" "> ■' " ;v:^;ii!!iiii f ; : i 1 y o66a ill lllll "^ mil ^^ If III •SK" Billl < famoujS american ^ongis Sumom :amertean Kuxbta of ^be Hotie? of u .<&-;^ cJ/On-^^ f ^, y^-"^ l-^J^ -J-.~y ■Cr-t.J-^ ttLa^t^viJ^ CrtdCtM- 0->-«^»>-' ■ — — t'A* A^>-^ ■ai-^^y^-^^y o,«.-l-^ ■Kfcii.U) jFol&0 at I^ome yf HORTLY after Herr Wil- helmj, the great German vio- linist, reached New York, in 1878, he went to a music store and asked if they had an arrangement of an American song which he thought was called "Black Jack." No— they did not know of any song of that title. Was Herr Wilhelmj sure it was correct? Thereupon Herr Wilhelmj pursed his lips and whistled a tune. *'Ah!" ex- claimed the clerks; "he wants 'Old Black Joe.'" Much to the virtuoso's gratification it was quickly forth- coming. "Old Black Joe" was written and composed by Stephen Collins Foster, who also wrote and composed "Old Folks at Home" and other songs, in all about one hundred and sixty. Many of them have become genuine songs 35 famoug american ^ongg of the people, and the most popular, "Old Folks at Home," has been trans- lated into nearly all European and several Asiatic languages. Even dur- ing Foster's lifetime his music was on thousands, perhaps millions, of lips, but the people who sang his songs passed the man by. It has been said with justice that during the last years of his life, which were passed in New York, the most familiar sounds he heard about him were strains of his own music, the least familiar sight a face he knew. Now he is recognized — and, after the way of the world, too late for it to prosper him — as having pos- sessed positive genius for the invention of simple yet tender and refined melody which has not been without its influ- ence in shaping the development of musical taste in this country. The re- finement of Foster's melodic invention is an important factor. Sometimes a popular air is the starting-point of the formation of musical taste. It may be a 36 STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER flDlD Jfolfiis at l^ome far cry from " Old Folks at Home" to appreciation ofthe" Ninth Symphony" or Wagner opera ; but it would be a further one if Foster had caught popu- lar fancy with slap-dash, vulgar tunes instead of with the refined and gently melancholic strains of his best pro- ductions. Doubtless it was this refine- ment and tenderness which attracted Wilhelmj to the air he asked for — even if his ignorance of English led him to call it "Black Jack." Foster wrote the words for nearly all his songs. They are not remarkable as poetry, but they go very well with the music. Moreover they express senti- ments that are universal— love of home, of mother, of wife, of sweetheart —sentiments that appeal instantly to the popular heart, and they are melo- dious and easy flowing. Probably not one person out of a thousand, if so many, had heard of the "Swanee Rib- ber" before Foster's "Old Folks at Home" was published, and but for that 37 jFamoug American ^ongg song, the stream doubtless still would be threadingits way to the Gulf of Mex- ico in obscurity. Howdidthe composer chance to hit upon the name that fits in so perfectly with the verse and with the sentiment of the music? One day in 1851 Foster entered his brother Morrison's office in Pittsburg. ** Morrison," he said, "I 've got a new song, and I want the name of some Southern river in two syllables to use in it." His brother suggested Yazoo. That wouldn't do. Then Pedee. Foster would n't have it. Morrison then took down an atlas from his shelf and opened it on his desk at the map of the United States. Together the two brothers looked over it. At last Morrison's fin- ger stopped at a little river in Florida. "That's it! That's it!" Foster ex- claimed delightedly. " Now listen." He hastily scribbled in a word on a piece of paper he had in his hand, and then read to his brother the lines beginning, 38 i^lh fom at ]^ome "Way down upon de Swanee Ribber." Can the line be imagined as "Way down upon de Yazoo Ribber?" or "Way down upon the Pedee Ribber?" One produces an eccentric, the other a comic effect, whereas "Swanee" has the melodious, flowing sound that Foster was seeking. The song has placed a halo of sentiment over the Swanee, with the result that most peo- ple who see it are disappointed. 'T is the river of song, and best viewed through the delicate mist of music. OLD FOLKS AT HOME Way down upon de Swanee Ribber, Far, far away, Dere 's wha ma heart is turning ebber, Dere 's wha de old folks stay. All up and down de whole creation Sadly I roam, still longing for de old plantation, And for de old folks at home. All de world am sad and dreary, Ebery where I roam ; Oh, darkeys, how my heart grows weary, Far from de old folks at home ! All round de little farm I wander'd When I was young, 39 jfamoujgj american ^onag Den many happy days I squander'd, Many de songs I sung. When I was playing wid my brudder Happy was I, Oh I take me to my kind old mudder, Dere let me live and die. One little hut among de bushes, One dat I love, Still sadly to my mem'ry rushes, No matter where I rove. When will I see de bees a-humming All round de comb? When will I hear de banjo tumming Down in my good old home? About the time Foster composed " Old Folks at Home" he received a request from Christy, the famous Negro min- strel, then appearing with his company in New York, for a new song with the right to sing it before it was published. Christy also desired to have at least one edition bear his own name as au- thor and composer. Foster showed Christy's letter to his brother, who drew up an agreement whereby the minstrel undertook to pay five hun- dred dollars for the privileges he had requested, and despatched it to 40 CHRISTY, THE FAMOUS MINSTREL WHO FIRST SANG "OLD FOLKS AT HOME" mh i[om at f ome Christy, who sent it back, duly signed, by return mail. This explains why Christy's name appears on the title- page of the first edition of "Old Folks at Home." This song and "Home, Sweet Home" probably are the most widely known songs in the English language, and it is a singular coincidence that both have longing for home as their under- lying sentiment. "Old Folks at Home" has been called the "song of the home- sick" and the potency of its appeal is illustrated by an anecdote. During the civil war a Northern regiment had its pay so long delayed that most of the soldiers, in a state bordering on mu- tiny, broke through the sentry lines, made for a town near camp and at night returned in a condition of riotous in- ebriety. In vain the officers and the few men who had remained sober tried to subdue the bedlam that had broken loose and bring about some semblance of order. At last, when