely rue and find yourself like me, A-serving out my twenty-one years in the penitentiary. SAM BASS Sam Bass was born in Indiana, it was his native home, And at the age of seventeen young Sam began to roam. Sam first came out to Texas a cowboy for to be,-- A kinder-hearted fellow you seldom ever see. Sam used to deal in race stock, one called the Denton mare, He matched her in scrub races, and took her to the Fair. Sam used to coin the money and spent it just as free, He always drank good whiskey wherever he might be. Sam left the Collin's ranch in the merry month of May With a herd of Texas cattle the Black Hills for to see, Sold out in Custer City and then got on a spree,-- A harder set of cowboys you seldom ever see. On their way back to Texas they robbed the U.P. train, And then split up in couples and started out again. Joe Collins and his partner were overtaken soon, With all their hard-earned money they had to meet their doom. Sam made it back to Texas all right side up with care; Rode into the town of Denton with all his friends to share. Sam's life was short in Texas; three robberies did he do, He robbed all the passenger, mail, and express cars too. Sam had four companions--four bold and daring lads-- They were Richardson, Jackson, Joe Collins, and Old Dad; Four more bold and daring cowboys the rangers never knew, They whipped the Texas rangers and ran the boys in blue. Sam had another companion, called Arkansas for short, Was shot by a Texas ranger by the name of Thomas Floyd; Oh, Tom is a big six-footer and thinks he's mighty fly, But I can tell you his racket,--he's a deadbeat on the sly. Jim Murphy was arrested, and then released on bail; He jumped his bond at Tyler and then took the train for Terrell; But Mayor Jones had posted Jim and that was all a stall, 'Twas only a plan to capture Sam before the coming fall. Sam met his fate at Round Rock, July the twenty-first, They pierced poor Sam with rifle balls and emptied out his purse. Poor Sam he is a corpse and six foot under clay, And Jackson's in the bushes trying to get away. Jim had borrowed Sam's good gold and didn't want to pay, The only shot he saw was to give poor Sam away. He sold out Sam and Barnes and left their friends to mourn,-- Oh, what a scorching Jim will get when Gabriel blows his horn. And so he sold out Sam and Barnes and left their friends to mourn, Oh, what a scorching Jim will get when Gabriel blows his horn. Perhaps he's got to heaven, there's none of us can say, But if I'm right in my surmise he's gone the other way. Sam Bass (Mus. Not.) Sam Bass was born in In-di-an-a, It was his na-tive home; And at the age of sev-en-teen, Young Sam be-gan to roam. Sam first came out to Tex-as, A cow-boy for to be; A kind-er-heart-ed fel-low You sel-dom ev-er see. THE ZEBRA DUN We were camped on the plains at the head of the Cimarron When along came a stranger and stopped to arger some. He looked so very foolish that we began to look around, We thought he was a greenhorn that had just 'scaped from town. We asked if he had been to breakfast; he hadn't had a smear, So we opened up the chuck-box and bade him have his share. He took a cup of coffee and some biscuits and some beans, And then began to talk and tell about foreign kings and queens,-- About the Spanish war and fighting on the seas With guns as big as steers and ramrods big as trees,-- And about old Paul Jones, a mean, fighting son of a gun, Who was the grittiest cuss that ever pulled a gun. Such an educated feller his thoughts just came in herds, He astonished all them cowboys with them jaw-breaking words. He just kept on talking till he made the boys all sick, And they began to look around just how to play a trick. He said he had lost his job upon the Santa Fé And was going across the plains to strike the 7-D. He didn't say how come it, some trouble with the boss, But said he'd like to borrow a nice fat saddle hoss. This tickled all the boys to death, they laughed way down in their sleeves,-- "We will lend you a horse just as fresh and fat as you please." Shorty grabbed a lariat and roped the Zebra Dun And turned him over to the stranger and waited for the fun. Old Dunny was a rocky outlaw that had grown so awful wild That he could paw the white out of the moon every jump for a mile. Old Dunny stood right still,--as if he didn't know,-- Until he was saddled and ready for to go. When the stranger hit the saddle, old Dunny quit the earth And traveled right straight up for all that he was worth. A-pitching and a-squealing, a-having wall-eyed fits, His hind feet perpendicular, his front ones in the bits. We could see the tops of the mountains under Dunny every jump, But the stranger he was growed there just like the camel's hump; The stranger sat upon him and curled his black mustache Just like a summer boarder waiting for his hash. He thumped him in the shoulders and spurred him when he whirled, To show them flunky punchers that he was the wolf of the world. When the stranger had dismounted once more upon the ground, We knew he was a thoroughbred and not a gent from town; The boss who was standing round watching of the show, Walked right up to the stranger and told him he needn't go,-- "If you can use the lasso like you rode old Zebra Dun, You are the man I've been looking for ever since the year one." Oh, he could twirl the lariat and he didn't do it slow, He could catch them fore feet nine out of ten for any kind of dough. And when the herd stampeded he was always on the spot And set them to nothing, like the boiling of a pot. There's one thing and a shore thing I've learned since I've been born, That every educated feller ain't a plumb greenhorn. THE BUFFALO SKINNERS Come all you jolly fellows and listen to my song, There are not many verses, it will not detain you long; It's concerning some young fellows who did agree to go And spend one summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo. It happened in Jacksboro in the spring of seventy-three, A man by the name of Crego came stepping up to me, Saying, "How do you do, young fellow, and how would you like to go And spend one summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo?" "It's me being out of employment," this to Crego I did say, "This going out on the buffalo range depends upon the pay. But if you will pay good wages and transportation too, I think, sir, I will go with you to the range of the buffalo." "Yes, I will pay good wages, give transportation too, Provided you will go with me and stay the summer through; But if you should grow homesick, come back to Jacksboro, I won't pay transportation from the range of the buffalo." It's now our outfit was complete--seven able-bodied men, With navy six and needle gun--our troubles did begin; Our way it was a pleasant one, the route we had to go, Until we crossed Pease River on the range of the buffalo. It's now we've crossed Pease River, our troubles have begun. The first damned tail I went to rip, Christ! how I cut my thumb! While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives wasn't a show, For the Indians watched to pick us off while skinning the buffalo. He fed us on such sorry chuck I wished myself most dead, It was old jerked beef, croton coffee, and sour bread. Pease River's as salty as hell fire, the water I could never go,-- O God! I wished I had never come to the range of the buffalo. Our meat it was buffalo hump and iron wedge bread, And all we had to sleep on was a buffalo robe for a bed; The fleas and gray-backs worked on us, O boys, it was not slow, I'll tell you there's no worse hell on earth than the range of the buffalo. Our hearts were cased with buffalo hocks, our souls were cased with steel, And the hardships of that summer would nearly make us reel. While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives they had no show, For the Indians waited to pick us off on the hills of Mexico. The season being near over, old Crego he did say The crowd had been extravagant, was in debt to him that day,-- We coaxed him and we begged him and still it was no go,-- We left old Crego's bones to bleach on the range of the buffalo. Oh, it's now we've crossed Pease River and homeward we are bound, No more in that hell-fired country shall ever we be found. Go home to our wives and sweethearts, tell others not to go, For God's forsaken the buffalo range and the damned old buffalo. Range of the Buffalo (Mus. Not.) 'Twas in the town of Jacksbo-ro, In eigh-teen eigh-ty- three, When a man by the name of Cre-go... Came step-ping up to me; Say-ing, "How do you do, young fel-low, And how would you like to go... And spend one summer sea-son On the range of the Buf-fa-lo?" MACAFFIE'S CONFESSION Now come young men and list to me, A sad and mournful history; And may you ne'er forgetful be Of what I tell this day to thee. Oh, I was thoughtless, young, and gay And often broke the Sabbath day, In wickedness I took delight And sometimes done what wasn't right. I'd scarcely passed my fifteenth year, My mother and my father dear Were silent in their deep, dark grave, Their spirits gone to Him who gave. 'Twas on a pleasant summer day When from my home I ran away And took unto myself a wife, Which step was fatal to my life. Oh, she was kind and good to me As ever woman ought to be, And might this day have been alive no doubt, Had I not met Miss Hatty Stout. Ah, well I mind the fatal day When Hatty stole my heart away; 'Twas love for her controlled my will And did cause me my wife to kill. 'Twas on a brilliant summer's night When all was still; the stars shone bright. My wife lay still upon the bed And I approached to her and said: "Dear wife, here's medicine I've brought, For you this day, my love, I've bought. I know it will be good for you For those vile fits,--pray take it, do." She cast on me a loving look And in her mouth the poison took; Down by her infant on the bed In her last, long sleep she laid her head. Oh, who could tell a mother's thought When first to her the news was brought; The sheriff said her son was sought And into prison must be brought. Only a mother standing by To hear them tell the reason why Her son in prison, he must lie Till on the scaffold he must die. My father, sixty years of age, The best of counsel did engage, To see if something could be done To save his disobedient son. So, farewell, mother, do not weep, Though soon with demons I will sleep, My soul now feels its mental hell And soon with demons I will dwell. * * * * * The sheriff cut the slender cord, His soul went up to meet its Lord; The doctor said, "The wretch is dead, His spirit from his body's fled." His weeping mother cried aloud, "O God, do save this gazing crowd, That none may ever have to pay For gambling on the Sabbath day." LITTLE JOE, THE WRANGLER It's little Joe, the wrangler, he'll wrangle never more, His days with the _remuda_ they are o'er; 'Twas a year ago last April when he rode into our camp,-- Just a little Texas stray and all alone,-- On a little Texas pony he called "Chaw." With his brogan shoes and overalls, a tougher kid You never in your life before had saw. His saddle was a Texas "kak," built many years ago, With an O.K. spur on one foot lightly swung; His "hot roll" in a cotton sack so loosely tied behind, And his canteen from his saddle-horn was swung. He said that he had to leave his home, his pa had married twice; And his new ma whipped him every day or two; So he saddled up old Chaw one night and lit a shuck this way, And he's now trying to paddle his own canoe. He said if we would give him work, he'd do the best he could, Though he didn't know straight up about a cow; So the boss he cut him out a mount and kindly put him on, For he sorta liked this little kid somehow. Learned him to wrangle horses and to try to know them all, And get them in at daylight if he could; To follow the chuck-wagon and always hitch the team, And to help the _cocinero_ rustle wood. We had driven to the Pecos, the weather being fine; We had camped on the south side in a bend; When a norther commenced blowin', we had doubled up our guard, For it taken all of us to hold them in. Little Joe, the wrangler, was called out with the rest; Though the kid had scarcely reached the herd, When the cattle they stampeded, like a hailstorm long they fled, Then we were all a-ridin' for the lead. 'Midst the streaks of lightin' a horse we could see in the lead, 'Twas Little Joe, the wrangler, in the lead; He was riding Old Blue Rocket with a slicker o'er his head, A tryin' to check the cattle in their speed. At last we got them milling and kinda quieted down, And the extra guard back to the wagon went; But there was one a-missin' and we knew it at a glance, 'Twas our little Texas stray, poor Wrangling Joe. The next morning just at day break, we found where Rocket fell, Down in a washout twenty feet below; And beneath the horse, mashed to a pulp,--his spur had rung the knell,-- Was our little Texas stray, poor Wrangling Joe. Little Joe, The Wrangler (Mus. Not.) Lit-tle Joe, the wran-gler, He'll wran-gle nev-er-more, rode up to our herd His days with the re--mu--da they are o'er; On a lit-tle Tex-as Po-ny he call'd Chaw; 'Twas a year a-go last A-pril he rode in-to our herd; With his bro-gan shoes and o-veralls, a tough-er look-in' kid Just a lit-tle Tex-as stray, and all a-lone. You nev-er in your life be-fore had saw. It was late in the eve-ning he HARRY BALE Come all kind friends and kindred dear and Christians young and old, A story I'll relate to you, 'twill make your blood run cold; 'Tis all about an unfortunate boy who lived not far from here, In the township of Arcade in the County of Lapeer. It seems his occupation was a sawyer in a mill, He followed it successfully two years, one month, until, Until this fatal accident that caused many to weep and wail; 'Twas where this young man lost his life,--his name was Harry Bale. On the 29th of April in the year of seventy-nine, He went to work as usual, no fear did he design; In lowering of the feed bar throwing the carriage into gear It brought him down upon the saw and cut him quite severe; It cut him through the collar-bone and half way down the back, It threw him down upon the saw, the carriage coming back. He started for the shanty, his strength was failing fast; He said, "Oh, boys, I'm wounded: I fear it is my last." His brothers they were sent for, likewise his sisters too, The doctors came and dressed his wound, but kind words proved untrue. Poor Harry had no father to weep beside his bed, No kind and loving mother to sooth his aching head. He was just as gallant a young man as ever you wished to know, But he withered like a flower, it was his time to go. They placed him in his coffin and laid him in his grave; His brothers and sisters mourned the loss of a brother so true and brave. They took him to the graveyard and laid him away to rest, His body lies mouldering, his soul is among the blest. FOREMAN MONROE Come all you brave young shanty boys, and list while I relate Concerning a young shanty boy and his untimely fate; Concerning a young river man, so manly, true and brave; 'Twas on a jam at Gerry's Rock he met his watery grave; 'Twas on a Sunday morning as you will quickly hear, Our logs were piled up mountain high, we could not keep them clear. Our foreman said, "Come on, brave boys, with hearts devoid of fear, We'll break the jam on Gerry's Rock and for Agonstown we'll steer." Now, some of them were willing, while others they were not, All for to work on Sunday they did not think they ought; But six of our brave shanty boys had volunteered to go And break the jam on Gerry's Rock with their foreman, young Monroe. They had not rolled off many logs 'till they heard his clear voice say, "I'd have you boys be on your guard, for the jam will soon give way." These words he'd scarcely spoken when the jam did break and go, Taking with it six of those brave boys and their foreman, young Monroe. Now when those other shanty boys this sad news came to hear, In search of their dead comrades to the river they did steer; Six of their mangled bodies a-floating down did go, While crushed and bleeding near the banks lay the foreman, young Monroe. They took him from his watery grave, brushed back his raven hair; There was a fair form among them whose cries did rend the air; There was a fair form among them, a girl from Saginaw town. Whose cries rose to the skies for her lover who'd gone down. Fair Clara was a noble girl, the river-man's true friend; She and her widowed mother lived at the river's bend; And the wages of her own true love the boss to her did pay, But the shanty boys for her made up a generous sum next day. They buried him quite decently; 'twas on the first of May; Come all you brave young shanty boys and for your comrade pray. Engraved upon the hemlock tree that by the grave does grow Is the aged date and the sad fate of the foreman, young Monroe. Fair Clara did not long survive, her heart broke with her grief; And less than three months afterwards Death came to her relief; And when the time had come and she was called to go, Her last request was granted, to be laid by young Monroe. Come all you brave young shanty boys, I'd have you call and see Two green graves by the river side where grows a hemlock tree; The shanty boys cut off the wood where lay those lovers low,-- 'Tis the handsome Clara Vernon and her true love, Jack Monroe. THE DREARY BLACK HILLS Kind friends, you must pity my horrible tale, I am an object of pity, I am looking quite stale, I gave up my trade selling Right's Patent Pills To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills. Don't go away, stay at home if you can, Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne, For big Walipe or Comanche Bills They will lift up your hair on the dreary Black Hills. The round-house in Cheyenne is filled every night With loafers and bummers of most every plight; On their backs is no clothes, in their pockets no bills, Each day they keep starting for the dreary Black Hills. I got to Cheyenne, no gold could I find, I thought of the lunch route I'd left far behind; Through rain, hail, and snow, frozen plumb to the gills,-- They call me the orphan of the dreary Black Hills. Kind friend, to conclude, my advice I'll unfold, Don't go to the Black Hills a-hunting for gold; Railroad speculators their pockets you'll fill By taking a trip to those dreary Black Hills. Don't go away, stay at home if you can, Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne, For old Sitting Bull or Comanche Bills They will take off your scalp on the dreary Black Hills. The Dreary Black Hills (Mus. Not.) Kind friends, you must pit-y my hor-ri-ble tale, I'm an ob-ject of pit-y, I'm look-ing quite stale; I gave up my trade, Selling Right's Pat-ent Pills, To go hunt-ing gold In the drear-y Black Hills. REFRAIN Don't go a-way, stay at home if you can; Stay a-way from that cit-y they call it Chey-enne; For big Wal-i-pee or Co-man-che Bills, They will lift up your hair On the drear-y Black Hills. A MORMON SONG I used to live on Cottonwood and owned a little farm, I was called upon a mission that gave me much alarm; The reason that they called me, I'm sure I do not know. But to hoe the cane and cotton, straightway I must go. I yoked up Jim and Baldy, all ready for the start; To leave my farm and garden, it almost broke my heart; But at last we got started, I cast a look behind, For the sand and rocks of Dixie were running through my mind. Now, when we got to Black Ridge, my wagon it broke down, And I, being no carpenter and forty miles from town,-- I cut a clumsy cedar and rigged an awkward slide, But the wagon ran so heavy poor Betsy couldn't ride. While Betsy was out walking I told her to take care, When all of a sudden she struck a prickly pear, Then she began to hollow as loud as she could bawl,-- If I were back in Cottonwood, I wouldn't go at all. Now, when we got to Sand Ridge, we couldn't go at all, Old Jim and old Baldy began to puff and loll, I cussed and swore a little, for I couldn't make the route, For the team and I and Betsy were all of us played out. At length we got to Washington; I thought we'd stay a while To see if the flowers would make their virgin smile, But I was much mistaken, for when we went away The red hills of September were just the same in May. It is so very dreary, there's nothing here to cheer, But old pathetic sermons we very often hear; They preach them by the dozens and prove them by the book, But I'd sooner have a roasting-ear and stay at home and cook. I am so awful weary I'm sure I'm almost dead; 'Tis six long weeks last Sunday since I have tasted bread; Of turnip-tops and lucerne greens I've had enough to eat, But I'd like to change my diet to buckwheat cakes and meat. I had to sell my wagon for sorghum seed and bread; Old Jim and old Baldy have long since been dead. There's no one left but me and Bet to hoe the cotton tree,-- God pity any Mormon that attempts to follow me! THE BUFFALO HUNTERS Come all you pretty girls, to you these lines I'll write, We are going to the range in which we take delight; We are going on the range as we poor hunters do, And the tender-footed fellows can stay at home with you. It's all of the day long as we go tramping round In search of the buffalo that we may shoot him down; Our guns upon our shoulders, our belts of forty rounds, We send them up Salt River to some happy hunting grounds. Our game, it is the antelope, the buffalo, wolf, and deer, Who roam the wide prairies without a single fear; We rob him of his robe and think it is no harm, To buy us food and clothing to keep our bodies warm. The buffalo, he is the noblest of the band, He sometimes rejects in throwing up his hand. His shaggy main thrown forward, his head raised to the sky, He seems to say, "We're coming, boys; so hunter, mind your eye." Our fires are made of mesquite roots, our beds are on the ground; Our houses made of buffalo hides, we make them tall and round; Our furniture is the camp kettle, the coffee pot, and pan, Our chuck it is both bread and meat, mingled well with sand. Our neighbors are the Cheyennes, the 'Rapahoes, and Sioux, Their mode of navigation is a buffalo-hide canoe. And when they come upon you they take you unaware, And such a peculiar way they have of raising hunter's hair. THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY I am looking rather seedy now while holding down my claim, And my victuals are not always served the best; And the mice play shyly round me as I nestle down to rest In my little old sod shanty on my claim. The hinges are of leather and the windows have no glass, While the board roof lets the howling blizzards in, And I hear the hungry cayote as he slinks up through the grass Round the little old sod shanty on my claim. Yet, I rather like the novelty of living in this way, Though my bill of fare is always rather tame, But I'm happy as a clam on the land of Uncle Sam In the little old sod shanty on my claim. But when I left my Eastern home, a bachelor so gay, To try and win my way to wealth and fame, I little thought I'd come down to burning twisted hay In the little old sod shanty on my claim. My clothes are plastered o'er with dough, I'm looking like a fright, And everything is scattered round the room, But I wouldn't give the freedom that I have out in the West For the table of the Eastern man's old home. Still, I wish that some kind-hearted girl would pity on me take And relieve me from the mess that I am in; The angel, how I'd bless her if this her home she'd make In the little old sod shanty on my claim. And we would make our fortunes on the prairies of the West, Just as happy as two lovers we'd remain; We'd forget the trials and troubles we endured at the first In the little old sod shanty on my claim. And if fate should bless us with now and then an heir To cheer our hearts with honest pride of fame, Oh, then we'd be contented for the toil that we had spent In the little old sod shanty on our claim. When time enough had lapsed and all those little brats To noble man and womanhood had grown, It wouldn't seem half so lonely as round us we should look And we'd see the old sod shanty on our claim. THE GOL-DARNED WHEEL I can take the wildest bronco in the tough old woolly West. I can ride him, I can break him, let him do his level best; I can handle any cattle ever wore a coat of hair, And I've had a lively tussle with a tarnel grizzly bear. I can rope and throw the longhorn of the wildest Texas brand, And in Indian disagreements I can play a leading hand, But at last I got my master and he surely made me squeal When the boys got me a-straddle of that gol-darned wheel. It was at the Eagle Ranch, on the Brazos, When I first found that darned contrivance that upset me in the dust. A tenderfoot had brought it, he was wheeling all the way From the sun-rise end of freedom out to San Francisco Bay. He tied up at the ranch for to get outside a meal, Never thinking we would monkey with his gol-darned wheel. Arizona Jim begun it when he said to Jack McGill There was fellows forced to limit bragging on their riding skill, And he'd venture the admission the same fellow that he meant Was a very handy cutter far as riding bronchos went; But he would find that he was bucking 'gainst a different kind of deal If he threw his leather leggins 'gainst a gol-darned wheel. Such a slam against my talent made me hotter than a mink, And I swore that I would ride him for amusement or for chink. And it was nothing but a plaything for the kids and such about, And they'd have their ideas shattered if they'd lead the critter out. They held it while I mounted and gave the word to go; The shove they gave to start me warn't unreasonably slow. But I never spilled a cuss word and I never spilled a squeal-- I was building reputation on that gol-darned wheel. Holy Moses and the Prophets, how we split the Texas air, And the wind it made whip-crackers of my same old canthy hair, And I sorta comprehended as down the hill we went There was bound to be a smash-up that I couldn't well prevent. Oh, how them punchers bawled, "Stay with her, Uncle Bill! Stick your spurs in her, you sucker! turn her muzzle up the hill!" But I never made an answer, I just let the cusses squeal, I was finding reputation on that gol-darned wheel. The grade was mighty sloping from the ranch down to the creek And I went a-galliflutin' like a crazy lightning streak,-- Went whizzing and a-darting first this way and then that, The darned contrivance sort o' wobbling like the flying of a bat. I pulled upon the handles, but I couldn't check it up, And I yanked and sawed and hollowed but the darned thing wouldn't stop. Then a sort of a meachin' in my brain began to steal, That the devil held a mortgage on that gol-darned wheel. I've a sort of dim and hazy remembrance of the stop, With the world a-goin' round and the stars all tangled up; Then there came an intermission that lasted till I found I was lying at the ranch with the boys all gathered round, And a doctor was a-sewing on the skin where it was ripped, And old Arizona whispered, "Well, old boy, I guess you're whipped," And I told him I was busted from sombrero down to heel, And he grinned and said, "You ought to see that gol-darned wheel." BONNIE BLACK BESS When fortune's blind goddess Had fled my abode, And friends proved unfaithful, I took to the road; To plunder the wealthy And relieve my distress, I bought you to aid me, My Bonnie Black Bess. No vile whip nor spur Did your sides ever gall, For none did you need, You would bound at my call; And for each act of kindness You would me caress, Thou art never unfaithful, My Bonnie Black Bess. When dark, sable midnight Her mantle had thrown O'er the bright face of nature, How oft we have gone To the famed Houndslow heath, Though an unwelcome guest To the minions of fortune, My Bonnie Black Bess. How silent you stood When the carriage I stopped, The gold and the jewels Its inmates would drop. No poor man I plundered Nor e'er did oppress The widows or orphans, My Bonnie Black Bess. When Argus-eyed justice Did me hot pursue, From Yorktown to London Like lightning we flew. No toll bars could stop you, The waters did breast, And in twelve hours we made it, My Bonnie Black Bess. But hate darkens o'er me, Despair is my lot, And the law does pursue me For the many I've shot; To save me, poor brute, Thou hast done thy best, Thou art worn out and weary, My Bonnie Black Bess. Hark! they never shall have A beast like thee; So noble and gentle And brave, thou must die, My dumb friend, Though it does me distress,-- There! There! I have shot thee, My Bonnie Black Bess. In after years When I am dead and gone, This story will be handed From father to son; My fate some will pity, And some will confess 'Twas through kindness I killed thee, My Bonnie Black Bess. No one can e'er say That ingratitude dwelt In the bosom of Turpin,-- 'Twas a vice never felt. I will die like a man And soon be at rest; Now, farewell forever, My Bonnie Black Bess. THE LAST LONGHORN An ancient long-horned bovine Lay dying by the river; There was lack of vegetation And the cold winds made him shiver; A cowboy sat beside him With sadness in his face. To see his final passing,-- This last of a noble race. The ancient eunuch struggled And raised his shaking head, Saying, "I care not to linger When all my friends are dead. These Jerseys and these Holsteins, They are no friends of mine; They belong to the nobility Who live across the brine. "Tell the Durhams and the Herefords When they come a-grazing round, And see me lying stark and stiff Upon the frozen ground, I don't want them to bellow When they see that I am dead, For I was born in Texas Near the river that is Red. "Tell the cayotes, when they come at night A-hunting for their prey, They might as well go further, For they'll find it will not pay. If they attempt to eat me, They very soon will see That my bones and hide are petrified,-- They'll find no beef on me. "I remember back in the seventies, Full many summers past, There was grass and water plenty, But it was too good to last. I little dreamed what would happen Some twenty summers hence, When the nester came with his wife, his kids, His dogs, and his barbed-wire fence." His voice sank to a murmur, His breath was short and quick; The cowboy tried to skin him When he saw he couldn't kick; He rubbed his knife upon his boot Until he made it shine, But he never skinned old longhorn, Caze he couldn't cut his rine. And the cowboy riz up sadly And mounted his cayuse, Saying, "The time has come when longhorns And their cowboys are no use!" And while gazing sadly backward Upon the dead bovine, His bronc stepped in a dog-hole And fell and broke his spine. The cowboys and the longhorns Who partnered in eighty-four Have gone to their last round-up Over on the other shore; They answered well their purpose, But their glory must fade and go, Because men say there's better things In the modern cattle show. A PRISONER FOR LIFE Fare you well, green fields, Soft meadows, adieu! Rocks and mountains, I depart from you; Nevermore shall my eyes By your beauties be blest, Nevermore shall you soothe My sad bosom to rest. Farewell, little birdies, That fly in the sky, You fly all day long And sing your troubles by; I am doomed to this cell, I heave a deep sigh; My heart sinks within me, In anguish I die. Fare you well, little fishes, That glides through the sea, Your life's all sunshine, All light, and all glee; Nevermore shall I watch Your skill in the wave, I'll depart from all friends This side of the grave. What would I give Such freedom to share, To roam at my ease And breathe the fresh air; I would roam through the cities, Through village and dell, But I never would return To my cold prison cell. What's life without liberty? I ofttimes have said, Of a poor troubled mind That's always in dread; No sun, moon, and stars Can on me now shine, No change in my danger From daylight till dawn. Fare you well, kind friends, I am willing to own, Such a wild outcast Never was known; I'm the downfall of my family, My children, my wife; God pity and pardon The poor prisoner for life. A Prisoner For Life (Mus. Not.) Fare you well green fields,... Soft mead-ows, a-dieu! Rocks and moun-tains I de-part ... from you, Nev-er-more shall my eyes by your beau-ties be fed, Nev-er more shall you soothe my poor bo-som to rest. THE WARS OF GERMANY There was a wealthy merchant, In London he did dwell, He had an only daughter, The truth to you I'll tell. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone. She was courted by a lord Of very high degree, She was courted by a sailor Jack Just from the wars of Germany. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone. Her parents came to know this, That such a thing could be, A sailor Jack, a sailor lad, Just from the wars of Germany. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone. So Polly she's at home With money at command, She taken a notion To view some foreign land. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone. She went to the tailor's shop And dressed herself in man's array, And was off to an officer To carry her straight away. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone. "Good morning," says the officer, And "Morning," says she, "Here's fifty guineas if you'll carry me To the wars of Germany." Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone. "Your waist is too slender, Your fingers are too small, I am afraid from your countenance You can't face a cannon ball." Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone. "My waist is not too slender, My fingers are not too small, And never would I quiver To face a cannon ball." Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone. "We don't often 'list an officer Unless the name we know;" She answered him in a low, sweet voice, "You may call me Jack Munro." Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone. We gathered up our men And quickly we did sail, We landed in France With a sweet and pleasant gale. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone. We were walking on the land, Up and down the line,-- Among the dead and wounded Her own true love she did find. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone. She picked him up all in her arms, To Tousen town she went; She soon found a doctor To dress and heal his wounds, Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone. So Jacky, he is married, And his bride by his side, In spite of her old parents And all the world beside. Sing no longer left alone, Sing no longer left alone. FREIGHTING FROM WILCOX TO GLOBE Come all you jolly freighters That has freighted on the road, That has hauled a load of freight From Wilcox to Globe; We freighted on this road For sixteen years or more A-hauling freight for Livermore,-- No wonder that I'm poor. And it's home, dearest home; And it's home you ought to be, Over on the Gila In the white man's country, Where the poplar and the ash And mesquite will ever be Growing green down on the Gila; There's a home for you and me. 'Twas in the spring of seventy-three I started with my team, Led by false illusion And those foolish, golden dreams; The first night out from Wilcox My best wheel horse was stole, And it makes me curse a little To come out in the hole. This then only left me three,-- Kit, Mollie and old Mike; Mike being the best one of the three I put him out on spike; I then took the mountain road So the people would not smile, And it took fourteen days To travel thirteen mile. But I got there all the same With my little three-up spike; It taken all my money, then, To buy a mate for Mike. You all know how it is When once you get behind, You never get even again Till you damn steal them blind. I was an honest man When I first took to the road, I would not swear an oath, Nor would I tap a load; But now you ought to see my mules When I begin to cuss, They flop their ears and wiggle their tails And pull the load or bust. Now I can tap a whiskey barrel With nothing but a stick, No one can detect me I've got it down so slick; Just fill it up with water,-- Sure, there's no harm in that. Now my clothes are not the finest, Nor are they genteel; But they will have to do me Till I can make another steal. My boots are number elevens, For I swiped them from a chow, And my coat cost dos reals From a little Apache squaw. Now I have freighted in the sand, I have freighted in the rain, I have bogged my wagons down And dug them out again; I have worked both late and early Till I was almost dead, And I have spent some nights sleeping In an Arizona bed. Now barbed wire and bacon Is all that they will pay, But you have to show your copper checks To get your grain and hay; If you ask them for five dollars, Old Meyers will scratch his pate, And the clerks in their white, stiff collars Say, "Get down and pull your freight." But I want to die and go to hell, Get there before Livermore and Meyers, And get a job of hauling coke To keep up the devil's fires; If I get the job of singeing them, I'll see they don't get free; I'll treat them like a yaller dog, As they have treated me. And it's home, dearest home; And it's home you ought to be, Over on the Gila, In the white man's country, Where the poplar and the ash And mesquite will ever be Growing green down on the Gila; There's a home for you and me. THE ARIZONA BOYS AND GIRLS Come all of you people, I pray you draw near, A comical ditty you all shall hear. The boys in this country they try to advance By courting the ladies and learning to dance,-- And they're down, down, and they're down. The boys in this country they try to be plain, Those words that you hear you may hear them again, With twice as much added on if you can. There's many a boy stuck up for a man,-- And they're down, down, and they're down. They will go to their parties, their whiskey they'll take, And out in the dark their bottles they'll break; You'll hear one say, "There's a bottle around here; So come around, boys, and we'll all take a share,"-- And they're down, down, and they're down. There is some wears shoes and some wears boots, But there are very few that rides who don't shoot; More than this, I'll tell you what they'll do, They'll get them a watch and a ranger hat, too,-- And they're down, down, and they're down. They'll go in the hall with spurs on their heel, They'll get them a partner to dance the next reel, Saying, "How do I look in my new brown suit, With my pants stuffed down in the top of my boot?"-- And they're down, down, and they're down. Now I think it's quite time to leave off these lads For here are some girls that's fully as bad; They'll trim up their dresses and curl up their hair, And like an old owl before the glass they'll stare,-- And they're down, down, and they're down. The girls in the country they grin like a cat, And with giggling and laughing they don't know what they're at, They think they're pretty and I tell you they're wise, But they couldn't get married to save their two eyes,-- And they're down, down, and they're down. You can tell a good girl wherever she's found; No trimming, no lace, no nonsense around; With a long-eared bonnet tied under her chin,-- . . . . . . . . . . . . And they're down, down, and they're down. They'll go to church with their snuff-box in hand, They'll give it a tap to make it look grand; Perhaps there is another one or two And they'll pass it around and it's "Madam, won't you,"-- And they're down, down, and they're down. Now, I think it's quite time for this ditty to end; If there's anyone here that it will offend, If there's anyone here that thinks it amiss Just come around now and give the singer a kiss,-- And they're down, down, and they're down. THE DYING RANGER The sun was sinking in the west And fell with lingering ray Through the branches of a forest Where a wounded ranger lay; Beneath the shade of a palmetto And the sunset silvery sky, Far away from his home in Texas They laid him down to die. A group had gathered round him, His comrades in the fight, A tear rolled down each manly cheek As he bid a last good-night. One tried and true companion Was kneeling by his side, To stop his life-blood flowing, But alas, in vain he tried. When to stop the life-blood flowing He found 'twas all in vain, The tears rolled down each man's cheek Like light showers of rain. Up spoke the noble ranger, "Boys, weep no more for me, I am crossing the deep waters To a country that is free. "Draw closer to me, comrades, And listen to what I say, I am going to tell a story While my spirit hastens away. Way back in Northwest Texas, That good old Lone Star state, There is one that for my coming With a weary heart will wait. "A fair young girl, my sister, My only joy, my pride, She was my friend from boyhood, I had no one left beside. I have loved her as a brother, And with a father's care I have strove from grief and sorrov Her gentle heart to spare. "My mother, she lies sleeping Beneath the church-yard sod, And many a day has passed away Since her spirit fled to God. My father, he lies sleeping Beneath the deep blue sea, I have no other kindred, There are none but Nell and me. "But our country was invaded And they called for volunteers; She threw her arms around me, Then burst into tears, Saying, 'Go, my darling brother, Drive those traitors from our shore, My heart may need your presence, But our country needs you more.' "It is true I love my country, For her I gave my all. If it hadn't been for my sister, I would be content to fall. I am dying, comrades, dying, She will never see me more, But in vain she'll wait my coming By our little cabin door. "Comrades, gather closer And listen to my dying prayer. Who will be to her as a brother, And shield her with a brother's care?" Up spake the noble rangers, They answered one and all, "We will be to her as brothers Till the last one does fall." One glad smile of pleasure O'er the ranger's face was spread; One dark, convulsive shadow, And the ranger boy was dead. Far from his darling sister We laid him down to rest With his saddle for a pillow And his gun across his breast. The Dying Ranger (Mus. Not.) The sun was sink-ing in the west, And fell with lin-g'ring ray Through the branches of the for-est,... Where a wound-ed ran-ger lay; 'Neath the shade of a pal-met-to ... And the sun-set sil-v'ry sky, Far a-way from his home in Tex-as,... They laid him down to die. THE FAIR FANNIE MOORE Yonder stands a cottage, All deserted and alone, Its paths are neglected, With grass overgrown; Go in and you will see Some dark stains on the floor,-- Alas! it is the blood Of fair Fannie Moore. To Fannie, so blooming, Two lovers they came; One offered young Fannie His wealth and his name; But neither his money Nor pride could secure A place in the heart Of fair Fannie Moore. The first was young Randell, So bold and so proud, Who to the fair Fannie His haughty head bowed; But his wealth and his house Both failed to allure The heart from the bosom Of fair Fannie Moore. The next was young Henry, Of lowest degree. He won her fond love And enraptured was he; And then at the altar He quick did secure The hand with the heart Of the fair Fannie Moore. As she was alone In her cottage one day, When business had called Her fond husband away, Young Randell, the haughty, Came in at the door And clasped in his arms The fair Fannie Moore. "O Fannie, O Fannie, Reflect on your fate And accept of my offer Before it's too late; For one thing to-night I am bound to secure,-- 'Tis the love or the life Of the fair Fannie Moore." "Spare me, Oh, spare me!" The young Fannie cries, While the tears swiftly flow From her beautiful eyes; "Oh, no!" cries young Randell, "Go home to your rest," And he buried his knife In her snowy white breast. So Fannie, so blooming, In her bright beauty died; Young Randell, the haughty, Was taken and tried; At length he was hung On a tree at the door, For shedding the blood Of the fair Fannie Moore. Young Henry, the shepherd, Distracted and wild, Did wander away From his own native isle. Till at length, claimed by death, He was brought to this shore And laid by the side Of the fair Fannie Moore. HELL IN TEXAS The devil, we're told, in hell was chained, And a thousand years he there remained; He never complained nor did he groan, But determined to start a hell of his own, Where he could torment the souls of men Without being chained in a prison pen. So he asked the Lord if he had on hand Anything left when he made the land. The Lord said, "Yes, I had plenty on hand, But I left it down on the Rio Grande; The fact is, old boy, the stuff is so poor I don't think you could use it in hell anymore." But the devil went down to look at the truck, And said if it came as a gift he was stuck; For after examining it carefully and well He concluded the place was too dry for hell. So, in order to get it off his hands, The Lord promised the devil to water the lands; For he had some water, or rather some dregs, A regular cathartic that smelled like bad eggs. Hence the deal was closed and the deed was given And the Lord went back to his home in heaven. And the devil then said, "I have all that is needed To make a good hell," and hence he succeeded. He began to put thorns in all of the trees, And mixed up the sand with millions of fleas; And scattered tarantulas along all the roads; Put thorns on the cactus and horns on the toads. He lengthened the horns of the Texas steers, And put an addition on the rabbit's ears; He put a little devil in the broncho steed, And poisoned the feet of the centipede. The rattlesnake bites you, the scorpion stings, The mosquito delights you with buzzing wings; The sand-burrs prevail and so do the ants, And those who sit down need half-soles on their pants. The devil then said that throughout the land He'd managed to keep up the devil's own brand, And all would be mavericks unless they bore The marks of scratches and bites and thorns by the score. The heat in the summer is a hundred and ten, Too hot for the devil and too hot for men. The wild boar roams through the black chaparral,-- It's a hell of a place he has for a hell. The red pepper grows on the banks of the brook; The Mexicans use it in all that they cook. Just dine with a Greaser and then you will shout, "I've hell on the inside as well as the out!" BY MARKENTURA'S FLOWERY MARGE By Markentura's flowery marge the Red Chief's wigwam stood, Before the white man's rifle rang, loud echoing through the wood; The tommy-hawk and scalping knife together lay at rest, And peace was in the forest shade and in the red man's breast. Oh, the Spotted Fawn, oh, the Spotted Fawn, The life and light of the forest shade,-- The Red Chief's child is gone! By Markentura's flowery marge the Spotted Fawn had birth And grew as fair an Indian maid as ever graced the earth. She was the Red Chief's only child and sought by many a brave, But to the gallant young White Cloud her plighted troth she gave. By Markentura's flowery marge the bridal song arose, Nor dreamed they in that festive night of near approaching woes; But through the forest stealthily the white man came in wrath. And fiery darts before them spread, and death was in their path. By Markentura's flowery marge next morn no strife was seen, But a wail went up, for the young Fawn's blood and White Cloud's dyed the green. A burial in their own rude way the Indians gave them there, And a low sweet requiem the brook sang and the air. Oh, the Spotted Fawn, oh, the Spotted Fawn, The life and light of the forest shade,-- The Red Chief's child is gone! THE STATE OF ARKANSAW My name is Stamford Barnes, I come from Nobleville town; I've traveled this wide world over, I've traveled this wide world round. I've met with ups and downs in life but better days I've saw, But I've never knew what misery were till I came to Arkansaw. I landed in St. Louis with ten dollars and no more; I read the daily papers till both my eyes were sore; I read them evening papers until at last I saw Ten thousand men were wanted in the state of Arkansaw. I wiped my eyes with great surprise when I read this grateful news, And straightway off I started to see the agent, Billy Hughes. He says, "Pay me five dollars and a ticket to you I'll draw, It'll land you safe upon the railroad in the State of Arkansaw." I started off one morning a quarter after five; I started from St. Louis, half dead and half alive; I bought me a quart of whiskey my misery to thaw, I got as drunk as a biled owl when I left for old Arkansaw. I landed in Ft. Smith one sultry Sunday afternoon, It was in the month of May, the early month of June, Up stepped a walking skeleton with a long and lantern jaw, Invited me to his hotel, "The best in Arkansaw." I followed my conductor into his dwelling place; Poverty were depictured in his melancholy face. His bread it was corn dodger, his beef I could not chaw; This was the kind of hash they fed me in the State of Arkansaw. I started off next morning to catch the morning train, He says to me, "You'd better work, for I have some land to drain. I'll pay you fifty cents a day, your board, washing, and all,-- You'll find yourself a different man when you leave old Arkansaw." I worked six weeks for the son of a gun, Jesse Herring was his name, He was six foot seven in his stocking feet and taller than any crane; His hair hung down in strings over his long and lantern jaw,-- He was a photograph of all the gents who lived in Arkansaw. He fed me on corn dodgers as hard as any rock, Until my teeth began to loosen and my knees began to knock; I got so thin on sassafras tea I could hide behind a straw, And indeed I was a different man when I left old Arkansaw. Farewell to swamp angels, cane brakes, and chills; Farewell to sage and sassafras and corn dodger pills. If ever I see this land again, I'll give to you my paw; It will be through a telescope from here to Arkansaw. THE TEXAS COWBOY Oh, I am a Texas cowboy, Far away from home, If ever I get back to Texas I never more will roam. Montana is too cold for me And the winters are too long; Before the round-ups do begin Our money is all gone. Take this old hen-skin bedding, Too thin to keep me warm,-- I nearly freeze to death, my boys. Whenever there's a storm. And take this old "tarpoleon," Too thin to shield my frame,-- I got it down in Nebraska A-dealin' a Monte game. Now to win these fancy leggins I'll have enough to do; They cost me twenty dollars The day that they were new. I have an outfit on the Mussel Shell, But that I'll never see, Unless I get sent to represent The Circle or D.T. I've worked down in Nebraska Where the grass grows ten feet high, And the cattle are such rustlers That they seldom ever die; I've worked up in the sand hills And down upon the Platte, Where the cowboys are good fellows And the cattle always fat; I've traveled lots of country,-- Nebraska's hills of sand, Down through the Indian Nation, And up the Rio Grande;-- But the Bad Lands of Montana Are the worst I ever seen, The cowboys are all tenderfeet And the dogies are too lean. If you want to see some bad lands, Go over on the Dry; You will bog down in the coulees Where the mountains reach the sky. A tenderfoot to lead you Who never knows the way, You are playing in the best of luck If you eat more than once a day. Your grub is bread and bacon And coffee black as ink; The water is so full of alkali It is hardly fit to drink. They will wake you in the morning Before the break of day, And send you on a circle A hundred miles away. All along the Yellowstone 'Tis cold the year around; You will surely get consumption By sleeping on the ground. Work in Montana Is six months in the year; When all your bills are settled There is nothing left for beer. Work down in Texas Is all the year around; You will never get consumption By sleeping on the ground. Come all you Texas cowboys And warning take from me, And do not go to Montana To spend your money free. But stay at home in Texas Where work lasts the year around, And you will never catch consumption By sleeping on the ground. THE DREARY, DREARY LIFE A cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life, Some say it's free from care; Rounding up the cattle from morning till night In the middle of the prairie so bare. Half-past four, the noisy cook will roar, "Whoop-a-whoop-a-hey!" Slowly you will rise with sleepy-feeling eyes, The sweet, dreamy night passed away. The greener lad he thinks it's play, He'll soon peter out on a cold rainy day, With his big bell spurs and his Spanish hoss, He'll swear to you he was once a boss. The cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life, He's driven through the heat and cold; While the rich man's a-sleeping on his velvet couch, Dreaming of his silver and gold. Spring-time sets in, double trouble will begin, The weather is so fierce and cold; Clothes are wet and frozen to our necks, The cattle we can scarcely hold. The cowboy's life is a dreary one, He works all day to the setting of the sun; And then his day's work is not done, For there's his night herd to go on. The wolves and owls with their terrifying howls Will disturb us in our midnight dream, As we lie on our slickers on a cold, rainy night Way over on the Pecos stream. You are speaking of your farms, you are speaking of your charms, You are speaking of your silver and gold; But a cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life, He's driven through the heat and cold. Some folks say that we are free from care, Free from all other harm; But we round up the cattle from morning till night Way over on the prairie so dry. I used to run about, now I stay at home, Take care of my wife and child; Nevermore to roam, always stay at home, Take care of my wife and child. Half-past four the noisy cook will roar, "Hurrah, boys! she's breaking day!" Slowly we will rise and wipe our sleepy eyes, The sweet, dreamy night passed away. The Dreary, Dreary Life (Mus. Not.) A cow-boy's life is a drear-y, drear-y life, Some REFRAIN.--Half-past four the ... noi-sy cook will roar, say it's free from care; Rounding up the "Whoop-a-whoop-a-hey!" Slow-ly you will cat-tle from morn-ing till night In the rise ... with sleep-y feel-ing eyes, The ... mid-dle of the prai-rie so ... bare, sweet, dream-y night passed a-way. JIM FARROW It's Jim Farrow and John Farrow and little Simon, too, Have plenty of cattle where I have but few. Marking and branding both night and day,-- It's "Keep still, boys, my boys, and you'll all get your pay." It's up to the courthouse, the first thing they know, Before the Grand Jury they'll have to go. They'll ask you about ear-marks, they'll ask you about brand, But tell them you were absent when the work was on hand. Jim Farrow brands J.F. on the side; The next comes Johnnie who takes the whole hide; Little Simon, too has H. on the loin;-- All stand for Farrow but it's not good for Sime. You ask for the mark, I don't think it's fair, You'll find the cow's head but the ear isn't there It's a crop and a split and a sort of a twine,-- All stand for F. but it's not good for Sime. "Get up, my boys," Jim Farrow will say, "And out to horse hunting before it is day." So we get up and are out on the way But it's damn few horses we find before day. "Now saddle your horses and out on the peaks To see if the heifers are out on the creeks." We'll round 'em to-day and we'll round 'em to-morrow, And this ends my song concerning the Farrows. YOUNG CHARLOTTIE Young Charlottie lived by a mountain side in a wild and lonely spot, There was no village for miles around except her father's cot; And yet on many a wintry night young boys would gather there,-- Her father kept a social board, and she was very fair. One New Year's Eve as the sun went down, she cast a wistful eye Out from the window pane as a merry sleigh went by. At a village fifteen miles away was to be a ball that night; Although the air was piercing cold, her heart was merry and light. At last her laughing eye lit up as a well-known voice she heard, And dashing in front of the door her lover's sleigh appeared. "O daughter, dear," her mother said, "this blanket round you fold, 'Tis such a dreadful night abroad and you will catch your death of cold." "Oh no, oh no!" young Charlottie cried, as she laughed like a gipsy queen, "To ride in blankets muffled up, I never would be seen. My silken coat is quite enough, you know it is lined throughout, And there is my silken scarf to wrap my head and neck about." Her bonnet and her gloves were on, she jumped into the sleigh, And swiftly slid down the mountain side and over the hills away. All muffled up so silent, five miles at last were past When Charlie with few but shivering words, the silence broke at last. "Such a dreadful night I never saw, my reins I can scarcely hold." Young Charlottie then feebly said, "I am exceedingly cold." He cracked his whip and urged his speed much faster than before, While at least five other miles in silence had passed o'er. Spoke Charles, "How fast the freezing ice is gathering on my brow!" Young Charlottie then feebly said, "I'm growing warmer now." So on they sped through the frosty air and the glittering cold starlight Until at last the village lights and the ball-room came in sight. They reached the door and Charles sprang out and reached his hands to her. "Why sit you there like a monument that has no power to stir?" He called her once, he called her twice, she answered not a word, And then he called her once again but still she never stirred. He took her hand in his; 'twas cold and hard as any stone. He tore the mantle from her face while cold stars on it shone. Then quickly to the lighted hall her lifeless form he bore;-- Young Charlottie's eyes were closed forever, her voice was heard no more. And there he sat down by her side while bitter tears did flow, And cried, "My own, my charming bride, you nevermore shall know." He twined his arms around her neck and kissed her marble brow, And his thoughts flew back to where she said, "I'm growing warmer now." He took her back into the sleigh and quickly hurried home; When he arrived at her father's door, oh, how her friends did mourn; They mourned the loss of a daughter dear, while Charles wept over the gloom, Till at last he died with the bitter grief,--now they both lie in one tomb. THE SKEW-BALL BLACK It was down to Red River I came, Prepared to play a damned tough game,-- Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa! I crossed the river to the ranch where I intended to work, With a big six-shooter and a derned good dirk,-- Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa! They roped me out a skew-ball black With a double set-fast on his back,-- Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa! And when I was mounted on his back, The boys all yelled, "Just give him slack,"-- Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa! They rolled and tumbled and yelled, by God, For he threw me a-whirling all over the sod,-- Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa! I went to the boss and I told him I'd resign, The fool tumbled over, and I thought he was dyin',-- Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa! And it's to Arkansaw I'll go back, To hell with Texas and the skew-ball black,-- Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa! THE RAMBLING COWBOY There was a rich old rancher who lived in the country by, He had a lovely daughter on whom I cast my eye; She was pretty, tall, and handsome, both neat and very fair, There's no other girl in the country with her I could compare. I asked her if she would be willing for me to cross the plains; She said she would be truthful until I returned again; She said she would be faithful until death did prove unkind, So we kissed, shook hands, and parted, and I left my girl behind. I left the State of Texas, for Arizona I was bound; I landed in Tombstone City, I viewed the place all round. Money and work were plentiful and the cowboys they were kind But the only thought of my heart was the girl I left behind. One day as I was riding across the public square The mail-coach came in and I met the driver there; He handed me a letter which gave me to understand That the girl I left in Texas had married another man. I turned myself all round and about not knowing what to do, But I read on down some further and it proved the words were true. Hard work I have laid over, it's gambling I have designed. I'll ramble this wide world over for the girl I left behind. Come all you reckless and rambling boys who have listened to this song, If it hasn't done you any good, it hasn't done you any wrong; But when you court a pretty girl, just marry her while you can, For if you go across the plains she'll marry another man. THE COWBOY AT CHURCH Some time ago,--two weeks or more If I remember well,-- I found myself in town and thought I'd knock around a spell, When all at once I heard the bell,-- I didn't know 'twas Sunday,-- For on the plains we scarcely know A Sunday from a Monday,-- A-calling all the people From the highways and the hedges And all the reckless throng That tread ruin's ragged edges, To come and hear the pastor tell Salvation's touching story, And how the new road misses hell And leads you straight to glory. I started by the chapel door, But something urged me in, And told me not to spend God's day In revelry and sin. I don't go much on sentiment, But tears came in my eyes. It seemed just like my mother's voice Was speaking from the skies. I thought how often she had gone With little Sis and me To church, when I was but a lad Way back in Tennessee. It never once occurred to me About not being dressed In Sunday rig, but carelessly I went in with the rest. You should have seen the smiles and shrugs As I went walking in, As though they thought my leggins Worse than any kind of sin; Although the honest parson, In his vestry garb arrayed Was dressed the same as I was,-- In the trappings of his trade. The good man prayed for all the world And all its motley crew, For pagan, Hindoo, sinners, Turk, And unbelieving Jew,-- Though the congregation doubtless thought That the cowboys as a race Were a kind of moral outlaw With no good claim to grace. Is it very strange that cowboys are A rough and reckless crew When their garb forbids their doing right As Christian people do? That they frequent scenes of revelry Where death is bought and sold, Where at least they get a welcome Though it's prompted by their gold? Stranger, did it ever strike you, When the winter days are gone And the mortal grass is springing up To meet the judgment sun, And we 'tend mighty round-ups Where, according to the Word, The angel cowboy of the Lord Will cut the human herd,-- That a heap of stock that's lowing now Around the Master's pen And feeding at his fodder stack Will have the brand picked then? And brands that when the hair was long Looked like the letter C, Will prove to be the devil's, And the brand the letter D; While many a long-horned coaster,-- I mean, just so to speak,-- That hasn't had the advantage Of the range and gospel creek Will get to crop the grasses In the pasture of the Lord If the letter C showed up Beneath the devil's checker board. THE U. S. A. RECRUIT Now list to my song, it will not take me long, And in some things with me you'll agree; A young man so green came in from Moline, And enlisted a soldier to be. He had lots of pluck, on himself he was stuck, In his Government straights he looked "boss," And he chewed enough beans for a hoss. He was a rookey, so flukey, He was a jim dandy you all will agree, He said without fear, "Before I'm a year In the Army, great changes you'll see." He was a stone thrower, a foam blower, He was a Loo Loo you bet, He stood on his head and these words gently said, "I'll be second George Washington yet." At his post he did land, they took him in hand, The old bucks they all gathered 'round, Saying "Give us your fist; where did you enlist? You'll take on again I'll be bound; I've a blanket to sell, it will fit you quite well, I'll sell you the whole or a piece. I've a dress coat to trade, or a helmet unmade, It will do you for kitchen police." Then the top said, "My Son, here is a gun, Just heel ball that musket up bright. In a few days or more you'll be rolling in gore, A-chasing wild Goo Goos to flight. There'll be fighting, you see, and blood flowing free, We'll send you right on to the front; And never you fear, if you're wounded, my dear, You'll be pensioned eight dollars per month." He was worried so bad, he blew in all he had; He went on a drunk with goodwill. And the top did report, "One private short." When he showed up he went to the mill. The proceedings we find were a ten dollar blind, Ten dollars less to blow foam. This was long years ago, and this rookey you know Is now in the old soldiers' home. THE COWGIRL My love is a rider and broncos he breaks, But he's given up riding and all for my sake; For he found him a horse and it suited him so He vowed he'd ne'er ride any other bronco. My love has a gun, and that gun he can use, But he's quit his gun fighting as well as his booze; And he's sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope, And there's no more cow punching, and that's what I hope. My love has a gun that has gone to the bad, Which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad; For the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low, And it wobbles about like a bucking bronco. The cook is an unfortunate son of a gun; He has to be up e'er the rise of the sun; His language is awful, his curses are deep,-- He is like cascarets, for he works while you sleep. THE SHANTY BOY I am a jolly shanty boy, As you will soon discover. To all the dodges I am fly, A hustling pine woods rover. A peavy hook it is my pride, An ax I well can handle; To fell a tree or punch a bull Get rattling Danny Randall. Bung yer eye: bung yer eye. I love a girl in Saginaw; She lives with her mother; I defy all Michigan To find such another. She's tall and fat, her hair is red, Her face is plump and pretty, She's my daisy, Sunday-best-day girl,-- And her front name stands for Kitty. Bung yer eye: bung yer eye. I took her to a dance one night, A mossback gave the bidding; Silver Jack bossed the shebang And Big Dan played the fiddle. We danced and drank, the livelong night. With fights between the dancing-- Till Silver Jack cleaned out the ranch And sent the mossbacks prancing. Bung yer eye: bung yer eye. ROOT HOG OR DIE When I was a young man I lived on the square, I never had any pocket change and I hardly thought it fair; So out on the crosses I went to rob and to steal, And when I met a peddler oh, how happy I did feel. One morning, one morning, one morning in May I seen a man a-coming, a little bit far away; I seen a man a-coming, come riding up to me "Come here, come here, young fellow, I'm after you to-day." He taken me to the new jail, he taken me to the new jail, And I had to walk right in. There all my friends went back on me And also my kin. I had an old rich uncle, who lived in the West, He heard of my misfortune, it wouldn't let him rest; He came to see me, he paid my bills and score,-- I have been a bad boy, I'll do so no more. There's Minnie and Alice and Lucy likewise, They heard of my misfortune brought tears to their eyes. I've told 'em my condition, I've told it o'er and o'er; So I've been a bad boy, I'll do so no more. I will go to East Texas to marry me a wife, And try to maintain her the balance of my life; I'll try to maintain; I'll lay it up in store I've been a bad boy, I'll do so no more. Young man, you robber, you had better take it fair, Leave off your marshal killing and live on the square; Should you meet the marshal, just pass him by; And travel on the muscular, for it's root hog or die. When I drew my money I drew it all in cash And off to see my Susan, you bet I cut a dash; I spent my money freely and went it on a bum, And I love the pretty women and am bound to have my fun. I used to sport a white hat, a horse and buggy fine, Courted a pretty girl and always called her mine; But all my courtships proved to be in vain, For they sent me down to Huntsville to wear the ball and chain. Along came my true love, about twelve o'clock, Saying, "Henry, O Henry, what sentence have you got?" The jury found me guilty, the judge would allow no stay, So they sent me down to Huntsville to wear my life away. Root Hog or Die (Mus. Not.) When I was a young man I lived up-on the square, I nev-er had a-ny pock-et change and I hard-ly thought it fair, But out up-on the highway I went to rob and to steal, And when I met a ped-dler, Oh, how hap-py I did feel. SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE "A California Immigrant Song of the Fifties" Oh, don't you remember sweet Betsy from Pike Who crossed the big mountains with her lover Ike, And two yoke of cattle, a large yellow dog, A tall, shanghai rooster, and one spotted hog? Saying, good-bye, Pike County, Farewell for a while; We'll come back again When we've panned out our pile. One evening quite early they camped on the Platte, 'Twas near by the road on a green shady flat; Where Betsy, quite tired, lay down to repose, While with wonder Ike gazed on his Pike County rose. They soon reached the desert, where Betsy gave out, And down in the sand she lay rolling about; While Ike in great terror looked on in surprise, Saying "Betsy, get up, you'll get sand in your eyes." Saying, good-bye, Pike County, Farewell for a while; I'd go back to-night If it was but a mile. Sweet Betsy got up in a great deal of pain And declared she'd go back to Pike County again; Then Ike heaved a sigh and they fondly embraced, And she traveled along with his arm around her waist. The wagon tipped over with a terrible crash, And out on the prairie rolled all sorts of trash; A few little baby clothes done up with care Looked rather suspicious,--though 'twas all on the square. The shanghai ran off and the cattle all died, The last piece of bacon that morning was fried; Poor Ike got discouraged, and Betsy got mad, The dog wagged his tail and looked wonderfully sad. One morning they climbed up a very high hill, And with wonder looked down into old Placerville; Ike shouted and said, as he cast his eyes down, "Sweet Betsy, my darling, we've got to Hangtown." Long Ike and sweet Betsy attended a dance, Where Ike wore a pair of his Pike County pants; Sweet Betsy was covered with ribbons and rings. Quoth Ike, "You're an angel, but where are your wings?" A miner said, "Betsy, will you dance with me?" "I will that, old hoss, if you don't make too free; But don't dance me hard. Do you want to know why? Dog on ye, I'm chock full of strong alkali." Long Ike and sweet Betsy got married of course, But Ike getting jealous obtained a divorce; And Betsy, well satisfied, said with a shout, "Good-bye, you big lummax, I'm glad you backed out." Saying, good-bye, dear Isaac, Farewell for a while, But come back in time To replenish my pile. THE DISHEARTENED RANGER Come listen to a ranger, you kind-hearted stranger, This song, though a sad one, you're welcome to hear; We've kept the Comanches away from your ranches, And followed them far o'er the Texas frontier. We're weary of scouting, of traveling, and routing The blood-thirsty villains o'er prairie and wood; No rest for the sinner, no breakfast or dinner, But he lies in a supperless bed in the mud. No corn nor potatoes, no bread nor tomatoes, But jerked beef as dry as the sole of your shoe; All day without drinking, all night without winking, I'll tell you, kind stranger, this never will do. Those great alligators, the State legislators, Are puffing and blowing two-thirds of their time, But windy orations about rangers and rations Never put in our pockets one-tenth of a dime. They do not regard us, they will not reward us, Though hungry and haggard with holes in our coats; But the election is coming and they will be drumming And praising our valor to purchase our votes. For glory and payment, for vittles and raiment, No longer we'll fight on the Texas frontier. So guard your own ranches, and mind the Comanches Or surely they'll scalp you in less than a year. Though sore it may grieve you, the rangers must leave you Exposed to the arrows and knife of the foe; So herd your own cattle and fight your own battle, For home to the States I'm determined to go,-- Where churches have steeples and laws are more equal, Where houses have people and ladies are kind; Where work is regarded and worth is rewarded; Where pumpkins are plenty and pockets are lined. Your wives and your daughters we have guarded from slaughter, Through conflicts and struggles I shudder to tell; No more well defend them, to God we'll commend them. To the frontier of Texas we bid a farewell. THE MELANCHOLY COWBOY Come all you melancholy folks and listen unto me, I will sing you about the cowboy whose heart's so light and free; He roves all over the prairie and at night when he lays down His heart's as gay as the flowers of May with his bed spread on the ground. They are a little bit rough, I must confess, the most of them at least; But as long as you do not cross their trail, you can live with them in peace. But if you do, they're sure to rule, the day you come to their land, For they'll follow you up and shoot it out, they'll do it man to man. You can go to a cowboy hungry, go to him wet or dry, And ask him for a few dollars in change and he will not deny; He will pull out his pocket-book and hand you out a note,-- Oh, they are the fellows to strike, boys, whenever you are broke. You can go to their ranches and often stay for weeks, And when you go to leave, boys, they'll never charge you a cent; But when they go to town, boys, you bet their money is spent. They walk right up, they take their drinks and they pay for every one. They never ask your pardon, boys, for a thing that they have done. They go to the ball-room, and swing the pretty girls around; They ride their bucking broncos, and wear their broad-brimmed hats; Their California saddles, their pants below their boots, You can hear their spurs go jing-a-ling, or perhaps somebody shoots. Come all you soft and tenderfeet, if you want to have some fun, Come go among the cowboys and they'll show you how it's done; But take the kind advice of me as I gave it to you before, For if you don't, they'll order you off with an old Colt's forty-four. BOB STANFORD Bob Stanford, he's a Texas boy, He lives down on the flat; His trade is running a well-drill, But he's none the worse for that. He is neither rich nor handsome, But, unlike the city dude, His manners they are pleasant Instead of flip and rude. His people live in Texas, That is his native home, But like many other Western lads He drifted off from home. He came out to New Mexico A fortune for to make, He punched the bottom out of the earth And never made a stake. So he came to Arizona And again set up his drill To punch a hole for water, And he's punching at it still. He says he is determined To make the business stick Or spend that derned old well machine And all he can get on tick. I hope he is successful And I'll help him if I can, For I admire pluck and ambition In an honest working man. So keep on going down, Punch the bottom out, or try, There is nothing in a hole in the ground That continues being dry. CHARLIE RUTLAGE Another good cow-puncher has gone to meet his fate, I hope he'll find a resting place within the golden gate. Another place is vacant on the ranch of the X I T, 'Twill be hard to find another that's liked as well as he. The first that died was Kid White, a man both tough and brave, While Charlie Rutlage makes the third to be sent to his grave, Caused by a cow-horse falling while running after stock; 'Twas on the spring round-up,--a place where death men mock. He went forward one morning on a circle through the hills, He was gay and full of glee, and free from earthly ills; But when it came to finish up the work on which he went, Nothing came back from him; for his time on earth was spent. 'Twas as he rode the round-up, an X I T turned back to the herd; Poor Charlie shoved him in again, his cutting horse he spurred; Another turned; at that moment his horse the creature spied And turned and fell with him, and beneath, poor Charlie died. His relations in Texas his face never more will see, But I hope he will meet his loved ones beyond in eternity. I hope he will meet his parents, will meet them face to face, And that they will grasp him by the right hand at the shining throne of grace. THE RANGE RIDERS Come all you range riders and listen to me, I will relate you a story of the saddest degree, I will relate you a story of the deepest distress,-- I love my poor Lulu, boys, of all girls the best. When you are out riding, boys, upon the highway, Meet a fair damsel, a lady so gay, With her red, rosy cheeks and her sparkling dark eyes, Just think of my Lulu, boys, and your bosoms will rise. While you live single, boys, you are just in your prime; You have no wife to scold, you have nothing to bother your minds; You can roam this world over and do just as you will, Hug and kiss the pretty girls and be your own still. But when you get married, boys, you are done with this life, You have sold your sweet comfort for to gain you a wife; Your wife she will scold you, and the children will cry, It will make those fair faces look withered and dry. You can scarcely step aside, boys, to speak to a friend But your wife is at your elbow saying what do you mean. With her nose turned upon you it will look like sad news,-- I advise you by experience that life to refuse. Come fill up your bottles, boys, drink Bourbon around; Here is luck to the single wherever they are found. Here is luck to the single and I wish them success, Likewise to the married ones, I wish them no less. I have one more request to make, boys, before we part. Never place your affection on a charming sweetheart. She is dancing before you your affections to gain; Just turn your back on them with scorn and disdain. HER WHITE BOSOM BARE The sun had gone down O'er the hills of the west, And the last beams had faded O'er the mossy hill's crest, O'er the beauties of nature And the charms of the fair, And Amanda was bound With her white bosom bare. At the foot of the mountain Amanda did sigh At the hoot of an owl Or the catamount's cry; Or the howl of some wolf In its low, granite cell, Or the crash of some large Forest tree as it fell. Amanda was there All friendless and forlorn With her face bathed in blood And her garments all torn. The sunlight had faded O'er the hills of the green, And fierce was the look Of the wild, savage scene. For it was out in the forest Where the wild game springs, Where low in the branches The rude hammock swings; The campfire was kindled, Well fanned by the breeze, And the light of the campfire Shone round on the trees. The campfire was kindled, Well fanned by the breeze, And the light of the fire Shone round on the trees; And grim stood the circle Of the warrior throng, Impatient to join In the war-dance and song. The campfire was kindled, Each warrior was there, And Amanda was bound With her white bosom bare. She counted the vengeance In the face of her foes And sighed for the moment When her sufferings might close. Young Albon, he gazed On the face of the fair While her dark hazel eyes Were uplifted in prayer; And her dark waving tresses In ringlets did flow Which hid from the gazer A bosom of snow. Then young Albon, the chief Of the warriors, drew near, With an eye like an eagle And a step like a deer. "Forbear," cried he, "Your torture forbear; This maiden shall live. By my wampum I swear. "It is for this maiden's freedom That I do crave; Give a sigh for her suffering Or a tear for her grave. If there is a victim To be burned at that tree, Young Albon, your leader, That victim shall be." Then quick to the arms Of Amanda he rushed; The rebel was dead, And the tumult was hushed; And grim stood the circle Of warriors around While the cords of Amanda Young Albon unbound. So it was early next morning The red, white, and blue Went gliding o'er the waters In a small birch canoe; Just like the white swan That glides o'er the tide, Young Albon and Amanda O'er the waters did ride. O'er the blue, bubbling water, Neath the evergreen trees, Young Albon and Amanda Did ride at their ease; And great was the joy When she stepped on the shore To embrace her dear father And mother once more. Young Albon, he stood And enjoyed their embrace, With a sigh in his heart And a tear on his face; And all that he asked Was kindness and food From the parents of Amanda To the chief of the woods. Young Amanda is home now, As you all know, Enjoying the friends Of her own native shore; Nevermore will she roam O'er the hills or the plains; She praises the chief That loosened her chains. JUAN MURRAY My name is Juan Murray, and hard for my fate, I was born and raised in Texas, that good old lone star state. I have been to many a round-up, boys, have worked on the trail, Have stood many a long old guard through the rain, yes, sleet, and hail; I have rode the Texas broncos that pitched from morning till noon, And have seen many a storm, boys, between sunrise, yes, and noon. I am a jolly cowboy and have roamed all over the West, And among the bronco riders I rank among the best. But when I left old Midland, with voice right then I spoke,-- "I never will see you again until the day I croak." But since I left old Texas so many sights I have saw A-traveling from my native state way out to Mexico,-- I am looking all around me and cannot help but smile To see my nearest neighbors all in the Mexican style. I left my home in Texas to dodge the ball and chain. In the State of Sonora I will forever remain. Farewell to my mother, my friends that are so dear, I would like to see you all again, my lonesome heart to cheer. I have a word to speak, boys, only another to say,-- Don't never be a cow-thief, don't never ride a stray; Be careful of your line, boys, and keep it on your tree,-- Just suit yourself about it, for it is nothing to me. But if you start to rustling you will come to some sad fate, You will have to go to prison and work for the state. Don't think that I am lying and trying to tell a joke, For the writer has experienced just every word he's spoke. It is better to be honest and let other's stock alone Than to leave your native country and seek a Mexican home. For if you start to rustling you will surely come to see The State of Sonora,--be an outcast just like me. GREER COUNTY Tom Hight is my name, an old bachelor I am, You'll find me out West in the country of fame, You'll find me out West on an elegant plain, And starving to death on my government claim. Hurrah for Greer County! The land of the free, The land of the bed-bug, Grass-hopper and flea; I'll sing of its praises And tell of its fame, While starving to death On my government claim. My house is built of natural sod, Its walls are erected according to hod; Its roof has no pitch but is level and plain, I always get wet if it happens to rain. How happy am I on my government claim, I've nothing to lose, and nothing to gain; I've nothing to eat, I've nothing to wear,-- From nothing to nothing is the hardest fare. How happy am I when I crawl into bed,-- A rattlesnake hisses a tune at my head, A gay little centipede, all without fear, Crawls over my pillow and into my ear. Now all you claim holders, I hope you will stay And chew your hard tack till you're toothless and gray; But for myself, I'll no longer remain To starve like a dog on my government claim. My clothes are all ragged as my language is rough, My bread is corn dodgers, both solid and tough; But yet I am happy, and live at my ease On sorghum molasses, bacon, and cheese. Good-bye to Greer County where blizzards arise, Where the sun never sinks and a flea never dies, And the wind never ceases but always remains Till it starves us all out on our government claims. Farewell to Greer County, farewell to the West, I'll travel back East to the girl I love best, I'll travel back to Texas and marry me a wife, And quit corn bread for the rest of my life. ROSIN THE BOW I live for the good of my nation And my sons are all growing low, But I hope that my next generation Will resemble Old Rosin the Bow. I have traveled this wide world all over, And now to another I'll go, For I know that good quarters are waiting To welcome Old Rosin the Bow. The gay round of delights I have traveled, Nor will I behind leave a woe, For while my companions are jovial They'll drink to Old Rosin the Bow. This life now is drawn to a closing, All will at last be so, Then we'll take a full bumper at parting To the name of Old Rosin the Bow. When I am laid out on the counter, And the people all anxious to know, Just raise up the lid of the coffin And look at Old Rosin the Bow. And when through the streets my friends bear me, And the ladies are filled with deep woe, They'll come to the doors and the windows And sigh for Old Rosin the Bow. Then get some fine, jovial fellows, And let them all staggering go; Then dig a deep hole in the meadow And in it toss Rosin the Bow. Then get a couple of dornicks, Place one at my head and my toe, And do not forget to scratch on them, "Here lies Old Rosin the Bow." Then let those same jovial fellows Surround my lone grave in a row, While they drink from my favorite bottle The health of Old Rosin the Bow. THE GREAT ROUND-UP When I think of the last great round-up On the eve of eternity's dawn, I think of the past of the cowboys Who have been with us here and are gone. And I wonder if any will greet me On the sands of the evergreen shore With a hearty, "God bless you, old fellow," That I've met with so often before. I think of the big-hearted fellows Who will divide with you blanket and bread, With a piece of stray beef well roasted, And charge for it never a red. I often look upward and wonder If the green fields will seem half so fair, If any the wrong trail have taken And fail to "be in" over there. For the trail that leads down to perdition Is paved all the way with good deeds, But in the great round-up of ages, Dear boys, this won't answer your needs. But the way to the green pastures, though narrow, Leads straight to the home in the sky, And Jesus will give you the passports To the land of the sweet by and by. For the Savior has taken the contract To deliver all those who believe, At the headquarters ranch of his Father, In the great range where none can deceive. The Inspector will stand at the gateway And the herd, one by one, will go by,-- The round-up by the angels in judgment Must pass 'neath his all-seeing eye. No maverick or slick will be tallied In the great book of life in his home, For he knows all the brands and the earmarks That down through the ages have come. But, along with the tailings and sleepers, The strays must turn from the gate; No road brand to gain them admission, But the awful sad cry "too late." Yet I trust in the last great round-up When the rider shall cut the big herd, That the cowboys shall be represented In the earmark and brand of the Lord, To be shipped to the bright, mystic regions Over there in green pastures to lie, And led by the crystal still waters In that home of the sweet by and by. THE JOLLY COWBOY My lover, he is a cowboy, he's brave and kind and true, He rides a Spanish pony, he throws a lasso, too; And when he comes to see me our vows we do redeem, He throws his arms around me and thus begins to sing: "Ho, I'm a jolly cowboy, from Texas now I hail, Give me my quirt and pony, I'm ready for the trail; I love the rolling prairies, they're free from care and strife, Behind a herd of longhorns I'll journey all my life. "When early dawn is breaking and we are far away, We fall into our saddles, we round-up all the day; We rope, we brand, we ear-mark, I tell you we are smart, And when the herd is ready, for Kansas then we start. "Oh, I am a Texas cowboy, lighthearted, brave, and free, To roam the wide, wide prairie, 'tis always joy to me. My trusty little pony is my companion true, O'er creeks and hills and rivers he's sure to pull me through. "When threatening clouds do gather and herded lightnings flash, And heavy rain drops splatter, and rolling thunders crash; What keeps the herd from running, stampeding far and wide? The cowboy's long, low whistle and singing by their side. "When in Kansas City, our boss he pays us up, We loaf around the city and take a parting cup; We bid farewell to city life, from noisy crowds we come, And back to dear old Texas, the cowboy's native home." Oh, he is coming back to marry the only girl he loves, He says I am his darling, I am his own true love; Some day we two will marry and then no more he'll roam, But settle down with Mary in a cozy little home. "Ho, I'm a jolly cowboy, from Texas now I hail, Give me my bond to Mary, I'll quit the Lone Star trail. I love the rolling prairies, they're free from care and strife, But I'll quit the herd of longhorns for the sake of my little wife." The Texas Cowboy (Mus. Not.) Mrs. Robert Thomson I am a Tex-as Cowboy, Light-hearted, gay and free, To roam the wide, wide prairie, Is always joy to me; My trust-y lit-tle po-ny Is my com-pan-ion true; O'er plain, thro' woods and river, He's sure to "pull me thro." CHORUS _Allegro_ I am a jol-ly cow-boy, From Tex-as now I hail, Give me my "quirt" and po-ny, I'm read-y for the "trail;" I love the roll-ing prairie, We're free from care and strife, Be-hind a herd of "long-horns" I'll journey all my life. THE CONVICT When slumbering In my convict cell my childhood days I see, When I was mother's little child and knelt at mother's knee. There my life was peace, I know, I knew no sorrow or pain. Mother dear never did think, I know, I would wear a felon's chain. Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink, Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain? Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink, Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain? When I had grown to manhood and evil paths I trod, I learned to scorn my fellow-man and even curse my God; And in the evil course I ran for a great length of time Till at last I ran too long and was condemned for a felon's crime. My prison life will soon be o'er, my life will soon be gone,-- May the angels waft it heavenward to a bright and happy home. I'll be at rest, sweet, sweet rest, there is rest in the heavenly home; I'll be at rest, sweet, sweet rest, there is rest in the heavenly home. Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink, Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain? Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink, Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain? JACK O' DIAMONDS O Mollie, O Mollie, it is for your sake alone That I leave my old parents, my house and my home, That I leave my old parents, you caused me to roam,-- I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home. Jack o' diamonds, Jack o' diamonds, I know you of old, You've robbed my poor pockets Of silver and gold. Whiskey, you villain, You've been my downfall, You've kicked me, you've cuffed me, But I love you for all. My foot's in my stirrup, my bridle's in my hand, I'm going to leave sweet Mollie, the fairest in the land. Her parents don't like me, they say I'm too poor, They say I'm unworthy to enter her door. They say I drink whiskey; my money is my own, And them that don't like me can leave me alone. I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry, And when I get thirsty I'll lay down and cry. It's beefsteak when I'm hungry, And whiskey when I'm dry, Greenbacks when I'm hard up, And heaven when I die. Rye whiskey, rye whiskey, Rye whiskey I cry, If I don't get rye whiskey, I surely will die. O Baby, O Baby, I've told you before, Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor. I will build me a big castle on yonder mountain high, Where my true love can see me when she comes riding by, Where my true love can see me and help me to mourn,-- I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home. I'll get up in my saddle, my quirt I'll take in hand, I'll think of you, Mollie, when in some far distant land, I'll think of you, Mollie, you caused me to roam,-- I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home. If the ocean was whiskey, And I was a duck, I'd dive to the bottom To get one sweet sup; But the ocean ain't whiskey, And I ain't a duck, So I'll play Jack o' diamonds And then we'll get drunk. O Baby, O Baby, I've told you before, Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor. I've rambled and trambled this wide world around, But it's for the rabble army, dear Mollie, I'm bound, It is to the rabble army, dear Mollie, I roam,-- I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home. I have rambled and gambled all my money away, But it's with the rabble army, O Mollie, I must stay, It is with the rabble army, O Mollie I must roam,-- I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home. Jack o' diamonds, Jack o' diamonds, I know you of old, You've robbed my poor pockets Of silver and gold. Rye whiskey, rye whiskey, Rye whiskey I cry, If you don't give me rye whiskey I'll lie down and die. O Baby, O Baby, I've told you before, Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor. Jack o' Diamonds (Mus. Not.) O Mol-lie, O Mol-lie, It's for your sake a-lone That I leave my old pa-rents, my house and my home; That I leave my old pa-rents, you caused me to roam-- I am a rab-ble sol-dier, and Dix-ie is my home. Repeat from first for Refrain THE COWBOY'S MEDITATION At midnight when the cattle are sleeping On my saddle I pillow my head, And up at the heavens lie peeping From out of my cold, grassy bed,-- Often and often I wondered At night when lying alone If every bright star up yonder Is a big peopled world like our own. Are they worlds with their ranges and ranches? Do they ring with rough rider refrains? Do the cowboys scrap there with Comanches And other Red Men of the plains? Are the hills covered over with cattle In those mystic worlds far, far away? Do the ranch-houses ring with the prattle Of sweet little children at play? At night in the bright stars up yonder Do the cowboys lie down to their rest? Do they gaze at this old world and wonder If rough riders dash over its breast? Do they list to the wolves in the canyons? Do they watch the night owl in its flight, With their horse their only companion While guarding the herd through the night? Sometimes when a bright star is twinkling Like a diamond set in the sky, I find myself lying and thinking, It may be God's heaven is nigh. I wonder if there I shall meet her, My mother whom God took away; If in the star-heavens I'll greet her At the round-up that's on the last day. In the east the great daylight is breaking And into my saddle I spring; The cattle from sleep are awakening, The heaven-thoughts from me take wing, The eyes of my bronco are flashing, Impatient he pulls at the reins, And off round the herd I go dashing, A reckless cowboy of the plains. BILLY VENERO Billy Venero heard them say, In an Arizona town one day. That a band of Apache Indians were upon the trail of death; Heard them tell of murder done, Three men killed at Rocky Run, "They're in danger at the cow-ranch," said Venero, under breath. Cow-Ranch, forty miles away, Was a little place that lay In a deep and shady valley of the mighty wilderness; Half a score of homes were there, And in one a maiden fair Held the heart of Billy Venero, Billy Venero's little Bess. So no wonder he grew pale When he heard the cowboy's tale Of the men that he'd seen murdered the day before at Rocky Run. "Sure as there's a God above, I will save the girl I love; By my love for little Bessie I will see that something's done." Not a moment he delayed When his brave resolve was made. "Why man," his comrades told him when they heard of his daring plan, "You are riding straight to death." But he answered, "Save your breath; I may never reach the cow-ranch but I'll do the best I can." As he crossed the alkali All his thoughts flew on ahead To the little band at cow-ranch thinking not of danger near; With his quirt's unceasing whirl And the jingle of his spurs Little brown Chapo bore the cowboy o'er the far away frontier. Lower and lower sank the sun; He drew rein at Rocky Run; "Here those men met death, my Chapo," and he stroked his glossy mane; "So shall those we go to warn Ere the coming of the morn If we fail,--God help my Bessie," and he started on again. Sharp and clear a rifle shot Woke the echoes of the spot. "I am wounded," cried Venero, as he swayed from side to side; "While there's life there's always hope; Slowly onward I will lope,-- If I fail to reach the cow-ranch, Bessie Lee shall know I tried. "I will save her yet," he cried, "Bessie Lee shall know I tried," And for her sake then he halted in the shadow of a hill; From his chapareras he took With weak hands a little book; Tore a blank leaf from its pages saying, "This shall be my will." From a limb a pen he broke, And he dipped his pen of oak In the warm blood that was spurting from a wound above his heart. "Rouse," he wrote before too late; "Apache warriors lie in wait. Good-bye, Bess, God bless you darling," and he felt the cold tears start. Then he made his message fast, Love's first message and its last, To the saddle horn he tied it and his lips were white with pain, "Take this message, if not me, Straight to little Bessie Lee;" Then he tied himself to the saddle, and he gave his horse the rein. Just at dusk a horse of brown Wet with sweat came panting down The little lane at the cow-ranch, stopped in front of Bessie's door; But the cowboy was asleep, And his slumbers were so deep, Little Bess could never wake him though she tried for evermore. You have heard the story told By the young and by the old, Away down yonder at the cow-ranch the night the Apaches came; Of that sharp and bloody fight, How the chief fell in the fight And the panic-stricken warriors when they heard Venero's name. And the heavens and earth between Keep a little flower so green That little Bess had planted ere they laid her by his side. DOGIE SONG The cow-bosses are good-hearted chunks, Some short, some heavy, more long; But don't matter what he looks like, They all sing the same old song. On the plains, in the mountains, in the valleys, In the south where the days are long, The bosses are different fellows; Still they sing the same old song. "Sift along, boys, don't ride so slow; Haven't got much time but a long round to go. Quirt him in the shoulders and rake him down the hip; I've cut you toppy mounts, boys, now pair off and rip. Bunch the herd at the old meet, Then beat 'em on the tail; Whip 'em up and down the sides And hit the shortest trail." THE BOOZER I'm a howler from the prairies of the West. If you want to die with terror, look at me. I'm chain-lightning--if I ain't, may I be blessed. I'm the snorter of the boundless prairie. He's a killer and a hater! He's the great annihilator! He's a terror of the boundless prairie. I'm the snoozer from the upper trail! I'm the reveler in murder and in gore! I can bust more Pullman coaches on the rail Than anyone who's worked the job before. He's a snorter and a snoozer. He's the great trunk line abuser. He's the man who puts the sleeper on the rail. I'm the double-jawed hyena from the East. I'm the blazing, bloody blizzard of the States. I'm the celebrated slugger; I'm the Beast. I can snatch a man bald-headed while he waits. He's a double-jawed hyena! He's the villain of the scena! He can snatch a man bald-headed while he waits. DRINKING SONG Drink that rot gut, drink that rot gut, Drink that red eye, boys; It don't make a damn wherever we land, We hit her up for joy. We've lived in the saddle and ridden trail, Drink old Jordan, boys, We'll go whooping and yelling, we'll all go a-helling; Drink her to our joy. Whoop-ee! drink that rot gut, drink that red nose, Whenever you get to town; Drink it straight and swig it mighty, Till the world goes round and round! A FRAGMENT I'd rather hear a rattler rattle, I'd rather buck stampeding cattle, I'd rather go to a greaser battle, Than-- Than to-- Than to fight-- Than to fight the bloody In-ji-ans. I'd rather eat a pan of dope, I'd rather ride without a rope, I'd rather from this country lope, Than-- Than to-- Than to fight-- Than to fight the bloody In-ji-ans. A MAN NAMED HODS Come, all you old cowpunchers, a story I will tell, And if you'll all be quiet, I sure will sing it well; And if you boys don't like it, you sure can go to hell. Back in the day when I was young, I knew a man named Hods; He wasn't fit fer nothin' 'cep turnin' up the clods. But he came west in fifty-three, behind a pair of mules, And 'twas hard to tell between the three which was the biggest fools. Up on the plains old Hods he got and there his trouble began. Oh, he sure did get in trouble,--and old Hodsie wasn't no man. He met a bunch of Indian bucks led by Geronimo, And what them Indians did to him, well, shorely I don't know. But they lifted off old Hodsie's skelp and left him out to die, And if it hadn't been for me, he'd been in the sweet by and by. But I packed him back to Santa Fé and there I found his mules, For them dad-blamed two critters had got the Indians fooled. I don't know how they done it, but they shore did get away, And them two mules is livin' up to this very day. Old Hodsie's feet got toughened up, he got to be a sport, He opened up a gamblin' house and a place of low resort; He got the prettiest dancing girls that ever could be found,-- Them girls' feet was like rubber balls and they never staid on the ground. And then thar came Billy the Kid, he envied Hodsie's wealth, He told old Hods to leave the town, 'twould be better for his health; Old Hodsie took the hint and got, but he carried all his wealth. And he went back to Noo York State with lots of dinero, And now they say he's senator, but of that I shore don't know. A FRAGMENT I am fur from my sweetheart And she is fur from me, And when I'll see my sweetheart I can't tell when 'twill be. But I love her just the same, No matter where I roam; And that there girl will wait fur me Whenever I come home. I've roamed the Texas prairies, I've followed the cattle trail, I've rid a pitching pony Till the hair came off his tail. I've been to cowboy dances, I've kissed the Texas girls, But they ain't none what can compare With my own sweetheart's curls. THE LONE STAR TRAIL I'm a rowdy cowboy just off the stormy plains, My trade is girting saddles and pulling bridle reins. Oh, I can tip the lasso, it is with graceful ease; I rope a streak of lightning, and ride it where I please. My bosses they all like me, they say I am hard to beat; I give them the bold standoff, you bet I have got the cheek. I always work for wages, my pay I get in gold; I am bound to follow the longhorn steer until I am too old. Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya. I am a Texas cowboy and I do ride the range; My trade is cinches and saddles and ropes and bridle reins; With Stetson hat and jingling spurs and leather up to the knees, Gray backs as big as chili beans and fighting like hell with fleas. And if I had a little stake, I soon would married be, But another week and I must go, the boss said so to-day. My girl must cheer up courage and choose some other one, For I am bound to follow the Lone Star Trail until my race is run. Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya. It almost breaks my heart for to have to go away, And leave my own little darling, my sweetheart so far away. But when I'm out on the Lone Star Trail often I'll think of thee, Of my own dear girl, the darling one, the one I would like to see. And when I get to a shipping point, I'll get on a little spree To drive away the sorrow for the girl that once loved me. And though red licker stirs us up we're bound to have our fun, And I intend to follow the Lone Star Trail until my race is run. Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya. I went up the Lone Star Trail in eighteen eighty-three; I fell in love with a pretty miss and she in love with me. "When you get to Kansas write and let me know; And if you get in trouble, your bail I'll come and go." When I got up in Kansas, I had a pleasant dream; I dreamed I was down on Trinity, down on that pleasant stream; I dreampt my true love right beside me, she come to go my bail; I woke up broken hearted with a yearling by the tail. Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya. In came my jailer about nine o'clock, A bunch of keys was in his hand, my cell door to unlock, Saying, "Cheer up, my prisoner, I heard some voice say You're bound to hear your sentence some time to-day." In came my mother about ten o'clock, Saying, "O my loving Johnny, what sentence have you got?" "The jury found me guilty and the judge a-standin' by Has sent me down to Huntsville to lock me up and die." Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya. Down come the jailer, just about eleven o'clock, With a bunch of keys all in his hand the cell doors to unlock, Saying, "Cheer up, my prisoner, I heard the jury say Just ten long years in Huntsville you're bound to go and stay." Down come my sweetheart, ten dollars in her hand, Saying, "Give this to my cowboy, 'tis all that I command; O give this to my cowboy and think of olden times, Think of the darling that he has left behind." Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya. WAY DOWN IN MEXICO O boys, we're goin' far to-night, Yeo-ho, yeo-ho! We'll take the greasers now in hand And drive 'em in the Rio Grande, Way down in Mexico. We'll hang old Santa Anna soon, Yeo-ho, yeo-ho! And all the greaser soldiers, too, To the chune of Yankee Doodle Doo, Way down in Mexico. We'll scatter 'em like flocks of sheep, Yeo-ho, yeo-ho! We'll mow 'em down with rifle ball And plant our flag right on their wall, Way down in Mexico. Old Rough and Ready, he's a trump, Yeo-ho, yeo-ho! He'll wipe old Santa Anna out And put the greasers all to rout, Way down in Mexico. Then we'll march back by and by, Yeo-ho, yeo-ho! And kiss the gals we left to home And never more we'll go and roam, Way down in Mexico. RATTLESNAKE--A RANCH HAYING SONG A nice young ma-wa-wan Lived on a hi-wi-will; A nice young ma-wa-wan, For I knew him we-we-well. To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree! This nice young ma-wa-wan Went out to mo-wo-wow To see if he-we-we Could make a sho-wo-wow. To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree! He scarcely mo-wo-wowed Half round the fie-we-wield Till up jumped--come a rattle, come a sna-wa-wake, And bit him on the he-we-weel. To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree! He laid right dow-we-wown Upon the gro-wo-wound And shut his ey-wy-wyes And looked all aro-wo-wound. To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree! "O pappy da-wa-wad, Go tell my ga-wa-wal That I'm a-goin' ter di-wi-wie, For I know I sha-wa-wall." To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree! "O pappy da-wa-wad, Go spread the ne-wu-wus; And here come Sa-wa-wall Without her sho-woo-woos." To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree! "O John, O Joh-wa-wahn, Why did you go-wo-wo Way down in the mea-we-we-dow So far to mo-wo-wow?" To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree! "O Sal, O Sa-wa-wall, Why don't you kno-wo-wow When the grass gits ri-wi-wipe, It must be mo-wo-woed?" To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree! Come all young gir-wi-wirls And shed a tea-we-wear For this young ma-wa-wan That died right he-we-were. To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree! Come all young me-we-wen And warning ta-wa-wake, And don't get bi-wi-wit By a rattle sna-wa-wake. To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree! THE RAILROAD CORRAL Oh we're up in the morning ere breaking of day, The chuck wagon's busy, the flapjacks in play; The herd is astir o'er hillside and vale, With the night riders rounding them into the trail. Oh, come take up your cinches, come shake out your reins; Come wake your old broncho and break for the plains; Come roust out your steers from the long chaparral, For the outfit is off to the railroad corral. The sun circles upward; the steers as they plod Are pounding to powder the hot prairie sod; And it seems as the dust makes you dizzy and sick That we'll never reach noon and the cool, shady creek. But tie up your kerchief and ply up your nag; Come dry up your grumbles and try not to lag; Come with your steers from the long chaparral, For we're far on the road to the railroad corral. The afternoon shadows are starting to lean, When the chuck wagon sticks in the marshy ravine; The herd scatters farther than vision can look, For you can bet all true punchers will help out the cook. Come shake out your rawhide and snake it up fair; Come break your old broncho to take in his share; Come from your steers in the long chaparral, For 'tis all in the drive to the railroad corral. But the longest of days must reach evening at last, The hills all climbed, the creeks all past; The tired herd droops in the yellowing light; Let them loaf if they will, for the railroad's in sight So flap up your holster and snap up your belt, And strap up your saddle whose lap you have felt; Good-bye to the steers from the long chaparral, For there's a town that's a trunk by the railroad corral. THE SONG OF THE "METIS" TRAPPER BY ROLETTE Hurrah for the great white way! Hurrah for the dog and sledge! As we snow-shoe along, We give them a song, With a snap of the whip and an urgent "mush on,"-- Hurrah for the great white way! Hurrah! Hurrah for the snow and the ice! As we follow the trail, We call to the dogs with whistle and song, And reply to their talk With only "mush on, mush on"! Hurrah for the snow and the ice! Hurrah! Hurrah for the gun and the trap,-- As we follow the lines By the rays of the mystic light That flames in the north with banners so bright, As we list to its swish, swish, swish, through the air all night, Hurrah for the gun and the trap! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah for the fire and cold! As we lie in the robes all night. And list to the howl of the wolf; For we emptied the pot of the tea so hot, And a king on his throne might envy our lot,-- Hurrah for the fire and cold! Hurrah! Hurrah for our black-haired girls, Who brave the storms of the mountain heights And follow us on the great white way; For their eyes so bright light the way all right And guide us to shelter and warmth each night. Hurrah for our black-haired girls! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! THE CAMP FIRE HAS GONE OUT Through progress of the railroads our occupation's gone; So we will put ideas into words, our words into a song. First comes the cowboy, he is pointed for the west; Of all the pioneers I claim the cowboys are the best; You will miss him on the round-up, it's gone, his merry shout,-- The cowboy has left the country and the campfire has gone out. There is the freighters, our companions, you've got to leave this land, Can't drag your loads for nothing through the gumbo and the sand. The railroads are bound to beat you when you do your level best; So give it up to the grangers and strike out for the west. Bid them all adieu and give the merry shout,-- The cowboy has left the country and the campfire has gone out. When I think of those good old days, my eyes with tears do fill; When I think of the tin can by the fire and the cayote on the hill. I'll tell you, boys, in those days old-timers stood a show,-- Our pockets full of money, not a sorrow did we know. But things have changed now, we are poorly clothed and fed. Our wagons are all broken and our ponies most all dead. Soon we will leave this country, you'll hear the angels shout, "Oh, here they come to Heaven, the campfire has gone out." NIGHT-HERDING SONG BY HARRY STEPHENS Oh, slow up, dogies, quit your roving round, You have wandered and tramped all over the ground; Oh, graze along, dogies, and feed kinda slow, And don't forever be on the go,-- Oh, move slow, dogies, move slow. Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo. I have circle-herded, trail-herded, night-herded, and cross-herded, too, But to keep you together, that's what I can't do; My horse is leg weary and I'm awful tired, But if I let you get away I'm sure to get fired,-- Bunch up, little dogies, bunch up. Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo. O say, little dogies, when you goin' to lay down And quit this forever siftin' around? My limbs are weary, my seat is sore; Oh, lay down, dogies, like you've laid before,-- Lay down, little dogies, lay down. Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo. Oh, lay still, dogies, since you have laid down, Stretch away out on the big open ground; Snore loud, little dogies, and drown the wild sound That will all go away when the day rolls round,-- Lay still, little dogies, lay still. Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo. . . . . . . TAIL PIECE Oh, the cow-puncher loves the whistle of his rope, As he races over the plains; And the stage-driver loves the popper of his whip, And the rattle of his concord chains; And we'll all pray the Lord that we will be saved, And we'll keep the golden rule; But I'd rather be home with the girl I love Than to monkey with this goddamn'd mule. . . . . . . . . . . . THE HABIT[5] I've beat my way wherever any winds have blown, I've bummed along from Portland down to San Antone, From Sandy Hook to Frisco, over gulch and hill; For once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still. I settles down quite frequent and I says, says I, "I'll never wander further till I comes to die." But the wind it sorta chuckles, "Why, o' course you will," And shure enough I does it, cause I can't keep still. I've seed a lot o' places where I'd like to stay, But I gets a feelin' restless and I'm on my way. I was never meant for settin' on my own door sill, And once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still. I've been in rich men's houses and I've been in jail, But when it's time for leavin', I jes hits the trail; I'm a human bird of passage, and the song I trill, Is, "Once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still." The sun is sorta coaxin' and the road is clear And the wind is singin' ballads that I got to hear. It ain't no use to argue when you feel the thrill; For once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still. [Footnote 5: A song current in Arizona, probably written by Berton Braley. Cowboys and miners often take verses that please them and fit them to music.] OLD PAINT[6] REFRAIN: Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne, Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne,-- My foot in the stirrup, my pony won't stand; Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne. I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne, I'm off for Montan'; Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne. I'm a ridin' Old Paint, I'm a-leadin' old Fan; Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne. With my feet in the stirrups, my bridle in my hand; Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne. Old Paint's a good pony, he paces when he can; Goodbye, little Annie, I'm off for Cheyenne. Oh, hitch up your horses and feed 'em some hay, And seat yourself by me so long as you stay. My horses ain't hungry, they'll not eat your hay; My wagon is loaded and rolling away. My foot in my stirrup, my reins in my hand; Good-morning, young lady, my horses won't stand. Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne. Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne. [Footnote 6: These verses are used in many parts of the West as a dance song. Sung to waltz music the song takes the place of "Home, Sweet Home" at the conclusion of a cowboy ball. The "fiddle" is silenced and the entire company sing as they dance.] DOWN SOUTH ON THE RIO GRANDE From way down south on the Rio Grande, Roll on steers for the Post Oak Sand,-- Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho. You'd laugh fur to see that fellow a-straddle Of a mustang mare on a raw-hide saddle,-- Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho. Rich as a king, and he wouldn't be bigger Fur a pitchin' hoss and a lame old nigger,-- Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho. Ole Abe kep' gettin' bigger an' bigger, 'Til he bust hisself 'bout a lame old nigger,-- Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho. Old Jeff swears he'll sew him together With powder and shot instead of leather,-- Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho. Kin cuss an' fight an' hold or free 'em, But I know them mavericks when I see 'em,-- Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho. SILVER JACK[7] I was on the drive in eighty Working under Silver Jack, Which the same is now in Jackson And ain't soon expected back, And there was a fellow 'mongst us By the name of Robert Waite; Kind of cute and smart and tonguey Guess he was a graduate. He could talk on any subject From the Bible down to Hoyle, And his words flowed out so easy, Just as smooth and slick as oil, He was what they call a skeptic, And he loved to sit and weave Hifalutin' words together Tellin' what he didn't believe. One day we all were sittin' round Smokin' nigger head tobacco And hearing Bob expound; Hell, he said, was all a humbug, And he made it plain as day That the Bible was a fable; And we lowed it looked that way. Miracles and such like Were too rank for him to stand, And as for him they called the Savior He was just a common man. "You're a liar," someone shouted, "And you've got to take it back." Then everybody started,-- 'Twas the words of Silver Jack. And he cracked his fists together And he stacked his duds and cried, "'Twas in that thar religion That my mother lived and died; And though I haven't always Used the Lord exactly right, Yet when I hear a chump abuse him He's got to eat his words or fight." Now, this Bob he weren't no coward And he answered bold and free: "Stack your duds and cut your capers, For there ain't no flies on me." And they fit for forty minutes And the crowd would whoop and cheer When Jack spit up a tooth or two, Or when Bobby lost an ear. But at last Jack got him under And he slugged him onct or twict, And straightway Bob admitted The divinity of Christ. But Jack kept reasoning with him Till the poor cuss gave a yell And lowed he'd been mistaken In his views concerning hell. Then the fierce encounter ended And they riz up from the ground And someone brought a bottle out And kindly passed it round. And we drank to Bob's religion In a cheerful sort o' way, But the spread of infidelity Was checked in camp that day. [Footnote 7: A lumber jack song adopted by the cowboys.] THE COWBOY'S CHRISTMAS BALL[8] Way out in Western Texas, where the Clear Fork's waters flow, Where the cattle are a-browzin' and the Spanish ponies grow; Where the Northers come a-whistlin' from beyond the Neutral Strip; And the prairie dogs are sneezin', as though they had the grip; Where the coyotes come a-howlin' round the ranches after dark, And the mockin' birds are singin' to the lovely medder lark; Where the 'possum and the badger and the rattlesnakes abound, And the monstrous stars are winkin' o'er a wilderness profound; Where lonesome, tawny prairies melt into airy streams, While the Double Mountains slumber in heavenly kinds of dreams; Where the antelope is grazin' and the lonely plovers call,-- It was there I attended the Cowboy's Christmas Ball. The town was Anson City, old Jones' county seat, Where they raised Polled Angus cattle and waving whiskered wheat; Where the air is soft and bammy and dry and full of health, Where the prairies is explodin' with agricultural wealth; Where they print the _Texas Western_, that Hec McCann supplies With news and yarns and stories, of most amazing size; Where Frank Smith "pulls the badger" on knowing tenderfeet, And Democracy's triumphant and mighty hard to beat; Where lives that good old hunter, John Milsap, from Lamar, Who used to be the sheriff "back east in Paris, sah"! 'Twas there, I say, at Anson with the lovely Widder Wall, That I went to that reception, the Cowboy's Christmas Ball. The boys had left the ranches and come to town in piles; The ladies, kinder scatterin', had gathered in for miles. And yet the place was crowded, as I remember well, 'Twas gave on this occasion at the Morning Star Hotel. The music was a fiddle and a lively tambourine, And a viol came imported, by the stage from Abilene. The room was togged out gorgeous--with mistletoe and shawls, And the candles flickered festious, around the airy walls. The wimmen folks looked lovely--the boys looked kinder treed, Till the leader commenced yelling, "Whoa, fellers, let's stampede," And the music started sighing and a-wailing through the hall As a kind of introduction to the Cowboy's Christmas Ball. The leader was a feller that came from Swenson's ranch,-- They called him Windy Billy from Little Deadman's Branch. His rig was kinder keerless,--big spurs and high heeled boots; He had the reputation that comes when fellers shoots. His voice was like the bugle upon the mountain height; His feet were animated, and a mighty movin' sight, When he commenced to holler, "Now fellers, shake your pen! Lock horns ter all them heifers and rustle them like men; Saloot yer lovely critters; neow swing and let 'em go; Climb the grapevine round 'em; neow all hands do-ce-do! You maverick, jine the round-up,--jes skip the waterfall," Huh! hit was getting active, the Cowboy's Christmas Ball. The boys was tolerable skittish, the ladies powerful neat, That old bass viol's music just got there with both feet! That wailin', frisky fiddle, I never shall forget; And Windy kept a-singin'--I think I hear him yet-- "Oh, X's, chase yer squirrels, and cut 'em to our side; Spur Treadwell to the center, with Cross P Charley's bride, Doc Hollis down the center, and twine the ladies' chain, Van Andrews, pen the fillies in big T Diamond's train. All pull your freight together, neow swallow fork and change; Big Boston, lead the trail herd through little Pitchfork's range. Purr round yer gentle pussies, neow rope and balance all!" Huh! Hit were gettin' active--the Cowboy's Christmas Ball. The dust riz fast and furious; we all jes galloped round, Till the scenery got so giddy that T Bar Dick was downed. We buckled to our partners and told 'em to hold on, Then shook our hoofs like lightning until the early dawn. Don't tell me 'bout cotillions, or germans. No sir-ee! That whirl at Anson City jes takes the cake with me. I'm sick of lazy shufflin's, of them I've had my fill, Give me a frontier break-down backed up by Windy Bill. McAllister ain't nowhere, when Windy leads the show; I've seen 'em both in harness and so I ought ter know. Oh, Bill, I shan't forget yer, and I oftentimes recall That lively gaited sworray--the Cowboy's Christmas Ball. [Footnote 8: This poem, one of the best in Larry Chittenden's _Ranch Verses_, published by G.P. Putnam's Sons, New York, has been set to music by the cowboys and its phraseology slightly changed, as this copy will show, by oral transmission. I have heard it in New Mexico and it has been sent to me from various places,--always as a song. None of those who sent in the song knew that it was already in print.] PINTO I am a vaquero by trade; To handle my rope I'm not afraid. I lass' an _otero_ by the two horns Throw down the biggest that ever was born. Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa! My name to you I will not tell; For what's the use, you know me so well. The girls all love me, and cry When I leave them to join the rodero. Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa! I am a vaquero, and here I reside; Show me the broncho I cannot ride. They say old Pinto with one split ear Is the hardest jumping broncho on the rodero. Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa! There strayed to our camp an iron gray colt; The boys were all fraid him so on him I bolt. You bet I stayed with him till cheer after cheer,-- "He's the broncho twister that's on the rodero." Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa! My story is ended, old Pinto is dead; I'm going down Laredo and paint the town red. I'm going up to Laredo and set up the beer To all the cowboys that's on the rodero. Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa! THE GAL I LEFT BEHIND ME I struck the trail in seventy-nine, The herd strung out behind me; As I jogged along my mind ran back For the gal I left behind me. That sweet little gal, that true little gal, The gal I left behind me! If ever I get off the trail And the Indians they don't find me, I'll make my way straight back again To the gal I left behind me. That sweet little gal, that true little gal, The gal I left behind me! The wind did blow, the rain did flow, The hail did fall and blind me; I thought of that gal, that sweet little gal, That gal I'd left behind me! That sweet little gal, that true little gal, The gal I left behind me! She wrote ahead to the place I said, I was always glad to find it. She says, "I am true, when you get through Right back here you will find me." That sweet little gal, that true little gal, The gal I left behind me! When we sold out I took the train, I knew where I would find her; When I got back we had a smack And that was no gol-darned liar. That sweet little gal, that true little gal, The gal I left behind me! BILLY THE KID Billy was a bad man And carried a big gun, He was always after Greasers And kept 'em on the run. He shot one every morning, For to make his morning meal. And let a white man sass him, He was shore to feel his steel. He kept folks in hot water, And he stole from many a stage; And when he was full of liquor He was always in a rage. But one day he met a man Who was a whole lot badder. And now he's dead, And we ain't none the sadder. THE HELL-BOUND TRAIN A Texas cowboy lay down on a bar-room floor. Having drunk so much he could drink no more; So he fell asleep with a troubled brain To dream that he rode on a hell-bound train. The engine with murderous blood was damp And was brilliantly lit with a brimstone lamp; An imp, for fuel, was shoveling bones, While the furnace rang with a thousand groans. The boiler was filled with lager beer And the devil himself was the engineer; The passengers were a most motley crew,-- Church member, atheist, Gentile, and Jew, Rich men in broadcloth, beggars in rags, Handsome young ladies, and withered old hags, Yellow and black men, red, brown, and white. All chained together,--O God, what a sight! While the train rushed on at an awful pace, The sulphurous fumes scorched their hands and face; Wider and wider the country grew, As faster and faster the engine flew. Louder and louder the thunder crashed And brighter and brighter the lightning flashed; Hotter and hotter the air became Till the clothes were burnt from each quivering frame. And out of the distance there arose a yell, "Ha, ha," said the devil, "we're nearing hell!" Then oh, how the passengers all shrieked with pain And begged the devil to stop the train. But he capered about and danced for glee And laughed and joked at their misery. "My faithful friends, you have done the work And the devil never can a payday shirk. "You've bullied the weak, you've robbed the poor; The starving brother you've turned from the door, You've laid up gold where the canker rust, And have given free vent to your beastly lust. "You've justice scorned, and corruption sown, And trampled the laws of nature down. You have drunk, rioted, cheated, plundered, and lied, And mocked at God in your hell-born pride. "You have paid full fare so I'll carry you through; For it's only right you should have your due. Why, the laborer always expects his hire, So I'll land you safe in the lake of fire. "Where your flesh will waste in the flames that roar, And my imps torment you forever more." Then the cowboy awoke with an anguished cry, His clothes wet with sweat and his hair standing high. Then he prayed as he never had prayed till that hour To be saved from his sin and the demon's power. And his prayers and his vows were not in vain; For he never rode the hell-bound train. THE OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT Come all of you, my brother scouts, And listen to my song; Come, let us sing together Though the shadows fall so long. Of all the old frontiersmen That used to scour the plain There are but very few of them That with us yet remain. Day after day they're dropping off, They're going one by one; Our clan is fast decreasing, Our race is almost run. There are many of our number That never wore the blue, But faithfully they did their part As brave men, tried and true. They never joined the army, But had other work to do In piloting the coming folks, To help them safely through. But brothers, we are failing, Our race is almost run; The days of elk and buffalo And beaver traps are gone-- Oh, the days of elk and buffalo! It fills my heart with pain To know these days are past and gone To never come again. We fought the red-skin rascals Over valley, hill, and plain; We fought him in the mountain top, We fought him down again. These fighting days are over. The Indian yell resounds No more along the border; Peace sends far sweeter sounds. But we found great joy, old comrades, To hear and make it die; We won bright homes for gentle ones, And now, our West, good-bye. THE DESERTED ADOBE Round the 'dobe rank sands are thickly blowin', Its ridges fill the deserted field; Yet on this claim young lives once hope were sowing For all the years might yield; And in strong hands the echoing hoof pursuin' A wooden share turned up the sod, The toiler brave drank deep the fresh air's brewin' And sang content to God. The toiler brave drank deep the fresh air's brewin' And sang content to God. A woman fair and sweet has smilin' striven Through long and lonesome hours; A blue-eyed babe, a bit of earthly heaven, Laughed at the sun's hot towers; A bow of promise made this desert splendid, This 'dobe was their pride. But what began so well, alas, has ended--, The promise died. But what began so well alas soon ended--, The promise died. Their plans and dreams, their cheerful labor wasted In dry and mis-spent years; The spring was sweet, the summer bitter tasted, The autumn salt with tears. Now "gyp" and sand do hide their one-time yearnin'; 'Twas theirs; 'tis past. God's ways are strange, we take so long in learnin', To fail at last. God's ways are strange, we take so long in learnin', To fail at last. THE COWBOY AT WORK You may call the cowboy horned and think him hard to tame, You may heap vile epithets upon his head; But to know him is to like him, notwithstanding his hard name, For he will divide with you his beef and bread. If you see him on his pony as he scampers o'er the plain, You would think him wild and woolly, to be sure; But his heart is warm and tender when he sees a friend in need, Though his education is but to endure. When the storm breaks in its fury and the lightning's vivid flash Makes you thank the Lord for shelter and for bed, Then it is he mounts his pony and away you see him dash, No protection but the hat upon his head. Such is life upon a cow ranch, and the half was never told; But you never find a kinder-hearted set Than the cattleman at home, be he either young or old, He's a "daisy from away back," don't forget. When you fail to find a pony or a cow that's gone a-stray, Be that cow or pony wild or be it tame, The cowboy, like the drummer,--and the bed-bug, too, they say,-- Brings him to you, for he gets there just the same. HERE'S TO THE RANGER! He leaves unplowed his furrow, He leaves his books unread For a life of tented freedom By lure of danger led. He's first in the hour of peril, He's gayest in the dance, Like the guardsman of old England Or the beau sabreur of France. He stands our faithful bulwark Against our savage foe; Through lonely woodland places Our children come and go; Our flocks and herds untended O'er hill and valley roam, The Ranger in the saddle Means peace for us at home. Behold our smiling farmsteads Where waves the golden grain! Beneath yon tree, earth's bosom Was dark with crimson stain. That bluff the death-shot echoed Of husband, father, slain! God grant such sight of horror We never see again! The gay and hardy Ranger, His blanket on the ground, Lies by the blazing camp-fire While song and tale goes round; And if one voice is silent, One fails to hear the jest, They know his thoughts are absent With her who loves him best. Our state, her sons confess it, That queenly, star-crowned brow, Has darkened with the shadow Of lawlessness ere now; And men of evil passions On her reproach have laid, But that the ready Ranger Rode promptly to her aid. He may not win the laurel Nor trumpet tongue of fame; But beauty smiles upon him, And ranchmen bless his name. Then here's to the Texas Ranger, Past, present and to come! Our safety from the savage, The guardian of our home. MUSTER OUT THE RANGER Yes, muster them out, the valiant band That guards our western home. What matter to you in your eastern land If the raiders here should come? No danger that you shall awake at night To the howls of a savage band; So muster them out, though the morning light Find havoc on every hand. Some dear one is sick and the horses all gone, So we can't for a doctor send; The outlaws were in in the light of the morn And no Rangers here to defend. For they've mustered them out, the brave true band, Untiring by night and day. The fearless scouts of this border land Made the taxes high, they say. Have fewer men in the capitol walls, Fewer tongues in the war of words, But add to the Rangers, the living wall That keeps back the bandit hordes. Have fewer dinners, less turtle soup, If the taxes are too high. There are many other and better ways To lower them if they try. Don't waste so much of your money Printing speeches people don't read. If you'd only take off what's used for that 'Twould lower the tax indeed. Don't use so much sugar and lemons; Cold water is just as good For a constant drink in the summer time And better for the blood. But leave us the Rangers to guard us still, Nor think that they cost too dear; For their faithful watch over vale and hill Gives our loved ones naught to fear. A COW CAMP ON THE RANGE Oh, the prairie dogs are screaming, And the birds are on the wing, See the heel fly chase the heifer, boys! 'Tis the first class sign of spring. The elm wood is budding, The earth is turning green. See the pretty things of nature That make life a pleasant dream! I'm just living through the winter To enjoy the coming change, For there is no place so homelike As a cow camp on the range. The boss is smiling radiant, Radiant as the setting sun; For he knows he's stealing glories, For he ain't a-cussin' none. The cook is at the chuck-box Whistling "Heifers in the Green," Making baking powder biscuits, boys, While the pot is biling beans. The boys untie their bedding And unroll it on the run, For they are in a monstrous hurry For the supper's almost done. "Here's your bloody wolf bait," Cried the cook's familiar voice As he climbed the wagon wheel To watch the cowboys all rejoice. Then all thoughts were turned from reverence To a plate of beef and beans, As we graze on beef and biscuits Like yearlings on the range. To the dickens with your city Where they herd the brainless brats, On a range so badly crowded There ain't room to cuss the cat. This life is not so sumptuous, I'm not longing for a change, For there is no place so homelike As a cow camp on the range. FRECKLES. A FRAGMENT He was little an' peaked an' thin, an' narry a no account horse,-- Least that's the way you'd describe him in case that the beast had been lost; But, for single and double cussedness an' for double fired sin, The horse never came out o' Texas that was half-way knee-high to him! The first time that ever I saw him was nineteen years ago last spring; 'Twas the year we had grasshoppers, that come an' et up everything, That a feller rode up here one evenin' an' wanted to pen over night A small bunch of horses, he said; an' I told him I guessed 'twas all right. Well, the feller was busted, the horses was thin, an' the grass round here kind of good, An' he said if I'd let him hold here a few days he'd settle with me when he could. So I told him all right, turn them loose down the draw, that the latch string was always untied, He was welcome to stop a few days if he wished and rest from his weary ride. Well, the cuss stayed around for two or three weeks, till at last he was ready to go; And that cuss out yonder bein' too poor to move, he gimme,--the cuss had no dough. Well, at first the darn brute was as wild as a deer, an' would snort when he came to the branch, An' it took two cow punchers, on good horses, too, to handle him here at the ranch. Well, the winter came on an' the range it got hard, an' my mustang commenced to get thin, So I fed him some an' rode him around, an' found out old Freckles was game. For that was what the other cuss called him,--just Freckles, no more or no less,-- His color,--couldn't describe it,--something like a paint shop in distress. Them was Indian times, young feller, that I am telling about; An' oft's the time I've seen the red man fight an' put the boys to rout. A good horse in them days, young feller, would save your life,-- One that in any race could hold the pace when the red-skin bands were rife. * * * * * WHOSE OLD COW? 'Twas the end of round-up, the last day of June, Or maybe July, I don't remember, Or it might have been August, 'twas some time ago, Or perhaps 'twas the first of September. Anyhow, 'twas the round-up we had at Mayou On the Lightning Rod's range, near Cayo; There were some twenty wagons, more or less, camped about On the temporal in the cañon. First night we'd no cattle, so we only stood guard On the horses, somewhere near two hundred head; So we side-lined and hoppled, we belled and we staked, Loosed our hot-rolls and fell into bed. Next morning 'bout day break we started our work, Our horses, like 'possums, felt fine. Each one "tendin' knittin'," none tryin' to shirk! So the round-up got on in good time. Well, we worked for a week till the country was clean And the bosses said, "Now, boys, we'll stay here. We'll carve and we'll trim 'em and start out a herd Up the east trail from old Abilene." Next morning all on herd, and but two with the cut, And the boss on Piute, carving fine, Till he rode down his horse and had to pull out, And a new man went in to clean up. Well, after each outfit had worked on the band There was only three head of them left; When Nig Add from L F D outfit rode in,-- A dictionary on earmarks and brands. He cut the two head out, told where they belonged; But when the last cow stood there alone Add's eyes bulged so he didn't know just what to say, 'Ceptin', "Boss, dere's something here monstrous wrong! "White folks smarter'n Add, and maybe I'se wrong; But here's six months' wages dat I'll give If anyone'll tell me when I reads dis mark To who dis longhorned cow belong! "Overslope in right ear an' de underbill, Lef' ear swaller fork an' de undercrop, Hole punched in center, an' de jinglebob Under half crop, an' de slash an' split. "She's got O Block an' Lightnin' Rod, Nine Forty-Six an' A Bar Eleven, T Terrapin an' Ninety-Seven, Rafter Cross an' de Double Prod. "Half circle A an' Diamond D, Four Cross L and Three P Z, B W I bar, X V V, Bar N cross an' A L C. "So, if none o' you punchers claims dis cow, Mr. Stock 'Sociation needn't git 'larmed; For one more brand more or less won't do no harm, So old Nigger Add'l just brand her now." OLD TIME COWBOY Come all you melancholy folks wherever you may be, I'll sing you about the cowboy whose life is light and free. He roams about the prairie, and, at night when he lies down, His heart is as gay as the flowers in May in his bed upon the ground. They're a little bit rough, I must confess, the most of them, at least; But if you do not hunt a quarrel you can live with them in peace; For if you do, you're sure to rue the day you joined their band. They will follow you up and shoot it out with you just man to man. Did you ever go to a cowboy whenever hungry and dry, Asking for a dollar, and have him you deny? He'll just pull out his pocket book and hand you a note,-- They are the fellows to help you whenever you are broke. Go to their ranches and stay a while, they never ask a cent; And when they go to town, their money is freely spent. They walk straight up and take a drink, paying for every one, And they never ask your pardon for anything they've done. When they go to their dances, some dance while others pat They ride their bucking bronchos, and wear their broad-brimmed hats; With their California saddles, and their pants stuck in their boots, You can hear their spurs a-jingling, and perhaps some of them shoots. Come all soft-hearted tenderfeet, if you want to have some fun; Go live among the cowboys, they'll show you how it's done. They'll treat you like a prince, my boys, about them there's nothing mean; But don't try to give them too much advice, for all of them ain't green. BUCKING BRONCHO My love is a rider, wild bronchos he breaks, Though he's promised to quit it, just for my sake. He ties up one foot, the saddle puts on, With a swing and a jump he is mounted and gone. The first time I met him, 'twas early one spring, Riding a broncho, a high-headed thing. He tipped me a wink as he gaily did go; For he wished me to look at his bucking broncho. The next time I saw him 'twas late in the fall, Swinging the girls at Tomlinson's ball. He laughed and he talked as we danced to and fro, Promised never to ride on another broncho. He made me some presents, among them a ring; The return that I made him was a far better thing; 'Twas a young maiden's heart, I'd have you all know; He's won it by riding his bucking broncho. My love has a gun, and that gun he can use, But he's quit his gun fighting as well as his booze; And he's sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope, And there's no more cow punching, and that's what I hope. My love has a gun that has gone to the bad, Which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad; For the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low, And it wobbles about like a bucking broncho. Now all you young maidens, where'er you reside, Beware of the cowboy who swings the raw-hide; He'll court you and pet you and leave you and go In the spring up the trail on his bucking broncho. THE PECOS QUEEN Where the Pecos River winds and turns in its journey to the sea, From its white walls of sand and rock striving ever to be free, Near the highest railroad bridge that all these modern times have seen, Dwells fair young Patty Morehead, the Pecos River queen. She is known by every cowboy on the Pecos River wide, They know full well that she can shoot, that she can rope and ride. She goes to every round-up, every cow work without fail, Looking out for her cattle, branded "walking hog on rail." She made her start in cattle, yes, made it with her rope; Can tie down every maverick before it can strike a lope. She can rope and tie and brand it as quick as any man; She's voted by all cowboys an A-1 top cow hand. Across the Comstock railroad bridge, the highest in the West, Patty rode her horse one day, a lover's heart to test; For he told her he would gladly risk all dangers for her sake-- But the puncher wouldn't follow, so she's still without a mate. CHOPO Through rocky arroyas so dark and so deep, Down the sides of the mountains so slippery and steep,-- You've good judgment, sure-footed, wherever you go, You're a safety conveyance, my little Chopo. Refrain:-- Chopo, my pony, Chopo, my pride, Chopo, my amigo, Chopo I will ride. From Mexico's borders 'cross Texas' Llano To the salt Pecos River, I ride you, Chopo. Whether single or double or in the lead of the team, Over highways or byways or crossing a stream,-- You're always in fix and willing to go, Whenever you're called on, my chico Chopo. You're a good roping horse, you were never jerked down, When tied to a steer, you will circle him round; Let him once cross the string and over he'll go,-- You sabe the business, my cow-horse, Chopo. One day on the Llano a hailstorm began, The herds were stampeded, the horses all ran, The lightning it glittered, a cyclone did blow, But you faced the sweet music, my little Chopo. TOP HAND While you're all so frisky I'll sing a little song,-- Think a little horn of whiskey will help the thing along? It's all about the Top Hand, when he busted flat Bummin' round the town, in his Mexican hat. He's laid up all winter, and his pocket book is flat, His clothes are all tatters, but he don't mind that. See him in town with a crowd that he knows, Rollin' cigarettes and smokin' through his nose. First thing he tells you, he owns a certain brand,-- Leads you to think he is a daisy hand; Next thing he tells you 'bout his trip up the trail, All the way to Kansas, to finish out his tale. Put him on a hoss, he's a handy hand to work; Put him in the brandin'-pen, he's dead sure to shirk. With his natural leaf tobacco in the pockets of his vest He'll tell you his California pants are the best. He's handled lots of cattle, hasn't any fears, Can draw his sixty dollars for the balance of his years. Put him on herd, he's a-cussin' all day; Anything he tries, it's sure to get away. When you have a round-up, he tells it all about He's goin' to do the cuttin' an' you can't keep him out. If anything goes wrong, he lays it on the screws, Says the lazy devils were tryin' to take a snooze. When he meets a greener he ain't afraid to rig, Stands him on a chuck box and makes him dance a jig,-- Waves a loaded cutter, makes him sing and shout,-- He's a regular Ben Thompson when the boss ain't about. When the boss ain't about he leaves his leggins in camp, He swears a man who wears them is worse than a tramp. Says he's not carin' for the wages he earns, For Dad's rich in Texas,--got wagon loads to burn; But when he goes to town, he's sure to take it in, He's always been dreaded wherever he's been. He rides a fancy horse, he's a favorite man, Can get more credit than a common waddie can. When you ship the cattle he's bound to go along To keep the boss from drinking and see that nothing's wrong. Wherever he goes, catch on to his name, He likes to be called with a handle to his name. He's always primping with a pocket looking-glass, From the top to the bottom he's a bold Jackass. CALIFORNIA TRAIL List all you California boys And open wide your ears, For now we start across the plains With a herd of mules and steers. Now, bear in mind before you start, That you'll eat jerked beef, not ham, And antelope steak, Oh cuss the stuff! It often proves a sham. You cannot find a stick of wood On all this prairie wide; Whene'er you eat you've got to stand Or sit on some old bull hide. It's fun to cook with buffalo chips Or mesquite, green as corn,-- If I'd once known what I know now I'd have gone around Cape Horn. The women have the hardest time Who emigrate by land; For when they cook out in the wind They're sure to burn their hand. Then they scold their husbands round, Get mad and spill the tea,-- I'd have thanked my stars if they'd not come out Upon this bleak prairie. Most every night we put out guards To keep the Indians off. When night comes round some heads will ache, And some begin to cough. To be deprived of help at night, You know is mighty hard, But every night there's someone sick To keep from standing guard. Then they're always talking of what they've got, And what they're going to do; Some will say they're content, For I've got as much as you. Others will say, "I'll buy or sell, I'm damned if I care which." Others will say, "Boys, buy him out, For he doesn't own a stitch." Old raw-hide shoes are hell on corns While tramping through the sands, And driving jackass by the tail,-- Damn the overland! I would as leaf be on a raft at sea And there at once be lost. John, let's leave the poor old mule, We'll never get him across! BRONC PEELER'S SONG I've been upon the prairie, I've been upon the plain, I've never rid a steam-boat, Nor a double-cinched-up train. But I've driv my eight-up to wagon That were locked three in a row, And that through blindin' sand storms, And all kinds of wind and snow. Cho:-- Goodbye, Liza, poor gal, Goodbye, Liza Jane, Goodbye, Liza, poor gal, She died on the plain. There never was a place I've been Had any kind of wood. We burn the roots of bar-grass And think it's very good. I've never tasted home bread, Nor cakes, nor muss like that; But I know fried dough and beef Pulled from red-hot tallow fat. I hate to see the wire fence A-closin' up the range; And all this fillin' in the trail With people that is strange. We fellers don't know how to plow, Nor reap the golden grain; But to round up steers and brand the cows To us was allus plain. So when this blasted country Is all closed in with wire, And all the top, as trot grass, Is burnin' in Sol's fire, I hope the settlers will be glad When rain hits the land. And all us cowdogs are in hell With a "set"[9] joined hand in hand. [Footnote 9: "set" means settler.] A DEER HUNT One pleasant summer day it came a storm of snow; I picked my old gun and a-hunting I did go. I came across a herd of deer and I trailed them through the snow, I trailed them to the mountains where straight up they did go. I trailed them o'er the mountains, I trailed them to the brim, And I trailed them to the waters where they jumped in to swim. I cocked both my pistols and under water went,-- To kill the fattest of them deer, that was my whole intent. While I was under water five hundred feet or more I fired both my pistols; like cannons did they roar. I picked up my venison and out of water came,-- To kill the balance of them deer, I thought it would be fun. So I bent my gun in circles and fired round a hill. And, out of three or four deer, ten thousand I did kill. Then I picked up my venison and on my back I tied And as the sun came passing by I hopped up there to ride. The sun she carried me o'er the globe, so merrily I did roam That in four and twenty hours I landed safe at home. And the money I received for my venison and skin, I taken it all to the barn door and it would not all go in. And if you doubt the truth of this I tell you how to know: Just take my trail and go my rounds, as I did, long ago. WINDY BILL Windy Bill was a Texas man,-- Well, he could rope, you bet. He swore the steer he couldn't tie,-- Well, he hadn't found him yet. But the boys they knew of an old black steer, A sort of an old outlaw That ran down in the malpais At the foot of a rocky draw. This old black steer had stood his ground With punchers from everywhere; So they bet old Bill at two to one That he couldn't quite get there. Then Bill brought out his old gray hoss, His withers and back were raw, And prepared to tackle the big black brute That ran down in the draw. With his brazen bit and his Sam Stack tree His chaps and taps to boot, And his old maguey tied hard and fast, Bill swore he'd get the brute. Now, first Bill sort of sauntered round Old Blackie began to paw, Then threw his tail straight in the air And went driftin' down the draw. The old gray plug flew after him, For he'd been eatin' corn; And Bill, he piled his old maguey Right round old Blackie's horns. The old gray hoss he stopped right still; The cinches broke like straw, And the old maguey and the Sam Stack tree Went driftin' down the draw. Bill, he lit in a flint rock pile, His face and hands were scratched. He said he thought he could rope a snake But he guessed he'd met his match. He paid his bets like a little man Without a bit of jaw, And lowed old Blackie was the boss Of anything in the draw. There's a moral to my story, boys, And that you all must see. Whenever you go to tie a snake,[10] Don't tie it to your tree; But take your dolly welters[11] 'Cordin' to California law, And you'll never see your old rim-fire[12] Go drifting down the draw. [Footnote 10: snake, bad steer.] [Footnote 11: Dolly welter, rope tied all around the saddle.] [Footnote 12: rim-fire saddle, without flank girth.] WILD ROVERS Come all you wild rovers And listen to me While I retail to you My sad history. I'm a man of experience Your favors to gain, Oh, love has been the ruin Of many a poor man. When you are single And living at your ease You can roam this world over And do as you please; You can roam this world over And go where you will And slyly kiss a pretty girl And be your own still. But when you are married And living with your wife, You've lost all the joys And comforts of life. Your wife she will scold you, Your children will cry, And that will make papa Look withered and dry. You can't step aside, boys, To speak to a friend Without your wife at your elbow Saying, "What does this mean?" Your wife, she will scold And there is sad news. Dear boys, take warning; 'Tis a life to refuse. If you chance to be riding Along the highway And meet a fair maiden, A lady so gay, With red, rosy cheeks And sparkling blue eyes,-- Oh, heavens! what a tumult In your bosom will rise! One more request, boys, Before we must part: Don't place your affections On a charming sweetheart; She'll dance before you Your favors to gain. Oh, turn your back on them With scorn and disdain! Come close to the bar, boys, We'll drink all around. We'll drink to the pure, If any be found; We'll drink to the single, For I wish them success; Likewise to the married, For I wish them no less. LIFE IN A HALF-BREED SHACK 'Tis life in a half-breed shack, The rain comes pouring down; "Drip" drops the mud through the roof, And the wind comes through the wall. A tenderfoot cursed his luck And feebly cried out "yah!" Refrain: Yah! Yah! I want to go home to my ma! Yah! Yah! this bloomin' country's a fraud! Yah! Yah! I want to go home to my ma! He tries to kindle a fire When it's forty-five below; He aims to chop at a log And amputates his toe; He hobbles back to the shack And feebly cries out "yah"! He gets on a bucking cayuse And thinks to flourish around, But the buzzard-head takes to bucking And lays him flat out on the ground. As he picks himself up with a curse, He feebly cries out "yah"! He buys all the town lots he can get In the wrong end of Calgary, And he waits and he waits for the boom Until he's dead broke like me. He couldn't get any tick So he feebly cries out "yah"! He couldn't do any work And he wouldn't know how if he could; So the police run him for a vag And set him to bucking wood. As he sits in the guard room cell, He feebly cries out "yah"! Come all ye tenderfeet And listen to what I say, If you can't get a government job You had better remain where you be. Then you won't curse your luck And cry out feebly "yah"! THE ROAD TO COOK'S PEAK If you'll listen a while I'll sing you a song, And as it is short it won't take me long. There are some things of which I will speak Concerning the stage on the road to Cook's Peak. On the road to Cook's Peak,-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- Concerning the stage on the road to Cook's Peak. It was in the morning at eight-forty-five, I was hooking up all ready to drive Out where the miners for minerals seek, With two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- With two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak. With my two little mules I jog along And try to cheer them with ditty and song; O'er the wide prairie where coyotes sneak, While driving the stage on the road to Cook's Peak. On the road to Cook's Peak,-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- While driving the stage on the road to Cook's Peak. Sometimes I have to haul heavy freight, Then it is I get home very late. In rain or shine, six days in the week, 'Tis the same little mules on the road to Cook's Peak. On the road to Cook's Peak,-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- 'Tis the same little mules on the road to Cook's Peak. And when with the driving of stage I am through I will to my two little mules bid adieu. And hope that those creatures, so gentle and meek, Will have a good friend on the road to Cook's Peak. On the road to Cook's Peak,-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- Will have a good friend on the road to Cook's Peak. Now all kind friends that travel about, Come take a trip on the Wallis stage route. With a plenty of grit, they never get weak,-- Those two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak. On the road to Cook's Peak,-- On the road to Cook's Peak,-- Those two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak. ARAPHOE, OR BUCKSKIN JOE 'Twas a calm and peaceful evening in a camp called Araphoe, And the whiskey was a running with a soft and gentle flow, The music was a-ringing in a dance hall cross the way, And the dancers was a-swinging just as close as they could lay. People gathered round the tables, a-betting with their wealth, And near by stood a stranger who had come there for his health. He was a peaceful little stranger though he seemed to be unstrung; For just before he'd left his home he'd separated with one lung. Nearby at a table sat a man named Hankey Dean, A tougher man says Hankey, buckskin chaps had never seen. But Hankey was a gambler and he was plum sure to lose; For he had just departed with a sun-dried stack of blues. He rose from the table, on the floor his last chip flung, And cast his fiery glimmers on the man with just one lung. "No wonder I've been losing every bet I made tonight When a sucker and a tenderfoot was between me and the light. Look here, little stranger, do you know who I am?" "Yes, and I don't care a copper colored damn." The dealers stopped their dealing and the players held their breath; For words like those to Hankey were a sudden flirt with death. "Listen, gentle stranger, I'll read my pedigree: I'm known on handling tenderfeet and worser men than thee; The lions on the mountains, I've drove them to their lairs; The wild-cats are my playmates, and I've wrestled grizzly bears; "Why, the centipedes can't mar my tough old hide, And rattle snakes have bit me and crawled off and died. I'm as wild as the horse that roams the range; The moss grows on my teeth and wild blood flows through my veins. "I'm wild and woolly and full of fleas And never curried below the knees. Now, little stranger, if you'll give me your address,-- How would you like to go, by fast mail or express?" The little stranger who was leaning on the door Picked up a hand of playing cards that were scattered on the floor. Picking out the five of spades, he pinned it to the door And then stepped back some twenty paces or more. He pulled out his life-preserver, and with a "one, two, three, four," Blotted out a spot with every shot; For he had traveled with a circus and was a fancy pistol shot. "I have one more left, kind sir, if you wish to call the play." Then Hanke stepped up to the stranger and made a neat apology, "Why, the lions in the mountains,--that was nothing but a joke. Never mind about the extra, you are a bad shooting man, And I'm a meek little child and as harmless as a lamb." ROUNDED UP IN GLORY I have been thinking to-day, As my thoughts began to stray, Of your memory to me worth more than gold. As you ride across the plain, 'Mid the sunshine and the rain,-- You will be rounded up in glory bye and bye. Chorus: You will be rounded up in glory bye and bye, You will be rounded up in glory bye and bye, When the milling time is o'er And you will stampede no more, When he rounds you up within the Master's fold. As you ride across the plain With the cowboys that have fame, And the storms and the lightning flash by. We shall meet to part no more Upon the golden shore When he rounds us up in glory bye and bye. May we lift our voices high To that sweet bye and bye, And be known by the brand of the Lord; For his property we are, And he will know us from afar When he rounds us up in glory bye and bye. THE DRUNKARD'S HELL It was on a cold and stormy night I saw and heard an awful sight; The lightning flashed and thunder rolled Around my poor benighted soul. I thought I heard a mournful sound Among the groans still lower down, That awful sight no tongue can tell Is this,--the place called Drunkard's Hell. I thought I saw the gulf below Where all the dying drunkards go. I raised my hand and sad to tell It was the place called Drunkard's Hell. I traveled on and got there at last And started to take a social glass; But every time I started,--well, I thought about the Drunkard's Hell. I dashed it down to leave that place And started to seek redeeming grace. I felt like Paul, at once I'd pray Till all my sins were washed away. I then went home to change my life And see my long neglected wife. I found her weeping o'er the bed Because her infant babe was dead. I told her not to mourn and weep Because her babe had gone to sleep; Its happy soul had fled away To dwell with Christ till endless day. I taken her by her pale white hand, She was so weak she could not stand; I laid her down and breathed a prayer That God might bless and save her there. I then went to the Temperance hall And taken a pledge among them all. They taken me in with a willing hand And taken me in as a temperance man. So seven long years have passed away Since first I bowed my knees to pray; So now I live a sober life With a happy home and a loving wife. RAMBLING BOY I am a wild and roving lad, A wild and rambling lad I'll be; For I do love a little girl And she does love me. "O Willie, O Willie, I love you so, I love you more than I do know; And if my tongue could tell you so I'd give the world to let you know." When Julia's old father came this to know,-- That Julia and Willie were loving so,-- He ripped and swore among them all, And swore he'd use a cannon ball. She wrote Willie a letter with her right hand And sent it to him in the western land. "Oh, read these lines, sweet William dear. For this is the last of me you will hear." He read those lines while he wept and cried, "Ten thousand times I wish I had died", He read those lines while he wept and said, "Ten thousand times I wish I were dead." When her old father came home that night He called for Julia, his heart's delight, He ran up stairs and her door he broke And found her hanging by her own bed rope. And with his knife he cut her down, And in her bosom this note he found Saying, "Dig my grave both deep and wide And bury sweet Willie by my side." They dug her grave both deep and wide And buried sweet Willie by her side; And on her grave set a turtle dove To show the world they died for love. BRIGHAM YOUNG. I. I'll sing you a song that has often been sung About an old Mormon they called Brigham Young. Of wives he had many who were strong in the lungs, Which Brigham found out by the length of their tongues. Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral. Oh, sad was the life of a Mormon to lead, Yet Brigham adhered all his life to his creed. He said 'twas such fun, and true, without doubt, To see the young wives knock the old ones about. Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral. One day as old Brigham sat down to his dinner He saw a young wife who was not getting thinner; When the elders cried out, one after the other, By the holy, she wants to go home to her mother. Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral. Old Brigham replied, which can't be denied, He couldn't afford to lose such a bride. Then do not be jealous but banish your fears; For the tree is well known by the fruit that it bears. Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral. That I love one and all you very well know, Then do not provoke me or my anger will show. What must be our fate if found here in a row, If Uncle Sam comes with his row-de-dow-dow. Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral. Then cease all your quarrels and do not despair, To meet Uncle Sam I will quickly prepare. Hark! I hear Yankee Doodle played over the hills! Ah! here's the enemy with their powder and pills. Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral. BRIGHAM YOUNG. II. Now Brigham Young is a Mormon bold, And a leader of the roaring rams, And shepherd of a lot of fine tub sheep And a lot of pretty little lambs. Oh, he lives with his five and forty wives, In the city of the Great Salt Lake, Where they breed and swarm like hens on a farm And cackle like ducks to a drake. Chorus:-- Oh Brigham, Brigham Young, It's a miracle how you survive, With your roaring rams and your pretty little lambs And your five and forty wives. Number forty-five is about sixteen, Number one is sixty and three; And they make such a riot, how he keeps them quiet Is a downright mystery to me. For they clatter and they chaw and they jaw, jaw, jaw, And each has a different desire; It would aid the renown of the best shop in town To supply them with half they desire. Now, Brigham Young was a stout man once, And now he is thin and old; And I am sorry to state he is bald on the pate, Which once had a covering of gold. For his oldest wives won't have white wool, And his young ones won't have red, So, with tearing it out, and taking turn about, They have torn all the hair off his head. Now, the oldest wives sing songs all day, And the young ones all sing songs; And amongst such a crowd he has it pretty loud,-- They're as noisy as Chinese gongs. And when they advance for a Mormon dance He is filled with the direst alarms; For they are sure to end the night in a tabernacle fight To see who has the fairest charms. Now, if any man here envies Brigham Young Let him go to the Great Salt Lake; And if he has the leisure to enjoy his pleasure, He'll find it a great mistake. One wife at a time, so says my rhyme, Is enough,--there's no denial;-- So, before you strive to be lord of forty-five, Take two for a month on trial. THE OLD GRAY MULE I am an old man some sixty years old And that you can plain-li see, But when I was a young man ten years old They made a stable boy of me. I have seen the fastest horses That made the fastest time, But I never saw one in all my life Like that old gray mule of mine. On a Sunday morn I dress myself, A-goin' out to ride; Now, my old mule is as gray as a bird, Then he is full of his pride. He never runs away with you, Never cuts up any shine; For the only friend I have on earth Is this old gray mule of mine. Now my old gray mule is dead and gone, Gone to join the heavenly band, With silver shoes upon his feet To dance on the golden strand. THE FOOLS OF FORTY-NINE When gold was found in forty-eight the people thought 'twas gas, And some were fools enough to think the lumps were only brass. But soon they all were satisfied and started off to mine; They bought their ships, came round the Horn, in the days of forty-nine. Refrain: Then they thought of what they'd been told When they started after gold,-- That they never in the world would make a pile. The people all were crazy then, they didn't know what to do. They sold their farms for just enough to pay their passage through. They bid their friends a long farewell, said, "Dear wife, don't you cry, I'll send you home the yellow lumps a piano for to buy." The poor, the old, and the rotten scows were advertised to sail From New Orleans with passengers, but they must pump and bail. The ships were crowded more than full, and some hung on behind, And others dived off from the wharf and swam till they were blind. With rusty pork and stinking beef and rotten, wormy bread! The captains, too, that never were up as high as the main mast head! The steerage passengers would rave and swear that they'd paid their passage And wanted something more to eat beside bologna sausage. They then began to cross the plain with oxen, hollowing "haw." And steamers then began to run as far as Panama. And there for months the people staid, that started after gold, And some returned disgusted with the lies that had been told. The people died on every route, they sickened and died like sheep; And those at sea before they died were launched into the deep; And those that died while crossing the plains fared not so well as that, For a hole was dug and they thrown in along the miserable Platte. The ships at last began to arrive and the people began to inquire. They say that flour is a dollar a pound, do you think it will be any higher? And to carry their blankets and sleep outdoors, it seemed so very droll! Both tired and mad, without a cent, they damned the lousy hole. A RIPPING TRIP[13] You go aboard a leaky boat And sail for San Francisco, You've got to pump to keep her afloat, You've got that, by jingo! The engine soon begins to squeak, But nary a thing to oil her; Impossible to stop the leak,-- Rip, goes the boiler. The captain on the promenade Looking very savage; Steward and the cabin maid Fightin' 'bout the cabbage; All about the cabin floor Passengers lie sea-sick; Steamer bound to go ashore,-- Rip, goes the physic. Pork and beans they can't afford, The second cabin passengers; The cook has tumbled overboard With fifty pounds of sassengers; The engineer, a little tight, Bragging on the Mail Line, Finally gets into a fight,-- Rip, goes the engine. [Footnote 13: To tune of _Pop Goes the Weasel_.] THE HAPPY MINER I'm a happy miner, I love to sing and dance. I wonder what my love would say If she could see my pants With canvas patches on my knees And one upon the stern? I'll wear them when I'm digging here And home when I return. Refrain: So I get in a jovial way, I spend my money free. And I've got plenty! Will you drink lager beer with me? She writes about her poodle dog; But never thinks to say, "Oh, do come home, my honey dear, I'm pining all away." I'll write her half a letter, Then give the ink a tip. If that don't bring her to her milk I'll coolly let her rip. They wish to know if I can cook And what I have to eat, And tell me should I take a cold Be sure and soak my feet. But when they talk of cooking I'm mighty hard to beat, I've made ten thousand loaves of bread The devil couldn't eat. I like a lazy partner So I can take my ease, Lay down and talk of golden home, As happy as you please; Without a thing to eat or drink, Away from care and grief,-- I'm fat and sassy, ragged, too, And tough as Spanish beef. No matter whether rich or poor, I'm happy as a clam. I wish my friends at home could look And see me as I am. With woolen shirt and rubber boots, In mud up to my knees, And lice as large as chili beans Fighting with the fleas. I'll mine for half an ounce a day, Perhaps a little less; But when it comes to China pay I cannot stand the press. Like thousands there, I'll make a pile, If I make one at all, About the time the allied forces Take Sepasterpol. THE CALIFORNIA STAGE COMPANY There's no respect for youth or age On board the California stage, But pull and haul about the seats As bed-bugs do about the sheets. Refrain: They started as a thieving line In eighteen hundred and forty-nine; All opposition they defy, So the people must root hog or die. You're crowded in with Chinamen, As fattening hogs are in a pen; And what will more a man provoke Is musty plug tobacco smoke. The ladies are compelled to sit With dresses in tobacco spit; The gentlemen don't seem to care, But talk on politics and swear. The dust is deep in summer time, The mountains very hard to climb, And drivers often stop and yell, "Get out, all hands, and push up hill." The drivers, when they feel inclined, Will have you walking on behind, And on your shoulders lug a pole To help them out some muddy hole. They promise when your fare you pay, "You'll have to walk but half the way"; Then add aside, with cunning laugh, "You'll have to push the other half." NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM My country, 'tis of thee, Land where things used to be So cheap, we croak. Land of the mavericks, Land of the puncher's tricks, Thy culture-inroad pricks The hide of this peeler-bloke. Some of the punchers swear That what they eat and wear Takes all their calves. Others vow that they Eat only once a day Jerked beef and prairie hay Washed down with tallow salves. These salty-dogs[14] but crave To pull them out the grave Just one Kiowa spur. They know they still will dine On flesh and beef the time; But give us, Lord divine, One "hen-fruit stir."[15] Our father's land, with thee, Best trails of liberty, We chose to stop. We don't exactly like So soon to henceward hike, But hell, we'll take the pike If this don't stop. [Footnote 14: Cowboy Dude.] [Footnote 15: Pancake.] 
35410	----	[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs=. Italic text is surrounded by _underscores_. Macrons are indicated in brackets with an equal sign, like this: [=u]. Breves are indicated in brackets with a right parenthesis, like this: [)u].] The Folk-Lore Society FOR COLLECTING AND PRINTING RELICS OF POPULAR ANTIQUITIES, &c. ESTABLISHED IN THE YEAR MDCCCLXXVIII. [Illustration: Alter et Idem.] PUBLICATIONS OF THE FOLK-LORE SOCIETY LV. [1904] JAMAICAN SONG AND STORY: _ANNANCY STORIES, DIGGING SINGS, RING TUNES, AND DANCING TUNES_ COLLECTED AND EDITED BY WALTER JEKYLL: _WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY_ ALICE WERNER, _AND APPENDICES ON_ TRACES OF AFRICAN MELODY IN JAMAICA _BY_ C.S. MYERS, _AND ON_ ENGLISH AIRS AND MOTIFS IN JAMAICA _BY_ LUCY E. BROADWOOD. "A few brief years have passed away Since Britain drove her million slaves Beneath the tropic's fiery ray: God willed their freedom; and to-day Life blooms above those island graves!" _Whittier_ Published for the Folk-Lore Society by DAVID NUTT, 57-59 LONG ACRE LONDON 1907 CONTENTS. PAGE INTRODUCTION (ALICE WERNER), xxiii AUTHOR'S PREFACE, liii PART I.: ANNANCY STORIES, 1 1. Annancy and Brother Tiger, 7 2. Yung-Kyum-Pyung, 11 3. King Daniel, 14 4. Tomby, 16 5. How Monkey manage Annancy, 20 6. Blackbird and Woss-woss, 23 7. The Three Sisters, 26 8. William Tell, 29 9. Brother Annancy and Brother Death, 31 10. Mr. Bluebeard, 35 11. Annancy, Puss and Ratta, 38 12. Toad and Donkey, 39 13. Snake the Postman, 43 14. Doba, 46 15. Dry-Bone, 48 16. Annancy and the Old Lady's Field, 51 17. Man-Crow, 54 18. Saylan, 58 19. Annancy and Screech-Owl, 60 20. Annancy and Cow, 63 21. Tacoma and the Old-Witch Girl, 65 22. Devil's Honey-Dram, 68 23. Annancy in Crab Country, 70 24. Gaulin, 73 25. Annancy, Monkey and Tiger, 77 26. The Three Pigs, 79 27. Dummy, 84 28. Annancy and Candlefly, 86 29. Parson Puss and Parson Dog, 91 30. Chicken-Hawk, 94 31. Pretty Poll, 96 32. Annancy and Hog, 98 33. Dry-River, 100 34. Yellow Snake, 102 35. Cow and Annancy, 104 36. Leah and Tiger, 108 37. Timmolimmo, 114 38. Calcutta Monkey and Annancy, 117 39. Open Sesame, 120 40. Sea-Mahmy, 123 41. Crab and his Corn-piece, 126 42. Dry-Grass and Fire, 129 43. John Crow, 132 44. Tiger's Death, 135 45. The Old Lady and the Jar, 137 46. John Crow and Fowl-Hawk, 140 47. Finger Quashy, 143 48. Annancy and his Fish-Pot, 145 49. Hog and Dog, 146 50. Devil and the Princess, 148 51. Wheeler, 152 PART II.: DIGGING SINGS, 157 52. Oh hurrah, boys! 159 53. Ho biddybye, 159 54. Tell Mr. Linky, 160 55. Tell Mr. Bell, 161 56. Bad homan oh! 162 57. Bell a ring a yard oh! 162 58. The one shirt I have, 164 59. Jessie cut him yoke, 164 60. T'ree acre of Cahffee, 165 61. Away, away, 166 62. Wednesday morning before day, 167 63. Oh Samuel oh! 168 64. Oh 'liza oh! 168 65. Aunty Mary oh! 169 66. Oh me yerry news! 170 67. Jes' so me barn, 170 68. Tell Mary say, 171 69. Me tell them gall, 171 70. Gold, amber gold, 172 71. Gee oh mother Mac, 173 72. Leah married a Tuesday, 173 73. Cheer me oh! 173 74. Me cock a crow, 174 75. Oh Selina! 174 76. Sambo Lady, 176 77. John Thomas, 177 78. Whé mumma dé? 178 79. Toady, 179 80. Me know the man, 180 81. Minnie, 181 82. You want to yerry Duppy talk, 182 83. Me know Sarah, 183 84. Me donkey want water, 183 85. A Somerset me barn, 184 86. Timber lay down 'pon pit, 185 87. Me want go home, 187 88. War down a Monkland, 187 PART III.: RING TUNES, 190 89. Little Sally Water, 190 90. Poor Little Zeddy, 191 91. Whé me lover dé? 192 92. Ring a diamond, 194 93. Carry Banana, 195 94. Pass the ball, 196 95. Me los' me gold ring, 197 96. Old mother Phoebe, 197 97. Deggy, 198 98. Me go da Galloway Road, 199 99. Rosybel, 200 100. Bull a pen ho! 201 101. Two man a road, 201 102. Adina Mona, 202 103. Palmer, 203 104. Mother Freeman, 204 105. Me have me goosey a me yard, 205 106. Drill him, Constab! 205 107. If you make him come out, 206 108. Oh me Toad oh! 207 109. There's a Black boy in a ring, 207 110. Johnny, 209 111. Me lover gone a Colon bay, 209 112. Good morning to you, mother, 210 113. Johnny Miller, 211 114. Bahlimbo, 212 115. Oh den Jacky, 214 116. Ha, ha, ha, ha! 214 PART IV.: DANCING TUNES, 216 117. When I go home, 217 118. Guava root a medicine, 218 119. Crahss-lookin' dog up'tairs, 218 120. Goatridge have some set a gal, 219 121. Me carry me akee a Linstead market, 219 122. Since Dora Logan, 220 123. Fire, Mr. Preston, Fire! 221 124. Tief cahffee, 222 125. Fan me, soldierman, 223 126. Manny Clark, 224 127. Bungo Moolatta, 225 128. Bahl, Ada, 225 129. Rise a roof in the morning, 226 130. Oh we went to the river, 227 131. Aunty Jane a call Minnie, 228 132. Marty, Marty, 228 133. What make you shave old Hall? 229 134. Run, Moses, run, 230 135. Whé you da do? 231 136. Mother William, hold back Leah, 232 137. Oh, General Jackson! 233 138. Soldier, da go 'way, 234 139. Don't cry too much, Jamaica gal, 234 140. Dip them, 235 141. Very well, very well, 235 142. Oh trial! 236 143. Father, I goin' to join the confirmation, 237 144. Obeah down dé, 239 145. The other day me waistcoat cut, 240 146. All them gal a ride merry-go-round, 241 147. Merry-go-round a go fall down, 242 148. Try, dear, don't tell a lie, 243 149. Look how you mout', 244 150. Breezy say him no want Brown lady, 244 151. Isaac Park gone a Colon, 245 152. Matilda dé 'pon dyin' bed, 246 153. Mas' Charley, 247 154. Me buggy a sell, 247 155. Oh 'zetta Ford, gal, 248 156. Birdyzeena, 249 157. Me an' Katie no 'gree, 249 158. Down-town gal, 249 159. Sal, you ought to been ashame, 250 160. Good morning, Mr. Harman, 250 161. Hullo me honey! 251 162. When mumma dere, 252 163. Oh Jilly oh! 253 164. James Brown, you mahmy call you, 253 165. When I go home, 254 166. Feather, feather, feather, 254 167. Quaco Sam, 256 168. Anch a bite me, 257 169. Me know one gal a Cross Road, 257 170. Moonshine baby, 258 171. I have a news, 259 172. Once I was a trav'ller, 260 173. Oh me wouldn' bawl at all, 261 174. You take junka 'tick, 262 175. Yellow fever come in, 262 176. Jimmy Rampy, 263 177. Susan, very well why oh! 264 178. Bahss, Bahss, you married you wife, 264 179. Blackbird a eat puppa corn, oh! 265 180. Me da Coolie sleep on Piazza, 265 181. Notty Shaw, 266 182. You worthless Becca Watson, 267 183. Since the waggonette come in, 267 184. Them Gar'n Town people, 268 185. Young gal in Jamaica, take warning, 270 186. Me no min dé a concert, 270 187. Complain, complain, complain, 271 188. I can't walk on the bare road, 271 189. Come go da mountain, 272 190. Amanda Grant, 273 191. Last night I was lying on me number, 273 192. Me lassie, me dundooze, 274 193. Mister Davis bring somet'ing fe we all, 275 194. A whé the use, 275 195. Quattywort' of this! 276 196. Mahngoose a come, 276 APPENDIX: _A._ Traces of African Melody in Jamaica--C.S. Myers, 278 _B._ English Airs and Motifs in Jamaica--L.E. Broadwood, 285 INTRODUCTION. Mr. Jekyll's delightful collection of tales and songs from Jamaica suggests many interesting problems. It presents to us a network of interwoven strands of European and African origin, and when these have been to some extent disentangled we are confronted with the further question, to which of the peoples of the Dark Continent may the African element be attributed? The exact relationship between the "Negro" and Bantu races,--which of them is the original and which the adulterated stock (in other words, whether the adulteration was an improvement or the reverse),--is a subject quite beyond my competence to discuss. It seems certain that the Negro languages (as yet only tentatively classified) are as distinct from the singularly homogeneous and well-defined Bantu family, as Aryan from Semitic. Ibo, at one end of the area, has possible Bantu affinities, which await fuller investigation; the same thing has been conjectured of Bullom and Temne at the other end (Sierra Leone); but these are so slight and as yet so doubtful that they scarcely affect the above estimate. The difference in West Coast and Bantu folk-tales is not so marked as that between the languages; yet here, too, along with a great deal which the two have in common, we can pick out some features peculiar to each. And Mr. Jekyll's tales, so far as they can be supposed to come from Africa at all, are not Bantu. The name of "Annancy" alone is enough to tell us that. _Annancy_, or _Anansi_ is the Tshi (Ashanti)[1] word for "spider"; and the Spider figures largely in the folk-tales of the West Coast (by which we mean, roughly, the coast between Cape Verde and Kamerun), while, with some curious exceptions to be noted later on, he seems to be absent from Bantu folk-lore. His place is there taken by the Hare (Brer Rabbit), and, in some of his aspects, by the Tortoise. [Footnote 1: Fanti is a dialect of this language, which is variously called Twi, Chwi, Otyi, and Ochi.] We find the "Brer Rabbit" stories (best known through _Uncle Remus_) in the Middle and Southern States of America, where a large proportion, at any rate, of the negro slaves were imported from Lower Guinea. Some personal names and other words preserved among them (_e.g._ "goober" = _nguba_, the ground-nut, or "pea-nut") can be traced to the Fiote, or Lower Congo language; and some songs of which I have seen the words,[2] _look_ as if they might be Bantu, but corrupted apparently beyond recognition. [Footnote 2: One is given by Mr. G.W. Cable in the _Century Magazine_, xxx. 820, as a Louisiana Voodoo song: Héron mandé, tigui li papa, Héron mandé, dosé dan godo. Another by Mr. W.E. Burghart Du Bois in _The Souls of Black Folk_, p. 254--apparently a lullaby: Doba na coba gene me, gene me! Ben d' nu li, nu li, nu li, nu li, bend'le. I can make nothing of these. In the latter case, uncertainty as to the phonetic system adopted complicates the puzzle. One might be tempted to connect the last two words with Zulu _endhle_ or _pandhle_ = outside,--but I can find nothing else to support this resemblance, and such stray guesses are unprofitable work.] But the British West Indies would seem to have been chiefly supplied from Upper Guinea, or the "West Coast" proper (it really faces south, while Loango, Congo, etc., are the "South-West Coast"--a point which is sometimes puzzling to the uninitiated). Among the tribes to be found in Jamaica, Mr. Jekyll tells me are the Ibo (Lower Niger), Coromantin (Gold Coast), Hausa, Mandingo, Moko (inland from Calabar), Nago (Yoruba), and Sobo (Lower Niger). Mr. Jekyll furnishes a bit of confirmatory evidence in the list of names (p. 156) given to children according to the day of the week on which they are born. These are immediately recognizable as Tshi. As given in Christaller's _Dictionary of the Asante and Fante Language called Tshi_ (1881), the boys' names are identical or nearly so (allowing for the different systems of spelling) with those in Mr. Jekyll's list. They are: Kwasi, Kwadwo, Kwabena, Kwaku, Kwaw (or Yaw), Kofi, Kwame. (Mr. George Macdonald, in _The Gold Coast Past and Present_, gives Kwamina, instead of Kwame, probably owing to a difference of dialect.) The girls' names are less easily recognizable, but a careful scrutiny reveals the interesting fact that in some cases an older form seems to have been preserved in Jamaica. Moreover, the sound written _w_ by Christaller approaches that of _b_, which seems to be convertible with it under certain conditions, all the girls' names being formed by means of the suffix _ba_ = a child. Conversely, _ekpo_ in the mouth of a West Coast native sounds to a casual ear like _ekwo_. Akosuwa [= Akwasiba] = Quashiba. Adwowa = Jubba. (Cf. dw = dj in "Cudjo"). Abeua = Cubba. Akuwa = Memba. Ya [= Yawa] = Abba. Afuwa = Fibba. Amma [= Amenenewa] = Beniba. The boys' names have "Kwa" (= _akoa_, a man, slave) prefixed to that of the day, or, more correctly speaking, of its presiding genius. These latter are: Ayisi, Adwo, Benã, Wuku, Yaw, Afi, Amin. The names of the days appear to be formed from them by the omission of the initial A (where it exists), and the addition of the suffix _da_, with some irregularities, which no doubt a fuller knowledge of the language would explain: Kwasida, Dwoda, Benada, Wukuda, Yawda, Fida, Memeneda (Meminda). The week of seven days does not seem to be known elsewhere in Africa, except as a result of Moslem or Christian influence. The Congo week of four days is puzzling, till one remembers that it, too, rests on a division of the lunar month: 7 × 4 instead of 4 × 7.[3] [Footnote 3: R.E. Dennett, _Folklore of the Fjort_, p. 8.] The Tshi, Ewe and Yoruba languages are genderless, like the Bantu. (The word _ba_ has come to mean "a daughter" when appropriated as a suffix to feminine names; but, properly, it seems to mean "a child" of either sex.) This fact explains the appearance of such personages as "Brother Cow" (see also Mr. Jekyll's note on p. 107), and the wild confusion of pronouns sometimes observed: "Annancy really want that gal fe marry, but he couldn' catch him."--"When the gal go, him go meet Brother Death,"--etc. The few words given as "African" by Mr. Jekyll seem to be traceable to Tshi. "Massoo" (pp. 12, 13) is _mã so_ = to lift. _Afu_ ("hafoo," "afoo," p. 18) is not in Christaller's _Dictionary_, except as equivalent to "grass," or "herbs"; _fufu_ is a food made from yams or plantains boiled and pounded; perhaps there is some slight confusion. _Nyam_ is not "to eat," but _enãm_ is Tshi for "meat," as _nyama_ (in some form or other) is in every Bantu language. The nonsense-words in the songs may be corrupted from Tshi or some cognate language, but a fuller knowledge of these than I possess would be necessary in order to determine the point. Transplanted African folk-lore has a peculiar interest of its own, and one is very glad to find Mr. Jekyll doing for Jamaica what Mr. Chandler Harris, _e.g._ has done for Georgia. But the African element in the stories before us is far less evident than in "Uncle Remus," and is in many cases overlaid and inextricably mixed up with matter of European origin. At least eleven out of the fifty-one stories before us can be set down as imported, directly or indirectly, from Europe. I say directly or indirectly, because an examination of Chatelain's _Folk-tales of Angola_ and Junod's _Chants et Contes des Baronga_ shows that some tales, at any rate, have passed from Portugal to Africa. Such are _La fille du Roi_ (Ronga), which is identical with Grimm's _The Shoes that were danced to pieces_, and with the Slovak-gypsy story of _The Three Girls_ (Groome, _Gypsy Folk-tales_, p. 141). But in the absence of more detailed and direct evidence than we yet possess, it would be rash to assume that they have passed to America by way of Africa, rather than that they have been independently transmitted. The eleven stories above referred to are: II. Yung-kyum-pyung, III. King Daniel, VI. Blackbird and Woss-woss, X. Mr. Bluebeard, XVII. Man-crow, XVIII. Saylan, XXI. Tacoma and the Old-witch Girl, XXVI. The Three Pigs, XXXI. Pretty Poll (another version of III.), XXXIX. Open Sesame (variant of VI.), VII. The Three Sisters. But some of these, as I hope to show presently, also have genuine African prototypes, and it is a question how far these fading traditions have been amalgamated with fairy-tales told to the slaves by the children of their European masters. The last named is one of a small group of tales (VII., XXIV., XXXIV., L.) which I cannot help referring to a common African original. By far the greater number of the stories in this book, whether, strictly speaking, "Annancy stories" or not, come under the heading of animal-stories, and are of the same type as "Uncle Remus," Junod's "Roman du Lièvre," and numerous examples from various parts of Africa. It will be remembered that, in most of these, the difference between animals and human beings is not very clearly kept in view by the narrators. As M. Junod says, "Toutes les bêtes qui passent et repassent dans ces curieux récits représentent des êtres humains, cela va sans dire. Ils sont personnalisés par un procédé linguistique qui consiste à mettre devant le nom de l'animal un préfixe de la classe des hommes." (This is a point we must come back to later on.) "Ainsi _mpfoundla_, le lièvre ordinaire, devient dans le contes Noua-mpfoundla.... La Rainette, c'est Noua-chinana, l'Eléphant, Noua-ndlopfou.... Leurs caractères physiques particuliers sont présents devant l'imagination du conteur pour autant qu'ils donnent du pittoresque au récit. Mais on les oublie tout aussi aisément dès qu'ils ne sont plus essentiels à la narration." This feature constantly meets one in Bantu folk-lore: the hare and the elephant hire themselves out to hoe a man's garden; the swallow invites the cock to dinner and his wife prepares the food, in the usual native hut with the fireplace in the middle and the _nsanja_ staging over it; the hare's wife goes to the river to draw water, and is caught by a crocodile; the tortoise carries his complaint to the village elders assembled in the smithy, and so on. M. Junod seems to me to overrate the conscious artistic purpose in the narrators of these tales: the native mind is quite ready to assume that animals think and act in much the same way as human beings, and this attitude makes it easy to forget the outward distinctions when they appear as actors in a story. No doubt this haziness of view is increased by the popular conception of metamorphosis as a possible occurrence in everyday life. When, as has more than once been the case, we find men firmly believing, not only that they can, under certain circumstances, turn into animals, but that they actually have done so, we may expect them to think it quite easy for animals to turn into men. The prefix given by the Baronga to animals, when they are, so to speak, personified in tales, may seem a slight point, but it is not without interest. The Yaos in like manner give them the prefix _Che_ (_Che Sungula_, the Rabbit, _Che Likoswe_, the Rat, etc.), which, though usually translated "Mr.," is of common gender and used quite as often in addressing women as men. In Chatelain's Angola stories the animals sometimes (not always) have the honorific prefix _Na_ or _Ngana_, "Mr."; the latter is sometimes translated "Lord." In Luganda folk-lore the elephant (_enjovu_) is called Wa Njovu. In Zulu, Ucakijana (to whom we shall come back presently) is the diminutive form of _i-cakide_, the Weasel, put into the personal class. I do not recall anything similar in Nyanja tales, but cannot help connecting with the above the fact that animals, whatever class their names may belong to, are usually treated as persons in the tales. Not to be unduly technical, I would briefly explain that _njobvu_ (elephant) and _ng'ona_ (crocodile) would naturally take the pronoun _i_, but in the stories (and, I think, sometimes in other cases) they take _a_, which belongs to the first, or personal class. Now, the reader will notice how often the animals in the stories before us are distinguished as "Mr." or "Bro'er" (cf. pp. 20, 23, 31, 86, etc.), though the Jamaica people seem to be less uniformly polite in this respect than Uncle Remus. "Brer Rabbit" is so familiar as to be taken for granted, as a rule, without further question; but, years before he had become a household word in this country, we find a writer in _Lippincott's Magazine_[4] remarking, "The dramatis personæ are honoured with the title _Buh_, which is generally supposed to be an abbreviation of the word 'brother,' but it probably is a title of respect equal to our 'Mr.'" The "but" seems hardly called for, since both assertions are seemingly true. We might also compare the Zulu _u Cakijana_ (1st class), who is human or quasi-human, while _i-cakide_ (2nd class) is the name for the Weasel. [Footnote 4: December, 1877, p. 751. The article is one on "Negro Folk-lore," by W. Owens, and contains several stories, some of these independent versions of "Uncle Remus" tales, while others are not to be found in that collection.] Annancy, then, is the Spider, and as such he is conceived throughout the folk-lore of West Africa. If he seems, as he continually does, to take on a human character, going to Freetown to buy a gun and powder (_Cunnie Rabbit_, p. 282), or applying to a "Mory man" for amulets (_ib._ p. 139), he only behaves like all other animals, as explained above. A Temne authority (_ib._ p. 93) maintains that "Spider was a person" in old times, and did not look the same as he does in these days, "he done turn odder kind of thing now." But this looks like an attempt at rationalising the situation, possibly in response to European inquiries. The change of shape alluded to at the end of the Temne Tar-baby episode is comparatively a minor matter: he was formerly "round lek pusson," but became flattened out through the beating he received while attached to the Wax Girl. In the Gold Coast stories, too, Anansi is quite as much a spider as Brer Rabbit is a rabbit; but in Jamaica, though he still retains traces of his origin, they are somewhat obscured--so much so that Mr. Jekyll speaks (pp. 4-5) of the "metamorphic shape, that of the Spider," which he assumes, as though the human were his real form, the other only an occasional disguise. In "Annancy and Brother Tiger" we find that he has to "run up a house-top" to escape the revenge of the monkeys, which accounts for some of his habits to this day. In "Yung-kyum-pyung" (a version of _Rumpelstilzchen_, or _Tom Tit Tot_), the only hint of his spider character is contained in a mere allusion (quite external to the story) to his "running 'pon him rope." In "Brother Death," Annancy and all his family cling to the rafters, hoping to escape from Death; but it scarcely seems in character that they should be incapable of holding on long. They drop, one after another, Annancy last (p. 33). He is always in danger from Cows (p. 107): "Anywhere Cow see him, he reach him down with his mouth"; and he lives in a banana branch (p. 119) for fear of Calcutta Monkey and his whip. His moral character is consistently bad all through; he is a "clever thief"--greedy, treacherous, and cruel, but intellectually he does not uniformly shine. He has to call in the help of a wizard in his love affairs; "Monkey was too clever for him" on more than one occasion; he has to be extricated from the slaughter-house (p. 23) by Blackbird and his army of Wasps, and in "Man-crow" he is signally discomfited. In other cases his roguery is successful, and he is described as the greatest musician and "the biggest rascal in the world" (p. 62). Much the same is the character given to Mr. Spider in "Cunnie Rabbit." Not one amiable trait is recorded of him. A Gold Coast story,[5] however, shows him arbitrating between a Rat and a Panther in very much the same way as the Yao Che Sungula settles the difficulty between the Man and the Crocodile,[6] making the latter go back into the trap whence he had too confidingly been released, in order to show how it was done. Once having got the ungrateful Panther back into the trap, the Spider advises the Rat to leave him there. [Footnote 5: J.C. Christaller, in Büttner's _Zeitschr. für Afr. Sprachen_. M. Réné Basset says of a similar story included in Col. Monteil's _Contes Soudanais_: "L'Enfant et le caïman est le sujet bien connu de l'ingratitude punie que l'on retrouve dans tous les pays de l'ancien monde, et dont M. Kenneth Mackenzie vient d'étudier les diverses variantes." The idea is one so likely to occur independently that we must not in all cases resort to the hypothesis of borrowing.] [Footnote 6: Duff Macdonald, _Africana_, ii. 346.] As there is a Gold Coast tradition which affirms the human race to be descended from the Spider,[7] it might be expected that he should sometimes appear in a more favourable light, and also that those peoples who had lost this myth, or never possessed it, should concentrate their attention on the darker side of his character. At the same time, even in what may be called his own home, he does not appear as infallible. A very curious story, given by Zimmermann in his _Grammatical Sketch of the Akra or Gâ Language_, shows us the Spider and his son in the character of the two sisters who usually figure in tales of the "Holle" type,[8] and, strangely enough, it is the father who, by his wilfulness and indiscretion, forfeits the advantages which the son has gained. During a time of famine the young spider crawls into a rat-hole in search of a nut which has rolled into it, and there meets with three unkempt and unwashed spirits, who desire him to peel some yams and cook the peelings. He does so, and they are changed into large yams. They give him a large basket of yams to carry home, and teach him a spell which is not to be imparted to any one else. He repeatedly obtains supplies from the same source, but at last is followed by his father, who insists on going in his stead. He derides and disobeys the spirits, loses his yams, and is flogged into the bargain. [Footnote 7: Ellis, _Tshi-speaking Peoples of the Gold Coast_.] [Footnote 8: No. 16 in the _Handbook of Folklore_ (p. 122). It might also be referred to the "Golden Goose" type (51). Stories of this kind are the Ronga "Route du Ciel," and "The Three Women" in Duff Macdonald's _Africana_. But perhaps the tale referred to in the text comes nearer to "The Two Hunchbacks."] We have mentioned the comparative absence of the Spider from Bantu folk-lore. I have been able to discover only two references to him in East Africa, both to be found in Duff Macdonald's _Africana_. The first is in a creation-myth of the Yaos (i. 297), which informs us that when _Mulungu_ was driven from earth by the conduct of mankind, who had set the bush on fire, he went, being unable to climb a tree as the Chameleon had done, to call the Spider. "The spider went on high and returned again, and said, 'I have gone on high nicely,' and he said, 'You now, Mulungu, go on high.' Mulungu then went with the spider on high. And he said, 'When they die, let them come on high here.'" The other is in the story of "The Dead Chief and his Younger Brother" (ii. 322)--also Yao. The dead chief gives his brother four bags to enable him to overcome the obstacles which his enemies put in his way; he opens the first on coming to a large tree in his path--a wood-moth comes out and gnaws a way through. From the second bag comes out a manis (scaly ant-eater), which digs a way under a rock, and from the third (which he opens when he comes to the bank of a river) a spider, which "went to the other side," and, presumably (though this is not expressly stated), made a bridge with its web for him to cross.[9] [Footnote 9: In Mr. Dudley Kidd's _Savage Childhood_ (published since the above was written), I find that Zulu (or Pondo?) boys draw certain omens from spiders, in connection with dreams (p. 105), and that in Gazaland the rainbow is called "the spider's bow" (p. 153).] Mr. R.E. Dennett (_Folklore of the Fjort_, p. 74) gives a Lower Congo story, telling how the Spider brought fire down from Nzambi Mpungu in heaven, and won the daughter of Nzambi (Mother Earth) by so doing. In an Angola story (Heli Chatelain, p. 131) the Spider is mentioned as affording a means of communication between heaven and earth, by which the Sun's maidservants go down to draw water, and his daughter is ultimately let down to be married to the son of Kimanaueze. But the Spider only comes in incidentally; it is the Frog whose resourcefulness makes the marriage possible. The notion of the spider's web as a ladder to heaven is one that might occur independently in any part of the world, and there is no need to suppose these tales to be derivatives of the Hausa one given by Schön.[10] [Footnote 10: _Magana Hausa_, 63.] So far, the appearances of the Spider in Bantu folk-tales are so infrequent as to be almost a negligible quantity. We find him, however, playing a tolerably conspicuous part in the folk-lore of the Duala. These, living in the German territory of the Kamerun, may be considered the north-western outpost of the Bantu race, and their language, unmistakable in its general character, has departed, perhaps more widely than any other, from the normal Bantu standard. Herr Wilhelm Lederbogen, formerly of the Government School, Kamerun, has collected a large number of stories, some of which are published in the _Transactions_ of the Berlin Oriental Seminary (see _Afrikanische Studien_ for 1901-1903). These comprise 67 "_Tierfabeln_" and 18 tales of the ordinary _märchen_ type. The latter (some of them recognizable as variants of tales current in Bantu Africa) introduce animals along with human beings, and the incident of the Spider being consulted as a soothsayer repeatedly occurs. "_Die Spinne tritt immer als Wahrsagerin auf_" says the collector in a note. But the malignant aspect of Anansi seems to be absent. The late W.H.J. Bleek, who supposed the animal-stories which he had collected from Hottentots and Bushmen to be characteristic of and peculiar to these races, had built up a somewhat elaborate theory, scarcely borne out by the facts as known to us to-day, in connection with this point. Briefly, it amounted to this: that a fundamental limitation in the Bantu race, which had prevented, and always would prevent, their advancing beyond a certain point, was denoted by the absence of grammatical gender in their languages, their supposed incapacity for personifying nature, and their worship of ancestors, as opposed to the alleged moon-worship of the Hottentots.[11] The Zulus, he says, believe that the spirits of the dead appear to them in dreams, and also show themselves to the waking eye in the shape of animals, usually serpents. "No personification of the animal takes place, however, such as we find, for instance, in the mythical world of our earliest [Teutonic] literature. The imagination of the ancestor-worshipper does not even, as a rule, show us the animal as possessing the gift of human speech; it is only supposed to perform acts well within its capacity as an animal, though such acts are considered, in the case of individual animals supposed to be possessed by the spirits of deceased persons, as emanating from the spirits." Thus, a serpent, known by various tokens to be an _idhlozi_, may enter a hut and consume the meat left for it, or it may engage in combat with other snakes which must be supposed to represent the enemies of the deceased. Animals thus revered by ancestor-worshippers always have the distinguishing characteristic that they have once been human beings; and spirits, unless they appear as animals, are always invisible. "A personification of the animal world (such as we find in our own fables), or even of other things (as in the mythologies of Europe), is utterly absent from this primitive, prosaic way of looking at things." The poetic impulse implied in such personification can only arise, in Bleek's view, among the speakers of a sex-denoting language. The linguistic argument I cannot here reproduce in detail; its tendency is sufficiently shown by the following quotation, which bears directly on our subject: "The form of a sex-denoting language, by exciting sympathy even for creatures not connected with us by human fellowship, leads in the first instance to the humanization of animals, and thus especially gives rise to the creation of fables. Even on the lowest stage of national development, we find the Hottentot language accompanied by a literature of fables, for which we may vainly seek a parallel in the literatures of the prefix-pronominal languages." [Footnote 11: See _Ursprung der Sprache_ (Weimar, 1868), pp. xix, xxiii (Introduction).] The validity of Bleek's theory was seriously doubted by the late Dr. C.G. Büttner, in 1886, and the masses of fresh material which have come to light during the last forty years, have completely altered the aspect of the question. The Hottentot myth of the Hare and the Moon, to take but one example, which appears among the Zulus as the tale of Unkulunkulu and the Chameleon, is told by the Anyanja (of the Shire Highlands and Lake Nyasa) of the Chameleon. The Duala have the same Chameleon story; and there is a Gold Coast version, in which the two messengers are the Sheep, who linger on the way to graze, and the Goat, who arrives first with the tidings that man shall not return after death. The Kr[=u]men of the Ivory Coast say that _Nemla_ (a small antelope probably representing, if not identical with, the "Cunnie Rabbit" of Sierra Leone), maliciously, not accidentally, rendered inoperative the remedy against death provided by the fetich Blenyiba. Who is responsible for the original version it is perhaps impossible to settle. But there can be no question of _recent_ borrowing; and supposing that the Bantu did derive the myth from their predecessors (now represented by the remnant of the Bushmen, and perhaps the Pygmies), this would surely prove them at least capable of assimilating fresh ideas and thus advancing beyond the line so inexorably traced for them from the beginning. It may be remarked in passing that there seems some probability of the Bantu Anyanja in the Shire district having largely absorbed, instead of exterminating as was elsewhere the case, a smaller-sized race who previously occupied the country. In the same way, the Abatembu of the Cape Colony are the descendants of a Bantu clan amalgamated with the Bushman tribe of the 'Tambuka, and traces of similar fusion could no doubt be discovered elsewhere. But we doubt its being _necessary_ to the introduction of animal-stories into folk-lore,--or, in general, of ideas connected with the personification of nature. The Zulu tales which Bleek had before him present a character very different from that of the Hottentot beast-fables. But a comparative study of Bantu folk-lore suggests at least the possibility that they may have been developed out of animal-stories. Hlakanyana is conceived of as certainly human, and reminds us of Tom Thumb; but some of his adventures are identical with those of the Hare, the Jackal, or Brer Rabbit. Cakijana shows still clearer traces of animal origin. The episode of Hlakanyana's demanding a digging-stick in exchange for the birds he accuses his companion of having eaten, and the sequence of exchanges which culminates in his acquiring a cow,[12] is in substance the same as the story told by the Anyanja about the Hare (_kalulu_) which was given in _Folk-Lore_ for Sept. 29th, 1904. This again reminds us of "The Man who Lived by Overreaching Others" (Dr. Elmslie in _Folk-Lore_, vol. iii.), and of a Sukuma story given by Herrmann,[13] in which a boy gives his grandmother some honey to keep for him, and, coming back after a time, and finding she has eaten it, makes her give him some corn in exchange. The corn is then exchanged for an egg, the egg for sticks, the sticks for a knife, and the knife for a cow's tail, for which, by the same trick as in Dr. Elmslie's story, he obtains a cow. There is no suggestion of trickery in the Nyanja story, whereas it is brought out very strongly both in Hlakanyana and the Sukuma example. [Footnote 12: McCall Theal, _Kaffir Folk-Tales_, pp. 96-98.] [Footnote 13: "Afrikanische Studien," 1898 (_Transactions_ of the Berlin Oriental Seminary, vol. i.) p. 194.] We shall have occasion to refer, later on, to more than one instance where a story is found in two forms, one having animals, the other human beings, as its characters. The animals figuring in folk-tales must necessarily vary with the locality of the tale, and in cases where a story has travelled (or possibly where the same idea has arisen independently in different places) it is interesting to note the changes in its _dramatis personæ_. Thus, the incident of the race between the swift creature and the slow seems to be found in the folk-lore of every country. In Africa the winner is always, so far as I know, the Tortoise, as Brer Terrapin is in "Uncle Remus." The Jamaica version in the volume before us substitutes the Toad, while the defeated party is the Donkey. In a Konde (North Nyasa) variant, the protagonists are the Elephant and the Tortoise, in a Duala one, the _Ngoloñ_ (a large kind of Antelope) and the Tortoise. Another version of the Duala story, contained in _Märchen aus Kamerun_, by the late Frau Elli Meinhof, has the Hare and the Tortoise, but with the explanation that by "hare" is meant "eine kleine Antilopenart, _eseru_ genannt." The curious thing is that Njo Dibone, the native authority for the tales, himself suggested the name of "hare," but added "Hase ist nicht wie hier,[14] sondern hat kleine Hörner." It is not stated whether he had himself seen the European hare, but apparently he thought the two animals so far similar that _Hase_ would be the nearest available rendering for _eseru_. This may throw some light on the question why the _Dorcatherium_ gazelle, or possibly the Royal Antelope, _Neotragus_, is called "Cunnie Rabbit" in Sierra Leone English. [Footnote 14: He had been brought to Europe by a German naval officer in 1885, and remained for some time an inmate of Professor Meinhof's family.] The Tortoise plays a conspicuous part in the folk-lore both of Bantu and West African Negroes. In Yoruba tradition he takes the place of the Spider with the Fantis, all mankind being descended from him. Perhaps this is not strange, when we consider how much there is about him which would appeal to the primitive mind as uncanny and mysterious. A recent writer in the _West African Mail_[15] says on this subject: "The original conception of the tortoise culminated in a belief concerning its attributes that, in the eyes of these [Niger] Delta natives, elevated it to the sovereignty of the beasts of the forest.... Absolutely harmless and inoffensive in himself, the tortoise does not prey on even the smallest of insects, but subsists entirely on the fallen fruits of the forest"--or, in some cases, on fungi. "In the gloomy forests of the Delta there are only two enemies capable of doing him any serious harm. The one is man, who is able to lift him up and carry him bodily away, which, however, he does not do, except in those instances in which the animal is regarded as sacred, and required in connection with certain religious ceremonies. His other and most dangerous enemy is the python, who having first of all crushed him by means of the enormous power of constriction which it can apply, swallows him alive, shell and all. But pythons large enough to do this, unless the tortoise happens to be very young and small, are very scarce, so that he has not much to apprehend in that quarter. To the elephant--herbivorous, like himself--he is too insignificant, for unlike the mosquito or the sand-fly, he has no sting; and although they meet in fable, in real life the hippopotamus and himself are not much thrown together. From the leopard or the bush-cat, he has nothing to fear, for their teeth cannot penetrate his shell, nor can [their] claws do him any damage. Thus it is that ... the tortoise has been practically immune from attack and therefore destruction--a fact that in a great measure explains his longevity." [Footnote 15: May 25, 1906, p. 202.] If we add to this his power of living for a long time without food, his silence, the extreme slowness and caution of his movements, his instinct of keeping out of sight, and the peculiar air of dogged determination with which he sets about overcoming or circumventing obstacles, it is "easy to understand how in process of time the word which stood for tortoise became a synonym for cunning and craft, and a man of exceptional intelligence was in this way known among the Ibo as 'Mbai,' and among the Ibani as 'Ekake,' meaning a tortoise. For although he of the shell-back was slow, he was sure, as the old Greek Aesop tells us.... This sureness, in the native mind, implied doggedness and a fixed determination, while silence and secrecy implied mystery and a veiled purpose behind which it is impossible to get." The tortoise of African folk-lore is sometimes, in fact usually, the land-tortoise (as implied in the above extracts), of which there are several species, living either in forest-country or in deserts like the Kalahari. In Angola, the story of "Man and Turtle" (Chatelain, p. 153--identical with "Mr. Fox tackles Old Man Tarrypin" in "Uncle Remus") refers to a kind which, if not aquatic, is evidently amphibious. We find tortoise stories all over Negro and Bantu Africa; we have Temne, Bullom, and Yoruba examples, besides Duala, Konde (Nyasa), Yao, Nyanja, Herero, Bemba, Congo (Upoto), Angola and Sesuto ones. This does not exhaust the list I have made out, and further research would no doubt bring to light many more. One of these is the well-known "tug-of-war" story, which in "Uncle Remus" has the title "Mr. Terrapin shows his strength." We have two versions of this (agreeing in their main points) from the Kamerun, one told by the Duala, the other by the Yabakalaki-Bakoko tribe. Here it is the Elephant and the Hippopotamus whom the Tortoise induces to pull against each other. The American Negro substitutes the Bear for one of these competitors, and then, apparently at a loss for a wild animal strong enough to take the place of the other, makes "Brer Tarrypin" tie "Miss Meadows's bed-cord" to a root in the bed of the stream. But it is interesting to find two native African versions in which other animals are substituted for the Tortoise. The Temne (_Cunnie Rabbit_, p. 117) gives his part to the Spider, while the Bemba people (North-eastern Rhodesia) make the Hare the hero of the adventure. Col. Monteil gives a Mandingo variant, introducing a different motive for the contest: the Hare has borrowed a slave apiece from the Elephant and the Hippopotamus, and when pressed for payment hands each of his competitors in turn the end of a rope, with the words, "Tu n'as qu'à tirer sur cette corde, le captif est au bout."[16] [Footnote 16: _Contes Soudanais_, p. 49.] Another Temne story collected by Miss Cronise, "Mr. Turtle makes a riding-horse of Mr. Leopard," is paralleled by an Angola one (Chatelain, p. 203) in which it is Mr. Frog who plays the trick on Mr. Elephant. In the New World, it will be remembered that Brer Rabbit has usurped the part. In M. René Basset's _Anthology of African Folk-tales_[17] is included a tale about a monkey and a tortoise from Baissac's _Folklore de l'Ile Maurice_ which recalls a Nyanja one obtained by me at Blantyre and printed in the _Contemporary Review_ for September, 1896. In the latter it is the iguana, not the monkey who robs the Tortoise; but in both, the Tortoise exacts retribution with a cold-blooded relentlessness suggestive of Shylock. A Brazilian negro story is also given, which looks like a variant of one told in Calabar to account for the fact that the Tortoise's shell is composed of separate plates, as though it had been broken to pieces and put together again. [Footnote 17: P. 425. Another Mauritius negro tale from the same source is identical with the Yao one of the Elephant and the Hare (Duff Macdonald, ii. 353)--also found elsewhere in East Africa.] But we look in vain for the tortoise in these stories of Mr. Jekyll's. Even in the race-story, as we have seen, the part which in Africa is so peculiarly his own, is taken by the Toad. Probably this is because the land-tortoise is not found in Jamaica, and the great turtle of the seas is not a creature whose ways would come under the daily observation of the peasantry. In the same way familiar animals have been substituted for unfamiliar ones in a great many cases, though not in all. Mr. Jekyll thinks "Tiger" is a substitute for "Lion," but it seems equally possible that "Leopard" is meant. All over South Africa, leopards are called "tigers" by Dutch, English, and Germans, just as hyenas are called "wolves," and bustards "peacocks" (_paauw_). "Tiger" is used in the same sense in German Kamerun, and probably elsewhere in West Africa. Lion and elephant are known--perhaps by genuine tradition--to Uncle Remus; but they seem to have faded from the recollection of the Jamaica negroes; indeed, the lion is not found in their original homes, being absent from the whole West Coast as far as Sierra Leone. "Brer Rabbit," so characteristic a figure of Bantu folk-lore that his adventures are related from one side of Africa to the other (though in the west he is less frequently met with north of Angola), only appears in two of Mr. Jekyll's stories, in none of which we can recognize anything of his traditional character. In "Annancy and his Fish-pot," he is unscrupulously victimised by Annancy, and subsequently dies of fright and worry; in "Snake the Postman," he escapes from Annancy's machinations, but there is no indication that he could ever be considered a match for "that cravin' fellah." In "John Crow and Fowl-hawk" he is merely alluded to (p. 142, "This company was Rabbit"). In "Dry Bone," he is induced by Guinea-pig to carry the unwelcome load, but succeeds in passing it on, for the time being, to Annancy. Finally, in "Gaulin," he cuts a poor figure as the unsuccessful suitor. A Bantu story by no means complimentary to the Hare's intelligence is given by M. Junod,[18] and seems to have reached Louisiana[19] as "Compair Lapin et Michié Dinde," where the Rabbit gets his head cut off under the belief that the Turkey has removed his when he puts it under his wing to sleep. M. Junod thinks this must refer to a second species of Hare, a by-word for stupidity, as the other is for cuteness; but it is at least worth noting that the same story is told by the Basumbwa (south of Lake Victoria) of the Hen and the Tiger-cat. [Footnote 18: _Chants et Contes_, p. 135, see also the preceding story, and some remarks on p. 86, footnote 2.] [Footnote 19: Alcée Fortier, _Louisiana Folklore_, p. 24.] Besides Annancy himself, and the "Tiger" already mentioned, we have, in these stories, either domestic or quasi-domestic animals: Cow, Hog, Dog, Puss, "Ratta," etc., or creatures indigenous to Jamaica, such as John-Crow, Chicken-Hawk, Sea-Gaulin, Candle-Fly, Crab and Tarpon. Some stories, for which I fail to recall any exact parallel, either in Africa or Europe, may be of purely local origin; this is most likely to be true of those which profess to explain some elementary fact in natural history, such as the inability of two bulls to agree in one pasture ("Timmolimmo"), or the hostility between dogs and cats. Even were this not so, the amount of local colour introduced (as always where tales are transmitted orally) could change them almost beyond recognition. This often has a very quaint effect, as in "Parson Puss and Parson Dog," who are evidently conceived as ministers of some rival Methodist denominations, and in the references to weddings, funerals, and dances possibly ending up with a free fight, as in "Gaulin," "How Monkey manage Annancy," "Doba," etc. Annancy's inviting the animals to his father's funeral and slaughtering them (with the exception of Monkey, who is too clever for him) reminds us of the Temne "Mr. Leopard fools the other animals,"[20] but in this, Leopard himself pretends to die. Cunnie Rabbit's test, "Die pusson nebber blow," is less ingenious than that applied by Brer Rabbit in "Uncle Remus:"[21] "When a man go to see dead folks, dead folks allers raises up der behime leg en hollers _wahoo_!" (In Mr. Owen's version, they "grin and whistle.") In the Sesuto story[22] the Monkey suspects a trick and escapes, when the Hare persuades the Lion to entrap the other animals by shamming death. Perhaps the baptism of the crabs ("Annancy in Crab Country") may be connected with "Mr. Spider initiates the fowls,"[23] where the Temne Spider, assuming for the nonce a quasi-religious character, gathers his victims together to celebrate the Bundo mysteries, and massacres them wholesale. [Footnote 20: _Cunnie Rabbit_, p. 219.] [Footnote 21: "Mr. Wolf makes a failure."] [Footnote 22: Jacottet, p. 19.] [Footnote 23: _Cunnie Rabbit_, p. 133.] "Annancy and Hog" (XXXII.) is a fragmentary story, not very easy to understand as we have it, but something has evidently dropped out. The sentence "An' when Hog think him done up Annancy him done up him own mother" may point to some original similar to the Fiote story given by Mr. Dennett, in which the Leopard's wife is induced to eat her husband's head.[24] But in that case it is difficult to understand the connection with the opening incidents. [Footnote 24: _Folklore of the Fjort_, pp. 82-84.] In "John-Crow and Fowl-hawk" (XLVI.) we _may_ have a reminiscence of the class of stories represented by the Yao "Kalikalanje," in which an unborn child is promised by the mother in return for a service rendered her by some person or animal. The resemblance, however, is not very marked, and the incident is quite lost sight of in the later part of the story. "Annancy and Death" is curious, and, as it stands, not very intelligible. Death, as a person, is introduced into several African stories,[25] and even (in one from the Ivory Coast) together with the Spider, but none of these have anything parallel with the one before us. The last part, however, where Annancy and his children are clinging to the rafters, and Death waiting for them below, recalls the story to be found on pp. 224-226 of _Cunnie Rabbit_. The Spider and his family take refuge in the roof when pursued by the Leopard, and he sits on the ground and catches them as they drop one by one. Last of all, the wife, Nahker, "he say he done tire, en Spider say: 'Yo' wey (= who) big so? Fa' down now, yo' go get de trouble.' Nahker fa' down, Lepped yeat um. Spider he one lef' hang." He escapes, however. [Footnote 25: _Kalunga_ in Angola, _Ko_ by the Né Kru-men. Some curious episodes connected with the latter are given by M. Georges Thomann in his _Essai de Manuel de la langue néonlá_ (Paris: E. Leroux).] In "Dummy," Annancy wins a bet and the hand of the King's daughter by inducing "Peafowl" to make the dumb man talk. This "Peafowl" does by the sweetness of his song; but in a Duala story given by Lederbogen as "Der Tausendfuss und das stumme Kind," the means adopted more nearly resemble the time-honoured recipes for detecting changelings in this country. The Mouse advised the dumb child's parents to consult the Spider, who told them to hang up a centipede over the fireplace, set on a pot of water just underneath it, and leave the child sitting beside the fire. They did so, and went out. As soon as the steam rose from the water, the centipede, feeling the heat, began to struggle, and the dumb child watching it cried out in his excitement, "Father! there is a centipede going to fall into the pot." "William Tell" is puzzling. There is no single point of contact between the owner of the witch-tree and the mythical archer of Europe. It is most probable that the name (a likely one to remain in the memory) had been picked up by some negro story-teller who did not know the tale belonging to it and simply attached it to the first character that came handy. The "sings" by means of which Annancy fells the tree occur frequently in native African stories; we need only mention the incident (found not only in the Xosa "Bird that made Milk," but in a Duala tale, and elsewhere) of the song which made the hoed garden return to grass and weeds, and that of Simbubukwana's sister[26] who sang "Have legs, have arms," and the boy who was without those members immediately grew them. The notion of spells to be sung, however, does not seem to be confined to any country or race. [Footnote 26: McCall Theal, p. 68.] I do not remember any exact parallel to "Dry River" (XXXIII.), but the incident of the river rising is found in Africa with several different sequels. In a Nyanja story which I have in MS., some children go out into the bush to gather wild fruit, and are cut off on their return by the rising of the river. They are helped across by "a big bird, with one wing, one eye and one leg" (one of the "half-beings"[27] whose place in Bantu folk-lore has not yet been fully worked out), and charged not to tell who took them over. One boy tells his mother, and is drowned on the next expedition, his companions getting across in safety. In "The Village Maiden and the Cannibal" (Mrs. Martin's _Basutoland, its Legends and Customs_), the girls cannot cross the swollen stream till they have thrown a large root into the water, and complied with the directions. The last girl, who is reluctant to obey, but finally gives in, is not drowned, but she and her sister have an adventure with cannibals of a not uncommon kind, which may be referred to Mr. Jacobs's "Flight from Witchcraft" type. Two other stories, a Kinga (North-east Nyasa) and a Machame (Kilimanjaro) one, have the same opening incident (in the one case, however, it is a rock and not a river which enlarges itself and blocks the way), but continue in quite a different way--the girls are helped by an animal (in one case a jackal, in another a hyena) who subsequently insists on marrying one of them. The Machame tale, to which we shall have to return presently, as it belongs to the group to which we refer "Yellow Snake" and some others, goes on to relate how the girl escaped from the hyena's village; the Kinga one takes an entirely different course. [Footnote 27: See Junod, _Chants et Contes des Baronga_, p. 197; also a note in Chatelain, _Folk-tales of Angola_, p. 254, and Callaway, _Zulu Tales_, p. 199.] "Leah and Tiger" is one of the stories which can be most unhesitatingly identified as African; and, as it happens, the examples at present known to me are nearly all Bantu. Perhaps the closest parallel is the Suto "Tselane" (Jacottet, p. 69),[28] where, however, the girl, instead of being secluded by her father to avoid the trouble which her refusal to marry threatens to bring upon him, herself insists on staying in the house her parents are leaving. As in the Jamaica version, they bring her food every day, and sing to let her know of their approach. The cannibal on the prowl (represented in Jamaica by the "tiger") imitates the mother's voice, but fails; after swallowing a red-hot hoe, he succeeds at the first trial. He does not eat Tselane, however, and so end the story with a warning against obstinacy; he puts her into a bag to carry her home, and rests on his way at a hut, which proves to be her uncle's. While he is resting inside the hut, leaving his bag outside, the family discover the girl and let her out, substituting a dog and some biting ants. In other versions it is bees and wasps, or snakes and toads; but the result is always the same--the death of the cannibal. The incident of swallowing red-hot iron to soften the voice is found also in "Demane and Demazana" (Theal) and elsewhere. In a curious Masai story, "The Old Man and his Knee" (Hollis, _The Masai: Language and Folklore_, p. 153), the "enemies" (not said to be cannibals) carry off the old man's two children by means of the same stratagem. After failing in the first attempt they consult a medicine-man to find out how they can "make their voices resemble an old man's." He tells them merely to go back, and eat nothing on the road. They eat a lizard and an ant, and their voices do not produce the desired effect. On trying again, and this time complying exactly with the doctor's directions, they deceive the children and get the door opened. This incident is preserved in "Leah," and, like the Masai "enemies," Tiger thinks that such a trifle as the guava and "duckanoo" cannot possibly do any harm. The Masai story concludes with the killing of the old man by making him swallow a hot stone--an incident which crops up in various connections in the Hare stories, but seems out of its place in this one. On the whole (though I do not like to hazard a conjecture) it seems more probable that the Masai had picked up this tale from some of their Bantu neighbours than that the Bantu should have adopted it from them. [Footnote 28: This story is also given by Arbousset.] As regards the imported stories, it seems reasonably clear that "Yung-Kyum-Pyung" is a "Rumpelstiltzchen" story which has accidentally become associated with Annancy. Though the superstition on which these stories are based exists in Africa as well as in other parts of the world, and is one of the factors in the custom of _hlonipa_, I do not remember any tale embodying it in this form, though there are numerous examples of those which turn a _tabu_ of some sort. "King Daniel" is the story of the jealous sister, best known, perhaps, in the ballad of "Binnorie." But it has African prototypes as well, though the resemblance to these is not so close, in which the crime is discovered by the song of a bird--sometimes the metamorphosed heart of the victim. In "Masilo and Masilonyane" and the Kinga "Die Reiherfeder,"[29] one brother (or companion) kills the other; in "Unyengebule" (Callaway) the husband kills the wife, and here it is her feather head-dress which turns into a bird. "Pretty Poll" (XXXI.) is a variant of this story. [Footnote 29: R. Wolff, "Grammatik der Kingasprachen" (_Archiv für das Studium deutschen Kolonialsprachen_, iii.), p. 135.] Another pair of variants, apparently, are "Blackbird and Woss-woss" and "Open Sesame." But the former of these, it seems to me, corresponds much more closely with a Nago story of the Lizard and the Tortoise, given by M. Basset (_Contes populaires d'Afrique_, p. 217); and it should be remembered that the Nagos of Yoruba are one of the tribes represented among the Jamaica negroes. The lizard finds a rock containing a store of yams, and overhearing the words used by the owner "_Stone, open!