3. Native Ballads and Songs

NATIVE BALLADS AND SONGS

40. The Battle Of Point Pleasant 93

41. James Bird 93

42. Springfield Mountain 97

43. The Jealous Lover 101

44. Young Charlotte 103

45. The Old Shawnee 108

46. The Man That Wouldn't Hoe Corn . . . .110

47. Wicked Polly 111

48. Johnny Sands 114

49. Fuller And Warren 116

50. Poor Goins 118

51. Pooromie 119

52. Silver Dagger 121

53. The Aged Indian 124

54. Calomel 126

55. The Creole Girl 127

56. The Blue And The Gray 129

57. The Gambler 130

58. The Baggage Coach Ahead 131

59. Casey Jones 133

60. The Lady Elgin 134

61. The Jamestown Flood 135

62. The Milwaukee Fire 138

63. The Fatal Wedding 140

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NATIVE BALLADS AND SONGS

40. THE BATTLE OF POINT PLEASANT

Let us mind the tenth day of October,  
Seventy-four, which caused woe.
The Indian savages they did cover  
The pleasant banks of the Ohio.

Colonel Lewis and some noble Captains,  
Did down to death like Uriah go.
Alas! their heads are bound up with napkins,  
Upon the banks of the Ohio.

Seven score lay dead and wounded,  
Of champions who did face the foe;
By which the heathen were confounded,  
Upon the banks of the Ohio.

Oh, bless the mighty king of heaven,  
For all his wondrous works below,
Who hath to us the victory given  
Upon the banks of the Ohio.

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41. JAMES BIRD

Sons of pleasure, listen to me,   And ye daughters, too, give ear, You a sad and mournful story   As was ever told shall hear. Hull, you know, his troops surrendered,

And defenseless left the West, Then our forces quick assembled,

This invader to resist.

Among the troops that marched to Erie,

Were the Kingston volunteers; Captain Thomas then commanded

To protect our West frontiers.

Tender was the scene of parting—   Mothers wrung their hands and cried, Maidens wept their love in secret,   Fathers strove their tears to hide. But there was one among that number.

  Tall and graceful in his mien. Firm his steps, his looks undaunted— Ne'er a nobler youth was seen.

One sweet kiss he snatched from Mary,   Begged his mother's prayers once more, Pressed his father's hand and left them   For Lake Erie's distant shore. Mary strove to say, "Farewell, James!"

Waved her hand but nothing spoke; "Good-bye, Bird! May Heaven protect you.

From the rest the parting broke.
Soon they came where noble Perry

Had assembled all his fleet; There the gallant Bird enlisted,

Hoping soon the foe to meet.

Where is Bird? The battle rages;

   Is he in the strife or no? Now the cannon roar tremendous, Dare he meet the furious foe?

Ah behold him. See! with Perry   In the selfsame ship he fights; Though his messmates fall around him,   Nothing can his soul affright. But, behold, a ball hath struck him!

See the crimson current flow; "Leave the deck," exclaimed brave Perry.

"No," cried Bird, "I will not go.

"Here on deck I've took my station.

Ne'er will Bird his colors fly. I'll stand by the gallant Captain

Till we conquer or we die!"

So he fought both faint and bleeding,    Till our stars and stripes arose, Victory having crowned our efforts,   All triumphant o'er our foes. And did Bird receive a pension?

Was he to his friends restored? No, nor even to his bosom

Clasped the maid whom he adored.

But there came most dismal tidings   From Lake Erie's distant shore; Better if poor Bird had perished   Amid the battle's awful roar. "Dearest parents," said the letter,   "This will bring sad news to you. Do not mourn your first beloved,   Though this brings his last adieu. "I must suffer for deserting

  From the brig Niagara; Read this letter, brother, sister. 'Tis the last you will hear from me."

Sad and gloomy was the morning   Bird was ordered out to die; Where is the breast dares not to pity   Or for him would heave one sigh? 0 he fought so brave at Erie.

Nobly bled and nobly dared, Let his courage plead for mercy—

Let his precious life be spared!