even the colo- 41 iffamoujS ametican ^ongjs nel had been defied, the bandmaster called his musicians about him, spoke a few words, and the next moment the strains of **01d Folks at Home" were heard above the shouts of the obstre- perous soldiers. Within twenty min- utes the half-drunken crowd had wept itself to sleep. It was a wonderful il- lustration of the power that lies in a melody which goes straight to the heart. Stephen Collins Foster, like John Howard Payne, the author of "Home, Sweet Home," came of good family; and, like Payne's life, his too was un- fortunate, notwithstanding bright pro- spects in youth. His father, William Barclay Foster, was a general mer- chant in Pittsburg, from where he de- spatched goods on flatboats down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers to New Orleans. About twice a year he made the trip himself, sometimes returning overland, sometimes by vessel to New York. On one of these voyages he was 42 flDiti fom at I^ome captured by pirates off the coast of Cuba, but was liberated by a Spanish man-of-war. William Barclay Foster was married in Chambersburg, Penn- sylvania, in 1807, to Eliza Clayland Tomlinson. The newly wedded couple crossed the mountains to Pittsburg, a distance of nearly three hundred miles, on horseback. The elder Foster was a substantial business man. He pur- chased a large tract of land, then out- side of Pittsburg, but now part of the city, which he named Lawrenceville in honor of Captain James Lawrence of "Don't give up the ship" fame. During the War of 1812 when Washington had been burned by the British and New Orleans was threatened, urgent orders came to Pittsburg for supplies for Jackson's band of defenders, but no money accompanied the orders. Foster nevertheless shipped the sup- plies, which reached Jackson in the nick of time. But the government never settled for them, and the judg- 43 famouis amtrfcan ^ong^ ment which Foster recovered still stands unsatisfied on the records of the United States Court at Pittsburg. His patriotism, however, undimin- ished, he donated a piece of ground in Lawrenceville for a soldiers' burial- place. A monument marks the site. Of William Barclay Foster's children Morrison Foster died as recently as 1904. He was a man of means. Another son, William Foster, was the first vice- president of the Pennsylvania Rail- road ; a daughter married Rev. Edward Y. Buchanan, a brother of President Buchanan, and her daughter is the wife of the president of one of the great railway systems of the United States. H enrietta Crosman, the actress, whose full name is Henrietta Foster Cros- man, is another direct descendant. She is a grandniece of Stephen Collins Foster, and from her and her mother, who was the first person to sing sev- eral of his songs, many of the facts for this article have been obtained. 44 flDlt) foW at ^omt These family details are interesting because they show that Stephen was of gentle birth, which goes far to ac- count for the delicacy and refinement which give his melodies much of their charm. He was the idol of a tender, devoted mother, and the pet of the fa- mily ; and there was no reason why his life should not have passed unclouded and happy save that he became a slave to drink, so that he died in want in a New York hospital, and came near to burial as an unidentified pauper in the potters' field. It was July 4, 1826, in the midst of the celebration of fifty years of Ameri- can independence, and the band on the grounds of the Foster residence at Lawrenceville (now part of Pittsburg) playing "The Star-Spangled Banner," that Stephen Collins Foster was born. When he was two years old he would lay his sister's guitar, which he called his "ittly pizani" (little piano), on the floor, and pick out harmonies on the 45 famom American ^ongg strings. At eight years of age he taught himself the flute, and later the piano. His first composition to be publicly performed was a waltz, the "Tioga," which he wrote for four flutes, and played with three of his fellow-stu- dents at the commencement of the Ath- ens (Pennsylvania) Academy, where it was received with great applause. His first published song was "Open thy Lattice, Love." He was then sixteen. When he was nineteen he formed a singing club among the young men of his acquaintance. It met twice a week at his father's house, and he conducted. After a while he began composing songs for this club. The first was "The Louisiana Belle." A week later he wrote one of his best known songs, "Uncle Ned." As an illustration of his happy faculty of expression it is pointed out that when he wrote the line, "His fingers were long like de cane in de brake," he never had been below the Ohio, yet the aptness of the 46 €)lt) folfejS at J^ome simile will strike anyone who has seen a sugar-cane plantation. In running over the list of Stephen Collins Foster's songs it is found to include many that are so familiar that the popular mind does not associate them with any particular composer, but takes for granted that they ''just growed." Nothing could go farther to prove that although they were con- sciously composed, they have all the characteristics of genuine folk songs, and that, simple as they are (three chords of the key usually suffice Fos- ter for harmony), they are destined to survive. A year after he had composed "Uncle Ned," and while he was clerk- ing it in his brother Dunning's office in Cincinnati, he wrote "Oh, Susanna." Not having as yet taken up music pro- fessionally, he made a present of these two songs to a friend, who cleared ten thousand dollars from them, and de- veloped what was then a small musi- cal publishing business into one of the 47 ifamoug american ^ongg largest houses in its line in the West. Several of Foster's songs echoed his personal feelings. "Massa's in de Cold Ground," though of course a darky song, was written under the sorrow and feeling of loneliness caused by his father's death; "Old Dog Tray" in memory of a beautiful setter he had owned ; " My Old Kentucky Home " as a musical souvenir of the picturesque homestead of his relative, Judge and United States Senator John Rowan, of Bardstown, Kentucky. It is said that "My Old Kentucky Home" was written by Foster while he and his sister were on a visit to the Rowan home. One morning while the slaves were at work and the darky children romping, the two young visitors were seated on a bench in front of the home- stead. In a tree overhead a mocking- bird was warbling. From a bush near by came the song of a thrush. Ac- cording to the story, Foster wrote and composed the song then and there; 48 flDlD f olfejs at l^ome and when enoughof it was jotted down for his sister to obtain an