_" obtains food for himself in time of famine. He imparts the secret to the tortoise, and they go together, but the tortoise lingers behind to load himself with all he can carry, and not knowing the word fails to get out, and is killed when the owner returns. He revives, however, and gets the cockroach to stick his shell together, thus presenting a point of contact with other aetiological myths about the Tortoise. The rescue by the army of wasps I have been unable to match. "Man-crow" is the story, which exists in so many variants, where the hero is robbed of the fruit of his achievement by an impostor stepping in at the last minute. The nearest parallel which occurs to me is "Rombao" (probably obtained from a Portuguese source by the Quilimane natives who related it to Mr. Duff Macdonald), where the hero kills the whale and cuts out its tongue; the captain who finds it dead claims his reward, but is discomfited by Rombao's appearance with the tongue. "The Three Pigs" will be readily recognized as the familiar English story, and corresponds pretty closely to the version in Mr. Jacobs's _English Fairy Tales_. A version current among the negroes of the Southern States is given by Mr. Owens in the paper in _Lippincott's Magazine_ already referred to. This version, entitled "Tiny Pig," omits the two incidents of the apple-tree and the butter-churn; but curiously enough these appear as "Buh Rabbit" episodes in another part of the same paper, the apple-tree having become a pear-tree, and the churn a tin mug which Buh Rabbit puts over his head, while he hangs various articles of tinware about his person. "Sea-Mahmy" introduces several different elements. The mermaid herself is probably of European extraction,[30] and the device by which Blackbird brings Annancy to the feeding-tree _might_ be a far-off echo of the Daedalus and Icarus myth. But Annancy's trick for conveying Trapong to his house and eating him recalls one of the stock incidents of Bantu folk-lore--the one where Hlakanyana, or the Hare, or some other creature, induces his dupe to get burnt or boiled by pretending to undergo the process himself and to escape with impunity. The Suto Hare[31] commends this as a device for attaining immortality--in which there is a faint suggestion of Medea's caldron. I was at first disposed to refer this episode to the "Big Klaas and Little Klaas" (or the "Getting-to-Heaven-in-a-Sack") group; but the inducement to enter the sack, which is so great a point in these, is here wanting. It is found in a Zanzibar story ("Abu Nuwasi na waziri na Sultani") in Dr. Velten's collection,[32] where Abu Nuwas is sewn up into a sack to be thrown into the sea, and induces another man to take his place by saying that he is to be drowned for refusing to marry the Sultan's daughter. This is evidently an Arab tale, though I do not remember it in the _Arabian Nights_. [Footnote 30: One kind of duppy is a mermaid--but I can find no indication that she came from Africa.] [Footnote 31: Jacottet, p. 15.] [Footnote 32: _Suaheli Märchen_, p. 154 (p. 241 in the German translation).] The exotic tales to be found in Bantu Africa come mainly from two sources--Arab and Portuguese. The former is exemplified at Zanzibar and all down the Mozambique coast; the latter in Angola and Mozambique. We have already referred to an example obtained at Delagoa Bay by M. Junod; but "Bonaouaci" (_Chants et Contes_, p. 292), though the names are Portuguese, and the local colouring goes so far as to introduce the Governor of Mozambique in person, is in substance identical with one of the "Abu Nuwas" stories given by Dr. Velten, the incident of the egg-production being nearly the same in both, as well as the two other impossible tasks set the hero--sewing a stone and building a house in the air. I fancy the same is the case with "Djiwao," though the incidents have been a good deal remodelled, and the concluding episode--the boiling of the chief Gwanazi in the pot he had intended for Djiwao, is the purely Bantu one alluded to in the last paragraph--in a somewhat unusual setting. "Les trois vaisseaux,"[33] again, is an _Arabian Nights_ story, of which a curious version has been obtained at Domasi, probably brought from the coast by some member of a Yao trading caravan. Mr. Dennett's No. III., "How the wives restored their husband to life," looks like a much altered and localized form of this. If so it might have reached the Congo through the Portuguese. We also find it on the Ivory Coast[34] where it might have come from an Arab source through Mandingoes or Hausas. [Footnote 33: _Ib._ p. 304.] [Footnote 34: See Thomann, _op. cit._, "Trois maris pour une femme."] The stories of "Fenda Maria" and "Fenda Maria and her elder brother Nga Nzuá"[35] ("The Three Citrons" and "Cinderella"), are good examples of transplanted stories invested with local colour by successive generations of narrators, till, as Mr. Chatelain says, "the fundamental idea of exotic origin has been so perfectly covered with Angola foliage and blossoms, that science alone can detect the imported elements, and no native would believe that [these tales] are not entirely Angolan." [Footnote 35: Chatelain, No. I. and No. II.] A curious stage in the migration of stories is exemplified by the "Taal" (or Cape Dutch) versions of Oriental stories imported into South Africa by the Malays, and existing in a purely traditional form among the coloured people. One of these was printed by Mr. H.N. Müller in _De Gids_ for Jan., 1900, but I think hardly any attempt has been made to collect them. And here I may mention that Herr Seidel's _Lieder und Geschichten der Afrikaner_[36] contains a Nama version of the Lear story, taken down and translated by Herr Olpp, of the Rhenish Mission, who seems quite unaware of its real origin, in spite of the very obvious parallel in Grimm's _Hausmärchen_. He says in a note: "Diese Begebenheit kann sich nur in der Kap-Kolonie ereignet haben zu einer Zeit in welcher Kolonisten sich schon angesiedelt hatten und unter den Eingeborenen wohnten. Der Name der Tochter spricht dafür und enstammt dem Holländischen." Now the youngest daughter's name is "Katje Leiro"--surely, all things considered, not such a very far cry from Cordelia. [Footnote 36: P. 135, "Liebe bis zum Salz."] It is interesting to trace the African elements in these imported tales as distinct from those which are merely derived from West Indian surroundings. Thus Mr. Bluebeard's three-legged horse (compare also the three-legged horse in "Devil and the Princess") is, as explained in the footnote, a "duppy"; and the duppy, whatever the derivation of his name, seems to be West African in origin. Duppies are the souls of the dead, "capable of assuming various forms of men and other animals."[37] Some of these forms are monstrous, as the "three-foot horse" already alluded to, the "long-bubby Susan," and the "rolling calf." The informant who is responsible for these statements also says that "the duppy in human form generally moves along by spinning or walking backwards." Perhaps this may explain the mysterious "Wheeler" (LI.) who has his habitation in a hollow tree, and seizes the hand of any unwary person who puts it into the hole. What he would have done if not requested to "Wheel me mile an' distant," remains obscure; but apparently the persons making the request are whirled through the air and then dropped at the place where Annancy (who has previously passed through the experience unscathed) has prepared a trap for them. The story suggests--though the resemblance is not very close--the episode of "The Stone that wore a Beard" in _Cunnie Rabbit_ (p. 167), where the Spider, having had a narrow escape from the magic powers of the bearded stone (a transformed "devil") utilises them for the destruction of his acquaintances. Those who remark on the peculiarity of the stone are struck down unconscious, and Spider exercises all his ingenuity in inducing his victims to say, "Dah stone get plenty bear'-bear'!" Cunnie Rabbit will not say the words till Spider has himself done so, and has suffered the consequences; both are afterwards rescued by Trorkey (Tortoise). Somewhat similar to "Wheeler" is the magic jar in XLV.--which might, however, be due to a distorted reminiscence of "Bluebeard." Spirits are often believed on the Gold Coast to take up their abode in trees, as well as to assume the form of animals. The usual Tshi name for them appears to be _bonsum_ or _bossum_: the word "duppy" I have been unable to trace. [Footnote 37: See _Folk-Lore_, March, 1904, p. 90.] The method of divination in "Mr. Bluebeard" is one I do not remember to have met with, though it may be akin to the "magic mirror of ink." The magic drum by which Calcutta Monkey (XXXVIII.) finds out Annancy's whereabouts is African. I do not recall any parallel story, but drums are much used by witch-doctors and in ceremonial dances, and in some cases auguries are drawn from their sound. But Monkey first discovers Annancy to be the thief by cutting the cards, which of course is European. Two stories, "Annancy and the Old Lady's Field" (XVI.) and "Devil's Honeydram," introduce the incident of a woman compelled to dance against her will--in one case to dance herself to death. In both cases the music seems to be the compelling power; but it is not clear whether, in "Devil's Honeydram," the knowledge (and use in the song) of the woman's name has anything to do with the spell. If so, the idea is so universal that one can scarcely refer to it as specially African. It is interesting, though perhaps scarcely pertinent to the matter in hand, to note that the Akikuyu believe their images (of which Mr. Scoresby Routledge has brought home specimens) to have the power, if held up before people, of compelling them to dance. The folk-lore of Jamaica, as given in the interesting papers published in _Folk-Lore_, 1904-5, is decidedly of a composite character. The negroes have, as there pointed out (1904, p. 87), "adopted many of the most trivial of English superstitions," while at the same time preserving some reminiscences of their African beliefs. These are especially seen in the notions respecting "duppies," which again are perceptibly influenced by Christian ideas, cf. the efficacy of the name of Christ (p. 90) and the statement that the "rolling calf" is the spirit of a person not good enough for heaven or bad enough for hell, or the recipe of "sitting on a Bible" to get rid of a duppy. The directions for "killing a thief" (p. 92) belong to the system (universal throughout Negro and Bantu Africa) of guarding crops by means of "medicine," or "fetish," or whatever one likes to call it: the technical name in Chinyanja is _chiwindo_. I do not remember any of the particular forms of _chiwindo_ here enumerated; and the silver threepence to be planted with the "guinea yam" is a civilized addition, but the principle is the same. The methods of "finding out the thief," on the other hand, which follow on p. 93, are certainly English--the Bible and key, and the gold ring, hair and tumbler of water. There is a third alternative:--"A curious kind of smoke, which, when it rises, goes to the house of the thief, etc."--but it is too vaguely stated to enable us to pronounce upon it. Among funeral customs we find the following (p. 88): "If a person dies where there are little children, after the body is put into the coffin, they will lift up each little child, and calling him by name, pass him over the dead body." According to a Sierra Leone paper this custom is observed there; but it is not stated by which of the tribes who make up the extremely mixed population. It may even be found on investigation that some of the freed slaves brought the notion back from the New World. The same authority states that it is considered unlucky to whistle, and adds the rationalizing explanation that whistling attracts snakes, lizards, and other undesirable creatures into the house. In Jamaica, you must not "whistle in the nights, for duppies will catch your voice." The proportion of native and acquired, or African and European ideas in these superstitions can only be determined by a much more detailed examination than I can make here, and one based on fuller materials than are yet accessible. In conclusion, I would briefly glance at five stories which I have grouped together as derived from a common African original, and which present several features of interest, though I am unable to examine them as much in detail as I should like to do. These are "The Three Sisters" (VII.), "Gaulin" (XXIV.), "Yellow Snake" (XXXIV.), "John Crow" (XLIII.), and "Devil and the Princess" (LI.). The type to which these may be referred resembles the one registered by Mr. Jacobs as the "Robber-Bridegroom"; but the African prototypes are certainly indigenous, and it might seem as if the stories Mr. Jacobs had in view were late and comparatively civilized versions of the corresponding European and Asiatic ones, the Robber being the equivalent of an earlier wizard or devil, who, in the primitive form of the story, was simply an animal assuming human shape. The main incidents of the type-story are as follows: (1) A girl obstinately refuses all suitors. (2) She is wooed by an animal in human form, and at once accepts him. (3) She is warned (usually by a brother) and disregards the warning. (4) She is about to be killed and eaten, but is saved by the brother whose advice was disregarded. A Nyanja variant of this story, where the bridegroom is a hyena, corresponds very closely with the Temne "Marry the devil, there's the devil to pay" (_Cunnie Rabbit_, p. 178)--even to the little brother who follows the newly-wedded couple, against the wishes of the bride, and who is afflicted--in the one case with "craw-craw," in the other with sore eyes. A translation of the Nyanja story may be found in the _Contemporary Review_ for September, 1896. In Mrs. Dewar's _Chinamwanga Stories_ (p. 41) there is a variant,--"Ngoza,"--where the husband is a lion. In the Machame story, previously alluded to, the hyena, having befriended a girl, marries her, and she escapes with some difficulty from being eaten by his relations. Yet another variant is "Ngomba's Balloon" in Mr. Dennett's _Folklore of the Fjort_. Here the husband is a _Mpunia_ (translated "murderer")--apparently a mere human bad character, and Ngomba escapes by her own ingenuity. In the Jamaican stories it strikes one that the idea of transformation is somewhat obscured. We are told how "Gaulin" (Egret) and "John Crow" provide themselves with clothes and equipages--the latter a carriage and pair, the former the humbler local buggy;--and this seems to constitute the extent of their disguise. Yellow Snake is said to "change and fix up himself"--but the expression is vague. Gaulin, however, can only be deprived of his clothes (and so made to appear in his true shape) by means of a magic song. The "old-witch" brother, who has overheard the song, plays its tune at the wedding and thus exposes the bridegroom, who flies out at the door. "John-Crow" is detected by a Cinderella-like device of keeping him till daylight, and his hurried flight through the window (in which he scraped the feathers off his head on the broken glass) explains a characteristic feature of these useful but unattractive birds. In neither of these is the bride in any danger: but in "Yellow Snake" her brothers save her when already more than half swallowed; in "Devil and the Princess," she escapes by the aid of the Devil's cook, who feeds the watchful cock on corn soaked in rum. In this story, too, it is not the girl's brother, but the "old-witch" servant-boy, who warns her; and, as he is cast into prison for his pains, he has no hand in the release. In two cases ("Gaulin" and "John Crow") Annancy is one of the unsuccessful suitors, and, in the former, "Rabbit" is another. (He, apparently, takes no steps to change his shape, being rejected on the ground that he is "only but a meat," _i.e._, an animal.) In the Nyanja story, Leopard and Hare are mentioned as meeting with refusals, before the Hyena arrives on the scene. "The Three Sisters," while keeping one or two points of the original story, is much altered, and seems to have introduced some rather unintelligible fragments of an English ballad (as to which see Appendix, p. 286). The Snake is never accepted; and the youngest of the sisters, who answers him on behalf of all, would seem to represent the "old-witch" brother who detects his true character. His "turning into a devil" is another alien element--perhaps due to Biblical recollections, and the concluding assertion that he "have chain round his waist until now" seems to refer to something which has dropped out, as there is no previous allusion to a chain in the story as it stands. Of all the five, "Yellow Snake" is, on the whole, the closest to what we may suppose to have been the original; "Devil and the Princess" is in some respects complete, but has acquired several foreign features, and "John Crow" has quite lost the characteristic conclusion. It is to be hoped that we may one day succeed in discovering, if not all the African variants of this story, yet enough to render those we possess more intelligible, and to afford materials for an interesting comparative study. A. WERNER. AUTHOR'S PREFACE. The stories and tunes of this book are taken down from the mouths of men and boys in my employ. The method of procedure has in every case been to sit them down to their recital and make them dictate slowly; so the stories are in their _ipsissima verba_. Here and there, but very rarely indeed, I have made a slight change, and this only because I thought the volume might find its way into the nursery. The following list exhausts the emendations: (1) It was not his fat that Tiger took out when he went bathing, but his viscera; (2) The "Tumpa-toe" of one of the stories is "Stinking-toe"; (3) Dog always swears, his favourite expression being, "There will be hell here to-night," and the first line of one of the dance tunes runs really: "Hell of a dog up'tairs"; (4) "belly" is replaced by a prettier equivalent. The district in which I live is that of the Port Royal Mountains behind Kingston. Other districts have other "Sings," for these depend upon local topics. The Annancy Stories are, so far as I know, more or less alike throughout the island. This title seems to include stories in which Annancy himself does not figure at all, but this is of course an illegitimate use of it. The collection in this book is a mere sample both of stories and tunes. The book as a whole is a tribute to my love for Jamaica and its dusky inhabitants, with their winning ways and their many good qualities, among which is to be reckoned that supreme virtue, _Cheerfulness_. W.J. JAMAICA, _January_, 1906. JAMAICAN SONG AND STORY. PART I. ANNANCY STORIES. When the hoes stop clicking and you hear peals of laughter from the field, you may know that somebody is telling an Annancy story. If you go out, you will find a group of Negroes round the narrator, punctuating all the good points with delighted chuckles. Their sunny faces are beaming, and at the recital of any special piece of knavery on Annancy's part ordinary means of expression fail, and they fling themselves on the ground and wriggle in convulsions of merriment. Annancy is a legendary being whose chief characteristic is trickery. A strong and good workman, he is invariably lazy, and is only to be tempted to honest labour by the offer of a large reward. He prefers to fill the bag which he always carries, by fraud or theft. His appetite is voracious, and nothing comes amiss to him, cooked or raw. No sooner is one gluttonous feast over than he is ready for another, and endless are his shifts and devices to supply himself with food. Sometimes he will thrust himself upon an unwilling neighbour, and eat up all his breakfast. At another time he carries out his bag and brings it home full of flesh or fish obtained by thieving. He is perfectly selfish, and knows no remorse for his many deeds of violence, treachery and cruelty. His only redeeming point is a sort of hail-fellow-well-met-ness, which appeals so much to his associates that they are ready almost, if not quite, to condone his offences. Annancy has a defect of speech owing to a cleft palate, and pronounces his words badly. He speaks somewhat like Punch, through his nose very rapidly, and uses the most countrified form of dialect. He cannot say "brother," and has to leave out the _th_ owing to the failure of the tongue to meet the palate, so he says "bro'er." He even pretends he cannot say "puss," and turns it into "push." Strings of little words he delights in, such as, in the Brother Death story, the often-repeated "no mo so me no yerry," an expressive phrase difficult to render into good English. It means "I must have failed to hear." The words are "no more so me no hear," equivalent to "it must be so (that) I (do) not hear," the "no more" having something of the force of the same words in the colloquial phrases, "no more I do," "no more I will." When, for instance, to the remark, "I thought you didn't like the smell of paint," we make the rejoinder "no more I do," Priscian strives in vain to disentangle the words and reduce them to rule of syntax, but they mean "Well! I do not." Thus "no more me hear" would be "Well! I do not hear." The "so" introduces the hypothetical element and the "no" before "yerry" is a reduplicated negative. Thus far for the sense. Now for the pronunciation. The accent indicates where the stress of the voice falls, and unless the accent is caught, the phrase will not run off the tongue. This is how it goes: n[)o] m[)o] | s[=o] m[)e] n[)o] | yerry. As an illustration of the necessity of right placing of the accent, take the name of that town in Madagascar, which we so often saw in our papers a few years ago, Antananarivo. Most of us just nodded our heads at it, but never tried, or at least only feebly, to articulate it. With all this "an an" it was the same sort of hopeless business as the deciphering of the hieroglyphics of those writers whose words seem to be composed of nothing but _m_'s. And yet how simple, and easy to say, the word is when we catch the accent. First "an"; then stop a little; "tánana," same values as traveller; and finally "rivo." French sounds for the vowels of course, An-tananarivo. This grouping of accents is that which in music is known as rhythm. Rightly grouped they make musical sense, wrongly grouped--and alas! how often we hear it--musical nonsense. See the stuttering hopelessness and helplessness of án-tán-án-á--there might be any number more of "an-an"s to follow, and compare with this the neat satisfying form Antánanarivo. So let no bungler read in the story of Brother Death "no mó so mé no yerry" with halting and panting, but let him reel off as quickly as he can "no mo so me no yerry" with just the accent that he would use in this phrase:--"It is here that I want you." Remember, too, that the _o_'s have the open sound of Italian, and not the close sound of English. So is exactly like _sol_ (the musical note) with the _l_ left out, and not as we pronounce it. And above all, speed. When the stranger lands in Jamaica and hears the rapid rush of words, and the soft, open vowels, he often says: "Why, I thought they talked English here, but it sounds like Spanish or Italian!" The difficulty in understanding a new language lies in the inability to distinguish the point where one word ends and the next begins. The old puzzle sentence, _Caille a haut nid, taupe a bas nid_, shows this very well. The ear catches the sound but fails to differentiate the words, and, their real identity being disguised, the listener has a sort of impression of modern Greek or Italian, writing these fragments in his brain _oni_, _bani_. Just as hopeless is negro English to the newcomer, and the first thing to do is to set about learning it. And well it repays investigation. It is the boast of the English language that it has got rid of so much superfluous grammatical matter in the way of genders, inflections and such-like perplexities. True, it has abolished much that was evil, and enables us to speak and write shortly and to the point. But negro English goes a step further, and its form is still more concise. Compare these expressions: NEGRO. ENGLISH. Corn the horse. Give the horse some corn. Care the child. Take care of the child. Him wife turn fire. His wife became a shrew. You middle hand. The middle of your hand. My bottom foot. The bottom of my foot. Out the lamp. Put out the lamp. The boy too trick. The boy is very tricky. I did him nothing. I did not provoke him. See the 'tar up a 'ky. Look at the star up in the sky. No make him get 'way. Do not let him get away. Me go buy. I am going to buy. A door. Out of doors. Short-mout'ed. Quick at repartee. Bull a broke pen. The bull has broken out of the pen. Bell a ring a yard. The bell is ringing in the yard. Same place him patch. In the place where it was patched. To warm fire. To warm oneself by the fire. You no give. If you do not give. Bring come. Bring it here. A bush. In the bush.[38] [Footnote 38: These idioms are very similar to those of Cape Dutch, especially as spoken by the coloured people, and may help to illustrate its development. Cf. _Jy is te skellum_,--_ek gaan_ (or better, _Corp_) korp, etc. "To warm fire" reminds one of the Bantu _Ku ot a moto_, of which it is almost a literal translation. (A.W.)] These are a few typical sentences out of a host which might be cited to show the neat, short turn they take in the mouth of the Jamaica Negro. The rapidity of utterance natural to all the Blacks is exaggerated by Annancy. He generally affects, too, a falsetto tone as in "Play up the music, play up the music," in Yung-kyum-pyung. He has a metamorphic shape, that of the Spider. At one moment he is a man "tiefing (thieving) cow," the next he is running upon his rope (web). As he is the chief personage in most of the stories in this book, it is well to have a perfectly clear idea of the pronunciation of his name. Unnahncy does not represent it badly, but the first letter has actually the sound of short French _a_ as in _la_. The accent falls strongly on the middle syllable. In "Tacoma" all the syllables are very short. The first has the sound of French _ta_, and takes the accent; _co_ is something between English _cook_ and Italian _con_, and it is impossible to determine whether to write the vowel _o_ or _u_; _ma_ again as in French. The exact relation in which Tacoma stands to Annancy is obscure. In one case he is described as Annancy's son, but, according to most of the stories, he appears to be an independent neighbour. The stories are obviously derived from various sources, the most primitive being no doubt those which are concerned only, or chiefly, with animals. These may be of African origin, but we should have expected to find the Elephant and not the Tiger. I have a suspicion that Tiger was originally Lion, and that he is the Ogre of Jack the Giant-killer, and other fairy stories brought to Jamaica from England. Ogre would easily be corrupted to Tiger, and with the information, which might have been acquired at the same time, that Tiger was a fierce animal which ate men, his name would find its way into stories repeated from mouth to mouth. This is, however, pure conjecture. How much the stories vary may be seen from the two versions of Ali Baba, in one of which the point is so entirely lost that the door is not kept shut upon the intruder. The tunes are in the same case as the stories. What I take to be certainly primitive about them is the little short refrains, like "Carry him go 'long" (Dry Bone) and "Commando" (Annancy and Hog). These suggest tapping on a drum. Again, the same influence that has produced the American Plantation Songs is occasionally visible, as in "Some a we da go to Mount Siney" (Annancy in Crab Country). This kind of patter is just what the Negro likes. Some of the tunes are evidently popular songs of the day, as, for instance, the vulgar "Somebody waiting for Salizon" (Snake the Postman). But others are a puzzle, showing as they do a high order of melodic instinct. Such are the melodies in "The Three Sisters" and "Leah," and the digging-tunes, "Oh, Samuel, Oh!" and "Three Acres of Coffee." These digging-tunes are very pleasant to hear, and the singers are quick at improvising parts. They are an appropriate accompaniment to the joyous labour of this sunny, happy land. One more word with regard to the tunes. They gain a peculiar and almost indescribable lilt from a peculiarity in the time-organisation of the Negro. If you ask him to beat the time with his foot, he does it perfectly regularly, but just where the white man does not do it. We beat _with_ the time; he beats _against_ it. To make my meaning quite plain, take common measure. His first beat in the bar will be exactly midway between our first and second beats. The effect of this peculiarity in their singing is, that there is commonly a feeling of syncopation about it. The Americans call it "rag-time." The men's voices are of extraordinary beauty. To hear a group chatting is a pure pleasure to the ear, quite irrespective of the funny things they say; and their remarks are accompanied with the prettiest little twirks and turns of intonation, sometimes on the words, sometimes mere vocal ejaculations between them. The women's voices have the same fine quality when they speak low, but this they seldom do, and their usual vivacious chatter is anything but melodious. I. ANNANCY AND BROTHER TIGER. One day Annancy an' Bro'er Tiger go a river fe wash'kin. Annancy said to Bro'er Tiger:--"Bro'er Tiger, as you are such a big man, if you go in a de blue hole with your fat you a go drownded, so you fe take out your fat so lef' it here." Tiger said to Bro'er Annancy:--"You must take out fe you too." Annancy say:--"You take out first, an' me me take out after." Tiger first take out. Annancy say:--"Go in a hole, Bro'er Tiger, an' make me see how you swim light." Bro'er Annancy never go in. As Tiger was paying attention to the swimming, Annancy take up his fat an' eat it. Then Annancy was so frightened for Tiger, he leaves the river side an' go to Big Monkey town. Him say:--"Bro'er Monkey, I hear them shing a shing a river side say:-- [Music: "Yeshterday this time me a nyam Tiger fat, Yeshterday this time me a nyam Tiger fat, Yeshterday this time me a nyam Tiger fat, Yeshterday this time me a nyam Tiger fat."] The Big Monkey drive him away, say they don't want to hear no song. So him leave and go to Little Monkey town, an' when him go him said:-- "Bro'er Monkey, I hear one shweet song a river side say:-- "Yeshterday this time me a nyam Tiger fat. Yeshterday this time me a nyam Tiger fat." Then Monkey say:--"You must sing the song, make we hear." Then Annancy commence to sing. Monkey love the song so much that they made a ball a night an' have the same song playing. So when Annancy hear the song was playing, he was glad to go back to Bro'er Tiger. When him go to the river, he saw Tiger was looking for his fat. Tiger said:--"Bro'er Annancy, I can't find me fat at all." Annancy say:--"Ha ha! Biddybye I hear them shing a Little Monkey town say:-- "Yeshterday this time me a nyam Tiger fat. Yeshterday this time me a nyam Tiger fat. "Bro'er Tiger, if you think I lie, come make we go a Little Monkey town." So he and Tiger wented. When them get to the place, Annancy tell Tiger they must hide in a bush. Then the Monkey was dancing an' playing the same tune. Tiger hear. Then Annancy say:--"Bro'er Tiger wha' me tell you? You no yerry me tell you say them a call you name up ya?" An' the Monkey never cease with the tune:-- Yeshterday this time me a nyam Tiger fat. Yeshterday this time me a nyam Tiger fat. Then Tiger go in the ball an' ask Monkey them for his fat. The Monkey say they don't know nothing name so, 'tis Mr. Annancy l'arn them the song. So Tiger could manage the Little Monkey them, an' he want fe fight them. So the Little Monkey send away a bearer to Big Monkey town, an' bring down a lots of soldiers, an' flog Bro'er Tiger an' Annancy. So Bro'er Tiger have fe take bush an' Annancy run up a house-top. From that, Tiger live in the wood until now, an' Annancy in the house-top. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =Go a river fe wash 'kin=, go to the river to wash their skins. Pronounce =fe= like =fit= without the =t=. =in a de=, into the. =A go drownded=, will be drowned. =fe take=, short for =must have fe take=, must take. =so lef'=, and leave. =fe you=, for you, yours. =me me=, I will. Annancy is fond of these reduplications. =in a hole=, in the hole. =make me see=, let me see. =Make= and =let= are always confused. =frighten=, frightened. Past participles are seldom used. =take=, =eat=, =leave=, =go=, takes, eats, leaves, goes. This shortening is always adopted. If a final =s= is used, it is generally in the wrong place. =shing a shing=, sing a song. Annancy's lisp will not always be printed, but in reading, it should be put in even when not indicated. =a river side=, at the river's side. The =v= is pronounced more like a =b=, and the =i= in =river= has the sound of French =u=. =me a nyam=, I was eating, I ate. =Nyam= is one of the few African words which survive in Jamaica. =make we hear=, and let us hear it. =have the same song playing=; the past participle again avoided, and its place supplied by the present participle. Song and tune are interchangeable terms, and, even when there is no singing, the fiddle speaks words to those who are privileged to hear; see "Doba" and other stories. =Biddybye=, by the bye. =a Little Monkey town=, in Little Monkey town. So already in this story we have had _a_ standing for =to=, =in=, =the=, =at=, =will=, besides being interjected, as in =me a nyam= and elsewhere. =make we go=, let us go. =in a bush=, in the bush, in the jungle. =dancing an' playing.= No mention of singing, observe. =a wha' me tell you, etc.= What did I tell you? Did you not hear me tell you they were talking about you up here? A good phrase to illustrate the use of the interjected =say=. =Call you name=, mention your name. =Monkey them=; another common addition. =nothing name so=, nothing called so. =a bearer.= Bearers are important people in the Jamaica hills where post-offices are few. They often bear nothing but a letter, though some carry loads too. =Jack Mantora, etc.= All Annancy stories end with these or similar words. The Jack is a member of the company to whom the story is told, perhaps its principal member; and the narrator addresses him, and says: "I do not pick you out, Jack, or any of your companions, to be flogged as Tiger and Annancy were by the monkeys." Among the African tribes stories we know are often told with an object. The Negro is quick to seize a parable, and the point of a cunningly constructed story directed at an individual obnoxious to the reciter would not miss. So when the stories were merely told for diversion, it may have been thought good manners to say: "This story of mine is not aimed at any one." II. YUNG-KYUM-PYUNG. A King had t'ree daughter, but nobody in the world know their name. All the learned man from all part of the eart' come to guess them name, an' no one could'n guess them. Brother Annancy hear of it an' say:--"Me me I mus' have fe fin' them ya-ya gal name. Not a man can do it abbly no me." So one day the King t'ree gal gone out to bathe, an' Brother Annancy make a pretty basket, an' put it in a the house where he knew they was going to come fe eat them vittle. He leave it there, an' go under the house fe hear the name. When them come, them see the basket, an' it was the prettiest something they ever see in their life. Then the biggest one cry out:-- Yung-kyum-pyung! What a pretty basket! Marg'ret-Powell-Alone! What a pretty basket! And the next one say:-- Margaret-Powell-Alone! What a pretty basket! Eggie-Law! What a pretty basket! And the youngest bahl:-- Eggie-Law! What a pretty basket, eh? Yung-kyum-pyung! What a pretty basket, eh? Brother Annancy hear it all good, an' he glad so till him fly out a the house an' gone. Him go an' make up a band of music with fiddle an' drum, an' give the musicians them a tune to sing the names to. An' after a week him come back. When him get where the King could yerry, him give out:--"Play up the music, play up the music." So they play an' sing:-- [Music: Yung-kyum-pyung Eggie-Law Marg'ret-Powell-Alone.] After six times sing the Queen yerry. She say:--"Who is that calling my daughter name?" Annancy tell them fe play all the better. Then the Queen massoo himself from up'tairs, an' t'row down broke him neck. Dat time de King no yerry, so Annancy harder to play de music still. At last the King yerry, an' him say:--"Who is dat, calling me daughter name?" Annancy let them sing the tune over and over:-- [Music: Yung-kyum-pyung Eggie-Law Marg'ret-Powell-Alone.] An' the King t'row himself off a him t'rone an' lie there 'tiff dead. Then Annancy go up an' take the t'rone, an' marry the youngest daughter an' a reign. Annancy is the wickedest King ever reign. Sometime him dere, sometime him gone run 'pon him rope an tief cow fe him wife. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =Me, me I mus' have, etc.=, I will find out those girls' names. Anybody else would have said:--"Me mus' have fe find them ya (those here) gal name," but Annancy likes to add a few more syllables. His speech is =Bungo talk=. The Jamaican looks down on the Bungo (rhymes with Mungo) who "no 'peak good English." =abbly no me=, except me. =go under the house.= It is no absurdity to the narrator's mind to picture the King's house on the pattern of his own. This is a two-roomed hut, consisting of the hall or dining-room and a bedroom. It is floored with inch-thick cedar boards roughly cut and planed, so that they never lie very close. An air space is left underneath, and anybody who creeps under the hut can hear all that goes on above. =bahl=, bawl. =hear it all good=, hears everything perfectly. =Play up the music.= He almost sings, like this:-- [Music: Play up the music.] =all the better=, all the harder. =massoo himself=, lifts herself up. "Massoo" is an African word. The hall seems to have a sort of gallery. =t'row down, etc.=, throws herself down and breaks her neck. They always say =to broke=. =Dat time de King.= The turning of =th= into a =d= or nearly a =d= is characteristic of negro speech. To avoid the tiresomeness of dialect-printing, and for another reason to be mentioned by and by, this is not always indicated. The change is introduced occasionally to remind readers of the right pronunciation. =let them sing=, makes them sing. =Sometime him dare=, sometimes he is there (at home), sometimes he goes and runs upon his web and steals cows for his wife. Other stories will show Annancy's partiality for beef, or indeed anything eatable. =tief=, thieve. Spiders' webs of any kind are called =Annancy ropes=. III. KING DANIEL. There was two young lady name Miss Wenchy an' Miss Lumpy. The King Daniel was courtening to Miss Wenchy, an' the day when they was to get marry Miss Lumpy carry Miss Wenchy an' show him a flowers in the pond. Miss Wenchy go to pick it, an' Miss Lumpy shub him in the pond. An' she said:--"T'ank God! nobody see me." Now a Parrot sat up on a tree, an' jes' as Miss Lumpy say "T'ank God! nobody see me" the Parrot say:--"I see you dough!" Then Miss Lumpy said to the Parrot:--"Do, my pretty Polly, don't you tell, an' I'll give you a silver door an' a golden cage." And the Parrot sing:-- [Music: No, No, I don't want it, for the same you serve another one you will serve me the same.] "Oh do, my pretty Polly, don't you tell, an' I'll give you a silver door an' a golden cage." But the Parrot wouldn' stay, and he fly from houses to houses singing this tune:-- [Music: I brought, I brought a news to the young King Daniel; Miss Lumpy kill Miss Wenchy loss, on becount of young King Daniel.] At last the Parrot got to the table where the young King Daniel was. An' Miss Lumpy was into a room crying. Many pocket-handkerchief she got wet with tears. An' the Parrot sing the same song:--"I brought, I brought a news to the young King Daniel; Miss Lumpy kill Miss Wenchy loss on becount of young King Daniel." Then Miss Lumpy call out:--"Oh drive away that nasty bird, for Miss Wenchy head hurting her." But King Daniel wouldn' have it so, but said:--"I heard my name call. I would like to know what is it." An' the Parrot fly near upon the King's shoulder an' tell him what become of Miss Wenchy. An' they go an' look in the room an' find her not. An' pretty Polly take them to the pond an' show them where Miss Wenchy is, an' she was drown. Then the King call Miss Lumpy an' head him up into a barrel an' fasten it up with tenpenny nails, an' carry him up to a high hill an' let him go down the gully, an' he drop in the gully pom-galong. An' the Parrot laugh Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =I see you dough.= The first three words are pitched high and the voice falls as low as possible on the =dough= and dwells upon it. =Do, my pretty Polly, etc.= I have heard this story many times, and these words never vary. Obviously it was once a silver cage with a golden door.[39] [Footnote 39: The well-known and lately-current ballad of _May Colvin_, in which this incident occurs (though it is the false lover, not the sister, who is murdered), has a cage of gold with an ivory door. (C.S.B.)] =I brought=; brought for bring, as we had =broke= for break. =loss.= It is doubtful what this word represents. It may be loss or lost. Observe =be=count. =I would like to know what is it=, I should like to know what it is, what the matter is. The perverse misplacing of these words strikes a newcomer to the island. In questions they misplace them again and say "What it is?" =find her not.= The =not= has a heavy accent. =gully=, precipice. =pom-galong= imitates the sound of the barrel as it goes bumping down. The =o='s have the Italian sound. IV. TOMBY. One day there was a gal, an' Annancy really want that gal fe marry, but he couldn' catch him. An' Annancy ask a old-witch man--the name of him was Tomby--an' the old-witch man had a 'mash-up side, an' him was the only man could gotten the gal for Annancy. An' Annancy give the old-witch man a t'reepence to give the gal when him goin' to the market to buy a t'reepence of youricky-yourk. An' the gal take the t'reepence. An' as she walk along the pass to market she meet up one of her friend call Miss Princess Johnson an' she said:--"Good mornin' me love," an' the answer:--"How you do, me dear? Where you a come from now?" An Miss Justina say:--"Me a come from Tomby yard, an' see de t'reepence he give me fe go buy youricky-yourk." "Never you bodder with somet'ing 'tan' so. Gi' ahm back him fuppence because him goin' to turn trouble fe you." "How I manage fe gi' him the fuppence?" "When you go to the market come back tell him you no see no youricky-yourk." "An' what you go go buy, Miss Princess?" "Me go buy me little salt fish an' me little hafoo yam, t'reepence a red peas fe make me soup, quatty 'kellion, gill a garlic to put with me little nick-snack, quatty ripe banana, bit fe Gungo peas, an' me see if me can get quatty beef bone." "Ah! me missis, Cocoanut cheap a market ya." "Yes, me love, make me buy sixpence." An' as they talking they get to market. They buy what they want an' turn back, an' when they reach up Princess yard they tell goodbye an' Justina call in to Tomby. An' Justina bring back the t'reepence an' sing:-- [Music: Me go to market, me look, Tomby; look oh! me look, Tomby, look oh! me look, Tomby, see no youricky-yourk; Me went to Lingo Starban, 'cornful day, me went to Lingo Starban, 'cornful day, me went to Lingo Starban, 'cornful day.] An' Tomby very vex as, being a old witch, he knew all what the gal do already. An' he answer:-- [Music: Hm hm! hm hm! me have me mash-up side gee oh! a him make you say Tatalingo ya you bit oh! 'cornful day.] An' he won't take the t'reepence. Now the rule is that anybody take something from old-witch an' can't give it back, it give him power to catch him. An' so comes it that Tomby catch Justina an' send for Mr. Annancy an' make him a present to be a wife. His name was Miss Sinclair, but she becomes now Mrs. Annancy Sinclair. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =Old-witch=, a person of either sex possessed of supernatural powers, not necessarily old in years, as will be seen in other stories. The name "white witch" applied to men is familiar to dwellers in the West of England. ='mash-up=, smashed up, wounded, lacerated. =youricky-yourk=, a nonsense word for some kind of plaster. =pass=, path. =Miss Princess.= Prince and Princess are common names for boys and girls. =good mornin'.= This broad =o= is always pronounced =ah=. =yard=, a house with its immediate surroundings. =Never you bodder=, don't you bother with something which stands so, with that sort of commission. =ahm=, frequently used for him. =fuppence=, with Italian =u= having a turn towards =o=, fivepence in the old Jamaica coinage, equal to threepence English. Princess advises the return of the fuppence because it is going to get Justina (English =u= and Italian =i=) into trouble, coming as it does from an old-witch. It would not be guessed that the Jamaica coinage is identical with that of England. Such is, nevertheless, the case in spite of these curious names: 3 farthings 1 gill. 2 gills 1 quatty (quarter of sixpence, pronounced quotty). 2 quatties 1 treppence or fuppence (old coinage). 3 quatties 1 bit. 4 quatties 1 sixpence or tenpence (old coinage). 5 quatties, bit-o-fuppence. 7 quatties, bit-o-tenpence. 8 quatties 1 shilling or maccaroni. 10 quatties, mac-o-fuppence. =go go buy.= It is not only Annancy who uses reduplications. The close English =o= is replaced in the Negro's mouth by an Italian open =o=. =hafoo= (pronounced hahfoo, really =afoo=, an African word), a kind of yam. ='kellion=, skellion or scallion, a kind of onion which does not bulb. =Gungo=, Congo. This pea is not only excellent for soup, but the growing plant improves the soil by introducing nitrogen into it. =ya=, do you hear? a common ending to any remark. =tell goodbye.= They =tell= howdy (how do you do?) and goodbye. =Lingo Starban.= This should probably be Lingo's tavern, Lingo's tahvern; =v= and =b= being indistinguishable as in Spanish and Russian. ='cornful day=, a day of scorning or flouting. Justina wishes Tomby to believe that she tried everywhere to get some youricky-yourk, but met only with flouts and jeers. =Hm, hm=, grumbling. =a him=, it is him, it is that which makes you say:--"Tatalingo, here's your bit," your three quatties. She only had a treppence but the Negro is above accuracy as the Emperor Sigismund was above grammar. =Tatalingo.= Lingo's name is now transferred to Tomby. Italian vowels in Tata. In "Finger Quashy" we find Tatafelo as one of the cats' names. =make him a present=, make her (Justina) a present to Annancy. =Mrs. Annancy Sinclair.= They are not particular in the matter of surnames. A remarried widow is constantly called by the surname of her first husband. V. HOW MONKEY MANAGE ANNANCY. One day Mr. Annancy an' his wife sat under a tree an' don't know that Mr. Monkey was on the tree. Mr. Annancy say to his wife:--"You know I really want little fresh." The wife say to Annancy:--"What kind a fresh?" "How you mean, me wife, fe ax me dat question? Any meat at all. Me wife, you know wha' we fe do. Make we get a banana barrel an' lay it on de bed, make him favour one man, so get white sheet an' yap him up from head to foot, an' sen' go call Bro'er Cow, Bro'er Monkey, Bro'er Sheep, Bro'er Goat an' Bro'er Hog. An' when them come we mus' put all the strange friend them inside de house an' den you fe stay inside de room wi' dem." Now Bro'er Annancy send fe all his friend, Sheep, Goat, Hog, Monkey. Cow was the minister. When they come to Annancy yard they met him was crying. Parson Cow say:--"Don't cry so much, my good friend, because it is the all a we road." Annancy say:--"Ah, ah! Bro'er Cow, you no know the feeling me have fe me one puppa. Bro'er Cow, as you is the parson, take you frien' in, you will see de ole man 'pon bed." During this time Mrs. Annancy was inside the room. The Reverend Cow went in to raise up the sheet. Mrs. Annancy say:--"No; me husban' say nobody fe look on the ole man face till in the morning." So Cow don't rist. Mr. Monkey who hear all what Annancy was saying, he an' his wife wouldn' go in the house. Mr. Annancy say:--"Bro'er Monkey, go inside. Go see the last of the ole man." Monkey say:--"No, Bro'er Annancy, me sorry fe you too much. If a go in dere a we cry whole a night." "No, Bro'er Monkey, go in, go keep them other one company for you are me nearest frien'." Monkey never go. He has to left Monkey, for Monkey was too clever for him. An' by that time Mr. Annancy hid his cutlass back of his door well sharpen an' go in the house an' shut the door. It was the only door in the whole house, so he sat back of the door after lock it. An' after, Bro'er Annancy ask Bro'er Cow to say a word of prayer. During the praying Annancy was crying. Hog with an old voice say:--"Keep up Mr. Annancy, keep up Mr. Annancy." He cry much the better. The prayer was finish. Mr. Annancy ask Cow to raise a hymn. The Cow commence with hundred a de hymn, hundred a de page. [Music: Me gullen ho St. John, me gullen ho St. John, me see the last to-day ya, me see the last, puppa gone.] Bro'er Annancy want fe kill Parson Cow, begin with a big confusion, say that him don't like that hymn. During this time his door was well lock, an' same time Bro'er Annancy draw his cutlass an' raise a fight, say that him don't like that hymn. An' the poor friend them didn' have anything to fight. He kill the whole of them. In the morning Monkey laugh, say:--"Bro'er Annancy, If me min come in a you house you would a do me the same." Annancy say "No." Him give Monkey a piece of the meat. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =fresh=, fresh meat. In the country districts the only meat to be had as a rule is ancient salt beef out of a tub. =favour=, look like. In some parts of England the word is still used in this sense. =met him was crying=, found him crying. =all a we.= All of us have to tread the road of death. =one=, own. =who hear=, who had heard previously when he was on the tree. =cutlass.= Every Negro carries one. It is used for every sort of purpose, but seldom murderously as here. =old voice=, voice of simulated grief. =much the better=, all the more. =hundred a de=, hundredth. =me gullen ho=, nonsense words. =confusion=, quarrel. =min=, been. If I had come in you would have done the same to me. VI. BLACKBIRD AND WOSS-WOSS. One day there was a place where they usual to kill plenty of meat. An' Mr. Blackbird has a certain tree, hiding himself. An' every cow them kill Mr. Blackbird see how them kill it. An' going into the house, the house don't lock with no key nor either open with no key. When they want to go in them use a word, say "one--two--t'ree--me no touch liver," an' the door open himself. An' when them want to come out of the house them use the same words "one--two--t'ree--me no touch liver." An' Mr. Blackbird tief them fe true, an' them never find it out. An' one day Mr. Blackbird write his friend Mr. Annancy to take a walk with him, an' him will show him where he is getting all these meat. An' when he is going him tell Mr. Annancy all the rule, that when he go on the tree he must listen, an' him will hear what them say to open the door both going in an' coming out. What Mr. Annancy did; when he see the butcher them passing with the meat, Annancy was trembling an' saying:--"Look a meat,--Look a meat." "Bro'er Annancy hush you mout', you a go make dem shot me." When the butcher them gone, Mr. Blackbird come down, he an' Mr. Annancy, an' go inside the house the very same as the butcher them do, say "one--two--t'ree--me no touch liver." As they go into the house Blackbird tell him that him mustn't take no liver. An' Mr. Annancy took liver an' put in his bag. An' when Blackbird started out with the same word Mr. Annancy left inside was tying his bag. Now Mr. Annancy ready fe come out of the house, count "one--two--t'ree--me no touch liver," and by this time he has the liver in his bag. The door won't open. Blackbird call him "Come on." He say:--"The door won't open." Then he count more than what he was to by get so frighten. He say:--"One--two--t'ree--four--five--six--seven--eight--nine--ten--me no touch liver." The door won't open. Mr. Blackbird say:--"Look in your bag, you must be have liver." The fellow so sweet-mout' say in a cross way "No." Blackbird leave him. When Blackbird go home he look an' can't see Mr. Annancy, so him fly a bush an' get up a whole regiment of soldier. Who these soldier was, was Woss-Woss. Mr. Blackbird was the General, march before. When them reach to the place they were just in time, for the butcher were taking Mr. Annancy to go an' tie him on a tree to cut him with hot iron. Word of command was given from Mr. Blackbird, an' by the time the butcher them come to the door with Mr. Annancy the whole world of Woss-Woss come down on them. They have to let go Mr. Annancy. Not one of the butcher could see. Mr. Blackbird soldier gain the battle an' get 'way Mr. Annancy. They take all the butcher meat an' carry home. Then Mr. Blackbird take Mr. Annancy under his wing an' all his soldiers an' fly to his own country. From that day Woss-Woss is a great fighter until now, so bird never do without them to guard their nest. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =Woss-Woss.= The West Indian wasp hangs its paper nest to the twigs of bushes and trees as a rule, though it does not despise the shelter of the verandah. The wasps live in colonies, making many small nests instead of one big one. The nests are shaped like the rose of a watering-pot with the shank turned upwards. This story clearly owes its origin to Ali Baba. The conversion of Sesame, which meant nothing to the negro, into one-two-three, which at least means something, is not unnatural. =fe true=, literally =for true= is an expressive phrase conveying the idea of intensity. =It hot fe true=, it is intensely hot. =He tief fe true=, he steals terribly. =It rain fe true=, it is raining very hard. =He wort'less fe true=, he is a regular scamp. =He sinnicky fe true=, he is a horrid sneak. =His ears hard fe true=, his ears are outrageously hard, said of a boy who will not do as he is told. =He nyam fe true=, he eats immensely. =Lazy fe true=, abominably lazy. =Ugly fe true=, exceedingly ugly. =The water cold fe true=, the water is very cold. =White yam burn fe true=, the white yam is sadly burnt. =Orange bear fe true=, the oranges bear heavily. =Puss catch ratta fe true=, the cat catches any amount of rats. =Him favour tiger fe true=, he looks for all the world like a tiger, said of a man who has a sullen expression. =Me head hurt me fe true=, I have a very bad headache. =Boot burn me fe true=, my boots gall me dreadfully. =by get so frighten=, through fright; literally, owing to his getting so much frightened. =must be have=, must have. =sweet-mout'=, sweet-mouthed, greedy. VII. THE THREE SISTERS. There was t'ree sister living into a house, an' everybody want them fe marry, an' them refuse. An' one day a Snake go an' borrow from his neighbour long coat an' burn-pan hat an' the whole set out of clothing. Then he dress himself, an' him tell his friends that him mus' talk to those young lady. An' what you think the fellow does? He get up a heap a men to carry him to the young lady yard. An' when him got there the door was lock with an iron bar. An' when he come he say:--"Please to open the door, there is a stranger coming in." An' he sing like this:-- [Music: My eldes' sister, will you open the door? My eldes' sister, will you open the door oh? Fair an gandelow steel.] An' the eldest one was going to open the door. An' the last one, who was a old-witch, say to her sister:--"Don't open the door," an' she sing:-- [Music: My door is bar with a scotran bar, My door is bar with a scotran bar oh, Fair an' gandelow steel.] Then the Snake ask again to the same tune:-- My second sister will you open the door? My second sister will you open the door oh? Fair an' gandelow steel. An' the youngest, which was old-witch, sing again:-- My door is bar with an iron bar, My door is bar with an iron bar oh, Fair an' gandelow steel. An' the Snake turn to a Devil, an' the t'ree sister come an' push on the door to keep it from open. An' the Devil ask a third time:-- My youngest sister will you open the door? My youngest sister will you open the door oh? Fair an' gandelow steel. But the last sister won't have it so, an' she said with a very wrath:-- [Music: The Devil roguer than a womankind, The Devil roguer than a womankind oh, Fair an' gandelow steel.] An' the Devil get into a great temper an' say:-- [Music: What is roguer than a womankind? What is roguer than a womankind oh? Fair an' gandelow steel.] Then the Devil fly from the step straight into hell an' have chain round his waist until now. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =Snake= is pronounced with an indefinite short vowel between the =s= and =n=, senake. =burn-pan hat=, the tall hat of civilized towns. The =pan= is the usual cylindrical tin vessel used for cooking. When blackened by fire it is a =burn-pan= or burnt pan. It is pronounced like French _bonne_. =Gandelow, scotran.= The meaning of these words is lost. =roguer.= This word is doubtful. Sometimes it sounds like rowgard, at others like rowgod. It may mean "more roguish." The boy who gave me this story often quotes this line from a hymn: "To break the bonds of cantling sin." One day I asked him to point it out in his hymnbook. It was =conquering=. He can say it perfectly well, but he still goes on with =cantling=. It is not surprising, therefore, that we cannot recover words passed from mouth to mouth for generations. =womankind.= Again it is doubtful whether this is a single word or two words. The article would fix it as the latter in pure English, but in negro speech it goes for nothing. =old-witch=, though she was a young girl: see notes to No. IV. (Tomby). VIII. WILLIAM TELL. Once there was a man who name William Tell, an' him have a lots of cow. An' in the yard there was a tree, an' the tree no man can fall it. Any animal at all go under that tree it kill them, an' the name of the tree is Huyg. An' William Tell wanted the tree to cut down. An' him offer a cow to any man that kill the Huyg. They shall get the cow. An' first of all Tacoma went to cut down the tree, an' him couldn' bear the itch, I mean 'cratch of the tree. An' William Tell made a law that any man come to cut the tree they must not 'cratch their 'kin or else they would lose the cow. An' Mr. Tacoma were very sorry, an' he was to leave the cow just to save his life. An' that great man Mr. Annancy heard about the cow an' him got a very sharp axe. An' when Mr. Annancy come, William Tell show him the cow--Annancy glad when he see the cow--an' after he show Mr. Annancy the tree. Then Mr. Annancy say:--"Ho, me good massa, don't you fret of the tree. If one sing don't send 'way the tree another one must send him 'way." An' the first sing was:-- [Music: Big chip, fly! little chip, fly!] He repeat the word over an' over, but the tree don't fall yet. So him take up another sing again:-- [Music: Me go to Rickylanjo, eye come shine, come show me your motion, eye come shine.] An' Mr. Annancy never cease till him cut down the tree an' receive his reward. NOTES. =Huyg= for Hag, as they say =buyg= for bag. The spelling is awkward but it seems the only convenient one to adopt. The sound will be best understood from the second example. Say =buy= and put a hard =g= after it. The =Huyg= seems to combine the qualities of the Upas and Cow-itch (_Mucuns pruriens_). The last, a common Jamaica weed, looks like a scarlet runner. It bears pods covered with a pretty velvet of hairs which "scratch" or irritate the skin. =sing.= Further on there is a collection of these =sings=. =show me your motion=, let me see you begin to topple. IX. BROTHER ANNANCY AND BROTHER DEATH. One day Brother Annancy sen' gal Annancy fe go a Brother Deat' yard fe go beg fire. When the gal go, him go meet Brother Deat' dis a eat fe him breakfas' enough eggs. Brother Deat' give gal Annancy one. Gal Annancy take the egg an', after eat done, put the shell 'pon him finger. Brother Annancy wait an' wait but can't get the fire, till at last he see the gal a come. When him see the gal with the egg shell 'pon him finger, him run an' bit off the gal finger slap to the hand. Him take 'way the fire, out it, an' go back to Deat' say:--"Bro'er Deat', de fire out." Brother Deat' give him fire an' one egg, tell him fe go home. "Say, Bro'er Deat', I goin' to give you me daughter fe marry to." So Annancy do marry off Deat' an' him daughter the same day. So him lef' them gone for a week, then come back again fe come see him son-in-law. When him come him say:--"Bro'er Deat', me son, me hungry." Brother Deat' no 'peak. So Annancy begin fe talk to himself: "Bro'er Deat' say me fe go make up fire, but no mo so me no yerry." After five minutes him call out:--"Bro'er Deat', me make up de fire." Deat' no 'peak. "Bro'er Deat' say me fe wash de pot, but no mo so me no yerry." When the pot wash done, him call out:--"Pot wash." Deat' no 'peak. "Bro'er Deat' say me fe to put him on, but no mo so me no yerry." Soon him say:--"Bro'er Deat', where de vittle?" Deat' no 'peak. "Him say me fe look somewhé dé me see enough yam, me fe peel dem put dem a fire, but no mo so me no yerry." Annancy cook all Deat' food. When it boil, him take it off. Him say:--"Bro'er Deat', him boil." Deat' no 'peak. "Bro'er Deat' say me fe share, but no mo so me no yerry." Annancy eat fe him share, then turn back say:--"Bro'er Deat', you no come come eat?" Deat' no 'peak. "Bro'er Deat' say him no want none, but no mo so me no yerry." So Annancy eat off all the food him one. Then Deat' get vex in a him heart, and him run into the kitchen. "Bro'er Annancy a whé you mean fe do me, say a come you come fe kill me?" So Deat' catch Annancy an' say:--"Me no a go let you go again, no use, no use." Then, after, Deat' carry Annancy in a him house an' leave him, gone to get his lance to kill him. So, after Annancy sit a time an' about to go away, him say:--"Bro'er Deat' say me fe go take piece a meat, but no mo so me no yerry." When Annancy go to the meat cask, him see the cask full with meat. Him take out two big piece of meat. Then he see fe him daughter hand with the missing finger. Him jump out of the house an' bawl out:--"Bro'er Deat', you b'ute, you b'ute, you kill me daughter." Deat' catch him again an' was going to kill him, but the feller get 'way, run home a fe him yard. Brother Deat' follow him when him go home. Annancy take all him children an' go up a house-top, go hang up on the rafter. Brother Deat' come in a de house, see them up a de house-top. Annancy say to his family--there was two boy an' the mumma--"Bear up! If you drop de man a dirty dé a go nyam you." Here come one of the boy say:--"Puppa, me han' tired." Annancy say:--"Bear up!" The boy cry out fe de better. Annancy say:--"Drop, you b'ute! No see you dada a dirty dé?" Him drop. Deat' take him and put him aside. Five minutes the other one say:--"Puppa, me han' tired." Annancy say again:--"Drop, you b'ute! No see you dada a dirty dé?" Him drop. Deaf take him an' put him aside. Soon the wife get tired, say:--"Me husban', me han' tired." Annancy say:--"Bear up, me good wife!" When she cry she couldn' bear no more, Annancy bawl again:--"Drop you b'ute! No see you husban' a dirty dé?" She drop. Deat' take her. At last Annancy get tired. Das de man, Bro'er Deat' been want. Annancy was so smart, no want fe Deat' catch him, so he say:--"Bro'er Deat', I goin' to drop, an' bein' me so fat, if you no want me fat fe waste, go and fetch somet'ing fe catch me." "What me can take fe catch you?" "Go in a room you will see a barrel of flour an' you fe take it so fe me drop in dé." Deat' never know that this flour was temper lime. Deat' bring the barrel an', just as he fixing it up under where Annancy hanging, Annancy drop on Deat' head PUM, an jam him head in a the temper lime an' blind him. So he an' all him family get 'way. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =dis a eat=, just as he had eaten. =no mo so me no yerry=, I must have failed to hear. See page 3. =Deat' no 'peak=, Death won't speak. The comedy is well sustained. Annancy goes through the various stages of preparation for breakfast, pretending that he is carrying out orders from Death which he fails to hear. =put him on=, put the pot on the fire. =somewhé dé=, somewhere there. The =e='s are like French =é=, and =dé= is said with a strong accent and made very short. =enough yam=, plenty of yams. =say a come you come=, say do you come. =me no a go etc.=, I am not going to let you go again. =no use=, no mistake about it this time. =bawl.= Remember to pronounce it =bahl=. =b'ute=, brute, pronounced byute like the island Bute. =a fe him yard=, to his yard. =a dirty dé, etc.=, on the ground there will eat you. =fe de better=, all the more. =Das=, that's. =temper lime=, tempered lime originally no doubt, but now meaning quick lime. Temper, I am told, means cross. And in further explanation my informant adds: "You can't fingle (finger) temper lime as you have a mind; it cut up your hand." =pum= with the shortest possible vowel represents the thud of Annancy's fall upon Death's head. The Kitchen is outside the house, often at a considerable distance from it. X. MR. BLUEBEARD. There was a man named Mr. Bluebeard. He got his wife in his house an' he general catch people an' lock up into a room, an' he never let him wife see that room. One day he went out to a dinner an' forgot his key on the door. An' his wife open the door an' find many dead people in the room. Those that were not dead said:--"Thanky, Missis; Thanky, Missis." An' as soon as the live ones get away, an' she was to lock the door, the key drop in blood. She take it up an' wash it an' put it in the lock. It drop back into the blood. An' Mr. Bluebeard was a old-witch an' know what was going on at home. An' as he sat at dinner, he called out to get his horse ready at once. An' they said to him:--"Do, Mr. Bluebeard, have something to eat before you go." "No! get my horse ready." So they bring it to him. Now, he doesn't ride a four-footed beast, he ride a t'ree-foot horse. An' he get on his horse an' start off itty-itty-hap, itty-itty-hap, until he get home. Now, Mrs. Bluebeard two brother was a hunter-man in the wood. One of them was old-witch, an' he said:--"Brother, brother, something home wrong with me sister." "Get 'way you little foolish fellah," said the biggest one. But the other say again:--"Brother, brother, something wrong at home. Just get me a white cup and a white saucer, and fill it with water, and put it in the sun, an' you will soon see what do the water." Directly the water turn blood. An' the eldest said:--"Brother, it is truth, make we go." An' Mrs. Bluebeard was afraid, because he knew Mr. Bluebeard was coming fe kill him. An' he was calling continually to the cook, Miss Anne:-- [Music: Sister Anne, Sister Anne, Ah! you see any one is coming? Sister Anne, Sister Anne, Ah! you see any one is coming?] An' Sister Anne answer:-- [Music: Oh no, I see no one is coming, But the dust that makes the grass so green.] An' as she sing done they hear Mr. Bluebeard coming, itty-itty-hap, itty-itty-hap. Him jump straight off a him t'ree-foot beast an' go in a the house, and catch Mrs. Bluebeard by one of him plait-hair an' hold him by it, an' said:--"This is the last day of you." An' Mrs. Bluebeard said:--"Do, Mr. Bluebeard, allow me to say my last prayer." But Mr. Bluebeard still hold him by the hair while he sing:-- Sister Anne, Sister Anne, Ah! you see any one is coming? Sister Anne, Sister Anne, Ah! you see any one is coming? An' Sister Anne answer this time:-- [Music: Oh yes! I see someone is coming, And the dust that makes the grass so green.] Then Mr. Bluebeard took his sword was to cut off him neck, an' his two brother appear, an' the eldest one going to shot after Mr. Bluebeard, an' he was afraid an' begin to run away. But the young one wasn't going to let him go so, an' him shot PUM and kill him 'tiff dead. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =three-foot=, three-legged.[1] =Hand= is used for arm in the same way. =itty-itty-hap=, imitating the halting gait of the three-legged horse. The voice rises on =hap= which is said with a sharp quick accent.[40] [Footnote 40: "The 'three-foot horse' is believed to be a kind of duppy with three legs, hence its name; and is able to gallop faster than any other horse. It goes about in moonlight nights, and if it meet any person it blows upon him and kills him. It will never attack you in the dark. It cannot hurt you on a tree." _Folklore of the Negroes of Jamaica_, in _Folklore_, Vol. XV., p. 91. (C.S.B.).] =fe kill him=, to kill her. The use of masculine for feminine pronouns is bewildering at first. XI. ANNANCY, PUSS, AND RATTA. One day Annancy an' Puss make a dance, an' invite Ratta to the ball. Annancy was the fiddler. The first figure what him play, the tune say:-- [Music: Ying de ying de ying, Ying de ying de ying, take care you go talk oh, min' you tattler tongue ying de ying, min' you tattler tongue ying de ying, min' you tattler tongue ying de ying.] The second tune he say:-- [Music: Bandywichy wich, Bandywichy wich, Bandywichy wich, Timber hang an' fall la la, fall la la, fall la.] Then, as the Ratta dance, the high figure whé him make, him slide in the floor an' him trousies pop. Then the shame he shame, he run into a hole, an' him make Ratta live into a hole up to to-day day. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. This story should be rattled off as quick as possible. =Ratta=, rat or rats. =Ying de ying= imitates the "rubbing" of the fiddle, as they call it. =take care you go talk=, mind you don't talk, mind your tattling tongue. =figure whé him make=, caper that he cuts. =trousies pop=, trousers burst. XII. TOAD AND DONKEY. One day a King made a race and have Toad and Donkey to be the racer. An' Toad tell Donkey that him must win the race, an' Donkey mad when him yerry so. And the race was twenty mile. An' Donkey say:--"How can you run me? I have long tail an' long ear an' a very tall foot too, an' you a little bit a Toad. Let me measure foot an' see which one longer." An' Toad say to Donkey:--"You no mind that man, but I must get the race." An' Donkey get very vex about it. An' Donkey say to the King:--"I ready now to start the race." An' the King made a law that Donkey is to bawl at every miles that he might know where he got. Now that little smart fellah Toad says to the King that he doesn't fix up his business yet, an' will he grant him a little time. An' the King grant him a day, an' say to the two of them:--"Come again to-morrow." An' Donkey wasn't agree, for he know that Toad is a very trickified thing. But the King wouldn' hear, an' say:--"No, to-morrow." Now Toad have twenty picny. An' while Donkey is sleeping, Toad take the twenty picny them along with him on the race-ground, an' to every mile-post Toad leave one of his picny an' tell them that they must listen for Mr. Donkey when he is coming. "An' when you yerry that fellah Mr. Donkey bawl, you must bawl too." An' Toad hide one of his picny behind every mile-post until him end the twenty mile. So the race begin. Donkey was so glad in a him heart that he was going to beat Toad that he say to himself:--"Tche! That little bit a fellah Toad can't manage me, so I must have plenty of time to eat some grass." So him stand by the way, eat grass and poke him head through the fence where he see some potato-slip, an' try a taste of Gungo peas. An' he take more than an hour fe catch up the first mile-post, an' as him get him bawl:-- [Music: Ha! Ha! Ha! me more than Toad.] An' there comes the first picny call out:-- [Music: Jinkororo, Jinkokkokkok.] An' Donkey quite surprise, an' say:--"Tche! How him manage to be before me?" An' he think:--"Me delay too long with that grass, I must quicker next mile." An' him set off with a better speed an' only stop a minute for a drink of water. An' as him get to the next post him bawl:-- [Music: Ha! Ha! Ha! me more than Toad.] An' there come the second picny call out:-- [Music: Jinkororo, Jinkokkokkok.] An' Donkey say:--"Lah! Toad travel fe true. Never mind, we will chance it again." So him 'tart, an' when him reach the third mile-post him bawl:-- [Music: Ha! Ha! Ha! me more than Toad.] An' the third picny behind the post say:-- [Music: Jinkororo, Jinkokkokkok.] Jackass get vex when he hear Toad answer him, an' he go fe 'mash Toad, an' Toad being a little man hide himself in a grass. Then Donkey say:--"Hi! fellah gone ahead; make I see if I can catch up the next mile-post before him." An' he take him tail an' touch it like a horsewhip an' begin fe gallop. An' him get to the fourth mile-post an' bawl:-- [Music: Ha! Ha! Ha! me more than Toad.] An' there comes the fourth picny answer him:-- [Music: Jinkororo, Jinkokkokkok.] When him yerry, him 'tand up same place an' trimble, say:--"My goodness King! a whé me a go do? Make me gallop so I knock off all me hoof self upon the hard hard dirty because I must beat the race." An' he gallop so fast than he ever do before, until when he get to the fifth mile-post he was really tired an' out of breath. But he just have enough to bawl:-- [Music: Ha! Ha! Ha! me more than Toad.] When he hear:-- [Music: Jinkororo, Jinkokkokkok.] This time he really mad, an' race on harder than ever. But always the same story. Each mile-post he catch him bawl:--"Ha! Ha! Ha! me more than Toad." An' always come answer:--"Jinkororo, Jinkokkokkok." An' Donkey begin to get sad in his mind for he see that he lost the race. So through Toad smartness Donkey can never be racer again. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =tall foot=, long leg. A tall bridge is a long one, not one that stands high above the river. =wasn't agree=, didn't agree. Auxiliaries are a snare. =picny.= This is the almost universal form of picaninny in Jamaica, varied occasionally by picany. =Tche!= the Pshaw! of books and the Tush! of the Psalms. There is a world of contempt in this ejaculation, which is accompanied by an upward jerk of the chin. The vowel is that of French =le=. =potato-slip.= The sweet potato (_Ipomoea Batatas_) is cultivated by slips or cuttings. Our kind of potato is called "Irish potato." =Jinkororo, etc.= This is a capital imitation of the Toad's croaking chuckle. The second bar should be made as out of tune as possible and the =kok= is on the lowest note of the voice. It is the repeated k's that make the croak so life-like. =take him tail.= They are fond of this expression. Other examples are:--"The horse take him mout' fe 'cratch him foot," the horse scratches his leg with his mouth. "Me take me owny yeye an' see it," I saw it with my own eyes. =a whé me a go do?= What am I going to do, what shall I do? =dirty=, ground. XIII. SNAKE THE POSTMAN. One day Annancy ask Snake to be his postman. Snake ask him how much he is going to pay him. An' Annancy tell Snake that he know he is a man love blood, an' when him come in the night he will give him a bite off his head. An' Snake did agree. An' the first night he give Annancy a bite in his head, an' Annancy feel it very much. An' the second night when Snake is to come back Annancy invite his friend Mr. Rabbit. An' Annancy usual to sleep out in the hall. An' that night, when his friend Mr. Rabbit did come, he move an' go in the room an' make a very high bed. An' his friend Mr. Rabbit didn' know what Annancy mean to do. So Annancy put him out in the hall, an' tell him that one of his cousin is sleeping in here too, so he will come in later on; an' when him hear him call he must just get up an' open the door an' see who it is. An' when Annancy out lamp Rabbit think it very hard, an' say to himself:--"Bro'er Annancy up to some trick." An' Rabbit wake up an' begun to dig a hole, an' him dig a hole until him get outside the door an' find himself back to his yard. When Snake come in the night to get the other bite from Annancy him call Annancy. Annancy wouldn' give answer as him being put Rabbit outside in the hall, an' Snake continually calling until Annancy give answer. An' when him give answer he begin to wake Rabbit an' thought Rabbit was inside the house. He didn' want was to receive his bite, an' he begun to call Rabbit "Cousin Yabbit," that Rabbit may glad an' give him answer. When him couldn' hear, him say "Godfather Yabbit" An' him call again "Bro'er Yabbit," an' him couldn' hear him. An' he call again "Puppa, Puppa!" an' he couldn' hear. An' him light the lamp an' come out the hall an' begin to s'arch for Rabbit. An' when him look, him see Rabbit dig a heap of dirt an' come out. An' Annancy beguns to cry inside the house an' wouldn' open the door. An' he begin to complain to Snake that the first bite him gi' him he 'mash up the whole a him head. An' Annancy 'tudy a 'cheme, catch up a black pot an' turn it down over him head. An' as he put out him head Snake bite the pot, t'ought it's Annancy him catch. An the whole of Snake mouth was in sore. An' when he get home he send back to Annancy that he sick an' won't manage to come back another night. An' Annancy was very glad an' send go tell him that himself is in bed. An' when the bearer start for home him sing this song:-- [Music: Somebody waiting for Salizon, Somebody waiting for Salizon, Somebody waiting for Salizon, Take up your letter an' go.] An' from that day Snake broke friend with Annancy. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. The house would have two rooms, first the hall and then the inner room or bedroom. From Rabbit's burrowing operations it appears to have no floor. This was a common condition in the old times, but now it gets rarer and rarer. Only Coolie (East Indian) houses are unfloored. =him being put=, he had put. ='tudy a 'cheme=, studies a scheme. It is more usual ='tudy a plan=. This common, vulgar song is evidently of late origin and probably does not really belong to the story. XIV. DOBA. One day Puss make a ball an' invite the whole world of Ratta. All the Ratta dress in long coat an' silk dress. There was t'ousand of them women, an' men. When them come they bring a little boy an' the mother with a young baby. When all the Ratta settle, the door was shut, an' the Puss them have them junka 'tick secretly in a them trousies' foot. They made a bargain between themselves that, when the Ratta deep in dancing, Doba must out the lamp, then the licking-match commence. When the music begin, it sweet Ratta so that they dance till their white shirt-bosom was wet. The fiddler was Dandy Jimmy Flint. An' this is what the fiddle say:-- [Music: Doba, Doba, Doba no make de little one get 'way Ballantony Bap! twee twee, Ballantony Bap! twee twee.] The boy Ratta take notice of what the fiddle say. Him go to him dada an' whisper:--"Puppa, you no yerry what the fiddle say?" [Music: Doba, Doba, Doba no make de little one get 'way Ballantony Bap! twee twee, Ballantony Bap! twee twee.] The father say:--"Get 'way, Sir, you little fellah you! It the worst fe carry any little boy out fe met. Go, off, Sir, you lying fellah!" During this time the boy hear what the music say in truth, went an' dug a hole fe him an' him mumma. When Ratta in hot dancing the gate-man Puss, Mr. Doba, out the lamp. Then the junka 'tick fly round an' all the Ratta was kill. Blood was cover the floor an' all the Puss take their share. Only boy Ratta an' his mumma an' the young baby, get way. If the puppa did take what the boy say him wouldn' dead. Puss ball was flourish with meat. If boy Ratta an' his mumma didn' get 'way we wouldn' have no Ratta in dis ya-ya-world again. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =Ratta=, rats. =Puss them.= These words are closely joined together. =junka 'tick=, short sticks. =trousies' foot=, the legs of their trousers. The Negroes are expert in the art of hiding things about their person. Fighting with sticks is called a =licking-match=. =sweet= (a verb), pleased, delighted. In these stories the fiddle is often made to sing words which some have the gift of hearing. =Bap!= is the knock of the stick, or "lick of the stick" as they say. =twee twee=, the squeak of the rat. =no make=, don't let. =it the worst fe carry, etc.= It is very troublesome to take a little boy out to a meeting. Met, dance, spree, picnic are convertible terms. =Carry= is seldom used as in English. They say:--Carry the mule a pastor (to the pasture). When a man carries you over a river on his back he "crosses you over." =Doba=, long =o= as in Dover. =Blood was cover, etc.=, the floor was covered with blood. =Dis ya-ya=, the vulgar English "this here." =Ya-ya= is said very quickly. It does not come into common speech but is reserved for Annancy stories and is generally found only in Annancy's mouth. XV. DRY-BONE. One day Rabbit invite Guinea-pig to his yard. An' when Guinea-pig go, Rabbit ask Guinea-pig to go an hunting. An' Rabbit meet up Dry-bone. An' when him meet up Dry-bone, him t'row down his gun an' him call to Guinea-pig an' tell him:--"I meet with a luck." An' Guinea-pig tell Rabbit:--"I won't carry none of the Dry-bone, but you must make me carry the birds what we kill." Rabbit wasn't agree to let him carry the birds, but Guinea-pig coax him until Rabbit consent an' they fix up the bargain: Rabbit was to carry Dry-bone, an' Guinea-pig was to carry the birds. So they put Dry-bone into the bag, an' Rabbit ask Guinea-pig to help him up. An' Guinea-pig help him up an' pick up the gun an' carry it. An' they start home to their yard. An' when Rabbit got half part the road he found the load getting heavier an' heavier, an' him ask Guinea-pig to take it for a while. Guinea-pig tell him that he made no promise was to help him with Dry-bone. Rabbit walk on till the load get so heavy him begin to cry, say that him going to t'row down Dry-bone. An' Dry-bone fasten on his head an' begin to talk. He say to Rabbit:--"You take me up you take up trouble." An' that time Guinea-pig was laughing after Rabbit. Just then that cravin' fellah Mr. Annancy was passing an' see Rabbit with his load. He thought that it was something good, an' he ask Rabbit that he will help him carry it. An' Rabbit was very glad to get relief of his trouble. So Annancy take Dry-bone from Rabbit an' put him on his own head. An' when Annancy 'tart, he t'ought that Rabbit was coming. An' Rabbit turn back an' hide a bush an' leave the trouble to Annancy. When Annancy get home to his yard him find that it was Dry-bone, an' it vex him in a him heart. An' Annancy want to leave Dry-bone an' go away. An' Dry-bone find out what Annancy mean to do. Annancy have a cock in the yard. Dry-bone tell him that him must watch Annancy, keep him a yard, an' he will pay him. An' the Cock ask Dry-bone:--"What is your name?" An Dry-bone say:--"'Tis Mr. Winkler." So Dry-bone live in Annancy yard. An' one day Annancy ask him if him don't want to warm sun. Dry-bone say:--"Yes." An' Annancy tell him that to-morrow he will put him out a door. Annancy went away an' make a bargain with Fowl-hawk, that him have a man name of Mr. Dry-bone, him must come to-morrow an' take him up an' carry him an' drop him in the deepest part of the wood. An' so Fowl-hawk did do. When the Cock see Fowl-hawk take up Mr. Winkler him sing out:-- [Music: Mister Winkler, Winkler come give me me pay.] An' Annancy look up a 'ky an' sing:-- [Music: Carry him go 'long, Annancy say so, Carry him go 'long, Me'll pay fe cock, Carry him go 'long, Annancy say so, Carry him go 'long, Me'll pay fe cock, Carry him go 'long.] _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =help him up=, to get the load on to his head. In this story and some others the load once taken up cannot be put down. It sticks to the head of the bearer and, until it reaches its destination, can only be transferred to another head. =cravin'=, craving, greedy, often sounds like craven. A man who is =cravin'= is generally =cubbich=, covetous. This has lost its original meaning of desiring possession of other people's things and is used only in the sense of close-fisted. A =cravin'= man wants to get hold of what others have got, a =cubbich= (ends with the sound of rich) one will not part with what he has. =laughing after=, laughing at. =him must watch.= The Cock must watch Annancy and not let him leave the yard; Dry-bone is helpless, and requires attention. =to warm sun=, to warm himself in the sun. So they have:--"Puss warm fire," the cat warms herself by the fire. =a 'ky=, in the sky. =Me'll pay fe cock=, I will pay the Cock's wages which Dry-bone agreed to give. _We_ pay a person for a thing, but the Negro pays for the person as well. =Walk=, =talk=, =warm=, =hawk=, all have the vowel ah. This story refers to the time of slavery. It is almost indisputable that in certain cases, when a slave was in a weak state owing to incurable illness or old age, he was carried out and left to die. To his pitiful remonstrance, "Massa me no dead yet," the overseer made no reply, but went on with his directions to the bearers, "Carry him go along." This kind of barbarity was not practised by owners living in Jamaica. By them the slaves were well treated and such a thing would have been impossible. But when the masters went away they left the control in the hands of overseers, men of low caste who had neither scruples nor conscience. XVI. ANNANCY AND THE OLD LADY'S FIELD. One day there was a old lady work a very nice field on a rock, an' an old-witch boy is the watchman. An' one day Annancy heard about the old-witch boy, an' Annancy send an' invite him to his yard. An when the old-witch boy come, Annancy ask him what his name. An' he says to Annancy that his name is John-John Fe-We-Hall. An' the boy ask Annancy why him ask him like that. An' Annancy say:--"Don't be afraid my frien', I very love you; that's why I ask whé you name." An' by this time the old lady didn't know that the old-witch boy gone to Annancy yard. An' Annancy have a son is a very clever tief, call Tacoma. An' Annancy made a bargain that, when him see John-John Fe-We-Hall come, he must walk to the back door an' come out, an' go to the old lady ground an' destroy the provision. An' when Tacoma come home, Annancy leave John-John out the hall, an' tell him that he is going to get some breakfast for him. Now the old lady make a law that, if the watchman eat any of his provision, it going to make him sick in a way that he will find out if it is the same watchman tiefing him.[41] [Footnote 41: This is evidently a reminiscence of the "medicine" (Nyanja, _chiwindo_) used in Africa to protect gardens. Sometimes it kills the thief, sometimes makes him ill. (A.W.)] An' being the boy is old-witch, he know that the food Annancy is getting ready is from the old lady field. So when Annancy bring the breakfast he won't eat it. Annancy tell him that he must eat the food, he mustn't be afraid. An' the boy say:--"No." An' Annancy send an' tell the old lady that the man is here clever more than him. An' when the old lady receive the message from Annancy, he sent to the ground to tell the old-witch boy that he must look out for Mr. Annancy, for him receive a chanice from Annancy. An' this time the old lady didn't know that the watchman is at Annancy yard. An' the old-witch boy is a fluter, an' when the old lady want to dance it's the same boy playing for the old lady. An' the old lady have a tune which he is dancing with. An' Annancy ask the boy to play the tune when he is going home, an' Annancy know if the tune play the old lady will dance till she kill herself. When the boy going home, him took up his sing with the flute:-- [Music: Old lady you too love dance, turn dem, Old lady you too love dance, turn dem, Turn dem make dem lay, turn dem, Turn dem make dem lay, turn dem.] An' when the old lady hear the sing she beguns to dance an' wheel until she tumble off the rock an' dead. An' Annancy becomes the master of the field until now. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. A rock would be a bad place for a field. Her house was on a rock probably, and her field or provision-ground elsewhere. For Provision-grounds and their contents see Digging-Sings. =old-witch.= Join these words as closely as possible wherever they occur. =Fe-We-Hall.= Very humble houses are called So-and-so Castle and So-and-so Hall. =Fe we=, for us, our. He was John of our Hall. =destroy=, take away, so that they are lost to the owner and destroyed as far as she is concerned. =out the hall=, out in the hall. =breakfast=, the principal repast of the day at twelve o'clock. =the man is here.= They delight in this enigmatic language. Annancy speaks of himself. He sends word that the man here (himself) is more clever than her (the old lady). Straightforwardness is a quality which the Negro absolutely lacks. If you try to get at the truth of any story he brings, and cross-question him upon it, he will shuffle and change it little by little, and you cannot fix him to any point. Language with him is truly, as the cynic said, the art of disguising thought. =chanice=, more usually =chalice=, challenge. Boys constantly carry their musical instruments about with them. The Flute, a cheap kind of fife, and the Concertina are the favourites. They play as they walk along the road. The tune, which is quick, is sung over and over and gets uproariously and deliriously merry; gasps on an inward breath, which there is no time to take properly, doing duty for some of the notes. The words are fragments of a song referring to fowls and eggs. It runs:-- Mother Bonner me hen a lay, turn dem, Them a lay t'ree time a day, turn dem, Turn dem make dem lay, turn dem. XVII. MAN-CROW.[42] [Footnote 42: Cf. the story of "Rombas" in Duff Macdonald's _Africana_ II., which would seem to have reached Africa through the Portuguese. Rombas kills the whale which has swallowed the girl, and removes the tongue. (A.W.)] Once there was a bird in the wood name Man-crow, an' the world was in darkness because of that bird. So the King offer thousands of pounds to kill him to make the world in light again. An' the King have t'ree daughter, an' he promise that, if anyone kill Man-crow, he will make them a very rich man an' give one of his daughter to marry. So t'ousands of soldiers go in the wood to kill Man-crow. An' they found him on one of the tallest trees in the woods. An' no one could kill him, an' they come home back. So there was a little yawzy fellah call Soliday. An' he say to his grandmother:--"Gran'mother I am very poor. I am going in the wood to see if I can kill Man-crow." An' the grandmother answer:--"Tche, boy, you better go sleep a fireside than you go to the wood fe go dead." "Gran'mother, I goin' to town fe buy six bow an' arrow." So he went to Kingston an' bought them. An' when him return home he ask his grandmother to get six Johnny-cake roast, an' he put it in his namsack, an' he travel in the wood. He s'arch until he find the spot a place where Man-crow is, an' he see Man-crow to the highest part of the tree. An' he call to him with this song:-- [Music: Good marnin' to you, Man-crow, Good marnin' to you, Man-crow, Good marnin' to you, Man-crow, How are you this marnin'?] An' the bird answer:-- [Music: Good marnin' to you, Soliday, Good marnin' to you, Soliday, Good marnin' to you, Soliday, How are you this marnin'?] An' Soliday shot with his arrow at Man-crow an' two of his feather come out. An' Man-crow come down to the second bough. An' Soliday sing again:-- [Music: Good marnin' to you, Man-crow, Good marnin' to you, Man-crow, Good marnin' to you, Man-crow, How are you this marnin'?] An' Man-crow answer as before:-- [Music: Good marnin' to you, Soliday, Good marnin' to you, Soliday, Good marnin' to you, Soliday, How are you this marnin'?] An' he fire after Man-crow an' two more feather fly out. An' so the singing an' shotting go on. At every song Man-crow come down one branch, an' Soliday fire an arrow an' knock out two feather, till five arrows gone. So Brother Annancy was on a tree watching Soliday what he is doing. An' the song sing for the sixth time, an' Man-crow jump down one more branch. An' Soliday put his last arrow in the bow an' took good aim an' shot after Man-crow. So he killed him an' he drop off the tree. An' Soliday go an' pick up the bird an' take out the golden tongue an' the golden teeth, an' shove it in a him pocket, an' Soliday come straight home to his grandmother. An' Annancy come off the tree an' take up the bird, put ahm a him shoulder, cut through bush until he get to the King gate, an' he rakkle at the gate. They ask:--"Who come?" He say:--"Me, Mr. Annancy." An' they say:--"Come in." An' the King said:--"What you want?" "I am the man that kill Man-crow." An' they take him in an' marry him to one of the King daughter an' make a very big table for him an' his family. They put him in the middle of the table, but he refuse from sit there. He sit to the doorway to look when Soliday coming. (The King then do know that that fellah up to trick.) An' directly Annancy see Soliday was coming, he stop eating, ask excuse, "I will soon be back." An' at that same time he gone outside into the kitchen. An' Soliday knock at the gate. An' someone answer him an' ask:--"What you want?" "I am the boy that kill Man-crow." An' they said:--"No, impossible! Mr. Annancy kill Man-crow." An' he take out the golden tongue an' teeth an' show it to the King, an' ask the question:--"How can a bird live without teeth an' tongue?" So they look in the bird mouth an' found it was true. An' they call Annancy. An' Annancy give answer:--"I will soon be there." An' they call him again. An' he shut the kitchen door an' said:--"Me no feel well." All this time Brother Annancy shame, take him own time fe make hole in the shingle get 'way. They call him again, they no yerry him, an' they shove the kitchen door. Annancy lost in the shingle up to to-day. An' the King marry Soliday to his daughter an' make him to be one of the richest man in the world. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =Yawzy.= Yaws is a disease very prevalent among the Negroes. It causes ulcers to form on the soles of the feet. In old slave days every estate had its yaws-house for the accommodation of the sufferers. This complaint does not attack the Whites. =six bow an' arrow=, a bow and six arrows, we suppose. =Johnny-cake=, journey cake made of flour and water fried in lard. =spot a place=, spot of place, exact place. =ask excuse=, asks to be excused. Pronounce the =s= like =z=. =shame, etc.=, was ashamed and was quietly making a hole in the shingle roof so as to get away. XVIII. SAYLAN. There was a man have two daughter. One of the daughter belongs to the wife an' one belongs to the man. An' the wife no love for the man daughter, so they drive her away. An' she get a sitivation at ten shillings a week, an' the work is to look after two horses an' to cut dry grass for them. An' every night she put two bundles of dry grass in the 'table. An' the mother was very grudgeful of the sitivation that she got. An' one night she carry her own daughter to the pastur' an' they cut two bundles of green grass. An' they go secretly to the horse manger an' take out the dry grass an' put the green grass in its place. So the horse eat it, an' in the morning they dead. An' the master of that horse is a sailor. The sailor took the gal who caring the horse to hang her. An' when he get to the 'pot a place to hang her he take this song:-- [Music: Mourn, Saylan, mourn oh! Mourn, Saylan, mourn; I come to town to see you hang, hang, you mus' be hang.] An' the gal cry to her sister an' brother an' lover, an' they give her answer:-- [Music: Sister, you bring me some silver? No, my child, I bring you none. Brother, you bring me some gold? No, my child, I bring you none. Lover, you bring me some silver? Yes, my dear, I bring you some. Lover, you bring me some gold? Yes, my dear, I bring you some. I come to town to see you save, save you mus' be saved.] An' the lover bring a buggy an' carry her off an' save her life at last. An' the mumma say:--"You never better, tuffa." _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. This is quite an unusual form of story, but appears to be of some antiquity in my district, where it ranks as an Annancy story.[43] [Footnote 43: Cf. _The Maid Freed from the Gallows_, F.J. Child, _Ballads_, vol. ii., p. 346. (C.S.B.)] =caring=, taking care of. This is so convenient a word that it is used by everybody. =You never better=, you will never be good for anything. =tuffa=, with Italian =u= imitates spitting, a sign of contempt. XIX. ANNANCY AND SCREECH-OWL. One day Annancy made a dance, an' ask 'creech-owl to be the musician. An' Annancy send an' invite all his friend. An' when they come Ratta was in long coat an' Guinea-pig too, for Ratta tell Guinea-pig they must wear long coat an' they will get all the gal to dance with. An' 'creech-owl is a great player, but the only danger he cannot sing in the day. An' 'creech-owl has a Cock in his yard, an' he sent an' ask Annancy if he can bring a friend along with him. An' Annancy send an' tell him that 'tis no objectin to bring the friend, an' Annancy tell 'creech-owl that he will get a lots of drink. At that time Annancy didn't know the friend as yet. So, as he being hate 'creech-owl, he didn't wish to see no friend of his. So when the friend come the friend was a Cock. An' Annancy was very sorry for he knew that the Cock going to crow when day clean, an' 'creech-owl going to know when day is cleaning an' go away. An' Annancy got some corn, an' get a pint of 'trong rum, an' t'row the rum in the corn, an' let the corn soak in the rum. An' when the Cock call out to 'creech-owl that he is hungry, he says to Mr. Annancy that he must treat his friend Mr. Cock, an' Annancy took some of the corn an' give to the Cock. An' it so being that he love corn, Annancy continually feed him with the corn until he get drunk an' fast asleep. An' Annancy feel very glad in his heart that he is going to kill Brother 'creech-owl for his breakfast. An' when 'creech-owl playing, his mind was on his dear friend Mr. Cock, an' he continually listen to hear him crow, an' he couldn' hear him. An' he ask for him. Mr. Annancy tell him that he is having a rest. An' 'creech-owl play an' play till day catch him. An' Annancy got a kettle of boiled water an' dish it out an' ask his friend them to have some tea. An' 'creech-owl get very sad to see day catch him. An' Annancy didn' know whé make 'creech-owl wouldn' drink the tea. So Annancy begin to raise a confusion over it, say, as he won't drink the tea he must made up him mind to sarve him breakfast. An' 'creech-owl began to cry. An' the same time Annancy (that wicked fellah!) take up 'creech-owl music, an' ask young ladies an' young gentlemen to assist him in a noble song which he is going to kill Mr. 'creech-owl with. An' this the song:-- [Music: There's a blind boy in a ring, tra la la la la, There's a blind boy in a ring, tra la la la la, There's a blind boy in a ring, tra la la la la, He like sugar an' I like plum.] An' when Annancy sing the sing done, he catch up 'creech-owl an' wring off him neck, an' get him cook for his breakfast an' becomes the master of 'creech-owl's band of music. An' from that day Mr. Annancy becomes the greatest player an' the biggest raskil in the world. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =the only danger=, the only danger is. This omission is frequent. At daylight, or soon after, it is the custom to drink tea. This is generally hot water and sugar with, or more often without, milk. Sometimes they make an infusion of the leaves of lime, orange, mint, fever-grass, cinnamon, pimento or search-me-heart. Coffee and chocolate are also occasionally used. These all grow in Jamaica, but, owing to its high price, actual tea is beyond the reach of the peasant. Lime is, of course, not the English tree of that name, but the tropical one which bears that small juicy fruit which is so much better than the coarser lemon. Fever-grass (_Andropogon citratus_) has the exact smell and taste of lemon-scented verbena. Search-me-heart (_Rhytidophyllum tormentosum_) is a pretty wild plant with leaves of green velvet, which on moist days give out a delicious aromatic smell much like _Humea_. =raise a confusion=, get up a quarrel. Annancy resorted to the same artifice when he killed Cow and the other animals at the mock obsequies of his father. =sarve him breakfast=, serve for his breakfast. The song will be found again among the dance tunes. =sing the sing done=, finished the song. ='creech-owl= sounds like creechole. XX. ANNANCY AND COW. One day Annancy tell his family that he is going in the wood. Before he start he get some cane-liquor an' pour it into a big gourdy, an' he tell him wife that "me gone." An' he travel so till he meet three Cow. An' he tell one of the Cow marnin', say:--"Marnin', Bro'er Cow." Cow say:--"Marnin', Brother Annancy." Annancy say:--"Beg you a little water, Bro'er Cow." When Annancy get the water he said:--"The water no sweet not 't all." An' he say to Cow:--"Come taste fe me water." An' he no make Brother Cow know say a cane liquor him got. When Cow taste it him lick him tongue. Annancy say:--"No say fe me water sweeter more than fe you?" Cow said "Yes." Annancy said:--"Bro'er Cow, you want to go home with me becausen me have it dé a run like a river? Bro'er Cow, if you want to go with me you fe make me put one wiss-wiss over you harn. But, Bro'er Cow, me have some picny a me yard, dey so fooyish, when time we most yech, dey ma go say 'Puppa bring Cow.' When them say 'Puppa bring Cow' you mus' say 'A so him do.'" Annancy carry Cow into his yard an' tie him upon a tree, an' tell Cow him goin' to get a yitty breakfus' for him. (Annancy 'tudy trick fe nyam Cow; he was very anxious for his beef.) An' he get into his house and take his tumpa bill coming to Cow force ace fe chop off Cow's neck. He miss the neck an' chop the wiss-wiss, an' Cow take him tail put on him back an' gallop away. Annancy a bawl, a call:--"Say, Bro'er Cow, a fun me a make, me a drive fly, come back." Cow no a yerry but gallop till him get home an' tell him wife an' picny, said Annancy want fe kill him:--"Thank God me get 'way; the whole family must sing we own tune to-day ya":-- [Music: Brother Annancy tie somebody, Me no min know da bad me do, Brother Annancy tie somebody, Me tie, me tie, me tie oh! Brother Annancy tie somebody.] _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =cane liquor=, juice of sugar-cane. =gourdy=, the dried shell of the gourd-like fruit of the Calabash (_Crescentia Cujete_). =wiss-wiss=, withe. There are many kinds of these natural ropes to be found in the bush. =fooyish=, foolish. =most rech=, almost reach, are just getting to the yard. =day ma go say=, they may go and say. =A so him do=, so he does. The reciter imitates lowing here, the voice falling to a deep prolonged note on the last word. =carry=, lead. =yitty=, little. =nyam=, eat. =tumpa=, stumpy, short. =force ace=, post haste. =a fun me a make=, it's fun I am making, I was only pretending. =min=, been, wrong auxiliary for did. I did not know that I had done anything wrong. Substitute the vowel =ah= in water, all, bawl, call. XXI. TACOMA AND THE OLD-WITCH GIRL. One day there was a old-witch gal, an' Tacoma want the gal to marry. An' Tacoma went to the gal yard an' ask the gal to courten to. An' the gal tell Tacoma that he don't want a husband as yet. So Tacoma get very sad in his heart, an' he comes home back to his yard, an' when he come he 'tudy a plan. An' when he 'tudy the plan he fix a day to go back to the gal yard. An' Tacoma get a buggy, an' get Ratta for his Coachman, an' get a pair of brown-coloured mongoose to be the horse. An' when Tacoma was going he sent to notice the gal that he is coming such a day. An' Tacoma went to his friend Annancy an' borrow long boots an' dress himself nicely, an' borrow a gold watch an' chain, an' got a helmet to his head. An' when Tacoma ready he order his coachman to harness up the horses. An' when he start he carry lots of present, an' hitch a grey horse behind the buggy, an' take along with him t'ree pieces of music. An' this time Tacoma didn' know the gal was a old-witch, an' all what Tacoma talk from home the gal really know everything. An' he reach up the yard an' sing:-- [Music: I will make you have a present of a nice gold watch, Just to wear it on your side for to let the people see, If you'll only be my true lover, If you'll only be my true lover.] An' the gal answer:-- [Music: No, no, dear, not for all your gold watch, I will never be yours true lover, I will never be yours true lover.] An' Tacoma have plenty more t'ing is to make a present to the gal. An' he promise to give her a nice silk dress, an' a nice silver bangle, an' a nice gold egg, an' a nice grey horse, an' tell the gal that everyt'ing, which is going to make him a present to, he must wear it along the street to let the people see, if you will only be my true lover. An the gal say to Tacoma:--"No, for I want the best thing which you have." An' Tacoma guess an' guess an' he couldn' find out. An' the gal say if Tacoma find out she will marry Tacoma. An' Tacoma guess an' guess until he made the gal a promise that he will give him the key of his heart. An' then the gal was so glad an' said to Tacoma that I'll ever be yours true lover. An' Tacoma sent for the gal's parents an' his parents an' marry off the gal, an from that day the gal becomes Tacoma wife. NOTES. =mongoose=, see the note to the dance tune "Mahngoose a come." =yours true lover=, always =yours=. Generally it is "you" for "your." They say "this is yours" correctly and then add "and this is mines." =t'ing is=, things. =which is going, etc.=, which he is going to make her a present of. When, commenting on Tacoma's directions, I objected that the girl could not wear the grey horse, the boy who was telling the story saw it at once and said:--"No, he must =carry= it." When the story was done (it is reproduced exactly from his dictation) he sang all the missing verses with the girl's answer to each verse, and instead of his usual "carry" which did not fit he substituted "lead it in the street." The singer will see at once where to make the necessary alterations. The words "silver bangle" want four quavers instead of two crotchets, and it will be worn on the hand as they call the wrist or any part of the arm. "Just to keep it in your hand" follows "gold egg." "The silk dress is worn 'long the street," and after "the key of my heart" comes "just to keep it in your own." I was looking out in this last verse for a change in the words "for to let the people see," but none came. To the last verse the answer is:--"Yes, yes, dear, for the key of your heart I will ever be yours true lover." [Cf. Baring-Gould, _Songs of the West_, No. xxii.; Fuller-Maitland and Broadwood, _English County Songs_; and _Journal of the Folk-Song Society_, Vol. ii., pp. 85-87. (C.S.B.)] XXII. DEVIL'S HONEY-DRAM. One day Devil set his honey-dram near a river side. An' Annancy has a little son name of John Wee-wee, an' when the boy find out Devil honey-dram he continually tiefing all the dram. An' Devil couldn' find out who was doing it. An' Devil put out a reward that if any one can prove who is tiefing his dram he will pay them a good sum. An' one day Annancy miss his son, an' Annancy guess that the little boy must be gone to Devil honey-dram. An' as Annancy being a tief himself he went an' s'arch for the boy. An' when he go he found him drunk an' fast asleep. An' Annancy lift him up an' bring him home. An' when the boy got sober, about three days after, he got so use to the dram an' he went back. An' Devil gone out to hunting. An' when he was going he ask his mother to give a heye upon his dram until he come in. An' the mother went down to the dram an' he found the boy drunk the very same again. An' there was no one know the woman name except Mr. Annancy. An' Annancy went an' look for his son. An' when he go the woman catch the boy already an' carry him to Devil yard. An when the boy go the woman gi' him some corn to beat. An' Annancy went an see his son was beating corn, an' he ask the woman what the boy is doing here. An' the woman tell him that this is the boy was tiefing all Devil honey-dram, an' now him catch him, an' him wouldn' let him go until the master come. An' Annancy ask the woman if he don't have any more corn to beat. The foolish woman say:--"Yes, Brother Annancy, but not all the corn you going to beat you won't get your son till the master come." An' Annancy begin to fret for him know when Devil come he won't have no more son again, for Devil will kill him an' eat him. An' the woman name is Matilda. An' Annancy took the corn an' begun to beat an' he start to sing:-- [Music: Wheel oh! Wheel oh Matilda. Turn the waterwheel oh Matilda! Matilda mahmy los' him gold ring, Turn the waterwheel oh Matilda.] An' the woman begun to dance an' wheel. An she dance an' dance till she get tired an' fall asleep. An' Annancy (the clever fellah) took his son out an' light Devil house with fire. An' when Devil in the bush look an' see his house is burning he t'row down his gun an' 'tart a run to his yard. Until he come the house burn flat to ground. An' Devil couldn' find Matilda his faithful mother, an' Devil take to heart an' dead. An' Annancy take Devil honey-dram for himself an' build up a house in Devil own place, an' from that day Mr. Annancy becomes the smartest man. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =Honey dram.= The ingredients are honey, water, chewstick, ginger and rum. When mixed the dram is put in the sun to ripen. Chewstick (_Gouania domingensis_) is bitter and takes the place of hops. =beating corn=, _i.e._ maize, to separate the grain from the husks, called also =huxing corn= (husking). When an animal is found trespassing it is brought down to the yard, and its owner comes to redeem it by a money payment. John Wee-wee was brought in in the same way and according to custom was given something to do while he waited. =faithful.= A faithful person is one in whom confidence is reposed. XXIII. ANNANCY IN CRAB COUNTRY. One day Annancy form himself as a minister, an' was going out an' preaching about. An' Annancy preach an' preach till he get in Crab country. An' Crab them wouldn' hear Annancy at all. An' Annancy went home back, an' dress himself in a black gown, an' get some red paint an' redden his 'tummy, an' ask a few friend to walk with him. An the friend was Mr. Toad an' Ratta an' Blackbird. An' they all start. An' when Annancy reach to Crab country he beguns to preach. An' he preach an' preach till they wouldn' hear him again. An' Annancy hire a house from Crab to stop in the night. An' Annancy, seeing he couldn' catch them with his preaching, made a drum an' a fiddle an' give Blackbird the fiddle to play. An Ratta was playing the drum. An' Annancy see that the music didn't sufficient. He wait, until the next day he made a flute an' give to Toad. An' when he done he put up the music them an' got in friendship with Crab, an' begun to do the same as Crab them are doing. An' poor Crab didn' know what Mr. Annancy mean. An' Annancy go on go on until they got used to Annancy. An' when they got used to Annancy, Annancy write out plat-card and put it out an' tell his friend Mr. Crab that he is going to have a nice baptism at his house, an' tell them that he will have a bands of music playing in going home, an' how the music will be so sweet they won't tired walking. An' when Annancy start with his three friend he tell Ratta to roll the drum, an' Blackbird is to rub the fiddle 'tring till it catch fire, an' Toad is to blow the flute as hard as he can, an' he will be reading the tune. An' he start like this:-- [Music: The bands a roll, the bands a roll, the bands a roll, a go to Mount Siney. Salem is Zakkilow, Some a we da go to Mount Siney.] An' when Annancy get home he made a bargain with his t'ree friend that he is going to baptize them an' let Crab see. An' when he baptize them, Crab they were very glad to see this treat which Annancy do to his t'ree friend, an' they say that they want Annancy to do them the very same. An' Annancy tell them that they must wait till to-morrow. An' Crab them agree. An' Annancy made a bargain with his t'ree friend an' is going to baptize Brother Crab with boiling water. An' he get a deep barril an' order Crab them that they must go in the barril, an' Crab they do so. At that time Annancy have a good pot of boiling water an' as Crab a settle theirself in the barril Annancy tilt the pot of boiling water on them an' the whole of Crab body get red. An' Annancy was very glad an' said:--"T'ank God I have got some of the clever man them for me breakfus'." An' from that day Annancy was going about an' fool all his friend. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. The black land-crab is a much-esteemed delicacy. Formerly every property had its crabber, whose duty it was to provide crabs for the house. Since the introduction of the mongoose they have become scarcer. =form himself as=, pretends to be. =stop in the night=, stop in for the night. =put up=, put away. =do the same, etc.=, live in the same way as the Crabs. =plat-card=, placard; a rough written advertisement affixed to the trunk of a tree. When there is a public gathering the musicians play as they walk to the place of entertainment and again as they leave it. XXIV. GAULIN. One day there was an India woman who have a daughter, an' when the gal born she born with a gold ring on her finger. An' everybody hear about it but they never see it. An' Mr. Annancy was very crave to got the gal to be his wife. An' Annancy study a plan an' take up his bands of music an' go down to the gal yard, an' when him go down they admit Mr. Annancy. An' when they admit him Annancy beguns to play all different tune just to see if the gal would laugh with him. But the gal was very sad, neither would laugh nor smile, until Annancy see there was no good, an' tell good bye an' go home back. Annancy when him goes home back, met his friend Mr. Rabbit in the road. Rabbit ask him:--"Brother Annancy, where you is comin' from?" An' Annancy begun to tell Rabbit. So Rabbit make a bargain with Annancy that he is going to try his luck. So Annancy say:--"As you being such a clean an' white gentleman I think you will succeed. So if you succeed, when you coming home back you must make me know; then you can take me to be your servant." That time Rabbit didn' know what Annancy study. Annancy mean was to take away the gal from Rabbit. So Rabbit start to the yard, an' when him go they admit him in. An' the mumma ask Rabbit what he come about. Rabbit says he is looking for a courtier. An' the mumma say to Rabbit:--"Oh, my dear Mr. Rabbit, I am very sorry! You is only but a meat,[44] so I can't give you my daughter." [Footnote 44: Cf. the Bantu use of _nyama_ ("meat") for "an animal." (A.W.)] An' Rabbit spend a little time till he tell goodbye. Meanwhile Annancy wouldn' go home. Him sit in the road till Rabbit coming home back. An' him ask Rabbit if him succeed. Rabbit say:--"Oh no!" So they begin to talk. An' by this time Sea-gaulin was passing an' hear what they are saying. An' when Gaulin go home back, him 'tudy between himself that, if him only get a bus an' dress himself tidy an' drive to the gal yard, she'll sure be his wife. An' Sea-gaulin goes down, an' the gal was very glad to see him an' invite him inside the house, an' they begun to arrange to be married. An' there was a old-witch boy which was brother to the gal whisper to her:--"That one is Gaulin." An' the gal say:--"Oh no, it is my dear love." So the boy say to then:--"Never mind, one day you will find out if he is not Mr. Gaulin." So, when Gaulin tell goodbye an' go home to his yard back, the boy follow him an' go to the river side where Gaulin is fishening, an' he climb a tree which hung over the water. An' when Gaulin come down the river he 'tart a singing:-- [Music: My iddy, my iddy Pyang halee, Come go da river go Pyang, me Yahky Yahky Pyang me jewahlee Pyang, me Yahky Yahky Pyang me jewahlee Pyang.] An' that time Gaulin didn' know that the boy was on the tree hearing him. When he first sing his hat fall off. An' he sing again his jacket was off. That time the boy was seeing every bit. An' he sing again an' his shirt was off. Sing an' sing till the trousies drop off. An' as he done he find himself inside the water begun to fishening. An' as him put him head under a stone-hole the boy come down off the tree an' find himself back to his yard. An' next Wednesday when Gaulin come to get married, the boy provide for him to sing that very same tune when they are on the cake table. An the boy say:--"Ladies and gentlemen will you like to hear a song?" An' everybody say "Yes." An' that time the boy was a fiddler, an' he tune up his violin an' beguns to play "My iddy, my iddy Pyang halee." Gaulin say:--"Oh no, my brother, stop that tune. That same very tune kill my grandfather, an' when you sing it you let me remember my old grandfather." An' the boy never stop sing an' play till all Gaulin clothes drop off. An' Gaulin fly out the door mouth an' find himself right up in the air. An' from that day that's what make Gaulin fly so high. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =Gaulin=, the Egret. In stormy weather the egrets leave the seaside and fly up into the country to fish in the streams. They are especially fond of the small crabs which abound in the mountain rivulets. The words of the song have been spelt so as to convey as nearly as possible their right sound. =Halee= rhymes in both syllables to the =stali= of the Venetian gondolier. =Jewahlee= is =Jubilee= with a different middle syllable. =Pyang= with French =a= made as short as possible is the Egret's cry. It should be accented and brought out strongly. =When him goes home back=, as he was going home. =white gentleman.= This counts many points in the estimation of the Negro. =Rabbit spend a little time.= Most characteristic. After the rebuff one would have expected him to go away at once, but that is not the Negro's way. He is never abashed, and after the curtest refusal of any favour he has come to ask, will sit on and talk of other things, finally taking his leave as if nothing had happened. =bus=, the buggies which ply for hire in Kingston are so called. =Wednesday=, the favourite day for weddings. The bridegroom is accompanied to church by a godmother, not the baptismal one but another specially appointed for the occasion.[45] They ride to church, which is usually at some distance from the yard. The bride also rides from her yard, accompanied by a godfather and two bridesmaids between the ages of eight and eleven. The ceremony and signing of the register over, the newly-wedded couple mount and gallop to the wife's yard, the rest of the company following more leisurely. Arrived there, the bride proceeds to put on her wedding-clothes and the guests are received by the godfather and given sugar-water and bread. When the bride has donned her satin gown and veil (she was married in her riding-habit) and with much sorrow pinched her feet into white shoes too small for them, the company sit down to the cake table. This has upon it two cakes, two fantastically fashioned loaves of shewbread, triumphs of the baker's art with their doves and true lovers' knots, and three vases of cut flowers. The bread is not eaten then but is distributed (_distribbled_, as they have it,) to friends on the days following the wedding. One cake is cut. A knife and fork being handed to a bridesmaid she takes off the cake-head, which is a small top tier or addition to the cake proper. This is put aside and afterwards sent to the officiating minister. The godfather then proceeds to the more serious work of cutting up the cake, giving pieces first to the bride and bridegroom and then to the guests. The second cake is left intact. Wine is poured out, and there are speeches and toasts and hymns. Then follows dinner, which is over about five o'clock. They then begin to play _Sally Water_ (see introduction to the Ring tunes) which goes on for an hour or two, and as night falls dancing is started. This goes on all night and does not end, at the earliest, till dusk on the following day, Thursday. It is often kept up until Friday evening or even until Saturday, the dancers and musicians appearing to require no rest. The latter are well supplied with rum and when they get sleepy they beg for an extra tot to rub their eyes, which burns them and keeps them awake. The whole of this time refreshments are supplied to the guests, and as long as these hold out they do not disperse, or as they put it:--"till hungry bite them they no go 'way." [Footnote 45: Is this a survival of the African institution of "sureties" (Yao, _ngoswe_, see Duff Macdonald, I. 118), or "sponsors," who arrange the marriage? I am not sure whether the custom exists among Negro as well as Bantu tribes. (A.W.)] The Sunday after the wedding is 'turn t'anks (return thanks). The married couple and their friends get all the beasts, _i.e._ horses and mules, they can muster, and ride to church dressed in their best. The bride and bridegroom, attended by the godfather and godmother, sit in "couple bench," the rest of the party going to their own pews. After service the whole cavalcade gallops as hard as it can, regardless of the precipices which skirt all Jamaica mountain paths, up hill and down hill to the husband's yard. There wine is provided, and the second cake is cut and eaten. Dinner follows at three, and then _Sally Water_ is again played until midnight, when dancing recommences and goes on till four or five o'clock on Monday afternoon. This is the end of the festivities, which sometimes cost twenty pounds or more. =provide for him=, prepared himself. =door mouth= includes not only the opening, but also the whole space just outside the door. XXV. ANNANCY, MONKEY AND TIGER. One day Annancy an' Tiger get in a rum-shop, drink an' drink, an' then Monkey commence to boast. Monkey was a great boaster. Annancy say:--"You boast well; I wonder if you have sense as how you boast." Monkey say:--"Get 'way you foolish fellah you, can come an' ask me if me have sense. You go t'rough de whole world you never see a man again have the sense I have." Annancy say:--"Bro'er Monkey, how many sense you have, tell me?" Monkey say:--"I have dem so till I can't count dem to you, for dem dé all over me body." Annancy say:--"Me no have much, only two, one fe me an' one fe me friend." One day Monkey was travelling an' was going to pass where Tiger live. Annancy was working on that same road. As Monkey passing, Tiger was into a stone-hole an' jump out on the fellah an' catch him. All his sense was gone, no sense to let him get 'way. Tiger was so glad, have him before him well ready to kill. Here come the clever man Mr. Annancy. When he saw his friend Monkey in the hand of such a wicked man he was frighten, but he is going to use his sense. He said:--"Marnin', Bro'er Tiger, I see you catch dat fellah; I was so glad to see you hold him so close in hand. You must eat him now. But before you eat him take you two hand an' cover you face an' kneel down with you face up to Massa God an' say, 'T'ank God fe what I goin' to receive.'" An' so Tiger do. An' by the time Tiger open his eyes Monkey an' Annancy was gone. When they get to a distant Annancy said to Monkey:--"T'ink you say you have sense all over you 'kin, why you no been get 'way when Bro'er Tiger catch you?" Monkey don't have nothing to say. Annancy say:--"Me no tell you say me have two sense, one fe me an' one fe me friend? Well! a him me use to-day." From that day Tiger hate Annancy up to now. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =can come and ask me=, that can come. The ellipsis is best explained by giving the sentence another turn: "Get away you man who are so foolish that you can come," etc. =into a stone-hole=, in a cave. =Tiger was so glad, etc.=, Tiger was well pleased and held him in his paws all ready for killing. =why you no been=, why didn't you. =a him me use=, that is the one I used. XXVI. THE THREE PIGS. One day a Hog have three Pig an' the three of them was boy. When they were about two month the father died, so the mother grow them up herself. When the Pig them come to big young man the mother said to the first son:--"Me son, a time fe you go an' look you own living." The day come when he was to start. The mother tie up his clothes an' give him, an' said:--"If you get work sen' an' tell me." The Pig start. As he was going he meet a man with a cart of hay. He said:--"Please, sir, you can give me that hay that I may go an' build a house?" The man give him. Pig go an' make up a house with his hay, an' find it very warm an' comfortable. One day Wolf come, call:--"Little Pig, little Pig, let me come in." Pig say:--"No, no, by the hair of my chinnychinchin." Wolf said:--"I will huff an' I will cuff an' blow you house down." Wolf huff an' cuff an' blow down the house, an' go in an' eat Pig. The mother wait an' can't get no letter from the first son. She send the other one, second to the first, an' that one travel until he meet a man with a cart of kindling. He say:--"Please, sir, you can give me that kindling that I may go an' build a house?" The man give him. He make up his house, an' one day Wolf was passing, see that it was pig house, call to him:--"Little Pig, little Pig, let me come in." Pig say:--"No, no, no! by the hair of my chinnychinchin." Wolf say:--"I will huff an' cuff an' will blow you house down." An' he do so an' go in an' eat Pig. The mother wait six months an' don't get no letter. She said:--"Those boy must be get good work an' can't get to write." The last son she said:--"Me own little son, time fe you go look you living." Pig say:--"Yes, mumma me wi' go now." She tie up his bundle give him some money an' kiss him, say:--"You must try write me." The boy start. He travel an' travel till night take him. He has to sleep under a stone-hole. When he was sleeping he get a dream that he see his two brother was in a frying-pan. He was so frighten he wake an' start away the same hour. He travel till day clean. At about nine o'clock he get to a big road. He travel on that road till he meet a man with a cart of brick. He said:--"Please, sir, you can give me that brick that I may go an' build a house?" The man give him. He go an' make up a grand house with the brick. When his house finish Wolf hear, an' come one day, call to Pig:--"Little Pig, little Pig, let me come in." Pig say:--"No, no, no! by the hair of my chinnychinchin." So wolf think that this house was like the rest. He said:--"I will huff an' cuff an' will blow you house down." He try for one whole day an' never succeed, so he lef an' go home an' 'tudy upon Pig. One evening he come an' call Pig an' tell him he know where there is a garden of all sort a t'ing, so Pig must come an' let them take a walk. Pig ask him:--"What time you will be going?" He said:--"A two in the morning." Pig 'tart eleven, go an' come back with all good food. At two Wolf come an' call:--"Little Pig, you ready?" Pig say:.--"You lated; I go an' come back already." Wolf was so vex he go home back. He didn' want nothing but to eat Pig. He said a next day:--"Little Pig, I know where there is a apple tree a Mr. Simmit garden, make we go an' get some." Pig ask:--"What the time?" Wolf say "T'ree." Pig go two. By Pig was on the tree fulling up his basket here come Wolf. Pig was so frighten he was on the tree trimbling. Wolf was quite glad to think he was going to catch Pig. He couldn' stand his ground, but dance about with joy. Pig say:--"The apple is so sweet that I have fe take a good load. Mr. Wolf, you would like to taste one?" Wolf say "Yes." Pig say:--"Let me see if you can run as that apple?" Pig throw one of the apple far an' Wolf run after it. By the time he is come back Pig get down off a the tree, leave him baskit an' everyt'ing, an' run nearly reach home. Wolf was so sorry when he come, left the apple an' gone home. Next night he call to Pig an' tell him that he know where there will be a met, so they must take a walk. Pig say:--"What hour?" Wolf said "T'ree." Pig start twelve an' go dance till two. He was the best dancer an' they give him a butter-churn as a reward. As he walking home he see Wolf at a distant coming. He said:--"My goodness King! What I going to do?" Nevertheless he get in the churn a roll down the hill. Wolf see the thing. He run for his home. The next day he go an' ask Pig if he did go to the ball. Pig said:--"Yes, an' as I was coming home I see you, an' was so frighten I get in me churn an' roll down to see if you don't run. An' so you did run, Ha! Ha!" Wolf get vex. He huff an' cuff all day again to see if he could broke down the building, but all he do he has to lef' it. So one rain night he send his wife with a young baby to see if Pig would take her in by changing her voice. She went an' call:--"Mr. Pig, please Sir, if you can give a night rest, Sir; for rain, an' I am from far." Pig said:--"No, I don't take in no stranger whatever, especially you, Mrs. Wolf. You husban' try an' try an' can't manage, an' now him send you to see if you can kill me." Mrs. Wolf commence to climb the chimley. Pig put a big copper of water on the fire an', by the time she reach the top an' was coming down the chimley, she drop in the water an' dead, she an' the child. Wolf come again an' call Pig. An' Pig take up this song:-- [Music: Wolf, Wolf, Wolf! no use you try fe come in, You wife dere da ready; Ha! Ha! Ha! You wanta try fe come in, Come Wolf, Me will put you both together.] Wolf get worser vex, commence to beat Pig house with all his might an' couldn' get in. He climb up the chimley, an', by he fe get to the top, the pot of boiling water was long time ready waiting for him, an' he going down in a haste make a slip, drop in the water. Pig salt them an' put them in his cask to soak, an' write to invite his mother to help him eat them for he find out it was them eat his two brother.[46] [Footnote 46: Cf. Joseph Jacobs, _English Fairy Tales_, No. xiv., and note, p. 233. (C.S.B.)] _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =Pig them.= Read these words together, not, Pig--them come. =you can give=, can you give. =huff=, scratch with the hoof. =kindling=, small wood to light fires with. =day clean.= Day is clean when you can see to walk. =big road=, one that is what the Italians call _carozzabile_, carriageable. In the hills of Jamaica the roads are for the most part mere mule tracks. =Simmit=, Smith. =make we go=, let us go. =What the time?= at what time? =By Pig=, as Pig. =fulling=, =trimbling=, always so. =when he come, etc.=, when he came back to the tree, that he left the apples and went home. =met=, meeting, ball. =da ready=, already. =by he fe get=, by the time he got. =cask to soak.= Salt meat is kept in a tub of brine. XXVII. DUMMY. There was a man couldn' talk, called Dummy. One day Annancy bet the King he going to make Dummy talk. So the King say:--"If you make Dummy talk I will give you one of my daughter fe marry." Well, Annancy went to Hog, ask him:--"Bro'er Hog if I carry you fe Dummy, whé you wi' say?" Hog say:--"Me wi' say ugh! ugh!" Annancy say:--"You won't do." He went to Goat:--"Bro'er Goat, if I carry you fe Dummy, whé wi' you say?" "Me wi' say Meh--eh--eh!" "You won't do." So he went to fowl. Fowl say:--"Me wi' say Clk! Clk! Clk!" "You won't do." So he went to Bro'er Peafowl an' ask him:--"What you will say if me carry you fe Dummy?" Peafowl say:--"Me wi' say:-- [Music: "Chirryway, Chirryway, Chirryway dem dé, Chirryway, Constan' dead to-day, Chirryway."] Then Annancy say:--"A you me wanty."[47] [Footnote 47: See the story of Tangalomlibo in Torrend, _Comparative Grammar of S. African Bantu Languages_, p. 319, where the cock is chosen as messenger, when the ox and goat are rejected. (A.W.)] So Annancy beg Bro'er Peafowl he must come with him to Dummy. An' when Dummy hear the tune it sweet him so, he commence to shake him head an' hum. So them went to the King yard, Peafowl before, Dummy in the middle, Annancy dé a back. An' as they reach up Annancy say "Wheugh!" being him breat' gone an' him tired, but peafowl never cease with the song. When Annancy got him breat' he say to the King:--"Master me a come, me a go make Dummy talk." Then the King say:--"I will like to hear Dummy talk." An' Peafowl sing an' sing, an' make all sort of figure before Dummy. Dummy commence to shake him head two t'ree time de way de song sweet him. At last Dummy begin to hum. As Peafowl see him commence to hum, Peafowl make a sudden spring, went up to Dummy with a great flourish, an' at last Dummy sing right out the same as Peafowl:-- [Music: Chirryway, Chirryway, Chirryway dem dé, Chirryway, Constan' dead to-day, Chirryway.] An' Annancy get the bet an' the King marry him off. An' Annancy give Peafowl gold all over his body an' six quarts of corn. From that Peafowl cover all over with gold. NOTES. =Whé you wi' say=, what will you say? =sweet him so=, pleased him so much. =Constan'=, Constance. XXVIII. ANNANCY AND CANDLEFLY. One day Annancy go to Brother Candlefly yard fe fire. When him go Candlefly give him fire an' tell him to wait an' he will go give him a few eggs. When Annancy get the eggs he go home with the fire. The next day he go back fe fire an' Candlefly give him more eggs. Annancy go till him get halfway, out the fire an' turn back. When him come him say:--"Bro'er Candlefly, the fire out; give me some more." When Candlefly give him the fire, him wait an' wait to see if him can get more eggs. Candlefly never give him one. Annancy say:--"Bro'er Candlefly, the fire a burn me, please give me one egg make me wet me han', fe make it better." Candlefly give him one an' tell him to come an' he will carry him where any amount of egg da, "But you must not come till close a night." Annancy don't wait till night, go about midday. When him go him get a long bag ready. Every minute him come out of the house an' look on sun. Annancy couldn' tarry but only praying to see if night can come. When night come Candlefly get ready an' tell Annancy to stay aback. Them travel till at last them get. (Annancy going to play out Candlefly.) Every gash Candlefly gash an' see a egg going to pick it up, Annancy say:--"A me first see ahm." Candlefly gash again: Annancy take away every one till him bag full. Candlefly don't get one. So as Annancy such a strong man Candlefly compel was to lef' without say a word. But Annancy going to feel the blow. After Candlefly gone with the light Annancy couldn' find nowhere to put his foot. Annancy say:--"Poor me boy, I mus' try see if I can fin' the way." Annancy start. Him travel till him go an' buck on a house. The way the night was so dark he never see the house, he just buck on it. He don't know whose house it was but him call "Godfather!" The person answer:--"Who is that calling?" Him say:--"Annancy, you godson, bring some eggs fe you." During this time Annancy never know that it was Tiger who him hate so much. When the door open there come Brother Tiger. Annancy say:--"Marnin', Godfather Tiger." Tiger say:--"Come in." Same time Tiger send his wife to go an' put on the copper on the fire. So them boil the whole barrel-bag of eggs. When the eggs boil Tiger ask Annancy if him want any. The frighten in him, him say "No." So Tiger eat the whole bag of eggs, he an' his wife an' children. To find out if Annancy want any of the eggs Tiger tell him wife fe lef two of the good shell. So Tiger get a lobters an' put with the egg shell. When Annancy go in to sleep, Annancy see these two eggs, don't know that it was shell. Tiger know how the fellah love eggs. When lamp out Annancy 'tretch him hand to catch the eggs. Lobters paw give him a good bite. Him jump. Then Tiger know that it was the egg the fellah want. Tiger ask:--"What the matter Mr. Annancy?" "No dog-flea a bit me up so, sir? Me never see place have dog-flea like a you yard." Tiger gone back to sleep. Five minute more Annancy cry out:--"Lahd! me never see place have dog-flea like a you yard." During this time he was trying to get the egg-shell. So he try an' try the whole night an' never get. When day light Tiger say:--"Me son, me sorry to see dog-flea bit you so last night. You is the first man come here a me house say dog-flea bit you." Annancy say:--"Godfather, I don't get a rest from I go to bed till now." Tiger wife get tea an' give him, so he get ready. Tiger say:--"Go a me goat-pen, you see one goat, fetch him ya fe me before you go." Annancy go. When him go he see a big he-goat, him beard was a yard long. Annancy catch the beard, lift him up t'row him a ground, take a big stick begin to beat him, give bup! bup! say:--"You b'ute! a you master nyam all me egg never give me so so one self." Him beat him so till the goat form 'tiff dead. Now this was Tiger all the time. Annancy leave him gone to see if he can get any knife to cut him up. By Annancy come back him don't see no goat, only a big old man standing up. Him put after him. Annancy run back to Tiger yard. The man was after him. Annancy see a gourdy, run right in it. Tiger lost the fellah. Well! Tiger take his gourdy going fe water. Annancy, knowing that Tiger mother was sick, as Tiger get halfway with the gourdy on his head Annancy call out of the gourdy mouth:--"Bro'er Tiger, you mumma dead a house from yeshterday." Tiger stop, him listen, him can't hear. He make a move. Annancy bawl out again:--"Bro'er Tiger, you mumma dead a house from yeshterday." Tiger stop, him listen, him can't hear. He go on again, he hear the voice again. He throw down the gourdy. Annancy get out, said to Tiger:--"You b'ute! if you been broke me foot you wouldn' min' me wife and picny." Tiger hear the voice but never see a soul. Him run gone home to see if his mother dead. When he go his mother was still alive. Annancy go home an' go to Candlefly yard tell him say:--"I never will be cravin' again, ya, Bro'er? you fe carry me again." An' Candlefly say "Yes." Every day Annancy come. Candlefly wife say:--"Him gone long time." Annancy never get to go with Candlefly again, an' he don't know the place. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =Candlefly.= Among the smaller fire-flies which twinkle all the year rushes, in the summer months, the great Candlefly. It makes a roaring sound with its strong, swift flight, and is a strange and splendid object. It has three lights, two looking like eyes, and a larger and much more brilliant one underneath the thorax. When at rest only the eye lights shine, but with the spread of its wings a shutter is drawn back and discloses the abdominal light. The insect, which is the size of a cockchafer but rather longer, is commonly called Big Winky or Peeny. =da=, is pronounced like Italian. =look on sun=, looks at the sun to see if it is sinking. =a back=, behind. =get=, get to the place. =gash=, flash. Lightning is said to gash. As explained above, this gashing of the great light of the Candlefly is continuous while it is in flight, but ceases as soon as it rests. =buck on=, run against. A horse =bucks=, here, when he stumbles. A man =bucks= his toe when he knocks his naked foot against a stone, and women fight (men too for that matter) by =bucking= with their heads. =Marnin'.= Good morning and good evening are used as salutations without reference to the actual time of day. =barrel-bag=, a bag of the capacity of a flour barrel. =the frighten, etc.=, owing to the fright which was in him he said "No." =fe lef'=, to leave. =lobters.= This transposition of letters has a ludicrous effect on the word. =paw=, pronounced =pah= very broadly. Fleas are always called dog-fleas, or rather dahg-fleas. =tea=, the morning sugar-water, is the signal that it is time for the guest to be soon moving on. Generally, however, he is given something to do before he goes. =ya=, here. =so so one self=, even one. =form=, pretended. =Him put after him.= The old man put (ran) after Annancy. =You couldn' mind, etc.= This piece of pleasantry is common. When two men are doing anything that requires care to avoid accident, such as moving a heavy stone, one says to the other:--"No kill me ya, you couldn' min' me wife an' picny," you can't support my wife and children. =ya=, do you hear? Which is also its meaning in the preceding note. Just now =ya= meant 'here.' XXIX. PARSON PUSS AND PARSON DOG. One day Toad was courting for a long time to a very pretty India gal, an' Toad didn' want marry the gal. An' him didn' want the gal was to leave him but to live without married. An' Puss was Toad parson. An' the mother send an' call Puss, an' when Parson Puss come, the mother lay the matter before Parson Puss. An' Parson Puss call Toad one of his lovely member in the church, an' him didn' want Toad was to leave his church. An' Parson Puss talk until Toad agree to married the gal. An' Dog himself was a parson. So Toad send out a invitation to all his countrywoman an' countryman, an' invite Tacoma an' his families, an' likewise invite his friend Mr. Annancy an' his families. An' when him done Toad invite Parson Dog. An' the day when Toad is to married Parson Puss come to married Toad. An' Parson Dog come with his gown was to take away the business from Parson Puss. But Toad say:--"Oh no! he will like to give his Parson the preference." An' Dog say:--"Yes, I must have it. If not will be mossiful fight to-day." Puss wife, was the organ-player, say:--"What a man fe swear!" An' Parson Puss say to Toad mother-in-law:--"You don't mustn't listen what that fellah Parson Dog is saying. He so tief, as soon as they 'tick the hog he will soon forget all this for he has to go an' lick blood, so when he gone I will marry my member Toad." An' so Dog did go away. Until he come back Parson Puss marry off Toad. An' when they eat cake done, then Parson Puss ask the young ladies them to let them go an' play in the ring, an' so they did do. That time Parson Dog didn' know what was doning, but soon he hear this sing:-- [Music: When you see a hugly man, When you see a hugly man, When you see a hugly man, Never make him marry you.] An' as him hear him hold up one of him foot an' listen. An' he come nearer an' hear again:-- [Music: Parson Dog won't married me, Parson Dog won't married me, Parson Dog won't married me, Cut your eye an' pass him.] Then Parson Dog shake him head, run come. An' as he run come he meet Parson Puss was wheeling all the gal. Parson Dog get very vex an' he bear an' bear. But as he hear plain how the sing go, an' see that some of the gal Puss was wheeling began to laugh after him, say:--"No see how him mout' long," Parson Dog get fairly upstarted till him run in the ring an' palm Puss an begin to fight him. An', as Parson Puss feel Parson Dog 'trength more than fe him, him look for a very tall tree an' run right upon it to save his life. An' from that day that why Dog an' Puss can't 'gree until now. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =lovely member.= A certain amount of blarney is supposed to be admissible to keep your sheep from straying to a rival's flock. =to married Toad.= Though they sometimes say =marry= (see the first song) they prefer =married=. The =d= before the =T= of Toad is very awkward to pronounce, yet the reciter, whose normal speech is of the laziest, like that of all his kindred, got it out quite plainly. =mossiful=, unmerciful. Dog really used a bad word here, which is always put in his mouth. He uses the same word in "Finger Quashy." So much does it belong to him that it occurs as a descriptive adjective to the dog in the tune for the third Quadrille figure, which will be found among the dance tunes. The word is not really very bad, but it was not considered appropriate to a book which may find its way into the nursery, so in every case another one is substituted. ='tick=, stick. The pig was killed for the wedding festivities, which were only just beginning. See note on weddings in "Gaulin." =play in the ring=, play Sally Water, see Ring Tunes. =doning=, being done. =never make him marry you=, never let him, etc. =cut your eye=, turn your eye aside. Where we use transitive =cut= they put intransitive =cut eye=. =wheeling=, turning them in the dance. =run come=, came running up. =bear an' bear=, was patient for a while. A picturesque way of describing Dog's self-restraint. He bears it and he bears it again. =no see, etc.=, don't you see how long his mouth is. This is always the joke about Dog. About Puss it is:--"You face too (very) short. Cut off half inch you don't have nose." =upstarted=, angry. =palm=, touch or hold with the hand. =fe him=, his. XXX. CHICKEN-HAWK. Once a lady have t'ree daughter. One of the daughter, the youngest one, born with a gold teet'. The other sisters h'ard of the teet' an' ask their sister to show them the teet', but she never would show them. One day they get Monkey an' Goat to come an' dance to let the sister laugh. They make all sort of mechanic. She never laugh all the dance Monkey an' Goat was dancing. Those other two pay her so much to see the teet'. She won't show them. So the second sister tell the big one say:--"Sister, let we go make bargain with Chicken-hawk to try if we can see the teet'." So they did go an' see Chicken-hawk about it an' pay Chicken-hawk so much. The day come when they fix up to go to the river. Chicken-hawk was on a tree. So they gone to swim for a long time, the big sister them swimming an' laughing in the water for the little one to laugh for them to see the teet', but she never laugh. During that time Chicken-hawk took up all three of them clothes an' gone on a high tree where them can see him. When the sister know that Chicken-hawk took the clothes they came out of the water all t'ree of them. All the clothes was gone. The first sister commence fe sing:-- [Music: Chicken-hahk oh! Chicken-hahk oh! give me me frock. Chicken-hahk oh! Chicken-hahk oh! Chicken-hahk!] An' Chicken-hawk bring come. The next sister do the same an' get her frock. Here comes the youngest one. She shut up her mouth an' was calling from her t'roat:-- [Music: Hm hm hm hm hm hm] Chicken-hawk never give her. When the big sister see that she won't call for them to see the teet' they leave her, an' she become 'fraid an' call out:-- [Music: Chicken-hahk oh! Chicken-hahk oh! give me me frock. Chicken-hahk oh! Chicken-hahk oh! Chicken-hahk.] An' the big sister run come an see the golden teet' an' was so glad. They go home an' tell their mother that we have gain the battle an' have seen the gold teet'. From that day we see gold teet' until now. NOTES. =mechanic=, antics. =so much=, a sum of money. XXXI. PRETTY POLL. Once a Duke have a sarvant. So this sarvant was courting to a young man for a long time. So one day another friend come to see the Duke. So he love the Duke sarvant an' the Duke sarvant love him. So this man ask the Duke for her. The Duke say:--"No, she is courting already." So the friend was sorry. The gal tell the young man say:--"Me love you, an' if you going to marry me I will lef' my lover an' come." The young man say:--"How you will manage that the Duke not going to allow it?" The gal say:--"You look out." So one evening, when the gal lover come home, she ask him to let them go for a walk far away. "I am going to show you a very pretty place." During this time the gal know where a well was, so she is going to shub him into the well. As they reach to the place they see a pretty flowers in the well. So they was looking at the flowers. As she see that her lover was gazing at the flowers she just shub him right in the well an' said:--"T'ank God! me going to get that pretty young man." During this time there was a Parrot on a tree seeing all that was going on, cry out:-- [Music: Ha ha! Ha ha! I have a news to take to the Duke at home; you have your dearest lover an' cast him down to the well.] The gal look up an' see the Parrot. She get frighten, call to Poll:-- [Music: Come, Pretty Poll, come! There is a house of gold an' silver before you sit 'pon tree.] Poll sing:-- [Music: Tree I barn, Tree I must be stay till my time come to die.] An' Poll commence to fly from tree to tree an' she was following him till they get out to a village. Poll was still singing an' she was begging. Poll fly from house to house till he get on the Duke house an' sing. The gal was crying. The Duke hear, send out man an' they listen until them hear what Poll said, an' them catch the gal an' chop off her head. An' Poll get good care. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. This is another version of the "King Daniel" story. =before you sit=, instead of your sitting. =Tree I barn=, etc. On a tree I was born, on a tree I must stay. XXXII. ANNANCY AND HOG. One day Annancy an' him grandmamma go to a ground. Annancy left him fife. When him coming home, he an' his grandmamma, he said:--"Gran'mumma you know I leave my fife at groun'." Him grandmamma say:--"Me son a know you well. You is a very bad boy. Go for it but don't play." When Annancy coming home he play:-- [Music: None a we, none a we commando Sairey gone home commando Yahka Yahky Yak commando, Suck your mother bone commando.] An' as he play he meet Hog. Hog say:--"Brother, a you a play da sweet sweet tune." Annancy say:--"No, Bro'er." Hog say:--"Play, make me hear." Annancy play twee, twee, twee, all wrong note. Hog say:--"Tche! you can't play." Hog gone round short pass. As Hog go round short pass, him buck the boy was playing the tune. Hog say:--"Bro'er Annancy I think a you a play, you beggar, you light fe me dinner, you libber fe me dog." An' Hog carry home Annancy an' goin' to do him up for him dinner. An' when Hog think him done up Annancy him done up him own mother. An' that made Hog nasty feeder up to to-day. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =ground=, a provision ground where yams, etc., are grown. They often pronounce it =grun=, rhyming to run but even shorter. =a leave=, I leave. This tune has a bobbin, see _Digging sings_. Nonsense words of course. =commando=, pronounced common doe. =yah=, with French =a=. =pass=, path. It no doubt should be =gone down short pass=. The paths circle round the steep mountain sides and short cuts connect the loops. =buck=, stumbles on, meet. =you light, etc.= Your lights for my dinner, your liver for my dog. XXXIII. DRY RIVER. Once a man have t'ree daughter. Dem go go pick wacky. When dem a come, dem come to a river having no water. Dem meet a old man beg dem a wacky. The two biggest one give the old man two wacky, one each, an' the little one wouldn' give any. An' the old man sing:-- [Music: You no give me one wacky you can't pass, You no give me one wacky you can't pass, You no give me one wacky you can't pass, Dry River will come an' take you 'way. Draw me nearer, Draw me near, Dry River will come an' take you 'way.] An' the little one won't give. An' the two big sister want to give two more of their wacky to the old man; but the old man say:--"No, the little one must give me one of fe her wacky." An' she won't give. So the old man sing the sing again. An' still the little one won't give, until at last the river come down carry him gone. From that day people drowning. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. In the heavy rains of October and May the rivers rise suddenly, and an insignificant stream or dry river-bed becomes a raging torrent. Travellers are delayed in the Seasons, as these rainy times are called, owing to the fords becoming impassable. This happens now less frequently than formerly, not because the rivers do not 'come down' but because many of them are bridged. =wacky= (French =a= with a turn to =o=, almost "wocky"), guava. This fruit which makes the well-known jelly is wild. It is the size of a small apple, and has a delicious scent when ripe and yellow. Raw, however, it is not a good fruit. The flavour is coarse and the pulp is full of very hard seeds, which must be swallowed whole. =when dem a come=, when they reach the place where the wackies are they come to a river. =old man beg, etc.=, old man who asks them for a wacky. Much of the conciseness of negro speech is due to the suppression of relatives and prepositions. =you no give=, if you do not give. XXXIV. YELLOW SNAKE. Once a woman, name Miss Winky, have four children, three son an' one daughter. The son them was hunter-man and the youngest son was old-witch. This sister never can find her fancy. Everybody come she say: "Lard, this one hugly, me no like him at all!" Till one day she an' the mother an' old-witch boy was at home. Snake was on a journey, get to a rum-shop. Talking an' talking they bring up some talk about this gal, that everybody go for her she refuse. Snake say:--"Is she a pretty gal?" They say:--"Yes, man, she is a beauty to look at." Snake said:--"I bet anything I get that gal." Snake change an' fix up himself an' go to the yard. When he go he said:--"Good day, Miss Winky, I come to ask you for your daughter." The gal, was in the room, run out to see if it is a pretty man. As she come out she said:--"Mamma, this is my love, no one else." So Snake was invite in the house. The mother said:--"Well, as you get your fancy I am going to married you." So the next day they go an' get marry. After dinner Snake get ready, an' the gal mother tie up all her clothes an' they start. They travel the whole night until daylight an' never could get, till about midday they reach the place. It was a big stone-hole. Snake carry her under, put her to sit down. An' after Snake get a good rest he commence to swallow her. On the meantime the old-witch boy, name of Cawly, know all what was going on in the wood, tell his two elder brother to come "an' let us go hunting for I hear the voice of my dear beloved sister crying for me in the wood." The two brother said:--"You always goin' on with your foolishness." He said:--"Never mind, come let us go an' see." So they start an' they walk like beast, till at last they nearly reach where they could hear the sister. They hear a voice:-- [Music: Fe me Cawly Cawly oh! If no hunter-man no come here oh! Yalla Snake will swallow me.] Snake, fe all him mout' full, get to say:--"Me will swallow you till you mumma no fin' piece of you bone." The brother come close to the place, climb upon the stone. They hear the voice plainer, come down off the stone an' see that Snake leave but the head of their sister. They go down on Snake an' kill him an' split him an' take out their sister an' carry her home. From that day she never marry again for she feel the hand of marry. So everybody that pick too much will come off the same way. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =Snake=, pronounced in two syllables, Se-nake with the exact value of vowels in the French words _ce n'est que_, and of course stopping at the _k_ sound of the _q_. =Tie up all her clothes=, in a bundle which she would carry on her head. =get=, get to Snake's home. =beast.= This is the generic name for a beast of burden, horse, mule, or donkey. =fe all=, although. =get to say=, managed to say. =fe me=, my. =feel the hand of marry=, a biblical expression. She felt the hand of matrimony, and behold it was heavy. XXXV. COW AND ANNANCY. One day Annancy was passing Cow pastur', saw the whole of them was cleaning their teeth with chewstick. He was so frighten for Cow, he stay outside the pastur' on a tree an' call to Cow, telling them howdy. Cow never answer him, so he get worser frighten. He said to himself:--"If I give them piece of cane, fool them say it is my chewstick, they might a come friend with me." So Cow them go out in the night to feed. An' when them gone Annancy go an' get his side-bag full with cane as quick as he can. An' when him come Cow them gone away for the whole night, so he climb the tree an' sleep on the tree until daylight. An' when the sun begin to hot the Cow come under the tree fe throw up their food fe eat it back. Same time Cow cleaning him teeth with the chewstick. Presently the papa Cow see a big piece of something drop out of the tree. He look up see Annancy, call to him:--"What you doing dé?" Annancy say:--"Me bring piesh a chewshtick fe you." Cow take up the cane begin to chew. Instead of cleaning teeth he was swallowing both juice an' trash. Cow say:--"Him sweet; you no hab no more dé now?" Annancy say "Yes." Cow call him down from the tree. When he come down he give everybody piece of the cane, tell them that it is fe him chewstick. During this time he have a big bottle of cane-juice, ask Cow if him want a taste. Cow take a taste, he done the whole bottle of it. So they all get in friend with Annancy. An' Annancy invite Cow to go home with him, an' he will show him where he get such good chewstick. Cow say:--"You no have nobody a you yard." Annancy say "Yes." Cow say:--"Me shame fe go." Annancy say:--"Make me go home an' sen' dem 'way." Annancy go home, tell all his friend them must look out, him going to fetch Cow, ya. Them say:--"If you bring Cow you we will never trust you the longest day we live." Annancy say:--"Look out." He take a rope. When he go back he tell Cow that him no see nobody a yard, so Cow must come make dem go. Cow say, "Yes." Them 'tart. Annancy tell Cow that as he is such a coward man him have a piece of rope, Cow must make him put it on his neck, afraid a when him a go the picny them go see him, go make noise, you go turn back. Annancy say: "Bro'er Cow, when you go near me yard, if you yerry them picny a make noise no frighten, fan you tail with strength." When them get to where all the friend an' children could see him, him call to them:--"A da come, no see me frien' a come tell you howdy." He turn to Cow said:--"Fan you tail, no min' dem people." At last them reach the yard. Annancy have a big tree at the front of his house. He tell Cow:--"Bro'er Cow, stay ya, make me go look after the house; me wife no know, say me a bring 'tranger ya, so we can't carry you in so, so you can fan you tail as much." During this time Annancy gone to get all his tool sharpen to kill Cow. He left his biggest son to watch Cow but he can't trust the boy. Every minute he come to look if Cow is there. The first time he come an' look he say to Cow:--"Fan you tail." When the thing them nearly done sharp he come back, see Cow was fanning his tail. He said to Cow:--"You Cow, you no yerry me say 'No fan you tail a me yard?'" Cow fan fe the better. He come with his bill, said to Cow:--"If you no 'top fan you tail either you kill me or me kill you." Cow won't stop. He say to one of the friend:--"Now, now, sir, you see how that man a frighten me picny a me yard, him mout' so hugly." Him come up nearer to Cow say:--"If you no 'top fan you tail somet'ing mus' done." Cow won't stop, seeing the fly a trouble him. Annancy set a run with his bill chop at Cow neck. Cow draw back his head, the bill catch the rope, set Cow free, so he run for his life. Annancy say:--"Come back, Bro'er Cow, a fun me a make wi' you, simple little fun, you run gone home." But Cow was flying for his home an' never stop. Annancy take up this song:-- [Music: Lard! Lard! hasty kill me dead oh! Poor me boy oh! a whé me a go do? Me put me pot a fire fe boil Cow liver, but hasty kill me dead.] From that day Annancy never can go where Cow is. Anywhere Cow see him he reach him down with his mouth. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. We have had this story already in another form (Annancy and Cow, No. 20). =chewstick=, a common climber. A piece of the stem about the thickness of a pencil is cut and makes a sort of soapy froth as it is chewed. It has an agreeable bitter taste and is used to clean the teeth. =howdy=, how do you do? =cane=, sugar-cane. =fool them=, take them in, delude. =side-bag.= Everybody has his side-bag or namsack (knapsack). =papa=, pronunciation something between puppa and poppa, with slight accent on the first syllable. Cows in Jamaica are of both sexes. =dé there=; the _e_ is that of "debt" lengthened. French "est" gives it exactly. Whé has the same _e_. =trash=, the fibre. Trash is any kind of refuse, such as shells of peas, husks of maize, the remains of Cassada after the starch is washed out, withered banana leaves, the outside pulp which encloses the coffee beans, etc., etc. =ya= sometimes means _here_, sometimes _do you hear?_ =rope=, pronounced ro-up. So gate becomes gé-ut (French _é_), goat, go-ut (Italian _o_), much as in some provincial districts in England. =a da come=, I am coming. =carry=, lead. =as much=, as much as you like. =a fun me a make=, I was pretending. A man is said to make fun when he is only pretending to work, what schoolboys call "sugaring." =hasty=, haste, _i.e._ your hurrying away. =hungry kill me= is a common expression meaning "I am very hungry." Here _hasty_ is substituted for _hungry_. Your hasting away will leave me without food, and hunger will kill me. XXXVI. LEAH AND TIGER. There was a man an' his wife got one daughter, only the one picny they got. An' many a people come for her to courten to her, an' she refuse, an' she would stay a world without marry. An' the father said to the wife:--"Them people usual trouble me with my own daughter; we must do something to get her out of them sight." An' the both of them agree to make up a very big house in the wood to lef' the daughter there where nobody wouldn' see him. An' the father said to the wife:--"When the house done you mus' carry him breakfas' every twelve o'clock an' dinner at four." An mumma say:--"Yes, me dear, I think so better." An' they take Leah an' walk with her all night an' lodge her into the house before daylight. An' at the meantime Leah got a very valuable ring on one of her finger, a very pretty young woman too, though me never see him. Mumma tell him that when him going to bed he must always say him prayers. An' she tell her that, when she re'ch the hillside she sing the song, she must know a him honey a come. An' this the song:-- [Music: Leah! Leah! tingaling, You no yerry you honey, tingaling? Honey de a door, tingaling, Sugar de a door, tingaling.] An' this time Tiger was under the house hear all the bargain. An' Tiger lie down very 'teady. (Some days to come he must get meat fe eat a this bush.) Then mumma go away, next day come back with him daughter breakfas', an' 'tart the tune from hillside to the spot of place where the house is. An' the door was double double double latch. An' the tune 'tarted. An' the gal open the door an' mumma come in give her her breakfast, an' make very much of each others, an' eat done an' tell goodbye. When the mumma gone Tiger creep out of the house with a great rolling of voice, can't 'tan' him heel. He go down to see Brother Blacksmit' if he would do a kind favour for him. An' Brother Blacksmit' say:--"What sort of favour I can do for you?" An' Tiger say him see a very nice meat a bush, him want go eat it then, so me want sweet voice fe sing like a him mumma. Then Brother Blacksmit' put the iron a fire, make him red hot, so tell him open him mout'. Blacksmit' poke ahm down his t'roat, heap of smoke come out a him 'tomach. When him finish he tell him mus' sing make him hear. So Tiger sing, an' true him voice sound so good. Then Blacksmit' say:--"Min' mustn' eat no duckanoo nor guava by the way, else you voice turn rough again." Tiger gone making his way fe go eat the gal fe meat. He was very hard on his journey going on. As he get halfway he see guava an' duckanoo, an' being him so thirsty he say:--"Make me nyam ahm, nothing goin' to do me voice." He nyam until he unrestful an' come his voice after was like groun' t'under. "Well," he say, "never min'; by the time me re'ch up me voice will come good." So he lay down under the floor waiting for twelve o'clock when the mother usual come. An' when it nearly come 'pon twelve Tiger creep out under the floor commence to sing:-- [Music: E2] Leah! Leah! tingaling, You no yerry you honey, tingaling? You sugar de a door, tingaling, You honey de a door, tingaling. An' Leah say:--"Hé! Hé! it is not my mother dat." An' Tiger shame, gone under the house back, voice too coarse. Presently his mother is up, sing with a very sweet voice:-- Leah! Leah! tingaling, You no yerry you honey, tingaling? Honey de a door, tingaling, Sugar de a door, tingaling. An' the door open, an' she go in give her daughter him breakfas'. An' her daughter hug her up an' kiss her, an' he commence to tell her mother that him hear a great rolling like groun' shaking while ago outside, an' it make her frighten to deat'. She tell her mumma she would like to go home with her back. The mother refuse from do so, an' lef' an gone home, tell the father what happen with Leah in the bush. An' puppa say:--"What make you lef' me daughter a bush? Go back for him to-night." Mamma say:--"No danger wi' me daughter, me wi' carry him dinner four o'clock, lef' him come back." Next day Tiger 'tart to Blacksmit' fe run iron down him t'roat back. Blacksmit' get vex, tell him he going to lick him down with the iron, for his ears hard. Tiger said:--"Do Bro'er Blacksmit', me yerry all whé you tell me this time." An' Blacksmit' put the iron two hour a fire an' shub him down Tiger t'roat. Tiger can't take him ground, iron too hot. When he done with him he tell him to sing make him hear, an' beg him anything that him see in the way must make him yeye pass it. An' Tiger say:--"Yes, so me going do." Him shut him yeye now, take the whole a road for himself, say:--"Me boy never would a nyam nothing more a pass: sweet, sweet meat like a that so a bush me could a lef' ahm so?" He was very hurry to the house, an' just before twelve o'clock he commence to sing, an' this time his voice sound well. Leah open the door, t'ought it was her mother, an' Tiger jump right in an' eat the whole of Leah, lef' one finger with the ring. Him eat done, half shut the door an' go back a him bed under the house. Leah mumma come fe sing now:-- Leah! Leah! tingaling, Yo no yerry you honey, tingaling? You sugar de a door, tingaling, You honey de a door, tingaling. An' nobody answer her. She sing two time more: nobody answer. An' she shub the door an' go inside to find only one finger of her daughter. An' him put him hand on him head, bahl, then go home to him husband, tell him husband him daughter dead, something eat every bit. Him say:--"Me no min tell you fe bring home me daughter: you will have fe find ahm gi' me. Then if you know whé good fe you just bring him go," catch up one big junka 'tick an' lick down the wife. An' after the wife dead the man take to heart an' dead. That make you see woman ears hard up to to-day. They want mus' man fe carry them anywhere they told fe go. A him make them something a happen a this world up to to-day day. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =usual=, are wont. =when she re'ch=, when she (the mother) reaches the hillside and she sings the song, she (the girl) will know that his (her) honey has come. =tingaling.= Some tellers of this story have it =tindalinda=. ='teady=, steady, with a peculiar vowel like a dull French _eu_. =him daughter breakfas'=, came back with her daughter's breakfast and began to sing when she reached the hillside overlooking the house, and went on singing till she got to the house. =An' the tune 'tarted.= The reciter sings it here. =out of the house=, out from under the house. See note to "Yung-kyum-pyung." =rolling=, roaring. =can't 'tan' him heel=, can't stand on his heel. See, further on, =can't take him ground=. Both mean that Tiger cannot stand still. =a bush=, in the bush. =ahm=, him, it. =true him voice=, really his voice sounds very well. Only, =true= means what it says, =truly=, and does not imply the reservation at which it _really_ hints. Tiger's voice did sound very well. =duckanoo=, a kind of mango. =going to do=; eating the fruit is not going to do my voice any harm. =until he unrestful.= He ate too much. =groun' t'under=, ground thunder. It is often difficult to distinguish between distant thunder and an earthquake. Tiger growls on a low note, and says the words very fast. =Hé! Hé!= French é as in whé and dé. =groun'shaking=, earthquake. =from do so=, refuses to do what she asks. =down him t'roat back=, down his throat again. Blacksmith was vexed because Tiger had eaten fruit on the previous occasion. His ears had been hard, _i.e._ he had acted against orders. =make him yeye pass it=, let his eye run over it without desiring to eat it. =take the whole a road=, staggering along, first to one side and then to the other. =a pass=, in the path, on the journey. =put him hand on him head=, an expressive action indicating horror and bewilderment. =bahl=, bawl, cry out. =me no min tell=, me no been tell, didn't I tell you? =you will have fe find ahm gi' me=; when anything is lost, they say:--You will have to find it and give it to me. =a him, etc.=, it is that (their ears being so hard) that makes this sort of thing happen. XXXVII. TIMMOLIMMO. Once there was a Bull live in a pastur'. He make a law that every young Cow born, if it is a Bull, they must kill it. So the Cow them hear what the master said. The Bull name was Timmolimmo. So one day one of the Cow have baby an' find out that this child was a boy. She take him an' go to a deep bush an' hide her child in a stone-hole, an' feed him till him was growing an' begun to talk. The place where the mother was taking water when she was at the pastur' was a mile from the hiding hole, an' she has nowhere to take water but there. So every day she go an' fetch water to her son. One day when the boy was six months old she carry him to the place where she taking water, an' hide till the master come drink an' gone. Then she give her son water, and after she take him home back. An' when another six month come she take him back to the place an' show him the father footprint, an' commence to tell the son why him have to hide in the bush is because the father would kill you if he see you. The boy said to his mother:--"A so all right, when me come big man I going to go an' have a fight with him." The mumma say:--"No, me son, nobody can't fight him." So the mother take the boy home back till another six months when the boy catch a year an' a half. Then they go again an' the boy ask if he no can fight. The mother say:--"Come, make me measure you foot." When he go put his foot in his father footprint it was about two inch short. He go home. After six month more he come back, he alone, measure his foot in his father one. It want half inch to catch. Him gone home back for six more month. So one day him get up, tell his mumma that I am going to fight me puppa. The mother say "No," but him rist an' go. When him go to the place he measure his foot. It was one inch wider. Him say:--"I am going fe the battle." Him come back, tell his mumma that him going to fight puppa. So him go on till him get where his father can hear him, an' sing out:-- [Music: Timmolimmo, man dere, Timmolimmo, man dere, Come down make we battle, man dere.] One of the Cow call say:--"Master, Master, I hear some one calling your name." "No, no, not a man can call my name." The son give out again:-- "Timmolimmo, man dere, Timmolimmo, man dere, Come down, make we battle, Man dere." Timmolimmo yerry. Him make one jump, him jump half mile. The son make one, him go one mile. So they meet at a cross-pass. As the father come him lift the son with his horn, send him half mile in the air. The son drop on his four leg. The son lift the puppa, send him three quarter mile. As him drop, one foot gone. The puppa stand on the t'ree foot send the son up again in the air. The son drop on four foot. The son send him up again, him come down on two. Him stand on the two, send the son. Him come down on four. The son send him up again, an' him come down on one. The puppa stand on the one foot an' send the son, an' the son come down on four. An' the son send him up, an' him come down on him side an' broke him neck. The son go home to his mother an' tell him that he has gain the battle, so they must come go in the pastur' an' him reign. From that two Bull never 'gree in one pastur'. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =rist=, risks it. =dere=, pronounced day-er, the French vowel quite abandoned. =cross-pass=, cross-path. =foot=, leg. XXXVIII. CALCUTTA MONKEY AND ANNANCY. One day Calcutta Monkey work a very large field of corn, an' when the corn commence to ripe Monkey beguns to miss the corn, an' him couldn' find out who was tiefing the corn, an' the robbing continually going on. Till one day Monkey went to Annancy yard an' suspish upon Annancy. An' Annancy get very short an' ready to fight Calcutta Monkey. An' Monkey say to Annancy he won't fight him but he will soon know who is tiefing the corn. An' same time Annancy say to Monkey:--"I bet it is that big-voice Mr. Tiger." An' Monkey say he won't judge no one again but will find out. An' him went home back to his yard an' cut his card. An' when he cut the card he sees no man on the card but Mr. Annancy, an' Monkey think it very hard to himself that Annancy wouldn' own it. An' the next day he went to the ground an' he find the robbing was going on. An' he met Annancy on the road an' he said to Annancy he well know who tiefing the corn. An' Monkey send a challis to Annancy an' tell him that if him cut the card again an' find him in the card he going to give him a terrible flogging. An' when Annancy hear about the flogging he get a little frighten, an' him stop off the robbing for about two days. The day to make t'ree Annancy couldn' bear no longer an' he beguns again to tief the corn. An' Monkey made up a drum an' got a hunting-whip. An' next day when Monkey go back to the ground an' find the corn tiefing he goes home to his yard, an' take up his drum an' his hunting-whip an' start looking for Annancy. An' when he going he beguns to knock the drum ribbim-bim-bim, "Annancy no dere," ribbim-bim-bim, "Annancy no dere." An' that time Annancy went an' climb a cullabunka tree. Annancy hide himself in the heart, an' as Monkey get to the tree he sound the drum say:--ribbim-bim-bim, "Annancy dere." An' he put down the drum an' wrap the whip round his neck an' climb the tree an' give Annancy a good flogging, an' Annancy run off the tree an' say that he won't do it again. Till a few days after Annancy broke in the corn-piece again, begun to tief the corn like witch. An' Monkey go into the ground an' see the tiefing. An' he went home an' look over his card. He sees no one again but Mr. Annancy, an' he took up his drum an' his whip to look for Annancy again to flog him. An' this time Tiger have a very large banana-walk. Annancy wented there an' look for one very large bunch of banana an' go in the heart of the bunch an' hide himself. An' as Monkey 'tart playing the drum again he get to the banana-walk. An' as he get to the spot he sound the drum say:--ribbim-bim-bim, "Annancy here." But this time Monkey an' Tiger can't agree, an' this banana is for Tiger. Monkey has to leave Annancy an' goes home back. An' Tacoma says to Monkey, if him want to catch Mr. Annancy he can catch him for him. An' Monkey was very glad. An' Tacoma made a dance an' send an' invite Mr. Annancy. An' when Annancy come to the gate Annancy mind tell him that Calcutta Monkey is there, an' he only 'tand to the gate an' wave his hand to the ladies inside, say:--"Good evening, ladies all"; an' he turn right back an' go in the banana heart an' take it for his own dwelling. An' from that day Annancy live in banana bunch up to now. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =suspish upon=, suspect. They also use =suspish= alone, a delightful word. =cut his card.= Monkey is clearly an Obeah-man, a dealer in the black art. =ribbim-bim-bim, etc.=, half sung, with strong even rhythm. =cullabunka=, a kind of Palm. =banana-walk=, technical name for a banana plantation. =is for Tiger=, belongs to Tiger. XXXIX. OPEN SESAME. One day there was a very hard time, an' Annancy an' his family was dying for hungry. An' there was a regiment of soldier find out a silver mine. An' when they find it out they made a very large house. An' they move the money an' put it in the house, an' when they are moving it they t'ought that nobody see them. What that smart fellah Mr. Tacoma does. He hide himself on a tree, seeing them when they passing with the money. An' when they reach to the house, the house work with no key, an' they has a certain word to use when they want the door to open. They say "Open Sesame." An' they go in an' t'row in the money, an' when they coming out of the house they say "Shut Sesame," and the door lock. An' Tacoma hear what they say. An' he go home an' harness up his cart with his mule an' drive to the house. An' when he go him use the same word an' the door open. An' he go in an' load the cart, an' when he load done he drive home. When he come home he want to measure the money an' he couldn' get no quart pot, an' he sent to his neighbour Mr. Annancy an' borrow his quart pot. An' continually so he go an' come back, him still borrowing Annancy quart pot. An' Annancy think it very hard, say:--"Somet'ing Bro'er Tacoma is measuring." An' Annancy want to know what it is. A second day when Tacoma sent for the quart pot again Annancy 'tudy a plan. When Tacoma come him give it to him, an' as Tacoma reach his yard don't begin measure yet, Annancy tell one of his picny that they must go a Bro'er Tacoma yard an' tell him that him really want the quart pot, must make haste make haste send it at once. An' when the picny go he tell him must look an' see what Bro'er Tacoma measuring. An' he couldn' find out. An' a third day him sent to the shop an' buy penny halfpenny white flour, an' when him gone home he make it to paste an' piecen the quart pot bottom inside, an' said to himself:--"Anyt'ing Bro'er Tacoma measure, whether fe rice or gungo or flour, or either money, one must fasten in the flour." An' when Tacoma come back he sent for the quart pot. An' when Tacoma measure done he send it back. An' as he send it a very large two an' sixpence piece fasten in the flour. An' Annancy say:--"T'ank God I find out what Bro'er Tacoma doing with my quart pot." An' same time he goes to Tacoma yard an' begins to cry upon Tacoma that Bro'er Tacoma must carry him an' show him where he get the money. Tacoma didn' agree. Annancy cry an' cry till him tell him that he must get a cart an' a mule to-morrow evening, an' when him passing he will call to him. An' Annancy couldn' wait, an' him harness up his cart from morning an' watching out for Brother Tacoma. An' he watch an' watch till Tacoma come. When Tacoma was coming he lash him whip, an' as he lash, Annancy lash his own too. An' they started. An' when they get to the house Tacoma say "Open Sesame," an' the door open. An' they run the cart up to the door mout' an' load it, an' they come out an' drive home. An' by the time Tacoma get home to his yard Annancy t'row out his money an' turn back again. An' when he go he use the same very word an' the door open. Annancy load his cart an' when him coming home he meet Tacoma on the road an' through his strongy yeye an' his ungratefulness he want to shoot Tacoma cart a gully an' to kill his mule, that him one may be the master of the bank. An' Annancy made a sing when he is coming home:-- [Music: Right t'rough, right t'rough de rocky road, oh Charley Marley call you, Mid a rock, mid a rock, mid a rock, me Charley, Charley Marley call you; Oh de han'some gal are no fe you one; Oh Charley Marley call you.] NOTES. Here is another story founded on Ali Baba, which differs considerably from the previous one of "Blackbird and Woss-woss." The chief peculiarity of this version is that the entrapping through forgetfulness of the password is altogether lost. =Hard time.= This refers to the months of June and July when provisions are scarce. The old yams are done and the new ones are not in yet. Subsistence has to be eked out with a few sweet potatoes and the mangoes, which are abundant in these months, and go on till the October rains bring back a season of plenty. =so he go=, as he goes. =piecen=, a nice word. They use it also in speaking of the patching of old clothes. =lash him whip=, crack his whip as a signal. =strongy yeye=, covetousness. To give the pronunciation a _y_ has to be tacked on to strong. =him one=, he alone. The exact application of the song is doubtful. The end is pretty clear, meaning:--all the good things are not for you alone, Tacoma. It will be observed in this and some other stories that Jack Mantora, etc., is omitted. That is because they have no tragic termination. XL. SEA-MAHMY. One day, height a hungry time, Blackbird have a feedin' tree in a sea. An' every day Blackbird go an' feed. Annancy say unto Blackbird:--"Please, Bro'er Blackbird, please carry me over a you feedin' tree." Blackbird say unto Annancy:--"Bro'er Annancy, you so cravin' you goin' to eat every bit from me." He say:--"No, Bro'er Blackbird I won' do it." Brother Blackbird say unto Annancy:--"A you no have no wing, how you a go?" Well! Blackbird take out two of him tail feather, 'tick upon Annancy. He pick out two of him wing feather, 'tick upon Annancy. He take two feather out of him back again, 'tick upon Annancy; two feather out of him belly feather, 'tick upon Annancy. Well! Blackbird an' Annancy fly in a the sea upon the feedin' tree. Every feedin' Blackbird go fe pick, Annancy say that one a fe him. Blackbird go upon the next limb, Annancy say a fe him. Blackbird go upon the t'ird limb, Annancy say a fe him. Till Annancy eat a good tummy-full. Annancy drop asleep upon the tree. Well! Blackbird take time, pick out all the feather back, an' Blackbird fly away. When Annancy wake out of sleep he say:--"Make me fly." He can't fly. He broke a branch off a the tree, t'row in the sea. The branch swim. Annancy say if the branch swim him will swim, an' he jump off a the tree, drop in the sea an' sink. An' when he go down a sea bottom he meet Sea-mahmy. He said to Sea-mahmy:--"Mumma, mother tell me me have a cousin down a sea bottom, ya." Sea-mahmy say:--"I going to see if me and you are cousin." Sea-mahmy put a pan of sand in the fire for well hot. When him get hot he take it off a the fire, give to Brother Annancy for drink it off. Brother Annancy say:--"Cousin Sea-mahmy, it don' hot enough. Put it out a de sun fe make it hot more." After him put it out a the sun then he say:--"Cousin Sea-mahmy, I think it hot now." An' Sea-mahmy say:--"Well you must drink it off an' make I see if you an' me are cousin." An' Annancy do drink it off. Annancy spend t'ree day down a sea bottom. Well! the next day Sea-mahmy said to him:--"Whé you going to come out." Him said:--"Cousin Sea-mahmy, sen' one of you son fe carry me out a lan'." Sea-mahmy give him one of him son, the name of that son call Trapong. Well! Trapong an' Annancy travel, make middle in a sea. Sea-mahmy call:-- [Music: Trapong, Trapong, fetch back 'tranger man, come back.] An' Trapong say:--"'Top, Brother Annancy, I think I hear my mother calling me back." Annancy say:--"No, make way! War de 'pon sea!" An' Trapong sail with Annancy on him back till they reach shore. When they go to shore he say:--"Bro'er Trapong, take dis bag weigh me, see whé me weigh." Trapong lift him up, say:--"Yes, Brother Annancy you heavy." So Annancy come back out of the bag. He say:--"Bro'er Trapong, you come in make I weigh you see." Trapong went into the bag. He tie Trapong, tie tight. Trapong say:--"Brother Annancy you a tie me too 'trong." He say:--"Me no a tie you fe see if you heavy?" Trapong say to Brother Annancy:--"Me heavy?" Annancy say:--"You heavy oh! You light oh! You heavy enough fe me wife pot." An' for all the bahl Trapong a bahl he gone back to him house an' Annancy eat him. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =height=, in the height of, at the worst of. =Sea-mahmy=, Mermaid. =feedin' tree.= It was a duckanoo mango according to some accounts. Annancy behaves just as he did with Candlefly and the eggs. The connecting =wells= of this story, which take the place of the =ands= and =sos= of other narrators are said with a little upward turn of the voice. =Whé you going.= Whé (what) seems to be doing duty for =how= here. =Trapong=, tarpon, the famous sporting fish of Florida and Santa Catalina, common also in Jamaica. =make middle in a sea=, get to the middle of the sea. =No, make way!= Annancy shouts this out. The outrageous confidence trick which follows necessitates a Jack Mantora. XLI. CRAB AND HIS CORN-PIECE. One day Brother Crab work a lovely field of corn. An' when the corns beguns to ripe Crab begin to lose the corn, an' he couldn' find out who was tiefing it. An' he get Annancy to be a watchman for tief. An' this arrangement make between Annancy. Crab tell him that he will come in the night and see if he is watching. An' Annancy wasn' agree at first. Him stand for a good time an' study: an when he study he tell Crab yes that he can come. An' when Crab gone he sent an' call his friend Mr. Tacoma an' tell him that Bro'er Crab leave him here to watch over the corn, an' say that he is going to come back in the night to see if he is watching. An' as Crab being 'fraid of Tacoma Annancy tell him that he must set a watch in the road for Crab an' catch him. That time Ratta was hearing Annancy bargain which he is making with Tacoma. An' he went home an' tell Crab that he mustn' go to the corn-piece in the night for Tacoma going to catch him. An' so Crab did hear Ratta. An' him send an' discharge Annancy. An' Annancy was very sorry, an' same time he goes to Crab an' he ask Crab what he done. Crab tell him that he mustn' mind, he must leave the work, he is going to get another man to watch. An' Annancy did leave, an' Crab give the job to Ratta. An', as that wicked man Mr. Annancy know that Ratta frighten for Puss, he sent an' tell Puss that he must go in Bro'er Crab corn-piece an' keep a good watch for Ratta an' catch him an' eat him. An' that time Candlefly was hearing Annancy what he is telling Puss to do Ratta, an' he went an' tell Ratta that he must leave the work, an' if he don't leave it he going to lose his life. At that time Ratta get very 'fraid an' send an' give up his discharge to Crab. When Ratta gone Crab couldn' get no one to watch the corn again, an' he consider to himself that he knows two friend very love corn an' the meal likewise. An' the two friend was Mr. Dog an' Mr. Cock. An' he sent an' call them an' they did come. When they come he tell them that he have a piece of corn an' he can't get none, tief is eating out the whole. An' he says to Dog that him know he is a very good watchman, an' same time Cock say to Crab that him watch as any soldier. An' Crab was very glad, say:--"You is the two man that I want." An' they says to Crab that they won't charge no money, but when the corn came in Cock is to get his share of dry corn an' Dog get his share of meal. An' Cock ask Crab to give him a gun. An' Crab didn' have a gun, an' he give Cock a flute an' give Dog a drum, an' tell them that anyone catch a tief they must play an' let him hear. An' Cock tell Crab that he can't sleep on the ground, an' he wants to know if there is any tree in the corn-piece, an' Crab say "Yes." So Cock an' Dog started. An' when they go Cock fly upon the tree an' Dog pick up the corn trash which they cut already an' make a very soft bed an' get into it, an' Dog lie down until he fall asleep. An' Cock sing:-- [Music: Brether Dog oh! Brether Dog oh! Brether Dog asleep oh! Brether Dog oh! Tief come an' gone oh, Brether Dog oh! Tief come an' gone oh, Brether Dog oh!] When the tief come Dog didn' know. An' Cock, as he being a brave soldier, he caught the tief. An' when he catch the tief he start a tune in his flute:-- [Music: You Mister Crab oh! You Mister Crab oh! Da me same one catch de tief oh! Bengaday.] An' as Dog being love sleep an' don't watch to the end he lose his reward. An' Cock by him catch the tief takes the corn. NOTES. =arrangement between Annancy=; no misprint. =Between= may stand for =with=, or there may be an ellipsis of the words =and Crab=. =he mustn' mind.= This is likely to convey a wrong idea. Crab was not trying to soothe his feelings, but was speaking angrily. What he said was:--"Never you mind, etc." XLII. DRY-GRASS AND FIRE. One day Brother Dry-grass an' Fire get in confusion. So Fire tell his frien' Annancy (not knowing that Annancy an' Dry-grass was better friend):--"Brother Annancy I going to burn that fellah Dry-grass to-morrow." Annancy say:--"When you a go you fe call me a yard. I goin' to make one shell. When we nearly get to the place we blow, make the fellah know that man a come." During this time Annancy make bargain with Water that any time he hear the shell blow him must come down like rain. So Fire reach up an' as the shell blow he see rain coming down. So Fire has to go home. Water tell him say that Annancy tell him that you are going to fight Dry-grass, so I must come an' help to see if we can manage you. Fire say:--"A so! That fellah Annancy I going at his yard." So Fire walk at Annancy yard an' tell him:--"Brother Annancy I going to come an' see you next week." Annancy say:--"Yes, Bro'er Fire, with all pleasure." Fire tell him that he must put all his clothes a door to make him find out the yard for I don't want to lost the way. So Fire gone. Annancy wife said:--"Me husband, send go stop Fire from come a you place." Annancy say:--"No, me wife, a me best frien' so him have free come." Just before the time Fire was appoint to come, Annancy go to Brother Tiger, an' as him walk into the house he saw some clothes. An' he pick up the clothes an' say:--"See, Bro'er Tiger, how you clothes damp, you must have fe put dem a sun." So Tiger hang out all his clothes on a line before the door mout'. An' presently Fire was coming like a lion bringing Breeze with him. When Fire see all the clothes he say to Breeze:--"See that fellah Annancy yard." So Breeze blow harder an' come with a speed. An' Fire make a jump till he nearly got to the yard. Tiger hear the speed Fire was coming, call to him:--"Turn back, you red-face fellah, me no want you company." Fire was coming down more and more. Tiger bawl fe Fire a stop, but Fire coming for the better. So Fire get in the yard an' burn all Tiger clothes an' house, an' turn right home back. Annancy laugh, an' sing:-- [Music: Me wife say me no fe invite Fire, Brether Fire bring Breeze oh! Fire de 'pon lan' Fire, Fire de 'pon lan' Fire. He burn up all Tiger yard, ha ha! Brether Fire an' Breeze oh! Fire de 'pon lan' Fire, Fire de 'pon lan' Fire.] _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTE. The shell looks like a very small cowhorn and gives a similar sound when blown. It is used as a signal for a variety of purposes. It summons to work and marks the hour of release. When a train of mules is nearing a sharp turn in the road, the head muleman blows a fanfare to give warning of his approach. The shell is in fact to the mule-track what the whistle is to the railroad. Imitation shells are sometimes made of bamboo. It was perhaps one of these that Annancy made. XLIII. JOHN CROW. One day there was a lady who have but only one daughter, an' Mr. Tacoma hear about the gal an' he went to court the gal. An' when Tacoma go the gal wouldn' receive Tacoma. An' the mother was really vex. As the mother being a old lady, when Tacoma going Tacoma carry a brass mortar to made it a present to the old lady to beat her fee-fee. An' when the old lady see the brass mortar he really want the mortar. But Tacoma said to her if him don't get the gal he not going to leave the mortar. An' the gal 'treat away himself inside the room an' hide. An' Tacoma feel very sorry an' he return home back. When he goes home he tell Annancy about the gal, an' Annancy get a concentina he going to carry down make a present to the gal. An' Annancy say if the gal can only take the concentina from him the gal must be his wife. An' when Annancy go down Annancy was playing. The gal wouldn' receive Annancy in. An' when the mumma hear, the music was so sweet she commence to dance; an' said to the daughter, this is the son-in-law him want, for he can get him own dance any time him ready. Not for all Mr. Annancy playing the gal wouldn' receive Annancy, until Annancy has to go home back. When that ugly fellah Mr. John Crow hear it he study between himself an' get a carriage with his pair of horses an' his coachman, an' the carpet in the carriage was a gold carpet. An' John Crow said between himself when him put on him watch an' chain an' his coat an' shoes, if him don't bring that gal home believe him no Mr. Goldman. An' John Crow drive away. An' when him get to a distant to a look-out, the gal was at his window sitting down, an' as him look, him see Mr. Goldman was driving coming. An' him holloa to him mumma:--"Mumma, mumma, my dear love is coming." An' as John Crow reach the yard the gal was out an' sling Mr. Goldman out the carriage an' escort him right into the house. An' after John Crow introduce himself to the gal that his name is Mr. Goldman. An' when John Crow tell the gal so, the gal have a old-witch brother an' says to his sister that that man is John Crow. An' the gal get vex an' say:--"Oh no, don't use a word like that; it is my dear Mr. Goldman." An' when the mumma come the gal introduce him to Mr. Goldman, an' tell him that his dear love just come now. An' Mr. Goldman fix a time when to come back an' get married, and the mother was agree, an' the gal was very glad too. An', when they settle that, John Crow drive back to his yard. An' when he is coming back the next night he brought a old-witch boy with him an' hide him half part of the road near the yard, an' tell him that as he see day clearing, he must call him that he may got home before day clear. An' he reach the yard an' spend the night in a very joyful dance. So it getting near day an' the boy sing:-- [Music: Mister Goldman oh! Goldman oh! Day da clean oh!] An' when the boy sing out the people them inside the house hear. An' when they hear they say:--"Stop! Stop! Stop! some one is calling Mr. Goldman." An' the dance so sweet Mr. Goldman he wouldn' stop to listen. He only says:--"Oh don't listen to that foolish boy." An' when him use the word him one in the ring wheeling all the gal them. An' that time him hear a sing:-- [Music: Poor mirrybimbim ribbimbybimbim, Goldman a wheel him gal, Goldman a wheel dem.] An' when him wheel all the gal him look outside the door an' see that day catch him; so him cry excuse an' went up'tairs. An' when he go up he take a piece of meat an' look for a broken sash an' 'queeze himself t'rough. An' as him go t'rough, the sash 'crape off the whole of him back head, an' from that day every John Crow born with a peel head. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =fee-fee=, food. ='treat away himself=, retreats, retires. =concentina=, always with this =n=. =him ready=, she is ready for it, wants it. =a look-out=, a place visible from the house. =sling=, hand, with a notion of vigorous action. =an' says=, who says. =a word=, often a sentence of several words. =tell him=, tell her mother. =sweet=, pleased. =when him use the word=, as he said this. =excuse=, to be excused; pronounce the =s= like =z=. John Crow is the vulture-like scavenger bird of Jamaica, and has a peeled (bald) head. XLIV. TIGER'S DEATH. One day Mr. Annancy an' Monkey made a bargain to kill Tiger, an' they didn' know how to make the confusion for Tiger was Monkey godfather. An' being Monkey have more strength than Annancy, Annancy try to keep close Monkey an' wouldn' leave Monkey company at all by he afraid for Tiger. Until one day Annancy went to river an' catch some fish, an' send an' call Brother Monkey to come an' help him enjoy the fish. An' when the breakfast ready, instead of Mr. Monkey come, it was that cravin' man Mr. Tiger who Annancy really hate, an' to every piece of the fish Annancy take up to put in his mouth, Tiger take away every bit an' never cease till him finish the whole. An' when Mr. Annancy friend who he invite come, there was none of the fish to give him. An' as Monkey being love fish he began to cuss his godfather Tiger. An' that time Puss was passing when the confusion occurred. An' they go on an' go on till Puss laugh. An' as Puss laugh Tiger get worser vex an' begun to cuss Puss, an' Puss said to Monkey:--"Come, make we beat him off to deat'." An' Monkey wasn' agree to beat his godfather, but Annancy an' Puss force him. An' Tiger get cross begun to lick, an' the first man him lick was his godson. An' then as him lick him godson Puss catch a fire 'tick, an' Annancy catch up a mortar 'tick, an' they never cease murder Tiger till they kill him. An' they 'kin Tiger an' just going to share. An' there comes a singing from the tree:-- [Music: You long-tail Mister Monkey, Give me piece of de liver, a no you one tummy fe full. A message me bring fe Tiger say buryin' dé a yard; a whé fe do, a whé fe do oh! Tiger dead already.] An' all the look Monkey an' Annancy look, they never find the person that was singing. So they salt Tiger. Then Peafowl come down in the yard say:--"Good evening Mr. Annancy an' Mr. Monkey, I am very hungry. I was on a long journey bring a message to Tiger that him wife dead, but Tiger dead already." So the whole of them stop an' eat of Tiger. Peafowl never go back with no answer to report, for Puss an' Monkey an' Annancy give Peafowl gold not to talk that they kill Tiger. So Peafowl never can be a poor man for he keep the t'ree friend secret. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =confusion=, quarrel, which was to be made the pretext for killing Tiger. =whé fe do=, what to do? what is to be done? To this question the implied answer is "Nothing." So the phrase means:--"It can't be helped." XLV. THE OLD LADY AND THE JAR. A old lady have two son, one name Dory Dunn an' one name Tumpa Toe, an' Tumpa Toe an' Dory Dunn is a hunter-man. Well, they give them mumma enough things an' say:--"Mumma, I am going a wood, don' interfere with that Jar in my room." When them gone old lady say:--"I wonder what my son have in that Jar say me no fe touch." Old lady go an' shub him hand inside in the Jar. The Jar hold old lady. Old Lady say:-- [Music: Tumpa Toe, Lord! Dory Dunn oh, Lord!] An' the Jar say:-- [Music: Mumma longubelo, tum tullalullalum tum.] An' the Jar fire him from the room to the hall. An' when him reach to the hall him say:-- "Tumpa Toe, Lord! Dory Dunn oh, Lord!" Jar say:-- "Mumma longubelo Tum tullalullalum tum." An' all this time the Jar holding him by the hand an' can't let him go. An' the Jar t'row him outside a door. When him get out a door old lady say:-- "Tumpa Toe, Lord! Dory Dunn oh, Lord!" Jar say:-- "Mumma longubelo Tum tullalullalum tum." Jar hold him 'till. Jar fire him to seaside now. An' he got one daughter a seaside. The daughter say:-- [Music: Do my Jar, Do my Jar, will you save, will you save my mother life!] Jar say:-- [Music: Old lady touch me, old lady touch me, you never will see him no more.] The daughter say:-- [Music: Do my Jar, Do my Jar! I will give you some silver fe save my mother life.] Jar say:-- [Music: No, my gal, No, my gal, I got silver already; You never will see him no more.] The Jar fire him in a sea. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =Tumpa=, stump. A man who has lost his arm is called a tumpa-hand man. =enough things=, plenty of things to eat. In these curiously simple tunes, if tunes they can be called, it is most important to mark the time and to pay great attention to the lengths of the notes. To hear them sing, or rather say, "Lord!" is the most laughable thing. The first one begins on a note rather below the =C= of =Toe=, and slides downwards ending with an expiring grunt on a very low note of the voice. The second one is done in the same way, but is, all the way through, a little lower than the first. The point is to let the breath go with the sliding note instead of holding it as in singing. =longubelo.= The first syllable is pronounced as in English, and the rest of the vowels are Italian, the =e= being rather more narrowed, but never quite reaching to the sound of =bale=. =tum tullalullalum tum.= Strong accent on the =tull= and clean neatly cut syllables. Italian vowels. =mumma.= The =u= between Italian =u= and Italian =o=. =fire him=, throws her. Yet not quite "throws," for the Jar never lets her hand go. =Fire 'tone= is the usual expression for throwing stones. The Jar fires her first from the bedroom to the living-room (hall), next from the hall to the yard, then from the yard to the seaside, and all the time it holds her by the hand. XLVI. JOHN CROW AND FOWL-HAWK. One day Fowl-hawk go to John Crow yard an' tell him that him fe come have a walk with me to a country for something promise there to me. "One day I go out an' in my way I pass a river. As I come to the river I meet Fowl. Him ask me to help him up, an' the baby any time him born I must come for it. Well my dear sir, the baby born; an' when I go, Fowl say him never make a promise with me. Look you, sir, if you see the picny, nice fresh fe we mouth, an' a no the one, but him hab more. So you will get a good bag of fresh, but the country danger home." John Crow say:--"Me yerry dat place hab bad name, me no want go." Hawk say:--"You too fool, we a man! we'll get 'way, me son, if them want to catch we. When me go dé the first time me go slam in a Fowl yard. Me an' him stay a whole day a quarrel, an' me no dead. Come, me good friend, make we go." Them start. Them fly an' fly till them get over the country. Hawk say:--"Brother John, we get over the place. Look down yonder, look fresh!" John Crow say:--"Me no go down dé." Hawk say:--"A so! you too fool! Come make we go down little more." Them go down till them pitch on a tree. Hawk say:--"Brother, you see them better. I da go sing make them know say me a come." John Crow say:--"If them yerry you, dem no will kill we!" "No, all time me go down me an' Fowl a good friend, no mo' the little quarrel we have." Hawk call out:--"See me ya me da come, me da come to the bargain, me da come, come; twillinky twing ping ya, me da come." Fowl hear, tell him picny dem fe go hide. So Dog was a gunner man, an' him an' Fowl a good friend, for Fowl always give him good treatment. So Fowl go an' tell Dog say:--"Danger! hawk a come fe me daughter, so me a beg you fe come a yard an' shot him fe me when him come." Dog come, an' him an' Fowl hide. Hawk said to John Crow:--"Come make we go down." John Crow say "No." Hawk say:--"Hungry will burn you back." John Crow say:--"Me no trust, me wi' wait 'pon God leisure." Hawk say:--"All time you wait 'pon God fe give you you will never get; no see me a man no wait 'pon no man? Me go look what me know me want, but me if I get anyt'ing I never give you little piece self, you foolish fellow you! I gone." Hawk start the singing again going down:--"See me ya, me da come, twillinky twing ping ya." By Hawk get down Dog hit him _bam_. Hawk dead. John Crow laugh "Ha ha! let me pull me rusty bosom shirt an' put on me gown an' go down to see what do that fellah." John Crow go down. As him get on Fowl-hawk find that him was dead him say:--"Tank God, ha, ha!" John Crow dig out the two eye and say:--"A this eye the fellah take a see," an' put it in his pocket an' turn on eating. Dog look, an' say to Fowl:--"You finish with that one, so, sister, any time them come you send an' call me. I can't stop, I am very vex. I send out my son yesterday an' Puss meet him on the road an' beat him an' take 'way the money that I give him to give Brother Monkey. Him tell me son say him have a old grudge fe me an' him can't get to beat me, so him will beat all me picny. So, sister, I ha da go home, will be blue fire when I catch Puss." When Dog go to Puss yard an' call him, Dog ask Puss for a drink of water an' a piece of fire. Puss say:--"Go 'way from me gate, I know whé you come about." Dog say:--"Ah, me man, will be blue fire!" Puss gate was lock, for Puss have company the day. This company was Rabbit. Dog say:--"I want to see you." Puss say:--"Go 'way I tell you, you mout' long like a devil fork." Dog broke the gate an' go in. Puss lock up his house, an' stay inside an' cuss Dog till Dog has to go home. An' Monkey say him will get the money from Puss for them is good friend. So Dog go home to his yard an' have a hatred for Puss till death. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =help him up=, with his head-load. =fresh=, fresh meat. =a no the one, etc.=, he has not only one, he has several. =danger home=, is very dangerous. =over the country=, over the place. =see me ya, etc.=, see me here, I am coming. =twillingky twing ping ya=, a good imitation of the Hawk's vengeful shriek. Strong accent on the =ya=. =bam=, French =a=, English =m=, imitating the discharge of the gun. =what do that fellah=, what has befallen that fellow. XLVII. FINGER QUASHY. One day Dog invite four Puss to dinner. They were good friend. One of the Puss name was Tatafelo, one name Finger Quashy, one name Jack-no-me-touch. The last one was Tumpy John because he has no tail. When them come, all the Puss was in long coat an' burn-pan hat. Dog was in trousies an' shirt. An' Dog tell them all howdy very friendly, for he didn' know what Finger Quashy doing him. An' Finger Quashy quite glad fe see how Dog look friendly an' please, an' didn' have no t'ought that him was tiefing fe him pear. So the whole of them sit down, Dog making a complain to them that, so he get a pear an put it to ripe, by the time he ready for it him don't see none. An' Finger Quashy was doing it. An' Finger Quashy jump up tell Dog:--"Mr. Dog, me no tell you all time say you want one watchman? a da' fellow Ratta a tief you pear. Last night me dream say me see you put me fe watchman an' me catch the fellah, so you better put me fe guard you house from that tiefing Mr. Ratta." Dog was quite agree. Dog said:--"After dinner I will tell you better." Quashy said "Yes." So Dog lef' them gone to get dinner. By Dog gone, Quashy come out of the house, go into Dog buttery, see two green pear, take them out go hide them. Ratta see him go over the kitchen cry out:--"Why, why, why! Quashy take you pear; you no yerry? Quashy take ahm gone." By Dog get in the house Quashy was in already sitting down look quite meek an' christianable. Dog lef' them go see if his pear was there. When he go there was none, an' Dog don't like nothing as his pear an' bone, an' he get vex, take all the dinner t'row it 'way, go in the house take down his 'tick. By the time Dog fe lick one of the Puss everybody was on a tree on the far side of Dog yard. Dog swear all sort of bad word fe the one that take him green pear. Everybody say:--"Thank God me no eat green pear." Finger Quashy said:--"Lard! what a man fe swear!" Dog see that he couldn' manage to catch Puss, leave and go away. An' as Dog turn round, his son playing with fire burn his house an' all his clothes. From that day Dog hate Puss till now, for it is Puss cause him to have one suit till him dead. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =Tatafelo=, Italian =a=, the other vowels English. =Pear=, _i.e._ the West Indian pear, a delicious vegetable. =tell you better=, make the final arrangement. =Why, why, why!= squeaked like a rat. =by the time Dog fe lick=, as Dog was going to strike. =everybody=, used also of inanimate objects. They say:--"I going to water cabbage, tomato, everybody." =T'ank God, etc.=, a favourite form of exculpation, which, however, does not necessarily imply innocence. XLVIII. ANNANCY AND HIS FISH-POT. One day Brother Annancy always set him fish-pot in a river ober a fallin' fe catch jonga. Tacoma usual to go an' knock it. An' Annancy set watch into a river corner, an' Tacoma come fe knock it; he didn' know Brother Annancy hide there fe watchin' him. As Tacoma go over de fish-pot Brother Annancy chuck him down, an' Tacoma catch in de fish-pot. Annancy go beg Brother Rabbit say:--"Bro'er Yabbit, me fish-pot catch a big fish, come an' help me knock it, me one can't manage it, Bro'er Yabbit." Brother Annancy an' Brother Rabbit went to the river. Annancy say:--"Bro'er Yabbit, me feel me tummy hurt me dis marnin', no able fe put me foot in de cold water, see if you one can manage fe take out de fish-pot." Brother Rabbit go an' take it out till he nearly make shore with the fish-pot. Annancy say:--"Bery well, you kill Brother Tacoma! Bery well, you kill Brother Tacoma!" Then Brother Rabbit commence to cry now, an' the frettenation in a Rabbit he say he kill somebody an' he know they going to hang him, an' next day Rabbit dead. Then the case didn' try again. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =fish-pot=, made of bamboo strips and looking like a lobster-pot. =jonga=, the smallest of the three kinds of crawfish which abound in the streams and rivers of Jamaica. =knock=, empty. =tummy=; a less pretty word is really used. Annancy squeaks his words more than usual here. =Bery well, etc.=, in 6/8 rhythm [Music] and he claps his hands to the measure twice in the bar. =frettenation=, probably fright, but may have something to do with fretting. Owing to Rabbit's fright, he says that he has killed a man. Rabbit, through fright, says that he has killed a man. These elliptical expressions are hard to understand until one has heard them often. =try again=, try after all. XLIX. HOG AND DOG. One day Hog was going out to look work, an' Hog name was Cuddy. An' he got out an' walk all about an' couldn' get no work. An' when he come home Ratta employ him to keep watch for him when Broder Puss is coming. An' Hog ask Rat how much is his pay. An' Rat tell him that he will give him t'ree an' sixpence a week but he must find himself every t'ing to eat an' drink. An' Hog didn' agree. But as the time being so hard he says he will bear with Ratta till the week out. An' when the week done Ratta pay Hog, an' Ratta t'ought that Hog was still keeping watch for him. So Ratta go out, an' when he come back he didn' fin' Hog. An' him say:--Wasn' God, Puss would broke in on him. An' him cuss Hog that Hog would walk an' never get no work, an' some which worse than Hog will laugh after him. An' Hog start one morning to look work. What that fellah Mr. Dog done Hog. As he, being a market-keeper, he set down at the market gate an' see Hog was passing, an' he ask Hog where he is going. Hog tell him that he is going to look a little work. Same time Dog burst out a laugh. An' as he burst out a laugh he ask Hog t'ought he was working with Ratta. An' Hog feel so shame to himself till he wouldn' answer Dog. An' Dog laugh after Hog with this sing:-- [Music: Time get so hard Hog an' all a look work, Dog sit down a market gate an' go laugh at a Hog distress; me rarabum Cuddy dé da door, me rarabum Cuddy dé da door, me rarabum Cuddy dé da door.] An' Dog sing an' sing an' sing till Hog get vex an' come home back. An' from that day that's why Hog must always hate Dog until now. _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =Cuddy=, short for Cordelia. =wasn' God=, if it wasn't for God. =rarabum=, nonsense word, Italian vowels. =dé da door=, is at door, is out of doors. L. DEVIL AND THE PRINCESS. Once a King has a daughter, an' that gal was a pet to her father. So one day a Prince come to ask for her. The father love the young man, but the gal say:--"Puppa, me don't like him." So the father promise her that anybody she see she like he will agree to it. So one night a good friend of the King made a dance an' invite the young Princess to the ball. This man who made the dance invite all classes of people. So he invite Devil too, but they don't know that it was Devil. When all the guests come everybody give their name. Devil give his name Mr. Winkler. So the ball commenced. Devil see the gal. He went an' ask her if she wish to dance with him. The gal was so glad say:--"Yes, sir, for I love you the most." When they dance till daylight the gal don't want to lef' Devil. She say to Devil:--"Come have a walk home with me." Devil say:--"Yes, I would go, but I am a man have such a great business, I has to go home very soon to seek after it." The gal say:--"Come go home with me you will get me to marry, for my father is a King." An' as Devil hear about marry he go home with the gal. When she get to the house she call to her father:--"Puppa, here come my lover, I have found him at last." So the servant-boy was an old-witch, said:--"Young mistress, you know that man is Devil?" The gal get vex, begin to cry. She go to her father crying, tell him "the servant-boy cuss me most shameful." The father get upstarted, come out to the boy, don't ask the boy nothing, catch the boy an' put him in prison. They take Mr Winkler in the palace, an' the father fix up an' they get marry. After Mr. Winkler get marry he said:--"I am ready to go." The King say:--"No, I can't send away my one daughter. You must stay and I will make you a King too." Mr. Winkler say "No." During this time they don't know that it was Devil, for when the boy tell them they get vex. Devil marry ten time an' he eat all his wife, so he was going to eat this Princess too. So, as he was so anxious to go, the gal have to go with him. When they ready to start the father give them a long bag full with money. Devil get a boatman an' they start. They sail four days before they get to their home. When the gal get there she go meet a old lady in the house. This lady was Devil cook. As he got in he said to the cook:--"I have got a good fat meat for the party." So Devil go an' lock up the gal in a bar, an' lef' the old lady to watch if the gal is going to get 'way. He lef' a Cock that any time the old lady say that the gal get 'way he must call, an' him lef' a bag of corn to feed the Cock that he may keep good watch. The old lady say "Yes." Devil ready to start, order his t'ree-foot horse saddle, for he is going to invite his friend to come an' help him eat the gal. He start, deeble-a-bup, deeble-a-bup. As he get about a mile the old lady go in to the gal, take her out an' tell her that her husband is Devil an' he is going to eat you. The gal begin to cry. The old lady say:--"Don't cry, I love you an' I going to let you go, but the Cock is a watchman; he will see you, an' if he see you he will call for his master, but never min' I will try." The old lady get ten quart of the corn an' a gallon of rum, soak the corn in it for about a hour, an' after give it to the Cock. An' the Cock eat the whole evening till night, an', after him finish eat, him drop asleep. The old lady get a boatman an' pay him an' he take the gal over the sea. When day nearly light the Cock wake an' go to look if he see the gal through a hole. When he look the gal was gone. Him go to the cook an' ask. The lady said:--"Him gone, an' I was calling you an' you never wake." Then Cock sing out:-- [Music: Mister Winkler Winkler oh coocoorico the gal is gone. Awake me wake go look a hole the gal was gone.] Mr. Winkler hear an' was coming like lighten with his t'ree-foot horse, deeble-a-bup, deeble-a-bup. He call out:--"Me coming", deeble-a-bup, "Me coming", deeble-a-bup. At last he reach the yard an' see the gal gone. He get a canoe an' start after her, an' by next day light he see the gal boat was far away. He call out:--"Sairey dé 'pon sea, Sairey dé 'pon sea, come back darling, you husband dé come fe you." When the gal look he say:--"Shub ahead, boatman, do, to save me life!" An' by the time they get a land Devil was near them. An' the boatman shot off a piece of Devil canoe an' water get in, so Devil has to go home back. An' when the gal go home, tell her father what was her life, the father say:--"Don't marry again to nobody, not if even the King." An' the father take her in an' give her servant to look after her. _Jack Mantora me no choose any._ NOTES. =cuss=, abuse. It does not imply swearing. To swear is to =cuss bad word=. =in a bar=, a barred-up room. =deeble-a-bup=, the sound of the three-legged horse's step. Compare the itty-itty-hap of "Mr. Bluebeard." The Cook adopts Annancy's device in "Annancy and Screech-owl." =coocoorico.= The Cock's crow is excellent. The Negro is very clever in his imitation of animals. =a hole=, at the hole, through the hole. =canoe=, pronounced with accent on the first syllable and French =a=. LI. WHEELER. One day Puss was going out on a journey, an' he travel till he reach to a river mouth. An' as Puss being afraid for water he couldn' cross the river. An' Puss has to stop for two day an' one night, an' Puss climb a tree which hang over the water. An' Mr. Annancy was fishening. An' Annancy fishening till him come where Puss was, an' Puss didn' call to Annancy. An' same time Annancy meet up a licking 'tump a river side. Annancy lick, him lick, him lick, him lick outside till him sen' him han' inside. An' when Annancy shub him hand him feel something hold him. An' Annancy get very frighten an' pull fe get him hand out, an' him couldn' get 'way. An' Annancy ask the question:--"Who hold me?" An' a voice in a the 'tump said:--"Me, Wheeler." An' Annancy said to him must wheel him make him see. An' him wheel Mr. Annancy mile an' distant. An' when Annancy drop he didn' dead, an' he said:--"T'ank God! I met with a little accident, but I see it going to be a living for me an' me family." An' Mr. Annancy went home an' get some lovely iron peg, an' when him come he plant them in the river course to the very spot which him did drop. That time Puss seeing all what Mr Annancy is doing. Annancy leave, an' come where Wheeler is, an' keep himself very quiet, an' presently Peafowl was passing. An' Annancy call upon him say:--"Bro'er Peafowl, a living is here for me an' you." An' Peafowl ask him what is it. An' he take Peafowl an' carry him where Wheeler is, and he says:--"Bro'er Peafowl, you see that hole. As you hand is so long, don't be afraid, just shub you hand in there now an' you will find something grand." An' as Peafowl shub in him hand Wheeler hold him. An' Annancy tell him that he must pull. An' when him pull he couldn' get 'way. An' Mr. Annancy feel very proud an' happy till he laugh with joy in his heart. An' when him done laugh him tell Peafowl to say:--"Who hold me here?" An' Wheeler say:--"Me, Wheeler." Annancy tell him to say:--"Wheel me mile an' distant." An' him wheel Peafowl an' dash him on the iron peg, an' Mr. Annancy went an' pick him up an' put him in his bag. An' him went back to his old place a bush an' sat quiet. That time Puss was seeing all this. Ratta was passing, an' as Annancy see him Annancy said to him:--"I's all you deeshent man I like to see." An' Ratta ask him:--"What for?" An' Annancy say:--"Don't be afraid; a living is here for you an' me." An' he carry Ratta an' show him the 'tump. An' when him show Ratta, Ratta ask him if this is the living. Annancy say:--"No shub you han', man, in the hole, an' you will fin' a living." An' as Ratta shub him hand Wheeler hold him. An' Annancy tell him that he must pull. Him say he can't get 'way. Annancy tell him to ask:--"Who hold me?" "Me, Wheeler." Annancy tell him must say:--"Wheel me mile an' distant." An' he wheel Ratta an' dash him on the iron peg again. Annancy went an' pick him up an' put him in his bag, an' go back same place. After, Puss come down off the tree an' walk through the bush an' go down the river a little ways an' then turn up back, coming up very meek an' poorly. Annancy so glad to see Bro'er Puss him say:--"Walk up my bold friend Mr. Puss. Come an' see the living which is here for me an' you." An' Puss playing as to say that he didn' know nothing at all about it. An' Mr. Annancy begin to show Puss the 'tump, an' he tell Puss to shub him hand in the hole. When Annancy show Puss the hole, Puss say that him don' see it. Annancy get vex and say:--"Shub you han' you so, man! Shub you han' you so, man! There, there!" An' Puss put him hand another way, playing to say he don' see it. An' he go on, go on, till Annancy make a flourish with him own hand, an' Annancy hand slip in the hole an' Wheeler catch him. An' Annancy begin to cry as him know the danger which is down below. An' him cry out:--"Do, me good Bro'er Push, jus' run a river course; you will see some iron peg, pull them up for me." An' Puss begin fe walk in him sinnicky way, an' hide a bush where Annancy can't see. When Puss come, him say him pull them. Annancy wouldn' believe, an' crying still say:--"Bro'er Push, mus' go an' fetch one come make me see." Puss go, an' when him come back him come without it. Annancy ask him where is it. Him tell Annancy that it too heavy, an' him roll it 'way. An' Annancy, still crying, wouldn' believe. An' he begin to call Puss Godfather Push, an' beg him hard:--"Do, me good Godfather Push, just you jump pull dem." An' him go on, go on, till him believe Puss, an' him ask the question:--"Who hold me?" "Me, Wheeler." "Wheel me mile an' distant." An' Annancy fly by the air an' drop slam on his own trap. An' Puss walk down an' pick up Annancy, an' put him in the bag with Peafowl an' Ratta an' carry off all the living with a jolly song:-- [Music: Poor me little Cubba boy, barn day no Cubba? Me da go da Vaylum, barn day no Cubba?] _Jack Mantora me no choose none._ NOTES. =licking 'tump=, a tree stump with bees in it. The honey trickling out makes a licking-stump of it. =lick, him lick, him lick.= These words are run closely together, then a pause, and then =him lick outside=. Pause again, after which the sentence finishes. =wheel=, to cause to turn or spin. I have no clue to =Mr. Wheeler=. =mile an' distant=, to the distance of a mile. =I's all you, etc.=, it's all you decent men. =What for?= Ratta was suspicious of Annancy's flattery. =poorly=, poor in spirit, meek. =sinnicky=, sneaky. =Bro'er Push, must go=, you must go. =barn day no Cubba?