See him march; hear his fetters   Harsh they clash upon the ear; But his step is firm and manly,   For his breast ne'er harbored fear. See, he kneels upon his coffin,

Sure his death can do no good; Spare Him! Hark! O God, they have shot him,

See his bosom streams with blood.

Farewell, Bird, farewell forever!

  Friends and home you'll see no more; But his mangled corpse lies buried On Lake Erie's distant shore.

42

(A) O JOHNNY DEAR, WHY DID YOU GO?

In Conway town there did dwell A lovely youth I knew full well. Ri tu nic a neari Ri tu nic a neari na. One day this youth did go Down in the meadow for to mow. He mowed all around, at length did feel A pizen serpent bite his heel. They carried him to Betsy dear, Which made her feel so very queer. "0 Johnny dear, why did you go Down in the meadow for to mow?" "O Betsy dear I thought you knowed 'Twas daddy's hay and must be mowed." Now this young man gave up the ghost And away to Abraham's bosom post. (B) [WOODVILLE MOUND]

Near Woodville Mound there did dwell A lovely youth, I knew him well. 'Twas Deacon Jones' oldest son, Who just riz up from twenty-one. Sing fal dum diddle, fal dum a day Fal dum diddle dum a day. John he went down in the wheatfield

And a mighty big snake bit him on the heel.

********

********

"O, Dad," said John, "run for my gal; I'm going to die, I know I shall." And Dad he went and carried the news And here come Sal without her shoes. "0 John," said Sal, "why did you go Down in that wheatfield for to mow?" "O Sal," said John, "I thought you knowed That Daddy's wheat had for to be mowed." (C) IN SPRINGFIELD MOUNTAIN

In Springfield Mountain there did dwell

      Come-a-row In Springfield Mountain there did dwell A lovely couple that I love so well. Come-a-rousing-a-tousing-tudan-an-a-die.

He went out in the meadow for to mow, When a garter snake gathered him by the toe. He mowed just twice around the field

When a rattle-snake gathered him by the heel.

O, he stepped back as he thought best Right into a yaller-jacket's nest. "O, Billie dear, why did you go Out in the meadow for to mow?" "0, Mary dear, I thought you knowed 'Twas your pa's hay and it had to be mowed."
(D) SPRINGFIELD MOUNTAIN

Near Springfield Mountain there did dwell Tum er ei tum too tum tidinei ay

Near Springfield Mountain there did dwell. Tumerow.

Near Springfield Mountain there did dwell

 Tum er ei, etc. A lovelie youth was known full well, Tumerow.

This lovelie youth was sixty-one

 Tum er ei, etc. And General Jackson's favorite son, Tumerow.

This lovelie youth courting one night

  Turn er ei, etc. Got into a tremendous fight Tumerow.

One Sunday morning he did go

  Turn er ei, etc. Down in the meadows for to mow. Tumerow.

43

(A) THE JEALOUS LOVER

Way down in the lonely valley,

Where the violets fade and bloom, 'Tis there my sweet Lorella

Lies mouldering in the tomb. She did not stay heartbroken,

Nor by disease she fell, But in one moment parted

From those she loved so well.

The banners waved above her,    Shrill was the bugle sound, But strangers came and found her   Cold, lifeless on the ground. One night when the moon shone brightly,

  And the stars were shining too, Into her quiet cottage   Her jealous lover drew, Saying, "Love, come let us wander   Amid the fields so gay; While wandering we will ponder Upon our wedding day."

Deep, deep into the woodland,

He drew his love so dear; Says she, " 'Tis for you only

That I am wandering here. The day grows dark and dreary,

And I'm afraid to stay; Of wandering I am weary,

And we'll retrace my way."

"Retrace your steps? No, never!

No more this world you roam, So bid farewell forever

To your parents, friends, and home." "Farewell, my loving parent;

I ne'er shall see you more; Long, long will be my coming

To the quiet cottage door."

Down on her knees before him

She begged him for her life; Deep, deep into her bosom,

He plunged the fatal knife, "Dear Willie, I'll forgive you,"

Was her last dying breath; "I never have deceived you,"

She closed her eyes in death.