idea of the melody and of the first stanza, she took the sheet from his hand and in a sweet, mellow voice, that chimed in with the surroundings, sang. The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home ; 'T is summer ; the darkies are gay ; The corntop 's ripe and the meadow 's in the bloom, While the birds make music all the day. One Sunday afternoon in the home of one of his brothers, he sat with one leg over the arm of his chair, whis- tling. After a while he went to a table and began writing some words and music. Then he called his niece (who afterwards became Mrs. Crosman) to the piano, and together they tried over what he had first whistled and then put down on paper. Later in the day he arranged it for quartet, and in the evening he, his niece and his brother went to a neighbor's, where the lady of the house sang soprano, and tried over the quartet. Thus his most am- 49 jTamoug American ^ongjg bitious composition, "Come where my Lovelies Dreaming, "was written both as a solo and as a quartet and sung in both forms, all in the course of an after- noon and evening. Foster is described as a man of com- paratively small stature (five feet seven inches), but of great physical courage. Mrs. Crosman tells me that at a dance he presented a bouquet of flowers to a girl who was engaged and that when her fianc6 protested rather more vio- lently than seemed necessary, Stephen promptly knocked him down. The in- cident led to the breaking off of the engagement. One night, on his way home, he saw two ruffians attacking a drunken man, promptly interfered, and fought off the two men in a rough- and-tumble combat, during which he received a knife-wound on the cheek which left a lifelong scar. Though never unwilling to risk a per- sonal encounterwhen he thought him- self justified in so doing, he was deeply 50 €)ID ^oM at I^ome sympathetic and tender-hearted. On one occasion when he saw a little girl run over and killed — she was crossing the street of a rainy night, her shawl drawn over her head and face so that she did not see or hear the horses ap- proaching—he followed the body to the home of her parents, who were poor working-people, and remained with them all night trying to comfort them as best he could. At the same time he was proud and sensitive and resented the least slight. A woman issuing a verbal invitation to a party said, **Tell Stephen to come, and to be sure and bring his flute." He sent the flute — but stayed at home himself. He was a light sleeper. A newly bought clock, which he had placed on his mantel-shelf, so disturbed him with its loud tick that he got out of bed, wrapped a blanket around the offend- ing clock and put it in a bureau drawer. But the dull throb which reached his ear was even more tantalizing than 51 the sharper sound had been. He arose again, carried the clock and blanket downstairs and placed them in the cupboard. But in his room he heard, or fancied he heard, the distant throb of the timepiece like a muffled funeral note. This time he carried clock and blanket to the remotest recess of the cellar, where he covered them with a washtub ; then, carefully closing every door behind him, he ascended to his room, and at last was able to go to sleep. One night a strange dog, prowl- ing about the place and howling, so dis- turbed Foster that he seized a poker and, dashing out, chased the animal away. Next day the familymade merry of this incident at the expense of the author and composer of "Old Dog Tray." At times he wrote songs which he did not consider good enough to send to his pubHshers. "Uncle Stephen," Mrs. Crosman once asked him, "why do you take the trouble to write out 52 £DID ilfolItjS at ]^ome those ugly things that you tear up al- most as soon as you have them on paper?" "Because," he replied, "it's the only way I can get them out of my head and make room there for something better." Probably his most familiar songs are. Beautiful Dreamer, Come where my Love lies Dreaming, Don't bet your Money on the Shanghai, Gentle Annie, 'Gwine to run All Night, Hard Times come again no More, I see Her still in my Dreams, Jenny June, Laura Lee, Louisiana Belle, Massa's in de Cold Ground, My Old Kentucky Home, Nelly was a Lady, Nelly Bly, Old Dog Tray, Oh Boys, carry Me 'Long, Old Folks at Home, Old Black Joe, Oh, Susanna, Under the Willow she's Sleeping, Uncle Ned, Virginia Belle, Willie, we have Missed You, and When this dreadful War is ended. He also wrote and composed fifteen hymns. 53 (ffamoujS american Rongji In 1850 Foster married Jane Denny McDowell, the daughter of a leading Pittsburg physician. Shortly after- wards he was induced by flattering offers from his publishers, Firth, Pond & Co., of New York, to settle in that city. But after he had been there a year he grew so homesick that one day he announced that he was going home, disposed of his furniture before evening, and the next day, late at night, rang the bell of his parents' house. His mother recognized his footsteps and going to the door called out, "Is that my dear son come home again?" He was so affected by her voice that, when she opened the door, she found him crying like a child. He remained at home until i860 when, having separated from his wife, he again went to New York. There his unfortunate habits grew upon him and at times he walked the streets in an old glazed cap and shabby clothing which made him look more like a 54 flDlD f 0160 at l^ome tramp than the composer of songs that were being sung on every side. He would write and compose a song in the morning, sell it in the afternoon, and spend the proceeds in dissipation before night. In January, 1864, while ill with fever in a cheap hotel, he rose during the night for a drink of water, was so weak that he fell when near the washstand, and, in so doing, struck against the broken lip of the pitcher and gashed his neck. He lay on the floor insensible until discovered in the morning by a servant who was bring- ing towels to his room. On being re- vived he asked to be taken to Bellevue Hospital, where he died from fever and loss of blood on the thirteenth of Janu- ary. His identity not being known at the hospital, his body for a time lay in the morgue, where friends finally traced it and prevented the composer of so many sweet and tender melodies from being buried as a pauper. It is sometimes said that corporations 55 jfamoujS ametfcan ^ongjs have no souls, but both the Pennsyl- vania Railway and the Adams Ex- press Company declined payment for conveying the remains to Pittsburg. He was buried beside his parents, a volunteer band, formed of the best musicians of the city, playing **Come where my Love lies Dreaming" and **01d Folks at Home" over his grave. 