= is not my born-day (birthday) Cubba. Children used to be named according to the day of the week on which they were born. Day. Boys. Girls. Sunday. Quashy. Quashiba. Monday. Cudjo. Jubba. Tuesday. Cubbenna. Cubba. Wednesday. Quaco. Memba. Thursday. Qua. Abba. Friday. Cuffy. Fibba. Saturday. Quamin. Beniba. According to this list, Cubba is a girl's name, but it is perhaps short for Cubbenna. =me da go da Vaylum=, I am going to Vaylum. PART II. DIGGING-SINGS. The Negroes when they get together never stop chattering and laughing. They have a keen sense of the ludicrous, and give a funny turn to their stories as they relate the common incidents of daily life. The doings of their neighbours form the chief topic of conversation here as in most places, and any local event of special importance is told over and over. Presently, after repeated telling, the story, or part of it, is set to one of their dance tunes, and tune and words henceforth belong to one another. This is the origin of the songs which follow. With the explanatory notes attached to them it is hoped that they will afford some insight into the peasant life of Jamaica. The tunes fall into two main divisions, "dancing-tunes" and "digging-sings," and besides the formal dances, whose steps are thoroughly known, there is an informal kind called "playing in de ring." It may be described as dancing mixed with horse-play. It was in this kind of romping that Parson Puss took part in the Annancy story (No. XXIX.), and perhaps it was hardly the thing for the cloth! Ring tunes begin anywhere and anyhow, and do not necessarily conform to the eight-bar rhythm of the more regular dance tunes. To the other class of songs belong the "digging-sings" used, together with rum, as an accompaniment to field labour. In March it is time to think of getting the land ready for planting. So, having rented a piece of hillside from a neighbour, if he has none of his own, the Jamaican begins to clear the ground. The biggest of the trees fall to the axe, and the brushwood, or bush, as it is called, is chopped down with the cutlass, a few rod-like saplings being left here and there to serve as supports for the yams, which will by and by climb them like hops. After a few days' exposure to the sun, he burns all the top and lop that lies on the ground, which is then ready for digging. He now calls in some of his friends to help him dig yam-hills--so the phrase runs. What they dig is, of course, holes, to begin with. The loose soil is then piled up into small mounds in which the yam heads will be placed. The object of the mound is to enable the proprietor to see easily at any time how the tuber is getting on, by just "gravelling" it with his hand. As the hills are being dug, the rum bottle circulates, and the digging-sings, which began quietly enough, get more and more lively. The Negro is cheery at all times, but when well primed with liquor he is hilarious. Nothing more joyous can be imagined than a good "digging-sing" from twenty throats, with the pickers--so they call their pickaxes--falling in regular beat. The pickers work faster and faster to the strains of a rousing "Oh, Samwel, oh!" or "The one shirt I have ratta cut ahm." One man starts or "raises" the tune and the others come in with the "bobbin," the short refrain of one or two words which does duty for chorus. The chief singer is usually the wag of the party, and his improvised sallies are greeted with laughter and an occasional "hi," which begins on a falsetto note and slides downwards, expressing amusement and delight very plainly. LII. Here is a specimen:-- [Music: Oh Miss Nancy Ray, Oh hurrah boys! Oh Miss Nancy Ray, Oh hurrah boys! Nancy Banana da broke man heart, Oh hurrah boys! Nancy Banana da broke man heart, Oh hurrah boys! Oh Miss Nancy Ray, Oh hurrah boys! Oh Miss Nancy Ray, Oh hurrah boys!] The bobbin is "Oh hurrah boys!" and a good swinging one it is. If the bobbin is well taken up each sing lasts for about five minutes, and the raiser of the tune prides himself on the number of "turnings" or slight variations he can give it. He also improvises words as he goes on. Such a sally as changing Miss Ray's name to Banana would be met with laughter when it was first heard. ("Da broke man heart" means "has broken a man's heart") LIII. The next example is a type of many of the sings. It turns on a piece of local gossip. The "at last" is significant and points to Catherine being an old offender. The proffered sympathy is hardly sincere. [Music: Ho biddybye, biddybye me yerry the talk biddybye, say Cat'rine gone a prison biddybye poor me Cat'rine oh biddybye Cat'rine gone at last biddybye.] Here is the story in plain English, "deep English" as the Negro calls it, not understanding it well:--"Oh by the bye I hear a report that Catherine has gone to prison. My poor Catherine!" (For "say" read "which says." "Biddybye" is the bobbin.) LIV. We come now to one which refers to labouring life:-- [Music: Tell Mister Linky me want go, hm! hm! oh Benjiman! Barrarap Barrarap Barrarap me Benjiman oh Benjiman!] The men are in the field watching the sun which is getting low. They begin to think the head-man, Mr. Linky, is forgetting how time goes. He should be giving the signal to "knock off work." So one of the gang, meaning Mr. Linky to hear, says to his neighbour:--"Benjamin, tell Mr. Linky I want to go." "Hm, hm!" with closed lips, means a great deal. It is a sort of good-natured remonstrance. Always _Benjiman_ for Benjamin and the _Barraraps_ culminate in a sharp final staccato _rap_. This has a longer bobbin "Oh Benjiman!" LV. The next might easily be mistaken for something of the same sort:-- [Music: Tell Mister Bell me go plant coco, Tell Mister Bell me go plant coco, Tell Mister Bell me go plant coco, fuppence a quart fe flour! Flour Flour Flour Flour! fuppence a quart fe flour!] Mr. Bell is, however, the keeper of a country shop. "Tell Mr. Bell I am going to plant cocoes. Threepence a quart for shop flour! No, it's too much expense." ("Too much expense" is a favourite phrase.) The accent which the music gives to the word _coco_ is not the right one. It should be on the first syllable. "Fuppence" is fivepence, but means threepence. This is the survival of an old coinage in which sixpence was called tenpence. The _u_ in "fuppence" is an Italian _u_ with a turn towards an open _o_. It sounds more like fourpence than fippence. "Plant coco" is the bobbin, but a gang who were inspired not to leave too much to the raiser of the tune, would take upon themselves to add "Fuppence a quart fe flour." ("Fe," sounded "fy," with short _y_ as in "very.") LVI. The next has again a well-defined bobbin in "nyam an' cry," and hereafter no reference will be made to this feature, which by now must be thoroughly understood. Where it appears to be wanting, the whole sing is sung in chorus. [Music: Bad homan oh! bad homan oh! nyam an' cry, me coco no ripe, nyam an' cry, me hafoo no ripe, nyam an' cry.] The man is "working his provision ground," and his wife is always saying she has not got enough to eat. She is a bad woman, who does nothing but "nyam an' cry," eat and call for more, and my cocoes are not ready to dig and my Afoo (Italian _a_, ahfoo) yam is not ready either. (There are as many different kinds of yams as there are of potatoes.) LVII. Continuing with subjects connected with field-work, we come now to a sing which must have originated in old slavery days, when ringing a bell was the signal for beginning and knocking-off work:-- [Music: Bell oh, Bell oh, Bell a ring a yard oh! oh Degay, Bell a ring a yard oh! Baboon roll de drum oh, Monkey rub de fiddle, oh Bell a ring a yard oh!] The bell is ringing up at the house, says one of the slaves to Degay the head-man, and we want our breakfast; and another, seeing Degay look cross at anybody presuming to make suggestions to him, tries to make him laugh with the piece of nonsense that follows. We shall meet with Degay or Deggy, for there is some doubt about his name, again. It will be thought that either the word Baboon is misplaced or the barring is wrong, but it is not so. The negro is careless of accent, as of many things. Here he likes to have it on the first syllable, which he lengthens to "bah." "Rubbing" a fiddle conveys the exact idea of the way they play it. Holding it not up to the chin but resting on the biceps, they rub a short bow backwards and forwards across the strings. If one of these is tuned it is considered quite satisfactory, and the rest make a sort of mild bagpipe accompaniment. Time is no object. ("Bell a ring" may mean either "The bell is ringing" or "The bell has rung." "A yard," in the yard. The immediate surroundings of the house are called the yard. They seldom speak of going to a friend's house. They say they are going to his yard.) LVIII. Breakfast is at twelve o'clock, and after a short rest work goes on again. A shower starts a new train of thought:-- [Music: The one shirt I have ratta cut ahm, Same place him patch ratta cut ahm, Rain, rain oh! Rain, rain oh! Rain, rain oh fall down an' wet me up.] "The rats have cut my only shirt with their teeth. I put in a patch and they bit it through again in the same place, so when the rain came down it made me very wet." (The broad "ahm" (for him, it), is more used now by the Coolies than the Negroes. "Ratta" is both singular and plural. When I first heard the word I thought it referred to a terrier. "Same place him patch"--in the same place where it was patched, just where it was patched.) LIX. The kindly sun comes out, the shirts are dry, and an amorous youth, with that absence of self-consciousness which is characteristic of the race, begins:-- [Music: Jessie cut him yoke suit me, Jessie cut him yoke suit me, So-so wahk him wahk suit me, Jessie cut him yoke suit me, oh suit me, oh suit me, oh suit me, Jessie cut him yoke suit me.] Broadly this means:--"all that Jessie does is right in my eyes. She dresses perfectly, but it is enough for me to see her walk to adore her. Jessie cuts her yoke"--technical term of modistes and tailors I am told--"to suit my taste." ("So-so walk him walk," is literally:--"the mere walk that she walks with suits me." They are fond of this repetition of a word, first as noun and then as verb. Thus they will say:--Me like the play him play:--It sweet me to see the dance him dance:--The talk him talk was foolishness:--The ride him ride, him boast about it.) LX. "Three acres of Coffee" which follows, is more interesting musically. [Music: T'ree acre of Cahffee, Four acre of bare lan', T'ree acre of Cahffee, Why you no come come ask fe me? Mumma ho me love the man, Mumma ho me love the man, Mumma ho me love the man, Why you no come come ask fe me?] The boy has been telling the girl of his worldly possessions, but has not made any offer of marriage. She is thinking it all over. "So you have got three acres of coffee and four acres of bare land, then why don't you come and ask for me?" "Bare" land is good land which has not yet been taken into cultivation. The first money a poor boy earns he spends in boots, which are the outward and visible sign of being well-to-do. They hurt him, "burn him" as he says, but no matter. Next he buys a piece of land. This is probably in bush, covered that is with the rough growth of grass, bushes and trees that so quickly springs up in the tropics. He clears and plants it piece by piece, as opportunity offers and inclination suggests. LXI. They are clever at inventing nonsense words to run easily off the tongue. For instance:-- [Music: Away, away oui oui Madame. I never see the sight of Robart, I never see the sight of F'edrick, Ding dogaraggaway, Ding dogaraggaway, Ding dogaraggaway, Ding dong.] ("Away" is clearly a corruption of _oui oui_.) LXII. They like to complain of their little ailments, as thus: [Music: Wednesday morning before day, Wednesday morning before day, Wednesday morning before day, me ma'am, me feel me head a hurt me.] If a man happens to hurt himself, he sends or brings the most exaggerated account of the accident. If it is a cut on the hand, he "nearly chop him hand off." If there is a trickle of blood, "the whole place running in blood." In my early days in Jamaica my boy Robert came rushing up with gestures expressing the utmost consternation, and gasped out "Rufus hang!" Rufus was the pony. "He dead?" I asked. "'Tiff dead!" was the reply. We were doing a piece of important planting in the garden, and I said "Well! as he's dead there's nothing to be done, and we'll go on with this job." Two or three hours later, to my surprise, I saw Robert carrying grass towards the stable. "What are you doing with the grass, Robert?" "It for Rufus." "But Rufus dead." "No! he don't dead again," which meant that he was still alive. When I went to see, I found him rather exhausted with his struggling--he had fallen on the hillside and got entangled in the rope--but not very bad, and by next day he had quite recovered. This kind of exaggeration enters into all their talk. Once, travelling in a tram-car, there was a slight accident. The car just touched the shaft of a passing carriage and broke it. One man said to his neighbour, "See dat? de buggy 'mash to pieces." "All gone to snuff," replied the other. LXIII. Here are two different versions of the same sing. The chord of the seventh held on by the voices sounds well. [Music: Oh Samwel oh! Oh Samwel oh! Oh Samwel oh! Oh Samwel oh! Samwel, the lie you tell 'pon me turn whole house a me door.] (They never tell lies _about_ people here, but always _upon_ people. "Turn whole house a me door," turns the whole house out of doors, upside down as we should say.) LXIV. [Music: Oh 'liza oh! Oh 'liza oh! Oh 'liza oh! Oh 'liza oh! 'liza 'pread you coat make I lie down dé under the Bushatahl.] "Coat" is petticoat. I am told that 'liza could take off a petticoat and still be quite properly dressed. "Make I lie down," etc., _i.e._, let me lie down under the Butcher's Stall. This is the name of a precipice just below my house. Horses have several times fallen over it and been killed. They then become butcher's meat for the John Crows, the vulture-like birds which are so useful as scavengers. LXV. We do not get many songs of the American plantation type like the following:-- [Music: Aunty Mary oh! Aunty Mary oh! Aunty Mary oh! Aunty Mary oh! Aunty Mary oh! Aunty Mary oh! Aunty Mary Thomas, O meet me a cross road.] (Cross roads are always a favourite place of meeting, and a rum shop is generally to be found there.) This is a monotonous form, and I am glad the musical bent of our people turns in another direction. LXVI. See how superior this truly Jamaican form is:-- [Music: Oh! me yerry news, me yerry, Oh! me yerry news, me yerry, Married homan a pull him ring me yerry Him put ahm a wine-glass me yerry Oh! me yerry news me yerry.] Local scandal again. "I hear news; a married woman has pulled off her wedding ring and put it in a wine-glass," the first convenient receptacle she saw. LXVII. It was some time before an explanation was forthcoming for the next: [Music: Jes' so me barn, jes' so me barn, you can weary long boot, jes' so me barn.] The words mean:--"I was born just so; you can wear long boots, boots that come high up the leg." A girl, who has not money enough to buy boots, is envious of a companion who is wearing them. She says:--"I was born, just as you were, poor. Yet you have got long boots, while I must put up with 'bulldogs,' rope-soled slippers. Where did you get the money to pay for your boots? Did you tief it, or what?" LXVIII. In the example that follows, a girl has been left to look after her little brother, and somebody reports that she has been "ill-treating," _i.e._ beating him. So the message is sent back:-- [Music: Tell Mary say, no do Johnny so. Oh! Tell Mary say, no do Johnny so.] "Tell Mary she is not to do Johnny so." "To do a person something" is to do them an injury. "He so crahss" (cross), a boy will say of his master, "and I done him nothing," or "I never do him one def ting," a single thing. "Def" is emphatic, but is not a "swear-word." "Say" is often added in places where it is not at all wanted. It occurs again in:-- LXIX. [Music: Me tell them gal a Portlan' Gap Min' Dallas man oh! me amber hé! me amber hé! me amber ho! tell them say.] "I tell the girls at Portland Gap 'Mind Dallas men.'" Portland Gap is in the Blue Mountains; Dallas in the Port Royal Mountains between the Blue Mountains and the sea. (The exclamatory "hé" has the Italian vowel, hard for some English ears to catch. It is nearly but not quite "hay.") The significance of "amber" is lost. This word occurs again in the pleasant flowing melody which stands next, and the boy who gave it me explained its meaning quite correctly, saying it "stood for yellow." LXX. [Music: Gold oh! Gold oh! Gold amber gold oh! Gold dé a me yard oh! Gold amber gold oh! Sell doubloon a joint oh! Gold amber gold oh! fe me gold a sunlight gold! Gold amber gold oh! fe me gold no copper gold! Gold amber gold oh!] "Gold is in my yard," perhaps buried, but also perhaps in the house, yard often including it. "My gold is sunlight gold, none of your rascally copper stuff." The doubloon is a large gold piece worth sixty-four shillings. It has long been out of use and few people in Jamaica have seen one. ("Fe me," for me, often does duty for "my." "This a fe me hoe," this is my hoe; "take fe you panicle," take your panicle, the tin mug out of which the morning sugar-water is drunk.) LXXI. No. 71, "Gee oh John Tom" is a brisk and vigorous sing till it gets to "a me lassie gone" where the little tinge of sadness is given by simple means, again the right thing in the right place, good art. [Music: Gee oh Mother Mac, Gee oh John Tom; Gee oh Mother Mac, Gee oh John Tom; a me lassie gone, Gee oh John Tom.] LXXII. Here is something very short:-- [Music: Oh Oh Leah married a Tuesday.] On asking if that was all, Levi, the contributor, said:--"It no have no more corner," it hasn't any more corners, or "turnings" as they generally say, what we call variations. Levi likes to cut everything short and rattle it through with lightning speed. He it was who gave me that little gem of an Annancy story about the rats and their trousers (No. XI.), and this is his:-- LXXIII. [Music: Cheer me oh! Cheer me oh! Cheer me oh! My will fight fe you.] LXXIV. In imitating animals the negro is clever. He moos like a cow, grunts like a pig, whinnies like a horse, besides the minor accomplishments of miauling and barking. Even trammelled by music this cock's crow is good:-- [Music: Me cock a crow coocoorico, before day him a crow coocoorico, him a crow fe me wake coocoorico.] (Sound the _i_ short as in rich.) LXXV. Now we come to a tragedy. Selina is drowned, and they sing smoothly and flowingly:-- [Music: Oh Selina! Oh Selina! John Crow de a river side a call fe Selina! Oh poor Selina! Duppy an' all a call fe Selina! Oh poor Selina.] Everybody in Jamaica believes in Duppy, and many women and children will not go out at night for fear of meeting one. A man, they say, has two spirits, one from God and the other not from God. The one from God is good, and the one not from God may be either good or bad. During sleep, these spirits leave the body and go to other people's houses in search of food. Being shadows themselves, they feed on the shadow of food and on the smell of food. They are seldom far apart, and the heavenly spirit can always prevent the earthly spirit from doing harm. At death the God-given spirit flies up upon a tree, and goes to heaven the third day. The other spirit remains on earth as Duppy. Its abiding place is the grave of the dead man, but it wanders about at night as it did when he was alive. A good Duppy will watch over and protect the living. A bad Duppy tries to frighten and harm people, which it is able to do now that it has lost the restraining influence of its former companion, the heavenly spirit. It can assume any sort of shape, appearing sometimes as a man, sometimes as an animal. If it is a very bad Duppy, it makes the place where it is unbearably hot. The Negro believes that he can put a bad Duppy upon another person.[48] He proceeds as follows:--Going to the grave at midnight, he scoops a small hollow in the ground and puts in some rice, sprinkling it with sugar-water, a mixture of water and moist cane-sugar. He then directs Duppy to visit the person whose name he mentions, and goes away without looking behind him. The person on whom Duppy is put becomes "tearing mad," and it requires a ten-pound fee to "take the shadow off." How to do this is the Obeah-man's secret. A Duppy of one's own family is worse than a stranger's, and the "baddest" of all is Coolie Duppy. One of the most dreaded Duppies is "Rolling (_i.e._ roaring) Calf." It goes about making a hideous noise, and clanking a chain. "If Rolling Calf catch you, give you one lick, you dead." Your only chance is to run, and you must keep on "cutting ten" (making the sign of the cross), and the pursuing monster has to go round that place ten times. "Shop-keeper and butcher," so goes local tradition, "tief too much (rob their customers very much) and when they dead they turn Rolling Calf." [Footnote 48: [Cf. Miss Kingsley, _The Fetish View of the Human Soul_, in _Folk-Lore_, vol. viii., p. 138; also R.E. Dennett, _Bavili Notes_, _ibid._, vol. xvi., p. 371.]] Those who are born with a caul can see Duppy. So can those who rub their faces with the rheum from the eye of a horse or dog, and those who cut their eyelashes. Every Duppy walks two feet above the ground, floating in the air. If a child is not christened before it is six months old, Duppy will carry it away into the bush. To avoid this, a Bible and pair of scissors are laid on the child's pillow. The scissors are a protection, owing to their cross-like form. Such are the main beliefs with regard to this remarkable superstition of Duppy on earth.[49] [Footnote 49: [See _Folk-Lore of the Negroes of Jamaica_, in _Folk-Lore_, vol. xv., pp. 87, 206, 450, and vol. xvi., p. 68.]] This, however, is not all. At the day of judgment the two spirits will be reunited to the body, and in many cases the God-given spirit will go to hell after all. I often ask my boys which of these three is themselves? Is it the body? Is it the heavenly spirit? Is it the earthly spirit? But they do not understand the question and have no sort of reply. When I ask if it is not hard that the heavenly spirit after its sojourn in heaven should go to hell, they laugh. LXXVI. Leaving the religious, we come now to, what Jamaica considers more important, the colour question:-- [Music: Sambo lady ho! Sambo, Sambo lady ho! Sambo, Sambo no like black man, Sambo, Sambo want white man, Sambo, Sambo no get white man, Sambo, Sambo no want man again, Sambo, Sambo lady oh! Sambo.] A Sambo is the child of a brown mother and a black father, brown being a cross between black and white. The Sambo lady, very proud of the strain of white in her blood, turns up her nose at the black man. She wants a white man for a husband. Failing to find one, she will not marry at all. LXXVII. "Oh John Thomas!" is a favourite digging-sing at Goatridge, twenty-two miles from Kingston:-- [Music: Oh! John Thomas, Oh! John Thomas, Oh! John Thomas, Oh! John Thomas, We all a combolow, John Thomas, Me go da 'leven mile, John Thomas, Me see one gal me love, John Thomas, Me court her all the way, John Thomas, Me come a Bangheson, John Thomas, Me buy one quattie bread, John Thomas, Me part it right in two, John Thomas, Me give her the biggest piece, John Thomas, and a warra more you want, John Thomas?] "Combolow" is comrade oh! "Da 'leven mile," to Eleven-miles, the halfway halting place between Goatridge and Kingston. When he gets to Bangheson's shop he buys a quattie (pronounce quotty, penny halfpenny, quarter of sixpence) loaf, and what more do you want, John Thomas? The quattie bread weighs eight ounces only. It is therefore a dear and much esteemed luxury. LXXVIII. Sambo, that we had just now, is the shortest of bobbins. Here we have a long one of four bars. [Music: Whé mumma dé? Whé mumma dé oh? Come go da 'tation, you see mumma dé; Him take half a day, him a work seven dollar, Come go da 'tation you see mumma dé.] Mamma has got into trouble, owing to a failing unhappily too common in Jamaica, inability to distinguish between what is mine and what is yours. Her pay for half a day was a "bit" (fourpence halfpenny) and she has managed to "work" (sarcastic use of the word, for it means to get by working) seven dollars--twenty-eight shillings--and has been taken to the police station. "Whé mumma dé," literally, "where mamma is?" This has been already noted as the usual form of question. The vowel in whé, dé, is the French _é_. We have the sound in English in the words, _debt_, _west_ and many others, but we always make it very short, and when it is lengthened, as it should be here, it generally changes in English mouths to the _a_ of _date_, _waste_, which is wrong. The C sharp on the word "dé" is peculiar and striking. The second "dé" stands for "there." LXXIX. There is something pleasantly simple and naïve about the planting-sing:-- [Music: Toady, Toady, min' you'self, min' you'self make I plant me corn; plant me corn fe go plant me peas, plant me peas fe go court me gal, court me gal fe go show mumma, mumma de one a go tell me yes, puppa de one a go tell me no; Toady, Toady, min' you'self, min' you'self make I plant me corn.] "Mind yourself, little Toad, let me plant my corn." So sings the boy as he brings down his digger with a forcible thrust. The digger has been described as an earth-chisel, and a very good description it is. It makes a long slit in the ground into which the maize grains or peas are dropped. Maize is always known as "corn." Peas, which are also called Red Peas, are the "beans" of America, familiar at home under the name of French beans. We eat them not only green in the usual way, but also make excellent soup of the dried ripe beans. The boy is thinking of the reward of his labour. "I am planting my corn. Some will be eaten green, some left to ripen. That will be sold. Then I shall buy peas, plant them, and when they are ready for market get sixpence a quart for them, if I am lucky. Then I shall be rich enough to walk with a girl. I shall pick out a nice one that mamma will approve of. She will be the one to say 'yes, me son,' but puppa always crabbed, and him going to tell me no bodder with it, gal too much expense." LXXX. When known details run dry, the following gives full play to the inventive faculty:-- [Music: Me know the man oh! know the man, Name John Watson, know the man; him come from Bread Lane, know the man; him ride one grey mule, know the man; the mule name Vic oh! know the man; him have one tumpa toe, know the man; him come a Mister Thomson, know the man, fe go sell him grey mule, know the man; he no make no sale oh! know the man, me know the man, know the man.[50]] [Footnote 50: "The" always tends to the pronunciation "de," but it has not been thought advisable to write it so as this might render it liable to confusion with "dé," meaning "is," with its differently sounded vowel. Moreover, it is not quite a true _d_, but has a pretty lisping sound intermediate between _th_ and _d_.] Other bars of this air have an inclination to 2/4 time besides those indicated. It will be observed that repeat marks have only been put to the first sing. It was not considered necessary to continue them. The various "turnings" of the tunes may be put in any order. The negroes themselves never put them twice in the same sequence. LXXXI. [Music: Minnie, Minnie, me los' me boar; Minnie, Minnie, me los' me boar; Minnie, Minnie, him a broke-foot boar; Minnie, Minnie, me los' me boar; Minnie, Minnie, and a blind-eye boar; Minnie, Minnie, go find you boar, Minnie, Minnie.] "I have lost my boar, Minnie. He's a broken-legged boar and has got a blind eye," and so on through all the defects or excellences that a boar might, could, should or would have. There could not be a greater contrast to this sombre "Minnie" than the gay:-- LXXXII. [Music: You want to yerry Duppy talk oh! Come go da river before day, an' you will yerry them laugh oh! Come go da river before day; You want to yerry Duppy talk oh! Come go da river before day.] "If you want to hear Duppy talk, go to the river before day." LXXXIII. Now the colour question crops up again. The Sambo lady, it may be remembered, wanted a white man and nothing but a white man. Sarah can do with a Sambo man, from which we may infer that Sarah was black. [Music: Oh me know Sarah, me know Sarah; Sarah love white man, me know Sarah; Sarah want Sambo man, me know Sarah; Sarah no want black man, me know Sarah.] LXXXIV. The pickers fall with slashing strokes to:-- [Music: Me donkey want water, rub him down Joe, rub him down Joe, rub him down Joe; Me donkey like a peeny, rub him down Joe, rub him down Joe, Joe, rub him down Joe; Me Jackass gone a pound, bring him come Joe, bring him come Joe, bring him come Joe; Me donkey full of capers, rub him down Joe, rub him down Joe, Joe, rub him down Joe.] "Peeny" is the Candlefly, which shines like my donkey's coat. "Bring come" for "bring" is very common, and in the same way they say "carry go," the "come" and "go" indicating the direction of motion. LXXXV. "Bring dem come" is the title of the next sing. It is in a curious minor mode, almost F minor, but wanting the leading note, which is replaced by E flat. [Music: A Somerset me barn, bring dem come, bring dem make me batter dem, bring dem come, me would take me picker batter dem, bring dem come. A Woburn Lawn me barn, bring dem come, I will like to see dem batter me, bring dem come, A Goatridge me barn, bring dem come, I want to see dem jostle me, bring dem come.] This is a digging contest. The Somerset men challenge their neighbours. Whoever digs most yam-hills in a given time is to be the winner. Every man is confident that he will hold out longer than every other, and boasts like Goliath. "I was born at Somerset; bring the strangers, bring them, let me beat them; I will take my pickaxe and beat them--I was born at Woburn Lawn; I should like to see them beat me." Honour and glory is the sole reward, but that counts for a great deal. It is so gratifying to hear the others say "Lah! that man dig hill, ya." ("Jostle" has the same meaning as "batter." When two ponies race, the riders try to jostle and foul each other.) LXXXVI. The next is really a woodcutter's sing, but it is used also for digging:-- [Music: Timber lay down 'pon pit, Timber; cut 'im make we go 'way, Timber; me want go 'way ya soon, Timber; timber lay down 'pon pit, Timber; timber, timber oh! Timber; me wanty go 'way ya soon, Timber; me want go home back a yard, Timber; a cedar timber oh! Timber; lash the saw make we go home, Timber; timber lay down 'pon pit, Timber.] "Lie down on the pit, timber. Cut it, and let us go away. I want to go away soon, do you hear? Drive (lash) the saw hard." The pit is not really a pit. The sawing is done where the tree falls. A rough scaffolding is made and the log is rolled up to lie on the top of it. The bottom sawyer stands upon the ground. The West Indian cedar is not a fir but a deciduous tree (_Cedrela odorata_), which looks like a hickory or walnut. It grows in the hills, and its lightness and durability make it very useful. Most people know it in the shape of cigar-boxes. The rest bars are sort of pauses for breath. It will be seen that they break the rhythm. Throwing the accent on "go," in "go 'way," is characteristic. We should put it on "'way." LXXXVII. Listen how restless and unfinished this sounds:-- [Music: Me want go home a yard oh! me want go home a yard oh! me want go home a yard oh! me want go home a yard oh! a Guava Ridge me barn oh! me want go home a yard oh! mumma me want come home oh! me want go home a yard oh! poor me boy me want go home, me want go home a yard oh! Teacher Bailey crahss 'pon me, me want go home a yard oh!] LXXXVIII. The last example refers to the rebellion of 1865. Several whites were murdered, and the survivors are of opinion that their lives were saved by the prompt action of Governor Eyre, who proclaimed martial law and restored order by severe measures:-- [Music: War down a Monkland, war down a Morant Bay, war down a Chiggerfoot, the Queen never know. War, war, war oh! War oh! heavy war oh! Soldiers from Newcastle come down a Monkland with gun an' sword fe kill sinner oh! War, war, war oh! War oh! heavy war oh!] The places mentioned are in the parish (corresponding to English county), of St. Thomas, except Newcastle, the hill cantonment of the white troops, which is in the next parish of St. Andrew. "Chiggerfoot" takes its name from the chigoe, chigger, or jigger, the minute flea which burrows into the foot. It is interesting to see that this contemporary comment by the blacks describes the rebels as sinners. Further on, No. CXXXVII., will be found another view, in which they pose as aggrieved persons. It shows that there was a loyal as well as a disloyal party. The reader has now had enough examples of digging-sings to show their nature and variety. The Negro is never at a loss for words, and the masters and overseers of the estate on which he generally labours, Bushas as he calls them--a word said to be derived from Pasha--are often satirised. The gangs on private estates are under a head-man, who is responsible to the Busha. The Busha is a white or coloured man as a rule--coloured in Jamaica meaning mixed white and black--and he is responsible to the master or owner. The workers have to be carefully looked after, for like other people the Negro will not do more work than he can help. Only when he is working for himself will he "let out," as he describes it, the whole of his splendid strength. It is a mistake to suppose that the black man is either stupid or lazy. When he has an incentive to work he is industrious, and will do as much in one day in his own field as he will in two for an employer who pays him. In selecting land for planting his sagacity is remarkable, and he knows just where it will "come," as he says, guinea yam or white yam, and where coffee will succeed and where fail. It is a pleasure to see their provision-grounds, the miscellaneous crop looks so thriving. "Provisions" embrace all eatables, such as yam, sweet potato, coco (_colocasia_), sugar cane, beans of various kinds, maize (or simply "corn," as we call it, having no other), okra (_hibiscus esculentus_), cassada (_manihot utilissima_), plantain, banana, arrowroot, pindar (_arachis hypogoea_, a ground-nut), pumpkin, tomato and cabbage. PART III. RING TUNES. That informal kind of dancing, referred to in some of the Annancy stories, known as "playing in the ring" or "Sally Water" has its origin in English children's games. Sometimes it is merely a case of hunting the slipper or of finding a key passed from hand to hand, but more often what begins in playing ends in dancing. The nature of this playing in the ring will be best understood from examples. LXXXIX. First, as giving its name to the whole, must stand:-- [Music: Little Sally Water sprinkle in the saucer; Rise, Sally, rise an' wipe your weeping eyes. Sally turn to the East, Sally turn to the West, Sally turn to the very one you like the best. On the carpet you must be happy as the grass-bird on the tree, Rise an' stand up on your leg an' choose the one that you like the best. Now you married I give you joy, first a gal an' second a boy; Seven year after, seven year to come, give her a kiss an' send her out.] The boys and girls join hands and form a ring. One--the sex is immaterial--crouches in the middle and personates Sally Water. At the words "Rise, Sally, rise," he or she slowly rises to an erect position, brushing away imaginary tears, turns first one way and then another, and chooses a partner out of the ring. Where the _tempo_ changes, they wheel--a rapid turning dance--and after the wheeling, the partner is left inside the ring and becomes Sally Water.[51] [Footnote 51: For a discussion of this game, perhaps the best-known and most widely-spread of all English singing games, see A.B. Gomme, _Traditional Games_, vol. ii., p. 149.] XC. Another form of this Ring tune is:-- [Music: Poor little Zeddy they put him in the corner! Rise, Zeddy, rise an' wipe your weeping eyes; Zeddy, turn to the East; Zeddy, turn to the West; Zeddy, turn to the very one you like the best.] XCI. The negro is a born actor, and to give emphasis to his words by appropriate gestures comes naturally to him. The little comedy which follows suits him to perfection:-- [Music: Whé me lover dé? Seemya, seemya. Me lover gone a sea? Seemya, seemya. Me no see me lover ya. Seemya, seemya. Him gone a Colon bay. Seemya, seemya. Go fin' you lover now. Seemya, seemya. No make no 'tupid dé. Seemya, seemya. Fool dem let dem go. Seemya, seemya. Me lover come back. Seemya, seemya. Go take you lover now. Seemya, seemya. Wheel him make me see. Seemya, seemya. Throw a kiss to him. Seemya, seemya. Wheel him let him go. Seemya, seemya.[52]] [Footnote 52: To avoid the tiresomeness of contraction marks, "see him ya" has been written in one word. It sounds exactly like _senior_ with an m instead of an n.] A ring is formed, and a girl is put in the middle. She asks:--"Where is my lover?" and the ring answers in chorus:--"See him here." "Has my lover gone to sea?" and the answer comes again:--"See him here." The gal goes on:--"I do not see my lover; has he gone to Colon bay?" and then, as though speaking to herself:--"Go, find your lover now. There! don't pretend to be stupid." At this point she takes the hand of a boy in the ring as if she were going to dance with him, but immediately pushes him back, and says, still speaking to herself:--"Fool them, let them go." Then simulating contrition and breaking the hitherto even rhythm:--"My lover, come back!" At "Go take your lover now" she goes again to the same boy, takes him out of the ring-circle and dances with him. They _wheel_ at the words "Wheel him make me see," which mean, "Let me see you wheel him." Finally at "Wheel him let him go" they part hands. Frequent references will be found to Colon. Jamaica labourers used to go there in large numbers to work on the Panama canal. XCII. To the same class belongs:-- [Music: Ring a diamond, ring a diamond, Why oh ring a diamond. Get in the ring you'll find one Sambo boy. Why oh ring a diamond. Me look me da look me no find one Sambo boy. Why oh ring a diamond. Me find me diamond, me find me diamond. Why oh ring a diamond. Wheel you diamond, wheel you diamond. Why oh ring a diamond. Let go diamond, let go diamond. Why oh ring a diamond.] This tune has a beautiful swing. In many bars it is almost impossible to distinguish whether the tune is triple or duple. Much license may be allowed in the direction of the latter to a good timist, but the general impression of triple time must be kept. The "Sambo boy" bar must be sung very smoothly. It is neither quite as it is written the first time nor quite as it occurs in the second, but just between the two. Three even crotchets with judicious _tempo rubato_ would give it. It will be understood that these tunes are sung antiphonally. In this one the leaders, who know the tune and words well, sing the first four bars and the next four belong to the chorus, after which the leaders take it up again, and so on. There is an opportunity here for a little harmless "chaff" about colour. The diamond chosen is a _black_ diamond, the blacker the better. The ring forms round him joining hands, and one girl is pushed in to look for the Sambo boy. She says:--"I look, I am looking, I don't find a Sambo boy" (_i.e._ a quarter black). At last she finds her diamond, either the boy inside the ring or one of those who circle round him, and they dance together, wheeling and letting go hands at the words "wheel," "let go." "Why" is an ejaculation, probably the same as Hi! XCIII. Another chorus tune of the same kind is:-- [Music: The gal over yonder carry banana, gal oh! gal oh! carry banana. A nine-hand banana, carry banana, a Chiney banana, carry banana. You find the banana? carry banana. You tief the banana? carry banana.] The girl is supposed to be carrying a bunch of bananas on her head, and the singers are commenting upon it and asking the girl questions, as they do here at a distance of half-a-mile. "Look! It is a nine-hand banana. No, a China banana. Did you find it? Did you steal it?" Banana bunches are reckoned by the number of hands they contain, the separate bananas being called fingers. Nine-hand is a convenient market size. The China banana is a stout low kind which withstands wind: the fruit is, however, coarse. The signal for taking a partner is given by the words "You find the banana?" XCIV. In the next there is no dancing. The ring closes up tight, shoulder to shoulder. Hands behind the back pass the ball round and round, and the girl inside the ring tries to find it. The person with whom it is found has to go into the ring and turn seeker. [Music: Pass the ball an' the ball goin' round, the ball goin' round an' the key can't find, Mother, honey, oh! the ball goin' round. Journey, ball, journey, ball, journey, ball, journey, Mother, honey, oh! the ball can't find.] The conventional "gwine" for "going" hardly represents it, only the _o_ is pronounced so short that the word becomes practically one syllable. In the dance tunes we shall come across the word "dying" shortened in the same way. XCV. A variation of this is obtained by putting a ring on a cord and sliding it along. The tune is:-- [Music: Me los' me gold ring fin' an' gi' me, Me los' me gold ring fin' an' gi' me, Me los' me gold ring fin' an' gi' me, A me husband gold ring fin' an' gi' me.] XCVI. In "Mother Phoebe" again there is no dancing:-- [Music: Old moder Phoebe, how happy you be When you sit under the Jinniper tree, oh the Jinniper tree so sweet. Take this old hat an' keep your head warm, Three an' four kisses will do you no harm, It will do a great good fe you.] Here the girl inside the ring takes a hat or cap and after several feints puts it on somebody's head, and that person has then to take her place in the ring. XCVII. More lively is the joyous:-- [Music: Do, do, do, do, do, Deggy, Deggy house a go burn down, do, De Gay. Deggy whé you would a do dé do, De Gay? Deggy dood an' doodess do, De Gay. Deggy go roun', Deggy do Degay. An' a cutchy fe Deggy do Degay, an' a wheel an' let go do, De Gay. Deggy house a burn down do, De Gay.] The boy inside the ring "makes all sort of flourish," dancing and posturing by himself. The word "cutchy" is accompanied by a deep curtsey, on rising from which he takes a girl out of the ring and wheels her. Deggy or Degay, has occurred already in No. LVII. Whether it is his own house that is burning, or somebody else's, it is impossible to conjecture. Observe the varying accent on the name. In taking down this song I first wrote "doodan doodess," thinking they were nonsense words suggested by the repetition of do, do, do, but on asking further about them was told that "dood" is a "risky beau-man," a smart well-dressed young fellow. So it is the American "dude" and its female counterpart "dudess" which here take the place of the usual "gal and boy." XCVIII. The latter we find in: [Music: Me go da Galloway road, Gal an' boy them a broke rock stone, Broke them one by one gal an' boy, Broke them two by two gal an' boy, Take up the one that you like gal an' boy, Ah! this here one me like gal an' boy, broke them t'row them down gal an' boy.] I go to Galloway road (where there is a quarry). Girls and boys are breaking stones. They break them one by one. They break them two by two, etc. Choosing stones suggests choosing partners. XCIX. We come across "dude" again in:-- [Music: Rosybel oh why oh! Rosybel oh why oh! Rosybel let go Mister Porter son, Rosybel oh why oh! Rosybel cock cock crow da yard, Rosybel oh why oh! Rosybel let go Mister Porter son, Rosybel oh why oh! Rosybel oh why oh! Rosybel oh why oh Rosybel wheel him doodjes' now, Rosybel oh why oh! Rosybel cock cock crow you no know, Rosybel oh why oh! Rosybel wheel him let him go, Rosybel oh why oh!] C. The play in the next is rough, and the holders of hands in the ring must have strong wrists. [Music: Me da lé lé lé, me da lé lé lé, Bull a pen ho! gingerly! the bull a broke pen! gingerly! A Mount Siney bull! gingerly! A Galloway bull! gingerly! bull a broke pen! gingerly!] Two strong young fellows personate the bulls. One is inside the ring and the other outside. They paw the ground and moo at each other but must not fight unless they can break the ring. When the ring is broken at last by a determined rush, one of the bulls is sometimes seized with panic and jumps back into the pen (ring) where he is safe. The fight, if it does take place, is not a very serious affair, the cowmen soon coming up with their ropes (handkerchiefs) which they throw over the bulls' heads and so draw them apart.[53] [Footnote 53: [Cf. "Bull in the Park," Gomme, _Traditional Games_, vol. i. p. 50.]] (_Me da dé_ would mean Me is there, I am there. Lé is substituted for euphony, being probably suggested by the last syllable of "gingerly.") CI. Another rough game is:-- [Music: Two man a road, Cromanty boy, Two man a road, fight for you lady! Two man a road, down town picny, Two man a road, fight for you lady! Two man a road, Cromanty win oh! Two man a road, Cromanty win.] A line of girls stretches along each side of the road and in front of them stand the two combatants armed with sticks. One is a Coromanti (one of the African tribes) and the other a Kingston or down-town boy. "Fight for your ladies" cry the respective lines to their champions. Whoever can disable the other and snatch one of his girls across the road is the winner. A mock doctor comes to bind up the wounds. CII. "Adina Mona," with its Italian-sounding words, is noisy, but not so rough:-- [Music: Ho! Adina Mona, Adina Mona, cutchy fe gran'ma; Adina Mona, Me tell Nana marnin'. Adina Mona, Nana no want it; Adina Mona, Me beg Nana wahter; Adina Mona, Him give me dirty wahter, Adina Mona.] Here they stand face to face in separate couples. At the beginning of one bar the boys knock their hands upon their thighs, and at the beginning of the next bar clap them against those of their partners, as in the first motion of the game of Clip-clap. As they do this the boys walk backwards, occasionally wheeling, and making, as they say, "all manner of flourish." CIII. "Palmer" affords an opportunity for individual display:-- [Music: Palmer, you just from town, Palmer, oh William Palmer! Palmer, you just from town, Palmer, oh William Palmer! Show me the figure whé you bring, Palmer, oh William Palmer! Dat dé no style at ahl, Palmer, oh William Palmer! Palmer, you just from town, Palmer, oh William Palmer! Put on de style now more, Palmer, oh William Palmer!] Palmer has just come back to his mountain home from Kingston, and is urged to show the latest step for a quadrille figure or other dance. His companions affect surprise. What! is that all? Oh, Palmer, that's not style! CIV. Very popular is the next one:-- [Music: Mother Freeman, a whé me Gungo dé? Not a one can sow me Gungo; Fe me Gungo, da precious Gungo, Not a one can sow me Gungo; All the gal them a go dead 'way 'pon me, Not a one can sow me Gungo. All the boy a go dead 'way 'pon me, Not a one can sow me Gungo.] Mother Freeman, where is my Gungo (a kind of pea)? No one will sow my Gungo, or perhaps rather:--Will no one sow my Gungo? For my Gungo is precious Gungo. As they sing and dance, the boys pretend to faint, and fall into the arms of the girls. When the words change, the girls fall into the arms of the boys, who catch them. "Dead 'way 'pon me," besides meaning to faint, has a slang interpretation equivalent to: "All the girls are death upon me." CV. The following is perhaps a sly allusion to some dull-witted boy:-- [Music: Me have me goosey a me yard, Me no call Barny clever. Go bring me goosey a me yard, Me no call Barny clever. Wheel me goosey make me see oh! Me no call Barny clever.] Thick sour milk allowed to stand and curdle is called "barnyclebber" [Irish word, F.Y.P.]. CVI. Here we have a reference to the too common practice of stealing, which is treated more as a joke than a crime:-- [Music: Drill him, Constab, drill him; Drill him, Constab, drill him; She tief her mother shilling fe go buy Sapadilla. Buy Sapadilla, buy Sapadilla; You go an' tief the shilling fe go buy Sapadilla. Wheel him, Constab, wheel him; Wheel him, Constab, wheel him; Him tief him mother shilling fe go buy Sapadilla.] A girl is the delinquent and the "Constab" (constable, pronounce _con_ as in _constant_) is inside the ring with her, lightly beating her with a twig or pocket-handkerchief. When one has been marched round and wheeled, he "sends her out" and takes another. Sapadilla is really a fruit something like a medlar, but the name is given to all sorts of fruit, notably Granadilla. CVII. Another "flogging" tune, but without any dancing, is:-- [Music: If you make him come out I will kill you to-night ya, Why do, me Nana, do!] A girl is in the ring and a boy is flogging her with a whip. The boy says to the holders of the ring:--"If you let her come out I will kill you to-night, do you hear?" The girl is going round, begging to be released, with the appeal to each one:--"Oh do, my Nana!" that is, "Do let me out." CVIII. The most laughable antics, "mechanic" as they call it, are indulged in in the next:-- [Music: Oh me Toad oh! Come along, Toad-eye; Oh me Toad oh! Come along, me Toady boy; Come along, Toad-eye; Come along, me Toady boy; Oh me Toad oh! Come along, Toad-eye.] Each girl has a "Toad" in front of her to protect her. The Toads jump about, and the one who can get past the other and capture his girl, wins. Jamaican toads, or at least the small kind, hop like the frogs of cooler countries. CIX. The first half of the tune which follows occurs in the story of Annancy and Screech-owl (No. XIX.):-- [Music: There's a black boy in a ring, tra la la la la, There's a black boy in a ring, tra la la la la, There's a black boy in a ring, tra la la la la, He like sugar an' I like plum. Wheel an' take you pardner, jump shamador! Wheel an' take you pardner, jump shamador! Wheel an' take you pardner, jump shamador! For he like sugar an' I like plum.] The boy inside the ring chooses his partner, whom he leaves there after the dance. She obtains release by choosing another partner, whom she leaves behind. So there is alternately a boy and a girl in the ring. "Shamador" is possibly a corruption of "camerado." CX. The next is an old tune which is going out of fashion. It is still remembered in my district, but nobody can tell me how it is danced. [Music: Johnny, Johnny, da wharra fe dinner? Three slice a lilly bit a dumpling, Me Johnny come roll the board.] "Da wharra" literally means "is what." What is there for dinner? Three slices and a little bit of dumpling. I tried to find out whether they were slices of dumpling or slices of something else, but no one could tell me that. The dumplings are plain flour and water, innocent of suet. They are very popular, and are eaten with a morsel of salt fish or meat. Johnny is invited to come and roll them on the board. CXI. We all know the next tune:-- [Music: Me lover gone a Colon Bay, Colon Bay, Colon Bay, Me lover gone a Colon Bay With a handsome concentina. Oh what is your intention, intention, intention? Oh what is your intention? My intention is to marry you. I will married to you, I will married to you, I will married to you, I will married to you, I will married to you, I will married to you With a handsome concentina.] (Levi always sings:--"What is your retention, retention, retention?") In "I will married to you" the wheeling becomes a giddy business, at least to the onlooker. The dancers never seem to feel it, nor do they appear to mind the heat. They simply stream with perspiration and put their handkerchiefs round their necks to save their white collars. CXII. A little breathing time is given by:-- [Music: Good morning to you, mother; Good morning to you, daughter; What is your intention? I want to be a teacher. You shan't be a teacher. I bound to be a teacher. Jump shamador, me darling. What is your intention? I goin' to be a doctor. You shan't be a doctor. I bound to be a doctor. You shan't be a doctor. I will be a doctor. Jump Shamador, me darling.] There is no dancing here. The mother walks round inside the ring, the various members of which she addresses in turn. "You shan't" is emphasised by an uplifted arm swept vigorously downwards and a stamp of the foot. The answers go through the various professions until it is felt that there is a want of something more exciting, which is supplied by:-- CXIII. [Music: One Johnny Miller he was living Water Lane an' he wheel right roun' an' the ladies drop. One on the right an' the other on the left, an' he wheel right roun' an' the ladies drop.] The tune is again familiar. A boy takes two girls out of the circle, leaves one in the middle and wheels the other. Having dropped her he wheels the second one. The wheeling over, she is dropped. These two then resume their places in the circle, and the boy takes out two more. "Water Lane." Kingston lies on ground sloping evenly to the sea. It is laid out on the American plan in parallel streets. A broad "Street" alternates with a narrower "Lane." The lanes pointing to the sea have water running down them and are called Water Lanes. CXIV. The next is used both as a Ring-tune and for the favourite Fifth Figure of the Quadrilles:-- [Music: Me go to Morant Bay, Bahlimbo. Me see one Coolie gal, Bahlimbo. Lard! me love the gal, Bahlimbo. Me tell her wait fe me, Bahlimbo. The gal no wait at all, Bahlimbo. Me ride, me ride, me ride, Bahlimbo. Me catch her on the way, Bahlimbo. Me bahss her all the way, Bahlimbo. The mumma say me rude, Bahlimbo. But that no rude at all, Bahlimbo. For woman cloth so cheap, Bahlimbo. Two yard fe bit, Bahlimbo. Man cloth so dear, Bahlimbo. One pound a yard, Bahlimbo.] "Bahlimbo" is a nick-name for a cheap sort of cloth, _i.e._ fabric of any kind. In Africa calicoes are called _limbo_. The "two yards fe bit" kind is calico print. A "bit" is fourpence halfpenny. "Bahss" means buss, kiss. White people pronounce Morant as it is spelt, but the Blacks always put the accent on the first syllable, and usually call it Morrum. CXV. As the time for dancing approaches (see note on weddings in "Gaulin" p. 76) the ring breaks up, and there is a lively marching tune or two, such as:-- [Music: Oh den Jacky me knee da go ben' a palm palm; oh me knee da go ben' a palm palm.] The couples with the right arm of one partner locked tightly into the left of the other march about bending their knees at rhythmical intervals, presenting the most ridiculous appearance. The tune has an infectious gaiety about it as its sections are sung over and over and interchanged. If you repeat them as often as they do, you will feel stealing over you that kind of intoxication which the Dancing Dervishes experience. CXVI. There is a great deal of laughing over "Jacky," which suggests:-- [Music: When me get a Mister Walker gate, Me will laugh, ha, ha, ha, ha! Me will laugh hé, hé, hé, hé! Me will laugh ha, ha!* Me will laugh qua, qua, qua, qua! Me will laugh ha, ha!* Me will laugh till me bustle drop! Me will laugh ha, ha!* Me will laugh há, há, há, há! Me will laugh ha, ha!* Me will laugh ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Me will laugh ha, ha!] At the marks * a return is made to the first four bars, always substituting a new name for Walker, and the tune has many more "turnings" besides the ones noted. A sufficient selection of Ring tunes has now been given to show their character. The number might be indefinitely increased. Every district has its own, and while some old favourites remain, new ones are constantly in process of making. These supply, or more than supply, the gaps caused by those which drop out. PART IV. DANCING TUNES. Turning now to the Dancing tunes, the chief difference to be noted is that they show a more marked departure from what may be called the Jamaican type of melody. Sailors bring popular songs to the seaports, and from there they spread into the country. For a time some of the original words are kept, but before long they get changed. The change is partly due to that corruption of the text which naturally takes place as the songs pass from mouth to mouth, but mainly to the fact that the words, referring as they do to English topics, have no interest here. So we generally find that the tunes are refitted with a complete set of new words, describing some incident which has lately happened in the district, or some detail of daily life. When these reflect, as they often do, upon the characters of individuals the names have been changed and all evidence pointing to the locality destroyed. The same course has been pursued where it is thought the susceptibilities of persons or their relations might possibly be offended, even when there is nothing mentioned to their discredit. The music consists of three "flutes" (fifes), two tambourines and a big drum. This is the professional element, which is reinforced by amateurs. One brings a cassada-grater, looking like a bread-grater; this, rubbed with the handle of a spoon, makes a very efficient crackling accompaniment. Another produces the jawbone of a horse, the teeth of which rattle when it is shaken. A third has detached from its leather one of his stirrup-irons, and is hanging it on a string to do duty as a triangle. The top of the music is not always supplied by fifes. Sometimes there will be two fiddles, sometimes a concertina, or, what is more approved, because it has "bigger voice," a flutina. On asking to see this strange instrument I was shown the familiar accordion. Their chief dances are the Valse, Polka, Schottische, and Quadrilles in five figures, of which the fifth figure is the most popular, or as they would say "sweet them most." This figure goes either to 6/8 or 2/4 time. The 2/4 figures of the Quadrilles are often used for Polka, and Polka and Schottische tunes are always interchangeable, the only difference being that the Schottische requires a slower time. CXVII. The ball opens with a set of Quadrilles:-- [Music: _1st Figure._ When I go home I will tell me mumma, When I go home I will tell me mumma, When I go home I will tell me mumma That the gals in Jamaica won't leave me alone.] This is the production of a white musician to whom the black girls were especially attentive. CXVIII. [Music: _2nd Figure._ Guava root a medicine, Guava root a medicine, Guava root a medicine fe go cure all the young gal fever.] A decoction of the root of the Guava is used in cases of fever. "Medicine" is pronounced so as to rhyme with Edison. CXIX. [Music: _3rd Figure._ Crahss-lookin' dog up'tairs, Crahss-lookin' dog up'tairs; I lift up me foot an' I hit him a kick an' him roll up him tail an' run. What you fe do with that? What you fe do with that? I meet him up'tairs an' I hit him a kick an' he roll up him tail an' run.] See note to "Parson Puss and Parson Dog" (p. 93), also Author's Preface. CXX. [Music: _4th Figure._ Goatridge have some set a gal So-so shirt them can't wash. Give me back me soap an' blue, Give me back me soap an' blue, Give me back me soap an' 'tarch, So-so shirt them can't wash.] Goatridge is the name of a neighbouring hamlet. When a boy "gives out his shirts to wash" he also provides the girl with soap, blue and starch. So-so means even. It also means only, as:--"I get so-so potato fe nyam," I only got potatoes to eat. "Shirt" is pronounced almost "shut." CXXI. [Music: _5th Figure._ Me carry me akee a Linstead market, Not a quatty worth sell. Oh what a losses! Not a quatty worth sell. Me carry me akee a Linstead market. Not a quatty worth sell. Oh not a light, not a bite! Not a quatty worth sell.] The Akee (_Cupania edulis_), pronounced _acky_, is a handsome tree producing something which one hardly knows whether to call a fruit or a vegetable. Besides the edible part, the beautiful scarlet capsule contains a substance which is poisonous. Deaths by misadventure through carelessness in its preparation for table occur every year. The time of these Quadrille tunes will be pretty accurately judged. They would all come under _Allegro_ except the First, which is slower than the others, and it might be headed _Allegretto_ or even _Andantino_. The Third figure is not much used, and many dancers do not know the step. Its place is generally supplied by one of the other figures. The most popular of all is the Fifth, of which we have many examples to give. The step is regulated by two beats in the bar of six, so we find that they dance it also to 2/4 time, as for instance:-- CXXII. [Music: _5th Figure._ Since Dora Logan a wahk with Gallawoss, The man them a beat them wife with junka 'tick. Why, why, why, Amily! Bring back me dumpling, yah? Amily! No dog, no puss, no fowl, Amily. Bring back me dumpling, yah?[54] Amily. No dog, no puss, no fowl, Amily. Fetch back me dumpling, yah? Amily.] [Footnote 54: "Yah?" = Do you hear?] This has to go very fast, indeed as fast as the words of the second bar can be spoken. It will be found then to correspond to a moderate _Allegro_ in six time counted in two. Two stories are mixed up here. One of the girl who walks with the Gallawoss--a Lizard with a gold eye and an undeserved reputation for biting--which leads to an age the reverse of golden, when the men beat their wives with junka (short) sticks. And the other, of some incident connected with breakfast in the field, when Amily ate somebody's dumpling and laid the blame on the usual scapegoat, the cat. CXXIII. The rapid speed necessitated by some forms of 2/4 time just suits the following:-- [Music: _5th Figure._ Fire, Mister Preston, Fire! Fi-er down the lane! Then send the brigade fe go out the fire, The brigade can't out the fire. Fire, Mister Preston! Fire, Mister Preston! Fi-er down the lane! Fire, Mister Preston! Fire, Mister Preston! Fi-er down the lane!] CXXIV. Where the beat is in crotchets it sounds unduly slow:-- [Music: _5th Figure._ Tief cahffee, Tief cahffee, Tief cahffee, Benigna Field, fe go buy silk dress, Fe go show them Gardon boy, fe go show them Gardon boy, fe go show them Gardon boy, Benigna Field, you tief cahffee.] Benigna[55] Field steals some coffee to get money to buy a silk dress to show off to the Gardon boys. (Gardon is a place, not a family.) [Footnote 55: Other unusual girls' names are Ambrogine, Ateline, Irene, Melmorine. These rhyme with Queen. The same Italian _i_ is found in Elgiva, Seppelita, Barnita, Justina, and the English _i_ in Alvira, Marina. The next are all accented, like the last six, on the penultimate; Etilda, Iota, Clarista, Pastora, Barzella, Zedilla, Amanda, Agarta (evidently a variant of Agatha), Timinetia (like Polynesia), Cherryana, Indiana. Then there is Hettybel, and one girl has this astonishing combination--Ataria (rhymes with Samaria), Azadell (? Isabel).] CXXV. [Music: _5th Figure._ Fan me, soldier man, fan me; Fan me, soldier man, fan me; Fan me, soldier man, fan me oh! Gal, you character gone! Sake a ten shilling shahl, Sake a ten shilling shahl, Sake a ten shilling shahl oh! Make me character gone.] CXXVI. [Music: _Schottische._ Manny Clark a you da man! Manny Clark a you da man! So so ride you ride a Ginger Piece, All the gal them a dead fe you. Oh you take 'notta boil soup, take salt fish 'tick in it, Gal, you want fe come kill me? Oh you take 'notta a boil soup, take salt fish 'tick in it, Gal, you want fe come kill me?] Manny Clark, a popular player of dance tunes, goes to Ginger Piece and is overwhelmed with attentions by the girls. He addresses himself as follows:--"Manny Clark, you are the man! You just ride to Ginger Piece and all the girls are dying for you." Then, turning to one of them, he adds:--"Oh, you boil the soup with your best, taking Anatto and salt fish to stick into it. Do you want to kill me with kindness?" Anatto gives a rich yellow colour to the soup. Salt fish (stockfish) is one of the principal articles of diet of the peasantry. CXXVII. [Music: _Schottische._ Bungo Moolatta, Bungo Moolatta, Who dé go married you? You hand full a ring an' you can't do a t'ing, Who dé go married you? Me give you me shirt fe wash, You burn up me shirt with iron, You hand full a ring an' you can't do a t'ing, Who dé go married you?] "You Bungo Mulatto, who is going to marry you? Your ring-bedecked fingers can't do anything. When I gave you my shirt to wash you burned it with an over-hot iron." Bungo (rhymes with Mungo) means a rough uncivilized African. A Mulatto is the child of two Brown parents, Brown being the offspring of Black and White. He has rather a yellow skin. CXXVIII. [Music: _5th Figure._ Bahl, Ada you must bahl, Bahl, Ada you must bahl, Bahl, Ada you must bahl, Ada you must bahl till the cock say coocoocoocoory co.] Ada has been naughty and has been shut up for a night in the dark. The poor little thing is "bawling," crying out in terror of the nameless horrors of the night. CXXIX. [Music: _2nd Figure._ Rise a roof in the morning, Rise a roof in the morning; Tell all the nigger them to come, come, come, Rise a roof in the morning. The Monkey and the Baboon them was sitting on the wall, Rise a roof in the morning; I an' my wife cannot agree, Rise a roof in the morning. She 'pread me bed on the dirty floor, Rise a roof in the morning; For Devil made the woman an' God made man, Rise a roof in the morning.] "Rise a roof" seems to mean, as far as I can understand the explanation, "raise the roof"; as we might say, "row enough to blow the roof off." "Baboon" always has this accent on the first syllable and a French _a_. The Blacks do not mind calling themselves niggers, but a White man must not call them so. To say "black nehgher" is an offence not to be forgiven. The word is used again quite kindly in the following:-- CXXX. [Music: _Jig._ Oh we went to the river an' we couldn' get across, We jump on the nigger back we think it was a horse.[56] Then Stephen, Stephen, Stephen boy, Stephen, Stephen, poor Stephen!] [Footnote 56: A last reminder to pronounce "acrahss," "harse." The Negro rejects the sound _aw_ altogether and always changes it to _ah_.] A party get to one of the bends of Four-and-twenty River, so called because the road crosses and recrosses it twenty-four times. Stephen carries them all over. CXXXI. [Music: _Polka._ Aunty Jane a call Minnie, Minnie won't go 'peak to him; Aunty Jane a call Minnie, Minnie won't go 'peak to him. Wrap up in a crocus beig In a Sandy Hill, Wrap up in a crocus beig In a Sandy Hill.] Aunty Jane does not want Minnie to keep company with the boys at Sandy Hill. Of course Minnie wants to go, and she does go. Aunty Jane sets off to bring her home. When she reaches Sandy Hill she calls. Minnie hears, but will not go and speak to her. She hides in the coffee-store by wrapping herself in a crocus bag or sack. "Crocus" is a rough cheap material. Coffee ready for market is put in the finer and smaller canvas bags. CXXXII. [Music: _Valse._ Marty, Marty, me wanty go home, Marty, Marty, me wanty go home, Marty, Marty, me wanty go home, Me wanty go home back a yard. Tell me mumma say me wanty come home, Me wanty come home, Me wanty come home, Tell me mumma say me wanty come home, Me wanty come home back a yard.] Martin has been flogging his wife--not an unusual condition of things--and she wants to go home to her mother. He will take her message quite loyally. The matter will be arranged and they will be good friends living apart. Before long she will go back to him of her own accord. They make up their quarrels as quickly as they fall into them. CXXXIII. [Music: _5th Figure._ What make you shave old Hall, Rosie Fowler? What make you shave old Hall? What make you shave old Hall, Rosie Fowler? What make you shave old Hall? What make you shave old Hall, Rosie Fowler? What make you shave old Hall? Mister Barber have two teeth a him mout', Them sweet like a sugar-plum.] Rosie Fowler left old Hall for Mr. Barber, and being remonstrated with, shaved him, _i.e._ gave him a good beating. CXXXIV. [Music: _Mazurka._ Run, Moses, run, Mister Walker da come; Run, Moses, run, Mister Walker da come. If you buck your right foot, buck your left foot, Never try look back; If you buck your right foot, buck your left foot, Never try look back.] To "buck" is to strike, and the word is applied to a stumbling horse, who is said to buck his foot against a stone, or simply to buck. It also means to butt with the head and is most likely a corruption of this word. Bucking, or charging stag-fashion with the head, is the favourite way for women to fight. Here is an account of such a contest:-- CXXXV. [Music: _5th Figure._ Whé you da do? Whé you da do? Whé you da do make Sarah buck you? Whé you da do? Whé you da do? Whé you da do make Sarah buck you? Adela da jump but Sarah buck him, Adela da jump but Sarah buck him, Adela da jump but Sarah buck him. Whé you da do make Sarah buck you? You Adela ho you ought to shame! You Adela ho you ought to shame! You Adela ho you ought to shame! Whé you da do make Sarah buck you?] Fights between women are by no means uncommon. This was a case of _cherchez l'homme_. The ladies both wanted to marry the same man. The "sing" was evidently composed by one of Sarah's partisans for the words are:--"What did you do to make Sarah buck you? Adela jumped, but Sarah bucked her. You, Adela, oh you ought to be ashamed!" Adela's sideway jump was not quick enough to save her from Sarah's head. "Whé you da do?" literally, What you is do? for What you did do? meaning What did you do? So, if they were trying to talk "deep English," for "Adela da jump" they would substitute "Adela is jump" and think it was quite right. CXXXVI. [Music: _5th Figure._ Mother William hold back Leah! Mother William hold back Leah! Me tell you say hold back Leah! Hold back Leah let go Jane Ann! Den a Leah Leah dead 'way, Den a Leah Leah dead 'way, Let go Jane Ann! Let go Jane Ann! Hold back Leah, let go Jane Ann!] This is sung _agitato_ and pulsates with excitement. We see the bustling, restless action--Mother Williams holding Leah, who is frantic to get at Jane Ann, and who faints with exhaustion as she struggles to escape from the strong arms thrown round her. "Let go Jane Ann!" cry the bystanders, which means:--Make Jane Ann go away, get her out of Leah's sight. CXXXVII. This seems a fitting moment to introduce:-- [Music: _4th Figure._ Oh General Jackson! Oh General Jackson! Oh General Jackson! Oh you kill all the Black man them! Oh what a wrongful judgment! Oh what a wrongful judgment! Oh what a wrongful judgment! You kill all the Black man them. Oh what a awful mourning! Oh what a awful mourning! Oh what a awful mourning You bring on St. Thomas people!] This is the other side of the question, referred to in the Digging Sing, No. 88. It is the rebellion of 1865 again, from the point of view of that section of the Blacks who considered themselves aggrieved at the measures taken for its suppression. CXXXVIII. We get a glimpse of the doings of the soldiery in peaceable times in:-- [Music: _5th Figure._ Soldier da go 'way, Married woman let go your bull-dog to-morrow; Soldier da go way to-morrow, The last of the ring ding to-morrow, Soldier da go 'way, Married woman let go your bull-dog to-morrow; Soldier da go 'way, Married woman let go your bull-dog.] The soldiers are shifting their quarters. As they are apt to be rather riotous on the night before departure, the owner of the bull-dog is advised to unchain him so that he may guard her property more effectually. CXXXIX. There is also a tender side to the parting:-- [Music: _4th Figure._ Don't cry too much, Jamaica gal, First West will soon come back again. Don't cry too much, Jamaica gal, Second West is gone to the war. Don't cry too much, don't cry too much, First West will come and cheer you up. Don't cry too much, Jamaica gal, Second West is gone to the war.] CXL. A few years ago Jamaica boasted of water as efficacious as that of Mecca in the opinion of some people. It seems to have lost its repute in these sceptical days:-- [Music: _4th Figure._ Dip them, Mister Bedward, dip them, Dip them in the healing stream; Some come with jackass, some come with bus, Dip them in the healing stream.] CXLI. It says much for the expertness of the dancers that they can fit the same steps to tunes of such varying accent as the two last examples present. Here is another which differs again:-- [Music: _4th Figure._ Very well, very well, Mister Collin now, An' him leave an' join Sabbatarian bands, An' him lose the whole of his members now, Oh then poor Sabbatarian bands!] Mr. Collin was a minister who told his flock that he had made a mistake in keeping Sunday holy, and that for the future he would have service on Saturday and the people were to come to church on that day and work on Sunday. The "sing" suggests that his congregation was not persuaded by his arguments. CXLII. The light-hearted way in which the Negro turns serious things into fun is well illustrated by:-- [Music: _4th Figure._ Oh trial! Great trevelation children ho! Trial! We're bound to leave this world. Baptis', Baptis', Baptis' till I die. I been grown up in the Baptis' side an' die under Baptis' rule. Oh trial! Great trevelation children ho! Trial! We're bound to leave this world. Church-light, Church-light, Church-light till I die, I been grown up in the Church-light side an' die under Church-light rule. Oh! trial! Great trevelation children ho! Trial! We're bound to leave this world.] And so on through all the sects and persuasions, Wesleyan, etc., etc., among them Mettetis (Methodist). There is no doubt about the word being _trevelation_ a mixture of Revelation, one of their favourite books in the Bible, and tribulation, for which it is intended. The wrong phrasing of two notes to "bound" is as they give it. We should allow only one. CXLIII. Every district has its rival churches and the various ministers have to humour their congregations, and not preach too hard things to them, so as to keep them from deserting to the enemy. [Music: _2nd Figure._ Father, I goin' to join the confirmation. No, me son, you must have a little patien', Why I tell you to have a little patien', You must go an' read the Revelation. I heard from my old generation That they never go an' join the confirmation, For they didn' have that great occasion To leave an' go an' join the confirmation.] It will have been observed that rhyming is the last thing sought after. Here, however, we have a genius who has set his mind upon it with some success. Patience, as pronounced by the Jamaican without the final letters, is a good and new rhyme to the rest. In the old days of slavery, says the father, they did not have the occasion (_i.e._ opportunity) to leave their work to go and be confirmed. The Black man is such an accomplished actor that he can assume any character. In these sings he throws off the stage trappings and shows his real attitude towards religion, his indifference and levity. He does not take it as a serious matter at all, and it has no effect upon his daily life. To go to church is a mark of respectability. To obtain that mark is one of his reasons for going. The other reason is to show his clothes and his boots. He will talk like a saint for the mere pleasure of rolling out words, and the ministers have to pretend to believe something of what he says. They are not, however, really deceived, and will tell you in private with a sigh that Christianity makes no progress; it is profession without practice. Of the Negro's real religion, which is bound up with Obeah, we get hardly a hint in the sings. This is what we should expect. Some things lie too deep for words and a man's religion is one of them. One general reference I have been able to find, and one particular one, and that is all. Here is the first:-- CXLIV. [Music: _5th Figure._ Obeah down dé why oh! Obeah down dé, Obeah down dé why oh! Obeah down dé. Giberaltar is a well fine place but Obeah down dé, Giberaltar is a well fine place but Obeah down dé.] CXLV. And here the second:-- [Music: _5th Figure._ The other day me waistcoat cut, The other day me waistcoat cut, The other day me waistcoat cut, What a pain an' grief to me. I spend me money but the beggar don't dead, I spend me money but the beggar don't dead, I spend me money but the beggar don't dead, What a pain an' grief to me. All me money gone like butter 'gainst sun, All me money gone like butter 'gainst sun, All me money gone like butter 'gainst sun, What a pain an' grief to me! Sake of the man me live 'pon tree, Sake of the man me live 'pon tree, Sake of the man me live 'pon tree, What a pain an' grief to me!] Obeah (pronounced in two syllables, Ob-ya, with short Italian vowels) is the dark blot upon this fair island of Jamaica. In every district there is an Obeah-man, or Bush-doctor, as he is often called, from his supposed knowledge of herb simples. He is by no means the innocent person which this latter designation would seem to imply. He deals in magic and sorcery of all descriptions, and there is not a Black man who does not believe in his powers. They consult him on every conceivable business and he gets heavy fees. He will secure a man the favour of his master so that he shall not lose his place, or help him to revenge a wrong, real or fancied. And herein lies the danger. The puerilities of inefficacious charms and mysterious ceremonies with which he deludes his clients are not all. He keeps poison in his bag, and for sufficient reward arsenic has been obtained to put in the liqueur, or ground glass for the coffee. The Government attempts in vain to stamp out the evil. The story of the last sing is briefly this. A has a friend who is an Obeah-man. From him he gets Obeah to injure an enemy B. The enemy does not suffer. So A says his waistcoat is torn, a figurative way of expressing the fact that he is beaten, B's Obeah turning out to be stronger than A's and able to repel it. Having indiscreetly talked about what he meant to do to B, B reports him to the police, and he has to abscond and seek shelter in the bush till the matter blows over. CXLVI. It is a pleasure to be able to leave the hypocrisy of Negro Christianity, and the lurid atmosphere of Obeah and to return to everyday amusements. [Music: _5th Figure._ All them gal a ride merry-go-round, Me no see no gal like a dem ya. Ride him, ride him, ride him, ride him, Ride him round the town, Ride him, ride him, ride him, ride him, Ride him round the town.] The merry-go-round is popular. "I never saw such girls," says an admiring bystander. Literally, "I have not seen any girls like those (here) girls." A neighbour of mine used to be made very angry when he first came to Jamaica because when he asked "Have you seen so-and-so?" the answer always was "I don't see him." This is good negro English for "I haven't seen him." It does not mean, as he thought, "I don't see him now," and the poor boy could not understand why his master got so "crahss." CXLVII. [Music: _5th Figure._ Merry-go-round a go fall down, fall down, fall down, Merry-go-round a go fall down, Sake a de worthless rider. Rider, rider, try to sit down good; Rider, rider, try to sit down good; Rider, rider, try to sit down good, Merry-go-round a go fall down.] Grammar nowhere as usual. It was not the Merry-go-round that was going to fall down, but the worthless (_i.e._ bad) rider who was going to fall off. "Try to sit down good" is an exhortation to hold on well. This curious use of "try" is found again in:-- CXLVIII. [Music: _Mazurka._ Try, dear, don't tell a lie, Try, dear, don't tell a lie, Try, dear, don't tell a lie, For I will never marry you. Try an' 'peak the truth me dear, Try an' 'peak the truth me dear, Try an' 'peak the truth me dear, An' you shall get the ring me dear.] CXLIX. Here are two more references to the colour question: [Music: _1st Figure._ Look how you mout', Look how you mout', Look how you mout' fe go kiss moolatta. Look how you mout', Look how you mout', Look how you mout' like a pan.] CL. [Music: _Valse._ Breezy say him no want Brown lady, Breezy say him no want Brown lady, Breezy say him no want Brown lady, Afterward him go take Brown lady. Why! Why! Why, Breezy! Why! Why! Why, Breezy! Why! Why! Why, Breezy! Think you say you no want Brown lady.] CLI. Here are three sings referring to Colon, the port of disembarkation for labourers on the Panama Canal:-- [Music: _5th Figure._ Isaac Park gone a Colon, Isaac Park gone a Colon, Isaac Park gone a Colon, Colon boat a go kill them boy. Colon bolow[57] gone a Colon, Colon bolow gone a Colon, Colon bolow gone a Colon, Colon boat a go kill them boy.] [Footnote 57: _Bolow_, comrade.] It was not the boat from Kingston to Colon that killed the boys; the deaths took place on the other side. Many were due to fever, but more, if the stories current here are true, to organised assassination. The wages were very large, and when a Jamaica boy has money in his pocket he gets "boastify." This annoyed the low-class mongrels. A Coolie who was there described to me the proceedings of one night, when the 'panish (by which is meant any straight-haired people) went out in a band and murdered every woolly-haired man they met. They began at one end of the camp, a straight line of barrack huts. Some of the victims were shot through the windows, others slashed with cutlasses. Where there were no lights the assassins passed their hands over the strangers' heads, and if they felt wool, revolver or cutlass did its work. Straight-haired Coolies, that is to say, East Indians, were allowed to go unharmed. CLII. [Music: _5th Figure._ Matilda dé 'pon dyin' bed, Matilda dé 'pon dyin' bed, Matilda dé 'pon dyin' bed, Matilda dé 'pon dyin' bed, Me want go Colabra, Me want go Colabra, Me want go Colabra, Matilda, dé 'pon dyin' bed.] When anybody is very ill all the members of the family, including quite distant relatives, think it incumbent upon them to go to the sick person's yard. They crowd into the house and sick-room and pour out a clatter of talk. Colabra (Culebra) is a place near Colon. Matilda must have been an old Jamaica acquaintance who had gone over to settle there. CLIII. [Music: _5th Figure._ Mas' Charley say want kiss Matty, Kiss with a willing mind, Me rarabum why! Colon money done, Me rarabum why! Colon money done.] "Me rarabum" is a nonsense phrase equivalent to "my boy." "My boy, hi! the money I made at Colon is done!" CLIV. Here is the lament of an out-of-work cabdriver:-- [Music: _5th Figure._ Me buggy a sell fe eight an' sixpence Whé me a go get fe drive? Me buggy a sell fe eight an' sixpence, Whé me a go get fe drive? Me buggy sell at last, poor me boy! Whé me a go get fe drive? Me buggy sell at last, poor me boy! Whé me a go get fe drive?] CLV. The words of the next dance have a certain interest, but the tune is poor:-- [Music: _Polka._ Oh 'zetta Ford, gal, you name no worth a cuss! Tief big big hog, Put ahm in a jar. Piccany da cry, Sit down whole a day, You tief big big hog, Nyam ahm out a door.] The girl stole the pig, killed it, cut it up and put the meat into a jar. This was done out in the bush, far away from her yard, and took the whole day. Meanwhile her poor little babies were starving at home, having been left without any one to look after them. CLVI. There is an idyllic simplicity about the following:-- [Music: _5th Figure._ Birdyzeena, Birdyzeena, Come make we go da Champong market, Come make we go, dear, Come make we go, dear, Come make we go da Champong market.] CLVII. [Music: _5th Figure._ Me an' Katie no 'gree, Katie wash me shirt in a sea. If you t'ink a lie, If you t'ink a lie, Look in a Katie yeye.] CLVIII. Water seems formerly to have been scarce in Kingston, judging by the following:-- [Music: _5th Figure._ Down town gal no have no water to wash them head to keep them clean. Down town gal no have no water to wash them head to keep them clean. Why! Why! Why! Take them gal in charge. Why! Why! Why! policeman, Take them gal in charge.] CLIX. The policeman is not always on the spot when he is wanted:-- [Music: _4th Figure._ Sal you ought to been ashame! You tief Mister Dixon Brahma, You nyam ahm a Yaws-house[58] level, Sally ought to been ashame.] [Footnote 58: _Yaws_, see p. 57.] In this country any plot of ground that is moderately flat is called a level. CLX. [Music: _4th Figure._ Good morning, Mister Harman, How are you this morning? I brought a serious complain about the old Barbadian. What about the 'badian? Him shirt has no border, Him face favour marlan, Come give me me one an' ninepence.] The singer goes to Mr. Harman, who is employing the Barbadian (whom he accuses of wearing a ragged shirt and having a face like a marlingspike), to try and get some money which the latter owes the complainant. This is an excellent example in short of an interview between two Black men. Of the sixteen bars four are occupied with salutation, four with complaint, and four with abuse. Two are given to a question as to the cause of complaint which receives no answer, and two to a demand for money owed by another person. So we have three-quarters of the interview devoted in equal parts to compliment, complaint, and abuse; one-eighth to an attempt on the part of the person interviewed to discover what is amiss; and one-eighth to a demand for money from the wrong man. CLXI. The lovers' quarrel which comes next is evidently not serious:-- [Music: _5th Figure._ Hullo me honey! Hullo me sugar! Hullo me old time gal! Oh den, gal, if you love me, Why don't you write me? Hullo me old time gal! Hullo me honey! Hullo me sugar! Hullo me old time boy! Oh den, boy, I wouldn' married you, Not for a fardin', Hullo me old time boy!] CLXII. [Music: _5th Figure._ When mumma dere you say you sick, Dis mumma gone you get better, 'tan' 'teady till him come 'tan' 'teady, 'tan' 'teady till him come 'tan' 'teady.] When mamma tells her daughter to take her hoe and come out into the field she feigns sickness. Her brother comes in and finds her quite well. "All right," he says, "just (dis) you stand steady ('teudy, French _eu_), just you wait till she comes home and you will get a flogging." CLXIII. We never go far without meeting some story about petty thieving:-- [Music: _5th Figure._ Oh Jilly oh! how you manage a jump the window? Oh Jilly oh! how you manage a jump the window? Doctor Clark a one an' tanner, Major Black a two an' six, Mister Nelson three an' six, How you manage a jump the window?] Jilly had been "tiefing" money and made her escape by jumping out of window. "Tanner," for sixpence, is common in English slang but not here. It seems to have been derived in this case from the White soldiers at Newcastle. CLXIV. [Music: _5th Figure._ James Brown, you mahmy call you. James Brown a shake him shoulder. Sake a the young gal butterdore, James Brown a shake him shoulder.] To express dissent they do not shake their heads but wriggle the whole of their bodies. It is a most expressive action. A butterdore, more properly butter-dough, is a kind of cake. CLXV. The next repeats the idea of No. CXVIII., but in the mouth of a girl. [Music: _4th Figure._ When I go home I will tell me mumma say, When I go home I will tell me mumma say, When I go home I will tell me mumma say That the boy in the country love me very much.] CLXVI. The next is the only example of pure fiction that I have met with:-- [Music: _5th Figure._ Feather, feather, feather, Baby da born with feather. You cut off the fowl head an' boil it in a 'tew-pan, Baby da born with feather. Feather, feather oh! Baby da born with feather. Feather, feather oh! Baby da born with feather. You cut off the fowl head an' boil it with the feather, So the baby go born with feather. I hear the news as I re'ch to Hagley Gap, Say baby da born with feather. Something me never hear, Something me never hear that Baby can born with feather. Something me never hear, Something me never hear that Baby can born with feather.] All the other sings are chronicles of true events, and it is an exceptional case to find one purely the offspring of imagination like this one. The compiler of the words could not get quite free of actuality; he puts in Hagley Gap, which is the name of a pass through the hills. I once asked why it was so called and was told because it was a hugly place. The cooking described savours of Obeah. CLXVII. [Music: _2nd Figure._ When the rain an' the breeze an' the storm an' the sun I never see a man like Quaco Sam, He live in the sun as well as the rain, I never see a man like Quaco Sam. Quaco Sam was a little bit a man, I never see a man like a Quaco Sam, For he never build a house but he live as any man, I never see a funny man as Quaco Sam.] CLXVIII. [Music: _5th Figure._ Anch a bite me a me back gully, gully; Anch a bite me a me back gully, gully; Anch a bite me a me back gully, gully; 'cratch me back, me will make one shirt fe you fe you. Anch a bite me, Anch a bite me, Anch a bite me, Anch a bite me, Anch a bite me a me back gully, gully; 'cratch me back me will make one shirt fe you.] Small black ants often swarm on the orange-trees, and the pickers, who do not use ladders but climb the branches, get covered with them. We all know that place in the "gully" or furrow of the back which we cannot reach ourselves. CLXIX. [Music: _4th Figure._ Me know one gal a Cross Road, Name of Lucy Banker, Him boil the long long cabbage bush, Him go long like a sailor nanchor. Follow me, follow me, You no see whé the gal a follow me, Follow me, then follow me, You no see whé the gal a follow me.] The story of the foregoing sing is this:--Lucy asked a fiddler and his friend to breakfast. The cooking was bad. The boiled bananas, which should have been light brown, were black, and the cabbage was not done enough, so that it was ropy or "long," as they aptly describe it. For these shortcomings the fiddler "put her a sing," _i.e._ put her into a sing. CLXX. [Music: _Schottische._ Moonshine baby, don't you cry, Mumma will bring somet'ing fe you, Some fe you, Some fe me, Fe we go boil wi' dirty pot.] This is a hit at another careless cook who had disregarded the time-honoured rule, "First wash your pot." A moonshine baby is a pretty baby. CLXXI. [Music: _2nd Figure._ I have a news to tell you all about the Mowitahl men,[59] Time is harder ev'ry day an' harder yet to come. They made a dance on Friday night an' failed to pay the drummer, Say that they all was need of money to buy up their August pork. Don't let them go free, drummer! Don't let them go free, drummer! For your finger cost money to tickle the poor goat-'kin. Not if the pork even purchase self Take it away for your labour, For your finger cost money to tickle the poor goat-'kin.] [Footnote 59: Mowitahl = Mowatt Hall.] The first of August (Ahgust as they call it) is the anniversary of Emancipation Day, and is a time of feasting and rejoicing. As in the case of wedding festivities, they do not limit themselves to one day, and holiday-making goes on for a week or longer. The goat-skin drum is pitied for the thumping it gets. So a man will often stroke his picker (pickaxe) and say:--"He no a come out if he t'ought him face would a jam so a dirty," he would not have come out if he had thought his face was going to be thrust so hard into the ground. "Self" is a redundant word. It strengthens "even if." CLXXII. [Music: _2nd Figure._ Once I was a trav'ller, trav'ller over the mountain, I nearly dead for water but a young gal show me the fountain. Why, why me picny! You shall be me wife. Show me you mammy an' you daddy, An' you shall be me wife. I have another sister, she blind she cannot see, But, if you wish to court her, you can come with me. Why, why me picny! you shall be me wife. Show me you mammy an' you daddy, An' you shall be me wife.] When a Black man says he is nearly dead for water he only means that he is rather thirsty. This sing is of an unusual form and suggests a foreign origin. CLXXIII. Here, on the contrary, is something typically Jamaican:-- [Music: _5th Figure._ Oh! me wouldn' bawl at all, Oh! me wouldn' bawl at all, Oh! me wouldn' bawl at all, For the policeman come tell a lie 'pon me.] A boy who has been arrested, conscious of his innocence, does not go through the usual pantomime of shrieks and tears. The policeman (observe the accent on the word) told a lie about me, he says. CLXXIV. Thoroughly Jamaican too, as to its words at least, is:-- [Music: _Jig._ You take junka 'tick fe go lick maugre dog, You take junka 'tick fe go lick maugre dog; When maugre dog dead a whé you a go do? Whé you a go do, Birdie? Whé you a go do?] This is a remonstrance addressed by a mother to her daughter who has taken up a short stick to beat her. "It is true," she says, "that I am but a lean dog, but when the lean dog is dead what are you going to do?" (_Maugre_, French _maigre_, pronounced _mahgher_.) CLXXV. [Music: _John Canoe dance._ Yellow fever come in, Me can't walk again; Him broke me hand, him broke me foot, Me can't walk again.] The "John Canoe" are masked dancers very agile in their movements. Yellow fever is now happily rare in Jamaica. "It has come and caught me," says the patient, "and broken my arms and legs so that I really can't walk." "Again" has a curious use here, which is perhaps better shown by the following illustration. A man was reported to be dead. Next day came the intelligence:--"He don't dead again," he is not dead after all, he is not really dead. Compare No. LXII. CLXXVI. [Music: _Schottische._ Jimmy Rampy a come oh, Sal oh! Jimmy Rampy a come oh, Sal oh! Some a wash him foot, some a comb him hair, Some a put him to bed, put him to bed oh, Sal oh! Jimmy Rampy a come oh! Sal oh! Jimmy Rampy a come oh, Sal oh! Some a wash him foot, some a comb him hair, Some a put him to bed, put him to bed oh, Sal oh!] "Sal oh!" is perhaps a corruption of _Salut_. Tradition associates a curtsey with the word. CLXXVII. The next calls to mind the Ring tune (No. XCIX.), "Rosybel oh, why oh!" [Music: _5th Figure._ Susan very well, why oh! Susan very well, why oh! Susan chop bolow with tumbler, Susan chop bolow with tumbler, Susan go chop bolow with tumbler, Susan go chop bolow with tumbler.] A case of assault with a broken piece of glass. Here is something more serious:-- CLXXVIII. [Music: _1st Figure._ Bahss, Bahss, you married you wife; Bahss, Bahss, you married you wife; Bahss, Bahss, you married you wife, You married you wife an' kill him again. You take up you wife an' carry him to church, You take up you wife an' carry him to church, You take up you wife an' carry him to church, An' afterward you kill her again.[60]] [Footnote 60: _Bahss_, Boss. "Carry him" is in two syllables, sounding like _ca-yim_.] CLXXIX. The next is a pretty lullaby, which they call a Nursing sing:-- [Music: Blackbird a eat puppa corn, oh! Blackbird a eat puppa corn, oh! Come go da mountain, go drive them, Blackbird a eat puppa corn, oh! Blackbird a eat puppa corn.] CLXXX. [Music: _Schottische._ Me da Coolie sleep on piazza with me wrapper round me shoulder, Me da Coolie sleep on piazza with me wrapper round me shoulder.] "Me da," literally, "I is," I am. The piazza, which is not pronounced in the Italian way but nearly rhymes with razor, is the long narrow entrance-room of Jamaican houses. A wrapper is a large piece of linen which serves all sorts of purposes. It is used as an article of clothing both by day and night, and also makes a convenient bag for rice. Many of the East Indian Coolies, originally brought over to work on plantations, have now settled in Jamaica. CLXXXI. [Music: _Schottische._ Notty Shaw, you better go home; Notty Shaw, you better go home; Notty, run in the garden an' pick a bunch of flowers; Notty Shaw, you better go home; Notty Shaw, you mother want you service; Notty Shaw, you mother want you service; Notty, go in the garden you see a bunch of rose; Notty Shaw, you better go home.] "Notty" is short for Nathaniel. "Rose" means any kind of flowers. When they want to indicate what we call roses they say "sweet-rose." CLXXXII. [Music: _1st Figure._ You worthless Becca Watson, You worthless Becca Watson, You worthless Becca Watson, You ought to been ashame. Them write you name an' t'row it a pass, Them write you name an' t'row it a pass, Them write you name an' t'row it a pass, you ought to been ashame.] A familiar tune, I think a mixture of two. To write disparaging remarks on paper, which is then thrown in the "pass" (path, road), for anybody to pick up and read, is a common trick. The epithet "worthless" seems to imply that Becca was not altogether free from blame. They seldom say "bad." It is almost always "worthless." CLXXXIII. [Music: _5th Figure._ Since the waggonette come in Parker take to heart dead, Since the waggonette come in Parker take to heart dead. Never mind conductor, Parker take to heart dead. Never mind conductor, Parker take to heart dead.] The reference is to a local enterprise, the Waggonette Company. It unfortunately failed, and the death of a person interested in its success, happening immediately after, is attributed to the failure. For "come in" we should say "were taken off." CLXXXIV. [Music: _Schottische or 4th Figure._ Them Gar'n Town people them call me follow-line, Them Gar'n Town people them call me follow-line, Them Gar'n Town people them call me follow-line, Somebody dying here ev'ry day. A ten pound order him kill me pardner, A ten pound order him kill me pardner, A ten pound order him kill me pardner For somebody dying here ev'ry day. Den number nine tunnel I would not work dé, Den number nine tunnel I would not work dé, Den number nine tunnel I would not work dé For somebody dying here ev'ry day.] An incident, or perhaps it were better to say an accident, in the making of the road to Newcastle. A man who undertook a piece of contract work for £10 was killed by a falling stone. The so-called tunnels are cuttings. Number nine had a very bad reputation. Gordon Town is a hamlet nine miles from Kingston. The driving road ends there, and access to the mountain district beyond is obtained only by mule tracks. Strangers are called "follow-line" because, as they come down from their homes in the higher hills, they walk in strings. No Black man or woman ever goes alone if he can help it. He always hitches on to somebody else, and the string increases in length as it passes along. This walking in Indian file is necessitated by the narrowness of the track, which is seldom wide enough for two to walk abreast. The tune has the character of a march rather than of a dance, but I am assured it is used for a Schottische, which has a somewhat slower measure than a Polka, and for Fourth Figure. Their cleverness in adapting the same steps to different rhythms has been already commented on. CLXXXV. The last of our tragedies, a murder this time, is chronicled in:-- [Music: _2nd Figure._ Young gal in Jamaica take warning, Never leave your mother house alone, For that was the cause why Alice get her death while driving in the May Pen cyar.] "The May Pen cyar" is a tramway which runs to May Pen, the cemetery of Kingston. CLXXXVI. [Music: _4th Figure._ Me no min dé a concert the night When Martha an' Pompey catch a fight. Da Martha da Pompey, Da Martha da Pompey catch a fight.] "Me no min dé," literally, "I not been there," I was not there. Nobody hearing these words for the first time would ever suspect that they were English. People are always said to "catch fight" when they come to blows. Few of the old classical slave names like Pompey now survive. CLXXXVII. [Music: _1st Figure._ Complain complain complain, Complain about me one, Me daddy complain, me mahmy complain, Complain about me one.] "Me one," _i.e._ "only me." Everlasting complaints, always about me! (What child does not suffer in this way?) In Negro speech _complain_ stands for complaint as well as for the verb. CLXXXVIII. Elderly readers will recognise a popular song of thirty years ago in the following:-- [Music: _2nd Figure._ I can't walk on the bare road, cyart man, I can't walk at all; When I remember, When I remember, When I remember them. Oh Captain Baker, I never can walk again, For when I remember the cyart man, cyart man, When I remember them.] These words taken as a whole refer to the carts of the United Fruit Company of which Captain Baker is the manager. In defiance of rules girls may be seen perched on top of the bunches of bananas in the laden carts. CLXXXIX. [Music: _5th Figure._ Come go da mountain, Come go da mountain, Come go da mountain go pick coco finger, Busha Webb an' all a pick coco finger, Busha Webb an' all a pick coco finger; Pick coco finger, Pick coco finger, Come go da mountain go pick coco finger.] "Come let us go to the mountain and dig cocoes. Overseer Webb and everybody is digging them." A plan often adopted is to dig round the root, search for the tubers, pick them off and then push back the soil. This may be the picking referred to, only the tubers do not look like fingers. They are the shape of a peg-top. Another suggestion is that the fingers are the young rolled-up leaves which are picked before they expand for spinach. This variety of interpretation, coupled with the fact that the word _finger_, always applied to bananas, is never used in speaking of cocoes, points to this being a very old sing. CXC. [Music: _Valse._ Amanda Grant, me yerry your name, yerry your name a bamboo root. Why! Why! me yerry your name, Why! Why! yerry your name, Me yerry your name a bamboo root.] Amanda stole some money and hid it at the foot of a bamboo. CXCI. [Music: _2nd Figure._ Last night I was lying on me number, An' a foolish man come wake me out of slumber, Say Why oh! Why oh! I never see a woman dancing with a wooden leg. Bammerlichy, bammerlichy, bamby, Bammerlichy, bammerlichy, bamby, Bammerlichy, bammerlichy, bamby, I never see a woman dancing with a wooden leg.] The scene is laid in the People's Shelter at Kingston which has numbered sleeping-berths. At "Bammerlichy" etc. the dancers imitate the stiff action of a wooden leg. CXCII. [Music: _5th Figure._ Me lassie me dundooze, me dundooze come kiss me, The kiss that you give me it rest on me mind till it give me the aygo. When we married an' settled down we have no cause to say, For as soon as the parson pass up the sentence nothing to part us.] "Dundooze" (or dundoze, for it is rather hard to catch the vowel) is a term of endearment. Others are, honey, lover, sugar, sweety, marvel, bolow, bahzoon. "Aygo" is ague; "say," perhaps, sunder. CXCIII. The next conveys an appreciative reference to a proprietor who is a large employer of labour. [Music: _Polka._ Mister Davis bring somet'ing fe we all, Mister Davis bring somet'ing fe we all. Oh him bring black gal, An' him bring brown gal, An' him bring yaller gal an' all.] CXCIV. [Music: _5th Figure._ A whé the use you da hang da me neck-back, Married man me no want you. Turn back, married man, turn back, you brute, Turn back married man, married man a dog.] CXCV. [Music: _4th Figure._ Quattywort' of this! Quattywort' of that! till him come up to a shilling oh! Why Brown man! Why Brown man! you have a nasty way, Robson.] The boy has run up a score at the shop and professes astonishment at the items and the total. Black trusts White more than Brown. CXCVI. We end with the pretty flowing melody:-- [Music: _Schottische._ Mahngoose a come, Dory, Mahngoose a come. All them gal are dead fe Dory, Mahngoose a come. Come back me dear Dory, Come back me dear. All them gal are dead fe Dory, Mahngoose a come.] The mongoose was introduced into Jamaica to kill the rats. Unfortunately rats sleep in the day and the mongoose sleeps at night, so they never met. How the mongoose took instead to killing chickens has been often told. Dory is having a private interview with a girl who has another admirer. This man has announced his intention of chastising Dory. "Mongoose has come" is a preconcerted formula which means, "the other man has come, Dory, look out!" When a gang of labourers is working and one of them catches sight of his master in the distance, he will sing this song and the others understand that they must pretend to be busy. THE END. NOTE.--(_Accidentally omitted on page 77_: _Cf._ Nos. 56, 67, 132, 133). Marriage is, unhappily, often a failure. The woman, in marrying, has attained the goal of her ambition. Now that she is Mrs. Smith she "sits down" and refuses to help her husband, provision-ground food is not good enough for her, and she is always calling out for a new frock. In a few years the couple separate and the home is broken up, with disastrous consequences to the children. In the old days the custom was to defer the ceremony (as Constantine deferred his baptism) to a very late period. This plan worked very well. The couple did not marry till they knew for certain that they suited each other, and often their well-brought-up children and grandchildren danced at the wedding. _APPENDIX._ _A._ TRACES OF AFRICAN MELODY IN JAMAICA. I have been asked to read through this book in proof, with the object of ascertaining whether the Jamaican songs bear any traces of an African origin. Unfortunately, it must be confessed at the outset that our knowledge of African music is scantier than that of almost any other kind of primitive music. In other regions of the globe the phonograph has been effectively utilised in acquiring accurate records of songs and dances. These records have been brought back to Europe, where they have been studied at leisure and their peculiarities of interval and rhythm have been precisely determined. But in the case of African music (apart from a few imperfectly studied records in my own possession) we have to rely entirely on the versions which travellers have taken down for us in the field. We have to assume, in the first place, the correctness of their 'musical ear,' and in the second place, the possibility of expressing in European notation those delicate shades of pitch and time in which the characteristics of primitive music so essentially consist. And both these are unwarrantable assumptions. However, from our study of comparative music elsewhere, we may make one statement with certainty, namely, that _an_ African music does not exist. There must be almost as many styles of native music in Africa as in Europe--varieties differing not only broadly in general form and structure, but also more minutely in the intervals and rhythms which are employed. I have been informed by travellers in West Africa that surprising differences occur in the degree of development of musical art even in closely neighbouring regions. In one district hardly any music is to be heard at all; in another the music is most uncouth; in a third it is highly agreeable to the European ear; while some parts of West Africa have advanced to the stage of part-singing. The most erroneous notions have been expressed as to the nature of African music. I have seen it stated that African songs consist in a gradual descent from a higher to a lower pitched note. That this is far from being usually the case is shown in the following specimens, which I have gathered from various narratives of African travel. I. [Music: _Boat Song. Congo District._] II. [Music: _Boat Song. Congo District._] III. [Music: _Song of Bawili Women._] IV. [Music: _Funeral Song. Angola._] V. [Music: _Song. Angola._] VI. [Music: _Song. M. Balunda._] VII. [Music: _Dance-Song. M. Balunda._] VIII. [Music: _Boat Song. Guinea Coast._] IX. [Music: _Song. I. of Bimbia._] Songs I. and II. from _La route du Tchad_. Jean Dybowski. Paris. 1893. pp. 198-9. Songs III.-VII. from _Aus West-Afrika_. Hermann Soyaux. Leipzig. 1879. Song VIII. from _Einige Notizen über Bonny_. Göttingen. 1848. Song IX. from _A Narrative of the Expedition ... to the River Niger_. London. 1848. A great deal might be said about the general character of these songs, _e.g._ the simplicity and brevity of the phrases, and the fondness for triple measure. But I pass on to consider three very interesting examples of Jamaican music which, thanks to my friend Mr. N.W. Thomas, I have found recorded in 1688 in Sir Hans Sloane's _Voyage to Jamaica_. "Upon one of the Festivals where a great many of the Negro Musicians were gathered together," he writes, "I desired Mr. Baptiste, the best musician there, to take the words they sung and set them to Musick which follows." X. [Music: _Angola Song._ Hobaognion Hobaognion Hoba Hobaognion ognion.] XI. [Music: _Papa Song._] XII. [Music: _Koromanti Songs._ Meri Bonbo mich langa meri wá langa.] From _A Voyage to ... Jamaica ..._ by Hans Sloane, M.D. London. 1707. Vol. i. pp. l, li. The words of these songs are _Hobaognion, ognion_ and _Meri Bonbo mich langa meri wá langa._ Sir Hans Sloane observes that the Jamaican negroes of that time had their native instruments: (i) gourds with necks and strung with horsehair, (ii) a "hollow'd Timber covered with Parchment," having a bow for its neck, the strings tied longer or shorter. These songs, however inaccurately recorded, are of the greatest value for the hint they give us of Jamaican music as it existed over two centuries ago. It will be observed that the songs are named 'Angola' and 'Koromanti,' according to their African _provenance_. In the present collection of modern songs, reference is made in Song CI. to Koromanti ('Cromanty'). So, too, the word 'Bungo' in Song CXXVI. no doubt refers to the large Bongo district of Africa (cf. 'Bungo talk,' p. 12, _n._). We can hardly expect to find considerable traces of this aboriginal African music after two centuries of missionary and of trade influence. African travellers have repeatedly told us how prone the negro is to introduce fresh tunes from other villages and to adapt them to his own purposes. Indeed, the contaminating influence which the Arabs and Portuguese have exercised upon primitive African music makes the study of the latter especially difficult. But a community does not adopt exotic music without at the same time exercising selection. Those melodies have the greatest chance of success which, to some degree at least, follow the current canons of public taste. Revolutionary innovations are rare. The gradual changes in taste which take place are the result of such selective adoption of foreign music as we have indicated. There is one feature in the above-quoted 'Angola' song which is also shared by the modern songs of this collection, namely, the presence of 'bobbins' or short refrains. The simplicity in structure of the songs is still a feature of Jamaican music. I may be allowed to call attention to the repetition of single phrases in Song XVIII. and to the building up of simple phrases in Songs LXXVII. and LXXIX. I had hoped that some light might be thrown on the antiquity of certain songs by the presence of nonsense words; but in this I was disappointed. I quite agree with Miss Broadwood (see next page) that the majority of the songs are of European origin. The negroes have learnt them from hearing sailors' chanties or they have adopted hymn tunes. But adoption always involves adaptation. A song is modified to suit the current canons of taste. In Song L. I observe 'Home, Sweet Home' and (in the latter half) a hymn tune which I frequently heard in the Torres Straits. Song CXXXIX. is doubtless 'The British Grenadiers.' But it, again, has not been adopted without modification. Needless to say, a detailed study of these modifications would throw light on the characteristics of modern Jamaican music. In Song XXXI. a typical non-European modification is the insertion of an extra (the fifth) bar, so that the phrase consists of nine bars. The five time in Song XI., the change of accent at the close of Song XXIV. and in Song XLI., are no doubt the expression of African delight in the complexities of rhythm. In the already-quoted 'Koromanti song,' we may observe the curious temporary change of rhythm in the second air, and the characteristic measure which prevails throughout the third air with its syncopation and almost baffling changes. Such features are precisely what we should expect to meet with among a primitive people who more than two centuries ago doubtless possessed in a still higher degree that delight in complication of rhythm which according to Mr. Jekyll (p. 6) persists among their descendants of to-day. For a more detailed study of this aspect of the subject I may perhaps refer enquirers to my "Study of Rhythm in Primitive People" (_British Journal of Psychology_, vol. i. pp. 397-406). The present taste and preferences of the Jamaican negroes may perhaps be gauged by the similarities and differences in the first bars of Songs LXIII., LXIV., and LXXVIII., by the similarity of Songs I. and VIII., XV. and XXVII., and of the bobbins in LIV. and LXVIII. But it is not my intention to make a detailed analysis of the songs of the present volume. My object has been rather to emphasize our present ignorance of African music, and to indicate the lines along which a more intimate acquaintance with African and Jamaican songs may be expected to lead to conclusions as to their relation to one another. C.S. MYERS. _B._ ENGLISH AIRS AND MOTIFS IN JAMAICA. By far the greater part of these Jamaican tunes and song-words seem to be reminiscences, or imitations, of European sailors' "chanties" of the modern class; or of trivial British nursery-jingles adapted, as all such jingles become adapted. Except in the cases specified below, I have not found one Jamaican tune which is _entirely_ like any one English or European tune that I happen to know. But unrecorded folk-tunes are essentially fluid, and pass through endless transformations. In all countries any one traditional ballad may be sung to dozens of distinct traditional tunes, each of these again having variants. It is therefore quite possible that versions of some of the older-sounding Jamaican airs are being sung unrecorded at this moment in the British Islands or elsewhere. I note below such instances of modal tunes as occur in this collection. I should perhaps explain that by "Modes" are meant those ancient scales (other than our major and minor scales) which amongst European composers fell into disuse at the beginning of the 17th century, but which survive still in the ancient Church Music (popularly called "Gregorian"), and in the Folk Music of most European countries, and notably that of the British Isles. III. =King Daniel=, p. 14. Cf. the old ballads "May Colvin" and "Young Hunting." In the latter the parrot reveals a murder. In both ballads the lady makes the same promises to the bird (see Child's _English and Scottish Popular Ballads_). VII. =The Three Sisters=, p. 26. Although the story of the monster outwitted by the maiden he tries to carry off is an almost world-wide _motif_, and is found in Africa among other countries, this particular version has evidently been in contact with European (English or Scottish) sources. This is shown not only by the fact that the suitor proves to be the Devil, but by the question and answer (misplaced by the story-teller): "What is roguer than a womankind?" "The Devil is roguer than a womankind." This riddle appears in three versions of the ballad of "The Three Sisters," otherwise "The Elfin Knight," or "Riddles wisely Expounded" (Child, _English and Scottish Popular Ballads_, vol. i. pp. 1-6), as: "O what is greener than the grass? Or what is worse than e'er woman was?" "O poison's greener than the grass, And the Devil's worse than e'er woman was...." "As soon as she the fiend did name, He flew away in a blazing flame," says one version, but in the rest there is no disenchantment, and the youngest sister wins the visitor as her husband by her ready wit in replying, which Professor Child (_Additions and Corrections_, vol. v. p. 283), thinks a modernization of the original story. He quotes a manuscript version taken from a book of Henry VI.'s time, wherein the "Elfin Knight" is the foul fiend himself _undisguised_. For similar survivals of Riddle Songs and Tales see "There was a Lady in the West" and "Scarborough Fair" in _English County Songs_, and Kidson's _Traditional Tunes_, and "The Lover's Task" in _Songs of the West_, etc. The tune is evidently an old ballad air. It is in the Aeolian Mode. XVII. =Man Crow=, p. 54. The tune is the same as that sung in Worcestershire by children to "A finger and thumb keep moving." XVIII. =Saylan=, p. 59. This is a version of "The Maid freed from the Gallows," "The Golden Ball," or "The Prickly Bush." For the latter see _English County Songs_. Child gives very exhaustive notes on the story and its variants; also a tune, noted in North Carolina, "The Prickly Bush" has a tune quite unlike Child's, and the Jamaican air is quite distinct from both. XXI. =Tacoma and the Old Witch Girl=, p. 65. Cf. "The Keys of Heaven" in _English County Songs_, "Blue Muslin" in _Songs of the West_, and "Madam I will gi'e you," etc., in _Journal of the Folk-Song Society_, No. 7. All these airs are distinct from each other, and from the Jamaican tune. XXIX. =Parson Puss and Parson Dog=, p. 91. This tune is the first half of the old French air "Ah, vous dirai-je, Maman?" used so often by English children in their games. See note in Moffat and Kidson's _Children's Songs and Games of Long Ago_, p. 42. Other adaptations of the same tune are CXVI. (p. 215), CLXXVII. (p. 264), and CLXXXIX. (p. 272). XXXI. =Pretty Poll=, p. 96. Cf. "King Daniel." This is again the story of "May Colvin" or "The Outlandish Knight." The tune "Come, pretty Poll" here given is rather reminiscent of one traditional air to the ballad sung still in different parts of England (where numerous tunes to the favourite story have been noted). See "The Outlandish Knight" in _Songs of Northern England_ (Stokoe and Reay) for the type of tune referred to, but plentiful variants from Hertfordshire, the West of England, Yorkshire, etc., exist in MS. XXXVI. =Leah and Tiger=, p. 108. The tune is in the Aeolian Mode. LXIII. =Oh, Samuel, oh=, p. 168. This tune is in the Mixolydian Mode. LXXXVIII. =War down a Monkland=, p. 187. The tune is in the Dorian Mode. By far the most interesting tune in this collection. It is a fine Dorian air, I should think an old traditional tune imported by English or Irish. There are slight modal influences in other tunes, viz.: "Bad homan oh," "Bell oh," "A Somerset me barn," "Whé me loon dé," "Me da lí," and "Since Dora Logan a wahk with Gallawoss" (Nos. 56, 57, 85, 91, 100, 122). CXI., p. 209. This tune is a variant of the well-known children's game-song, "Here come three Dukes a-riding." CXIX., p. 218. The tune is a variant of one commonly sung in the North of England and in various parts of Scotland, to a children's game, "Hullaballoo ballie," in which reference is made to lifting the right foot and the left foot. CXXVII., p. 225. This air is the first part of the tune of "O dem Golden Slippers," the negro revival song of some twenty years ago. CXXX., p. 227. This is a reminiscence of the Scotch dance-tune usually sung to the words "There's nae luck aboot the hoose." CLXXVIII., p. 264. This is a well-known old English dance-tune, known also in Scotland. CLXXXII., p. 267. The second part of this tune is merely a reminiscence of "We won't go home till morning." CLXXXVII., p. 271. This tune is the first part of a very commonplace modern Italian popular composition called "La Mandolinata," played on every conceivable instrument, and sung also, about the year 1876 and for some years afterwards. L.E. BROADWOOD. 