(B) THE WEEPING WILLOW

Way down in yonder valley,

Where the weeping willows wave,

There lies my poor Lurella   In her cold and silent grave. She died not broken hearted,

From sickness or despair, But in one moment started

From the friends she loved so fair—

Down on her knees before him

She pleaded for her life; But deep into her bosom

He plunged the fatal knife.

Saying, "Your parents will forgive me   For the deed which I have done; For I'm going to leave this country   Never more for to return." 44

YOUNG CHARLOTTE

Young Charlotte lived on the mountain side

  In a lone and dreary spot; No other house for miles around Except her father's cot.

And yet on many a winter's night,   Young swains were gathered there; For her father kept a social board,   And she was very fair. Her father loved to see her dressed

  Like any city belle; She was the only child he had And he loved his daughter well.

On New Year's eve as the sun went down,

  Far looked her wistful eye Out from the frosty window pane As the merry sleighs passed by.

In the village fifteen miles away,

  Was to be a ball that night, And though the air was piercing cold Her heart beat warm and light.

How brightly beams her laughing eye,   As a well-known voice she hears; And driving up to the cottage door   Young Charles and his sleigh appears. "O daughter dear," her mother said,   "This blanket round you fold; It is a dreadful night without,   You'll catch your death of cold." "0 no, 0 no!" young Charlotte cried,   And she laughed like a, gypsy queen; "To ride in blankets muffled up,    I never will be seen.
My silken cloak is quite enough,   You know it's lined throughout; Besides I have my silken scarf   To tie my neck about." Her bonnet and her gloves put on,

  She stepped into the sleigh, Rode swiftly down the mountain side And o'er the hills away.

There was music in the sound of the bells,

  As o'er the hills they go; Such a creaking noise the runners make As they cleave the frozen snow.

With muffled face and silent lips   Five miles at length were passed When Charles with few and shivering words   The silence broke at last. "Such a dreadful night I never knew,

 My reins I scarce can hold. Fair Charlotte shivering faintly said "I am exceeding cold."

He cracked his whip, he urged his steed

  Much faster than before. And thus five other dreary miles In silence they passed o'er.

Says Charles, "How fast the freezing ice

   Is gathering on my brow." And Charlotte still more faintly said "I'm growing warmer now."

So on they rode through frosty air

And the glittering cold starlight, Until at last the village lamps

And the ballroom came in sight.

Charles drove to the door, he then jumped out,

And reached his hand for her. Why sit there like a monument that has no power to stir?

That has no power to stir?

He called her once, he called her twice;

  She answered not a word. He asked her for her hand again, But still she never stirred.

He took her hand in his—O God!

'Twas cold and hard as stone. He tore the mantle from her brow

Cold sweat upon there shone.

Then quickly to the dancing hall

  Her lifeless form he bore; Fair Charlotte was a frozen corpse And spake she nevermore.

And then he sat down by her side

  While bitter tears did flow, And cried, "My own, my charming bride, You never more will know."

He twined his arms around her neck

  And kissed her marble brow; His thoughts flew back to where she said "I'm growing warmer now."

'Twas then that cruel monster, Death,

Had claimed her as his own; Young Charlotte's eyes were closed for aye,

Her voice was heard no more.

He carried her out to the sleigh,

  And with her he rode home; And when he reached the cottage door O how her parents mourned.

Her parents mourned for their daughter dear,   And Charles wept o'er the gloom. Till at last young Charles too died of grief   And they both lie in one tomb. Young ladies, think of this fair girl

And always dress aright, And never venture thinly clad

On such a wintry night.

45

(A) THE OLD SHAWNEE

I ask my love to take a walk,

To take a walk a little way; And as we walk we'll sweetly talk

Of when shall be the wedding day.

Then only say that you'll be mine,   And your home shall happy be, Where the silent waters roll,   On the banks of the old Shawnee. She said, "To that I'll ne'er consent,"   And he says, "Your life I'll take." "My life you'll take instead of me,   For I ne'er shall give away." He drew a knife across her breast,

And in anger she did cry, "0 Willie dear, don't murder me,

For I am not fit to die."