56 J^iVit Ill N the eveningof June 28, 1904, the orchestra at the Waldorf- Astoria struck up "Dixie," which is on its programme almost nightly, and especially in sum- mer, when so many Southerners are in New York. As usual a thrill of recogni- tion and pleasure passed through the restaurant. Many people. Northerners as well as Southerners (for what once was the civil war song of the South long has been adopted by the whole coun- try), beat time to the music by tapping on the floor with their feet, or on the tables with forks and spoons. While this unconscious tribute was being paid to a popular song, in what is per- haps the gayest nook in the New World, an old minstrel, loved by his humble neighbors but forgotten by the world at large, lay dying in a little clap- board hut on the outskirts of Mount 59 jTamoug american ^ongg Vernon, Ohio. Forty-five years before, he had written and composed the song which at that moment, under the blaze of electroliers, was being played for the delectation of men and women any one of whom carelessly would spend for an evening's amusement more than he might have had to live on for a year. The old minstrel was Daniel Decatur Emmett, sometimes called for short ''Dan Decate," but more generally known among the few stage veterans who remembered him at all as "Old Dan Emmett." After Emmett's death some one asked, "Does it pay to be famous?" and pointed to his poverty as a nega- tive answer. Yet the old minstrel was content. He had his hut, which was scrupulously clean ; a garden patch and some chickens. A few years before he died that eminently practical charity, the Actors' Fund of America, learned of his whereabouts and granted him a small stipend. Occasionally he re- 60 DANIEL DECATUR EMMETT ceived requests accompanied by re- mittances for his autograph or manu- script copies of "Dixie." Moreover, like many people of the stage (al- though this may surprise those whose acquaintance with it is merely casual), he was deeply religious. Often he could be seen sitting in the sun outside his door and reading his large copy of the Bible. Among the many manuscripts which he left was a set of prayers ap- parently of his own authorship. One of them was a grace before meals. Its appropriateness to his own humble cir- cumstances is one of the most touch- ing examples of unconscious pathos I know of. It does not, after the usual manner of such prayers, thank the Lord for his "bounty," but "for this frugal meal, and all other meals Thou hast permitted me to enjoy during my past existence." There surely was a spirit of resignation as rare as it was pathetic ! Emmett wrote "Dixie" while he was 6i a member of the famous Bryant's Min- strels which he had joined in 1857. He was known already as the composer of "Old Dan Tucker," and he was en- gaged by Bryant not only in the ca- pacity of a stage performer, but also to compose Negro songs and walk- arounds. Those were the days of the real minstrel shows when **end men," "bones" and "interlocutor" were in their glory. The performance always wound up with an ensemble called the " walk-around, " which was (or was sup- posed to be) a genuine bit of planta- tion life. The composition of fetching walk-arounds was a knack with Em- mett that made him a valuable acqui- sition for a minstrel troupe. Moreover, he had a good voice and played many instruments, but especially violin and flute. On Saturday night, September 17, 1859, after the performance, one of the Bryants told Emmett that a new walk- around was wanted in time for re- 62 hearsal on Monday. The minstrel re- plied that while the time was very short he would do his best. That night after he reached home he tried to hit upon some tune, but the music would n't come. His wife cheerily told him to wait until morning ; he should have the room to himself so that he could work undisturbed, and when he had finished the walk-around he could play it for her as sole audience. If she liked it, the Bryants would, and so would the average listener. Next day was rainy and dismal. Some years before, Emmett had travelled with a circus as a drummer. In win- ter the warm Southern circuit was a popular route with circus people, and those who were obliged to show North would say when the cold weather would make them shiver, "I wish I was in Dixie." The phrase was in fact a current circus expression. On that dismal September day, probably the beginning of the equinoctial, when 63 jTamoug american ^ongg Emmett stepped to the window and looked out, the old longing for the pleasant South came over him, and involuntarily he thought to himself, "I wish I was in Dixie." Like a flash the thought suggested the first line for a walk-around, and a little later the minstrel, fiddle in hand, was work- ing out the melody which, coupled with the words, made "Dixie" a gen- uine song of the people almost from the instant it was first sung from the stage of Bryant's Minstrels, then at 472 Broadway, New York, on the night of Monday, September 19, 1859. When Emmett took the song to re- hearsal it began with a verse which was omitted at the performance. Dis worl' was made in jiss six days, An' finish'd up in various ways ; Look away I look away ! look away I Dixie Land 1 Dey den made Dixie trim and nice, But Adam call'd it "Paradise." Look away I look away ! look away 1 Dixie Land 1 64 The minstrels were very careful never to put anything on the stage that might give offence in any way, and Mrs. Bryant, who was at the rehearsal, was afraid that these lines might of- fend people with pronounced religious scruples, though she told Emmett, dip- lomatically, that they were "very nice" in other respects. He included them in some of his manuscript copies of the song, but the version generally known begins with the familiar I wish I was in de land ob cotton, Old times dar am not forgotten ; Look away 1 look away I look away ! Dixie Land ! In Dixie land whar I was born in, Early on one frosty mornin', Look away ! look away ! look away Dixie Land! Chorus Den I wish I was in Dixie! Hooray! Hooray! In Dixie's Land we '11 take our stand, to lib an' die in Dixie. Away ! away ! away down South in Dixie. Away ! away ! away down South in Dixie. The stanzas which followed under- went slight changes from time to time. In their final shape they are: 65 (famouisi ^metican ^ongjs Ole missus marry " Will-de-weaber ; " Willum was a gay deceaber ; Look away I look away 1 look away I Dixie Land ! But when he put his arm around her, He smiled as fierce as a forty-pounder ; Look away I look away I look away 1 Dixie Land ! His face was sharp as a butcher's cleaber ; But dat did not seem to greab her ; Look away I look away I look away I