56625	----	[Transcriber's Note: Printer errors as well as inconsistencies in punctuation and diacriticals have been corrected without note. Inconsistencies in song titles as listed in the Contents and the Alphabetical Index have been left as they appear in the original.] SONGS OF THE WEST FOLK SONGS OF DEVON & CORNWALL COLLECTED FROM THE MOUTHS OF THE PEOPLE BY S. BARING-GOULD, M.A. H. FLEETWOOD SHEPPARD, M.A. AND F.W. BUSSELL, MUS. DOC. D.D. UNDER THE MUSICAL EDITORSHIP OF CECIL J. SHARP PRINCIPAL OF THE HAMPSTEAD CONSERVATOIRE FIFTH EDITION IN ONE VOLUME METHUEN & CO. LTD. 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. LONDON _Originally issued in Four Parts in 1890_ _First Published in One Volume in 1892_ _New and Revised Edition October 1905_ _Reprinted April 1913_ TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE D. RADFORD, Esq., J.P., OF MOUNT TAVY, AT WHOSE HOSPITABLE TABLE THE MAKING OF THIS COLLECTION WAS FIRST PLANNED ALSO TO THAT OF THE REV. H. FLEETWOOD SHEPPARD, M.A., MY FELLOW WORKER IN THIS FIELD FOR TWELVE YEARS CONTENTS PREFACE--INTRODUCTION. 1. BY CHANCE IT WAS. 2. THE HUNTING OF ARSCOTT OF TETCOTT. 3. UPON A SUNDAY MORNING. 4. THE TREES THEY ARE SO HIGH. 5. PARSON HOGG. 6. COLD BLOWS THE WIND. 7. THE SPRIG OF THYME. 8. ROVING JACK THE JOURNEYMAN. 9. BRIXHAM TOWN. 10. GREEN BROOM. 11. AS JOHNNY WALKED OUT. 12. THE MILLER AND HIS SONS. 13. ORMOND THE BRAVE. 14. JOHN BARLEYCORN. 15. SWEET NIGHTINGALE. 16. WIDDECOMBE FAIR. 17. YE MAIDENS PRETTY. 18. THE SILLY OLD MAN. 19. THE MONTHS OF THE YEAR. 20. THE CHIMNEY SWEEP. 21. THE SAUCY SAILOR. 22. BLUE MUSLIN. 23. THE DEATH OF PARKER. 24. THE HELSTON FURRY DANCE. 25. BLOW AWAY YE MORNING BREEZES. 26. THE HEARTY GOOD FELLOW. 27. THE BONNY BUNCH OF ROSES. 28. THE LAST OF THE SINGERS. 29. THE TYTHE PIG. 30. OLD WICHET. 31. JAN'S COURTSHIP. 32. THE DROWNED LOVER. 33. CHILDE THE HUNTER. 34. THE COTTAGE WELL THATCH'D WITH STRAW. 35. CICELY SWEET. 36. A SWEET PRETTY MAIDEN SAT UNDER A TREE. 37. THE WHITE COCKADE. 38. THE SAILOR'S FAREWELL. 39. A MAIDEN SAT A WEEPING. 40. THE BLUE KERCHIEF. 41. COME TO MY WINDOW. 42. TOMMY A LYNN. 43. THE GREEN BUSHES. 44. THE BROKEN TOKEN. 45. THE MOLE CATCHER. 46. THE KEENLY LODE. 47. MAY-DAY CAROL. 48. THE LOVER'S TASKS. 49. LULLABYE. 50. THE GIPSY COUNTESS. _In Two Parts._ 51. THE GREY MARE. 52. THE WRECK OFF SCILLY. 53. HENRY MARTYN. 54. PLYMOUTH SOUND. 55. THE FOX. 56. FURZE BLOOM. 57. THE OXEN PLOUGHING. 58. FLORA, THE LILY OF THE WEST. _In F_ [Transcriber's Note: D minor.] " " " " " " _In G_ 60. FAIR LADY PITY ME. 61. THE PAINFUL PLOUGH. 62. AT THE SETTING OF THE SUN. 63. ALL JOLLY FELLOWS THAT FOLLOW THE PLOUGH. 64. THE GOLDEN VANITY. 65. THE BOLD DRAGOON. 66. TRINITY SUNDAY. 67. THE BLUE FLAME. 68. STRAWBERRY FAIR. 69. THE COUNTRY FARMER'S SON. 70. THE HOSTESS' DAUGHTER. 71. THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK. 72. THE SONG OF THE MOOR. 73. ON A MAY MORNING SO EARLY. 74. THE SPOTTED COW. 75. THREE JOVIAL WELSHMEN. 76. WELL MET, WELL MET, MY OWN TRUE LOVE. 77. POOR OLD HORSE. 78. THE DILLY SONG. 79. A COUNTRY DANCE. 80. CONSTANT JOHNNY. 81. THE DUKE'S HUNT. 82. THE BELL-RINGING. 83. A NUTTING WE WILL GO. 84. DOWN BY A RIVER-SIDE. 85. THE BARLEY-RAKINGS. 86. A SHIP CAME SAILING OVER THE SEA. 87. THE RAMBLING SAILOR. 88. WILLIE COMBE. 89. MIDSUMMER CAROL. 90. THE BLACKBIRD. 91. THE GREEN BED. 92. THE LOYAL LOVER. 93. THE STREAMS OF NANTSIAN. 94. THREE DRUNKEN MAIDENS. 95. TOBACCO IS AN INDIAN WEED. 96. FAIR SUSAN SLUMBERED. 97. THE FALSE BRIDE. 98. BARLEY STRAW. 99. DEATH AND THE LADY. 100. BOTH SEXES GIVE EAR TO MY FANCY. 101. I RODE MY LITTLE HORSE. 102. AMONG THE NEW-MOWN HAY. 103. I'LL BUILD MYSELF A GALLANT SHIP. 104. COLLY, MY COW. 105. WITHIN A GARDEN. 106. THE BONNY BIRD. 107. THE LADY AND APPRENTICE. 108. PAUL JONES. 109. THE MERRY HAYMAKERS. 110. IN BIBBERLY TOWN. 111. THE MARIGOLD. 112. ARTHUR LE BRIDE. 113. THE KEEPER. 114. THE QUEEN OF HEARTS. 115. THE OWL. 116. MY MOTHER DID SO BEFORE ME. 117. A WEEK'S WORK WELL DONE. 118. THE OLD MAN CAN'T KEEP HIS WIFE AT HOME. 119. SWEET, FAREWELL! 120. OLD ADAM, THE POACHER. 121. EVENING PRAYER. NOTES ON THE SONGS. ALPHABETICAL INDEX OF SONGS No. Page A MAIDEN SAT A WEEPING 39 78 AMONG THE NEW MOWN HAY 102 208 ALL JOLLY FELLOWS THAT FOLLOW THE PLOUGH 63 130 A NUTTING WE WILL GO 83 170 ARTHUR LE BRIDE 112 228 A SHIP CAME SAILING 86 176 AS JOHNNY WALKED OUT 11 22 A SWEET PRETTY MAIDEN 36 72 AT THE SETTING OF THE SUN 62 128 A WEEK'S WORK WELL DONE 117 238 BARLEY RAKING, THE 85 174 BARLEY STRAW, THE 98 200 BELL RINGING, THE 82 168 BIBBERLY TOWN, IN 110 224 BLACKBIRD, THE 90 184 BLOW AWAY YE MORNING BREEZES 25 50 BLUE FLAME, THE 67 138 BLUE KERCHIEF 40 80 BLUE MUSLIN 22 44 BOLD DRAGOON, THE 65 134 BONNY BIRD, THE 106 216 BONNY BUNCH OF ROSES, THE 27 54 BOTH SEXES GIVE EAR TO MY FANCY 100 204 BRIXHAM TOWN 9 18 BROKEN TOKEN, THE 44 88 BY CHANCE IT WAS 1 2 CHILDE THE HUNTER 33 66 CHIMNEY SWEEP, THE 20 40 CICELY SWEET 35 70 COLD BLOWS THE WIND 6 12 COLLY, MY COW 104 212 COME TO MY WINDOW 41 82 CONSTANT JOHNNY 80 164 COTTAGE WELL THATCHED WITH STRAW, THE 34 68 COUNTRY DANCE, A 79 162 COUNTRY FARMER'S SON, THE 69 142 DEATH AND THE LADY 99 202 DEATH OF PARKER 23 46 DILLY SONG, THE 78 160 DOWN BY A RIVER SIDE 84 172 DROWNED LOVER, THE 32 64 DRUNKEN MAIDENS 94 192 DUKE'S HUNT, THE 81 166 EVENING PRAYER, THE 121 246 FAIR LADY PITY ME 60 124 FAIR SUSAN SLUMBERED 96 196 FALSE BRIDE, THE 97 198 FLORA, THE LILY OF THE WEST 58 118, 120 FOX, THE 55 112 FURZE BLOOM 56 114 GIPSY COUNTESS, THE 50 100 GOLDEN VANITY, THE 64 132 GREEN BED, THE 91 186 GREEN BROOM 10 20 GREEN BUSHES, THE 43 86 GREY MARE, THE 51 104 HEARTY GOOD FELLOW, THE 26 52 HELSTON FURRY DANCE, THE 24 48 HENRY MARTYN 53 108 HOSTESS' DAUGHTER, THE 70 144 HUNTING OF ARSCOTT, THE 2 4 I'LL BUILD MYSELF A GALLANT SHIP 103 210 IN BIBBERLY TOWN 110 224 I RODE MY LITTLE HORSE 101 206 JAN'S COURTSHIP 31 62 JOHN BARLEYCORN 14 28 JOLLY FELLOWS THAT FOLLOW THE PLOUGH 63 130 JOLLY GOSS-HAWK, THE 71 146 KEENLY LODE, THE 46 92 KEEPER, THE 113 230 LADY AND APPRENTICE, THE 107 218 LAST OF THE SINGERS, THE 28 56 LOVER'S TASKS, THE 48 96 LOYAL LOVER, THE 92 188 LULLABY 49 98 MAIDEN SAT A-WEEPING, A 39 78 MARIGOLD, THE 111 226 MAY DAY CAROL 47 94 MERRY HAYMAKERS, THE 109 222 MIDSUMMER CAROL, A 89 182 MILLER AND HIS SONS, THE 12 24 MOLE CATCHER, THE 45 90 MONTHS OF THE YEAR, THE 19 38 MY MOTHER DID SO BEFORE ME 116 236 OLD ADAM THE POACHER 120 244 OLD MAN CAN'T KEEP HIS WIFE AT HOME, THE 118 240 OLD WICHET 30 60 ON A MAY MORNING 73 150 ORMOND THE BRAVE 13 26 OWL, THE 115 234 OXEN PLOUGHING, THE 57 116 PAINFUL PLOUGH, THE 61 128 PARSON HOGG 5 10 PAUL JONES 108 220 PLYMOUTH SOUND 54 110 POOR OLD HORSE 77 158 QUEEN OF HEARTS, THE 114 232 RAMBLING SAILOR, THE 87 178 ROVING JACK 8 16 SAILOR'S FAREWELL, THE 38 76 SAUCY SAILOR, THE 21 42 SILLY OLD MAN, THE 18 36 SIMPLE PLOUGHBOY, THE 59 122 SONG OF THE MOOR, THE 72 148 SPOTTED COW, THE 74 152 SPRIG OF THYME, THE 7 14 STRAWBERRY FAIR 68 140 STREAMS OF NANTSIAN, THE 93 190 SWEET FAREWELL 119 242 SWEET NIGHTINGALE 15 30 THREE DRUNKEN MAIDENS, THE 94 192 THREE JOVIAL WELSHMEN 75 154 TOBACCO 95 194 TOMMY A LYNN 42 84 TREES THEY ARE SO HIGH, THE 4 8 TRINITY SUNDAY 66 136 TYTHE PIG, THE 29 58 UPON A SUNDAY MORNING 3 6 WELL MET! WELL MET! 76 156 WHITE COCKADE, THE 37 74 WIDDECOMBE FAIR 16 32 WILLY COMBE 88 189 WITHIN A GARDEN 105 214 WRECK OFF SCILLY, THE 52 106 WEEK'S WORK WELL DONE, A 117 238 YE MAIDENS PRETTY 17 34 PREFACE In this Edition of "SONGS OF THE WEST," some considerable changes have been made. When the first edition was issued, we had to catch the public taste, and to humour it. Accordingly the choruses were arranged in four parts, and some of the Songs were set as duets and quartettes. But now that real interest in Folk airs has been awakened, we have discarded this feature. Moreover, a good many accompanists complained that the arrangements were too elaborate, except for very skilled pianoforte players. We have now simplified the settings. Then, we have omitted twenty-two songs, and have supplied their places with others, either because the others are intrinsically better, or that they have earlier and more characteristic melodies, or again because the songs though sung by the people, did not seem to us to have been productions of the folk-muse. Again, when our first edition was published, modal melodies were not appreciated, and we had regretfully to put many aside and introduce more of the airs of a modern character. Public taste is a little healthier now, and musicians have multiplied who can value these early melodies. Consequently we have not felt the same reserve now that we did in 1889. INTRODUCTION Dorothy Osborne, in a letter to Sir William Temple, in 1653, thus describes her daily home life. "The heat of the day is spent in reading or working, and about six or seven o'clock I walk out into a common that lies hard by the house, where a great many young wenches keep sheep or cows, and sit in the shade singing ballads. I go to them and compare their voices and beauties to some ancient shepherdesses that I have read of, and find a vast difference there; but trust me these are as innocent as those could be. I talk to them, and find they want nothing to make them the happiest people in the world but the knowledge that they are so. Most commonly, when we are in the midst of our discourse, one looks about her, and spies her cows going into the corn, and then away they all run as if they had wings to their heels." ("Letters of Dorothy Osborne," London, 1888, p. 103.) Before that Sir Thomas Overbury, in his "Character of a Milkmaid," had written: "She dares go alone and unfold her sheep in the night, and fears no manner of ill, because she means none: yet, to say truth, she is never alone, she is still accompanied with old songs, honest thoughts, and prayers, but short ones." During the reign of Queen Mary, the Princess Elizabeth was kept under close guard and restraint, but was suffered to walk in the palace grounds. "In this situation," says Holinshed, "no marvel if she, hearing upon a time, out of her garden at Woodstock, a certain milkmaid singing pleasantlie, wished herself to be a milkmaid as she was; saying that her case was better, and life merrier." So Viola, in Fletcher's play, "The Coxcombe," 1647: "Would to God, my father Had lived like one of these, and bred me up To milk, and do as they do! Methinks 'tis A life that I would chuse, if I were now To tell my time again, above a prince's." The milkmaid, and the girls guarding sheep and cows are things of the past, and with them have largely departed their old ballads and songs. Tusser, in his "Points on Huswifry," in 1570, recommends the country housewife to select her maids from those who sing at their work as being usually the most painstaking and the best. "Such servants are oftenest painsfull and good, That sing at their labours, like birds in a wood." Nowadays, domestic servants sing nothing but hymns, and the use of ballads and folksongs has died out among farm girls, and these are to be recovered only where there are village industries as basket weaving, glove sewing, and the like. But the old men sing their ancient ditties, or did so till within the last fifty years. Now they are no longer called on for them, but they remember them, and with a little persuasion can be induced to render them up. When I was a boy, I was wont to ride over and about Dartmoor, and to put up at little village taverns. There I was sure in the evening to hear one or two men sing, and should it be a pay day, sing hour after hour, one song following another with little intermission. There was an institution at mines and quarries called a _fetching_. It occurred every fortnight. The men left work early, and went to the changing room; stone jars of ale were brought thither from the nearest public house. Each man filled his mug, and each in turn, before emptying it, was required to sing. On such occasions many a fine old ballad was to be picked up. There was also the farm-supper after harvest, at which the workmen sang. Now the suppers have been discontinued. Ringer's feasts, happily, still remain, and at them a good old ditty may be heard. But most of the old singers with their traditional ballads set to ancient modal melodies have passed away. In "Poems, etc.," by Henry Incledon Johns, published by subscription, Devonport, 1832, is the following interesting passage. He is describing a night spent in an inn on the borders of Dartmoor; he met farmers and labourers. "One of the party I observed never took any share in the conversation, but appeared to have been invited there for the sole purpose of singing to them. He sang a great number of ballads, making up in loudness for what he lacked in melody. I thought it betrayed rather a want of courtesy that his auditors continued to talk while he sang, and no less remarkable, that they never expressed either applause or disapprobation of his strains. Now and then, one or two of them would join in a line of chorus, but it seemed to be done in a sort of parenthesis, and the thread of the conversation was immediately resumed as vehemently as ever.... I gleaned the following scraps of the border minstrelsy of Dartmoor: 'There was an old man as blind as blind could be, He swore he saw the fox go up a great tree.' 'There was one among them all That's slender, fair and tall, With a black and rolling eye, And a skin of lily dye.' 'A bonny lass I courted full many a long day, And dearly I loved to be in her sweet company.' (The lover then describes the progress of his suit, which proves unsuccessful, and concludes thus:--) 'Go, dig me a pit, that is long, large, and deep, And I'll lay myself down, and take a long sleep. And that's the way to forget her.' "The air to the latter was rather plaintive, and from the lips of some siren might have been entitled to an _encore_, but the voice which now gave it utterance only added another to many previous proofs that the English are not a musical people. The minstrel was in appearance one of the most athletic men I have ever seen, and although seventy-five years of age, would still, as I subsequently learnt, perform a day's work better than most of the young men of the parish. He was a pauper, but in great respect among the neighbouring rustics for his vocal powers. His auditory were moor-farmers with countenances as rugged and weather-beaten as the rocks among which they live." It is not a little interesting to know that some seventy years after this recorded evening we were able to recover two of the songs which Mr. Johns gives somewhat inaccurately; and both are included in this collection. The first is "The Three Jovial Welshmen," No. 75; and the last is "The False Bride," No. 97. One of my old singers, James Olver, was the son of very strict Wesleyans. When he was a boy, he was allowed to hear no music save psalm and hymn tunes. But he was wont to creep out of his window at night, and start away to the tavern where the miners congregated, and listen to and heap up in his memory the songs he there heard. As these were forbidden fruit they were all the more dearly prized and surely remembered, and when he was a white-haired old man, he poured them out to us. Some forty or fifty years ago, it was customary when the corn was cut, for the young men of a parish to agree together, and without telling the farmer of their intention, to invade his harvest field, work all night and stack his corn, whilst he slept. It was allowed to leak out who had done him this favour, and in return, he invited them with their lasses to sup and dance and make merry in a lighted barn. Then famous old songs were sung. But all that good feeling is at an end, and in its place exists a rankling hostility between the tiller of the soil and his employer. Blame assuredly attaches to the farmer for this condition of affairs, in that he has done away with the farmhouse festivities in which workmen and employer took part. One evening in 1888, I was dining with the late Mr. Daniel Radford, of Mount Tavy, when the conversation turned to old Devonshire songs. Some of those present knew "Widdecombe Fair," others remembered "Arscott of Tetcott"; and all had heard many and various songs sung at Hunt-suppers, at harvest and sheep-shearing feasts. My host turned to me and said: "It is a sad thing that our folk-music should perish. I wish you would set to work and collect it--gather up the fragments that remain before all is lost!" I undertook the task. I found that it was of little use going to most farmers and yeoman. They sang the compositions of Hooke, Hudson, and Dibden. But I learned that there were two notable old singing men at South Brent, and I was aware that there was one moorland singing farmer at Belstone, I was informed of this by J.D. Prickman, Esq., of Okehampton. This man, Harry Westaway, knew many old songs. Moreover, in my own neighbourhood was a totally illiterate hedger, in fact, he could neither read nor write. He enjoyed no little local celebrity as a song-man. His name was James Parsons, aged seventy-four, and a son of a still more famous singer called "The Singing-machine," and grandson of another of the same fame. In fact, the profession of song-man was hereditary in the family. At every country entertainment, in olden times, at the public-house almost nightly, for more than a century, one of these men of the Parsons' family had not failed to attend, to sing as required for the entertainment of the company. The _repertoire_ of the grandfather had descended to old James. For how many generations before him the profession had been followed I could not learn. James Parsons' ballad tunes were of an early and archaic character. In fact, with few exceptions his melodies were in the Gregorian modes. At one time Parsons and a man named Voysey were working on the fringe of Dartmoor, and met in the evening at the moorland tavern. Parsons boasted of the number of songs he knew, and Voysey promised to give him a glass of ale for every fresh one he sang. Parsons started with "The Outlandish Knight," one song streamed forth after another, one glass after another was emptied, and these men sat up the whole night, till the sun rose, and the song-man's store was not then exhausted, but Voysey's pocket was. I could hardly credit this tale when told me, so I questioned Voysey, who had worked for my father and was working for me. He laughed and confirmed the tale. "I ought to remember it," he said, "for he cleared me clean out." Many a pleasant evening have I spent with old Parsons, he in the settle, sitting over the hall fire, I taking down the words of his ballads, Mr. Sheppard or Mr. Bussell noting down his melodies. But one day I heard that an accident had befallen Parsons. In cutting "spears," _i.e._, pegs for thatching, on his knee he had cut into the joint; and the village doctor told me he feared Parsons at his age would never get over it. I sent for Mr. Bussell, and said to him: "We shall lose our old singer, before we have quite drained him. Come with me, and we will visit his cottage, and see what more we can get from him." We went, and very pleased he was to sing to us from his bed. "Old Wichet," No. 30, was one of the songs we then acquired from him. Happily, the sturdy constitution of the man caused his recovery, and he lived on for three years after this accident. One day in November, I got a letter from the Vicar of South Brent, in which he informed me that Robert Hard, a crippled stone-breaker there, and one of my song-men, was growing very feeble. Without delay I took the train, and arrived at South Brent Vicarage, just as the party had finished breakfast. "Now," said I to the Vicar, "Lend me your drawing room and the piano, and send for old Hard." The stone breaker arrived, and I spent almost the whole day, that is, till the dusk of evening fell, taking down his songs and melodies. From him then, I had "The Cuckoo," that I have published in my "Garland of Country Songs." A month later, poor old Hard was found dead in a snowdrift by the roadside. I had enlisted the services of such excellent musicians as the late Rev. H. Fleetwood Sheppard, of Thurnscoe, Yorkshire, and Mr., now the Rev. Doctor Bussell, Mus. Doc., and Vice-principal of Brazennose [Transcriber's Note: Brasenose] College, Oxford, and we worked at collecting, at South Brent, where besides Robert Hard, was John Helmore, a miller, who died in the Ivy Bridge Workhouse in 1900; also at Belstone, and we worked through the length and breadth of Dartmoor. James Coaker,[1] a blind man of 89, in the heart of the moor, very infirm, and able to leave his bed for a few hours of the day only, was unable to sing, but could recite the words of ballads; but Mr. J. Webb, captain of a mine hard by, knew his tunes, and could very sweetly pipe them. On Blackdown, Mary Tavy, lived a mason, Samuel Fone, he died in 1898. He had an almost inexhaustible supply. Further songs were yielded by a singing blacksmith, John Woodrich, of Woolacott Moor, Thrushleton, commonly known as "Ginger Jack"; also by Roger Luxton, of Halwell, by James Olver, Tanner, Launceston, a native of S. Kewe, Cornwall; by John Masters, of Bradstone, aged 83; by William Rice and John Rickards, both of Lamerton; by William Friend, labourer, Lydford; Edmund Fry, thatcher, a native of Lezant, Cornwall; Roger Hannaford, Widdecombe; Will and Roger Huggins, Lydford; W. Bickle, Bridestowe; Matthew Baker, a poor cripple, Lew Down; John Dingle, Coryton; J. Peake, tanner, Liskeard; and Mr. S. Gilbert, the aged innkeeper of the "Falcon," Mawgan, in Pyder. More were obtained from old singers at Two Bridges and Post Bridge on Dartmoor, from others at Chagford, at Holne, and at South Brent. From others again at Menheniot, Cornwall, and at Fowey. Some songs taken down from moor men on Dartmoor, in or about 1868, were sent me by W. Crossing, Esq., who knows Dartmoor better than any man living; others by T.S. Cayzer, Esq., taken down in 1849. Miss Bidder, of Stoke Flemming, most kindly searched her neighbourhood for old women who knew ancient songs, and sent me what she obtained. We had several rare old melodies from Sally Satterley,[2] now dead, of Huccaby Bridge, Dartmoor. She had acquired them from her father, a crippled fiddler. [Footnote 1: I have given a memoir of this old man in my "Dartmoor Idylls." (Methuen & Co., 1896).] [Footnote 2: I have told the romantic story of the building of her house in one day, "Jolly Lane Cott" in my "Dartmoor Idylls." The old house has recently been pulled down and replaced by an ugly modern cottage.] Of the vast quantities of tunes that we have collected, perhaps a third are very good, a third are good, and the remainder indifferent. The singers are almost invariably illiterate and aged, and when they die the tradition will be lost, for the present generation will have nothing to do with these songs, especially such as are modal, and supplant them with the vulgarest music hall compositions. The melodies are far more precious than the words, and we have been more concerned to rescue these than the words, which are often common-place, and may frequently be found on broadside ballad sheets. The words are less frequently of home growth than the airs, and over and over again we came upon ballads already in print, but not to the tunes to which they are sung elsewhere. There are, in fact, only a few, such as "Cupid's Garden," "Bold General Wolf," "Lord Thomas and the Fair Eleanor," "Barbara Allen," "Outward Bound," "The Mermaid," that retain the melodies to which sung in other parts of England. But, "Tobacco is an Indian Weed," "Joans' Ale is New," "The Fox," and many others have tunes to which sung in Devon and Cornwall that are quite different and local. A remarkable instance is that of "Sweet Nightingale." This appeared in 1761 with music by Dr. Arne. The words travelled down to Cornwall, not so Arne's tune, and they were there set to an entirely independent melody. Then again, when a tune did travel West, and was heard by some of the peasant singers, if it did not commend itself to their taste, they altered it, perhaps quite unconsciously into a form more satisfactory to their minds. I have given a very curious example of this, "Upon a Sunday Morning." Our folk music is a veritable moraine of rolled and ground fragments from musical strata far away. It contains melodies of all centuries from the days of the minstrels down to the present time, all thrown together in one heap. It must be borne well in mind that to the rustic singer, melody is everything. It was so in the days before Elizabeth. The people then did not want harmony; to them harmony is quite a modern invention and need. At the present day, we are so accustomed to choral and concerted music that we have come to care little for formal melody, and Wagner has taught us to be content with musical phrases alone. Melody is a musical idea worked out in successive notes of our scale. Modern music is constructed in but two of the seven diatonic modes, in which melodies may be cast, the major and the minor; with the result that the modern ear entertains no appreciation of an air that is not in the Ionian scale, the "tonus lascivus" of the ancients. The jongleur or minstrel had but the rudest of instruments; the peasant singer had none at all. What interest he can create, what effect he can produce, must be through melody alone. Now, I venture to assert that the folk music of the English peasantry has been surpassingly rich in melodiousness, and that no tune has had a chance of living and being transmitted from generation to generation, unless it have a distinct individuality in it, in a word, contains a melodious idea. Moreover, not having been framed only in the common major or minor key, it is abundantly varied. It has been a well-spring from which hitherto we have not drawn. In former times, that strongly defined dividing line which separates the cultured from the uncultured did not exist. The music of the peasant was also the music of the court; the ballad was the delight of the cottager and of the noble lady in her bower. But the separation began, in music, in the Elizabethan days; in ballads, in those of James I., when nearly every old ballad was re-written to fresh metres, unsingable to the traditional airs. The skilled musician scorned folk melodies, and revelled in counter-point. It is a mistake to suppose that all mediæval music was in the Gregorian modes other than our major and minor. Even in the 13th century, the modern major mode was used, so that some of our traditional airs, which seem to be modern may really be old. M. Tiersot notes that among the melodies extant of three trouvères of the Thirteenth century, a certain number are modern in character. Of twenty-two airs by the Chatelain de Coucy, three are frankly in the major; five others in the 7th or the 8th tone, give the impression of the major. Of nine melodies by the King of Navarre, four are in the major, a fifth in the 7th tone, is of the same nature as those of De Coucy. Of thirty-four _chansons_ by Adam de la Hall, twenty-one are in the major. The folk airs that we give in our collection may not please at first, certainly will not please all; but when once a relish for them has been acquired, then hearers will turn with weariness from the ordinary concert hall feebleness, as we turn from the twaddle of a vacuous female. We have found it necessary to take down all the variants of the same air that we have come across. M. Bourgault Ducoudray, in his introduction to "Mélodies populaires de Basse Bretagne," Paris, 1885, says: "When a song has been transmitted from mouth to mouth, without having been fixed by notation, it is exposed to alterations. One is sometimes obliged to collect as many as twenty variants of the same air, before finding one that is good. This is the greatest difficulty to the seeker; it is as hard to lay the hand on the veritable typal form of a melody as it is to meet with an intact specimen among the shells that have been rolled on the sea shore." When a party of singers is assembled, or when one man sings a succession of ballads, the memory becomes troubled; the first few melodies are given correctly, but after that, the airs become deflected and influenced by the airs last sung. At Two Bridges one old singer, G. Kerswell, after giving us "The Bell-ringers," sang us half-a-dozen ballads but the melody of the bells went through them all, and vitiated them all so as to render them worthless. On another occasion, we took down four or five airs all beginning alike, because one singer had impressed this beginning on the minds of the others. At another time, when this impression was worn off, they would sing correctly, and then the beginnings would be different. Experience taught us never to take down too much at one sitting. In a very few years all this heritage of traditional folk music will be gone; and this is the supreme moment at which such a collection can be made. Already, nearly every one of my old singers from whom these melodies were gathered, is dead. They are passing away everywhere. Few counties of England have been worked. Sussex has been well explored by the late Rev. John Broadwood, and then by Miss Lucy Broadwood[3]; Yorkshire, by Mr. Frank Kidson; Northumberland, by Dr. Collingwood Bruce and Mr. John Stokoe. Mr. Cecil Sharp is now engaged on Somersetshire, and Dr. Vaughan Williams on Essex. Who will undertake Lincolnshire, Dorset, Hampshire, and other counties? The purely agricultural districts are most auriferous. In manufacturing counties modern music has driven out the traditional folk melodies. [Footnote 3: The Rev. J. Broadwood, of Lyne, Sussex, printed his collection "for Private Circulation only," in 1843. It was reprinted later, with additions, by Miss L. Broadwood, under the title of "Sussex Songs." (Leonard & Co., Oxford Street.)] With regard to the approximate dates of the airs we give, all that we can say is that such as are in the ancient modes are not later than the reign of James I. How much more ancient they may be, it is impossible to determine. The melodies of the Handel and Arne, and then those of the Hooke and Dibden periods can be at once detected. Some few of the melodies we have taken down were certainly originally in one or other of the ancient modes, but in process of time have been subjected to alteration, to accommodate them to the modern ear. Although some seventy per cent. of the airs noted from the very old singers are modal, we have not given too many of these, as the popular taste is not sufficiently educated to relish them. But such as can not perceive the beauty of the tunes that go, for instance, to "The Trees they are so high," in the rarely used Phrygian mode, "Flora, the Flower of the West," in F, "Henry Martyn," "On a May morning so early," etc., are indeed to be pitied. We have not been able to give those lengthy ballads, such as, "The Outlandish Knight," "The Brown Girl," "By the Banks of Green Willow," "The Baffled Knight," "William and the Shepherd's Daughter," "Captain Ward," "The Golden Glove," "The Maid and the Box," "The Death of Queen Jane," etc., which are too long to be sung and listened to with patience now-a-days. In some instances we have set other words to a ballad tune, as XXXVI. One of my old singers said to me concerning this ballad, "When my little sister, now dead, these twenty years, was a child, and went up from Exeter to London with me in a carrier's van, Lor bless'y, afore railways was invented, I mind that she sang this here ballet in the waggon all the way up. We was three days about it. She was then about six years old." The ballet, by the way, is not particularly choice and suitable for a child or a grown-up girl to sing, according to our ideas. In giving these songs to the public, we have been scrupulous to publish the airs precisely as noted down, choosing among the variants those which commended themselves to us as the soundest. But we have not been so careful with regard to the _words_. These are sometimes in a fragmentary condition, or are coarse, contain _double entendres_, or else are mere doggerel. Accordingly, we have re-written the songs wherever it was not possible to present them in their original form. This was done by the Scotch. Many an old ballad is gross, and many a broadside is common-place. Songs that were thought witty in the Caroline and early Georgian epochs, are no longer sufferable; and broadside ballads are in many cases vulgarised versions of earlier ballads that have been lost in their original forms. What a change has taken place in public feeling with regard to decency may be judged by the way in which Addison speaks of D'Urfey in "The Guardian," 1713, No. 29. "A _judicious_ author, some years since, published a collection of sonnets, which he very successfully called "Laugh and be Fat; or, Pills to purge Melancholy." I can not sufficiently admire the facetious title of these volumes, and must censure the world of ingratitude, while they are so negligent in rewarding the jocose labours of my friend, Mr. D'Urfey, who was so large a contributor to this treatise, and to whose numerous productions so many rural squires in the remotest parts of the island are obliged for the dignity and state which corpulency gives them." And again, in No. 67, "I must heartily recommend to all young ladies, my disciples, the case of my old friend, who has often made their grand-mothers merry, and whose sonnets have perhaps lulled to sleep many a present toast, when she lay in her cradle." Why--D'Urfey's Pills must now-a-days be kept under lock and key. The fun so commended by the pious and grave Addison is filth of the most revolting description. And yet the grand-mothers of the ladies of his day, according to him, were wont to sing them over the cradles of their grand-children! So when a "Collection of Old Ballads" was published 1723-5, the Editor, after giving a series of historical and serious pieces, in a later volume apologises to the ladies for their gravity, and for their special delectation furnishes an appendix of songs that are simply dirty. A good many of the ditties in favour with our rural song-men, are, it must be admitted, of the D'Urfey type; and what is more some of the very worst are sung to the daintiest early melodies. Two courses lay open to us. One that adopted Dr. Barrett and Mr. Kidson to print the words exactly as given on the broadsides, with asterisks for the undesirable stanzas. But this would simply have killed the songs. No one would care to warble what was fragmentary. On the other hand, there is that adopted by the Scotch and Irish collectors, which consists in re-writing or modifying where objectionable or common-place. This has been the course we have pursued. It seemed a pity to consign the lovely old melodies to the antiquary's library, by publishing them with words which were fatal to the success of the songs in the drawing room or the concert hall. We resolved where the old words were good, or tolerable, to retain them. Where bad, to re-write, adhering as closely as possible to the original. Where the songs were mere broadside ballads, we have had no scruple in doing this, for we give reference to the press-mark in the British Museum, where the original text may be found. But the broadside itself is often a debased form of a fine early ballad. The broadside publishers were wont to pay a shilling to any ballad mongers who could furnish them with a new ditty. These men were destitute of the poetic faculty and illiterate, and they contented themselves with taking old ballads and recomposing them, so as to give to them a semblance of novelty, sufficient to qualify their authors to claim the usual fee. Here are some lines by one of the fraternity: "I'm Billy Nuts wot always cuts A dash through all the town, sir, With lit'rary men, my clever pen In grammar gains renown, sir, In song, and catch, and ditty. And then to each, with dying speech I do excite their pity. So all agree to welcome me, With drum and fife and whiols, (_sic_ for viols) A cause my name stands fast in fame, The Bard of Seven Dials." (B.M., 11,621, K. 4) Our object was not to furnish a volume for consultation by the musical antiquary alone, but to resuscitate, and to popularise the traditional music of the English people. As, however, to the antiquary everything is important, exactly as obtained, uncleansed from rust and unpolished, I have deposited a copy of the songs and ballads with their music exactly as taken down, for reference, in the Municipal Free Library, Plymouth. The Rev. H.F. Sheppard, who worked with me for twelve years in rescuing these old songs, and in bringing them before the public, is now no more. A new edition has been called for, and in this some exclusions and some additions have been made. We do not think that the pieces we have removed are not good, but that we are able to supply their places with others that are better. Mr. Sheppard entertained a very strong objection to arranging any song he had not himself "pricked down" from the lips of the singers, and as Mr. Bussell had noted down hundreds as well, these, for the most part, had to be laid on one side. Mr. Sheppard was, doubtless, right in his assertion, that unless he had himself heard the song sung, he could not catch its special character, and so render it justly. Acting on the advice of Mr. Cecil Sharp, of the Conservatoire, Hampstead, who has kindly undertaken the musical editorship of this edition, I have introduced several interesting ballads and songs that, for the reason above given, were excluded from the first. Mr. F. Kidson has kindly afforded us information relative to such songs as he has come across in Yorkshire. In conclusion I give a few particulars relative to the Rev. H.F. Sheppard, my fellow-worker, and Mr. D. Radford, the instigator of the collection, both of whom have passed away. Henry Fleetwood Sheppard was a graduate of Trinity Hall, Cambridge, and had been appointed Travelling Batchelor to the University. Through the whole of his clerical career he was closely associated with sacred music, especially with Plain-song, of which he was an enthusiastic admirer. As precentor of the Doncaster Choral Union from 1864 to 1884, he became the pioneer of improved church music in that part of Yorkshire. In the year 1868 he was presented to the Rectory of Thurnscoe, which at that time was an agricultural village numbering about 180 inhabitants, where he remained until 1898, when he resigned his living on account of his advancing years which precluded his coping satisfactorily with the population swelling to 3,366 souls, owing to the opening of coal mines in the parish. In 1888, as already intimated, he was associated along with myself in the collection of Devon and Cornish folk songs. When he resigned the incumbency of Thurnscoe, he retired to Oxford, where, in his declining years, he might, at his leisure, dip into those store houses of classical and musical literature in which his soul delighted. Three days before Christmas, 1901, a slight stroke of paralysis gave warning of possibly serious mischief. A sudden and fatal collapse ensued on S. John's Day, without further warning. He was laid to rest at Oxford on New Year's Eve. An inscription in the Vestry wall at Thurnscoe, was cut by one who was in Mr. Sheppard's choir for nearly forty years before his death. "Pray for the peace of Henry Fleetwood Sheppard, Rector of this Parish Church, 1868-1898, who went to rest, December 27th, 1901, aged 77 years." Mr. Daniel Radford, of Mount Tavy, was an enthusiastic lover of all that pertained to his county. He knew that a number of traditional songs and ballads still floated about, and he saw clearly that unless these were at once collected, they would be lost irretrievably, and he pressed on me the advisability of making a collection, and of setting about it at once. I began to do so in 1888, and continued at it, working hard for twelve years, assisted by Mr. Sheppard and Mr. Bussell. Mr. Radford was one for whom I entertained the deepest affection, inspired by his high character; and I knew that what he judged to be advisable should be undertaken in no perfunctory way. Mr. Radford died January 3rd, 1900, at the age of seventy-two, and was buried in Lydford churchyard. The beautiful rood-screen in the church has been erected by his sons to his memory. In the collection, the music initialed H.F.S. has the accompaniment arranged for the piano by Mr. Sheppard, that initialed C.J.S. by Mr. C.J. Sharp; that F.W.B. by Dr. Bussell. [Illustration] No. 1 BY CHANCE IT WAS H.F.S. [Music] 1 By chance it was I met my love, It did me much surprise, Down by a shady myrtle grove, Just as the sun did rise. The birds they sang right gloriously, And pleasant was the air; And there was none, save she and I, Among the flowers fair. 2 In dewy grass and green we walk'd, She timid was and coy; "How can'st thou choose but pity me, My pretty pearl, my joy? How comes it that thou stroll'st this way? Sweet maiden, tell me true, Before bright Phoebus' glittering ray Has supped the morning dew?" 3 "I go to tend the flocks I love The ewes and tender lambs, That pasture by the myrtle grove, That gambol by their dams; There I enjoy a pure content At dawning of the day," Then, hand in hand, we lovers went To see the flock at play. 4 And as we wended down the road, I said to her, "Sweet Maid, Three years I in my place abode And three more must be stayed. The three that I am bound so fast, O fairest wait for me. And when the weary years are past Then married we will be." 5 "Three years are long, three times too long, Too lengthy the delay." O then I answered in my song, "Hope wastes them quick away. Where love is fervent, fain and fast, And knoweth not decay. There nimbly fleet the seasons past Accounted as one day." No. 2 THE HUNTING OF ARSCOTT OF TETCOTT C.J.S. [Music] 1 In the month of November, in the year fifty-two, Three jolly Fox-hunters, all Sons of the Blue, They rode from Pencarrow, not fearing a wet coat, To take their diversion with Arscott of Tetcott. Sing fol-de-rol, lol-de-rol, la-de, heigh-ho! Sing fol-de-rol, lol-de-rol, la-de, heigh-ho! 2 The day-light was dawning, right radiant the morn, When Arscott of Tetcott he winded his horn; He blew such a flourish, so loud in the hall, The rafters re-sounded, and danced to the call. Sing fol-de-rol, &c. 3 In the kitchen the servants, in kennel the hounds, In the stable the horses were roused by the sounds, On Black-Bird in saddle sat Arscott, "To day I will show you good sport, lads, Hark! follow, away!" Sing fol-de-rol, &c. 4 They tried in the coppice, from Becket to Thorn, There were Ringwood and Rally, and Princess and Scorn; Then out bounded Reynard, away they all went, With the wind in their tails, on a beautiful scent. Sing fol-de-rol, &c. 5 "Hark, Vulcan!" said Arscott, "The best of good hounds! Heigh Venus!" he shouted, "How nimbly she bounds! And nothing re-echoes so sweet in the valley, As the music of Rattler, of Fill-pot, and Rally." Sing fol-de-rol, &c. 6 They hunted o'er fallow, o'er field and on moor, And never a hound, man or horse would give o'er. Sly Reynard kept distance for many a mile, And no one dismounted for gate or for stile. Sing fol-de-rol, &c. 7 "How far do you make it?" said Simon, the Son, "The day that's declining will shortly be done." "We'll follow till Doom's day," quoth Arscott. Before They hear the Atlantic with menacing roar. Sing fol-de-rol, &c. 8 Thro' Whitstone and Poundstock, St. Gennys they run, As a fireball, red, in the sea set the sun. Then out on Penkenner--a leap, and they go, Full five hundred feet to the ocean be-low. Sing fol-de-rol, &c. 9 When the full moon is shining as clear as the day, John Arscott still hunteth the country, they say; You may see him on Black-Bird, and hear, in full cry The pack from Pencarrow to Dazard go by. Sing fol-de-rol, &c. 10 When the tempest is howling, his horn you may hear, And the bay of his hounds in their headlong career; For Arscott of Tetcott loves hunting so well, That he breaks for the pastime from Heaven--or Hell. Sing fol-de-rol, &c. No. 3 UPON A SUNDAY MORNING H.F.S. [Music] 1 Upon a Sunday morning, when Spring was in its prime, Along the Church-lane tripping, I heard the Church-bells chime, And there encountered Reuben, astride upon the stile, He blocked the way, so saucy, upon his lips a smile. 2 Upon a Sunday morning, there came a rush of bells, The wind was music-laden, in changeful fall and swells; He would not let me over, he held, he made me stay, And promise I would meet him again at close of day. 3 Upon a Sunday evening, the ringers in the tower, Were practising their changes, they rang for full an hour; And Reuben by me walking, would never let me go, Until a Yes I answered, he would not take a No. 4 Again a Sunday morning, and Reuben stands by me, Not now in lane, but chancel, where all the folks may see. A golden ring he offers, as to his side I cling, O happy Sunday morning, for us the Church-bells ring. No. 4 THE TREES THEY ARE SO HIGH C.J.S. [Music] 1 All the trees they are so high, The leaves they are so green, The day is past and gone, sweet-heart, That you and I have seen. It is cold winter's night, You and I must bide alone: Whilst my pretty lad is young And is growing. 2 In a garden as I walked, I heard them laugh and call; There were four and twenty playing there, They played with bat and ball. O the rain on the roof, Here and I must make my moan: Whilst my pretty lad is young And is growing. 3 I listened in the garden, I looked o'er the wall; Amidst five and twenty gallants there My love exceeded all. O the wind on the thatch, Here and I alone must weep: Whilst my pretty lad is young And is growing. 4 O father, father dear, Great wrong to me is done, That I should married be this day, Before the set of sun. At the huffle of the gale, Here I toss and cannot sleep: Whilst my pretty lad is young And is growing. 5[4] My daughter, daughter dear, If better be, more fit, I'll send him to the court awhile, To point his pretty wit. But the snow, snowflakes fall, O and I am chill as dead: Whilst my pretty lad is young And is growing. 6[5] To let the lovely ladies know They may not touch and taste, I'll bind a bunch of ribbons red About his little waist. But the raven hoarsely croaks, And I shiver in my bed; Whilst my pretty lad is young And is growing. 7 I married was, alas, A lady high to be, In court and stall and stately hall, And bower of tapestry, But the bell did only knell, And I shuddered as one cold: When I wed the pretty lad Not done growing. 8 At seventeen he wedded was, A father at eighteen, At nineteen his face was white as milk, And then his grave was green; And the daisies were outspread, And buttercups of gold, O'er my pretty lad so young Now ceased growing. [Footnote 4: May be omitted in singing.] [Footnote 5: May be omitted in singing.] No. 5 PARSON HOGG C.J.S. [Music] 1 Mess Parson Hogg shall now maintain, The burden of my song, Sir, A single life, perforce he led, Of constitution strong, Sir. Sing, tally-ho! sing, tally-ho! Sing, tally-ho! why zounds, Sir, He mounts his mare, to hunt the hare, Sing tally-ho! the hounds, Sir. 2 And every day he goes to Mass, He first draws on the boot, Sir, That should the beagles chance to pass, He might join in pursuit, Sir! Sing tally-ho! &c. 3 That Parson little loveth prayer, And Pater, night and morn, Sir, For bell and book, hath little care But dearly loves the horn, Sir. Sing tally-ho! &c. 4 S. Stephen's Day, this holy man He went a pair to wed, Sir, When as the Service he began Puss by the Church-yard sped, Sir. Sing tally-ho! &c. 5 He shut his book, Come on, he said, I'll pray and bless no more, Sir, He drew his surplice o'er his head And started for the door, Sir Sing tally-ho! &c. 6 In pulpit Parson Hogg was strong, He preached without a book, Sir, And to the point, and never long, And this the text he took, Sir, "O tally-ho! O tally-ho! Dearly beloved--zounds, Sir I mount my mare to hunt the hare, Singing tally-ho! the hounds, Sir!" No. 6 "COLD BLOWS THE WIND, SWEET-HEART" C.J.S. [Music] 1 "Cold blows the wind of night, sweet-heart, Cold are the drops of rain; The very first love that ever I had, In green-wood he was slain. 2 "I'll do as much for my true-love As any fair maiden may; I'll sit and mourn upon his grave A twelvemonth and a day." 3 A twelvemonth and a day being up, The ghost began to speak; "Why sit you here by my grave-side From dusk till dawning break?" 4 "O think upon the garden, love, Where you and I did walk. The fairest flower that blossomed there Is withered on its stalk." 5 "What is it that you want of me, And will not let me sleep? Your salten tears they trickle down My winding sheet to steep." 6 "Oh I will now redeem the pledge The pledge that once I gave; A kiss from off thy lily white lips Is all of you I crave." 7 "Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart, My breath is earthy strong. If you do touch my clay-cold lips, Your time will not be long." 8 Then through the mould he heaved his head, And through the herbage green. There fell a frosted bramble leaf, It came their lips between. 9 "Now if you were not true in word, As now I know you be, I'd tear you as the withered leaves, Are torn from off the tree. 10 "And well for you that bramble-leaf Betwixt our lips was flung. The living to the living hold, Dead to the dead belong." No. 7 THE SPRIG OF THYME C.J.S. [Music] 1 In my garden grew plenty of Thyme, It would flourish by night and by day; O'er the wall came a lad, he took all that I had, And stole my thyme away. 2 My garden with heartsease was bright, The pansy so pied and so gay; One slipped through the gate, and alas! cruel fate, My heartsease took away. 3 My garden grew self-heal and balm, And speedwell that's blue for an hour, Then blossoms again, O grievous my pain! I'm plundered of each flower. 4 There grows in my garden the rue, And Love-lies-a-bleeding droops there, The hyssop and myrrh, the teazle and burr, In place of blossoms fair. 5 The willow with branches that weep, The thorn and the cypress tree, O why were the seeds of such dolorous weeds, Thus scattered there by thee? No. 8 ROVING JACK C.J.S. [Music] 1 Young Jack he was a journey-man That roved from town to town, And when he'd done a job of work, He lightly sat him down. With his kit upon his shoulder, and A grafting knife in hand, He roved the country round about, A merry journey-man. 2 And when he came to Exeter, The maidens leaped for joy; Said one and all, both short and tall, Here comes a gallant boy. The lady dropt her needle, and The maid her frying-pan, Each plainly told her mother, that She loved the journey-man. 3 He had not been in Exeter, The days were barely three, Before the Mayor, his sweet daughter. She loved him desperately; She bid him to her mother's house, She took him by the hand, Said she, "My dearest mother, see I love the journey-man!" 4 Now out on thee, thou silly maid! Such folly speak no more: How can'st thou love a roving man, Thou ne'er hast seen before? "O mother sweet, I do entreat, I love him all I can; Around the country glad I'll rove With this young journey-man. 5 "He need no more to trudge afoot, He'll travel coach and pair; My wealth with me--or poverty With him, content I'll share." Now fill the horn with barleycorn, And flowing fill the can: Here let us toast the Mayor's daughter And the roving journey-man. No. 9 BRIXHAM TOWN H.F.S. [Music] 1 All ye that love to hear Music performed in air, Pray listen, and give ear, To what I shall perpend. Concerning music, who'd,-- If rightly understood-- Not find 'twould do him good To hearken and attend. 2 In Brixham town so rare For singing sweet and fair, Few can with us compare, We bear away the bell. Extolled up and down By men of high renown, We go from town to town; And none can us excell. 3 There's a man in Brixham town Of office, and in gown, Strove to put singing down, Which most of men adore. For House of God unmeet, The voice and organ sweet! When pious men do meet, To praise their God before. 4 Go question Holy writ, And you will find in it, That seemly 'tis and fit, To praise and hymn the Lord. On cymbal and on lute, On organ and on flute, With voices sweet, that suit; All in a fair concord. 5 In Samuel you may read How one was troubled, Was troubled indeed, Who crown and sceptre bore; An evil spirit lay On his mind both night and day, That would not go away, And vexed him very sore. 6 Then up and uttered one, Said, "Jesse hath a son, Of singers next to none; David his name they say." "So send for David, fleet, To make me music sweet, That the spirit may retreat, And go from me away." 7 Now when that David, he King Saul had come to see, And playèd merrily. Upon his stringèd harp, The Devil in all speed, With music ill agreed, From Saul the King, he fleed, Impatient to depart. 8 Now there be creatures three As you may plainly see With music can't agree Upon this very earth The swine, the fool, the ass, And so we let it pass And sing, O Lord, thy praise Whilst we have breath. 9 So now, my friends, adieu! I hope that all of you Will pull most strong and true, In strain to serve the Lord. God prosper us, that we Like angels may agree, In singing merrily In tune and in accord. No. 10 GREEN BROOM C.J.S. [Music] 1 There was an old man lived out in the wood, His trade was a-cutting of Broom, green Broom; He had but one son without thrift, without good, Who lay in his bed till 'twas noon, bright noon. 2 The old man awoke, one morning and spoke, He swore he would fire the room, that room, If his John would not rise and open his eyes, And away to the wood to cut Broom, green Broom. 3 So Johnny arose, and he slipped on his clothes, And away to the wood to cut Broom, green Broom, He sharpened his knives, for once he contrives To cut a great bundle of Broom, green Broom. 4 When Johnny passed under a lady's fine house, Passed under a lady's fine room, fine room, She called to her maid, "Go fetch me," she said, "Go fetch me the boy that sells Broom, green Broom." 5 When Johnny came into the lady's fine house, And stood in the lady's fine room, fine room, "Young Johnny," she said, "Will you give up your trade, And marry a lady in bloom, full bloom?" 6 Johnny gave his consent, and to church they both went, And he wedded the lady in bloom, full bloom. At market and fair, all folks do declare, There is none like the Boy that sold Broom, green Broom. No. 11 AS JOHNNY WALKED OUT C.J.S. [Music] 1 As Johnny walked out one day It was a summer morn, Himself he laid beneath the shade All of a twisted thorn, And as he there lay lazily A shepherdess pass'd by; And 'twas down in yonder valley, love, Where the water glideth by. 2 "O have you seen a pretty ewe That hath a tender lamb, A strayed from the orchard glade That little one and dam?" "O pretty maid" he answered, "They passed as here I lie!" And 'twas down in yonder valley, love, Where the water glideth by. 3[6] She wandered o'er the country wide The sheep she could not find; And many times she did upbraid Young Johnny in her mind. She sought in leafy forest green She sought them low and high, And 'twas down in yonder valley, love, Where the water glideth by. 4 "Oh silly maid," young Johnny said, "Alone why did you seek?" Her heart was full of anger, and The flush was in her cheek. "Where one alone availeth not, There two your sheep may spie, And 'tis down in yonder valley, love, Where the water glideth by." 5 Then lo! they both forgot their quest, They found what neither sought, Two loving hearts long kept apart Together now were brought. He found the words he long had lacked, He found and held her eye; And 'twas down in yonder valley, love, Where the water glideth by. 6[7] Now married were this loving pair, And joined in holy band, No more they go a seeking sheep, Together hand in hand. Around her feet play children sweet, Beneath the summer sky, And 'tis down in yonder valley, love, Where the water glideth by. [Footnote 6: These verses may be omitted in singing.] [Footnote 7: These verses may be omitted in singing.] No. 12 THE MILLER AND HIS SONS C.J.S. [Music] 1 There was a miller, as you shall hear, Long time he lived in Devonshire, He was took sick and deadly ill, And had no time to write his will! He was took sick and deadly ill, And had no time to write his will. 2 So he call'd up his eldest son, Said he, "My glass is almost run. If I to thee my mill shall give, Tell me what toll thou'lt take to live?" 3 "Father," said he, "My name is Jack, From every bushel I'll take a peck. From every grist that I do grind, That I may thus good living find." 4 "Thou art a fool," the old man said, "Thou hast not half acquired thy trade. My mill to thee I ne'er will give For by such toll no man can live." 5 Then he call'd up his second son, Said he, "My glass is almost run. If I to thee my mill shall make, Tell me what toll to live thou'lt take?" 6 "Father you know my name is Ralph, From every bushel I'll take a half From every grist that I do grind, That I may thus a living find." 7 "Thou art a fool," the old man said; "Thou hast not half acquired thy trade. My mill to thee I will not give, For by such toll no man may live." 8 Then he call'd up his youngest son, Says he, "My glass is almost run. If I to thee my mill shall make Tell me what toll, to live, thou'lt take?" 9 "Father I am your youngest boy. In taking toll is all my joy. Before I would good living lack, I'd take the whole--forswear the sack." 10 "Thou art the boy," the old man said, "For thou hast full acquired the trade. The mill is thine," the old man cried, He laugh'd, gave up the ghost, and died. No. 13 ORMOND THE BRAVE C.J.S. [Music] 1 I am Ormond the brave, did ye never hear of me? Who lately was driven from my own country. They tried me, condemned me, they plundered my estate, For being so loyal to Queen Anne the Great, Crying, O! I am Ormond, you know. 2 O to vict'ry I led, and I vanquished every foe, Some do call me James Butler, I'm Ormond, you know, I am Queen Anne's darling, and old England's delight, A friend to the Church, in Fanatic's despite, Crying, O! I am Ormond, you know. 3 Then awake Devon dogs, and arise you Cornish cats, And follow me a chasing the Hanoverian rats, They shall fly from the country, we'll guard the British throne, Have no German electors with a king, sirs, of our own. Crying, O! I am Ormond, you know. 4 O I wronged not my country as Scottish peers do, Nor my soldiers defrauded, of that which is their due. All such deeds I do abhor, by the powers that are above, I've bequeath'd all my fortune to the country I love. Crying, O! I am Ormond, you know. No. 14 SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN C.J.S. [Music] 1 There came three men from out the West Their victory to try; And they have ta'en a solemn oath, Poor Barleycorn should die. With a Ri-fol-lol-riddle-diddle-dol Ri fol, ri fol dee. 2 They took a plough and ploughed him in, Clods harrowed on his head; And then they took a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. With a Ri-fol &c. 3 There he lay sleeping in the ground Till rain did on him fall; Then Barleycorn sprung up his head, And so amazed them all. With a Ri-fol &c. 4 There he remained till Midsummer And look'd both pale and wan; Then Barleycorn he got a beard And so became a man. With a Ri-fol &c. 5 Then they sent men with scythes so sharp To cut him off at knee; And then poor Johnny Barleycorn They served most barbarouslie. With a Ri-fol &c. 6 Then they sent men with pitch forks strong To pierce him through the heart; And like a doleful Tragedy They bound him in a cart. With a Ri-fol &c. 7 And then they brought him to a barn A prisoner to endure; And so they fetched him out again, And laid him on the floor. With a Ri-fol &c. 8 Then they set men with holly clubs, To beat the flesh from th' bones; But the miller served him worse than that He ground him 'twixt two stones. With a Ri-fol &c. 9 O! Barleycorn is the choicest grain That 'ere was sown on land It will do more than any grain, By the turning of your hand. With a Ri-fol &c. 10 It will make a boy into a man, A man into an ass; To silver it will change your gold, Your silver into brass. With a Ri-fol &c. 11 It will make the huntsman hunt the fox, That never wound a horn; It will bring the tinker to the stocks That people may him scorn. With a Ri-fol &c. 12 O! Barleycorn is th' choicest grain, That e'er was sown on land. And it will cause a man to drink Till he neither can go nor stand. With a Ri-fol &c. No. 15 SWEET NIGHTINGALE C.J.S. [Music] 1 My sweet-heart, come along. Don't you hear the fond song The sweet notes of the Nightingale flow? Don't you hear the fond tale, Of the sweet nightingale, As she sings in the valleys below? 2 Pretty Betty, don't fail, For I'll carry your pail Safe home to your cot as we go; You shall hear the fond tale Of the sweet nightingale, As she sings in the valleys below. 3 Pray let me alone, I have hands of my own, Along with you Sir, I'll not go, To hear the fond tale Of the sweet nightingale, As she sings in the valleys below. 4 Pray sit yourself down With me on the ground, On this bank where the primroses grow, You shall hear the fond tale Of the sweet nightingale, As she sings in the valleys below. 5 The couple agreed, And were married with speed, And soon to the church they did go; No more is she afraid For to walk in the shade, Nor sit in those valleys below. No. 16 WIDDECOMBE FAIR C.J.S. [Music] 1 "Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me your grey mare, All along, down along, out along, lee. For I want for to go to Widdecombe Fair, Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all," _CHORUS_: Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all. 2 "And when shall I see again my grey mare?" All along, &c. "By Friday soon, or Saturday noon, Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, &c." 3 Then Friday came, and Saturday noon, All along, &c. But Tom Pearce's old mare hath not trotted home, Wi' Bill Brewer, &c. 4 So Tom Pearce he got up to the top o' the hill All along, &c. And he seed his old mare down a making her will Wi' Bill Brewer, &c. 5 So Tom Pearce's old mare, her took sick and died. All along, &c. And Tom he sat down on a stone, and he cried Wi' Bill Brewer, &c. 6 But this isn't the end o' this shocking affair, All along, &c. Nor, though they be dead, of the horrid career Of Bill Brewer, &c. 7 When the wind whistles cold on the moor of a night All along, &c. Tom Pearce's old mare doth appear, gashly white, Wi' Bill Brewer, &c. 8 And all the long night be heard skirling and groans, All along, &c. From Tom Pearce's old mare in her rattling bones, And from Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all. _CHORUS_: Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all. No. 17 YE MAIDENS PRETTY C.J.S. [Music] 1 Ye maidens pretty In town and city, I pray you pity My mournful strain. A maiden weeping, Her night-watch keeping, In grief unsleeping Makes her complain: In tower I languish In cold and sadness, Heart full of anguish, Eye full of tear. Whilst glades are ringing With maidens singing, Sweet roses bringing To crown the year. 2 Thro' hills and vallies Thro' shaded alleys, And pleached palis-- Ading of grove; Among fair bowers, Midst fragrant flowers, Pass sunny hours, And sing of love. In tower I languish, &c. 3 My cruel father Gave straitest order, By watch and warder, I barr'd should be. All in my chamber, High out of danger, From eye of ranger, In misery. In tower I languish, &c. 4 Enclosed in mortar, By wall and water, A luckless daughter All white and wan; Till day is breaking My bed forsaking, I all night waking Sing like the swan. In tower I languish, In cold and sadness, Heart full of anguish, Eye full of tear, Whilst glades are ringing With maidens singing Sweet roses bringing, To crown the year. No. 18 THE SILLY OLD MAN H.F.S. [Music] 1 Aw! Come now, I'll sing you a song, 'Tis a song of right merry intent, Concerning a silly old man, Who went for to pay his rent, Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo. 2 And as this here silly old man, Was riding along the lane, A Gentleman thief overtook him, Saying "Well over-taken old man." 3 "What! well over-taken, do'y say?" "Yes, well over-taken," quoth he. "No, no," said the silly old man. "I don't want thy company. 4 "I am only a silly old man, I farm but a parcel of ground. And I am going to the landlord to pay, My rent which is just forty pound." 5 "But supposing a highway-man stopped you? For the rascals are many, men say, And take all the money from off you As you ride on the king's highway?" 6 "What! supposing some fellow should stop me? Why badly the thief would be sped. For the money I carry about me In the quilt o' my saddle is hid." 7 And as they were riding along, Along and along the green lane, The Gentleman thief rode afore him And summoned the old man to stand. 8 But the old man was crafty and cunning, As, I wot, in the world there be many, Pitched his saddle clean over the hedge, Saying, "Fetch'n if thou would'st have any," Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo. 9 Then the thief being thirsty for gold, And eager to get at his bags, He dra'ed out his rusty old sword, And chopped up the saddle to rags. 10 The old man slipped off his old mare, And mounted the thief's horse astride, Clapp'd spur, and put him in a gallop, Saying "I, without teaching, can ride." 11 When he to his landlord's had come, That old man was almost a-spent, Says he, "Landlord, provide me a room. I be come for to pay up my rent." 12 He opened the thief, his portmantle And there was a sight to behold, There were five hundred pounds in silver, And five hundred pounds in gold. 13 And as he was on his way home, And riding along the same lane, He seed--his silly old mare, Tied up to the hedge by the mane. 14 He loosed his old mare from the hedge, As she of the grass there did crib, He gi'ed her a whack o' the broad o' the back, Saying "Follow me home, old Tib." 15 Aw! When to his home he were come His daughter he dress'd like a duchess, And his ol' woman kicked and she capered for joy, And at Christmas danced jigs on her crutches. Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo. No. 19 THE MONTHS OF THE YEAR C.J.S. [Music] 1 First comes January When the sun lies very low; I see in the farmer's yard The cattle feed on stro'; The weather being so cold While the snow lies on the ground, There will be another change of moon Before the year comes round. 2 Next is February, So early in the spring; The Farmer ploughs the fallows The rooks their nests begin. The little lambs appearing Now frisk in pretty play. I think upon the increase, And thank my God, to-day. 3 March it is the next month, So cold and hard and drear. Prepare we now for harvest, By brewing of strong beer. God grant that we who labour, May see the reaping come, And drink and dance and welcome The happy Harvest Home. 4 Next of Months is April, When early in the morn The cheery farmer soweth To right and left the corn. The gallant team come after, A-smoothing of the land. May Heaven the Farmer prosper Whate'er he takes in hand. 5 In May I go a walking To hear the linnets sing. The blackbird and the throstle A-praising God the King. It cheers the heart to hear them To see the leaves unfold, The meadows scattered over With buttercups of gold. 6 Full early in the morning Awakes the summer sun, The month of June arriving, The cold and night are done, The Cuckoo is a fine bird She whistles as she flies, And as she whistles, Cuckoo, The bluer grow the skies. 7 Six months I now have named, The seventh is July. Come lads and lasses gather The scented hay to dry, All full of mirth and gladness To turn it in the sun, And never cease till daylight sets And all the work is done. 8 August brings the harvest, The reapers now advance, Against their shining sickles The field stands little chance. Well done! exclaims the farmer. This day is all men's friend. We'll drink and feast in plenty When we the harvest end. 9 By middle of September, The rake is laid aside. The horses wear the breeching Rich dressing to provide, All things to do in season, Me-thinks is just and right. Now summer season's over The frosts begin at night. 10 October leads in winter. The leaves begin to fall. The trees will soon be naked No flowers left at all. The frosts will bite them sharply The Elm alone is green. In orchard piles of apples red For cyder press are seen. 11 The eleventh month, November, The nights are cold and long, By day we're felling timber, And spend the night in song. In cozy chimney corner We take our toast and ale, And kiss and tease the maidens, Or tell a merry tale. 12 Then comes dark December, The last of months in turn. With holly, box, and laurel, We house and Church adorn. So now, to end my story, I wish you all good cheer. A merry, happy Christmas, A prosperous New Year. No. 20 THE CHIMNEY SWEEP C.J.S. [Music] 1 Oh! sweep chimney, sweep! You maidens shake off sleep If you my cry can follow. I climb the chimney top, Without ladder without rope; Aye and there! aye and there! aye and there you shall hear me halloo! 2 Arise! maids, arise! Unseal and rub your eyes. Arise and do your duty. I summon yet again And do not me disdain, That my call--that my call--that my calling's poor and sooty. 3 Behold! here I stand! With brush and scrape in hand. As a soldier that stands on his sentry. I work for the better sort, And well they pay me for't. O I work, O I work, O I work for the best of gentry. 4 Oh! sweep chimney, sweep! The hours onward creep. As the lark I am alert, I Clear away, and take The smut that others make. O I clean, O I clean, O I clean what others dirty. No. 21 THE SAUCY SAILOR (For two Voices) C.J.S. [Music] 1 _He_: "Come my fairest, come my dearest Love with me. Come and you shall wed a sailor From the sea." _She_: Faith I want none of your sailors, I must say. So begone you saucy creature. So begone from me, I pray. 2 "You are ragged, you are dirty, Smell of tar. Get you gone to foreign countries, Hence afar." _He_: "If I'm ragged, if I'm dirty, Of tar I smell, Yet there's silver in my pockets, And of gold, a store as well." 3 _She_: "Now I see the shining silver, See the gold; Down I kneel, and very humbly Hands will fold; Saying O forgive the folly From me fell, Tarry, dirty, ragged sailors, I love more than words can tell." 4 _He_: "Do not think, you changeful maiden, I am mad. That I'll take you, when there's others To be had. Not the outside coat and waistcoat Make the man. You have lost the chance that offered. Maidens snap--when e'er you can." No. 22 BLUE MUSLIN (For two Voices) H.F.S. [Music] 1 "O will you accept of the mus-e-lin so blue, To wear all in the morning, and to dabble in the dew?" "No, I will not accept of the mus-e-lin so blue, To wear all in the morning, and to dabble in the dew, Nor I'll walk, nor I'll talk with you." 2 "O will you accept of the pretty silver pin, To pin your golden hair with the fine mus-e-lin?" "No, I will not accept of the pretty silver pin, To pin my golden hair with the fine mus-e-lin. Nor I'll walk, nor I'll talk with you." 3 "O will you accept of a pair of shoes of cork, The one is made in London, the other's made in York?" "No, I will not accept of a pair of shoes of cork, The one that's made in London, the other's made in York, Nor I'll walk, nor I'll talk with you." 4 "O will you accept of the keys of Canterbury, That all the bells of England may ring, and make us merry?" "No, I will not accept of the keys of Canterbury, That all the bells of England may ring, and make us merry, Nor I'll walk, nor I'll talk with you." 5 "O will you accept of a kiss from loving heart; That we may join together and never more may part?" "Yes, I will accept of a kiss from loving heart, That we may join together and never more may part, And I'll walk, and I'll talk with you." "When you might you would not; Now you will you shall not, So fare you well, my dark eyed Sue." The song then turns back in reverse order, with the "shoes of cork" the "Silver pin" and the "blue muslin," always with to each "When you could you would not," &c. No. 23 THE DEATH OF PARKER C.J.S. [Music] 1 Ye Powers above protect the Widow, And with pity look on me! O help me, help me out of trouble And out of my calamity. For by the death of my brave Parker Fortune to me has prov'd unkind. Tho' doomed by law his death to suffer, I can not cast him from my mind. 2 O Parker was the truest husband, Best of friends, whom I love dear. Yet when he was a-called to suffer, To him I might not then draw near. Again I ask'd, again I pleaded, Three times entreating, all in vain, They ever that request refused me, And ordered me ashore again. 3 The yellow flag I saw was flying, A signal for my love to die, The gun was fir'd, as was requir'd To hang him on the yardarm high. The boatswain did his best endeavour, I on the shore was put straightway, There I tarried, watching, weeping, My husband's corpse to bear away. 4 Then farewell Parker best belov-ed That was once the Navy's pride. And since we might not die together, We separate henceforth abide. His sorrows now are past and over, Now he resteth free from pain. Grant O God his soul may enter, Where one day we may meet again. No. 24 THE HAL-AN-TOW or HELSTON FURRY DANCE Arranged by J. Matthews. [Music] 1 Robin Hood and little John They both are gone to the fair, O! And we will to the merry green-wood, To see what they do there O! And for to chase, O, to chase the buck and doe! With Hal-an-tow, jolly rumble, O, to chase the buck and doe! CHORUS. And we were up as soon as the day, For to fetch the Summer home, O! The Summer, and the May, Now the Winter is a gone, O! 2 Where are those Spaniards, That make so great a boast, O! Why, they shall eat the grey goose feathers, And we will eat the roast, O! In every land, O, the land where'er we go, With Hal-an-tow, jolly rumble O, the land where'er we go. CHORUS. And we were up, &c. 3 As for that good Knight, S. George, S. George he was a Knight, O! Of all the knights in Christendom! S. George he is the right, O! In every land, O! the land where'er we go, With Hal-an-tow, jolly rumble, O, the land where'er we go. CHORUS. And we were up, &c. 4 God bless Aunt Mary Moses[8] And all her power and might, O! And send us peace in merry England, Send peace by day and night, O! To merry England, O! both now and ever mo' With Hal-an-tow, jolly rumble, O, both now and ever mo! CHORUS. And we were up, &c. [Footnote 8: "Aunt" and "Uncle" are titles of reverence given in Cornwall quite irrespective of relationship.] No. 25 BLOW AWAY YE MORNING BREEZES C.J.S. [Music] 1 Blow away, ye morning breezes, Blow, ye winds, Heigh-ho! Blow away the morning kisses, Blow, blow, blow. "O thou shalt rue the very hour, That e'er thou knew'st the man, For I will bake the wheaten flour, And thou shalt bake the bran." CHORUS. Blow away, ye morning breezes, &c. 2 "O thou shalt sorrow thro' thy soul Thou stood'st to him so near. For thou shalt drink the puddle foul, And I the crystal clear." CHORUS. Blow away ye morning breezes, &c. 3 "O thou shalt rue that e'er thou wo'ld Behold a love of mine. For thou shalt sup the water cold, But I will sup red wine." CHORUS. Blow away ye morning breezes, &c. 4 "Thou shalt lament in grief and doubt, Thou spake'st with him at all, For thou shalt wear the sorry clout, And I the purple pall." CHORUS. Blow away ye morning breezes, &c. 5 "O thou shalt curse thy day of birth, And curse thy dam and sire, For I shall warm me at the hearth, And thou shalt feed the fire." CHORUS. Blow away ye morning breezes, &c. Note. In the original of the above Ballad each verse is repeated with the variation of "I shall not," for "I shall" &c. thus after the first verse comes, I shall _not_ rue the very hour That e'er I knew the man But _I_ will bake the wheaten flour And _thou_ shalt bake the bran. It seems unnecessary to print these repetitions. No. 26 THE HEARTY GOOD FELLOW C.J.S. [Music] 1 I saddled my horse, and away I did ride Till I came to an ale-house hard by the road-side, I call'd for a pot of ale frothing and brown, And close by the fireside I sat myself down, Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee! And I in my pocket had ONE PENNY. 2 I saw there two gentlemen playing at dice, They took me to be some nobleman nice. With my swagger, and rapier, and countenance bold, They thought that my pockets were well lined with gold, Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee! And I in my pocket had ONE PENNY. 3 "A hearty good fellow," they said, "loveth play." "That lies with the stakes, pretty sirs, that you lay." Then one said "A guinea," but I said "Five Pound," The bet it was taken--no money laid down, Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee! And I in my pocket had ONE PENNY. 4 I took up the dice, and I threw them the main, It was my good fortune, that evening, to gain; If they had a won, sirs, there'd been a loud curse, When I threw in naught save a moneyless purse. Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee! And I in my pocket had ONE PENNY. 5 Was ever a mortal a quarter as glad, With the little of money at first that I had! A hearty good fellow, as most men opine I am; so my neighbours pray pour out the wine, Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee! And I in my pocket had FIVE POUNDS, free. 6 I tarried all night, and I parted next day, Thinks I to myself, I'll be jogging away! I asked of the landlady what was my bill, "O naught save a kiss of your lips, if you will." Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee! And I in my pocket had FIVE POUNDS, free. No. 27 THE BONNY BUNCH OF ROSES H.F.S. [Music] 1 Beside the rolling ocean One morning in the month of June, The feathered warbling songsters Were sweetly changing note and tune. I overheard a damsel fair Complain in words of bitter woe, With tear on cheek, she thus did speak, O for the bonny Bunch of Roses, O! 2 Then up and spake her lover And grasped the maiden by the hand, Have patience, fairest, patience! A legion I will soon command. I'll raise ten thousand soldiers brave Thro' pain and peril I will go A branch will break, for thy sweet sake, A branch of the bonny Bunch of Roses, O! 3 Then sadly said his mother, As tough as truest heart of oak, That stem that bears the roses, And is not easy bent or broke Thy father he essayed it first And now in France his head lies low; For sharpest thorn, is ever borne O by the bonny Bunch of Roses, O! 4 He raised a mighty army And many nobles joined his throng With pipe and banner flying To pluck the rose, he march'd along: The stem he found was far too tough And piercing sharp, the thorn, I trow. No blossom he rent from the tree All of the bonny Bunch of Roses, O! 5 O mother, dearest mother! I lie upon my dying bed, And like my gallant father Must hide an uncrowned, humbled head. Let none henceforth essay to touch That rose so red, or full of woe, With bleeding hand he'll fly the Land The land of the bonny Bunch of Roses, O! No. 28 THE LAST OF THE SINGERS C.J.S. [Music] 1 I reckon the days is departed, When folks 'ud a listened to me, And I feels like as one broken-hearted, A-thinking o' what used to be. And I don't know as much be amended, Than was in them merry old Times, When, wi' pipes and good ale, folks attended, To me and my purty old rhymes, CHORUS: To me and my purty old rhymes. 2 'Tis true, I be cruel asthmatic I've lost every tooth i' my head; And my limbs be that crim'd wi' rheumatic D'rsay I were better in bed. Oh my! all the world be for reading Newspapers, and books and what not; Sure--'tis only conceitedness breeding, And the old singing man is forgot. CHORUS: And the old singing man is forgot. 3 I reckon that wi' my brown fiddle I'd go from this cottage to that; All the youngsters 'ud dance in the middle, Their pulses and feet, pit-a-pat. I cu'd zing, if you'd stand me the liquor, All the night, and 'ud never give o'er My voice--I don't deny it getting thicker, But never exhausting my store. CHORUS: But never exhausting my store. 4 'Tis politics now is the fashion As sets folks about by the ear. And slops makes the poorest of lushing, No zinging for me wi'out beer. I reckon the days be departed For such jolly gaffers as I, Folks never will be so light-hearted As they was in the days that's gone by. CHORUS: As they was in the days that's gone by. 5 O Lor! what wi' their edication, And me--neither cypher nor write; But in zinging the best in the nation And give the whole parish delight. I be going, I reckon, full mellow To lay in the Churchyard my head; So say--God be wi' you, old fellow! The last o' the Zingers is dead. CHORUS: The last o' the Zingers is dead. No. 29 THE TYTHE PIG C.J.S. [Music] 1 All you that love a bit of fun, come listen here awhile, I'll tell you of a droll affair, will cause you all to smile. The Parson dress'd, all in his best, Cock'd hat and bushy wig, He went into a farmer's house, to choose a sucking pig. Good morning, said the Parson; good morning, sir, to you! I'm come to take a sucking pig, a pig that is my due. 2 Then went the farmer to the stye, amongst the piglings small, He chose the very wee-est pig, the wee-est of them all; But when the Parson saw the choice, How he did stamp and roar! He snorted loud, he shook his wig, he almost-cursed and swore. Good morning &c. 3 O then out spake the Farmer, Since my offer you refuse Pray step into the stye yourself, that you may pick and choose. So to the stye the Priest did hie, And there without ado, The old sow ran with open mouth, and grunting at him flew. Good morning &c. 4 She caught him by the breeches black, that loudly he did cry O help me! help me from the sow! or surely I shall die. The little pigs his waistcoat tore, His stockings and his shoes, The Farmer said, with bow and smile, You're welcome, sir, to choose. Good morning &c. 5 Away the Parson scamper'd home, as fast as he could run, His wife was standing at the door, expecting his return, But when she saw him in such plight She fainted clean away, Alas! alas! the Parson said, I bitter rue this day. Good morning &c. 6 Go fetch me down a suit of clothes, a sponge and soap, I pray, And bring me, too, my greasy wig, and rub me down with hay. Another time, I won't be nice, When a gathering my dues; Another time in sucking pigs, I will not pick and choose. Good morning, said the Parson, good morning, sirs, to you, I will not pick a sucking pig--I leave the choice to you. No. 30 OLD WICHET C.J.S. [Music] 1 I went into my stable to see what I might see, And there I saw three horses stand, by one, by two, by three. I call'd unto my loving wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she, "O what do these three horses here without the leave of me?" "Why, old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see, That these are three milking cows my mother sent to me?" "Hey boys! Fill the cup! Milking cows with saddles up, The like was never known, the like was never known." Old Wichet went a noodle out, a noodle he came home. 2 I went into the kitchen, to see what I might see, And there I saw three swords hung up, by one, by two, by three. I call'd unto my loving wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she, "O what do these three swords hang here without the leave of me?" "Why, old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see, That these are three toasting forks, my mother sent to me?" "Hey boys! Well done! Toasting forks with scabbards on! The like," &c. 3 I went into the pantry, to see what I might see, And there I saw three pair of boots, by one, by two, by three. I called unto my loving wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she, "O what do these three pair of boots without the leave of me?" "Why, old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see, That these are three pudding bags, my mother sent to me?" "Hey boys! Well done! Pudding bags with steel spurs on, The like," &c. 4 I went into the dairy, to see what I might see, And there I saw three beavers, by one, by two, by three. I call'd unto my kind wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she, "O what do these three beavers here without the leave of me?" "Why, old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see, That these are three milking pails, my mother sent to me?" "Hey boys! Well done! Milking pails with ribbons on, The like," &c. 5 I went into the chamber, to see what I might see, And there I saw three men in bed, by one, by two, by three. I called unto my kind wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she, "O why sleep here three gentlemen without the leave of me?" "Why old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see, That these are three milking maids, my mother sent to me?" "Hey boys! Well done! Milking maids with beards on, The like," &c. 6 I went about the chamber, as quick as quick might be, I kicked the three men down the stairs, by one, by two, by three. "Without your hats and boots be off, your horses leave and flee, Your purses 'neath your pillows left; they too belong to me. Why old wife, blind wife! can't you very well see, That these are three highwaymen from justice hid by thee?" "Hey boys! purses left! knaves they be, and away are flown. The like was never known, the like was never known." Old Wichet went a noodle out, a wise man he came home. No. 31 JAN'S COURTSHIP C.J.S. [Music] 1 Come hither, son Jan! since thou art a man, I'll gi'e the best counsel in life, Come, sit down by me, and my story shall be, I'll tell how to get thee a wife. Iss, I will! man, I will! Zure I will! I'll tell how to get thee a wife! Iss, I will! 2 Thy self thou must dress in thy Sunday-go-best; They'll at first turn away and be shy. But boldly, kiss each purty maid that thou see'st, They'll call thee their Love, by-and-bye. Iss, they will! man, they will! Zure they will! They'll call thee their love by-and-bye! Iss, they will! 3 So a courting Jan goes in his holiday clothes, All trim, nothing ragged and torn, From his hat to his hose; with a sweet yellow rose, He looked like a gentleman born. Iss, he did! man he did! Zure he did! He looked like a gentleman born! Iss he did! 4 The first pretty lass that Jan did see pass, A farmer's fat daughter called Grace. He'd scarce said 'How do?' and a kind word or two, Her fetched him a slap in the face. Iss, her did! man, her did! Zure her did! Her fetched him a slap in the face! Iss, her did! 5 As Jan, never fearing o' nothing at all Was walking adown by the locks, He kiss'd the parson's wife, which stirred up a strife And Jan was put into the stocks. Iss, he was! man, he was! Zure he was! And Jan was put into the stocks! Iss, he was! 6 'If this be the way, how to get me a wife,' Quoth Jan, 'I will never have none. I'd rather live single the whole of my life And home to my mammy I'll run. Iss, I will! man, I will Zure I will! And home to my mammy I'll run! Iss, I will.' No. 32 THE DROWNED LOVER H.F.S. [Music] 1 As I was a-walking down by the sea-shore, Where the winds whistled high, and the waters did roar, Where the winds whistled high, and the waves raged around, I heard a fair maid make a pitiful sound, Crying, O! my love is drowned! My love must I deplore! And I never, O! never Shall see my love more! 2 I never a nobler, a truer did see A lion in courage, but gentle to me, An eye like an eagle, a heart like a dove, And the song that he sang me was ever of love. Now I cry, O! my love is drowned! My love must I deplore! And I never, O! never Shall see my love more! 3 He is sunk in the waters, there lies he asleep, I will plunge there as well, I will kiss his cold feet, I will kiss the white lips, once coral-like red, And die at his side, for my true love is dead. Now I cry, O! my love is drowned. My love must I deplore And I never, O! never Shall see my love more! No. 33 CHILDE THE HUNTER C.J.S. [Music] 1 Come, listen all, both great and small To you a tale I'll tell, What on this bleak and barren moor, In ancient days befell. It so befell, as I've heard tell, There came the hunter Childe, All day he chased on heath and waste, On Dart-a-moor so wild. 2 The winds did blow, then fell the snow, He chased on Fox-tor mire; He lost his way, and saw the day, And winter's sun expire. Cold blew the blast, the snow fell fast, And darker grew the night; He wandered high, he wandered low, And nowhere saw a light. 3 In darkness blind, he could not find Where he escape might gain, Long time he tried, no track espied, His labours all in vain. His knife he drew, his horse he slew, As on the ground it lay; He cut full deep, therein to creep, And tarry till the day. 4 The winds did blow, fast fell the snow, And darker grew the night, Then well he wot, he hope might not Again to see the light. So with his finger dipp'd in blood, He scrabbled on the stones,-- "This is my will, God it fulfil, And buried be my bones. 5 "Whoe'er he be that findeth me And brings me to a grave, The lands that now to me belong, In Plymstock he shall have." There was a cross erected then, In memory of his name; And there it stands, in wild waste lands, To testify the same. No. 34 THE COTTAGE THATCHED WITH STRAW F.W.B. [Music] 1 In the days of yore, there sat at his door, An old farmer and thus sang he, 'With my pipe and my glass, I wish every class On the earth were as well as me!' For he en-vi-ed not any man his lot, The richest, the proudest, he saw, For he had home-brew'd--brown bread, And a cottage well thatch'd with straw, A cottage well thatch'd with straw, And a cottage well thatch'd with straw; For he had home-brew'd, brown bread, And a cottage well thatch'd with straw. 2 'My dear old dad this snug cottage had, And he got it, I'll tell you how. He won it, I wot, with the best coin got, With the sweat of an honest brow. Then says my old dad, Be careful lad To keep out of the lawyer's claw. So you'll have home-brew'd--brown bread, And a cottage well thatch'd with straw. A cottage well thatch'd with straw, &c. 3 'The ragged, the torn, from my door I don't turn, But I give them a crust of brown; And a drop of good ale, my lad, without fail, For to wash the brown crust down. Tho' rich I may be, it may chance to me, That misfortune should spoil my store, So--I'd lack home-brew'd--brown bread, And a cottage well thatch'd with straw, A cottage well thatch'd with straw, &c. 4 'Then in frost and snow to the Church I go, No matter the weather how. And the service and prayer that I put up there, Is to Him who speeds the plough. Sunday saints, i' feck, who cheat all the week, With a ranting and a canting jaw, Not for them is my home-brew'd--brown bread, And my cottage well thatch'd with straw. My cottage well thatch'd with straw My cottage well thatch'd with straw. Not for them is my home-brew'd--brown bread, And my cottage well thatch'd with straw.' No. 35 CICELY SWEET C.J.S. [Music] 1 _He:_ Cicely sweet, the morn is fair, Wilt thou drive me to despair? Oft have I sued in vain And now I'm come again, Wilt thou be mine, or Yes or No? Wilt thou be mine, or No? _She:_ Prithee, Simon quit thy suit, All thy pains will yield no fruit; Go booby, get a sack, To stop thy ceaseless clack. Go for a booby, go, go, go! Go for a booby, go! 2 _He:_ Cicely sweet, if thou'lt love me, Mother'll do a deal for thee. Her'd rather sell her cow, Than I should die for thou. Wilt thou be mine, or Yes or No? Wilt thou be mine, or No? _She:_ Mother thine had best by half, Keep her cow and sell her calf; No, never for a crown; Will I marry with a clown; Go for a booby, go, go, go! Go for a booby, go! 3 _He:_ Cicely sweet, you do me wrong, My legs be straight, my arms be strong I'll carry thee about, Thou'lt go no more afoot, Wilt thou be mine or Yes, or No? Wilt thou be mine, or No? _She_: Keep thy arms to fight in fray, Keep thy legs to run away; Ne'er will I--as I'm a lass, Care to ride upon an ass. Go for a booby, go, go, go! Go for a booby, go! No. 36 A SWEET PRETTY MAIDEN SAT UNDER A TREE H.F.S. [Music] 1 A sweet pretty maiden sat under a tree, She sighed and said, 'Oh! that I married might be, My daddy is so crabbed and my mammy is so cross, That a husband for certain could never be worse.' 2 Young Johnny he heard what the damsel did say. He came to her side, and said smiling, 'Today I have a little cottage and I have a little horse I have a pleasant temper that will not grow worse. 3 'If you will be mine, and to that will agree, We'll travel together in sweet amity. There never will be wrangle, there never can be strife, Between a good husband and his pretty wife.' 4 The maiden replied, 'I am not very sure, That fond matrimony my trouble will cure, From daddy and from mammy I quickly run away And go into service for a year and a day. 5 'The ring that you hold is a link in a chain, Will fetter my freedom, my tongue will restrain I cannot run away, and I never shall be free, So take your kind offer to others than me.' No. 37 THE WHITE COCKADE C.J.S. [Music] 1 Alas! my love's enlisted, He wears a white cockade, He is as gay a gallant, As any roving blade. He's gone the king a serving, The white cockade to wear, Whilst my poor heart is breaking, For the love to him I bear. 2 "Leave off your grief and sorrow, And quit this doleful strain, The white cockade adorns me Whilst marching o'er the plain. When I return I'll marry, By this cockade I swear. Your heart from grief must rally, And my departure bear." 3 "Fair maid, I bring bad tidings." So did the Sergeant say; "Your love was slain in battle, He sends you this to-day, The white cockade he flourished Now dabbled in his gore. With his last kiss he sends it, The white cockade he wore." 4 She spoke no word--her tears, They fell a salten flood; And from the draggled ribbons Washed out the stains of blood. "O mother I am dying! And when in grave I'm laid, Upon my bosom, mother! Then pin the white cockade." No. 38 THE SAILOR'S FAREWELL C.J.S. [Music] 1 Farewell! farewell, my Polly dear! A thousand times adieu! 'Tis sad to part; but never fear, Your sailor will be true. And must I go, and leave you so-- While thund'ring billows roar? I am afraid, my own sweet maid, Your face I'll see no more. 2 The weavers and the tailors Are snoring fast asleep, While we poor 'jolly sailors' Are tossing on the deep: Are tossing on the deep, dear girl, In tempest rage and foam; When seas run high, and dark the sky, We think on those at home. 3 When Jack's ashore, safe home once more, We lead a merry life; With pipe and glass, and buxom lass, A sweetheart or a wife; We call for liquor merrily, We spend our money free, And when our money's spent and gone, Again we go to sea. 4 You'll not know where I am, dear girl, But when I'm on the sea, My secret thoughts I will unfurl In letters home to thee. The secrets, aye! of heart, I say, And best of my good will. My body may lay just where it may My heart is with you still. No. 39 A MAIDEN SAT A WEEPING C.J.S. [Music] 1 A maiden sat a-weeping Down by the sea shore, What ails my pretty mistress? What ails my pretty mistress? And makes her heart sore! 2 Because I am a-weary, A-weary in mind, No comfort, and no pleasure, love, No comfort, and no pleasure, love, Henceforth can I find. 3 I'll spread my sail of silver, I'll loose my rope of silk, My mast is of the cypress-tree, My mast is of the cypress-tree, My track is as milk. 4 I'll spread my sail of silver I'll steer toward the sun And thou, false love wilt weep for me, And thou, false love wilt weep for me, For me--when I am gone. No. 40 THE BLUE KERCHIEF F.W.B. [Music] 1 I saw a sweet maiden trip over the lea, Her eyes were as loadstones attracting of me. Her cheeks were the roses, that Cupid lurks in, With a bonny blue kerchief tied under her chin. 2 O where are you going, my fair pretty maid? O whither so swift through the dew drops? I said, I go to my mother, kind sir, for to spin. O the bonny blue kerchief tied under her chin. 3[9] Why wear you that kerchief tied over your head? 'Tis the country girls' fashion, kind sir, then she said. And the fashion young maidens will always be in So I wear a blue kerchief tied under my chin. 4 To kiss her sweet lips then I sought to begin, O nay Sir! she said, 'ere a kiss you would win, Pray show me a ring, tho' of gold the most thin. O slyest blue kerchief tied under the chin! 5 Why wear a _blue_ kerchief, sweet maiden, I said, Because the blue colour is one not to fade, As a sailor's blue jacket who fights for the king, So's my bonny blue kerchief tied under the chin. 6 The love that I value is certain to last, Not fading and changing, but ever set fast, That only the colour, my love sir to win, So goodbye from the kerchief tied under the chin. [Footnote 9: May be omitted in singing.] No. 41 COME TO MY WINDOW C.J.S. [Music] 1 Come to my window, my Love, O my Love, Come to my window, my Dear. For my mammy is asleep, And my daddy snoreth deep, Then come, e'er the day-light appear. 2 Come to my window, my Love, O my Love, Come to my window, I pray. O the hours so quickly pass, And the dew falls on the grass. Dear Love come, e'er dawneth the day. 3 Come to my window, my Love, O my Love, Come or my heart strings will break. For the night is speeding by, Soon will morning streak the sky, And my dad and my mam will awake. 4 Come to my window, my Love, O my Love, Come e'er the stars cease to shine. For my heart is full of fears, And my voice is chok'd with tears, I am Thine, O thou know'st I am Thine. No. 42 TOMMY A' LYNN C.J.S. [Music] 1 Tommy a' Lynn was a Dutchman born, His head was bald and his chin was shorn; He wore a cap made of rabbit's skin With the skin side out and the wool within. All to my tooth and my link-a-lum-lee Tommy a ranter and a rover, Tommy a bone of my stover, Brew, screw, rivet the tin, O a rare old man was Tommy a' Lynn. 2 Tommy a' Lynn had no boots to put on, But two calves hides with the hair all gone. They were split at the side and the water ran in, I must wear wet feet, said Tommy a' Lynn. All to my tooth, &c. 3 Tommy a' Lynn has a hunting gone. A saddle of urchin's skins he put on. The urchin's prickles were sharp as a pin, I've got a sore seat, said Tommy a' Lynn. All to my tooth, &c. 4 Tommy a' Lynn has a hunting gone. A bridle of mouse tails has he put on. The bridle broke and the horse ran away, I'm not well bridled, said Tommy, to-day. All to my tooth, &c.[10] 5 Tom a' Lynn's daughter, she sat on the stair, O Father I fancy I'm wondrous fair! The stairs they broke, and the maid fell in, You're fair enough now, said Tommy a' Lynn. All to my tooth, &c. 6 Tommy a' Lynn, his wife and her mother They all fell into the fire together. Ow yow! said the upper-most, I've a hot skin, It's hotter below! said Tommy a' Lynn. All to my tooth, &c. [Footnote 10: There is another verse, but it would make the song over long to sing it. Tommy a' Lynn had no watch to put on, So he scooped out a turnip to make himself one; He caught a cricket, and put it within. It's a rare old ticker, said Tommy a' Lynn.] No. 43 THE GREEN BUSHES H.F.S. [Music] 1 As I was a walking one morning in May, To hear the birds whistle, see lambkins at play, I spied a fair damsel, O sweetly sang she-- 'Down by the green bushes he thinks to meet me.' 2 'O where are you going, my sweet pretty maid?' 'My lover I'm seeking, kind sir', she said. 'Shall I be your lover, and will you agree, To forsake the old love, and forgather with me? 3 'I'll buy you fine beavers, a gay silken gown, With furbelowed petticoats flounced to the ground, If you'll leave your old love, and following me, Forsake the green bushes, where he waits for thee?' 4 'Quick, let us be moving, from under the trees, Quick, let us be moving, kind sir, if you please; For yonder my true love is coming, I see, Down by the green bushes he thinks to meet me.' 5 The old love arrived, the maiden was gone He sighed very deeply, he sighed all alone, 'She is on with another, before off with me, So, adieu ye green bushes for ever!' said he. 6 'I'll be as a schoolboy, I'll frolic and play, No false hearted maiden shall trouble my day, Untroubled at night, I will slumber and snore, So, adieu, ye green bushes! I'll fool it no more.' No. 44 THE BROKEN TOKEN C.J.S. [Music] 1 One summer evening, a maiden fair Was walking forth in the balmy air, She met a sailor upon the way; 'Maiden stay' he whispered, 'Maiden stay' he whispered 'O pretty maiden, stay!' 2 'Why art thou walking abroad alone? The stars are shining, the day is done,' O then her tears they began to flow; For a dark eyed sailor, For a dark eyed sailor Had filled her heart with woe. 3 'Three years are pass'd since he left this land, A ring of gold he took off my hand, He broke the token, a half to keep, Half he bade me treasure, Half he bade me treasure, Then crossed the briny deep.' 4 'O drive him damsel from out your mind, For men are changeful as is the wind, And love, inconstant will quickly grow Cold as winter morning Cold as winter morning When lands are white with snow.' 5 'Above the snow is the holly seen, In bitter blast it abideth green, And blood-red drops it as berries bears So my aching bosom, So my aching bosom, Its truth and sorrow wears.' 6 Then half the ring did the sailor show, Away with weeping and sorrow now! 'In bands of marriage united we Like the broken Token Like the broken Token In one shall welded be.' No. 45 THE MOLE-CATCHER. C.J.S. [Music] 1 A mole-catcher am I, and that is my trade, I potters about wi' my spunt and my spade, On a moon-shiny night, O! 'tis my delight, A-catching o' moles. 2 The traps that I set for the mole in his run, There's never a night, sirs, but I catches one. On a moon-shiny night, O! 'tis my delight, A-catching o' moles. 3 Along of the lanes as by night-time I go, There's things that I see, as the folks don't know, On a moon-shiny night, &c. 4 There's frolic and lark in the field and the park, For others than moles will be out in the dark, On a moon-shiny night, &c. 5 The maiden by day that's too modest to speak Is gadding abroad, by the night all the week, On a moon-shiny night, &c. 6 The 'prentice who should be a lying in bed Is rambling over the meadows instead, On a moon-shiny night, &c. 7[11] I light on the poacher wi' sniggle and snare, But that I'll not peach he is surely aware, On a moon-shiny night, &c. 8 The doctor and lawyer as drunk as a dog, Are wallowing into a ditch or a bog, On a moon-shiny night, &c. 9 There's many a sight; and there's many a sound Wot maketh me laugh as I'm making my round, On a moon-shiny night, &c. 10 But nothing I sez for I'm mum as a bell, You certainly know that no tales will I tell, On a moon-shiny night, O! 'tis my delight, A-catching o' moles Not human souls. [Footnote 11: May be omitted in singing.] No. 46 THE KEENLY LODE C.J.S. [Music] 1 Old Uncle Pengerric a Captain was, A dowser shrewd was he; Who feathered his nest from the keenly lode That ruined you and me. The Captain was traversing Brandy Moor, With hazel twig in hand, The hazel twisted and turned about And brought him to a stand. CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, the keenly lode Of bâlls the best, my boys; Old Uncle Pengerric very well know'd How to feather his nest, my boys. 2 Old Uncle Pengerric so big did brag Of ore in Brandy Bâll, "Come fork out your money my Christian friends, Your fortunes treble all." Now Uncle was reckoned a preacher stout, A burning and shining light. The people all said, "What he has in head Will surely turn out right." CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, &c. 3 The Company floated, the Shares up paid, The gold came flowing in. He set up a whim, and began to sink For the keenly lode of tin. He had not burrowed but five foot six 'Ere he came to a buried hoss. Said Uncle Pengerric, "No fault of mine, Tho't turn out some one's loss." CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, &c. 4 The shaft descended, but ne'er a grain Of ore was brought to ground. And presently Uncle Pengerric too, Was not in Cornwall found. But wherever he goes, and whenever he talks, He says:--"The rod told true, It brought to me luck, but it turn'd and struck At nought but an old horse-shoe." CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, &c. Note: A Keenly Lode is a Lode that promises well. A Bâll is the Cornish for a mine. No. 47 MAY-DAY CAROL C.J.S. [Music] 1 Awake, ye pretty maids, awake, Refreshed from drowsy dream, And haste to dairy house, and take For us a dish of cream. 2 If not a dish of yellow cream, Then give us kisses three; The woodland bower is white with flower, And green is every tree. 3 A branch of May we bear about Before the door it stands; There's not a sprout unbudded out, The work of God's own hands. 4 Awake, awake ye pretty maids, And take the May-bush in, Or 'twill be gone ere tomorrow morn, And you'll have none within. 5 Throughout the night, before the light, There fell the dew or rain, It twinkles bright on May bush white, It sparkles on the plain. 6 The heavenly gates are open wide To let escape the dew, And heavenly grace falls on each place It drops on us and you. 7 The life of man is but a span, He blossoms as a flower, He makes no stay, is here to-day, And vanish'd in an hour.[12] 8 My song is done, I must be gone, Nor make a longer stay. God bless you all, both great and small, And send you gladsome May. [Footnote 12: Verses 6 & 7, and there have been others of like moralising nature, were added when the character of the May-Day visit was altered from one of lovers to their sweet-hearts into one of children seeking May-Gifts. Then the 'Kisses three' were changed to 'Pennies one or three.'] No. 48 THE LOVER'S TASKS C.J.S. [Music] 1 _He:_ O buy me, my Lady, a cambric shirt Whilst every grove rings with a merry antine (_antienne anthem_) And stitch it without any needle work And thou shalt be a true lover of mine. 2 O thou must wash it in yonder well, Whilst every grove &c. Where never a drop of water in fell, And thou shalt &c. 3 And thou must bleach it on yonder grass, Whilst every grove &c. Where never a foot or hoof did pass. And thou shalt &c. 4 And thou must hang it upon a white thorn, Whilst every grove &c. That never blossom'd since Adam was born And thou shalt &c. 5 And when these works are finished and done Whilst every grove &c. I'll take and marry thee under the sun. And thou shalt &c. 6[13] _She:_ Thou must buy for me an acre of land, Whilst every grove &c. Between the salt sea and the yellow sand And thou shalt &c. 7 Thou must plough it o'er with a horses horn Whilst every grove &c. And sow it over with a pepper corn, And thou shalt &c. 8 Thou must reap it, too, with a piece of leather, Whilst every grove &c. And bind it up with a peacock's feather, And thou shalt &c. 9 Thou must take it up in a bottomless sack, Whilst every grove &c. And bear it to the mill on a butterfly's back. And thou shalt &c. 10 And when these works are finished and done Whilst every grove &c. I'll take and marry thee under the sun. And thou shalt &c. [Footnote 13: All the second part may be omitted.] No. 49 LULLABY H.F.S. [Music] 1 Sleep, baby sleep! Dad is not nigh, Tossed on the deep, Lul-lul-a-by! Moon shining bright, Dropping of dew. Owls hoot all night To-whit! to-whoo! 2 Sleep, baby sleep! Dad is away, Tossed on the deep, Looking for day. In the hedge row Glow-worms alight, Rivulets flow, All through the night. 3 Sleep, baby sleep! Dad is afar, Tossed on the deep, Watching a star. Clock going--tick, Tack--in the dark. On the hearth-brick, Dies the last spark. 4 Sleep, baby sleep! What! not a wink! Dad on the deep, What will he think? Baby dear, soon Daddy will come, Bringing red shoon For baby at home. No. 50 THE GIPSY COUNTESS PART I. C.J.S. [Music] 1 There came an Earl a riding by, A gipsy maid espyed he; "O nut-brown maid, from green-wood glade, O prithee come along with me." "In green-wood glade, fair Sir!" she said, "I am so blythe, as bird so gay. In thy castle tall, in bower and hall, I fear for grief I'd pine away." 2 "Thou shalt no more be set in stocks, And tramp about from town to town, But thou shalt ride in pomp and pride In velvet red and broidered gown." "My brothers three no more I'd see, If that I went with thee, I trow. They sing me to sleep, with songs so sweet, They sing as on our way we go." 3 "Thou shalt not be torn by thistle and thorn, With thy bare feet all in the dew. But shoes shall wear of Spanish leather And silken stockings all of blue." "I will not go to thy castle high, For thou wilt weary soon, I know, Of the gipsy maid, from green-wood glade, And drive her forth in rain and snow." 4 "All night you lie neath the starry sky In rain and snow you trudge all day, But thy brown head, in a feather bed, When left the gipsies, thou shalt lay." "I love to lie 'neath the starry sky, I do not heed the snow and rain, But fickle as wind, I fear to find The man who now my heart would gain." 5 "I will thee wed, sweet maid," he said, "I will thee wed with a golden ring, Thy days shall be spent in merriment; For us the marriage bells shall swing." The dog did howl, and screech'd the owl, The raven croaked, the night-wind sighed; The wedding bell from the steeple fell, As home the Earl did bear his bride. No. 50 THE GIPSY COUNTESS PART II. C.J.S. [Music] 1 Three Gipsies stood at the Castle gate, They sang so high, they sang so low, The lady sate in her chamber late, Her heart it melted away as snow, Away as snow, Her heart it melted away as snow. 2 They sang so sweet; they sang so shrill, That fast her tears began to flow. And she laid down her silken gown, Her golden rings, and all her show, All her show &c. 3[14] She plucked off her high-heeled shoes, A-made of Spanish leather, O. She would in the street; with her bare, bare feet; All out in the wind and weather, O. Weather, O! &c. 4 She took in hand but a one posie, The wildest flowers that do grow. And down the stair went the lady fair, To go away with the gipsies, O! The gipsies, O! &c. 5 At past midnight her lord came home, And where his lady was would know; The servants replied on every side, She's gone away with the gipsies, O! The gipsies, O! &c. 6[15] Then he rode high, and he rode low, And over hill and vale, I trow, Until he espied his fair young bride, Who'd gone away with the gipsies, O! The gipsies, O! &c. 7[16] O will you leave your house and lands, Your golden treasures for to go, Away from your lord that weareth a sword, To follow along with the gipsies, O! The gipsies, O! &c. 8 O I will leave my house and lands, My golden treasures for to go, I love not my lord that weareth a sword, I'll follow along with the gipsies, O! The gipsies, O! &c. 9 'Nay, thou shalt not!' then he drew, I wot, The sword that hung at his saddle bow, And once he smote on her lily-white throat, And there her red blood down did flow Down did flow, &c. 10 Then dipp'd in blood was the posie good, That was of the wildest flowers that blow. She sank on her side, and so she died, For she would away with the gipsies, O! The gipsies, O! For she would away with the gipsies O! [Footnote 14: In singing, these may be omitted.] [Footnote 15: In singing, these may be omitted.] [Footnote 16: In singing, these may be omitted.] No. 51 THE GREY MARE C.J.S. [Music] 1 Young Roger, the Miller, went courting of late A farmer's sweet daughter called Beautiful Kate; Now Kitty was buxom, and bonny and fair, Had plenty of humour, of frolic a share, And her father possessed an uncommon grey mare, A grey mare, a grey mare, An uncommon grey mare. 2 So Roger he dressed himself up as a beau, He comb'd down his locks, and in collars of snow, He went to the farmer, and said, "How d'y do? I love pretty Kitty, to her I'll prove true; Will you give me the grey mare and Katherine too, The grey mare, the grey mare &c. 3 "She's a very nice maiden, a-courting I'm come. Lawks! how I would like the grey mare to ride home! I love your sweet daughter so much I declare, I'm ready my mill--and my stable--to share, With Kitty the charming, and with the grey mare, The grey mare, the grey mare &c." 4 "You're welcome to her, to her hand and her heart, But from the grey mare, man, I never will part." So said the old farmer,--then Roger, "I swear, It is up with my courting, for Kate I don't care, Unless I be given as well the grey mare. The grey mare, the grey mare &c." 5 The years had pass'd swiftly, when withered and grey, Old Roger, the Miller, met Katherine one day, Said he, "I remember you, buxom and fair, As roses your cheeks and as broom was your hair And I came a courting!--Ah, Kate! the grey mare, The grey mare, the grey mare &c." 6 "I remember your coming to court the grey mare Very well, Mr. Roger, when golden my hair, And cheeks were as roses that bloom on the wall. But, lawks! Mr. Roger,--I can not recall That e'er you came sweet-hearting _me_, man, at all, But the mare, the grey mare That uncommon grey mare." No. 52 THE WRECK OFF SCILLY H.F.S. [Music] 1 Come all you brisk young sailors bold That plough the raging main, A tragedy I will unfold In story sad and plain. From my true love 'twas pressed was I The gallant ship to steer To Indies west,--each heart beat high With confidence and cheer. 