He took her by her long black hair,   And he threw her on the ground, And drew her to the river side,   And left her alone to die (B) ON THE BANKS OF THE OLD PEDEE

I asked my love to take a walk,

  And a walk she took with me. As we walked I gently talked Of when our wedding day would be.

Then she said she'd never be mine,

  And her home would never be Where the bright waters flow On the banks of the old Pedee.

From my breast I drew a knife,

And she gave a shrilling cry, "0 Willie dear, don't murder me,

For I am not prepared to die."

Then I took her lily white hands

And swung her round and again around,

Until she fell in the waters cruel,   And there I watched my true love drown. "0 father dear, I've done a deed,

  And a deed it is to me, To have drowned my own true love On the banks of the old Pedee."
46

THE MAN THAT WOULDN'T HOE CORN

I'll sing you a song, it won't take long, Concerning a man who wouldn't hoe corn. The reason why I cannot tell, For this young man was always well. In the month of May he planted his corn,

And in July it was knee high.

In September there came a frost,

The seed of his corn this young man lost.

He went to the fence, peeped in with a grin, The chick-a-pie weeds were up to his chin. The weeds and grass had grown so high, It almost made this young man cry. Then off to a neighbor's house he goes, Courting, as we all suppose; And in the chat as chance came round, She says, "Young man, have you hoed your     ground?" "0 no, my dear, I've laid it by, I thought it was no use to try, I thought it folly to labor in vain, When I saw I could raise no grain." "Then why so silly as to ask me to wed, When you can't earn your own corn bread? Single I am and single I'll remain, A lazy man I won't maintain." "I won't be bound, I will be free,

I won't marry a man that don't love me;

Neither will I act the childish part,

And marry a man that will break my heart."

He hung his head as he went away, Saying, "Young woman, you'll rue the day, Rue the day as sure as you're born, To give me the mitten because I wouldn't hoe      corn." 47

(A) WICKED POLLY

Young people, who delight in sin, I'll tell you what has lately been, A woman who was young and fair Has lately died in dark despair. She would to frolic, dance, and play In spite of all her friends could say. "I'll turn to God when I get old, And then he will receive my soul." On Friday morning she took sick, Her stubborn heart began to break "Alas, alas, my days are spent! Good lord, too late for to repent!" She called her mother to her bed; Her eyes were rolling in her head. "When I am dead remember well Your wicked Polly screams in hell! "The tears are lost you shed for me. My soul is lost I plainly see. The flowing wrath begins to roll, I am a lost, a ruined soull" She gnawed her tongue before she died, She rolled, she groaned, she cried, Saying, "Must I burn forevermore When thousand, thousand years are o'er?" At length master death prevailed. Her face turned blue, her language failed. She closed her eyes and left this world. Poor Polly thought that hell was hers. This almost broke her mother's heart To see her child to hell depart. "My Polly, 0 my Polly's dead! Her soul is gone, her spirit's fled!" (B) WICKED POLLY

0 young people, hark while I relate The story of poor Polly's fate! She was a lady young and fair And died a-groaning in despair. She would go to balls and dance and play In spite of all her friends could say; "I'll turn" said she, "when I am old, And God will then receive my soul." One Sabbath morning she fell sick; Her stubborn heart began to ache. She cries, "Alas my days are spent! It is too late now to repent." She called her mother to her bed, Her eyes were rolling in her head; A ghastly look she did assume; She cries, "Alas, I am undone!" "My loving father, you I leave;

For wicked Polly do not grieve;

For I must burn forevermore,

When thousand thousand years are o'er.

"Your councils I have slighted all, My carnal appetite to fill. When I am dead, remember well Your wicked Polly groans in hell!" She (w)rung her hands and groaned and cried, And gnawed her tongue before she died, Her nails turned black, her voice did fail, She died and left this lower vale. 48

(A) JOHNNY SANDS

A man whose name was Johnny Sands

  Had married Betty Hague, And though she brought him gold and lands,   She proved a terrible plague. For O she was a scolding wife,   Full of caprice and whim, He said that he was tired of life, And she was tired of him,

And she was tired of him.