Dixie Land 1 Ole missus acted de foolish part, And died for a man dat broke her heart ; Look away ! look away ! look away 1 Dixie Land 1 Now here 's health to de next ole missus, An' all the gals dat want to kiss us ; Look away I look away 1 look away I Dixie Land I But if you want to drive 'way sorrow, Come and hear dis song to-morrow ; Look away! look away! look awayl Dixie Land I Dar 's buckwheat cakes an' Injin batter, Makes you fat or a little fatter ; Look away ! look away ! look away I Dixie Land ! Den hoe it down an' scratch your grabble, To Dixie's Land I 'm bound to trabble ; Look away! look away! look awayl Dixie Land I 66 'DAN" EMMETT, IN OLD AGE MXit Mrs. Emmett had suggested plain "Dixie" as a title for the song, and her husband had adopted it. But when the song was published in i860, it was called, "I wish I was in Dixie's Land," — a line which does not occur in it. Afterwards it was published as "Dixie's Land" — but to the public it simply is "Dixie," which shows that when Mrs. Emmett suggested that one word for a title, she knew what she was about. Emmett himself stated that he received five hundred dollars for the copyright of "Dixie," and that what he had received for all his other songs put together (which, it should be remembered, included his popular "Dan Tucker") would be fairly repre- sented by one hundred dollars ; so that during a lifetime of eighty-nine years his receipts as a popular song com- poser amounted to six hundred dol- lars — and obscurity in a little Western town! In 1894, when Emmett was seventy- 67 jfamoujs amerfcan ^ongjs nine years old, a minstrel manager, who thought the composer of ''Dixie" still might be profitably utilized as a venerable figurehead in a show, but who, like nearly every one else, had lost all track of Emmett, finally suc- ceeded in tracing him to Mount Ver- non. When, however, the manager reached there and began inquiring for "Dan Emmett, the composer of * Dixie,'" the reply he got from the townspeople was : *' Friend, you've struck the wrong place. There's a Dan Emmett living here, sure enough, and he used to be with some show; but he never com- posed 'Dixie,' nor anything else." This was Emmett's native town and he had been living in it again for six years ; yet, until the minstrel manager made his inquiries, it was not known there that the kindly old man, in the little cottage on the outskirts of the place, was the composer of a song that had been, was being, and bid fair for- 68 Mvit ever to be, ground out on hand-organs, played by bands and sung as solo and chorus, from one end of the country to the other. Nowadays song composers understand better how to manage the thing. They arrive at their publisher's place of business in a hansom and drive away in an automobile; and when "Dixie" is played at the Waldorf-As- toria, they are there too — dining. Quite a contrast to the simple old man, whose most remarkable trait was his indiffer- ence to the fate of what he had written and who thanked God daily for "this frugal meal"! Emmett was born in Mount Vernon, Ohio, October 29, 1815. His grandfather was a soldier in the Revolution, fight- ing under Morgan at the Cowpens. His father, who was a blacksmith, fought in the War of 1812, in the regiment com- manded by Lewis Cass. Dan as a boy would "blow and strike" for his father in the latter's smithy. At intervals be- tween his work he ran errands or played 69 the fiddle for the villagers. He managed topickupanelementaryeducation,and when thirteen years of age entered a newspaper office as compositor. The result of his experience in printing-of- fices is said to have been shown in the careful punctuation of his manuscripts. He still was working "at the case" when, at the age of fifteen or sixteen, he wrote "Old Dan Tucker." A year later he enlisted in the United States Army as a fifer, and during his service also learned to drum. More than sixty years later, after his death, there was found among his manuscripts one en- titled " Emmett'sStandard Drummer," which is a complete school for fife and drum "according to the *Ashworth Mode.'" After serving a full enlistment he tra- velled with various circus bands. At that time Negro minstrelsy was as yet unknown, although there were indi- vidual Ethiopian performers, like Dan Rice of "Jim Crow " fame. Emmett had 70 travelled with Rice whose perform- ances possibly suggested the Negro minstrel idea to the young drummer. As in all such cases, various claims to pri- ority are advanced, but it is certain that early in 1843, in New York, Emmett organized a string quartet, with vio- lin, banjo, tambourine and bones, and named it the Virginia Minstrels, first carefully looking up the word minstrel in the dictionary to assure himself that it could be applied appropriately to the new organization. The costume con- sisted of white trousers, striped calico shirt and blue calico coat with exag- gerated swallowtails. It was not until some years later that the regulation evening dress was adopted as the cos- tume most suitable to the mock dig- nity of minstrelsy. Emmett's troupe showed successfully in various American cities, but when it adventured a tour of England it promptly stranded. Its organizer re- turned to New York, found that his 71 favxom American ^ongg idea had been utilized by others, and eventually joined Bryant's Minstrels. From that time on and until he returned to Mount Vernon, his occupation was Negro minstrelsy. His retirement was due to his age and to the fact that changes in the style of minstrel per- formance had made him a ''back num- ber." As the composer of "Dixie" he had long since been forgotten. He ac- tually had been overshadowed by its popularity. The vogue of" Dixie" as the war song of the South seems to have originated in the excitement it caused when sung on the stage of the New Orleans Va- rieties Theatre in the spring of 1861, when Mrs. John Wood was appearing there in "Pocahontas." A feature of the performance was a zouave march which was introduced into the last scene. A catchy tune was wanted for this, and Carlo Patti, the leader of the orchestra, after trying over several pieces, decided on "Dixie." He little 72 ^iyit knew what that decision would mean for the song. When the zouaves marched on the first night, led by- Miss Susan Denin, singing "Dixie," the audience went wild and demanded seven encores. From New Orleans it seemed to flash over the entire South ; the Washington Artillery had the tune arranged for a quickstep and the whole section of the country rang with it. Pickett ordered it played before his famous charge at Gettysburg. Thus the anomaly was presented of a song written and composed by a man who was born in the North, and who as a matter of fact sympathized with the North, becoming the war song of the South. General Albert Pike and others wrote additional verses, and these form the only foundation for the claim some- times advanced that Emmett was not the author and composer of "Dixie," whereas his name has appeared on the copyrighted title-page of the song ever since its earliest publication. 