2 A year was gone, and home at last, We turn'd with swelling sail, When--'ere the Scilly over-passed There broke on us a gale. The boatswain up aloft did go. He went aloft so high. More angry did the ocean grow, More menacing the sky. 3 To make the stripe in vain we tried The Scilly rocks to clear, The thunder of the furious tide Was filling every ear. There came a sharp and sudden shock,-- Each thought of wife and home! The gallant ship was on a rock, And swept with wave and foam. 4 Of eighty seamen 'prised the crew, But one did reach the shore, The gallant vessel, good and true, Was shattered aft and fore. The news to Plymouth swift did fly, That our good ship was gone; And wet with tears was many an eye, And many a widow lone. 5 And when I came to Plymouth sound Alive, of eighty dead, My pretty love, then false I found And to a landsman wed. O gentles all that live on land Be-think the boys at sea, Lo! here I stand with cap in hand, And crave your charity. No. 53 HENRY MARTYN C.J.S. [Music] 1 In merry Scotland, in merry Scotland, There lived brothers three, They all did cast lots which of them should go, A robbing upon the salt sea. 2 The lot it fell upon Henry Martyn, The youngest of the three, That he should go rob on the salt, salt sea, To maintain his brothers and he. 3 He had not a sailed a long winter's night, Nor yet a short winter's day, Before he espied the King's gallant ship, Come sailing along that way. 4 How far, how far, cried Henry Martyn, How far are you going? said he For I am a robber upon the salt seas, To maintain my brothers and me. 5 Stand off, stand off! the Captain he cried, The lifeguards they are aboard. My cannons are loaden with powder and shot; And every man hath a sword. 6 For three long hours they merrily fought, For hours they fought full three. And many a blow it dealt many a wound, As they fought on the salt, salt sea. 7 Twas broadside against a broadside then, And at it, the which should win, A shot in the gallant ship bored a hole, And then did the water rush in. 8 Bad news! bad news, for old England Bad news has come to the town, The king his vessel is wrecked and lost, An all his brave soldiers drown. 9 Bad news! bad news through the London street! Bad news has come to the King, The lives of his guard they be all a lost, O the tidings be sad that I bring. 10 O had I a twisted rope of hemp, A bowstring strong though thin; I'd soon hang him up to his middle yard arm, And have done with Henry Martyn. No. 54 PLYMOUTH SOUND H.F.S. [Music] 1 O the fair town of Plymouth is by the sea-side, The Sound is so blue, and so still and so wide, Encircled with hills and with forests all green, As a crown of fresh leaves on the head of a queen, O dear Plymouth town, and O blue Plymouth Sound! O where is your equal on Earth to be found. 2 O the maidens of Plymouth are comely and sweet, So mirthful of eye and so nimble of feet, I love all the lasses of Plymouth so well, That the which I love best not a prophet can tell. O dear Plymouth town, &c. 3 O the bells of old Plymouth float over the bay, My heart it does melt, as I'm sailing away. O be they a ringing when I do return, With thoughts matrimonial my bosom will burn. O dear Plymouth town, &c. 4 For the maidens of Plymouth my love is so hot, With a bushel of rings I would marry the lot. But as I can't marry them all, well-a-day! Perhaps it's as well that I'm sailing away. O dear Plymouth town, &c. No. 55 THE FOX C.J.S. [Music] 1 The fox went out one winter night, And prayed the moon to give him light, For he'd many a mile to go that night, Before he reached his den, O! Den, O! Den, O! For he'd many a mile to go that night, For he'd many a mile to go that night, Before he reached his den, O! 2 At last he came to a farmer's yard, Where ducks and geese were all afear'd, "The best of you all shall grease my beard, Before I leave the Town O! Town, O! Town, O! The best of you all &c." 3 He took the grey goose by the neck, He laid a duck across his back, And heeded not their quack! quack! quack! The legs of all dangling down, O! Down, O! Down, O! And heeded not &c. 4 Then old mother Slipper Slopper jump'd out of bed And out of the window she pop't her head, Crying "Oh! John, John! the grey goose is dead, And the fox is over the down, O!" Down, O! Down, O! Crying "O John, John &c." 5 Then John got up to the top o' the hill, And blew his horn both loud and shrill, "Blow on" said Reynard, "your music still, Whilst I trot home to my den, O!" Den, O! Den, O! "Blow on" said Reynard &c. 6 At last he came to his cosy den, Where sat his young ones, nine or ten. Quoth they, "Daddy, you must go there again, For sure, 'tis a lucky town, O!" Town, O! Town, O! Quoth they, "Daddy, &c." 7 The fox and wife without any strife, They cut up the goose without fork or knife, And said 'twas the best they had eat in their life, And the young ones pick'd the bones, O! Bones, O! Bones, O! And said 'twas the best, &c. No. 56 FURZE BLOOM H.F.S. [Music] 1 There's not a cloud a sailing by, That does not hold a shower; There's not a furze-bush on the moor, That doth not put forth flower. About the roots we need not delve, The branches need not prune, The yellow furze will ever flower, And ever love's in tune! When the furze is out of flower, Then love is out of tune. 2 There's not a season of the year, Nor weather hot nor cold, In windy spring, in watery fall, But furze is clad in gold. It blossoms in the falling snow, It blazes bright in June, And love, like it, is always here, And ever opportune. When the furze is out of flower, Then love is out of tune. 3[17] There's not a saucy lad I wot, With light and roguish eye, That doth not love a pretty lass, And kiss her on the sly, There's not a maiden in the shire From Hartland Point to Brent, In velvet, or in cotton gown, That will his love resent. When the furze is out of flower, Then love is out of tune. 4 Beside the fire with toasted crabs, We sit and love is there, In merry spring, with apple flowers, It flutters in the air. At harvest when we toss the sheaves, Then Love with them is toss't. At fall when nipp'd and sere the leaves, Unnipp't is Love by frost. When the furze is out of flower, Then love is out of tune. [Footnote 17: May be omitted in singing.] No. 57 THE OXEN PLOUGHING H.F.S. [Music] 1 Prithee lend your jocund voices, For to listen we're agreed: Come sing of songs the choicest, Of the life the ploughboys lead. There are none that live so merry As the ploughboy does in Spring When he hears the sweet birds whistle And the nightingales to sing. With my Hump-a-long! Jump-a-long! Here drives my lad along! Pretty, Sparkle, Berry Good-luck, Speedwell, Cherry! We are the lads that can follow the plough. 2 For it's, O my little ploughboy Come awaken in the morn, When the cock upon the dunghill Is a-blowing of his horn. Soon the sun above Brown Willy,[18] With his golden face will show; Therefore hasten to the linney Yoke the oxen to the plough. With my Hump-a-long! &c. 3 In the heat of the daytime It's but little we can do. We will lie beside our oxen For an hour, or for two. On the banks of sweet violets, I'll take my noontide rest, And it's I can kiss a pretty girl As hearty as the best. With my Hump a long! &c. 4 When the sun at eve is setting And the shadows fill the vale, Then our throttles we'll be wetting, With the farmer's humming ale. And the oxen home returning We will send into the stall. Where the logs and turf are burning, We'll be merry ploughboys all. With my Hump a long! &c. 5 O the farmer must have seed, sirs, Or I swear he cannot sow. And the miller with his mill wheel Is an idle man also. And the huntsman gives up hunting, And the tradesman stands aside, And the poor man bread is wanting, So 'tis we for all provide. With my Hump a long! &c. [Footnote 18: Or any other suitable hill.] No. 58 FLORA, THE LILY OF THE WEST C.J.S. [Music: in D minor] 1 'Twas when I came to England, some pleasures for to find, There I espied a damsel most pleasing to my mind; Her rosy cheeks and shining eyes as arrows pierced my breast, Her name was lovely Flora, the Lily of the West. 2 Her golden hair in ringlets hung, her dress was spangled o'er; She'd rings on every finger, brought from a foreign shore; 'Twould ruin kings and princes, so richly was she dress'd, She far excelleth Venus, this Lily of the West. 3 I courted her a fortnight, in hopes her love to gain, But soon she turn'd against me, which caused all my pain. She robb'd me of my freedom, she robb'd me of my rest, I roam, forsook of Flora, the Lily of the West. 4 Alas! where'er I wander, however much I will, The thought of that fair maiden abideth with me still; For ever I am downcast, for ever sore oppress'd, An outcast e'er from Flora, the Lily of the West. No. 58 FLORA, THE LILY OF THE WEST C.J.S. [Music: in G Major] 1 'Twas when I came to England, some pleasure for to find, There I espied a damsel most pleasing to my mind; Her rosy cheeks and shining eyes as arrows pierced my breast, Her name was Lovely Flora, the Lily of the West. 2 Her golden hair in ringlets hung, her dress was spangled o'er; She'd rings on every finger, brought from a foreign shore; 'Twould ruin kings and princes, so richly was she dress'd, She far excelleth Venus, this Lily of the West. 3 I courted her a fortnight, in hopes her love to gain, But soon she turn'd against me, which caused all my pain. She robb'd me of my freedom, she robb'd me of my rest, I roam, forsook of Flora, the Lily of the West. 4 Alas! where'er I wander, however much I will The thought of that fair maiden abideth with me still; For ever I am downcast, for ever am oppress'd, An outcast e'er from Flora, the Lily of the West. No. 59 THE SIMPLE PLOUGHBOY C.J.S. [Music] 1 O the Ploughboy was a ploughing With his horses on the plain, And was singing of a song as on went he. "Since that I have fall'n in love, If the parents disapprove, 'Tis the first thing that will send me to the sea." 2 When the parents came to know That their daughter loved him so, Then they sent a gang, and pressed him for the sea. And they made of him a tar, To be slain in cruel war; Of the simple Ploughboy singing on the lea. 3 The maiden sore did grieve, And without a word of leave, From her father's house she fled secretlie, In male attire dress'd, With a star upon her breast, All to seek her simple Ploughboy on the sea. 4 Then she went o'er hill and plain, And she walked in wind and rain, Till she came to the brink of the blue sea. Saying, "I am forced to rove, For the loss of my true love, Who is but a simple Ploughboy from the lea." 5[19] Now the first she did behold, O it was a sailor bold, "Have you seen my simple ploughboy?" then said she. "They have press'd him to the fleet, Sent him tossing on the deep, Who is but a simple Ploughboy from the lea." 6 Then she went to the Captain, And to him she made complain, "O a silly Ploughboy's run away from me!" Then the Captain smiled and said, "Why Sir! surely you're a maid! So the Ploughboy I will render up to thee." 7 Then she pullèd out a store, Of five hundred crowns and more, And she strewed them on the deck, did she, Then she took him by the hand, And she rowed him to the land, Where she wed the simple Ploughboy back from sea. [Footnote 19: May be omitted in singing.] No. 60 FAIR LADY, PITY ME C.J.S. [Music] 1 Dear love, regard my grief, Do not my suit disdain; O yield me some relief, That am with sorrows slain. Pity my grievous pain Long suffer'd for thy sake, Do not my suit disdain No time I rest can take. These seven long years and more Still have I loved thee; Do thou my joys restore Fair lady, pity me. 2 While that I live I love So fancy urgeth me; My mind can not remove Such is my constancy. My mind is nobly bent Tho' I'm of low degree; Sweet lady, give consent To love and pity me. These seven long years and more Still have I loved thee; Do thou my joys restore Fair lady, pity me. No. 61 THE PAINFUL PLOUGH H.F.S. [Music] 1 O Adam was a ploughboy, when ploughing first begun, The next that did succeed him was Cain, his eldest son; Some of the generation the calling still pursue, That bread may not be wanting, they labour at the plough. 2 Samson was the strongest man, and Solomon was wise, And Alexander conquering, he made the world his prize, King David was a valiant man, and many thousands slew, Yet none of all these heroes bold could live without the plough. 3 Behold the wealthy merchant, that trades on foreign seas, And brings home gold and treasure, for such as live at ease, With spices and with cinnamon, and oranges also, They're brought us from the Indies, by virtue of the plough. 4 I hope there's none offended at me for singing this, For never I intended to sing you ought amiss. And if you well consider, you'll find the saying true, That all mankind dependeth upon the painful plough. No. 62 AT THE SETTING OF THE SUN C.J.S. [Music] 1 Come all you young fellows that carry a gun, Beware of late shooting when daylight is done; For 'tis little you reckon what hazards you run, I shot my true love at the setting of the sun In a shower of rain as my darling did hie All under the bushes to keep herself dry, With her head in her apron I thought her a swan, And I shot my true love at the setting of the sun. 2 I'll fly from my country, I nowhere find rest I've shot my true love, like a bird in her nest. Like lead on my heart lies the deed I have done, I shot my true love at the setting of the sun. In a shower, etc. 3 In the night the fair maid as a white swan appears, She says, O my true love, quick dry up your tears, I freely forgive you, I have Paradise won, I was shot by my love at the setting of the sun. In a shower, etc. 4 O the years as they pass leave me lonely and sad, I can ne'er love another, and naught makes me glad. I wait and expect till life's little span done I meet my true love at the rising of the sun In a shower, etc. No. 63 JOLLY FELLOWS THAT FOLLOW THE PLOUGH C.J.S. [Music] 1 'Twas early one morning at breaking of day, The cocks were a crowing, the farmer did say, Come, arise, my good fellows, arise with good will, For your horses want something their bellies to fill. With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow, That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough. 2 We jump'd out of bed and slipp'd into our clothes, Away to the stable each merrily goes. When six o'clock cometh, to breakfast we go, To good bread and cheese and the best of stingo. With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow, That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough. 3 When seven o'clock soundeth to work we do go, We hitch up our horses and halloo Wee Woo! At eight o' clock, lads, we are merry and bold, To see of us which the best furrow can hold. With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow, That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough. 4 The farmer came to us, and thus did he say, "What have you been doing lads, all the long day? You've not ploughed your acre, I swear and I vow, You are all lazy fellows that follow the plough." With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow, That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough. 5 The carter turns round with a twinkling eye, "We have all ploughed our acre, I tell you no lie, We have all ploughed our acre, I swear and I vow, So we're the right fellows that follow the plough." With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow, That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough. 6 The farmer he laughed for he lovèd a joke "It is past two o'clock, boys, 'tis time to unyoke. Unharness your horses and rub them down well, And so I will give you a jug of brown ale." With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow, That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough. 7 So, all my fine fellows, wherever you be, Come take my advice and be rulèd by me. Draw your furrows aright; plough your acre and know That such are the fellows to follow the plough. With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow, That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough. No. 64 THE GOLDEN VANITY C.J.S. [Music] 1 A ship I have got in the North Country And she goes by the name of the Golden Vanity, O I fear she'll be taken by a Spanish Ga-la-lie, As she sails by the Low-lands low. 2 To the Captain then upspake the little Cabin-boy, He said, What is my fee, if the galley I destroy? The Spanish Ga-la-lie, if no more it shall annoy, As you sail by the Low-lands low. 3 Of silver and gold I will give to you a store; And my pretty little daughter that dwelleth on the shore, Of treasure and of fee as well, I'll give to thee galore, As we sail by the Low-lands low. 4 Then the boy bared his breast, and straightway leaped in, And he held all in his hand, an augur sharp and thin, And he swam until he came to the Spanish galleon, As she lay by the Low-lands low. 5 He bored with the augur, he bored once and twice, And some were playing cards, and some were playing dice, When the water flowed in it dazzled their eyes, And she sank by the Low-lands low. 6[20] So the Cabin-boy did swim all to the larboard side, Saying Captain! take me in, I am drifting with the tide! I will shoot you! I will kill you! the cruel Captain cried, You may sink by the Low-lands low. 7 Then the Cabin-boy did swim all to the starboard side Saying, Messmates take me in, I am drifting with the tide! Then they laid him on the deck, and he closed his eyes and died, As they sailed by the Low-lands low. 8[21] They sewed his body up, all in an old cow's hide, And they cast the gallant cabin-boy, over the ship's side, And left him without more ado adrifting with the tide, And to sink by the Low-lands low. [Footnote 20: May be omitted in singing.] [Footnote 21: May be omitted in singing.] No. 65 THE BOLD DRAGOON H.F.S. [Music] 1 A bold dragoon from out of the North, To a lady's house came riding; With clank of steel, and spur at his heel, His consequence noways hiding. "Bring forth good cheer, tap claret and beer, For here I think of abiding, Abiding, Abiding. 2 "The chamber best with arras be dress'd I intend to be comfortable. Such troopers as we always make ourselves free, Heigh!--lead my horse to the stable! Give him corn and hay, but for me Tockay, We'll eat and drink whilst able, Able, aye! Able. 3 "The daintiest meat upon silver plate, And wine that sparkles and fizzes. Wax candles light, make the chamber bright, And--as soldiers love sweet Misses, My moustache I curl with an extra twirl, The better to give you kisses, Kisses, aye! Kisses." 4 "There's cake and wine," said the lady fine, "There's oats for the horse, and litter. There's silver plate, there are servants to wait, And drinks, sweet, sparkling, bitter. Tho, bacon and pease, aye! and mouldy cheese, For such as you were fitter, Fitter aye! Fitter. 5 "Your distance keep, I esteem you cheap Tho' your wishes I've granted, partly. But no kisses for me from a Chimpanzee," The lady responded tartly. "Why! a rude dragoon is a mere Baboon." And she boxed his ears full smartly, Smartly, aye! smartly. No. 66 TRINITY SUNDAY H.F.S. [Music] 1 When bites the frost and winds are a blowing, I do not heed, I do not care; If Johnny's by me, what if it be snowing. 'Tis summer time with me all the year. 2 The icicles they may hang on the fountain, And frozen over the farm yard pool. The bleak wind whistle across the mountain, No wintry blast our love can cool. 3 O what to me the wind and the weather? O what to me the wind and the rain? My Johnny loves me, and being together, Why let it bluster--it blows in vain. 4 I never tire, I never am weary, I drudge and think it is only play; As Johnny loves me, and I am his deary, Why--all the year it is holiday. 5 I shall be wed upon Trinity Sunday, And then adieu to my holiday. Come frost and frown the following Monday. Why then beginneth my workaday. 6 If drudge and smudge begins on the Monday, If scold and grumble--I do not care, My winter follow Trinity Sunday. I can't have summertime all the year. No. 67 THE BLUE FLAME C.J.S. [Music] 1 All under the stars, and beneath the green tree, All over the sward, and along the cold lea, A little blue flame A fluttering came, It came from the churchyard for you or for me. 2 I sit by the cradle, my baby's asleep, And rocking the cradle, I wonder and weep. O little blue light, In the dead of the night, O prithee, O prithee no nearer to creep. 3 Why follow the church path, why steal you this way? Why halt in your journey, on threshold why stay? With flicker and flare, Why dance up my stair! O I would, O I would, it were dawning of day. 4 All under the stars, and along the green lane, Unslaked by the dew, and unquenched by the rain, Of little flames blue To the churchyard steal two, The soul of my baby! now from me is ta'en. No. 68 STRAWBERRY FAIR H.F.S. [Music] 1 As I was going to Strawberry Fair, Singing, singing, Butter-cups and Daisies I met a maiden taking her ware, Fol-de-dee! Her eyes were blue and golden her hair, As she went on to Strawberry Fair, Ri-fol, Ri-fol, Tol-de-riddle-li-do, Ri-fol, Ri-fol, Tol-de-riddle-dee. 2 "Kind Sir, pray pick of my basket!" she said, Singing, &c. "My cherries ripe, or my roses red, Fol-de-dee! My strawberries sweet, I can of them spare, As I go on to Strawberry Fair." Ri-fol &c. 3 Your cherries soon will be wasted away, Singing, &c. Your roses wither and never stay, Tol-de-dee! 'Tis not to seek such perishing ware, That I am tramping to Strawberry Fair. Ri-fol &c. 4 I want to purchase a generous heart, Singing, &c. A tongue that neither is nimble nor tart. Tol-de-dee! An honest mind, but such trifles are rare I doubt if they're found at Strawberry Fair. Ri-fol &c. 5 The price I offer, my sweet pretty maid Singing, &c. A ring of gold on your finger displayed, Tol-de-dee! So come make over to me your ware, In church today at Strawberry Fair. Ri-fol &c. No. 69 THE COUNTRY FARMER'S SON H.F.S. [Music] 1 I would not be a monarch great; With crown upon my head, And Earls to wait upon my state, In broidered robes of red. For he must bear full many a care, His toil is never done, 'Tis better I trow behind the plough, A Country Farmer's Son. 2[22] I would not be the Pope of Rome, And sit in Peter's chair; With priests to bow and kiss my toe, No wife my throne to share. And never know what 'tis to go, With beagles for a run; 'Tis better for me at liberty A Country Farmer's Son. 3 I would not be a merchant rich, And eat off silver plate. And ever dread, when laid abed Some freakish turn of fate. One day on high, then ruin nigh, Now wealthy, now undone, 'Tis better for me at ease to be A Country Farmer's Son. 4 I trudge about the farm, all day, To know that all things thrive. A maid I see that pleaseth me, Why then I'm fain to wive. Not over rich, I do not itch, For wealth, but what is won, By honest toil, from out the soil, A Country Farmer's Son. [Footnote 22: May be omitted in singing.] No. 70 THE HOSTESS' DAUGHTER H.F.S. [Music] 1 The Hostess of the Ring of Bells A daughter hath with auburn hair; Go where I will, o'er plain and hill, I do not find a maid more fair; She welcomes me with dimpled smiles, And e'en a kiss will not deny O! would for us the bells did ring! And we were wed--that maid and I! 2 But as I travelled down the road, There went by me a packer-train; 'Twas Roger Rawle, and Sandy Paul, And Hunchback Joe, and Philip Mayne. Says Roger, I have had a kiss, From that sly maiden at the Bell, And I, said Joe, and Paul said so, And so did Philip Mayne as well. 3 Till weather-beaten as the sign That doth before the tavern swing, That maid will stay, and none essay, To make her his with bell and ring. Methinks I'll take another road, Where hap some modest maiden dwells, No saucy miss, with ready kiss, And then for us shall ring the Bells. No. 71 THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK H.F.S. [Music] 1 I sat on a bank in trifle and play, With my jolly goss-hawk, and her wings were grey; She flew to my breast, And she there built her nest, I am sure pretty bird you with me will stay. 2 She builded within, and she builded without, My jolly goss-hawk, and her wings were grey; She fluttered her wings, And she jingled her rings, So merry was she, and so fond of play. 3 I got me a bell, to tie to her foot, My jolly goss-hawk, and her wings were grey; She mounted in flight, And she flew out of sight, My bell and my rings she carried away. 4 I ran up the street, with nimblest feet, My jolly goss-hawk, and her wings were grey; I whooped and hallo'd, But never she shewed, And I lost my pretty goss-hawk that day. 5 In a meadow so green, the hedges between, My jolly goss-hawk, and her wings were grey; Upon a man's hand, She perch'd did stand, In sport, and trifle, and full array. 6 Who's got her may keep her as best he can, My jolly goss-hawk, and her wings were grey; To every man she is frolic and free, I'll cast her off if she come my way. No. 72 THE SONG OF THE MOOR C.J.S. [Music] 1 'Tis merry in the Spring-time 'Tis blithe upon the moor, Where every man is equal, For every man is poor. I do what I've a mind to, And none can say me Nay, I go where I'm inclin'd to, On all sides right of way. O the merry Dartamoor! O the merry moor! I would not be where I'm not free, As I am upon the moor. 2 'Tis merry in the Summer, When furze is out and sweet, The bees about it humming, In honey bathe their feet. The plover and the peewit How cheerily they pipe, And underfoot the whortle Is waxing blue and ripe. O the merry &c. 3 'Tis merry in the Fall-time When snipe and cock appear, And never see a keeper To say, No shooting here! The turf we stock for fuel And ask no better fire, And never pay a farthing, For all that we require. O the merry &c. 4 'Tis merry in the Winter The wind is on the moor, For twenty miles to leeward The people hear the roar. 'Tis merry in the ingle Beside a Moorland lass, When watching turves a-glowing, The brimming bumpers pass. O the merry &c. No. 73 ON A MAY MORNING SO EARLY C.J.S. [Music] 1 As I walked out one May morning, One May morning so early; I there espied a fair pretty maid, All on the dew so pearly. O! 'twas sweet, sweet spring, Merry birds did sing, All in the morning early. 2 Stay, fair one, stay! Thus did I say, On a May morning so early; My tale of love, your heart will move, All on the dew so pearly. O! 'tis sweet, sweet spring, Merry birds do sing, All in the morning early. 3 No tales for me, Kind sir, said she On a May morning so early; My swain is true, I don't want two All on the dew so pearly. O! 'twas sweet, sweet spring, Merry birds did sing, All in the morning early. 4 With lightsome tread, away she sped, This May morning so early; To meet her lad, and left me sad, All on the dew so pearly. O! 'twas sweet, sweet spring, Merry birds did sing, All in the morning early. No. 74 THE SPOTTED COW H.F.S. [Music] 1 One morning so gay, in the glad month of May, When I from my cottage strayed; As broke the ray of awakening day, I met a pretty maid. A neat little lass on the twinkling grass, To see, my foot I stayed. 2 "My fair pretty maid, why wander?" I said, "So early, tell me now?" The maid replied, "Pretty Sir!" and sighed, "I've lost my Spotted Cow. She's stolen," she said, many tears she shed, "Or lost, I can't tell how." 3 "No further complain in dolorous strain, I've tidings will you cheer. I know she's strayed, in yonder green glade, Come, love! I'll shew you where. So dry up your tears and banish fears, And bid begone despair." 4 "I truly confess in my bitter distress, You are most good," said she. "With help so kind, I am certain to find My cow, so I'll with thee. Four eyes, it is true, are better than two, And friend, four eyes have we." 5 Through meadow and grove, we together did rove, We crossed the flow'ry dale, Both morn and noon, we strayed till the moon Above our heads did sail. The old Spotted Cow, clean forgotten was now, For love was all our tale. 6 Now never a day, do I go my way, To handle flail or plough. She comes again, and whispers, "Sweet swain, I've lost my Spotted Cow." I pretend not to hear, she shouts, "My dear, I've lost my Spotted Cow." No. 75 THREE JOVIAL WELSHMEN C.J.S. [Music] 1 There were three jovial Welshmen They would go hunt the fox. They swore they saw old Reynard Run over yonder rocks; With a whoop, whoop, whoop and a hel-lo, And a blast of my bugle horn; With my twank, twank, twank and my twank-i-diddle O, And thro' the woods we'll ride, brave boys, And thro' the woods we'll ride. With my bugle, bugle, bugle, And a blast of my bugle horn; With my fal-lal-lal and my fal-de-riddle O, And thro' the woods we'll ride, brave boys, And thro' the woods we'll ride. 2 The first they espied was a woman, A combing up her locks. She swore she saw old Reynard Among the geese and ducks. With a &c. 3 The second he was a Parson, And he was dressed in black, He swore he saw old Reynard Hang on a huntsman's back. With a &c. 4 The third he was a Miller Was grinding at his mill, He swore he saw old Reynard Run over yonder hill. With a &c. 5 The fourth he was a blind man, As blind as blind could be, He swore he saw old Reynard Run up a hollow tree. With a &c. 6 There never was a Reynard Run out that day at all, 'Twas naught but one grey pussy Sat purring on a wall. With a &c. 7 O what a world of liars This is, as well appears. Henceforth I'll trust my own eyes, And none but mine own ears. With a &c. No. 76 WELL MET! WELL MET C.J.S. [Music] 1 Well met, well met, my own true love! Long time am I seeking of thee. I am lately come from the salt, salt wave, And all for the sake, sweet love, of thee. 2 I might have had a king's daughter, She fain would have married me, But I did not hold for her crown of gold, And all for the sake, sweet love, of thee. 3 I have seven ships that sail on the sea, It was one brought me to the land; I have mariners many to wait on thee To be all, sweet love, at thy command. 4 A pair of slippers, love, thou shalt have, They are made of the beaten gold, They are lined within with a coney's skin, To keep thy feet, sweet love, from cold. 5 A gilded boat thou too shalt have, And the oars be gilded also, And the mariners they shall pipe and sing As through the salt waves, sweet love, we go. 6 A way of gold lies over the sea Where the sun doth set in the west. And along that way thou shalt sail with me, To the land of lands, sweet love, that's best. No. 77 POOR OLD HORSE C.J.S. [Music] 1 O once I lay in stable, a hunter, well and warm, I had the best of shelter, from cold and rain and harm; But now in open meadow, a hedge I'm glad to find, To shield my sides from tempest, from driving sleet and wind. Poor old horse, let him die! 2 My shoulders once were sturdy, were glossy, smooth and round, But now, alas! they're rotten, I'm not accounted sound. As I have grown so aged, my teeth gone to decay, My master frowns upon me; I often hear him say, Poor old horse, let him die! 3[23] A groom upon me waited, on straw I snugly lay, When fields were full of flowers, the air was sweet with hay; But now there's no good feeding prepared for me at all, I'm forced to munch the nettles upon the kennel wall. Poor old horse, let him die! 4 My shoes and skin, the huntsman, that covets them shall have, My flesh and bones the hounds, Sir! I very freely give, I've followed them full often, aye! many a score of miles, O'er hedges, walls and ditches, nor blinked at gates and stiles. Poor old horse, let him die! 5 Ye gentlemen of England, ye sportsmen good and bold, All you that love a hunter, remember him when old, O put him in your stable, and make the old boy warm, And visit him and pat him, and keep him out of harm, Poor old horse, till he die! [Footnote 23: May be omitted in singing.] No. 78 THE DILLY SONG C.J.S. [Music] 1 Come, and I will sing you. What will you sing me? I will sing you One, O! What is your One, O? One of them is all alone, and ever will remain so. 2 Come, and I will sing you. What will you sing me? I will sing you Two, O! What is your Two, O? Two of them are lily-white babes, and dress'd all in green, O. 3 Come, &c. I will sing you Three, O! What is your Three, O? Three of them are strangers, o'er the wide world they are rangers. 4 Come, &c. I will sing you Four, O! What is your Four, O? Four it is the Dilly Hour, when blooms the gilly flower. 5 Come, &c. I will sing you Five, O! What is your Five, O? Five it is the Dilly Bird, that's never seen, but heard, O! 6 Come, &c. I will sing you Six, O! What is your Six, O? Six the Ferryman in the Boat, that doth on the river float, O! 7 Come, &c. I will sing you Seven, O! What is your Seven, O? Seven it is the crown of Heaven, the shining stars be seven, O! 8 Come, &c. I will sing you Eight, O! What is your Eight, O? Eight it is the morning break, when all the world's awake, O! 9 Come, &c. I will sing you Nine, O! What is your Nine, O? Nine it is the pale moonshine, the pale moonlight is nine, O! 10 Come, &c. I will sing you Ten, O! What is your Ten, O? Ten forbids all kind of sin, from ten again begin, O! No. 79 A COUNTRY DANCE C.J.S. [Music] 1 When lambkins skip, and apples are growing, Grass is green, and roses ablow, When pigeons coo, and cattle are lowing, Mist lies white in valleys below, Why should we be all the day toiling? Lads and lasses, along with me! Done with drudgery, dust and moiling Haste away to the green-wood tree. 2 The cows are milked, the team's in the stable, Work is over, and play begun, Ye farmer lads all lusty and able, Ere the moon rises, we'll have our fun, Why should we, &c. 3[24] The glow-worm lights, as day is afailing, Dew is falling over the field, The meadow-sweet its scent is exhaling, Honeysuckles their fragrance yield. Why should we, &c. 4 There's Jack o'lantern lustily dancing In the marsh with flickering flame, And Daddy-long-legs, spinning and prancing, Moth and midge are doing the same, Why should we, &c. 5 So Bet and Prue, and Dolly and Celie, With milking pail 'tis time to have done. And Ralph and Phil, and Robin and Willie, The threshing flail must sleep with the sun. Why should we, &c. 6 Upon the green beginneth our pleasure, Whilst we dance we merrily sing. A country dance, a jig, and a measure, Hand in hand we go in a ring. Why should we, &c. 7 O sweet it is to foot on the clover, Ended work and revel begun. Aloft the planets never give over, Dancing, circling round of the sun. Why should we, &c. 8 So Ralph and Phil, and Robin and Willie, Take your partners each of you now. And Bet and Prue, and Dolly and Celie, Make a curtsey; lads! make a bow. Why should we, &c. [Footnote 24: May be omitted in singing.] No. 80 CONSTANT JOHNNY C.J.S. [Music] 1 Charming Molly, I do love thee, There's none other I adore; Pierced by your beauteous eyes, My heart transfixed lies, Say, dearest Molly, you'll be mine for evermore. 2 Constant Johnny, I reject thee, I thy fruitless suit deplore, Your love I do decline, I will be no love of thine No, Johnny, Constant Johnny, ne'er I'll see thee more. 3 Canst thou see young Johnny bleeding Down in Cupid's rosy bower, See his transfixed heart, Full of grief and full of smart, Say, dearest Molly, thou'lt be mine for evermore. 4 Now the lovers are united, Fast in wedlock's chains secure, Happy as the livelong day, Often she to him doth say, O! Johnny, dearest Johnny, now we part no more. No. 81 THE DUKE'S HUNT C.J.S. [Music] 1 All in a morning very fair As I rode out to take the air I heard some to halloo clearly. There rode the Duke of Buckingham, And many a squire and yeoman came, Dull sleep they had banished so early. There was Dido, Spendigo Gentry too, and Hero, And Traveller that never looks behind him Countess and Towler, Bonny-lass and Jowler, Were some of the hounds that did find him. 2 Old Jack he courses o'er the plain, Unwearied tries it back again, His horse and his hounds fail never. Our hearty huntsman he will say, For ever and for e'er a day, Hark! Forward! gallant hounds together. There was Dido, &c. 3 The fox we followed, being young, Our sport today is scarce begun, Ere out of the cover breaking, Away he runs o'er hill and dale, Away we followed without fail. Hark! Forward! sleeping echoes awaking! There was Dido, &c. 4 Shy Reynard being well nigh spent, His way he to the water bent, And speedily crossed the river. To save his life he sought to swim, But Dido sharp went after him, Heigh! Traveller destroyed his life for ever. There was Dido, &c. 5 So, whoo-too-hoo! we did proclaim God bless the Duke of Buckingham, Our hounds they have gained great glory. This maketh now the twentieth fox, We've killed in river, dale and rocks, So here's an end to my story. There was Dido, &c. No. 82 THE BELL RINGING H.F.S. [Music] 1 One day in October, Neither drunken nor sober, O'er Broadbury Down I was wending my way. When I heard of some ringing, Some dancing and singing, I ought to remember that Jubilee Day. _Refrain_ 'Twas in Ashwater Town, The bells they did soun' They rang for a belt and a hat laced with gold. But the men of North Lew Rang so steady and true, That never were better in Devon, I hold. 2 'Twas misunderstood, For the men of Broadwood, Gave a blow on the tenor should never have been. But the men of North Lew, Rang so faultlessly true, A difficult matter to beat them I ween. 'Twas in Ashwater Town &c. 3 They of Broadwood being naughty Then said to our party, We'll ring you a challenge again in a round, We'll give you the chance, At St. Stephen's or Launce- -ston the prize to the winner's a note of five pound. 'Twas in Callington Town The bells next did soun' They rang, &c. 4 When the match it came on, At good Callington, The bells they rang out o'er the valleys below. Then old and young people, The hale and the feeble, They came out to hear the sweet bell music flow. 'Twas at Callington town The bells then did soun' They rang, &c. 5 Those of Broadwood once more, Were obliged to give o'er, They were beaten completely and done in a round. For the men of North Lew Pull so steady and true, That no better then they in the West can be found. 'Twas at Ashwater town Then at Callington town They rang, &c. No. 83 A NUTTING WE WILL GO H.F.S. [Music] 1 'Tis of a jolly ploughing-man, Was ploughing of his land, He called, Ho! he called, Wo! And bade his horses stand. Upon his plough he sat, I trow, And loud began to sing, His voice rang out, so clear and stout, It made the horse bells ring. For a nutting we will go, my boys, A nutting we will go, From hazel bush, loud sings the thrush, A nutting we will go! 2 A maiden sly was passing by With basket on her arm, She stood to hear his singing clear, To listen was no harm. The ploughboy stayed that pretty maid, And clasped her middle small, He kissed her twice, he kissed her thrice Ere she could cry or call. For a nutting &c. 3 Now all you pretty maidens that Go nutting o'er the grass Attend my rede, and give good heed, Of ploughboys that you pass. When lions roar, on Afric's shore, No mortal ventures near, When hoots the owl, and bears do growl, The heart is full of fear. For a nutting &c. 4 And yet, 'tis said, to pretty maid, There is a graver thing, In any clime, at any time,-- A ploughboy that doth sing. So all you maidens, young and fair Take lesson from my lay, When you do hear a ploughman sing, Then lightly run away. For a nutting &c. No. 84 DOWN BY A RIVER SIDE C.J.S. [Music] 1 Down by a River-side, A fair maid I espied, Lamenting for her own true love; Lamenting, crying, sighing, dying; Dying for her own true love. [Music] 2 Did you not promise me, That I your wife should be? Yet I deserted here must mourn; I who believed, now bereaved, grieved; I who believed, now bereaved, tarry here in tears forlorn. 3 Dry up your briny tears, And banish all your fears, For faithful I to you will prove; So now she's singing, clinging, Church Bells ringing, So now she's singing, Church bells ringing, married to her own true love. No. 85 THE BARLEY RAKING C.J.S. [Music] 1 'Twas in the prime of summer time, When hay it was a making; And harvest tide was coming on, And barley wanted raking; Two woeful lovers met one day, With sighs their sad farewell to say, For John to place must go away, And Betty's heart was breaking. Lovers oft have proved untrue; 'las! what can poor maidens do? 2 But hardly was her sweet-heart gone, With vows of ne'er forsaking; The foolish wench did so take on, To ease her bosom's aching-- She sent a letter to her love, Invoking all the powers above, If he should e'er inconstant prove, To her and the Barley raking. Lovers oft have proved untrue; 'las! what can poor maidens do? 3 Now when this letter reached the youth, It put him in a taking; Sure of each other's love and truth, Why such a fuss be making? But being a tender hearted swain, From hasty words he did refrain, And wrote to her in gentle strain, To bid her cease from quaking. Lovers oft have proved untrue; 'las! what can poor maidens do? 4 "I've got as good a pair of shoes As e'er were made of leather; I'll pull my beaver o'er my nose, And face all wind and weather; And when the year has run its race, I'll seek a new and nearer place; And hope to see your bonnie face At time of the Barley raking." Lovers oft have proved untrue; 'las! what can poor maidens do? 5 So when the year was past and gone, And hay once more was making; Back to his love came faithful John, To find a rude awaking: For Betty thought it long to wait, So she had ta'en another mate, And left her first love to his fate, In spite of the Barley raking. Damsels oft have proved untrue; 'las! what can poor lovers do? No. 86 A SHIP CAME SAILING H.F.S. [Music] 1 A ship came sailing over the sea As deeply laden as she could be; My sorrows fill me to the brim, I care not if I sink or swim. 2[25] Ten thousand ladies in the room, But my true love's the fairest bloom, Of stars she is my brightest sun, I said I would have her or none. 3 I leaned my back against an oak, But first it bent and then it broke, Untrusty as I found that tree, So did my love prove false to me. 4 Down in a mead the other day, As carelessly I went my way, And plucked flowers red and blue, I little thought what love could do. 5 I saw a Rose with ruddy blush, And thrust my hand into the bush, I pricked my fingers to the bone, I would I'd left that rose alone! 6 I wish! I wish! but 'tis in vain, I wish I had my heart again! With silver chain and diamond locks, I'd fasten it in a golden box. [Footnote 25: May be omitted in singing.] No. 87 THE RAMBLING SAILOR H.F.S. [Music] 1 I toss my cap up into the air, And away whil'st all are sleeping, The host may swear, and the hostess stare, And the pretty maids be weeping: There is never a place that I do grace, Which a second time shall see my face; For I travel the world from place to place, And still am a Rambling Sailor. 2 O when I come to London town, Or enter any city, I settle down at the Bell or Crown, And court each lass that's pretty. And I say, "My dear, be of good cheer, I'll never depart, you need not fear!" But I traveled the country far and near And still am a Rambling Sailor. 3 And if that you would know my name, I've any that you fancy, 'Tis never the same, as I change my flame, From Bet, to Joan, or Nancy. I court maids all, marry none at all, My heart is round, and rolls as a ball, And I travel the land from Spring to Fall, And still am a Rambling Sailor. No. 88 WILLY COOMBE C.J.S. [Music] 1 'Twas in the month of May, when flowers spring, When pretty lambkins play, and thrushes sing. When young men do resort To walk about in sport Not thinking any harm, at Crantock games. 2 Crantock and Newlyn men, all in one room, The first mark that was made, it proved my doom. My name is Willy Coombe, Just twenty, in my bloom; Just twenty in my bloom when I was shot. 3 'Twas by a musket ball so swift did fly Which pierced my body through, so I must die. My brother swift did ride; To Truro Town he hied. Alas! alack-a-day, my cruel lot! 4 The surgeon said 'twas o'er, none could me cure, Bleeding all night, great pains I did endure. Coroner and jury true My body well did view. And from this wound I die at Crantock games. 5 Father, your son is dead, your sorrow bear Mother, don't break your heart, O mother dear! Sister, don't cry nor grieve, It will not you relieve No warning was I giv'n when I was shot. No. 89 MIDSUMMER CAROL C.J.S. [Music] 1 'Twas early I walked on a midsummer morning, The fields and the meadows were deckèd and gay, The small birds were singing, the woodlands a-ringing, 'Twas early in the morning, at breaking of day, I will play on my pipes, I will sing thee my lay! It is early in the morning, at breaking of day. 2 O hark! and O hark! to the nightingales wooing, The lark is aloft piping shrill in the air. In every green bower the turtle-doves cooing, The sun is just gleaming, arise up my fair! Arise, love, arise! none fairer I spie! Arise, love, arise! O why should I die? 3 Arise, love, arise! go and get your love posies, The fairest of flowers in garden that grows, Go gather me lilies, carnations and roses, I'll wear them with thoughts of the maiden I chose. I stand at thy door, pretty love, full of care, O why should I languish so long in despair? 4[26] O why love, O why, should I banished be from thee? O why should I see my own chosen no more? O why look your parents so slightingly on me? It is all for the rough ragged garments I wore, But dress me with flowers, I'm gay as a king, I'm glad as a bird, when my carol I sing. 5 Arise, love, arise! in song and in story, To rival thy beauty was never a may, I will play thee a tune on my pipes of ivory, It is early in the morning, at breaking of day, I will play on my pipes, I will sing thee my lay! It is early in the morning, at breaking of day. [Footnote 26: May be omitted in singing.] No. 90 THE BLACKBIRD IN THE BUSH H.F.S. [Music] 1 Three fair maidens a milking did go, Three maidens a milking did go, And the wind it did blow high, And the wind it did blow low, And it tossed their pails to and fro. 2 Then they met with a man they did know, O they met with a man they did know, And they said, Have you the skill, And they said, Have you the will, For to catch us a small bird or two? 3 Here's a health to the blackbird in the bush, Likewise to the merry wood-do'e (dove). If you'll go along with me Unto yonder flow'ring tree, I will catch you a small bird or two. 4 So they went till they stayèd at a bush, So they went till they stayèd at two. And the birds they flew about, Pretty birds flew in and out And he caught them by one and by two. 5 So my boys we will drink down the sun, So my boys we will drink down the moon! For we birds are of one feather, And we surely flock together, Let the people say little or none. No. 91 THE GREEN BED H.F.S. [Music] 1 Young Sailor Dick, as he stepped on shore, To his quarters of old return'd, The hostess glad, cries "Dick my lad! What prize money have you earn'd?" "Poor luck! poor luck! yet Molly, my duck, Your daughter I've come to see: Get ready some supper, with pipes and grog, And the best Green Bed for me." 2 "My daughter, she's gone out for a walk; My beds are all bespoken; My larder's bare, like the rum-keg there, And my baccy pipes all are broken." Says Dick, "I'll steer for another berth, I fear I have made too bold: But I'll pay for the beer that I've just drunk here," And he pulled out a hand-ful of gold. 3 "Come down Molly, quick! here's your sweetheart Dick Has just come back from sea: He wants his supper, his grog and a bed, The best Green Bed it must be." "No bed," cries Dick, "no supper, no grog, No sweetheart for me I swear! You shewed me the door when you thought me poor, So I'll carry my gold elsewhere." No. 92 THE LOYAL LOVER C.J.S. [Music] 1 I'll weave my love a garland, It shall be dressed so fine; I'll set it round with roses, With lilies, pinks and thyme. And I'll present it to my love When he comes back from sea, For I love my love, and I love my love, Because my love loves me. Blow summer breeze, o'er the sea Bring my pretty love to me. 2 I wish I were an arrow, That sped into the air; To seek him as a sparrow, And if he was not there, Then quickly I'd become a fish To search the raging sea; For I love my love, and I love my love, Because my love loves me. Blow &c. 3 I would I were a reaper, I'd seek him in the corn; I would I were a keeper, I'd hunt him with my horn. I'd blow a blast, when found at last, Beneath the green-wood tree, For I love my love, and I love my love, Because my love loves me. Blow &c. No. 93 THE STREAMS OF NANTSIAN C.J.S. [Music] 1 O the Streams of Nant-si-an In two parts divide, Where the young men in dancing Meet sweetheart and bride. They will take no denial, We must frolic and sing. And the sound of the viol O it makes my heart ring. 2 On the rocky cliff yonder A castle up-stands; To the seamen a wonder Above the black sands. 'Tis of ivory builded With diamonds glazed bright, And with gold it is gilded, To shine in the night. 3 Over yonder high mountain The wild fowl do fly; And in ocean's deep fountain, The fairest pearls lie. On eagle's wings soaring, I'll speed as the wind; Ocean's fountain exploring, My true love I'll find. 4 O the streams of Nant-si-an Divide in two parts, And rejoin as in dancing Do lads their sweethearts. So the streams, bright and shining Tho' parted in twain, Re-unite, intertwining, One thenceforth remain. No. 94 THE DRUNKEN MAIDENS F.W.B. [Music] 1 There were three drunken maidens, Came from the Isle of Wight. They drank from Monday morning, Nor stayed till Saturday night. When Saturday night did come, Sirs! They would not then go out; Not the three drunken maidens, As they pushed the jug about. 2 Then came in Bouncing Sally, With cheeks as red as bloom. "Make space, my jolly sisters, Now make for Sally room. For that I will be your equal, Before that I go out." So now four drunken maidens, They pushed the jug about. 3 It was woodcock and pheasant, And partridges and hare, It was all kinds of dainties, No scarcity was there. It was four quarts of Malaga, Each fairly did drink out, So the four drunken maidens, They pushed the jug about. 4 Then down came the landlord, And asked for his pay. O! a forty-pound bill, Sirs! The damsels drew that day. It was ten pounds apiece, Sirs! But yet, they would not out. So the four drunken maidens, They pushed the jug about. 5 "O where be your spencers? Your mantles rich and fine?" "They all be a swallowed In tankards of good wine." "O where be your characters Ye maidens brisk and gay?" "O they be a swallowed! We've drunk them clean away." No. 95 TOBACCO IS AN INDIAN WEED C.J.S. [Music] 1 Tobacco is an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, is cut down at eve; It shows our decay; We fade as hay. Think on this,--when you smoke tobacco. 2 The pipe that is so lily-white, Wherein so many take delight, Gone with a touch; Man's life is such, Think on this,--when you smoke tobacco. 3 The pipe that is so foul within, Shews how the soul is stained with sin; It doth require The purging fire. Think on this,--when you smoke tobacco. 4 The ashes that are left behind, Do serve to put us all in mind, That unto dust, Return we must. Think on this,--when you smoke tobacco. 5 The smoke that doth so high ascend, Shows that our life must have an end; The vapours' gone, Man's life is done. Think on this,--when you smoke tobacco. No. 96 FAIR SUSAN C.J.S. [Music] 1 Fair Susan slumbered in shady bower, Safe hid, she thought, from every eye; Nor dreamed she in that tranquil hour Her own true love was passing by. 2 He gazed in rapture upon her beauty, Sleep did her charms but more reveal; He deemed it sure a lover's duty From those sweet lips a kiss to steal. 3 In shame and anger poor Susan started, With eyes aflame she bade him go; "Return no more!--for ever parted; Cruel and base to use me so!" 4 "By too much love I have offended, Forgive me if I cause you pain; But if indeed our love be ended, Pray give me back my kiss again." No. 97 THE FALSE BRIDE H.F.S. [Music] 1 I courted a maiden both buxom and gay, Unheeding what people against her did say, I thought her as constant and true as the day. But now she is going to be married. 2 O when to the church I my fair love saw go, I followed her up with a heart full of woe, And eyes that with tears of grief did o'erflow, To see how my suit had miscarried. 3 O when in the chancel I saw my love stan', With ring on her finger, and true love in han', I thought that for certain 'twas not the right man, Although 'twas the man she was taking. 4 O when I my fair love saw sit in her seat I sat myself by her, but nothing could eat; Her company, thought I, was better than meat, Although my heart sorely was aching. 5 O woe be the day that I courted the maid, That ever I trusted a word that she said, That with her I wander'd along the green glade, Accurs'd be the day that I met her. 6 O make me a grave that is long, wide and deep, And cover me over with flowers so sweet, That there I may lie, and may take my last sleep; For that is the way to forget her. No. 98 THE BARLEY STRAW H.F.S. [Music] 1 As Jan was hurrying down the glade, He met his sweetheart Kit; "O whither so fast?" the maiden ask'd, "Let's bide and talk a bit." "I'm going to the barn, and if you'll come, And help me thresh the stro', That task complete, why then my sweet, A ramble we will go." 2 She gave consent, to work they went, As if 'twere only play; The flail he plied, whilst Kit untied, The sheaves, and cleared away. O willing hands made labour light, And 'ere the sun was low, With arms entwined, these lovers kind, Did down the vallies go. 3 Said Jan, "Thou art a helpful lass, Wilt thou be mine for life?" "For sure!" she said. To church they sped, And soon were man and wife. A lesson then, for all young men Who would a courting go, Your sweetheart ask to share your task, And thresh the Barley Stro'. 4 Now many a year, this couple dear, They lived in harmony; And children had, both lass and lad, I think 'twas thirty-three. The sons so hale did wield the flail, And like their father grow; The maidens sweet, like mother were neat: And clean as the Barley Stro'. No. 99 DEATH AND THE LADY C.J.S. [Music] 1 As I walked out one day, one day, All in the merry month of May, When lambs did skip and thrushes sing, And ev'ry bush with buds did spring. 2 I met an old man by the way, His head was bald, his beard was grey, His coat was of the Myrtle-green, But underneath his ribs were seen. 3 He in his hand a glass did hold, He shook as one that shakes with cold. I asked of him what was his name, And what strange place from which he came. 4 "My name is Death, fair maiden, see Lords, Dukes and Squires bow down to me; For of the Branchy Tree[27] am I And you, fair maid, with me must hie." 5 "I'll give you gold, if me you'll spare, I'll give you costly robes to wear!" "O no, sweet maid, make no delay Your sand is run, you must away!" 6 Alas! alack! the fair maid died, And these the last sad words she cried: "Here lies a poor, distressed maid, By Death--and Death alone betrayed." [Footnote 27: What is meant by the "Branchy Tree" I do not know, but so the words run in all versions.] No. 100 BOTH SEXES GIVE EAR H.F.S. [Music] 1 Both sexes give ear to my fancy, In praise of sweet woman I sing, Confined not to Doll, Sue, or Nancy, The mate of the beggar or king. When Adam was first a-created, And lord of the universe crown'd, His happiness was not completed, Until that a helpmate was found. 2 A garden was planted by Nature, Man could not produce in his life, But no rest had he till his Creator Discovered he wanted a wife. He had horses and foxes for hunting Which most men love dearly as life, No relishsome food was a wanting But still--he was short of a wife. 3 As Adam was resting in slumber, He lost a small rib from his side, And when he awoke--'twas in wonder, To see a most beautiful bride. In transport he gazèd upon her, His happiness now was complete. He praisèd the bountiful Donor, Who to him had given a mate. 4 She was not taken out of his head, sir, To rule and to triumph in man. Nor was she took out of his foot, sir, By him to be trampled upon. But she was took out of his side, sir, His equal co-partner to be; So, united is man with his bride, sir, Yet man is the top of the tree. 5 Then let not the fair be despisèd By man, as she's part of himself. Let woman by man be a-prizèd As more than the world full of wealth. A man without woman's a beggar, Tho' by him the world were possess'd But a beggar that's got a good woman With more than the world is he bless'd. No. 101 I RODE MY LITTLE HORSE F.W.B. [Music] 1 I rode my little horse, from London town I came, I rode into the country, to seek myself a dame, And if I meet a pretty maid, be sure I'll kiss her then; And swear that I will marry her--but will not tell her _when_! 2 I found a buxom widow, with many tons of gold, I lived upon her fortune, as long as it would hold. Of pounds I took five hundred, bestrode my horse, and then, I promised I would marry her--but never told her _when_! 3 A vintner had a daughter, the Golden Sun his sign, I tarried at his tavern, I drank his choicest wine; I drank out all his cellar, bestrode my horse, and then, I said the maid I'd marry,--but never told him _when_! 4 The guineas are expended, the wine is also spent; The widow and the maiden, they languish and lament. And if they come to seek me, I'll pack them back again, With promises of marriage,--but never tell them _when_. 5 My little horse I mounted, the world that I might see, I found a pretty maiden--as poor as poor could be. My little horse neglected, to London ran away, I asked if she would marry, and bade her name the day. No. 102 AMONG THE NEW-MOWN HAY C.J.S. [Music] 1 As I walked out one morn betime, To view the fields in May, Sir, There I espied a fair sweet maid, Among the new-mown hay, Sir. Among the new-mown hay. 2 I said: 'Good morning, pretty maid, How come you here so soon, say?' 'To keep my father's sheep,' she said, 'A thing that must be done, aye! Among the new-mown hay. 3 'While they be feeding mid the dew, To pass the time away, Sir! I sit me down to knit and sew, Among the new-mown hay, Sir! Among the new-mown hay.' 4 I ask'd if she would wed with me, All on that sunny day, Sir! The answer that she gave to me Was surely not a nay, Sir! Among the new-mown hay. 5 Then to the church we sped with speed And Hymen join'd our hands, Sir! No more the ewes and lambs she'll feed Since she did make her answer, Among the new-mown hay. 6 A lord I be, a lady she, To town we sped straightway, Sir! To bless the day, we both agree, We met among the hay, Sir! Among the new-mown hay. No. 103 I'LL BUILD MYSELF A GALLANT SHIP (Solo or Quartette) F.W.B. [Music] 1 I'll build myself a gallant ship, A ship of noble fame; And four and twenty mariners, Shall box and man the same; And I will stand, with helm in hand, To urge them o'er the main. 2 No scarf shall o'er my shoulders go, I will not comb my hair; The pale moonlight, the candle bright Shall neither tell I'm fair. Beside the mast I stand so fast, Unresting in despair. 3 The rain may beat, and round my feet The waters wash and foam, O thou North wind lag not behind But bear me far from home! My hands I wring, and sobbing sing, As over seas I roam. 4 The moon so pale shall light my sail, As o'er the sea I fly, To where afar the Eastern star Is twinkling in the sky. I would I were with my love fair, Ere ever my love die! No. 104 COLLY, MY COW C.J.S. [Music] 1 A story, a story, I'll tell you just now, It's all about killing of Colly, my cow. Ah! my pretty Colly, poor Colly, my cow! Poor Colly will give no more milk to me now. And that is the way my fortune doth go! 2 Says little Tom Dicker, Pray what do you mean, By killing your Colly when she was so lean? Ah! my pretty Colly, &c. 3 Then cometh the Tripeman so trim and so neat, He bids me three ha'pence for belly and feet; Ah! my pretty Colly, &c. 4 Then cometh the Tanner with sword at his side, He bids me three shillings for Colly, her hide; Ah! my pretty Colly, &c. 5 Then cometh the Horner who roguery scorns, He bids me three ha'pence for Colly, her horns; Ah! my pretty Colly, &c. 6 The skin of my Colly was softer than silk, And three times a day did my Colly give milk; Ah! my pretty Colly, &c. 7 Here's an end to my Colly, she's gone past recall, I have sold my poor Colly, hide, horns, feet and all. Ah! my pretty Colly, &c. 8 Three shillings and three pence are all for my pains, I've lost my poor Colly, my milk and my gains. Ah! my pretty Colly, &c. No. 105 WITHIN A GARDEN H.F.S. [Music] 1 Within a garden a maiden lingered, When soft the shades of evening fell, Expecting, fearing, A footstep hearing, Her love appearing, To say farewell. 2 With sighs and sorrow their vows they plighted One more embrace, one last adieu; Tho' seas divide, love, In this confide, love, Whate'er betide, love, To thee I'm true. 3 Long years are over, and still the maiden Seeks oft at eve the trysting tree; Her promise keeping, And, faithful, weeping, Her lost love sleeping Across the sea. No. 106 THE BONNY BIRD C.J.S. [Music] 1 I once lov'd a bird, and a bonny bird, And I thought to make him my own; But he loves a she far better than me, And has taken his flight and is flown. 2 I once lov'd a bird, and a bonny bird, O I lovèd I vow and protest. I lovèd him well, and O! so very well I built him a nest in my breast. 3 O since he is gone, I will let him alone, Although that I ache and I burn. If he loves a she far better than me, Then I hope he will not return. 4 I lookèd to East and I lookèd to West The weather was hot and was calm. And then I did spy my own bonny bird Was perch'd on another maid's arm. 5 Then up the green valley and down the green grove, As one distracted in mind, With whoop and halloo, in sorrow I rove No other such bird will I find. 6 Now if she have gotten my bonny bird, I never shall get him again. But though I have lost him for ever a day, I'll think of him still in my pain. No. 107 THE LADY AND PRENTICE C.J.S. [Music] 1 'Twas of a brisk young lady And of a 'prentice boy. They courted one another, And he was all her joy; The 'prentice boy was banish'd Unto a foreign shore, And sad at heart he fancied He'd never see her more. 2 There came that way a squire A man of high degree, Said he: 'I'll give you wages Be servant unto me.' But oh! the fair young lady She piteously did cry All for the love she bore him She thought that she must die. 3 Now first he was in stable, With horses at the stall, And then advanced to table, And servèd in the hall. And next he was advancèd As butler to the same And for his good behaviour A steward last became. 4 O then into a lottery He put his money down, He drew a prize and gainèd Full twenty thousand pound. 'Farewell, farewell my master! Farewell, my lady kind! For I must seek my own true love That tarrieth behind.' 5 He dress'd himself in velvet, In gold and silver braid; And so returned to England To his true love with speed. And when he did espy her T'embrace her did essay, But from his arms she started And frightened drew away. 6 'Your gold and shining silver Your velvets I defy I love a humble 'prentice I'll love him till I die.' 'O lady fair! my only, Return unto my arms. I many years was banish'd And might not see your charms.' 7 Then closely she observed him, And knew him now again. Her smiles dispelled her fears As sun disperseth rain. With kisses out of measure She clasped him to her heart, 'O now we meet together, We never more shall, part.' No. 108 PAUL JONES C.J.S. [Music] 1 An American frigate, the "Richard" by name, Mounted guns forty four and from New York she came, To cruise in the channel of old English fame, With a noble commander, Paul Jones was his name. 2 We had not cruised long ere two sails we espies, A large forty four, and a twenty likewise. Some fifty bright shippers, well loaden with store, And the convoy stood in for the old Yorkshire shore. 3 ['Bout twelve was the hour when we came alongside, With long speaking trumpet: 'Whence came you?' he cried. 'Ho! answer me quickly, I'll hail you no more, Or a thundering broadside I'll into you pour.'][28] 4 We fought them four glasses, four glasses so hot, Till forty bold seamen lay dead on the spot. And fifty five wounded lay drenched in their gore, While loudly the cannons of Paul Jones did roar. 5 [Our carpenter frightened, to Paul Jones he came, Our ship she leaks water, is likewise aflame. Paul Jones he made answer, thus to him replied, 'If we can do no better, we'll sink alongside.'][29] 6 The Serapis wore round, our vessel to rake O then the proud hearts of the English did ache. The shot flew so frequent, so fierce and so fast, That the bold British colours were haul'd down at last. 7 Oh! now my brave boys, we have taken a prize, A large forty four, and a twenty likewise. God help the poor mothers, bereavèd who weep For the loss of their sons in the unfathom'd deep. [Footnote 28: May be omitted when singing.] [Footnote 29: May be omitted when singing.] No. 109 THE MERRY HAYMAKERS H.F.S. [Music] 1 The golden sun is shining bright, The dew is off the field; To us it is our main delight, The fork and rake to wield. The pipe and tabor both shall play, The viols loudly ring, From morn till eve each summer day, As we go hay-making. CHORUS: The pipe and tabor, &c. 2 As we my boys hay-making go, All in the month of June, Both Tom and Bet, and Jess and Joe Their happy hearts in tune. O up come lusty Jack and Will, With pitchfork and with rake, And up come dainty Doll and Jill, The sweet, sweet hay to make. CHORUS: The pipe and tabor, &c. 3 O when the haysel all is done, Then in the arish grass, The lads shall have their fill of fun, Each dancing with his lass. The good old farmer and his wife, Shall bring the best of cheer, I would it were, aye, odds my life! Hay-making all the year. CHORUS: The pipe and tabor, &c. No. 110 IN BIBBERLEY TOWN C.J.S. [Music] 1 In Bibberley town a maid did dwell, A buxom lass, as I've heard tell; As straight as a wand, just twenty two, And many a bachelor had her in view. Ri fal de ral diddle, ri fal de ral dee, What ups and downs in the world there be! 2 This maid so beautiful fair and free, Was sought by a squire of high degree; He courted her honestly for his wife, But she couldn't venture so high in life. Ri fal de ral &c. 3 A tinker there came to mend the kettle, She fell in love with the man of metal; His songs and his jokes won her heart and her hand, And she promised with him in the church to stand. Ri fal de ral &c. 4 They wed, and this jovial mender of pots Proved only a brute and the prince of sots; He beat her, he starved her, she gave him the slip, And back to Bibberley town did trip. Ri fal de ral &c. 5 She found that the Squire her former flame Had wooed and married a wealthy dame; But a vacant place in the house she took, And, instead of his wife, she became his cook. Ri fal de ral diddle, ri fal de ral dee; What ups and downs in the world there be! No. 111 THE MARIGOLD C.J.S. [Music] 1 'Twas East North East, so near the line So near as we could lie, We'd had scarcely left our loading port, 'Ere ten sail of Turks we spy. "Come strike your colours ye English dogs, Strike colours presently, Come strike your colours ye English dogs, Or they shall be struck by we." 2 Our captain being a valiant man, On quarterdeck did stand, "It ne'er shall be said that we did run While we have aboard a hand." O! then out spake our boatswain bold, To the gunner then spake he, "Come plant your guns while they are cold Both powder and shot are free." 3 Broadside to broadside we return'd From morn till day was done Till three we sank, and three we burn'd And three away did run, Till three we sank, and three we burn'd And three did sail away; And one we brought to merry England To show we'd won the day. 4 Now if you'd know our goodly ship And know our captain's name; Sir Thomas Merrifield captain was Of the Marigold, ship of fame. A gallant man Sir Thomas was Of famous Bristow town A gallant crew were we aboard We gained us great renown. No. 112 ARTHUR LE BRIDE C.J.S. [Music] 1 I once had a cousin called Arthur Le Bride, And he and I wandered adown the sea side, For our pleasure and pastime a watching the tide; O the weather was pleasant and charming. 2 So gaily and gallant we went on a tramp, We met Sergeant Napier and Corp'ral Demant, And the neat little drummer that tended the camp, To beat the row-dow in the morning. 3 Good morning young fellows, the sergeant did cry, And the same to you sergeant we made a reply, There was nothing more spoken, we made to pass by. 'Twas all on a Christmas day morning. 4 Come! come my fine fellows, I pray you enlist, Ten guineas in gold I will slap in your fist, And a crown in the bargain to kick up a dust, For to drink the king's health in the morning. 5[30] O, no! Mr. Sergeant, we are not for sale We make no such bargain--your bribe won't avail, Not tired of our country we care not to sail, Tho' your offers look pleasant and charming. 6[31] Hah! if you insult me, without other words I swear by the king we will draw out our swords, And thrust thro' your bodies, as strength us affords, And leave you without further warning. 7 We beat the bold drummer as flat as his shoe, We made a football of his row-de-dow-do, And the sergeant and corporal, knocked down the two, O we were the boys in the morning. 8 The two little weapons that hung at their side, As we trotted away we threw into the tide, May old Harry be with you, said Arthur Le Bride For staying our walk in the morning. [Footnote 30: May be omitted in singing.] [Footnote 31: May be omitted in singing.] No. 113 THE KEEPER C.J.S. [Music] 1 O there was a keeper, a shooting did go, And under his arm he did carry a bow, And that for to bring down the buck and the doe; All in the green forest, the forest so green, Where the red roses blossom to crown my queen. 2 The very first doe that he shot at he miss'd, The second escaped by the breadth of his fist. The third doe was young, so he caught her and kiss'd; All in the green forest, the forest so green, Where the red roses blossom to crown my queen. 3 "My fair pretty doe, you no longer shall roam, For certainly henceforth with me you shall come, To tarry securely in my little home; All in the green forest, the forest so green, Where the red roses blossom to crown my queen. 4 "Aside I will cast now my billets and bow, I'll tarry at home with my own pretty doe, As proud as a king of his sceptre, I trow; All in the green forest, the forest so green, Where the red roses blossom to crown my queen." No. 114 THE QUEEN OF HEARTS C.J.S. [Music] 1 To the Queen of Hearts he's the Ace of sorrow, He is here to-day, he is gone to-morrow; Young men are plenty, but sweet-hearts few, If my love leave me, what shall I do? 2 When my love comes in I gaze not around, When my love goes out, I fall in a swound; To meet is pleasure, to part is sorrow, He is here to-day, he is gone to-morrow. 3 Had I the store in yonder mountain, Where gold and silver is had for counting, I could not count, for the thought of thee, My eyes so full that I could not see. 4 I love my father, I love my mother, I love my sister, I love my brother; I love my friends, my relations too, But I'd leave them all for the love of you. 5 My father left me both house and land, And servants many at my command; At my commandment they ne'er shall be, I'll forsake them all for to follow thee. 6 An Ace of sorrow to the Queen of Hearts, O how my bosom bleeds and smarts; Young men are plenty, but sweet-hearts few, If my love leave me, what shall I do? No. 115 THE OWL C.J.S. [Music] 1 Of all the birds that ever I see, The owl is the fairest in her degree. For all the day long she sits in a tree, And when the night cometh, away flies she. To-whit! To-who! says she, To-who! Cinamon, ginger, nutmegs and cloves, And brandy gave me my jolly red nose. 2 The lark in the morn ascendeth on high And leaves the poor owl to sob and to sigh; And all the day long, the owl is asleep, While little birds blithely are singing, cheep! cheep! To-whit! To-who! says she, To-who! Cinamon, ginger, &c. 3 There's many a brave bird boasteth awhile, And proves himself great, let Providence smile, Be hills and be vallies all covered with snow, The poor owl will shiver and mock with Ho! Ho! To-whit! To-who! says she, To-who! Cinamon, ginger, &c. No. 116 MY MOTHER DID SO BEFORE ME C.J.S. [Music] 1 I am a brisk and bonny lass, A little over twenty. And by my comely air and dress, Of sweethearts I've got plenty. But I'll beware of wedlock's snare, Tho' dying swains adore me, The men I'll tease, myself to please, My mother did so before me. 2 With fine brocade and diamonds bright, Like merry Spring delighting, My heart, my humours all delight, For my sweet face's inviting. I take delight, both day and night, To be talked of in story. I'll have it said: Here shines a maid! My mother did so before me. 3 To parks and plays I often go, I'll waste each leasure hour; I'll walk and talk with every beau, And make them feel my power. If e'er a spark should fire my heart, From one who does adore me, I'll wed and kiss, in married bliss, My mother did so before me. 4 So well I'll manage when I'm wed, My husband to perfection, And as good wives have always said, Keep husbands in subjection. No snarling fool me e'er shall rule, Nor e'er eclipse my glory, I'll let him see, mistress I'll be, My mother did so before me. No. 117 A WEEK'S WORK WELL DONE C.J.S. [Music] 1 On Monday morn I married a wife, I thought to live a sober life. As it fell out I were better dead, Than mark the time when I was wed. Laddy-heigh-ho! Laddy-heigh-ho! Fal-de-ral-li-do! Laddy-heigh-ho! 2 On Tuesday morning to my surprise, A little before the sun did rise, She rattled her clapper, and scolded more, Than ever I heard in my life before. Laddy-heigh-ho! &c. 3 On Wednesday morning I went to the wood, I thought to do my wife some good. I cut me a twig of holly green, I trust the toughest I'd ever seen. Laddy-heigh-ho! &c. 4 I hung the stick up well to dry, I thought on Thursday it to try, I laid it about her head and back, Before my twig began to crack. Laddy-heigh-ho! &c. 5 On Friday morning to my surprise, A little before the sun did rise, She rattled her clapper in scolding tone, I turn'd my back and left her alone. Laddy-heigh-ho! &c. 6 On Saturday morn, as I may say, As she on her pillow consulting lay, A Bogie arrived in fume and flame, And carried her off both blind and lame. Laddy-heigh-ho! &c. 7 On Sunday, neighbours, I dine without A scolding wife and a brawling rout; Enjoy my bottle, and my best friend, And surely this is a brave week's end. Laddy-heigh-ho! &c. No. 118 THE OLD MAN CAN'T KEEP HIS WIFE AT HOME C.J.S. [Music] 1 The old man can't keep his wife at home, She dearly loves abroad to roam, She will but eat the choicest meat, And leave th'old man the bone. Herself must have good cheer, Herself drink humming beer. A merry life lives she, For her heart is full of glee. CHORUS: The old man can't keep his wife at home, She dearly loves abroad to roam, &c. 2 The old man's wife went out to dine, And left him tuck'd in bed at home. She dressed so fine, drank red red wine, Her face with pleasure shone. She capered and she danc'd, She like an ostrich pranc'd, And sang There's none so free, As old men's wives may be. CHORUS: The old man can't keep his wife at home, She dearly loves abroad to roam, &c. 3 The old man began to crawl and cough'd; Above the door he set a stone, Then sat and quaff'd thin beer and laugh'd, Till spasms made him groan. His wife so late came home, Then clatter'd down the stone, It fell upon her head, It knocked her flat and dead. CHORUS: The old man don't keep a wife at home, Not one who dearly loves to roam. Odds bobs, of strife, and gadding wife The old man now has none. No. 119 SWEET FAREWELL C.J.S. [Music] 1 Will by Mary sad reposes On a bank of prim-a-roses. Sore is William's heart at leaving, Tears that flow tell Mary's grieving, Sweet, Farewell! Dearest, farewell, farewell! I'm in the marching order. 2 Hark! I hear the Colonel crying, Drums are beating, colours flying. Colours flying, drums are beating, Boys! advance, there's no retreating Sweet, farewell! &c. 3 Gallant boys! be stiff and steady, Each man have his flint-lock ready! Each man have his flask and powder! And his fire stock o'er his shoulder! Sweet, farewell! &c. 4 Mary said, Do not bereave me! Do not break my heart and leave me! If you do, I will torment you, When I'm dead, my ghost will ha'nt you Sweet, farewell! &c. 5 Nay, said William, my dear Mary I with you nowise can tarry. Duty calls--that naught can alter At its summons none must falter. Sweet, farewell! &c. No. 120 OLD ADAM THE POACHER C.J.S. [Music] 1 Old Adam was a poacher, Went out one day at Fall, To catch a hare for roasting And eating bones and all, In the sun Expecting fun Old Adam smiling lay. O hare it is good eating, Thus did old Adam say. Old Adam was a poacher, Went out one day at Fall, To catch a hare for roasting, And eating, bones and all. 2 A keeper that was passing, Peer'd slyly through the brake Saw Adam with his springle; Proceeded both to take. Hare not his'n, So in prison Old Adam groaning lay. O hare it is good eating But not for him to-day, Old Adam was a poacher Went out one day at Fall Went out that morning looking big Returnèd, looking small. No. 121 THE EVENING PRAYER C.J.S. [Music] 1 Matthew, Mark and Luke and John Bless the bed that I lie on. Four angels to my bed Two to bottom, two to head, Two to hear me when I pray, Two to bear my soul away. 2 Monday morn the week begin, Christ deliver our souls from sin. Tuesday morn, nor curse nor swear, Christes Body that will tear. Wednesday, middle of the week, Woe to the soul Christ does not seek. 3 Thursday morn, Saint Peter wrote Joy to the soul that heaven hath bote, Friday Christ died on the tree To save other men as well as me. Saturday, sure, the evening dead, Sunday morn, the Book's outspread. 4 God is the branch and I the flower, Pray God send me a blessed hour. I go to bed, some sleep to take, The Lord, he knows if I shall wake. Sleep I ever, sleep I never, God receive my soul for ever. NOTES ON THE SONGS 1. BY CHANCE IT WAS. Music and words dictated by James Parsons, hedger, Lew Down; he had learned it from his father, "The Singing Machine." A second version of the melody was obtained from Bruce Tyndall, Esq., of Exmouth, who had learned it from a Devonshire nurse in 1839 or 1840. The melody was but a variant. It had lost the E[natural] that comes in so pleasantly. The tune was certainly originally in the Dorian mode, the E[flat] being an alteration of a modern singer. We did not, however, feel justified in restoring the air to its early form, as we had no authority for so doing. The words of the song are to be found in a collection of early ballad books in the British Museum, entitled "The Court of Apollo." There it consists of six verses, the first three of which are almost word for word the same as ours. In "The Songster's Favourite Companion," a later collection, the same song occurs. There it is in three verses only, and in a very corrupt form. We are inclined to think that the song dates from the time of James I. or Charles I. 2. THE HUNTING OF ARSCOTT OF TETCOTT. This song, once vastly popular in North Devon, and at all hunting dinners, is now nearly forgotten. The words have been published in "John Arscott of Tetcott" by Luke, Plymouth, N.D. A great many variations of the text exist. An early copy, dating from the end of the 18th century, was supplied me by R. Kelly, Esq., of Kelly; another by a gentleman, now dead, in his grandmother's handwriting (1820), with explanatory notes. The date given in the song varies; sometimes it is set down as 1752, sometimes as 1772. John Arscott, the last of his race, died in 1788. The "Sons of the Blue" are taken to have been Sir John Molesworth of Pencarrow, Bart., William Morshead of Blisland, and Braddon Clode of Skisdon. But neither Sir John Molesworth nor Mr. Morshead was, as it happens, a naval man. If the date were either 1652 or 1672, it would fit John Arscott of Tetcott, who died in 1708, and Sir John Molesworth of Pencarrow, who was Vice-admiral of Cornwall; and the "Sons of the Blue" would be Hender, Sparke, and John, sons of Sir John. The second John Molesworth married Jane, daughter of John Arscott of Tetcott, in 1704. It seems probable, accordingly, that the song belonged originally to the elder John Arscott, and was adapted a century later to the last John Arscott. The date is not given with precision in the song; it is left vague as to the century--"In the year '52." The author of the version of the song as now sung is said to have been one Dogget, who was wont to run after the foxhounds of the last Arscott. He probably followed the habit of all rural bards of adapting an earlier ballad to his purpose, and spoiling it in so doing. I think this, because along with much wretched stuff there occur traces of something better, and smacking of an earlier period. As Dogget's doggerel has been printed, and as I have taken down a dozen variants, I have retained only what I deemed worthy of retention, and have entirely recast the conclusion of the song. John Arscott is still believed to hunt the country, and there are men alive who declare positively that they have seen him and his hounds go by, and have heard the winding of his horn, at night, in the park at Tetcott. Mr. Frank Abbott, gamekeeper at Pencarrow, but born at Tetcott, informed me, concerning Dogget: "Once they unkennelled in the immediate neighbourhood of Tetcott, and killed at Hatherleigh. This runner was in at the death, as was his wont. John Arscott ordered him a bed at Hatherleigh, but to his astonishment, when he returned to Tetcott, his wife told him all the particulars of the run. 'Then,' said Arscott, 'this must be the doing of none other than Dogget; where is he?' Dogget was soon found in the servants' hall, drinking ale, having outstripped his master and run all the way home." In the MS. copy of 1820, the names of the "Sons of the Blue" were Bob (Robt. Dennis of S. Breock), Bill (Bill Tickell), and Britannia (Sir J. Molesworth). The tune, which is in the �olian mode, was obtained through the assistance of Mr. W.C. Richards, schoolmaster at Tetcott. We also had it from John Benney, labourer, Menheniot. Mr. Richards writes:--"This song is sung annually at the Rent-audit of the Molesworth estate at Tetcott. Thirty years ago an old man sang it, and the version I send you is as near the original, as sung by him, as can be secured. Workmen on the estate often hum the air, and always sing it at their annual treats." The Arscott property at Tetcott passed by inheritance to the Molesworths. Half of the tune was employed by D'Urfey, a Devonshire man, in his "Pills to Purge Melancholy," to the words, "Dear Catholic Brother" (vi. p. 277, ed. 1719-20). From D'Urfey it passed into the "Musical Miscellany," 1731, vi. p. 171, to the words, "Come take up your Burden, ye Dogs, and away." From England the same half-tune was carried into Wales, and Jones, in his "Musical Relicks of the Welsh Bards," 1794, i. p. 129, gives it set to the words of "Difarwch gwyn Dyfl." As Benny's variant is interesting, I give it here-- [Music: And sing Fol-de-rol.] 3. UPON A SUNDAY MORNING. The melody taken down from Robert Hard, South Brent. This is the song to which reference has been made in the Introduction. It is not a genuine folk melody, but it is an interesting example of the way in which the folk muse reshapes an air. Hard sang the words of Charles Swan-- "'Twas on a Sunday morning, before the bells did peal, A note came through the window, with Cupid as the seal." These words were set to music by Francis Mori in 1853. I give Mori's tune, and advise that with it should be compared Hard's variation of it. I have written fresh words to this variation-- [Music: F. Mori.] 4. THE TREES THEY ARE SO HIGH. Words and melody taken down in 1888 first from James Parsons, then from Matthew Baker. Again in 1891 from Richard Broad, aged 71, of Herodsfoot, near S. Keyne, Cornwall. Again, the words, to a different air, from Roger Hannaford. Another version from William Aggett, a paralysed labourer of 70 years, at Chagford. Mr. Sharp has also obtained it in Somersetshire. A fragment was sung at the Folk-Song Competition at Frome in April 1904. Mr. Kidson has noted a version in Yorkshire, Miss Broadwood another in Surrey, see _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. p. 214. Apparently there exist two distinct variants of the ballad, each to its proper melody. Johnson, in his "Museum," professed to give a Scottish version-- "O Lady Mary Ann looks owre the Castle wa', She saw three bonny boys playing at the ba', The youngest he was the flower among them a'; My bonny laddie's young, but he's growing yet." But of his version only three of the stanzas are genuine, and they are inverted; the rest are a modern composition. A more genuine Scottish form is in Maidment's "North Country Garland," Edinburgh, 1874; but there the young man is fictitiously converted into a Laird of Craigstoun. It begins-- "Father, said she, you have done me wrong, For ye have married me on a childe young man, And my bonny love is long Agrowing, growing, deary, Growing, growing, said the bonny maid." But the most genuine form is on an Aberdeen Broadside, B.M., 1871, f. This, the real Scottish ballad, has verses not in the English, and the English ballad has a verse or two not in the Scottish. I have received an Irish version as sung in Co. Tipperary; it is in six verses, but that about the "Trees so High" is lacking. The rhyme is more correct than that of any of the printed versions, and the lines run in triplets. One verse is-- "O Father, dear Father, I'll tell you what we'll do, We'll send him off to college for another year or two, And we'll tie round his college cap a ribbon of the blue, To let the maidens know he is married." In one of the versions I have taken down (Hannaford's and Aggett's) there were traces of the triplet very distinct, and the tune was akin to the Irish melody sent me, as sung by Mary O'Bryan, Cahir, Tipperary. Portions of the ballad have been forced into that of "The Cruel Mother" in Motherwell's MS., Child's "British and Scottish Ballads," i. p. 223. In this a mother gives birth to three sons at once and murders them; but after they are murdered-- "She lookit over her father's wa', And saw three bonnie boys playing at the ba'." Our melody is in the Phrygian mode, a scale which is extremely scarce in English folk-song. The only other example we know is in Ducoudray's book of the "Folk Melodies of Brittany." The Scotch have two airs, one in Johnson's "Museum," the other in "The British Minstrel," Glasgow, 1844, vol. ii. p. 36, both totally distinct from ours. That the ballad is English and not originally Scotch is probable, for Fletcher quotes it in "The Two Noble Kinsmen," 1634. He makes the crazy jailer's daughter sing us a snatch of an old ballad-- "For I'll cut my green coat, a foot above my knee, And I'll clip my yellow locks, an inch below my eye, Hey ninny, ninny, ninny; He's buy me a white cut (stick) forth for to ride, And I'll go seek him, through the world that is so wide, Hey ninny, ninny, ninny." In the ballad as taken down from Aggett-- "I'll cut my yellow hair away by the root, And I will clothe myself all in a boy's suit, And to the college high, I will go afoot." I have had versions also from Mary Langworthy, Stoke Flemming, in the Hypodorian mode, and from W.S. Vance, Penarth, as sung by an old woman at Padstow in 1863, now dead. Mr. Sharp gives a version in "Folk Songs from Somerset," No. 15. 5. PARSON HOGG. This was sung by my great-uncle, Thomas Snow, Esq., of Franklyn, near Exeter, when I was a child. I have received it also from Mr. H. Whitfeld, brushmaker, Plymouth. The words may be found, not quite the same, but substantially so, in "The New Cabinet of Love," _circ._ 1810, as "Doctor Mack." In Oliver's "Comic Songs," _circ._ 1815, it is "Parson Ogg, the Cornish Vicar." It is also in "The Universal Songster" (1826), ii. p. 348. It is found on Broadsides. 6. COLD BLOWS THE WIND. The words originally reached me as taken down by the late Mrs. Gibbons, daughter of Sir W.L. Trelawney, Bart., from an old woman, who, in 1830, was nurse in her father's house. Since then we have heard it repeatedly, indeed there are few old singers who do not know it. There are two melodies to which it is sung, that we give here, and that to which "Childe the Hunter" is set in this collection. The ballad is always in a fragmentary condition. The ballad, under the title of "The Unquiet Grave," is in Professor Child's "British Ballads," No. 78. He gives various forms of it. The idea on which it is based is that if a woman has plighted her oath to a man, she is still bound to him, after he is dead, and that he can claim her to follow him into the world of spirits, unless she can redeem herself by solving riddles he sets her. See further on this topic under "The Lover's Tasks," No. 48. Verses 8 and 10 are not in the original ballad. I have supplied them to reduce the length and give a conclusion. 7. THE SPRIG OF THYME. Taken down from James Parsons. After the second verse he broke away into "The Seeds of Love." Joseph Dyer, of Mawgan in Pyder, sang the same ballad or song to the same tune, and in what I believe to be the complete form of words-- "O once I had plenty of thyme, It would flourish by night and by day, Till a saucy lad came, return'd from the sea, And stole my thyme away. "O and I was a damsel fair, But fairer I wish't to appear; So I wash'd me in milk, and I clothed me in silk, And put the sweet thyme in my hair. "With June is the red rose in bud, But that was no flower for me, I plucked the bud, and it prick'd me to blood, And I gazed on the willow tree. "O the willow tree it will twist, And the willow tree it will twine, I would I were fast in my lover's arms clasp't, For 'tis he that has stolen my thyme. "O it's very good drinking of ale, But it's better far drinking of wine, I would I were clasp't in my lover's arms fast, For 'tis he that has stolen my thyme." The song, running as it does on the same theme and in the same metre as "The Seeds of Love," is very generally mixed up with it, and Miss Broadwood calls her version of it, in "English County Songs," p. 58, "The Seeds of Love, _or_ The Sprig of Thyme." The "Seeds of Love" is attributed by Dr. Whittaker, in his "History of Whalley," to Mrs. Fleetwood Habergham, who died in 1703. He says: "Ruined by the extravagance and disgraced by the vices of her husband, she soothed her sorrows by some stanzas yet remembered among the old people of her neighbourhood." See "The New Lover's Garland," B.M. (11,621, b 6); a Northumbrian version in "Northumbrian Minstrelsy," 1882, p. 90; a Scottish version in "Albyn's Anthology," 1816, i. p. 40; a Somersetshire in "Folk Songs from Somerset," No. 1; a Yorkshire in Kidson's "Traditional Tunes," p. 69. As the two songs are so mixed up together, I have thought it best to re-write the song. The melody was almost certainly originally in the �olian mode, but has got altered. 8. ROVING JACK. Taken down, words and melody, from William Aggett, Chagford, and from James Parsons, Lew Down. An inferior version of the words is to be found among Catnach's Broadsheets, Ballads, B.M. (1162, b, vol. vii.), also one printed in Edinburgh, Ballads (1750-1840), B.M. (1871, f). Note what has been said relative to this tune, which is in the �olian mode, under 1, "By chance it was," with which it is closely related. 9. BRIXHAM TOWN. Words taken down from Jonas Coaker, aged 85, and blind. The melody was given us by Mr. John Webb, who had heard him sing it in former years. Another version to the same air was obtained from North Tawton. Again, another was given me by the Hon. A.F. Northcote, who took it down in 1877 from an itinerant pedlar of 90 years at Buckingham. The words and tune were clearly composed at the time of the Commonwealth, 1649-1661. 10. GREEN BROOM. Words and melody taken down from John Woodrich, blacksmith; he learned both from his grandmother when he was a child. The Hon. J.S. Northcote sent me another version taken down from an old woman at Upton Pyne. Again, another from Mr. James Ellis of Chaddlehanger, Lamerton; another from Bruce Tyndall, Esq., of Exmouth, as taken down from a Devonshire cook in 1839 or 1840. This, the same melody as that from Upton Pyne. Woodrich's tune is the brightest, the other the oldest. The same ballad to different tune in "Northumbrian Minstrelsy," 1882, p. 98. The song is in D'Urfey's "Pills to Purge Melancholy," 1720, vi. p. 100, in 14 verses, with a different conclusion. Broadside versions by Disley and Such. Also in "The Broom Man's Garland," in "LXXXII. Old Ballads" collected by J. Bell, B.M. (11,621, c 2). Bell was librarian to the Society of Antiquaries, Newcastle-on-Tyne, 1810-20. Mr. Kidson has obtained a version in North Yorkshire. Another is in "English County Songs," p. 88. In "Gammer Gurton's Garland," _circ._ 1783, are three verses. 11. AS JOHNNY WALKED OUT. Words and melody from James Parsons. The original words are in six stanzas, and these I have compressed. The words with some verbal differences as "set by Mr. Dunn" are in "Six English Songs and Dialogues, as they are performed in the Public Gardens," N.D., but about 1750. Then in _The London Magazine_, 1754; in "Apollo's Cabinet," Liverpool, 1757; in "Clio and Euterpe," London, 1758. Our melody was obtained also by Mr. T.S. Cayzer, at Post Bridge, in 1849, and we have taken down four or five versions. The tune is totally different from that by "Mr. Dunn." 12. THE MILLER AND HIS SONS. Taken down, music and words, from J. Helmore, miller, South Brent. The words occur in the Roxburgh Collection, iii. p. 681. It is included in Bell's "Songs of the English Peasantry," p. 194; and is in the "Northumbrian Minstrelsy," Newcastle, 1882. In the North of England it is sung to the air of "The Oxfordshire Tragedy," Chappell, p. 191. Our air bears no resemblance to this. 13. ORMOND THE BRAVE. This very interesting Ballad was taken down, words and music, from J. Peake, tanner, Liskeard; it was sung by his father about 1830. It refers to the Duke of Ormond's landing in Devon in 1714. Ormond fled to France in the first days of July, "a duke without a duchy," as Lord Oxford termed him, when it was manifest that the country was resolved on having the Hanoverian Elector as King, and was unwilling to summon the Chevalier of St. George to the throne. At the end of October the Duke of Ormond landed in Devon at the head of a few men, hoping that the West would rise in the Jacobite cause, but not a single adherent joined his standard, and he returned to France. The Devonshire squires were ready to plant Scotch pines in token of their Jacobite sympathies, but not to jeopardise their heads and acres in behalf of a cause which their good sense told them was hopeless. I have met with the ballad in a Garland, B.M. (11,621, b 16). This, however, is imperfect. It runs thus-- "I am Ormond the brave, did you ever hear of me? Who lately was banished from my own country. They sought for my life and plundered my estate, For being so loyal to Queen Anne the Great. I am Ormond, etc. "Says Ormond, If I did go, with Berwick I stood, And for the Crown of England I ventured my blood, To the Boyne I advanced, to Tingney (Quesnoy?) also, I preserved King William from Berwick his foe. "I never sold my country as cut-purses do, Nor never wronged my soldiers of what was their due. Such laws I do hate, you're witness above, I left my estate for the country I love. "Although they degrade me, I value it not a straw, Some call me Jemmy Butler, I'm Ormond you know. (_Rest of verse missing._) "But in the latter days our late Mistress Anne, Disprove my loyalty if you can, I was Queen Anne's darling, old England's delight, Sacheverel's friend, and Fanatic's spite." When Peake sang the song to Mr. Sheppard and me, he converted German Elector into German lecturers. The impeachment and attainder of the Duke in 1715 was a cruel and malicious act. When he was in the Netherlands acting in concert with Prince Eugene, he was hindered from prosecuting the war by secret instructions from Queen Anne. When Quesnoy was on the point of capitulating, he was forced to withdraw, as he had received orders to proclaim a cessation of arms for two months. After the death of Queen Anne, the new Whig Ministry was resolved on his destruction, and he fled to France, where, although he had been loyal to William of Orange, and had fought under him at the Boyne, and had also been one of the first to welcome George I., he threw himself into the cause of the Pretender, in a fit of resentment at the treatment he had received. He died on 16th November 1745 at Avignon, but his body was brought to England and buried in Henry VII.'s Chapel, Westminster. Swift, writing in the hour of his persecution, gives his character at great length. "The attainder," says he, "now it is done, looks like a dream to those who will consider the nobleness of his birth; the great merits of his ancestors, and his own; his long, unspotted loyalty; his affability, generosity, and sweetness of nature.... I have not conversed with a more faultless person; of great justice and charity; a true sense of religion, without ostentation; of undoubted valour; thoroughly skilled in his trade of a soldier; a quick and ready apprehension; with a good share of understanding, and a general knowledge of men and history." Mackay, in his "Characters of the Court of Great Britain," says of him when Governor in Ireland:--"He governs in Ireland with more affection from the people, and his court is in the greatest splendour ever known in that country. He certainly is one of the most generous, princely, brave men that ever was, but good-natured to a fault." 14. JOHN BARLEYCORN. This famous old song has gone through several recastings. The earliest known copy is of the age of James I. in the Pepysian Collection, i. 426, printed in black letter by H. Gosson (1607-1641). Other copies of Charles II.'s reign in the same Collection, i. 470, and the Ewing Collection, by the publishers Clarke, Thackeray, and Passenger, to the tune of "Shall I lye beyond thee." Chappell concludes that this was a very early ballad. "The language is not that of London and its neighbourhood during James's reign. It is either northern dialect--which, according to Puttenham, would commence about 60 miles from London--or it is much older than the date of the printers," Roxburgh Ballads, ii. p. 327. This ballad begins-- "As I went through the North Country I heard a merry greeting, A pleasant toy and full of joy-- Two noblemen were meeting." These two noblemen are Sir John Barleycorn and Thomas Goodale. The sixth verse runs-- "Sir John Barlycorne fought in a boule Who wonne the victorie, And made them all to fume and sweare That Barlycorne should die. "Some said kill him, some said drowne, Others wisht to hang him hie; For as many as follow Barlycorne Shall surely beggars die. "Then with a plough they plow'd him up, And thus they did devise, To burie him quicke within the earth, And sware he should not rise. "With harrowes strong they combèd him And burst clods on his head, A joyfull banquet then they made When Barlycorne was dead." Then the ballad runs on the same as ours. Burns got hold of this ballad, and tinkered it up into the shape in which it appears in his collected works, altering some expressions, and adding about six stanzas. He in no way improved it. Jameson, in his "Popular Ballads," Edinburgh, 1806, tells us that he had heard it sung in Morayshire before that Burns' songs were published. Dixon, in his collection of the "Songs of the English Peasantry," 1846, says that "John Barleycorn" was sung throughout England to the tune of "Stingo, or Oil of Barley," which may be found in Chappell, from the "Dancing Master," in which it occurs from 1650 to 1690. But this is not the air to which it is set in the Broadsides above referred to, nor is it that to which it is sung in the West of England. Dr. Barrett has given a different "John Barleycorn" in his "English Folk-Songs," and another is in the _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. p. 81. The words as now sung may be found in "The Mountain of Hair Garland," B.M. (1162, c 4), _circ._ 1760. It is also among Such's broadsides. Words and air were taken down by Mr. Bussell, from James Mortimore, a cripple, at Princetown, in 1890. A version taken down in Sussex, to a different tune, is seen in the _Folk-Song Journal_. This begins-- "There were three men came out of the West, They sold their wheat for rye; They made an oath and a solemn oath, John Barleycorn should die." One verse is not in our version-- "And in the mash-tub he was put, And they scalded him stark blind. And then they served him worse than that They cast him to the swine." 15. SWEET NIGHTINGALE. In "Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England," by Robert Bell, London, 1857, the author says: "This curious ditty, which may be confidently assigned to the 17th century ... we first heard in Germany at Marienberg on the Moselle. The singers were four Cornish miners, who were at that time, 1854, employed at some lead mines near the town of Zell. The leader, or captain, John Stocker, said that the song was an established favourite with the miners of Cornwall and Devonshire, and was always sung on the pay-days and at the wakes; and that his grandfather, who died thirty years before, at the age of a hundred years, used to sing the song, and say it was very old. The tune is plaintive and original." Unfortunately Mr. Bell does not give the tune. The air was first sent me by E.F. Stevens, Esq., of the Terrace, St. Ives, who wrote that the melody "had run in his head any time these eight and thirty years." We have since had it from a good many old men in Cornwall, and always to the same air. They assert that it is a duet, and was so set in our first edition. Mr. Bell did not know much of the subject, or he would have been aware that so far from the song being of the 17th century, it was composed by Bickerstaff for "Thomas and Sally" in 1760, and was set to music by Dr. Arne. I have, however, adopted Bell's words instead of those of Bickerstaff, as shorter. The Cornish melody is quite distinct from that by Arne, and is not earlier or later than the second half of the 18th century. 16. WIDDECOMBE FAIR. At present the best known and most popular of Devonshire songs, though the melody is without particular merit. The original "Uncle Tom Cobley" lived in a house near Yeoford Junction, in the parish of Spreyton. His will was signed on January 20, 1787, and was proved on March 14, 1794. He was a genial old bachelor. Mr. Samuel Peach, his oldest relation living, tells me, "My great-uncle, who succeeded him, with whom I lived for some years, died in 1843, over eighty years of age; he married, but left no children." We have obtained numerous variants of the air, one taken down from R. Bickle, Two Bridges, is an early form of the melody; but as that we give is familiar to most Devonshire men, we have retained it. The names in the chorus all belonged to residents at Sticklepath. Mr. C. Sharp has taken down a variant as "Midsummer Fair" in Somersetshire. The words so far as they went were the same, but each verse ended in a jingle instead of names. 17. YE MAIDENS PRETTY. The words and melody from James Parsons. The fullest Broadside version, but very corrupt, is one published at Aberdeen, Ballads, B.M. (1871, f, p. 61); another, shorter, by Williams of Portsea. In both great confusion has been made by some ignorant poetaster in enlarging and altering, so that in many of the verses the rhymes have been lost. This is how the Aberdeen Broadside copy begins-- "You maidens pretty In country and city With pity hear, My mournful tale; A maid confounded, In sorrow drownded, And deeply wounded, With grief and pain." In the third line the "pity" has got misplaced, and "sad complain" has been turned into "mournful tale," to the loss of the rhyme. Verse 4 has fared even worse. It runs-- "My hardened parents Gave special order That I should be Close confined be (_sic._) Within my chamber Far from all danger, Or lest that I Should my darling see." A parody on the song was written by Ashley, of Bath, and sung in "Bombastes Furioso," Rhodes' burlesque, in 1810, to the Irish tune of "Paddy O'Carrol." This appears also in "The London Warbler," 3 vols., N.D., but about 1826, vol. i. p. 80-- "My love is so pretty, so gay, and so witty, All in town, court, and city, to her must give place. My Lord on the woolsack, his coachman did pull back, To have a look, full smack, at her pretty face," etc. A Catnach Broadside, "The Cruel Father and the Affectionate Lovers," is a new version of the original ballad. Words and melody are probably of the Elizabethan age; an air to which this ballad has been recovered from tradition in Surrey resembles ours, and is a corruption of the earlier melody. The ballad goes back to a remote antiquity. The French have it, a "complainte romanesque," of which Tiersot says: "It was known in past ages, as is shown by a semi-literary imitation, published in a song-book of the beginning of the 17th century. And in our own day, poets and literary men, such as Gerard de Nerval, Prosper Mérimée, M. Auguste Vitu, have given their names to it, having picked it up as a precious thing from oral recitations by the peasants of our provinces." It is the ballad of a princess loving a knight, "qu' n'a pas vaillant six deniers." The King Loys, her father, has imprisoned her in the highest of his towers-- "Elle y fut bien sept ans passés Sans qu' son pèr' vint la visiter; Et quand l'y eut sept ans passés, Son père la fut visiter."--TIERSOT, _op. cit._ p. 20. There can, I think, be no doubt that it is an old troubadour lay which has been re-composed in Elizabethan times, and has since been somewhat degraded. 18. THE SILLY OLD MAN. A ballad that was sung by the late Rev. G. Luscombe something over half a century ago. He was curate of Bickleigh, and by ancestry belonged to a good old Devonshire family, and he was particularly fond of ancient West of England songs. Another version, from old Suey Stephens, a charwoman at Stowford; another, as sung in 1848, received from Dr. Reed in Tiverton. Miss Mason, in her "Nursery Rhymes and Country Songs," 1877, gives a slight variant, also from Devonshire. The ballad is in Dixon's "Songs of the English Peasantry," 1846, as taken down by him from oral recitation in Yorkshire in 1845. It exists in a chap-book, under the title of "The Crafty Farmer," published in 1796. In Yorkshire the song goes by the name of "Saddle to Rags"; there, and elsewhere in the North of England, it is sung to the tune of "The Rant," better known as "How happy could I be with either." It has been published as a Scottish ballad in Maidment's "Ballads and Songs," Edinburgh, 1859. It is given in Kidson's "Traditional Tunes." The words also in "A Pedlar's Pack," by Logan, Edinburgh, 1849. The tune to which this ballad is sung in Devonshire is quite distinct. 19. THE MONTHS OF THE YEAR. Still a popular song among farm labourers. Three versions of the air and words were taken down--one at South Brent, one at Belstone, one at Post Bridge. The air is clearly an old dance tune. The version we preferred was that given us by J. Potter, farmer, of Merripit, Post Bridge. For like songs, see "English County Songs," p. 143, and Barrett's "Folk-Songs." Barrett has the same air as ours, but in triple time. That a similar song should be found on the Continent is not wonderful; see "Les Douze Mois de l'année" in Coussemaker: "Les Flamands de France," p. 133. 20. THE CHIMNEY SWEEP. Taken down from J. Helmore, miller, South Brent. The first verse occurs in one of James Catnach's chap-books: "The Cries of London," _circ._ 1815. The tune is possibly based on one used by the Savoyard sweeps, for Tiersot refers to one such: "Avec sa bizarre vocalise descendante, d'un accent si étrange dans sa rudesse montagnarde-- "Ramonez-ci, ramonez-là, Sh-a-a-a-ah La cheminée du haut en bas." And this corresponds with the passage, "Aye and there," with its curious descent in our tune: Tiersot, "Hist. de la Chanson Populaire en France," Paris, 1889, p. 143. 21. THE SAUCY SAILOR. Words and melody taken from James Parsons. A Broadside with a different ending printed by Disley, Pitts, Such & Hodges. Also Tozer's "Forty Sailors' Songs," Boosey, No. 33. The usual air to which this song is sung in Devon is of a much earlier character; but we give this as more agreeable to modern ears. Barrett gives the song in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 32, to a different tune. 22. BLUE MUSLIN. Taken down, words and music, from John Woodrich, blacksmith. Muslin was introduced into England in 1670, and cork in 1690. Both are spoken of as novelties, and muslin is sung to the old form of the word, mous-el-ine. Miss F. Crossing sent me another version of the words, taken down from an old woman in South Devon, in or about 1850-- "'My man John, what can the matter be?' 'I love a lady, and she won't love me.' 'Peace, sir, peace, and don't despair, The lady you love will be your only care; And it must be gold to win her.' "'Madam, will you accept of this pretty golden ball, To walk all in the garden, or in my lady's hall?' 'Sir, I'll accept of no pretty golden ball,' etc. "'Madam, will you accept of a petticoat of red, With six golden flounces around it outspread?' "'Madam, will you accept of the keys of my heart, That we may join together, and never, never part?' "'Madam, will you accept of the keys of my chest, To get at all my money, and to buy what you think best?' "'Sir, I will accept of the keys of your chest, To get at all your money, and to buy what I think best; And I'll walk and I'll talk with you.' "'My man John, there's a box of gold for you, For that which you told me has come true, And 'twas gold, 'twas gold that did win her.'" Another version comes from Yorkshire ("Halliwell Nursery Rhymes," 4th ed., 1846); another from Cheshire (Broadwood, "English County Songs," p. 32); another in Mason's "Nursery Rhymes" (Metzler, 1877, p. 27). Melodies different from ours. 23. THE DEATH OF PARKER. Words and melody taken down from Samuel Fone, mason, Blackdown. It is identical with one obtained in Yorkshire by Mr. Kidson. "The Death of Parker" is found on Broadsides, and is in "The Lover's Harmony," N.D., printed by Pitts, of Seven Dials. It is in Logan's "Pedlar's Pack," p. 58, and in Ashton's "Modern Street Ballads," London, 1888, p. 218. On April 15, 1797, when Admiral Bridport, commanding the line-of-battle ships at Portsmouth and Spithead, signalled for the fleet to prepare for sea, the men, by a preconcerted agreement, refused to raise anchors till they had obtained redress for their grievances, which had been sent in the form of a petition to Lord Howe, two months before, and which had remained unnoticed. The Lords of the Admiralty endeavoured for some days, but ineffectually, to reduce the men to obedience. At last the grievances complained of were redressed by the action of Lord Bridport, who also obtained his Majesty's pardon for the offenders. However, in May, the sailors at Portsmouth, thinking that the Government did not intend to keep faith with them, came ashore and committed great excesses. Shortly after this the fleet at Sheerness exhibited a mutinous spirit, and this broke out into open mutiny at the Nore. At the head of the men was Richard Parker, a Devonshire man. The obnoxious officers were sent ashore, and the red flag was hoisted. Altogether twenty-five ships were included in the mutiny. The mutineers seized certain store-ships, fired on some frigates that were about to put to sea, and blockaded the mouth of the Thames. All attempts at conciliation having failed, it became necessary to resort to stringent measures. Ships and gunboats were armed, batteries were erected on shore; the mutineers were prevented from landing to obtain fresh water and provisions; and all buoys and beacons were removed, so as to render egress from the Thames impossible. One by one the ships engaged in the mutiny began to drop off, and at last the _Sandwich_, Parker's flagship, ran in under the batteries and delivered up the ringleader. Parker was hung at the yard-arm on June 30. The ballad was composed at the time, and obtained a wide circulation by appearing on Broadsides. At the Exeter Assizes in 1828, John C. Parker, son of Richard Parker, obtained a verdict against his aunts for the possession of an estate called Shute, which had belonged to his father's elder brother. The question turned upon the legitimacy of the plaintiff, which was proved by his mother, a woman who exhibited the remains of uncommon beauty, and who was a Scottish woman, married to Richard Parker in 1793. 24. THE HELSTON FURRY DANCE. On May 8, annually, a festival is held at Helston, in Cornwall, to celebrate the incoming of spring. Very early in the morning a party of youths and maidens go into the country, and return dancing through the streets to a quaint tune, peculiar to the day, called the "Furry Dance." At eight o'clock the "Hal-an-tow" is sung by a party of from twenty to thirty men and boys who come into the town bearing green branches, with flowers in their hats, preceded by a single drum, on which a boy beats the Furry Dance. They perambulate the town for many hours, stopping at intervals at some of the principal houses. At one o'clock a large party of ladies and gentlemen, in summer attire--the ladies decorated with garlands of flowers, the gentlemen with nosegays and flowers in their hats, assemble at the Town Hall, and proceed to dance after the band, playing the traditional air. They first trip in couples, hand in hand, during the first part of the tune, forming a string of from thirty to forty couples, or perhaps more; at the second part of the tune the first gentleman turns with both hands the lady behind him, and her partner turns in like manner with the first lady; then each gentleman turns his own partner, and then they trip on as before. The other couples, of course, pair and turn in the same way, and at the same time. The dancing is not confined to the streets; the house doors are thrown open, and the train of dancers enters by the front, dances through the house, and out at the back, through the garden, and back again. It is considered a slight to omit a house. Finally the train enters the Assembly Room and there resolves itself into an ordinary waltz. As soon as the first party is finished, another goes through the same evolutions, and then another, and so on, and it is not till late at night that the town returns to its peaceful propriety. There is a general holiday in the town on Flora Day, and so strictly was this formerly adhered to, that anyone found working on that day was compelled to jump across Pengella, a wide stream that discharges its waters into Loo Pool. As this feat was almost impracticable, it involved a sousing. The festival has by no means ceased to be observed; it has rather, of late years, been revived in energetic observance. The "Helston Furry Dance" is a relic of part of the Old English May Games. These originally comprised four entirely distinct parts. 