Says he, "Then I will drown myself,

  The river runs below." Says she, "Pray do, you silly elf,    I wished it long ago." Says he, "Upon the brink I'll stand,   Do you run down the hill And push me in with all your might." Says she, "My love, I will."

Says she, "My love, I will."
"For fear that I should courage lack

  And try to save myself, Pray tie my hands behind my back."   "I will," replied his wife. She tied them fast, as you may think,   And when securely done, "Now stand," says she, "upon the brink, And I'll prepare to run,

And I'll prepare to run."

And down the hill his loving bride

  Now ran with all her force To push him in—he stepped aside   And she fell in of course. Now splashing, dashing, like a fish,  "O save me, Johnny Sands." "I can't, my dear, though much I wish, For you have tied my hands,

For you have tied my hands."

(B) JOHNNY SANDS

A man whose name was Johnny Sands

Had married Betty Hodge, And though she brought him gold and land,

She proved a terrible pledge, For O she was a scolding wife,

And full of whines and whims. He said that he was tired of life

And she was tired of him.

Says he, "Then I will drown myself

  In the river that runs below." Says she, "Pray do, you silly elf,    I wished it long ago." "For fear that I should courage lack   And try to save my life, Pray tie my hands behind my back." "I will," replied his wife."

And now he's standing on the bank,

  She ran with all her force To push him in—he stepped aside   And she fell in of couree. Now splashing, dashing like a fish,   "0, save me, Johnny Sands." "I can't my dear, though much I wish, For you have tied my hands."

49

FULLER AND WARREN

Come ye sons of Columbia, your attention I do crav^,

Whilst a sorrowful duty I will tell

That happened us of late, in our Indiana state,

Of a hero that none could excel.

Like Sampson he courted the choice of his life

And fully intended to make her his wife;

The golden ring he gave her was an emblem of true love,

And 'twas carved with the image of a dove.

This young couple they agreed to be married in speed; This they vowed by the powers above. But this fickle minded maid did again agree to wed With young Warren, a liver in that place. When Fuller came to know he was deprived of his love, With a heart full of woe, unto Warren he did go, Saying, "Warren, you have injured me to gratify your      cause By reporting that I left a prudent wife,

Now acknowledge that you've wronged me, or I will

break the law, Warren, I will rob you of your life."

Then Warren said to Fuller, "Sir, your question I deny,

And my heart to your true love it is bound;

And unto you I say, this is my wedding day,

In spite of all the heroes in the town."

Then Fuller in a passion of love and anger bound

Which at length caused many for to sigh,

For with one fatal shot he killed Warren on the spot,

And smiled as he said, "I am ready now to die."

Then Fuller was condemned by the honorable court,

And in Warrensburg was sentenced for to die

The ignominious death to hang above the earth

Like Haman on the gallows so high.

The day did arrive, young Fuller was to die,

Like an angel he did stand for he was a handsome man,

On his breast he wore the red, white and blue.

Ten thousand spectators were smote upon that spot Whilst the guards dropped a tear from their eyes, Saying, "Cursed is the she that caused this misery, She herself instead of him had ought to die." Now here's to all those who have been kind to loving      wives, You should crown them with honors and with light, For marriage is a lottery and 'tis few that win the prize, So, gentlemen, excuse me, goodnight! 50

POOR GOINS

Come all of you young people who lives far and near, I'll tell you of a murder done on the Black Spur. They surrounded poor Goins, but Goins got away; He went to El i Boggs' and there he did stay. Old Eli's son Hughie his life did betray

By telling him he'd go with him to show him the way.

They took up the nine miles spar boys, they made no delay,

Afraid they would miss him and Goins get away.

When they saw him coming, they lay very still, Saying, "It's money we're after, and Goins we'll kill." They fired on poor Goins, which made his horse run; The shot failed to kill him; George struck him with a gun.