73 ifamoujs amertcan ^ongis General Pike's words to " Dixie" first appeared in the "Natchez Courier" April 30, 1861. Here are some of the characteristic stanzas: Southrons, hear your country call you I Up, lest worse than death befall you ! To arms ! To arms ! To arms, in Dixie ! Lo ! all the beacon fires are lighted, Let all hearts be now united 1 To arms ! To arms ! To arms, in Dixie I Chorus Advance the flag of Dixie ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! For Dixie's land we take our stand, and live and die for Dixie 1 To arms 1 To arms 1 And conquer peace for Dixie I To arms I To arms 1 And conquer peace for Dixie i Hear the Northern thunders mutter I Northern flags in South winds flutter ! To arms, &c. Send them back your fierce defiance I Stamp upon the accursed alliance I To arms, &c. Fear no danger I Shun no labor ! Lift up rifle, pike and sabre I To arms, &c. Shoulder pressing close to shoulder, Let the odds make each heart bolder I To arms, &c. 74 Mxit How the South's great heart rejoices, At your cannons' ringing voices ! To arms, &c. For faith betrayed and pledges broken, Wrongs inflicted, insults spoken. To arms, &c. A further version that was very pop- ular with Southern soldiers began : Away down South in de fields of cotton. Cinnamon seed, and sandy bottom I Look away ! look away 1 look away 1 look away 1 Den 'way down South in de fields of cotton. Vinegar shoes and paper stockings I Look away I look away I look away ! look away ! Another interesting fact regarding "Dixie" is that immediately after the evacuation of Fort Moultrie and be- fore the fall of Sumter, Fanny Crosby, the blind hymn-writer, wrote North- ern words to the tune, and it was hit or miss whether "Dixie" would be- come a Northern or a Southern war song, or both. But Fanny Crosby's words were not "smart" enough, and as a Southern song, it had theimmense advantage that the original stanzas, even without the additions of Pike and 75 others, sufficed. During the war poor Emmett, who had written the song simply as a minstrel walk-around and who, having parted with the copyright for a paltry sum, never benefited by its enormous popularity, received let- ters from Northern patriots denoun- cing him for disloyalty, and suggesting a rope's end as the most appropriate punishment for his "treason." When he was eighty years old he at last had a taste of what it is to be fa- mous—and one season of it was enough for him. He went out with a minstrel troupe in the supposed role of venerable figurehead. But when at the first performance the orchestra struck up "Dixie," he rose and, with old-time gestures and in a voice tremu- lous with age, sang the song. Through- out the South he was the object of ovation after ovation. He was grateful, but he also was amused, for he could not help thinking of the humble origin of his song and how far it had gotten 76 •^u.^yy^-'C^u. , ^a^.'U A^ /loi*-^-'*'*^''''*^''^^ — ^^^^' ^^' — '^^^' ^^^ /loOM . Q^if.-i^ ^/Ph^ ^TiT/ lATJyLJt^e^ ii^^^itf.-ii.Th*-'!^! -^^ 'j.o^- Jjw^^^-c£4^^ti^i^J/f_'t^i, mv ^^^ujsi-f^^ iU- d^r4^ A-'o^.^ ^ /Uro ^, A- ***'*y' <*- ^-^f -y g/«- ^'»«-* w-<^ ^<-»- £^*^-.t-e-, a- ■* ^^'*^7 y' ^- ■****^ * ^~ '^t/ FACSIMILE OF AN AUTHORS COPY OF "DIXIE" Reproduced through the courtesy of Alexander Hill MXit away from its original purpose and his own sentiments when it became a war song. One day, while strolling about Richmond, Virginia, he paused in front of Stonewall Jackson's monument, and the better to read the inscription, raised his hat and shielded his eyes with it from the sun. That evening one of the newspapers came out with big head- lines announcingthaf Daniel Decatur Emmett, the author of 'Dixie,' like the true Southron that he is, bows with uncovered head before the monument of Stonewall Jackson." Emmett knew it was kindly meant, but he appre- ciated the unconscious humor of the situation too. On the whole he enjoyed the tour, but did not attempt another. It was "too much of the same thing for an old man." He went back to Mount Vernon, and never left it again. And now that he is dead, his grateful countrymen, who allowed him at the age of eighty-nine to raise chickens, hoe in a garden and 77 jTamoug amencan ^ongg chop wood for a sparse livelihood, are planning to erect a monument in his honor! The only redeeming feature of it is that he did n't much care. 78 iBen :Bolt IV 44 mm Bolt >> HE first time those "three mousquetaires of the brush," Taffy, the Laird and Little Billee, heard Miss Trilby O'Ferrall sing "Oh, don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?" that young woman had not yet fallen under the influence of the sinister Svengali and been hypnotized by him into singing more divinely than any one else in Europe. Her "Ben Bolt" was half weird, half ludicrous; the mere outline of the melody delivered with immense volume of tone, with- out, however, a single note being ex- actly in tune. After Trilby had gone, Little Billee was made by Taffy to sit down at the piano and sing it. "He sang it very nicely with his pleasant little throaty English barytone." Then Svengali, impatiently shoving him off the piano 8i famow amettcan ^ong)^ stool, played a masterly prelude to the song; and Gecko — as Du Mau- rier describes it— cuddling lovingly his violin and closing his upturned eyes, played that simple melody as it probably never had been played before— such passion, such pathos, such a tone! — and they turned it and twisted it, and went from one key to another, playing into each other's hands, Svengali taking the lead ; and fugued and canoned and counter- pointed and battledored and shuttle- cocked it, high and low, soft and loud, in minor, in pizzicato, and in sordino —adagio, andante, allegretto, scherzo —and exhausted all its possibilities of beauty; till their susceptible audi- ence of three was all but crazed with delight and wonder; and the master- ful Ben Bolt, and his over-tender Alice, and his too submissive friend, and his old schoolmaster so kind and so true, and his long-dead schoolmates, and the rustic porch and the mill, and the 82 THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH, ABOUT 1845 •Ben OBolt slab of granite so gray, were all mag- nified into a strange, almost holy po- etic dignity and splendor quite un- dreamed of by whoever