1st. The election and procession of the King and Queen of the May, who were called the Summer King and Queen. 2nd. The Morris Dance, performed by men disguised, with swords in their hands. 3rd. The "Hobby Horse." 4th. The "Robin Hood." In the Helston performance we have a fragment only of the original series of pageants; at Padstow the Hobby-horse still figures. I have given the two Padstow songs in "A Garland of Country Song," 1895, No. 42. The Helston Furry Dance tune was printed in Davies Gilbert's "Christmas Carols," 2nd ed., 1823. His form is purer than ours, which is as now sung. Edward Jones had already published it in his "Bardic Museum," vol. ii. (1802) as "The Cornish May Song," and George Johnson in his "Welsh Airs," vol. ii. (1811). 25. BLOW AWAY, YE MORNING BREEZES. Taken down, words and music, from Robert Hard. This curious song was to be sung by two sopranos; that is to say, one voice taunts the other, and the second replies, then both unite in the chorus. We have omitted the retort, which consists simply in the application of the same words to the first singer. It is certainly an early composition. One passage in it occurs in "The Knight and the Shepherd's Daughter," in Percy's "Relicks," and Child's "English and Scotch Ballads"-- "Would I had drunk the water cleare When I had drunk the wine, Rather than any shepherd's brat Should be a lady of mine. Would I had drunk the puddle foule When I had drunk the ale," etc. The burden or chorus, "Blow away," etc., occurs also in the ballad of "The Baffled Knight." 26. THE HEARTY GOOD FELLOW. Taken down, words and music, from Robert Hard. This ballad is found on a Broadside by Pitts, entitled "Adventures of a Penny." The first verse there runs-- "Long time I've travelled the North Country Seeking for good company. Good company I always could find, But none was pleasing to my mind. Sing whack, fal de ral, etc., I had one Penny." The rest is very much the same as our version. I also heard it sung by a worker at the Aller Potteries, near Newton Abbot. Mr. Kidson has obtained a traditional version in Yorkshire, and Mr. C. Sharp one in Somersetshire from Eliza Hutchins of Langport. As the accent came wrong in the version we received from Hard, we have adopted that as given by Eliza Hutchins. 27. THE BONNY BUNCH OF ROSES. Of this we have taken down a great number of versions. The melody is always the same. The youth in the printed Broadside copies is always Napoleon Bonaparte. History does not agree with what is said of the hero in the song. It is almost certainly an anti-Jacobite production, adapted to Napoleon, with an additional verse relative to Moscow. In the Broadside versions the song is given "To the tune of the Bunch of Roses, O!" indicating that there was an earlier ballad of the same nature. This was a favourite fo'castle song in the middle of the nineteenth century. There is a version of it in Christie's "Traditional Ballads." One has also been recovered by Mr. Kidson in Yorkshire. The song was such a favourite that a public-house near Wakefield bears "The Bonny Bunch of Roses, O!" as its sign. 28. THE LAST OF THE SINGERS. The melody taken down from William Huggins, mason, of Lydford, who died in March 1889. He had been zealously engaged that winter going about among his ancient musical friends collecting old songs for me, when he caught a chill and died. The words he gave were those of the ballad, "The Little Girl down the Lane," and were of no merit. I have therefore discarded them and written fresh words, and dedicate them to the memory of poor old Will. 29. THE TYTHE PIG. Words and air taken from Robert Hard. Sung also by J. Helmore. The song appears on Broadsides by Disley, Jackson of Birmingham, Harkness of Preston, Catnach, and others. There are ten verses in the original. I have cut them down to seven. 30. OLD WICHET. Taken from Thomas Darke of Whitstone. He had learned it in 1835 from a fellow labourer. Sung also by James Parsons, Samuel Fone, and J. Woodrich. It is said to be still popular in the North of England. A Scottish version in Herd's Collection, 1769, and in Johnson's "Musical Museum," Edinburgh, 1787-1803, vol. v. p. 437. "Old Wichet" is in the Roxburgh Collection, and Bell has printed it in his "Ballads and Songs of the English Peasantry." Dr. Arnold recast the song to a tune of his own in "Auld Robin Gray," 1794. The Scottish version begins-- "The good man cam hame at e'en And hame cam he. And there he saw a saddle horse Where nae horse should be." Dr. Arnold begins-- "'Twas on Christmas day, my father he did wed, Three months after that, my mother was brought to bed." In the original English song the final line to each stanza runs-- "Old Wichet went a cuckold out, and a cuckold he came home." But in one version taken down-- "When honest men went out, under a horned moon." I have thought it advisable to modify the last line of each stanza, and to compose a last stanza, so as to give to the song a less objectionable character. A somewhat similar ballad exists in France, as "Marianne," in Lemoine, "Chansons du Limousin," Limoges, 1890; in Daymard, "Vieux chants populaires de Quercy," Cahors, 1889; "Le Jaloux," in Bladé, "Poésies populaires de Gascogne," 1881. But, in fact, all these songs are the versification of an old troubadour tale, that is given in Barbazan, "Fabliaux et contes des poètes François xi.-xiv. siècles," as the "Chevalier à la robe vermeille," t. iii. p. 296. Alphonse Daudet, in "Numa Roumestan," introduces a great portion of the ballad. He says, "C'est sur un air grave comme du plain-chant." In the midst of the song, the person reciting it breaks off, and transported by enthusiasm exclaims: "�a, voyez-vous, mes enfants, c'est _bo_ (beau) comme du Shakespeare." 31. JAN'S COURTSHIP. Words and air from Mr. R. Rowe, Longabrook, Milton Abbot. Another set, slightly different, from Mr. Crossing; another, practically identical, from Mr. Chowen, Brentor. As "Robin's Courtship," the song was recovered by Mr. E.T. Wedmore of Bristol, in Somersetshire. It has also been noted in the same county by Mr. Sharp as "William the Rose," sung to the tune of "Lillibulero." It is found in "The Universal Songster," _circ._ 1830, as "Poor Bob." In the "Roxburgh Ballads," vi. pp. 216-7, is what is probably the earliest form--"Come hither my dutiful son, and take counsel of me." This was sung to the air "Grim King of the Ghosts." Another version is referred to in the "Beggars' Opera," Act III. Sc. viii., "Now Roger I'll tell thee, because thou'rt my son." Our tune is rugged, and Somersetshire in character. It is in the �olian mode. 32. THE DROWNED LOVER. Taken down from James Parsons. This is a very early song. It first appears as "Captain Digby's Farewell," in the "Roxburgh Ballads," iv. p. 393, printed in 1671. In Playford's "Choice Ayres," 1676, i. p. 10, it was set to music by Mr. Robert Smith. Then it came to be applied to the death of the Earl of Sandwich, after the action in Sole Bay, 1673. A black letter ballad, date _circ._ 1676, is headed, "To the tune of the Earl of Sandwich's Farewell." The original song consisted of three stanzas only; it became gradually enlarged and somewhat altered, and finally Sam Cowell composed a burlesque on it, which has served more or less to corrupt the current versions of the old song, printed on Broadsides by Catnach, Harkness, and others. The black letter ballad of 1673 begins-- "One morning I walked by myself on the shoar When the Tempest did cry and the Waves they did roar, Yet the music of the Winds and the Waters was drownd By the pitiful cry, and the sorrowful sound, Oh! Ah! Ah! Ah! my Love's dead. There is not a bell But a Triton's shell, To ring, to ring, to ring my Love's knell." "Colonel Digby's Lament," 1671, begins-- "I'll go to my Love, where he lies in the Deep, And in my Embrace, my dearest shall sleep. When we wake, the kind Dolphins together shall throng, And in chariots of shells shall draw us along. Ah! Ah! My Love is dead. There was not a bell, but a Triton's shell, To ring, to ring out his knell." A second version of the melody, but slightly varied from that we give, was sent us by Mr. H. Whitfeld of Plymouth, as sung by his father. Our air is entirely different from that given by Playford, and is probably the older melody, which was not displaced by the composition of Mr. R. Smith. The song is sung to the same melody, but slightly varied, in Ireland. 33. CHILDE THE HUNTER. Words taken in a fragmentary form from Jonas Coaker. He had used up the material of the ballad, incorporating it into a "poem" he had composed on Dartmoor, and vastly preferred his own doggerel to what was traditional. The �olian melody given is that to which the Misses Phillips, who were born and reared at Shaw, on Dartmoor, informed me that they had heard the ballad sung about 1830. We also obtained this air to "Cold blows the wind." It is unquestionably an early harp tune, not later than the reign of Henry VII. For the story of Childe of Plymstock, see Murray's "Handbook of Devon," ed. 1887, p. 208; more fully and critically in W. Crossing's "Ancient Crosses of Dartmoor," 1887, p. 51. 34. THE COTTAGE THATCHED WITH STRAW. Taken down, words and melody, from John Watts, quarryman, Alder, Thrushleton. This is one of the best known and, next to "Widdecombe Fair," most favourite songs of the Devon peasantry. Mr. Kidson has noted the song from a Worcestershire man. So far we have not been able to trace either words or melody, though neither can be earlier than the beginning of the nineteenth century, and the song has all the character of a published composition, and no spontaneous composition of a peasant. 35. CICELY SWEET. Words and air sent me by J.S. Hurrell, Esq., Kingsbridge, who had learned them in the middle of last century from Mr. A. Holoran, a Devonshire schoolmaster. It has already been published as "Sylvia Sweet" in Dale's "Collection," _circ._ 1790. Two verses are given by Halliwell as traditional in his "Nursery Rhymes," 4th ed., 1846, p. 223. 36. A SWEET, PRETTY MAIDEN. Melody taken down from James Parsons. The words of his ballad were interesting and poetical, but did not fit the tune. It began-- "A maiden sweet went forth in May, Nor sheet nor clout she bare, She went abroad all on the day To breathe the fresh spring air. Before that she came back again The maiden bore a pretty son, And she roll'd it all up in her apron." The theme is the same as "She roun't in her apron" in Johnson's "Musical Museum," v. p. 437; and as it was quite impossible for us to print it, I have set to the air another song. 37. THE WHITE COCKADE. Words and tune from Edmund Fry. The words of this ballad are often mixed up with those of "It was one summer morning, as I went o'er the grass." The song used to be well known in Lancashire and Yorkshire. Several versions are given in Kidson's "Traditional Tunes." As we heard the song, the cockade was described as green, but there never was a green cockade. I have somewhat altered the words. The Jacobite song of the "White Cockade" is totally distinct. A Barnstaple ware punch-bowl with cover I have seen in the parish of Altarnon, Cornwall, has on the cover the figure of a piper with his dog, and the inscription, "Piper, play us the White Cockade." This can hardly refer to the Scottish song and tune. In "Stray Garlands," B.M. (71621, a, b), is "The Blue Cockade," but this is a fusion of the two ballads. 38. THE SAILOR'S FAREWELL. Words and music from J. Helmore. A Broadside version by Williams of Portsea, Wright of Birmingham, B.M. (1876, c 2). As Helmore and his wife sang the verses alternately, we have so arranged it. 39. A MAIDEN SAT A-WEEPING. Words and melody from James Parsons. Again, from Will Aggett, Chagford, identically the same. In our opinion a delicately beautiful song. The tune probably of the sixteenth century. 40. THE BLUE KERCHIEF. Words and melody from John Woodrich, locally known as "Ginger Jack." The words have appeared, with slight variations, on Broadsides in ten verses. Catnach issued a parody on it, "The Bonny Blue Jacket." In Dr. Barrett's "English Folk-Songs," he uses this tune for "Paul Jones." 41. COME TO MY WINDOW. This is a very early song, and the melody is found substantially the same from the time of Queen Elizabeth. In Beaumont and Fletcher's "Knight of the Burning Pestle," printed in 1613 and again in 1635, the merchant sings snatches of the song-- "Go from my window, love, go; Go from my window, my dear; The wind and the rain Will drive you back again, You can not be lodged here. "Begone, begone, my Juggy, my Puggy, Begone, my love, my dear! The weather is warm, 'Twill do thee no harm, Thou canst not be lodged here."--Act III. In Fletcher's "Monsieur Thomas," 1639, a maid sings-- "Come to my window, love, come, come, come! Come to my window, my dear: The wind and the rain Shall trouble thee again, But thou shalt be lodged here."--Act III. Sc. iii. In Fletcher's "The Woman's Prize," 1640, Jaques says-- "A moral, sir; the ballad will express it: The wind and the rain Have turn'd you back again, And you cannot be lodged there."--Act I. Sc. iii. It is evident that this ballad was very familiar in the latter part of the 16th century, and we find that on March 4, 1587-8, John Wolfe had a licence to print a ballad, entitled "Goe from my Window." It was one of those early songs parodied in "Ane compendious booke of Godly and Spirituall Songs," Edinburgh, 1590. This begins-- "Quho (who) is at my windo, who, who? Goe from my windo; goe, goe. Quha calls there, so like a strangere? Goe from my windo, goe!" At the end of Heywood's "Rape of Lucrece," 1638, is-- "Begone, begone, my Willie, my Billie, Begone, begone, my deere; The weather is warm, 'twill doe thee no harm, Thou canst not be lodged here." And in this form it appears in "Wit and Drollery," 1661, p. 25. In "Pills to Purge Melancholy," 1719, iv. 44, is another version of the song, beginning, "Arise arise, my juggy, my puggy." The tune is found in what is erroneously called Queen Elizabeth's "Virginal Book," and in "A New Book of Tablature," 1596; and in Morley's "First Book of Concert Lessons," 1599; and in Robinson's "Schoole of Musick," 1603. In the "Dancing Master," from 1650 to 1680, the tune is given under the title of "The New Exchange, or Durham Stable," but altered into 6-4 time to fit it for dancing. The tune in its original form may be seen in Chappell, i. p. 141. Chappell has also given a traditional form of the air as obtained at Norwich. Dr. Barrett has given another in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 46, but without saying where he picked it up. We obtained ours from John Woodrich; he heard it in an ale-house near Bideford in 1864, from an old man, who recited a tale, in which the song comes in in snatches. He had been soaked by the rain, and he told the tale as he dried himself by the kitchen fire. The story is this-- Two men courted a pretty maid; one was rich, the other poor; and the rich man was old, but she loved the young poor man. Her father, in spite of her tears, forced her to marry the rich man; but her other suitor came under her window and tapped, and when the husband was away she admitted him. So passed a twelvemonth, and she had a little child. Then, one night, the lover came under the window, thinking her goodman was from home. With his tapping the husband awoke, and asked what the sound was. She said that an ivy leaf, fluttered by the wind, struck the pane. But fearing lest the lover should continue to tap, she began to sing, as she rocked the cradle-- "Begone, begone, my Willie, my Billy, Begone my love and my dear. O the wind is in the west And the cuckoo's in his nest, And you cannot have a lodging here." Again the lover tapped, and the husband asked what that meant. She said that a bat had flown against the window. Then she sang-- "Begone, begone, my Willie, my Billy, Begone, my love and my dear. O the weather it is warm And it cannot do thee harm, And thou canst not have a lodging here." Then the lover called, and the husband asked what that was. She said it was the hooting of an owl; and then she sang-- "Begone, begone, my Willie, my Billy, Begone my love and my dear. O the wind and the rain Have brought him back again, But thou canst not have a lodging here." Again the lover rapped; then she sprang out of bed, threw abroad the casement, and sang-- "Begone, begone, my Willy, you silly, Begone, my Fool and my Dear. O the Devil's in the man, And he cannot understan', That to-night he cannot have a lodging here." This is almost certainly the original framework to which these snatches of song belong. But there was another version of the story in a ballad entitled "The Secret Lover, or the Jealous Father beguil'd, to a West Country tune, or Alack! for my love and I must dye," printed by P. Brooksby, between 1672 and 1682, given by Mr. Ebsworth in the "Roxburgh Ballads," vi. p. 205. This begins-- "A dainty spruce young Gallant, that lived in the West, He courted a young Lady, and real love professt, And coming one night to her, his mind he thus exprest-- And sing, Go from my window, love, go! "'What, is my love a sleeping? or is my love awake?' 'Who knocketh at the window, who knocketh there so late?' 'It is your true love, Lady, that for your sake doth wait.' And sing, Go from my window, love, go!" Here the father, and not the husband, is the person who is troublesome to the lovers. That this is an adaptation, and not the original form of the story, is obvious from the line-- "And the cuckoo's in his nest," a play on the word cuckold. A still later version, _circ._ 1770, is given by Ebsworth, "Roxburgh Ballads," vi. p. 205. Messrs. Moffat and Kidson have given the song in the "Minstrelsy of England," N.D., but 1903, p. 24. So also Dr. Barrett in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 26. I have recast the words. The song may derive from a tale used by Boccaccio in his "Decameron," vii. 1. 42. TOMMY A LYNN. This song is alluded to in the "Complaynt of Scotland," 1549; it is probably the "Ballett of Tomalin," licensed to be printed in 1557-8. A snatch of it occurs in Wager's play: "The longer thou livest the more fool thou art," _circ._ 1560-- "Tom a Lin and his wife and his wife's mother They got over the bridge all three together. The bridge was broken, and they fell in, The Devill go with you all, quoth Tom a Lin." It was printed in Ritson's "North Country Chorister," Durham, 1802; and it occurs in "The Distracted Sailor's Garland," B.M. (11,621, c 3). "Bryan o' Lynn was a gentleman born," as sung by "Mr. Purcell's celebrated Irish vocalists," is in the "Dublin Comic Songster," Dublin, 1841. Halliwell gives the song in his "Popular Rhymes," 1849, p. 271, and one verse in his "Nursery Rhymes," No. 61. Mr. J. Phillips, who founded the Aller Vale potteries, in a lecture on the condition of Dartmoor in 1837, says: "For roughing it on the moor, warm waterproof coats were made by using a sheep's skin, the wool on the inside. Warm caps of rabbit skin were common, with lappets over the ears. An old rhyme sung by the boys was-- "Old Harry Trewin, no breeches to wear, He stole a ram's skin to make a new pair. The shiny side out and the woolly side in, And thus doth go old Harry Trewin." We have taken down the song twice from Thomas Dart and from James Parsons. What "A Bone of my stover" signifies I am unable to say. 43. THE GREEN BUSHES. Words and melody taken down from Robert Hard. Another sent me by Mr. Crossing, heard by him on Dartmoor from a labouring man in 1869. The same as this taken down from James Parsons. This latter sent by me to Miss Broadwood, who has published it in her "County Songs," p. 170. In Buckstone's play of "The Green Bushes," 1845, Nelly O'Neil sings snatches of this song, one verse, "I'll buy you fine petticoats," etc., in Act 1., and that and the following verse in Act III. Nowhere is the complete ballad given. That, however, owing to the popularity of the drama, was published soon after as a "popular Irish ballad sung by Mrs. FitzWilliam." Later it was attributed to the husband of that lady, Mr. E.F. FitzWilliam, but it was not published in his lifetime. The words are substantially old, in this form are a softening down of an earlier ballad which has its analogue in Scotland, "My daddie is a cankered carle," each verse of which ends-- "For he's low down, he's in the broom That's waiting for me." The English form is "Whitsun Monday," an early copy of which is in one of the collections in the British Museum, date about 1760. Each verse ends-- "And 'tis low down in the broom She's waiting there for me." Broadsides by Disley and Such. In a collection of early ballad books in the British Museum is "The Lady's Book of Pleasure," printed in Cow Lane, _circ._ 1760. This contains a ballad that begins-- "As I was a walking one morning in May, I heard a young damsel to sigh and to say, My love is gone from me, and showed me foul play, It was down in the meadow, among the Green Hay." Another, with Green Bushes in place of Green Hay, published by Hodges of Seven Dials, B.M. (1875, b 19). For other versions, see Kidson's "Traditional Tunes"; Joyce's "Ancient Irish Music," 1873; Petrie's "Ancient Music of Ireland," 1855. The Irish air is not the same as ours. 44. THE BROKEN TOKEN. Words and melody from Robert Hard. Broadside forms as "The Brisk Young Sailor," or as "Fair Phoebe"; as "The Dark Eyed Sailor," by Such, and Wheeler of Manchester; and as "The Sailor's Return," by Catnach. A version is published in Christie's "Traditional Ballads," and Mr. Kidson obtained it in Yorkshire to a tune different from ours. The same as ours was noted down by Mr. S. Reay about 1830-5 from a ballad singer at Durham. 45. THE MOLE CATCHER. Taken down from J. Hockin, South Brent, by H. Fleetwood Sheppard in 1888. The original words were very gross, and I did not note them. In the British Museum is an early Garland, and in the list of contents on the cover is "The Mole Catcher," but the song has been torn out, probably for the same reason that prevented me from taking it down. All I copied was the beginning of the song. I have supplemented this with fresh words. 46. THE KEENLY LODE. Mr. Bussell and I spent a week in 1894 at the Lugger Inn, Fowey, collecting songs. We met there one day an old miner, who asked us if we knew "The Keenly Lode," and on our saying that we did not, he gave us a long song on mining, that, however, lacked point. I have therefore re-composed the song. The air is that employed for "The Crocodile," an extravagant ballad, which has been published by Miss Broadwood in her "County Songs." Her tune is practically the same as ours, but there are some differences. "The Crocodile" is a very popular ballad among old song-men, but no one would care to sing it in a drawing-room or at a concert, because it is vastly silly. "A Keenly Lode" is a lode that promises well. A "Bâll" is a mine in Cornish. In Cornwall every old man is termed "Uncle." We have taken down "The Meat Pie" to the same air. 47. MAY DAY CAROL. Melody and words noted down a good many years ago by J.S. Cayzer, Esq. It was sung, till of late years, in my neighbourhood, where a bunch of flowers at the end of a stick was carried about by children. It was customary in England for a lover on May morning to take a green bough to the house of the beloved. If she opened the door and took it in, this was a token of acceptance. At the Puritan epoch this custom was altered, and the song was converted into a carol with a moral to it, see "Notes and Queries," Third Series, ix. p. 380; Hone's "Every Day Book," 1826, i. p. 567; Chambers' "Book of Days," i. p. 578. Herrick refers to the custom of youths bringing their May bushes to the maids of their choice:-- "A deale of youth ere this is come Back, and with white thorn laden home, Some have dispatched their cakes and cream, Before that we have left to dream." The melody is a very early one in the Dorian mode, and resembles that of the carol, "The Moon shines bright," Broadwood's "County Songs," p. 108. The carol is still sung in Cornwall. 48. THE LOVERS' TASKS. This very curious song belongs, as I was told, in Cornwall, to a sort of play that was wont to be performed in farmhouses at Christmas. One performer, a male, left the room, and entered again singing the first part. A girl, seated on a chair, responded with the second part. The story was this. She had been engaged to a young man who died. His ghost returned to claim her. She demurred to this, and he said that he would waive his claim if she could perform a series of tasks he set her. To this she responded that he must, in the first place, accomplish a set of impossible tasks she would set him. Thus was he baffled. "In all stories of this kind," says Professor Child, "the person upon whom a task is imposed stands acquitted if another of no less difficulty is devised which must be performed first." This ballad and dramatic scene corresponds with that in "Cold blows the wind" (No. 6). There, in the original, the ghost desires to draw the girl underground, when she is seated on his grave. She objects, and he sets her a task-- "Go fetch me a light from dungeon deep, Wring water from a stone, And likewise milk from a maiden's breast, That never babe had none." She answers the requirement-- "She stroke a light from out a flint, An icebell squeezed she, And likewise milk from a Johnnis' wort, And so she did all three." Icebell is icicle. By this means she was quit. In the version I have given I have altered this to suit the song for modern singing. In "The Elfin Knight," Child's "British Ballads," No. 2, an elf appears to the damsel and sets her tasks. If she cannot accomplish these, she must accompany him to the elf world. Here we have a substitution of a fairy for a ghost. In an Ulster Broadside in the British Museum (1162, k 5) we have a later substitution. A low-born gamekeeper gets a damsel of high degree into his power, and will not release her unless she can solve a series of riddles. This she does, and so makes her escape. Of the Northumbrian ballad, "Lay the Bent to the Bonny Broom," Child, No. 1, there are two versions. In one given by Miss Mason, "Nursery Rhymes and Country Songs," a stranger comes to the door of a house where are three sisters, and demands that one shall follow him or answer a series of riddles. Then ensues a contest of wit, and the girl escapes the obligation of following the mysterious stranger. Who he is is not ascertained. In the other version it is different; he is a knight, and he offers to marry the girl who can solve his riddles. The youngest sister effects this, so he marries her. It is the same in the corresponding Cornish ballad of "Genefer Gentle and Rosemarie," originally given by Gilbert in his "Cornish Christmas Carols," 2nd ed., p. 65, and reprinted by Child. To the same category belongs the song, "Go no more a-rushing, Maids, in May," that we have taken down from several singers, and which is given as well by Miss Mason, and by Chappell, i. p. 158, where the task is to solve riddles-- "I'll give you a chicken that has no bone, I'll give you a cherry without a stone, I'll give you a ring that has no rim, I'll give you an oak that has no limb." The solution is-- "When the chicken is in the egg it has no bone, When the cherry is in bloom it has no stone, When the ring is a-melting it has no rim, When the oak is in the acorn it has no limb." But the story about the setting of the puzzle has fallen away. We did obtain a ballad in Cornwall about the ghost visiting the damsel and demanding that she should keep her engagement, but the metre was not the same as that of the "Lovers' Tasks." Apparently at some remote period a maiden who was pledged to a man was held to belong to him after he was dead, and to be obliged to follow her lover into the world of spirits, unless she could evade the obligation by some clever contrivance. When this idea fell away, either an elf was substituted or a man of low birth, or else the whole story was dropped; or, again, it was so altered that a knight was put in the place of the ghost, and it became the privilege of the shrewd girl who could answer the riddles to be taken as his wife. The setting of hard tasks occurs in German folk-tales, as in "Rumpelstiltskin," where the girl has to spin straw into gold. In the "Gesta Romanorum," ed. Osterley, p. 374, one of the most popular collections of stories in the Middle Ages, is a corrupt reminiscence of the tale. A king delayed to take a wife till he could find one sagacious enough to make him a shirt without seam out of a scrap of linen three inches square. She retorts that she will do this when he sends her a vessel in which she can do the work. Jacques de Voragine wrote his "Golden Legend" in or about 1260. In that he tells this tale. A bishop was about to succumb to the blandishments of the devil in female form, when a pilgrim arrived. Either the damsel or the palmer must leave, and which it should be was to be determined by the solution of riddles. The pilgrim solved two. Then the fiend in female form asked: "How far is it from heaven to earth?" "That you know best, for you fell the whole distance," replied the palmer, and the fiend vanished. Then the pilgrim revealed himself as St. Andrew, to whom the bishop had a special devotion. The classic tale of [OE]dipus and the Sphinx will be remembered in connection with delivery from death by solving riddles. In Norse mythology we have the contest in conundrums between Odin and the giant Vafthrudnir. The Rabbis tell of the Queen of Sheba proving Solomon with hard questions, which are riddles. The historians of Tyre, as Josephus informs us, recorded that an interchange of riddles went on constantly between Solomon and Hiram, each being under an engagement to pay a forfeit of money for every riddle that he could not solve. Solomon got the best of Hiram, till Hiram set a Tyrian boy to work, who both solved the riddles of Solomon, and set others which Solomon could not answer. We have a later version of this story in the ballad of King John and the Abbot of Canterbury, who, unable to solve the king's riddles, set his cowherd to do this, and he accomplished it successfully. We took down the ballad and air from Philip Symonds of Jacobstow, Cornwall, also from John Hext, Two Bridges, and from James Dyer of Mawgan. The burden, "And every grove rings with a merry antine," is curious; _antine_ is antienne--anthem. In "Gammer Gurton's Garland," 1783, the burden is "Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme." In one of Motherwell's MSS. it stands, "Every rose grows merry wi' thyme." These are attempts made to give sense where the meaning of the original word was lost. In _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. p. 83, is a version from Sussex: "Sing Ivy, Sing Ivy." 49. LULLABY. Noted by me from recollection, as sung by a nurse, Anne Bickle of Bratton Clovelly, about 1842. James Olver of Launceston also knew the tune. The words I have re-composed to the best of my ability. 50. THE GIPSY COUNTESS. The melody of the first part from James Parsons, that of the second from John Woodrich. Versions also from Peter Cheriton, shoemaker, Oakford, near Tiverton; William Setter and George Kerswell, Two Bridges, Dartmoor. Robert Browning composed on this theme his poem, "The Flight of the Duchess," having heard a beggar woman sing the ballad. Mrs. Gibbons told me she heard the whole ballad sung by her nurse in Cornwall, about 1830. The Scottish version of the ballad is that of "Johnny Faa," in Allan Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany," 1724, from which it passed into all collections of Scottish songs. Allan Ramsay's version turns on a story--utterly unhistorical--that Lady Jean Hamilton, married to the grim Covenanter, John, Earl of Cassilis, fell in love with, and eloped with, Sir John Faa of Dunbar, who came to the castle disguised as a gipsy along with some others. She was pursued, and Faa and his companions were hung. No such an event took place. The Scotch are wont to take an old ballad, give it local habitation and name, and so make it out to be purely Scottish. My impression is that this was an old English ballad dealt with by Ramsay. It may have been so adapted for political purposes, as a libel on Lady Cassilis, who was the mother of Bishop Burnet's wife. An Irish form of the ballad in the British Museum (1162, k 6). For a full account of the "Johnny Faa" ballad, see Child's "English and Scottish Ballads," No. 200. He is of opinion that the English ballad is taken from the Scottish. I think the reverse is the case. Parsons sang right through without division of parts. I have made the division, so as to allow of the use of both airs; but actually the second is a modern corruption of the first, and is interesting as showing how completely a melody may undergo transformation. Mr. Sharp has given a Somersetshire version of the ballad in his "Folk Songs from Somerset," No. 9. 51. THE GREY MARE. The melody and a fragment of the song were taken down from J. Hockin, South Brent, and again from James Olver. Neither could recall all the words. There are two forms of the ballad on Broadsides. Both are printed by Mr. Kidson in his "Traditional Tunes." Mr. Sheppard recast the words. 52. THE WRECK OFF SCILLY. Words and melody from James Parsons. The ballad as sung consisted of seven verses. Broadside by Catnach. The last verse in this is nonsense, and I have re-written this verse. Under the title "The Rocks of Scilly," it occurs, in twenty-two verses, in "The Sailor's Tragedy," Glasgow, 1802. 53. HENRY MARTYN. Words and melody from Roger Luxton, Halwell. Again, from Matthew Baker, James Parsons, and from a shepherd on Dartmoor. The versions slightly differed, as far as words went. In one, Henry Martyn receives his death-wound; in another, it is the king's ship that is sunk by the pirate. Mr. Kidson has printed two versions of the song in his "Traditional Tunes," from Yorkshire sources. Miss Broadwood has also collected it, _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. p. 162, in Sussex. Henry Martyn is a corruption of Andrew Barton. In 1476, a Portuguese squadron seized a richly laden ship, commanded by John Barton, in consequence of which letters of reprisal were granted by James IV. to the three sons, Andrew, Robert, and John, and these were renewed in 1506. Hall, in his "Chronicle," under 1511, says that King Henry VIII. being at Leicester, tidings reached him that Andrew Barton so stopped the king's ports that the merchant vessels could not pass out, and he seized their goods, pretending that they were Portuguese. Sir Edward Howard, Lord High Admiral, and Sir Thomas Howard were sent against him. Their two ships were separated, but a fight ensued, in which Andrew was wounded, and his vessel, the _Lion_, was taken. He died of his wounds. The ballad was re-composed in the reign of James I., and this is published in Percy's "Relicks" and in Evans' "Old Ballads." For an account of Sir Andrew Barton, see Child's "English and Scottish Ballads," No. 167. The ballad in full in Percy's MS. book is in sixty-four stanzas. Our form of the ballad is probably earlier, but it is incomplete. I have added the last verse to give a finish to the story. The tune is in the �olian mode. 54. PLYMOUTH SOUND. Melody taken down from Roger Luxton to a song of this name. There are three songs that go by the title of "Plymouth Sound" on Broadsides, by Keys, of Devonport, and by Such; but all are coarse and undesirable. I have therefore written fresh words to this delicious air. 55. THE FOX. In the early part of last century this song was sung at all harvest suppers in the West of England. It is known elsewhere, but not to the same tune. A version of "The Fox" in the tenth volume of "Notes and Queries," 1854, is spoken of as "an old Cornish Song." In "Gammer Gurton's Garland," _circ._ 1783, is one verse of the song. It occurs in "The Opera, or Cabinet of Song," Edinburgh, 1832. Halliwell, in his "Nursery Rhymes," Percy Soc., 1842, gives a fuller version than ours. He begins-- "The fox and his wife they had a great strife, They never eat mustard in all their life; They eat their meat without fork or knife, And loved to be picking a bone, e-no!" In a collection of songs in the British Museum is the ballad on a Broadside by Harkness of Birmingham. It begins-- "The fox went out of a moon-shiny night, When the moon and the stars they shined so bright; I hope, said the Fox, we'll have a good night, When we go to yonder town, O! Mogga, mogga, Reynard. The wheel it goes round, and we'll tally-ho th' hounds, And I wish I was through the town, O!" The tune we give was taken down from James Parsons. There were two other airs to which it was sung in other parts of England. These I give-- [Music: The Fox, II.] [Music: III.] 56. FURZE BLOOM. The melody from Roger Luxton to the words of the ballad, "Gosport Beach," which could not possibly be inserted here. I have accordingly written fresh words to it, embodying the folk-saying in Devon and Cornwall-- "When the Furze is out of bloom, Then Love is out of tune." 57. THE OXEN PLOUGHING. This song was known throughout Devon and Cornwall at the beginning of the 19th century. It went out of use along with the oxen at the plough. We found every old singer had heard it in his boyhood, but none could recall more than snatches of the tune and some of the words. We were for three years on its traces, always disappointed. Then we heard that there was an old man at Liskeard who could sing the song through. Mr. Sheppard and I hastened thither, to find that he had been speechless for three days, and that his death was hourly expected. One day I found an old white-headed and white-bearded man cutting ferns in the hedges at Trebartha in Cornwall. His name was Adam Landry. We got into conversation. I had heard he was a singer, and I asked after this especial song. He knew it. I sat down among the cut fern and learned it from him, singing it over and over till I had it by heart, and then drove home eighteen miles, warbling it the whole way, and went to my piano and fixed it. Later we found a labouring man, Joseph Dyer, at Mawgan-in-Pyder, who could sing the song through. Mr. Sharp has also taken this down note for note in North Devon from an old farmer, Mr. Lake of Worlington, who remembered the use of oxen ploughing. A very similar folk-song is found in France, with its refrain, naming the oxen-- "Aronda, Vironda, Charbonné, Maréchaô, Motet et Roget, Mortaigne et Chollet, Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! mon mignon, He! he! he! he! he! he! mon valet." See George Sand's account of the song in "Le mare au diable," c. 2; Tiersot, _op. cit._, p. 157. 58. FLORA, THE LILY OF THE WEST. Two melodies have been noted down to this ballad, one from Matthew Baker, the old cripple on Lew Down, the other from Samuel Fone. The first is identical with one obtained in Yorkshire by Mr. Kidson. The words are on Broadsheets by Such, Fortey, Barr of Leeds, etc. In the original the lover betrayed by Flora stabs to the heart the "lord of high degree" who has supplanted him-- "I walked up to my rival with a dagger in my hand, And seized him from my false love, and bid him boldly stand; Then, mad with desperation, I swore I'd pierce his breast, And I was betrayed by Flora, the Lily of the West." He is tried for murder, but "a flaw was in the indictment found," and he escapes the gallows. And the ballad winds up-- "Although she swore my life away, she still disturbs my rest, I must ramble for my Flora, the Lily of the West." I have thought it well to cut out the murder and the trial. The ballad has clearly an Irish origin, what air is used for it in Ireland I am unable to say. It has been generally accepted that the ending of a phrase on the same three notes is characteristic of Irish music. It is not more so than of English folk airs. "Flora, the Lily of the West" was wont to be sung annually at the Revel at St. Breward's on the Bodmin Moors, and can be traced back there to 1839. There Henry Hawken, sexton at Michaelstow, hard by, acquired it, and from him the first melody was taken down as well by the Rev. W.J. Wyon, vicar of St. Issey, in 1899. 59. THE SIMPLE PLOUGHBOY. This charming ballad was taken down, words and music, from J. Masters, Bradstone. The Broadside versions that were published by Fortey, Hodges, Taylor of Spitalfields, Ringham of Lincoln, and Pratt of Birmingham, are all very corrupt. The version of old Masters is given exactly as he sang it, and it is but one instance out of many of the superiority of the ballads handed down traditionally in the country by unlettered men, to those picked up from the ballad-mongers employed by the Broadside publishers. A version of the song, "It's of a Pretty Ploughboy," is given in the _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. p. 132, as taken down in Sussex. The words are very corrupt, and they closely resemble those on Broadsides. 60. FAIR LADY PITY ME. Taken down from a labouring man at Exbourne. The melody is ancient and dates from the Tudor period. The words are a fragment from "The Noble Lord's Cruelty," "Roxburgh Ballads," ed. Ebsworth, vi. 681-3. Its date is before 1624. But that was to be sung to the tune, "Dainty come Thou to Me," which is in Chappell, ii. p. 517. A ballad, "The Four Wonders of the Land," printed by P. Brocksby, 1672-95, was set to the tune, "Dear Love Regard My Grief," which are the initial words of this song, and shows that already the long ballad had been broken up. This song has already been given, arranged by Dr. Bussell, who took it down, in "English Minstrelsie," iv. p. 84. 61. THE PAINFUL PLOUGH. Words and melody from Roger Huggins, mason, Lydford. It is in reality a much longer song. Under the title of "The Ploughman's Glory" it runs to 25 verses. Bell gives 9 in his "Ballads of the English Peasantry." It is found on Broadsides. In the original it consists of a contention between a ploughman and a gardener as to which exercises the noblest profession. Our air is not the same as that to which the song is sung in the Midlands and south-east of England. Dr. Barrett gives the song in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 3, to a North Country air. 62. AT THE SETTING OF THE SUN. This very curious ballad has been taken down twice, from Samuel Fone by Mr. Sheppard, and again by Mr. Cecil Sharp from the singing of Louie Hooper and Lucy White at Hambridge, Somerset, to a different air. Fone had forgotten portions of the song. The man who mistakes his true love for a swan because she had thrown her apron over her head as a protection from the rain is tried at the assizes for the murder-- "In six weeks' time when the 'sizes came on, Young Polly appeared in the form of a swan, Crying Jimmy, young Jimmy, young Jimmy is clear, He never shall be hung for the shooting of his dear." And he is, of course, acquitted. In Fone's version she appears in dream to her lover as a swan, and comforts him, but the sequel of the story he could not recall. The ballad is found in a fragmentary condition in Kent-- "O cursed be my uncle for lendin' of a gun. For I've bin' and shot my true love in the room of a swan." And the apparition of the girl says-- "With my apron tied over me, I 'peared like unto a swan, And underneath the green tree while the showers did come on." This was heard in 1884, sung by a very old man at a harvest supper at Haverstall Doddington, near Faversham. The transformation of the damsel into a swan stalking into the Court is an early feature, and possibly the ballad may be a degraded form of a very ancient piece. This ballad, arranged as a song with accompaniment by Mr. Ferris Tozer, has been published by Messrs. Weeks. Mr. Sharp has given the song to a different air in his "Folk-Songs from Somerset," No. 16. 63. ALL JOLLY FELLOWS THAT FOLLOW THE PLOUGH. This song is very generally known. We have picked up four variants of the tune. Miss Broadwood gives one from Oxfordshire and one from Hampshire, but hers lack the chorus. Mr. C. Sharp has also gathered three. He says: "I find that almost every singer knows it, the bad singers often know but little else. Perhaps it is for this reason that the tune is very corrupt, the words are almost always the same." In the second verse we have the breakfast described as consisting of bread and cheese and stingo. In Miss Broadwood's version the breakfast consists of cold beef and pork; the drink is not specified. 64. THE GOLDEN VANITY. Taken down, words and air, from James Oliver. The ballad was printed as "Sir Walter Raleigh sailing in the Lowlands, showing how the famous ship called the _Sweet Trinity_ was taken by a false galley; and how it was recovered by the craft of a little sea-boy, who sunk the galley," by Coles, Wright, Vere, and Conyers (1648-80). In this it is said that the ballad is to be sung "to the tune of The Lowlands of Holland," and in it there is ingratitude shown to the poor sea-boy of a severe character. In this version there are fourteen verses. It begins-- "Sir Walter Raleigh has built a ship, In the Netherlands. And it is called the _Sweet Trinity_, And was taken by the false Gallaly, Sailing in the Lowlands." It has been reprinted in Child, No. 286, as also the earliest form of the ballad from the Pepys Collection. By writing some of the words as "awa'" and "couldna'," it has been turned into a Scottish ballad. Under the form of "The Goulden Vanity," it is given with an air (of no value) in Mrs. Gordon's "Memoirs of Christopher North," 1862, ii. p. 317, as sung at a convivial meeting at Lord Robertson's, by Mr. P. Fraser of Edinburgh. We obtained the same ballad at Chagford as "The Yellow Golden Tree." "Sir Walter Raleigh," says Mr. Ebsworth, in his introduction to the ballad in the "Roxburgh Ballads" (v. p. 418), "never secured the popularity, the natural affection which were frankly given to Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex. Raleigh was deemed arrogant, selfish, with the airs of an upstart, insolent to superiors, unconciliating with equals, and heartlessly indifferent to those in a lower position. The subject of the ballad is fictitious--sheer invention, of course. The selfishness and ingratitude displayed by Raleigh agreed with the current estimate. He certainly had a daughter." In the ballad in the Pepys Collection the _Sweet Trinity_, a ship built by Sir Walter Raleigh, has been taken by a galley of a nationality not specified. He asks whether any seaman will take the galley and redeem his ship: the reward shall be a golden fee and his daughter. A ship-boy volunteers and with his auger bores fifteen holes in the galley and sinks her, and releases the _Sweet Trinity_. Then he swims back to his ship and demands his pay. The master will give golden fee but not his daughter. The ship-boy says, Farewell, since you are not so good as your word. In the stall copy of the ballad, the master refuses to take the boy on board after he had sunk the galley, and threatens to shoot him, and the boy is drowned. Then he is picked up, is sewed in a cow-hide and thrown overboard. Mr. Kidson has obtained no less than four different versions from sailors. A version from Sussex is in _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. p. 104. Another in Miss Broadwood's "English County Songs." It is also in Ferris Tozer's "Sailors' Songs and Chanties." The black letter ballad of "Sir Walter Raleigh Sailing in the Lowlands low ... or the _Sweet Trinity_" was priced in Russell Smith's catalogue, £1, 5s. 65. THE BOLD DRAGOON. Words and melody taken down by W. Crossing, Esq., many years ago, from a labouring man on Dartmoor, now dead. The words were very corrupt. We took down the words and tune from Moses Cleve at Huckaby Bridge, Dartmoor. An early version of the words as "The Jolly Trooper," in "The Lover's Garland," N.D., but of the beginning of the 18th century. The original is too coarse for reproduction and is lengthy. I have condensed the ballad and softened it down. The press mark in the British Museum is 11,621, c 5. 66. TRINITY SUNDAY. Melody noted down by T.S. Cayzer, Esq., in 1849, at Post Bridge, from a moor man. The original words were unsuitable, a Broadside ballad of a murder.[32] I have written fresh words. [Footnote 32: Printed on Broadside by Catnach as "Oxford City."] In connection with this charming air, I will give Mr. Cayzer's account of taking it down in 1849, which he has kindly extracted for me from his diary:--"This air, together with 'As Johnny walked out' (No. 11), I got from Dartmoor; nor shall I soon forget the occasion. The scene was a lonely one (I think Two Bridges, but it may have been Post Bridge). It had been raining all day. There was not a book in the house, nor musical instrument of any kind, except two hungry pigs and a baby that was being weaned. Towards nightfall there dropped in several miners and shepherds, and I well remember how the appearance of these Gentiles cheered us. We soon got up a glorious fire--such a fire as peat only can make, and drew the benches and settles round. By the friendly aid of sundry quarts of cyder I, before long, gained the confidence of the whole circle, and got a song from each in turn; and noted down two that were quite new to me: no easy matter, considering that they were performed in a strange mixture of double bass and falsetto. The action with which they accompanied the singing was extremely appropriate. They always sing standing." Many a similar evening have Mr. Sheppard, Mr. Bussell, and I spent in like manner over the peat fire with the burly, red-faced moor men and shepherds, standing to sing their quaint old songs, and very happy evenings they have been. The same melody was taken down by Miss Wyatt Edgell from an old woman near Exeter, in 1891. The words sung to it related to the same Oxford Tragedy, but were a version different from the stall copy. 67. THE BLUE FLAME. Melody taken down by Mr. W. Crossing, from an old moor man, to "Rosemary Lane." Roger Luxton and James Parsons also sang "Rosemary Lane" to the same air. The words are objectionable. Moreover, in other parts of England, this Broadside song is always sung to one particular air. We therefore thought it well to put to our melody entirely fresh words. It was a common belief in the West of England that a soul after death appeared as a blue flame; and that a flame came from the churchyard to the house of one doomed to die, and hovered on the doorstep till the death-doomed expired, when the soul of the deceased was seen returning with the other flame, also as a flame, to the churchyard. 68. STRAWBERRY FAIR. Melody taken down from James Masters. This is a very old song. It is found with music in "Songs and Madrigals of the 15th Century," published by the Old English Plain-Song Society, 1891. The ballad was recast "Kytt has lost her Key," which is given by Dr. Rimbault in his "Little Book of Songs and Ballads gathered from Ancient Music Books," 1851, p. 49. We have been forced to re-write the words, which were very indelicate. The air was used, in or about 1835, by Beuler, a comic song writer, for "The Devil and the Hackney Coachman"-- "Ben was a Hackney coachman sure, Jarvey! Jarvey!--Here I am, your honour." I have never found a singer who had any knowledge of Beuler's song, but all have heard "Strawberry Fair," and some men of seventy or eighty years of age say they learned it from their fathers. 69. THE COUNTRY FARMER'S SON. Taken down from James Woolrich, a labourer, at Broadwood Widger. The original ballad, "The Constant Farmer's Son," is found on a Broadside by Ross of Newcastle. I have re-written the song. The fine, robust tune belongs to the end of the 18th century. See _Folk-Song Journal_, i. p. 160. 70. THE HOSTESS' DAUGHTER. Taken down from J. Masters, Bradstone. The coarseness of the original words obliged me to re-write the song. 71. THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK. Melody taken down from H. Westaway to "The Nawden Song," which begins-- "I went to my lady the first of May, A jolly Goss-hawk and his wings were grey, Come let us see who'll win my fair ladye--you or me." To the 2nd of May is "a two twitty bird," then "a dushy cock," a "four-legged pig," "five steers," "six boars," "seven cows calving," "eight bulls roaring," "nine cocks crowing," "ten carpenters yawing," "eleven shepherds sawing," "twelve old women scolding." Mr. C. Sharp has taken it down in Somersetshire. A Scottish version in Chambers' "Popular Rhymes of Scotland," 1842; as "The Yule Days," a Northumbrian version; "The XII. days of Christmas," with air not like ours, in "Northumbrian Minstrelsy," Newcastle, 1882, p. 129. A Breton version, "Gousper ou ar Ranad" in "Chansons Populaires de la Basse Bretagne," by Luzel, 1890, p. 94. The West of England song has got mixed up with the "Goss Hawk," another song. See "The Fond Mother's Garland," B.M. (11,621, c 5). A companion song to this is "The Bonny Bird," given further on in this collection, No. 106. The song, in Devonshire, goes by the name of "The Nawden Song." 72. THE SONG OF THE MOOR. The melody was taken down at Merrivale Bridge, Dartmoor, from a quarryman named Nankivel, commonly known as "Old Capul." To this air he sang a farcical ballad, "The Infant," quite unworthy of it. I have, accordingly, written fresh words to a really good swinging tune. The original began as follows-- "O when I was an Infant, to London I did go, Among the French and Spaniards my gallantry to show. And when I reached the Eastern shore, I let my head hang down, I tripped over Baganells (?) and never touched the ground. Fal-de-ral-de, etc. "So when I reached the Eastern shore, I met a giant high, He lookèd down upon me, and bade me pass him by. He challenged me to dance and sing, to whistle and to run, I beat him out of all his wits, and kill'd him when I'd done. "The people in amazement stood, to see what I had done, They gave me silver plate, about a fifty ton. I made myself a little box, about three acres square, I filled it to the very top, with my bright silver ware." And so on through a string of absurdities. It is apparently a modernised version of "The Jovial Broomman," by R. Climsall, published by R. Harper, 1635-1642. "Roxburgh ballads," ed. Chappell, i. p. 500. 73. ON A MAY MORNING SO EARLY. This melody belongs to the ballad "I'm Seventeen on Sunday." This begins-- "As I walked out one May morning, One May morning so early, O there I spied a fair pretty maid All on the dew so pearly. With a fa-la-la, with a fa-la-la, All on the dew so pearly. "O where are you going my fair pretty maid? O where are you going my lambie? Then cheerfully she answered me, On an errand for my mammie. "How old are you, my fair pretty maid? How old are you, my honey? Then cheerfully she answered me, I'm seventeen on Sunday." For good reasons we could not give the words as taken down, so Mr. Sheppard wrote fresh words to the tune. The ballad was obtained from Roger Huggins, Lydford, and from William Bickle, Bridestowe, but it is known and sung throughout Devon and Cornwall. The original ballad was altered by Burns to "The Waukrife Mammy" for Johnson's "Museum," iv. p. 210, and Allan Cuningham also arranged a song on the same theme, as the original was objectionable. Lyle gives it in his "Ballads," 1827, saying: "This ballad, in its original dress, at one time, from my recollection, was not only extremely popular, but a great favourite among the young peasantry of the West of Scotland. To suit the times, however, we have been necessitated to throw out the intermediate stanzas, as their freedom would not bear transcription, whilst the second and third have been slightly altered from the recited copy." An Irish version (re-written) to the Irish air, by Joyce, "Ancient Irish Music," 1873, No. 17. He says: "I cannot tell when I learned the air and words of this song, for I have known them as long as my memory can reach back. For several reasons [the original words] could not be presented to the reader." Burns, when forwarding the ditty to Johnson, said of it: "I picked up this old song and tune from a country girl in Nithsdale; I never met with it elsewhere in Scotland." The words may be found on Broadsheets, printed by Such and by Bebbington, Manchester. Mr. Kidson has recovered several versions in Yorkshire, and one is given in the _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. p. 92, as taken down in Sussex, and two were in vol. ii. p. 9 noted down by Mr. Sharp in Somerset. Our tune is in the Dorian mode. 74. THE SPOTTED COW. Words and air from James Parsons, J. Helmore, H. Smith, and J. Woodrich. Mr. Sharp has also taken it down in N. Devon and in Somerset. The earliest form of the words is found in a garland printed by Angus of Newcastle, B.M. (11,621, c 4). There are later Broadside versions. The words also in Fairburne's "Everlasting Songster," _circ._ 1825. Mr. Kidson gives the song in his "Traditional Tunes," p. 70, but to a melody different from ours. About 1760 Dr. Berg set the song, recast in a Scotch form: "As Jamie gang'd blithe his way along the banks of Tweed," to be sung at Ranelagh. As sung, the ballad consists of four lines in a stanza, and the two last are repeated; and it is in seven stanzas. To shorten the ballad I have made each stanza consist of six lines. Our tune is not that of Dr. Berg. But it is redolent of the art-music of the 18th or early 19th century, and hardly possesses the character of folk-made song. Still, it is very freely sung by old people in Devon and Somerset. 75. THREE JOVIAL WELSHMEN. Taken down from "Old Capul," Nankivel, Merrivale Bridge. The song is given in Halliwell's "Nursery Rhymes of England," 290. It is probably a very old ballad, for in a ballad, "Choice of Inventions," printed by F. Coles, 1646-74, in the Roxburgh Collection (ed. Chappell, i. p. 105), is given a pot-pourri of scraps, "several sorts of the figure three," and it begins-- "There were three men of Gotham, as I've heard say, That needs would ride a hunting upon St. David's Day. Through all the day they hunting were, yet no sport could they see, Untill they spide an Owle as she sate on a tree. The first man said 'twas a Goose, the second man said Nay, The third man said 'twas a Hawke, but his Bells were falne away." The tune to which it was to be sung was "Rock the Cradle, sweet John," for which, see Chappell, i. p. 189. Another, and more modern version, is that of "The Three Jovial Huntsmen"-- "It's of three jovial huntsmen an' a hunting they did go; An' they hunted, an' they hallo'd, an' they blew their horns also," which has been illustrated by Caldecott. The original ballad is in "The Woody Chorister," B.M. (1162, e 2). This is one of the ballads Mr. Incledon Johns heard sung on the outskirts of Dartmoor in 1830, mentioned in his book, already noticed, published in 1832. A version, "Six Jovial Welshmen," is given in vol. i. p. 128, _Folk-Song Journal_, from Sussex. It runs-- "It's of six jovial Welshmen, six jovial men were they, And they would all a hunting ride, upon St. David's Day. Then fill each glass and let it pass, no sign of care betray, We'll drink and sing, 'Long live the King!' upon St. David's Day." "When crook-back'd Richard wore the crown, as regent of the land, No policy could pull him down, nor his proud foe withstand. A tribute he from them did seek, which they refused to pay, And in their caps they wore a leek, upon St. David's Day. Then fill each glass, and let it pass, etc." This is probably a re-edition of the older song. 76. WELL MET, WELL MET, MY OWN TRUE LOVE. The words are a cento from the lengthy ballad of the "Carpenter's Wife," which, as we have taken it down, consists of twenty verses. The black letter Broadside, "The Carpenter's Wife," is a peculiarly interesting ballad. It is the story of one Jane Reynolds of Plymouth, who had plighted her troth to a seaman. As they were about to be married, he was pressed and carried off to sea. Three years later, news arrived that he was dead, and then she married a carpenter, and lived with him for five years, and bore him three children. At the end of seven years an evil spirit assumed the likeness of her dead lover, and appeared to her, and induced her to leave with him. He carried her off, and she was never seen again. The husband, in despair, hung himself. Such is the theme of a lengthy ballad in the Roxburgh Collection, ed. Chappell, iii. p. 200. There are copies as well in the Pepys and Ewing Collections. It was printed by F. Coles (1646-1674), Gilbertson (1654-1663), Vere (1640-1680), and W. Oney (1650-1702). It was a sorry composition. Now, the traditional ballad, as compared with the printed ballad, is superior at every point. It begins abruptly with the address of the sailor to the carpenter's wife, without the long story that precedes his attempt to cajole her to elope. Moreover, there is in it no intimation that the tempter is an evil spirit in the form of the dead lover, and when she has eloped, she pines not for three, but for her one babe, whom she has deserted. Thirteen of the verses of the traditional ballad are found in "The Rambler's Garland," B.M. (1162, c 2). A form closely resembling our Devon ballad is in Buchan's "Ballads of the North of Scotland," i. p. 214, but is longer, consisting of twenty-six stanzas. Kinloch, Motherwell, and Laidlaw have also portions of it. Laidlaw, in a letter to Scott, January 3, 1803, says of the ballad, as sung to him by Walter Grieve: "He likewise sung part of a very beautiful ballad which I think you will not have seen.... The tune is very solemn and melancholy, and the effect is mixed with a considerable proportion of horror." See Child, No. 243. The printed ballad that is in the Roxburgh Collection is, I feel convinced, a clumsy re-writing of the earlier ballad, so as to convey a moral, as its title implies, "A Warning to Married Women." James Harris is the demon lover. In the traditional ballad, when the carpenter's wife has eloped, she falls into deep depression-- "I do not weep for your gold, she said, Nor do I weep for your fee, But by the masthead stands my baby dead, And I weep, I weep for my dead babie.... "She had not a-been upon the seas But six days of the week, Before that she lay as cold as clay And never a word, one word did speak. "They had not a-been upon the seas Of weeks but three and four, But down to the bottom the ship did swim And never was heard of, heard of more." There is another ballad running on somewhat similar lines, "The Undutiful Daughter," who is in like manner enticed away; but the ship will not proceed, and lots are cast who is to be thrown overboard. The lot falls on the girl, and she is cast into the sea, but the body swims before the ship and reaches land first. This ballad we have taken down several times. The last verse (six) I have added to make some sort of conclusion to the song. What the air is to which the ballad is sung in Scotland I do not know. 77. POOR OLD HORSE. Words and melody from Matthew Baker. The song is given in Bell's "Ballads of the English Peasantry," p. 184, as sung by the mummers in the neighbourhood of Richmond, Yorkshire. He says: "The rustic actor who sings this song is dressed as an old horse, and at the end of every verse the jaws are snapped in chorus. It is a fine composition, and is now (1864) printed for the first time." This is not so; it has long existed on Broadside by Hodges of Seven Dials, and Such, etc. The Midland air of the song in Mason's "Nursery Rhymes and Country Songs," 1877. Mr. Kidston has obtained several versions of the song in Yorkshire and Lancashire. A fine setting was sung at the Folk-Song Competition at Kendal in 1903. It is given in _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. pp. 75 and 260. In "Sailors' Songs and Chanties," Boosey & Co., the song is given under the title of "The Dead Horse." In Derbyshire, at Christmas, boys and young men were wont, and may be still are wont, to go about, one dressed as a horse, with a horse's skull in his hands or affixed to his head; then this song was sung by the attendants and money asked for the feeding of the beast, and the head was made to snap its jaws. The song is also given in Topcliff's "Melodies of the Tyne and Wear," N.D., but _circ._ 1815, and is also found on Broadsides by Such. Mr. Sharp has given a version in his "Folk-Songs from Somerset," No. 27. 78. THE DILLY SONG. An almost endless number of versions of this song have been taken down, and have been sent to us. It is known throughout Cornwall, and is, indeed, still sung in the chapels. When a party of amateurs performed the "Songs of the West" in Cornwall, 1890, the Dilly Song always provoked laughter among the good folk at the back of the halls. This puzzled the performers, till they learned that folk laughed because this was their familiar chapel hymn. In the text I have given the version of the words with least of the religious element in them. Here are some of the other versions-- 2. "God's own Son, or Christ's Natures"; or "The strangers o'er the wide world rangers"; or "The lily-white maids." 3. "Three is all eternity"; "Three are the Thrones." The strangers are probably the Wise Men from the East. 4. "The Gospel Preachers"; "The Evangelists." 5. "The Ferryman in the Boat"; "The Nimble Waiters." 6. "The Cherubim Watchers"; "The Crucifix"; "The Cherrybird Waiters." 7. "The Crown of Heaven"; "The Seven Stars." 8. "The Great Archangel"; "The Angels"; "The Daybreak." 9. "The Nine Delights," _i.e._ the Joys of Mary; "The Moonshine." 10. "The Commandments"; "Begin Again." 11. "The Eleven Disciples"; "They that go to Heaven." There are similar verses in German and Flemish; a Scottish version in Chambers' "Popular Rhymes," 1842, p. 50. Also found in Brittany: Luzel, "Chansons Populaires," 1890, p. 88. There is a Mediæval Latin form, beginning "Unus est Deus." A Hebrew form is printed in Mendez: "Service for the First Night of the Passover," London, 1862; a Moravian form in Wenzig: "Slavischer Märchen-Schatz," 1857, p. 295. It is also sung in the Eifel, Schmitz: "Sitten u. Bräuche des Eifler Volkes," Trier, 1856, p. 113. A Greek form is in Sanders: "Volksleben der Neugriechen." See also: Coussemaker, "Chants populaires des Flamands," Gand, 1850; Villemarqué, Barzas Breis, 1846, and later editions. The lily-white boys are probably the Gemini, or sign for Spring. In the "Queen-like Closet, or Rich Cabinet," 1681, are instructions for embroidering emblems of the months. "May is to be clothed in a robe of _white and green_, and his sign must be Gemini." "The Ferryman in the Boat" is perhaps Charon. In other versions Five is the Dilly-bird, or the Dilly-hour, "when blooms the dilly-flower." Some are obviously merely adopted as rhymes, as "six the crucifix." In Cornwall and Devon the song goes by the name of "The Dilly Song." What the meaning of "Dilly" is must remain uncertain. Possibly it signifies the Festal Song (Welsh, _dillyn_, pretty, gay). The song used to be sung by Eton boys. It was introduced by Sir Arthur Sullivan into "The Yeomen of the Guard"; he, I believe, heard it sung by a sailor. His melody bears a certain relationship to ours. The song requires to be sung by at least two persons, a questioner and the responder. 79. COUNTRY DANCE. This dance tune, called "The Mallard," because of some silly words that go to it relative to the gobbling up of a mallard. It begins-- "Oh, what have I ate, and what have I ate? I have eaten the toe of a mallard. Toe and toe, nevins and all, And I have been to ballery allery, And so good meat was the mallard." The singer proceeds to eat the foot, then the leg, the thigh, the rump, the wing, the back, the breast, the neck, the head; and then the dance was concluded. A Breton version in Luzel, p. 80. I have written fresh words to the tune. This tune is in the Dorian mode. As sung by J. Masters, the E was sharpened in the 3rd bar but flattened on the repetition of the same phase in the penultimate bar. Mr. Sheppard, when arranging the song, flattened the E throughout. It must be one thing or the other. Flattened throughout, it makes a charming melody, but the last flattened E was probably due to the singer's memory failing him in the latter part of the air, but serving him at the beginning of the tune. Mr. Sharp has accordingly retained the E natural throughout. The opening phrase is similar to the Plain-Song Easter Carol, "_O Filii et Filiæ_." This was a melody used in French folk-song for the welcoming in of spring. In fact, a May song. It forced its way into the service of the Church, and was adopted and used for the Easter Sequence. See Tiersot, _op. cit._, pp. 361, 391. It is certainly curious finding the same in Devonshire folk-music. Neither Mr. Sheppard nor I observed it; it was pointed out by Mr. Sharp. 80. CONSTANT JOHNNY. Words and melody taken down from Roger Luxton. It was a dialogue, and so Mr. Sheppard had arranged it. Such lover dialogues are and were very commonly sung in farmhouses. Ravenscroft gives one in broad Devonshire in his "Brief Discourse," 1614, entitled, "Hodge Trellindle and his Zweethart Malkyn." Our ballad seems to be based on "Doubtful Robin and Constant Nanny," _circ._ 1680, in the "Roxburgh Ballads." These dialogue songs between a lover and his lass were very popular. Addison, in _The Guardian_ of 1713, gives snatches of a West Country ballad of this kind, and shows how vastly superior it is to the pastorals of Dresden china shepherds and shepherdesses of Pope and Philips. 81. THE DUKE'S HUNT. Words and melody taken from James Olver, again at Stoke Gabriel, again at Mary Tavy, again at Menheniot. This is a mere cento from a long ballad, entitled "The Fox Chase," narrating a hunt by Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham, in the reign of Charles II. It is in the Roxburgh Collection, and was printed by W. Oury, _circ._ 1650. The ballad is there said to be sung "to an excellent tune, much in request." We suspect that the melody we give is the original tune handed down traditionally, and never before published. Mr. Sharp has noted down the same song and melody from a singer at East Harptree, Somerset. 82. THE BELL RINGING. Words and air from William George Kerswell, Two Bridges, Dartmoor; sung also by James Down, blacksmith, Broadwood Widger. Broadbury Down is the highest ridge of land between Dartmoor and the Atlantic. 83. A NUTTING WE WILL GO. Taken down from J. Gerrard, an old man, nearly blind, at Cullyhole, near Chagford, from Robert Hard, and again at Menheniot, and also from James Parsons. Bunting, in his "Irish Melodies," 1840, gives the same tune to a fragment of the same words, and says that he took it down in 1792 from Duncan, a harper. Duncan remembered a portion of a tune he had heard, perhaps, from English soldiers, and eked it out with some other tune. Then came S. Lover, and he took this air from Bunting, and wrote to it "The Lowbacked Car." But the original melody is found, not only in Devon and Cornwall, but also in the North, and Mr. Kidson gives it in his "Traditional Tunes," as "With Henry Hunt we'll go," a song sung in Manchester in connection with the arrest of Hunt in 1819. To the same air was set "The Plains of Waterloo." "The Lowbacked Car" has become popular through its words, and the inartistic quality of a patchwork tune has been forgiven for their sake. The words "The Nutgirl" occur on Broadsides by Fortey, Such, etc. See Ballads collected by Crampton, B.M. (11,621, h), and (1875, b 19); but these are without the chorus. The printed Broadside has lost somewhat. For Gerard's-- "His voice rang out so clear and stout, It made the horse-bells ring," it gives-- "His voice was so melodious, It made the valleys ring." The Broadside ballad consists of fourteen verses, and is very gross. I have had to considerably tone down the words. An earlier Broadside by Pitts has the chorus. The same air was employed for the ballads, "In January last, on Monday at Morn," for "The Brags of Washington," 1775, for "Calder Fair," and "To Rodney we will go." It is given in the third edition of "Scotch, Irish, and Foreign Airs," Glasgow, 1788. A version is in _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. p. 127, as taken down in Sussex. This version begins-- "And as this brisk young farmer was ploughing up his land, He called to his horses and bade them gently stand. He sat himself down a song to begin, His voice was so melodious, made the valleys to ring. And as this brisk young damsel was nutting in the wood, His voice was so melodious, it charmed her as she stood; She had no longer power in that lonely wood to stay, And what few nuts she'd got, poor girl, she threw them all away." 84. DOWN BY A RIVER SIDE. Taken down from the singing of James Townsend, Holne. He had learned it from his grandfather, who had been parish clerk of Holne for fifty years and died in 1883, over eighty years old. A version, recovered in Surrey, is given in the _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. p. 204. 85. THE BARLEY RAKINGS. Taken down from Roger Hannaford, Lower Widdecombe, Dartmoor. The words exist in Broadside versions by Such, Bingham of Lincoln, Robertson of Wigton, etc. Such's version consists of six verses, the others of four. Hannaford's verses 2 and 3 were unlike those of Bingham and Robertson, but resembled 3 and 4 of Such. He had not 2 and 6 of Such. He had a curious line in verse 2: "They had a mind to _style_ and play" (the Anglo-Saxon _styllan_, to leap or dance), not found in the printed copies. As none of these versions would be tolerable to polite ears, Mr. Sheppard has modified the words considerably. The melody to which "Barley Rakings" is sung in other parts of England is wholly different. Ours is probably an early dance tune, originally in the Mixolydian Mode, which has undergone modification in oral transmission. 86. A SHIP CAME SAILING OVER THE SEA. This curious song was obtained by the late Rev. S.M. Walker of Saint Enoder, Cornwall, from a very old man in his parish, and it was sent me by Miss Octavia L. Hoare. We heard the same from old Sally Satterley at Huckaby Bridge, Dartmoor. She was the daughter of an old crippled singing man on the moor. I have told the story of the way in which she as a young bride with her husband took possession of a house built all in one day, in my Dartmoor Idylls, "Jolly Lane Cott." Sally is now dead, and her house has been rebuilt and vulgarised. One verse, running-- "I put my finger into the bush Thinking the sweetest rose to find, I prickt my finger to the bone, And yet I left the rose behind," is found in "The Distressed Virgin," a ballad by Martin Parker, printed by J. Coles, 1646-74. Parker seems to have taken the lines into his ballad from one previously existing. Two of the stanzas, 3 and 6, occur in the Scottish song, "Wally, wally up the Bank," in "Orpheus Caledonicus," 1733, No. 34; the stanzas 4 and 5 in the song in "The Scot's Musical Museum," 1787-1803, vi. p. 582. In "The Wandering Lover's Garland," _circ._ 1730, are two of the verses worked into another ballad. We took down the song a third time from William Nichols of Whitchurch, near Tavistock. It was a song of his grandmother's, who seventy years ago was hostess of the village inn. 87. THE RAMBLING SAILOR. Words and music from Roger Hannaford. A hornpipe tune. There are several versions of this on Broadsides. Originally the song was "The Rambling Soldier," and so appears at the middle and latter end of the 18th century. Then some poetaster of Catnach's re-wrote it as "The Rambling Sailor," destroying all the point and wit of the original, which wit and point were not very choice. But as in the West, the ditty is set to a hornpipe tune, we have retained the song as one of a sailor, only modifying the words where objectionable. The earliest copy of "The Rambling Soldier" that I have seen was in the possession of Dr. Barrett; a later copy, _circ._ 1820, by Whiting of Birmingham, Ballads, B.M. (1876, c 2). "The Rambling Sailor," by Disley, _circ._ 1830, in Ballads collected by Crampton, B.M. (11,621), vol. viii. Mr. Sharp has taken this song and air down in N. Devon and Somerset four or five times, in every case with a flattened 7th in the Mixolydian mode. Our version is clearly a modernised edition of the older tune. 88. WILLIE COMBE. This ballad is known throughout the length and breadth of Cornwall, but it is sometimes mixed up with another, "The Alternon Volunteer." We have taken it down at least a score of times. Some of those from whom we have had it are Thomas Morris, parish clerk of Fowey; J. Libby, coachman at Tredethy, Bodmin; Anthony Pascoe, Liskeard; and Anne Painter, East Looe. The incident referred to in the ballad is the accidental shooting of William Combe or Coome of St. Agnes, at the Revel or Village Feast at Crantock in 1721. In the parish register at this date is the entry: "William Coome of St. Agnes, a youth about 20 years of age, who att the ffeast att this Parish rec'd his death of a shot; buried May 17." Crantock Feast is on May 16. There are a good many more verses in the original than are here given. They have no poetic merit; and the tune is not very original, but has a certain plaintive sweetness. 89. MIDSUMMER CAROL. Words and tune from William Aggett of Chagford. A very early and curious melody of the same date as the "May Day Carol," No. 47; and the words belong to a similar custom. Compare with this "Lemonday" in our "Garland of Country Songs." Originally doubtless an �olian, perhaps a Dorian tune, that has been corrupted and modernised. 90. THE BLACKBIRD. The melody and words taken down from James Parson, Roger Hannaford, and John Voysey, labourer, Lew Down. I re-wrote the ballad for the first edition, but in this I have restored the original words, only slightly modifying them. A Broadside version has nine stanzas, and ends-- "So here's a health to the bird in the bush, Likewise to the linnet and thrush; For birds of a feather will all flock together, Let their parents say little or much." The same ballad in Lyle's Collection, 1827, "From Recollection; air plaintive and pastoral." A Broadside version of this ballad in nine stanzas by Williamson of Newcastle. Song and air are given also in Kidson's "Traditional Tunes," 1891, as taken down in Yorkshire; but that version of the melody is inferior to ours. A Welsh version of the tune comes nearer to ours. 91. THE GREEN BED. Taken down from J. Masters. We heard "The Outlandish Knight" sung to the same melody by Richard Gregory on Dartmoor. "The Green Bed" exists as a Broadside ballad in six double verses. Mr. Sheppard has re-written the ballad, and has condensed the story. The air somewhat resembles "The Girl I left behind me." See "Philander's Garland," _circ._ 1780, B.M. (11,621, c 4). See _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. p. 48. 92. THE LOYAL LOVER. Words and air from Sally Satterley, Huckaby Bridge, again from Anne Roberts, Scobbetor, Widdecombe. The words exist in part in "Collin and Phoebe's Garland," B.M. (11,621, c 5). But this has two verses only. See also _The Lover's Magazine_, London, 1740, B.M. (11,621, c 26). This air has been harmonised in the Dorian mode, though as the 6th of the scale is absent, it might have been treated as an �olian tune. 93. THE STREAMS OF NANTSIAN. Properly "The Streams of Lovely Nancy." Taken down by Miss Templer from the singing of harvesters in 1834; also by us from Matthew Ford, Menheniot; Matthew Baker, Lew Down; and James Oliver, Launceston. Matthew Baker said that he learned it, when aged ten, in 1827. The ballad was printed by Keys of Devonport, _circ._ 1830, with four verses, of which verse 3 was an importation from another ballad. In other Broadside versions, the short original, consisting of four verses only, has been swelled out with scraps from other ballads to fill available space. Broadsides by Catnach, Whiting of Birmingham, etc. 94. THE DRUNKEN MAIDENS. Taken down from Edmund Fry, Lydford. This old ballad is found in "Charming Phillis' Garland," _circ._ 1710. It is in a Broadside by Crashaw of York, reprinted in Logan's "Pedlar's Pack," 1869, p. 241. The last verse has had to be modified. A Breton version, "Merc'hed Caudan," is given by Luzel, ii. 142. 95. TOBACCO IS AN INDIAN WEED. This old and famous song was written, it is thought, by George Withers, as Mr. Collier found a copy of it in MS. of the date of James I., with his initials to it. It is found in "Merry Drollery Complete," 1670, and on a Broadside dated 1672. We give the tune to which it is sung around Dartmoor and in Cornwall; this is entirely distinct from that to which it is sung elsewhere, as printed by Chappell, ii. p. 564, which is the air given by D'Urfey in his "Pills to Purge Melancholy," 1719, iii. 292. A Somerset version was sung at the Folk-Song Competition at Frome, 1904. Snatches of the song are given in "Handy Andy," so that we may assume that it is also well known among the Irish peasantry; another instance of the way in which English songs have travelled into Ireland. We took down our tune from John Potter, Merripit, Postbridge, and from Anne Roberts, Scobbetor, and H. Westaway, Belstone; also one obtained from an old man at Newton Abbot, sent to me. In the original ballad, reprinted in Bell's "Songs and Ballads of the English Peasantry," there are many more stanzas than we can give here. 96. FAIR SUSAN SLUMBERED. Music taken down from George Cole, quarryman, Rundlestone, Dartmoor. The words were so utterly worthless that Mr. Sheppard wrote a fresh copy of verses to the melody. Cole's first verses ran-- "In yonder grove sat a lovely creature, Who she is, I do not know; But I'll go court her for her feature, Whether she'll answer me Yes or No! "O maiden I am come a-courting If your favour I can gain; If that you will but entertain me, Then I'm sure I'll call again." The original words are to be found in "The Vocal Library," London, 1822, No. 1,421: "As a Fair Maid walked." 97. THE FALSE BRIDE. Words and music taken down from old Sally Satterley. The earliest copy in print with which I am acquainted is in "The New Pantheon Concert," 1773, B.M. (11,621, e 6). A re-writing of the theme is on a Broadside by Such, "When I heard he was married I stood not alone"; it is No. 592. See also a "Collection of Old Ballads," in the B.M., vol. i. p. 490, "The Forlorn Lover." Mr. C. Sharp has obtained a fine air to the same words, and has published it in "Folk-Songs from Somerset," No. 20. 98. BARLEY STRAW. Taken down from the singing of Mr. G.H. Hurell, the blind organist at Chagford, as he heard it sung by a carpenter, William Beare, in 1875. The words were very coarse, consequently Mr. Sheppard re-wrote the song. The air was used by A.S. Rich, without its most characteristic passages, for Hunneman's comic "Old King Cole," pub. _circ._ 1830. Much the same tune is in Akerman's "Wiltshire Tales," 1853, as a Wiltshire Harvest Home, p. 132. Harmonised in the �olian mode, though the seventh of the scale is absent. 99. DEATH AND THE LADY. This was first sent to me by Captain Hall Munro, of Ingesdon House, Newton Abbot, as sung by an old man there. Subsequently we obtained the same from Roger Hannaford. This is quite different from the "Dialogue of Death and the Lady," found in black letter Broadsides, and given by Bell in his "Songs of the English Peasantry," p. 32. The tune to this latter is given by Chappell, i. p. 167. In Carey's "Musical Century," 1738, is given the air of "Death and the Lady" as "an old tune." But this melody and ours have nothing in common. What is the signification of "branchey tree" in connection with Death, I am at a loss to say. "Death and the Lady" was one of the ballads sung by Farmer Williams in "The Vicar of Wakefield." 100. BOTH SEXES GIVE EAR TO MY FANCY. This old song is a favourite with the peasantry throughout England. The words are printed in Bell's "Songs of the English Peasantry," p. 231. He says, "We have had considerable trouble in procuring a copy of the old song, which used, in former days, to be very popular with aged people resident in the North of England. It has been long out of print, and handed down traditionally. By the kindness of Mr. S. Swindells, printer, Manchester, we have been favoured with an ancient printed copy." In the original the song consists of ten verses. The earliest copy of it that I know is in "The Lady's Evening Book of Pleasure," about 1740. It will be found in a collection of garlands made by Mr. J. Bell about 1812, and called by him "The Eleemosynary Emporium." It is in the British Museum. The air is found in "Vocal Music, or the Songster's Companion," 2nd ed., 1772, to the song, "Farewell, Ye Green Fields and Sweet Groves," p. 92. It was taken into "The Tragedy of Tragedies, or Tom Thumb," 1734, as the air to "In Hurry, Posthaste for a Licence," and was attributed to Dr. Arne. In "Die Familie Mendelssohn," vol. ii., is a scrap of music written down by Felix Mendelssohn, dated Leipzig, 16th August 1840, which is identical with the first few bars of this melody. But the earliest form of the air is in J.S. Bach's "Comic Cantata," where a peasant sings it. We took the song down from John Rickards, Lamerton, and again from J. Benney, Menheniot. Mr. Kidson prints a Yorkshire version in his "Traditional Tunes," 1891. Miss L. Broadwood has noted it down from the singing of a baker at Cuckfield, Sussex. Dr. Barrett gives our melody to "The Gallant Hussar," No. 13. We have also taken it down to this ballad; so has Mr. Sharp in Somerset. 101. I RODE MY LITTLE HORSE. Words and music from Edmund Fry, Lydford, and again from John Bennett, a labourer at Chagford, and from John Hunt, a shepherd, Postbridge. Compare with this the ballad in d'Urfey's "Pills to Purge Melancholy," named "Jolly Roger Twangdillo," 1719, i. p. 19. A Broadside copy of the ballad exists, printed by Jennings, of Waterlane, London, _circ._ 1790. The same theme is used in a ballad in the Pepysian Collection. See Ebsworth, "Roxburgh Ballads," vii. 231. Each verse ends-- "I vow I will marry, but I know not when." 102. AMONG THE NEW-MOWN HAY. Bell, in his "Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry," p. 223, gives this song. He says that it is "a village version of an incident which occurred in the Cecil family." Tennyson composed his "Lord of Burleigh" on the same topic. So did Moore his song, "You remember Helen, the hamlet's pride." But it may well be questioned whether either of these compositions comes up to the grace of the little "village version" of the tale. The ballad, however, is probably earlier than the Cecil marriage, and refers to some other legendary mésalliance. Henry Cecil, afterwards Earl and still later first Marquis of Exeter, saw, loved, and married a farmer's daughter named Sarah Hoggins, at Bolas Magna in Staffordshire, in 1790, he under the assumed name of John Jones. She was then aged seventeen, and he aged thirty-seven. Moreover, he was married at the time to Miss Vernon, a Worcestershire lady, to whom he had been united in 1776. In 1791, Henry Cecil obtained a divorce from his wife, Emma Vernon, and then was married in his proper name to Sarah Hoggins, at St. Mildred's, Bread Street, in the City of London. Not fully six years later the "Cottage Countess" died; and after three years the widower espoused a divorcée, sometime wife of the eighth Duke of Hamilton. Happily no question as to the legitimacy of the children arose. Henry, the eldest, was not born till 1793. He died the same year; but his brother, Brownlow, born two years later, lived to succeed his father in 1804. These plain facts take away most of the romance of the story of the "Cottage Countess." Moreover, Henry Cecil did not meet his Sarah among the new-mown hay. He arrived at Bolas in a chaise in a snow-storm, late in November 1788, and was lodged for a few nights in the farm. There he saw Sarah, who with friends was dancing. She was then only fifteen and a half years old. Cecil left, but returned in eighteen months and married her, as already said, under an assumed name, and before he was quit of his first wife. The whole story has been told in _Chambers's Edinburgh Journal_, part 60 (sixth series), December 1, 1902. Melody taken down from James Dingle, Coryton. 103. I'LL BUILD MYSELF A GALLANT SHIP. The words are a cento from a long ballad. The complete song was taken down from J. Watts, quarryman, Thrushleton. The entire ballad is in Logan's "Pedlar's Pack," p. 23. There are several Broadside versions. A Scottish version in Herd, "Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs," 1776, ii. p. 2. The air to which this is sung in Scotland is that to which Burns composed "Of a' the airts the wind can blaw." Joyce gives an Irish version in his "Ancient Irish Music," No. 68. Besides Watts' ballad, we had the fragment we give to the same air from Richard Cleave, since dead, at the "Forest Inn," Huckaby Bridge. Never shall I forget the occasion. Mr. Bussell and I drove across Dartmoor in winter in a furious gale of wind and rain to Huckaby in quest of an old man who, we had been informed, was a singer. We found the fellow, but he yielded nothing, and our long journey would have been fruitless, had we not caught Richard Cleave and obtained from him this air, which drive cost me a bronchitis attack that held me a prisoner for six weeks. The song is given under the title "The Lowlands of Holland," in the _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. p. 97, as taken down in Sussex. 104. COLLY MY COW. This is a portion of an old ballad in the Roxburgh Collection, ed. Chappell, iii. p. 601-- "Little Tom Dogget, what doest thou mean, To kill thy poor Colly now she's so lean? Sing oh! poor Colly, Colly my cow; For Colly will give me no more milk now. Pruh high, pruh hoe, pruh high, pruh hoe, Pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, tal-dal daw." Printed by T. Passinger (1670-86) at the Seven Stars on London Bridge. The ballad is also found in the Rawlinson Collection and elsewhere. It was afterwards sung in a shortened form at the concerts in Marylebone Gardens, and is printed in "The Marylebone Concert," N.D. In the heading to the old ballad we have-- "A country swain of little wit, one day Did kill his cow, because she went astray." But it is probable that the song originally turned on a different theme. On the 9th September 1605, a man was killed by a Protestant in the Rue de la Harpe, at Paris, for singing the song "De Colas." This song was composed by a seditious faction, with the intent of provoking the Huguenots, upon the subject of a cow which had walked into one of their conventicles during the performance of divine service. The cow, which belonged to a poor peasant named Colas, was killed by the Huguenots for her sacrilegious act. Thereupon the Catholics made a collection in every town and village in France to raise a sum for the indemnification of Colas. The day after the murder the singing of the song of "Colas his Cow," was forbidden under the penalty of the gallows, and it was even dangerous for anyone to hum the tune in the street ("Concert Room Anecdotes," 1825, ii. p. 230). The song must have been brought to England and adapted to English words after the Restoration, and as the story of the occasion of the killing of the cow was forgotten, it was altered. The tune is very old, and we had it from an aged woman at Kingsweare, who sang "The Abbot of Canterbury" to it. But this has its own tune, given by Chappell, i. p. 348. I have added the final verse. 105. WITHIN A GARDEN. Taken down from Harry Smith, Two Bridges, Dartmoor. The original words were so poor, and so closely resembled those of "The Broken Token" (No. 44), that Mr. Shepherd wrote fresh words. The original began-- "A fair maid walking in her garden, A brisk young sailor came passing by; And he stepped up to her, thinking to woo her, And said, 'Fair maid, can you fancy I?' "'You seem to talk like some man of honour, Some man of honour, you seem to be; How can you fancy such a poor young woman, Not fit your servant for to be?'" The ballad is published by Such as "The Young and Single Sailor," No. 126. It is also in "The Vocal Library," London, 1822, p. 525. It was printed on Broadside by Catnach as "The Sailor's Return." We obtained it again from James Parsons. 106. THE BONNY BIRD. Always sung as "My Bonny Boy." It is the companion song to the "Jolly Goss Hawk" (No. 71). Words and melody from Mary Langworthy, Stoke Fleming. We have taken this down from two other singers, but not to the same tune; one J. Doidge, of Chillaton, gave us an air characteristic and good. Miss Broadwood has the song in her "County Songs," pp. 146-7, but to a different melody. In all the versions taken down from oral recitation, the word is Boy and not Bird, but _Bird_ is the original word. The ballad was printed by J. Coles, 1646-74, and by W. Thackeray, 1660-1680, and is in the Douce Collection of early Broadsides in the Bodleian Library; also in the Pepysian Collection, and is printed by Ebsworth in the Roxburgh Ballads, viii. p. 359. It was originally sung to "Cupid's Trepan," also called "Up the Green Forest," and "Bonny, Bonny Bird." This air is given by Chappell, ii. p. 557, but this differs from our tune entirely, as also from that given by Miss Broadwood. The ballad has not, as yet, been traced earlier than the reign of Charles II. It begins-- "Once I did love a bonny brave bird, And thought he had been all my own; But he loved another far better than me, And has taken his flight and is flown, Bonny Boys, And has taken his flight and is flown. "Up the green forest, and down the green forest, Like one distracted in mind, I hoopt and I hoopt, and I flung up my hood, But my bonny bird I could not find." A later version is found, _circ._ 1780, in Single Sheet Broadsides, in the British Museum (11,621). "Cupid's Trepan or Up the Green Forest" was priced in Russell Smith's Catalogue at £1, 11s. 6d. 107. THE LADY AND APPRENTICE. Taken down twice, the tune here given is that sung with these words by Samuel Fone. We got the melody also from Sally Satterley, but with her the words were in confusion. The ballad runs on the same lines, and is almost identical with "The Lady who fell in love with a 'Prentice Boy," printed as a Broadside by Pitts, 1790-1810; also by Harkness of Preston. A copy in the British Museum (1876, d). This ballad begins like that of "Cupid's Garden," which is well known. But the ballad is a mere cooking up by a balladmonger of the earlier theme, and very badly done. The melody is actually the same as that of "Love's Tale" in our "Garland of Country Song." 108. PAUL JONES. Taken down from a good many singers on and around Dartmoor. The melody is in the Mixolydian mode, and is very early and rugged, far older than the period of Paul Jones himself. Mr. C. Sharp says: "In my opinion the tune should perhaps never be harmonised at all. The whole air is cast in the chord of the dominant 7th, and, in the opinion of most authorities, this chord should end the song; but in view of the popular preference for a concord rather than a discord as the concluding harmony, I have ended with the usual cadence." Paul Jones was the terror of our coasts; he was born near Kirkcudbright in 1747. His real name was John Paul. When the rupture took place between Great Britain and America, he enlisted under the Revolutionary flag, and assumed the name of Paul Jones. His daring disposition, and his knowledge of the British coast, pointed him out as a fitting leader in marauding schemes. Towards the end of 1777 he was actively employed, as commander, in fitting out the _Ranger_ privateer, mounting eighteen guns, and manned with a crew of 150 men. We have not the space for narrating his daring exploits; his life has often been written, and a good notice of him will be found in the "Dictionary of National Biography." The fight described in the ballad took place on September 23, 1779. The body of Paul Jones was removed from Paris, where he died, to America in 1905. The ballad is found on Broadsides. It is given by Logan in his "Pedlar's Pack," p. 32. Dr. Barrett, in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 33, has the ballad to the tune we have given here to "The Bonny Blue Kerchief," to which Paul Jones is quite unsuited. 109. THE MERRY HAYMAKERS. This quaint carol-like song was taken down from John Woodrich, who learned it, about 1850, and he says that it was his father's favourite song, also from James Parsons. Neither knew the words in their entirety, but they may be found in "West Country Garlands," B.M. (11,621, b 11), and among the Broadsheets of Pitts, about the beginning of the nineteenth century, beginning "In the merry month of June." The words also in Bell's "Ballads of the English Peasantry," p. 171. Dr. Brushfield of Budleigh Salterton has kindly sent me a MS. copy of the end of the seventeenth century or early in the eighteenth. The words, however, did not fit the tune comfortably, and I was constrained to re-write the song. "The Merry Haymakers" is in D'Urfey's "Pills," and as a Broadside printed by C.B. (Bates), 1695, was priced in Russell Smith's Catalogue, 1850, at three guineas. 110. IN BIBBERLY TOWN. The air taken down from John Bennett, Chagford. In Broadsides the place is "Beverley Town," and is entitled "The Beverley Maid and the Tinker," printed by Catnach, B.M. (1876, c 2); as "The Tinker's Frolic," in a Garland in the British Museum, printed by Swindells, Manchester (11,621, b 14); as "The Tinker and Chambermaid," a Broadside by Harkness, Preston (1876, d). It begins-- "In Beverley Town a maid did dwell, A buxom lass, I knew her well. Her age it was just twenty-two, And for a man she had in view." It is a coarse ballad, and Mr. Sheppard re-wrote it. The first phrase in the melody is apparently a modernised edition of an older one. The rest of the air is ancient, and in the Mixolydian mode. 111. THE MARIGOLD. This ballad was first taken down by Davies Gilbert in 1830 from an old man named John Hockin, in his eighty-sixth year, at St. Erth, Cornwall. The melody, which is very early, was, curiously enough, used by William Aggett for Hook's song, "On board the ninety-eight." Hook was born in 1746, and the melody is probably two centuries earlier than his time. There was another Bristol ballad, "The Honour of Bristol, showing how the Angel Gabriel of Bristol fought with three Spanish Ships, who boarded us Seven times, wherein we cleared our Decks, and killed Five hundred of their men, and wounded many more, and made them flye into Cales when we lost but three men, to the Honour of the Angel Gabriel of Bristol," priced in Russell Smith's Catalogue at £2, 12s. 6d. We have taken down the ballad, "Come all ye worthy Christian men," to this melody, which is in the Dorian mode. A fragment of this latter ballad is given in _Folk-Song Journal_, vol. i. p. 74, taken down in Sussex, in five verses. We have had it twice: once from J. Dingle, Coryton, and once as learned in 1820 by George Radford, from a blind fiddler at Washfield, near Tiverton, and "pricked down" by H. Pinkney, gardener, Washfield. Mr. Sharp has also met with it in Rackenford, N. Devon. The air in Sussex is not the same. In "Hakluyt's Voyages," vol. iii. (1600), is an account of "The Voyage of the ship called the Marigold of Mr. Hill of Redrife unto Cape Breton and beyond, to the latitude of 44 degrees and a half, 1593, written by Rd. Fisher, Master Hille's man of Redriffe." So also Hakluyt mentions "the Marigold 70 tunnes in burthen, furnished with 20 men, whereof ten were mariners," which is stated to have "departed out of Falmouth, the 1st June, 1593," commanded by Richard Strong, "bound for an island within the straights of S. Peter on the backe side of Newfoundland to the S.W. in the lat. of 47 degrees." In Latimer's 17th century "Annals of Bristol" is mention made of a ship "The Marigold," under the date 1627-8, of seventy tons, owned by Mr. Ellis. It was granted letters of marque to prey upon the enemy's commerce; but no mention is made of Sir Thomas Merrifield. The _Redrife_ above is Redcliffe, Bristol. Bristol was spelled _Bristow_ in maps of the city published in 1568 and 1610, but in one of 1671 it is spelled Bristoll. I have been unable to find Sir Thomas Merrifield in any lists of knights; but before the reign of James I. no official record of knights was kept. 112. ARTHUR LE BRIDE. Taken down from Sam Fone, Mary Tavy, by Mr. Bussell, in 1892. Sam told us that this was his father's favourite song. He had learned it from his father when he was quite a child, for the elder Fone deserted his family, and was never heard of again. But one day Sam, when aged eighteen, saw a workman standing at a cottage door, talking to someone within, and he had his hand against the door-post, clutching it as he leaned forward. Sam exclaimed: "That's my father's hand!" The man turned about, and without showing his face, walked away. When Sam came from his work in the evening he made enquiries, and ascertained that a stranger had been lodging in the cottage for a few nights, but was gone. He asked the woman of the house about her lodger. "Well," said she, "I don't know his name, nor nothing about him. But he asked me for a tallow candle, and melted it up into his boots." "That was my father. It was a trick of his," said Sam, promptly. And that was the last ever seen of the man. There was one more verse in the original, omitted to reduce the lengthy ballad to singable proportions. 113. THE KEEPER. This song was taken down from Peter Sandry, St. Ervan's. He had a bad cold, and could not reach the upper notes. But we got the same tune from Mr. Jas. Ellis, Chaddlehanger, Lamerton, and also from Miss Templer, from the singing of harvesters in 1834; but in both these latter cases to the words of "Green Broom." A copy of the ballad will be found in a "Garland," B.M., 11,621, c 3; but this has a chorus to it-- "Jack my master, sing you well, Very well, with my derry down, With my Down, down, down." I have been compelled to re-write most of the song, which in the original is very gross. It is certainly an ancient composition. 114. THE QUEEN OF HEARTS. Sung by a workman engaged on the Burrow-Tor reservoir at Sheepstor, the water supply for Plymouth, 1894. A quaint little song. It has been printed on Broadside by Bachelar, B.M., in vol. vi. p. 110, of several volumes of Broadsides I gave to the B.M. This begins-- "O my poor heart, my poor heart is breaking For a false young man, or I am mistaking: He is gone to Ireland, for a long time to tarry, Some Irish girl I am afraid he will marry." This is obviously an addition to fill out space in the Broadside. The ballad has a flavour of the period of Charles II. 115. THE OWL. This song occurs in part in King Henry VIII.'s music-book, "Deuteromelia," published in 1609. It was set by Mr. Freeman as a glee in "The Essex Harmony," vol. i. 1767, p. 8. In Beaumont and Fletcher's play, "The Knight of the Burning Pestle," 1635, Old Merrythought trolls out snatches of songs, and amongst others-- "Nose, nose, jolly red nose, And who gave thee this jolly red nose? Cinnamon, ginger, nutmegs, and cloves, And they gave me this jolly red nose." Mr. Bussell noted down the melody from James Olver, tanner of Launceston, in 1889. Of the words, Olver could not recall the line that follows "And all the day long the Owl is asleep," and I have had to supply what lacked. I give this song because it is interesting to note the changes that the air has undergone since it was performed as a Three Man's song before King Henry VIII. It will be noticed that Olver has not got all that portion of the song beginning "To whom drink'st thou." Chappell has given "Of all the Birds," in i. p. 75. On the other hand, in "Deuteromelia," only the first verse is given; Olver had three. A re-writing of the song "Of all the Birds on Bush or Tree" in "The Thrush," London, 1830, has two stanzas. The second concerns the lark. 116. MY MOTHER DID SO BEFORE ME. This song is based on the old English ditty "My Father was Born before Me," as may be seen at once by comparing the first few lines-- "I am a lusty, lively lad Now come to one and twenty, My father left me all he had, Both gold and silver plenty. "Now he's in grave, I will be brave, The ladies shall adore me, I'll court and kiss, what hurt's in this? My father did so before me." The first appearance of this ballad is in Thomas Jordan's "London Triumphant," 1672. It was taken by D'Urfey into his "Pills to Purge Melancholy," vol. i., 1699 and 1707. The air appears in the "Dancing Master" as "Jamaca," 4th edition, 1670, and in those subsequent. The tune we give was taken down to the song from S. Fone by Mr. Sheppard in 1895. "My Mother did so before Me" occurs without music in "The Nightingale," a song-book published in Edinburgh, 1776, and is given by Logan in his "Pedlar's Pack," 1869, from a chap-book of 1804. It occurs also on a Broadside by Pitts of Seven Dials. It is also in "The Quaver," Lond. 1831. The tune we have taken down is certainly based on the early air as given in the "Dancing Master." It is in Chappell, ii. p. 446. 117. A WEEK'S WORK WELL DONE. This popular song, relished by married men, was taken down from Richard Hard a little over a month before he died. In the original it is much longer. There are in all eleven verses. The first four are concerned with the happiness of the man previous to his marriage. But I find that most singers begin with the fifth verse. The ballad is found in "West Country Garlands," date _circ._ 1760, B.M., 1161, b 11. It actually begins thus-- "O when that I was a bachelor brave, Enjoying of all that my soul could have; My silver and guineas I then let fly, I cock'd my beaver, and, who but I? "I roved about, and I roved awhile, Till all the ladies did on me smile; From noble lady to country Joan, Both gentle and simple, were all mine own. "My rapier it was a Bilboa blade, My coat and waistcoat were overlaid With silver spangles, so neat and gay, As I were a king in some country play. "Besides, I had such a flattering tongue, The ladies laughed whene'er I sung; I had a voice so sweet and fine That every lady's heart was mine." 118. THE OLD MAN CAN'T KEEP HIS WIFE AT HOME. The curious rugged melody was taken down from a very old fiddler named William Andrews, at Sheepstor, by Mr. Bussell. The old fellow did not recall all the words, but remembered the story. According to his account this was a dance tune to which the performers sang in accompaniment to the music and tramp of feet. I have had to re-compose the ballad from the fragment and the story. It bears a family resemblance to "The Old Couple" given in "The Garland of Country Song," p. 100. In the story the old man locks his wife out. She threatens to drown herself, and throws a stone into the well. The old man, when he hears the splash, descends, opens the door, and goes forth to see whether his wife really has drowned herself. At once she slips in at the open door and locks him out. The story is very ancient. It occurred in the lost Sanscrit book of tales of which Persian and Arabic and Turkish versions exist, and which filtered into Europe through Greek and Latin and Hebrew translations. This story came into Dolopathos and the Seven Wise Masters. The French and Latin versions were made in the 13th century. But the story had already got to Europe through the converted Jew, Peter Alphonsus, who inserted it in his "Disciplina Clericalis," written in 1062. From this it got into some of the versions of the "Gesta Romanorum," and finally into Boccaccio's "Decameron," seventh day, tale 4. To give the whole story in ballad form would have made the ballad too long; I have therefore reduced it to three verses, and have given it, from the man's point of view, a happier termination. The tune is clearly a bagpipe air with drone. 119. SWEET, FAREWELL. Taken down from Samuel Fone, of Mary Tavy, in 1889, the music noted by Mr. Bussell. Fone had forgotten the two last lines of verse 1 and the two first of verse 2. The air is pleasant, but the words are naught. 120. OLD ADAM, THE POACHER. This curious melody was taken down by Mr. Bussell from the fiddling of William Andrews, Sheepstor. We saw the old man a little over a year before his death. He brought out and lent us a collection of MS. violin tunes, but all of these were well-known, old-fashioned dance airs. Then he played to us several not in his book that were traditional at Sheepstor. This was one of them, a dance tune; but he could not recall the words, only he knew that they told of the adventures of "Old Adam, the Poacher." Mr. Sheppard arranged this for "English Minstrelsy," but did not perceive that the first four lines of air have to be repeated to complete the tune; and in taking the melody from the fiddler, one could not detect at first, not knowing the words, where the tune precisely ended. It seems, however, obvious that there is a repeat of the first strain. I wrote the words. 121. EVENING PRAYER. Some fifty years ago this was the only, or almost the only, prayer used by village children. It was said or chanted far more extensively than the Lord's Prayer. The children had, however, cut down the hymn to one verse. The complete song, as "Prayer of the Week," was obtained from an old woman in the workhouse at Tavistock. Where the passage occurs purporting to come from the Epistles of St. Peter it would be hard to say. The tune, as it stands, is in the Major mode, and is so harmonised. But if the last note were G instead of E[flat]--as, indeed, it is in the two previous repetitions of the same phrase--the melody would then be in the Phrygian mode. The termination in E[flat] is probably a modern corruption. Something very much like this prayer is found throughout Europe. Here is the Quercy version, sung also in Poitou, Gascony, and Brittany-- "Father of habit, our Lord salutes you. He is at the head, He is at the feet; He is now, He is hereafter. On the bed, when I lie, Five angels are me by, Two to head and two to feet, The Mother of God in the midst, whilst I sleep. I need not fear fire and flame and sudden death," etc. Daymard, "Chansons Populaires," Cahors, 1889. It is probably the "White Paternoster" referred to in "The Miller's Tale," by Chaucer-- "Lord Jhesu Crist, and Seynte Benedight, Bless this hous from every wikkede wight, Fro nyghtesmare werye the witte (white) Pater-noster." White, in his "Way to the True Church," 1624, insists on "the prodigious ignorance" which he found among his parishioners when he entered on his ministrations. He gives what he calls "The White Paternoster":-- "White Paternoster, Saint Peter's brother, What hast i' th' one hand? White book leaves. What hast i' th' t'other hand? Heaven yate keyes. Open heaven yates, and streike hell yates: And let every crysome child creep to its own mother, White Paternoster, Amen." This, however, is not the same. But in the Magical Treatise, "Enchiridion Papæ Leonis," Rome, 1660, it runs-- "Petit Pate nôtre blanche que Dieu fit, que Dieu dit, que Dieu mit en Paradis. Au soir me allant coucher je trouve trois anges à mon lit couchés, un aux pieds, deux au chevet, la bonne Vierge Marie au milieu, qui me dit que je me arrette, que rien ne doute." This was to be recited thrice at eve, thrice in the morning, and it would secure Paradise. The White Paternoster was proscribed by the Church as superstitious: "Le Tableau de la vida del parfet Crestia," by P. Amilha, 1703, p. 234. See Victor Hugo, "Les Miserables," iv. p. 117. A form used on the Cornish moors, and repeated by a boy at Alternon, runs-- "Ding dong, the parson's bell, Very well my mother. I shall be buried in the old churchyard, By the side of my dear brother. My coffin shall be black, Two little angels at my back, Two to watch, and two to pray, And two to carry my soul away. When I am dead and in my grave, And all my bones are rotten, Jesus Christ will come again When I am quite forgotten." The boy was taught this by his aunt. In the "Townley Mysteries," p. 91, the shepherds watching their flocks by night repeat a form of this prayer. See also Ady's "Candle in the Dark," London, 1650, p. 58; also a paper in the _Archæologia_, xxvii. p. 253, by the Rev. Lancelot Sharpe; and Halliwell's "Nursery Rhymes," No. ccxl. * * * * * Songs in the first edition omitted from this are-- Fathom the Bowl. The Squire and the Fair Maid. My Lady's Coach. An Evening so Clear. The Warson Hunt. The Rout is Out. Why should we be dullards sad? Nancy. Farewell to Kingsbridge. Something Lacking. The Wrestling Match. Broadbury Gibbet. The Orchestra. Fair girl, mind this when you marry. Cupid, the Ploughboy. Come, my Lads, let us be jolly. A Single and a Married Life. The Saucy Ploughboy. The Everlasting Circle. Hunting the Hare. Dead Maid's Land. Shower and Sunshine. The first edition is still kept in stock, so that such persons as desire these ballads, and such others as are retained in this, but treated differently, as duets and quartettes, can obtain them from the publishers. * * * * * [Illustration: PRINTED BY C.G. RODER, LIMITED, Willesden Junction LONDON, N.W.]