"Sweet heavens, sweet heavens!" poor Goins did cry, "To think of my poor companion, and now I must die."

And when they had killed him, with him they would not stay;

They then took his money and then rode away.

I wish you could have been there to hear her poor moan: "Here lies his poor body, but where is his poor soul?"

51

POOR OMIE

"You promised to meet me at Adam's spring; Some money you would bring me, or some other fine      thing." "No money, no money, to flatter the case, We'll go and get married, it will be no disgrace. "Come jump up behind me and away we will ride To yonder fair city; I will make you my bride." She jumped up behind him and away they did go

To the banks of deep waters where they never overflow.
"O Omie, 0 Omie, I will tell you my mind; My mind is to drown you and leave you behind." "O pity! 0 pity! Pray spare me my life, And I will deny you and not be your wife." "No pity, no pity, no pity have I;

In yonder deep water your body shall lie."

He kicked her and stomped her, he threw her in the deep;

He jumped on his pony and rode at full speed.

The screams of poor Omie followed after him so nigh, Saying, "I am a poor rebel not fitten to die."

She was missing one evening, next morning was found In the bottom of Siloty below the mill dam.

Up stepped old Miss Mother, these words she did say, "James Luther has killed Omie and he has run away. "He has gone to Elk River, so I understand, They have got him in prison for killing a man. "They have got him in Ireland, bound down to the ground;

And he wrote a confession and sent it around.

"'Go hang me or kill me, for I am the man That drowned little Omie below the mill dam.'" 52

(A) SILVER DAGGER

Come all young men, please lend attention   To these few words I'm going to write; They are as true as ever were written   Concerning a lady fair and bright. A young man courted a fair young maiden;

  He loved her as he loved his life, And always vowed that he would make her His own true and wedded wife.

But when his parents came to know this,   They tried to part them day and night, Saying, "Son, 0 son, don't you be so foolish—   That girl's too poor for to be your wife." This young man fell down on his knees a-pleading,

"0 father, mother, pity me. Don't take from me my dearest darling,

For she is all the world to me."

But when the young lady came to know this,   She soon resolved what she would do. She wandered forth and from the city,   Never more her charms to view. She wandered down by a bright flowing river,

And sat herself beneath a tree. She sighed and said, "0 will I ever,

Will I e'er more my true love see?"

Then up she picked her silver dagger,

And pressed it through her snowy white breast.

She first did reel and then did stagger,

Saying, "My true love, you come too late."

This young man being by the roadside heard her;

He thought he knew his true love's voice. He ran, he ran, like one distracted,

Saying, "My true love, I fear you're lost."

He ran up to this dying body,

Rolled it over into his arms, Saying, "Neither gold nor friends can save you,

For you are dying in my arms."

Her two pretty eyes like stars she opened,   Saying, "My true love, you come too late. Prepare to meet me on Mount Zion,   Where all lover's joys shall be complete." Then up he picked this bloody dagger,   Pressed it through his aching heart; And now, dear friends, may this be a warning   To all who try to part true love. (B) SILVER DAGGER

Come sit you down and give attention   Of these few lines I am going to write. 'Tis of a comely youth whose name I'll mention  Who lately courted a beauteous bride. But when her parents came to know it,   They strove, they strove, by night and day To keep her from her own dear William.   "He is poor," they would ofttimes say. She being young and tender hearted,   Not knowing what she must undergo, She wandered far, she left the city,   Some shady grove and field to view. She being alone down by the river,   All in the shade of a blooming tree, She says, "And shall I, shall I ever,   The wife of my Sweet William be?" She then pulled out a silver dagger,

And pierced it through her snowy white breast; Saying these words, just as she staggered,

"Farewell, true love, I'm going to rest."

He being lone down in the city,   Hearing the moans this young lady made, He run like one almost distracted,   Saying, "Alas, I am undone." She opened her eyes like stars a-drooping;

She says, "True love, you have come too late. Prepare to meet me on Mount Zion,

Where all our joys will be complete."