wrote the words and music of that unsophisti- cated little song, which has touched so many simple British hearts that don't know any better. "Whoever wrote the words"! Fifty years before Du Maurier penned the passage I have quoted, "Ben Bolt" was written by an American. When "Trilby" was published, the author of "Ben Bolt" still was living; he lived, in fact, until 1902, surviving Du Mau- rier eight years. But although the poem had been published in a periodi- cal, had been sung all over the Eng- lish-speaking world, and had formed the pivotal point in one of the greatest sensations in literary history, its au- thor never received a penny for it. Moreover to his dying day he resented its popularity as compared with the reception accorded his maturer writ- 83 jfamoug ametican ^ongg ings, which he knew to be better. I met him once by appointment in his own house and conversed with him for about an hour without knowing that he was the author of "Ben Bolt," and not until the "Trilby" craze nearly twenty years afterwards did I discover that he was. In the autumn of 1876, in the midst of a hotly contested presi- dential campaign, I carefully prepared an extemporaneous stump speech for delivery before a political club in Leo- nia, New Jersey. As I still was a callow youth, a college boy, one of the poli- ticians of the neighborhood, who evi- dently was suspicious of my efforts, advised me to show my speech to a Dr. English of Fort Lee, who, although a practising physician, took a lively interest in politics and made cam- paign speeches himself. Accordingly I climbed up the rear of the Palisades of the Hudson to Fort Lee, where I found the doctor living in a small house. He was a somewhat elderly, 84 OBen OBolt dignified gentleman, a trifle old-fash- ioned in his attire, and who struck me more like a character out of a book than a practising physician in the straggling settlement on top of the PaHsades. He seemed to me decidedly above his somewhat plain, not to say meagre surroundings ; a man who had not found life altogether easy, but had the grit to take it as it came. He read over my speech, advised me to leave out what I had considered its most resounding periods, and kindly ex- plained to me why these oratorical flights had better be omitted. Long afterwards when "Trilby" was pub- lished, I discovered, while reading a review of the book, that the Dr. Eng- lish of Fort Lee, who literally had raked the "chestnuts" out of the ora- torical fire for me, was none other than Dr. Thomas Dunn English, the author of "Ben Bolt." The circumstances under which the lines were written, and which were re- 85 famous american ^ongg lated to me by the author's daughter, Miss Alice English, who often heard them from her father, seem to take us far back in American literature. For Dr. English knew Edgar Allan Poe and many of the other early American writers. During the summer of 1843 he was visiting in New York, where he became acquainted with N. P. Willis, who with George P. Morris recently had revived the "New York Mirror." Willis asked English to contribute a sea poem, explaining, however, that the paper was run on very small capi- tal and that its editors would be greatly obliged to him if he would let them have the poem just for the love of the thing. That was not an unusual re- quest to be made by editors of Ameri- can periodicals in those days. At all events English consented ; then went home and forgot all about his promise until reminded of it by a letter from Willis. He had the manuscript of a sea poem 86 I3en TBolt which, however, he had discarded as not up to the mark, but which played its part, nevertheless, in the composi- tion of "Ben Bolt." When he sat down at his desk to write something new for the "Mirror," it seemed as if the mantle of Dibdin was reluctant to fall upon him and the poem of the sea was not forthcoming. But by one of those curious reflex actions of the mind he drifted into reminiscences of his boy- hood, and almost before he knew it he had written the line, Don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt? The poem consists of five stanzas of eight lines each, but not until the last line is there the slightest hint as to its hero's walk in life, when suddenly he is apostrophized as "Ben Bolt of the salt-sea gale!" — a line that gives con- siderable "lift" to the whole and adds a touch of vigor to what was simply a sentimental ballad. It looks as if Dr. English had bethought himself at the ^7 jTamoug american ^ongg finish that Willis had asked for a sea poem, and, in order to comply with the request, had introduced the line at the end of five stanzas in which the sea was conspicuous by its absence. The curiously interesting fact is, however, that when he was halfway through the last stanza, his inspiration abso- lutely gave out. He *'got stuck," as the more commonplace saying is — when he chanced to think of the dis- carded sea poem and simply copied the last four lines of it on to what he had written, making them the last four lines of "Ben Bolt," which was duly published in the "New York Mirror" of September 2, 1843, with a few com- mendatory words (by way of compen- sation) from the editors, and signed with the author's initials, "T. D. E." "Ben Bolt" was set to music at least three times. The first version, which never was published, was made by Dominick M. H. May, of Baltimore, a young composer who at the time re- 88 OBen -Bolt sided in Washington. In 1848 a mel- ody composed by English himself was printed in Philadelphia, but it was not a success. The tune which carried "Ben Bolt" to the farthest ends of the English-speaking world had appeared two years before. It was a German melody which had been adapted to the words, or rather to a garbled version of them, by a strolling minstrel per- former named Nelson Kneass. This Kneass came of a good family, which had disowned him for going on the stage. He was a brother of Horn B. Kneass, who at one time was United States District Attorney for Eastern Pennsylvania. Kneass had a sweet tenor voice and became a favorite, but always was more or less of a rover. While appearing at a theatre in Pitts- burg he was told by the manager, who was preparing to produce a play by a local writer entitled "The Battle of Buena Vista," that if he could get a new song he would be cast in the 89 jfamou{2i American ^onggi piece. One of the hangers-on at the theatre was a former EngUsh news- paper man, A. M. Hunt. The minstrel consulted him about words, and Hunt told him that he had read some years before in a newspaper in England a poem called "Ben Bolt" of which he remembered enough to be able to piece it out for music. Kneass told him to go