He then picked up the silver dagger,   And pierced it through his tender heart, Saying, "Let this be an awful warning   To all that do true lovers part." 53

THE AGED INDIAN

A hunter once built him a cabin

  In the depth of a forest wild, And there in the lonely cabin He dwelt with his wife and child.

The smoke from the nearest wigwam

  Came curling over the hill, It was built from the skins of the panther Which gave proof of the hunter's skill.

The hunter one early morning

  To a distant town had gone Leaving his wife and Ida At home in the woods alone.
Ida's long brown lashes   Hung over her eyes like silk, As sitting down by the window   She drank her basin of milk. Suddenly a long dark shadow

Came in at the open door Shutting out all the sunlight

Which fell across the floor.

As he stood in the open doorway   The mother too well knew his will Was to take her darling Ida   To his wigwam over the hill. He spoke with many a gesture.

The mother was almost wild, When she saw the aged Indian

Departing with her child.

He carried her to his wigwam   That stood just over the hill And there with the aged Indian   Forever she did dwell. She taught him to read the Bible,   And pray to the God that is true; He taught her to tie and weave baskets   Of a gold and azure hue. 54

CALOMEL

Ye doctors all of every rank With their long bills that break a bank, Of wisdom's learning, art, and skill Seems all composed of calomel. Since calomel has been their toast, How many patients have they lost, How many hundreds have they killed, Or poisoned with their calomel. If any fatal wretch be sick Go call the doctor, haste, be quick, The doctor comes with drop and pill, But don't forget his calomel. He enters, by the bed he stands, He takes the patient by the hand, Looks wise, sits down his pulse to feel, And then takes out his calomel. Next, turning to the patient's wife, He calls for paper and a knife. "I think your husband would do well To take a dose of calomel." The man grows worse, grows bad indeed "Go call the doctor, ride with speed."

The doctor comes, the wife to tell To double the dose of calomel. The man begins in death to groan, The fatal job for him is done, The soul must go to heaven or hell, A sacrifice to calomel. The doctors of the present day Mind not what an old woman say, Nor do they mind me when I tell I am no friend to calomel. Well, if I must resign my breath, Pray let me die a natural death, And if I must bid all farewell, Don't hurry me with calomel. 55

THE CREOLE GIRL

Over swamps and alligators I'm on my weary way Over railroad ties and crossings, my weary feet did stray,

Until the shades of evening some higher ground I gained.

'Twas there I met a Creole girl on the lakes of Ponchartrain.

"Good eve to you, fair maiden, my money does me no good;

If it were not for the alligators I would stay out in the wood."

"O welcome, welcome, stranger, although our house is plain;

We never turn a stranger out'on the lakes of Ponchartrain."

She took me to her mother's house and treated me quite well,

Her hair in flowing ringlets around her shoulders fell. I tried to paint her beauty, but I found it was in vain, So beautiful was the Creole girl on the lakes of Pon-      chartrain. I asked her if she would marry me, she said that never could be,

She said she had a lover, and he was far at sea. She said she had a lover and true she would remain, Till he came back to her again on the lakes of Pon-      chartrain. "Adieu, adieu, fair maiden, I never will see you more, I'll never forget your kindness in the cottage by the shore.

At home in social circles, our flaming bowls we'll drain, We'll drink to the health of the creole girl on the lakes of Ponchartrain."

56

THE BLUE AND THE GRAY

A mother's gift to her country's cause is a story yet untold,

She had three sons, three only sons, each worth his

weight in gold. She gave them up for the sake of war, while her heart

was filled with pain. As each went away she was heard to say, "He will

never return again."

One lies down near Appomattox, many miles away,

Another sleeps at Chickamauga, and they both

wore suits of gray. 'Mid the strains of "Down in Dixie" the third

was laid away, In a trench at Santiago, the blue and the gray.