ahead, and Hunt produced three stanzas, made up in part of the origi- nal, in part of lines which Hunt sup- plied himself. Kneass adapted a Ger- man melody to them, sang the piece in the play, where it made a great hit, and it became almost instantaneously popular. Afterwards the music and the garbled version were published, and to this day the song is printed with the incorrect words. Two of the lines which Hunt had remembered correctly, And the shaded nook by the running brook, Where the children used to swim, were changed at the insistence of the publisher, who objected that to sing 90 THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH, IN OLD AGE xen T5olt about children in swimming would of- fend the sense of delicacy of some of his customers. In consequence the na- tatory diversions of the young hope- fuls were eliminated from the printed version, and the youngsters have not been permitted to go in swim- ming since— at least not in the song! Kneass received little for the musical setting. He continued his wandering life, until he died at Chillicothe, Mis- souri, where he had "stranded" with a theatrical troupe. He was buried there, and his headstone proclaims him the author of "Ben Bolt." But as he nei- ther wrote the words nor composed the music, the attribution seems some- what far-fetched. As most people know "Ben Bolt" through the song only, and as Dr. Eng- lish's original is far superior to the garbled version, it seems only just that it should be given here as he wrote it : 91 jfamoug american ^ongj^ Don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt? — Sweet Alice, whose hair was so brown. Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile, And trembled with fear at your frown 1 In the old churchyard, in the valley, Ben Bolt, In a comer obscure and alone. They have fitted a slab of the granite so gray, And Alice lies under the stone I Under the hickory tree, Ben Bolt, Which stood at the foot of the hill, Together we've lain in the noonday shade, And listened to Appleton's mill. The mill-wheel has fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt, The rafters have tumbled in. And a quiet that crawls round the walls as you gaze Has followed the olden din. Do you mind the cabin of logs, Ben Bolt, At the edge of the pathless wood. And the button-ball tree with its motley limbs, Which nigh by the doorstep stood ? The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt, The tree you would seek in vain ; And where once the lords of the forest waved. Grows grass and the golden grain. And don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt, With the master so cruel and grim, And the shaded nook by the running brook, Where the children went to swim? Grass grows on the master's grave, Ben Bolt, The spring of the brook is dry. And of all the boys who were schoolmates then, There are only you and I. 92 l$en OBolt There is change in the things I loved, Ben Bolt, They have changed from the old to the new ; But I feel in the depth of my spirit the truth, There never was change in you. Twelvemonths twenty have past, Ben Bolt, Since first we were friends — yet I hail Thy presence a blessing, thy friendship a truth, Ben Bolt of the salt-sea gale 1 It will be noticed that in the poem the schoolmaster is "cruel and grim," while in the song he became "kind and true," a weakening of the original which is found in every change in Hunt's version. The change to which English himself objected most was the elimination of the two lines be- ginning "And a quiet that crawls," which he considered the one touch of real poetic value in his stanzas. But in spite of the poor opinion which its author held of "Ben Bolt," it is easy to account for its popularity past and present. The lines have an easy swing, the reiteration of the name "Ben Bolt" is effective, and the whole voices the vain regrets with which, in later years, every one is apt to look back upon a 93 famow amertcan ^ongjS youth that is gone forever. William Vincent Wallace, the composer of "Maritana," wrote a piano fantasy on "Ben Bolt" which has attained the distinction of being included in what I may call the ** clothes- wringer" re- pertory. For it has been "perforated," and put on a roll, and thus can be ground out on the mechanical piano. "Perforated" fame is the grand mod- ern test of popularity. Let struggling poets and disheartened composers cheer up. For in these modern days every cloud has a "perforated" lin- ing! During the "Trilby" craze the re- quests for Dr. English's autographs became so numerous that, owing to an affection of the eyes which re- sulted in almost total blindness,— it being painful for him even to write his signature, — he was obliged to send a set printed declination in reply. Be- fore he adopted this method he re- ceived a request from a woman not 94 'Ben :Bolt only for his autograph, but also for a lock of his hair. To this he replied that as he just had paid a visit to his barber, who had cut off his hair at both ends, she would have to wait un- til he had grown a new crop. Another woman wrote him that she long had wondered whether the original Alice was as sweet and charming as the one portrayed in the poem ; and was she pretty? As there was no original Alice, these questions remained un- answered. Although Dr. English was anything but methodical, he liked to be consid- ered so. He had a set of pigeonholes over his desk all carefully labelled, but the contents were apt not to cor- respond with the labels. Thus under "Statistics" would be found a pack- age of Little Dahlias for his garden. His wife, whom he survived, was a fine pianist, a pupil of William Mason. After her death it greatly depressed Dr. English to hear the piano played, 95 famm^ american ^ongjsi and to spare his feelings the instru- ment was kept on the third floor of the house. The doctor was nothing of a poseur. Once when a canvasser for an 61ite directory called for his name and sub- scription, his reply was, "Get out of here, we don't belong to the 61itel" One of his idiosyncrasies was his in- sistence on making his own ink, and he used to say that he would have made a fortune if he had started an ink factory. When, in 1890, he was elected a Representative in Congress from the Essex district of New Jersey, he found that, notwithstanding his own low estimate of **Ben Bolt,"much courtesy was shown him as its author, some of the members telling him that when they were children, their mo- thers had sung it to them. He used to relate that soon after the song was published, a ship, a steamboat and a race horse were named after it ; add- ing, "The ship was wrecked, the steam- 96 ^^a. ^«Cvt^ *,rCX4 Cr*''uCf'?yycu3zijSV^/lf ^ ^*^