She's alone tonight, while the stars shine bright, with

a heart full of despair. On the last great day I can hear her say, "My three

boys will be there. Perhaps they'll watch at the heavenly gates, on guard

beside their guns. Then the mother, true to the gray and blue, may enter

with her sons."
57

THE GAMBLER

My father was a gambler, he learnt me how to play, My father was a gambler, he learnt me how to play, Saying, "Son, don't go a-begging when you hold the      ace and tray,   When you hold the ace and tray." Hang me, 0 hang me, and I'll be dead and gone, Hang me, 0 hang me, and I'll be dead and gone, I wouldn't mind the hangin', it's bein' gone so      long, It's layin' in my grave so long.

They took me down to old Fort Smith as sick as I could be,

They took me down to old Fort Smith as sick as I could be,

They handed me a letter saying, "Son, come home to me,"

Saying, "Son, come home to me."

My father and my mother and my little sister makes three,

My father and my mother and my little sister makes three,

They all came up to the gallows to see the last of me. To see the last of me.

They put the rope around my neck and drew me very high,

They put the rope around my neck and drew me very high,

And the words I heard sayin' was, "It won't be long till he'll die, It won't be long till he'll die."

68

THE BAGGAGE COACH AHEAD

On a dark and stormy night as the train rolled on

     All passengers gone to bed, Except a young man with a babe on his arm   Sat sadly with bowed down head; Just then the babe commenced crying   As though its poor heart would break. One angry man said, "Make that child stop its      noise,   For it's keeping us all awake." "Put it out," said another, "Don't keep it in here;   We've paid for our berth and want rest." But never a word said the man with the child,   As he fondled it close to his breast. "O where is its mother? Go take it to her,"   One lady then softly said. "I wish that I could," was the man's sad reply. "But she's dead in the coach ahead."

As the train rolled inward, a husband sat in tears,

Thinking of the happiness of just a few

short years. Baby's face brings pictures of a cherished

hope now dead, But baby's cries can't awaken her in the

baggage coach ahead.

Every eye filled with tears as the story he told   Of a wife who was faithful and true; He told how he'd saved up his earnings for years,   Just to build a home for two; How when heaven had sent them their sweet little babe,

Their young happy lives were blest; His heart seemed to break when he mentioned her name,

And in tears tried to tell them the rest. Every woman arose to assist with the child;

There were mothers and wives on that train. And soon was the little one sleeping in peace,

  With no thought of sorrow or pain. Next morn at the station he bade all goodbye,   "God bless you," he softly said, Each one had a story to tell in their homes Of the baggage coach ahead.

59

CASEY JONES

i. />■*« ■ -". •>.<>

Come all you rounders for I want you to hear

The story told of an engineer;

Casey Jones was the rounder's name,

A heavy right (eight?) wheeler of a mighty fame.

Caller called Jones about half past four, He kissed his wife at the station door, Climbed into the cab with the orders in his hand, Says, "This is my trip to the holy land." Through South Memphis yards on the fly, He heard the fore boy say, "You've got a white eye." All the switchmen knew by the engine moan That the man at the throttle was Casey Jones. It had been raining some five or six weeks, The railroad track was like the bed of a creek. They rated him down to a thirty mile gait, Threw the south-bound mail about eight hours late. Foreman says, "Casey, you're runnin' too fast, You run the block board the last station you passed." Jones says, "Yes, I believe we'll make it, though, For she steams better than I ever know." Jones says, "Foreman, don't you fret;

Keep knockin' at the fire door, don't give up yet

I'm going to ran her till she leaves the rail, Or make it on time with the Southern mail." Around the curve and down the dump,

Two locomotives were bound to bump.

Foreman hollered, "Jones, it's just ahead,

We might jump and make it, but we'll all be dead."

'Twas around this curve he spied a passenger train, Rousing his engine he caused the bell to ring; Foreman jumped off, but Jones stayed on— He's a good engineer, but he's dead and gone. Poor Casey Jones was all right, For he stuck to his duty both day and night, They loved to hear his whistle and ring of number   three, As he came into Memphis on the old I. C.

Headaches and heartaches and all kinds of pain Are not apart from a railroad train; Tales that are in earnest, noble, and grand, Belong to the life of a railroad man. 60

THE LADY ELGIN

Up from the man's cottage,   Forth from the mansion door,
Sweeping across the waters   And echoing to the shore, Caught by the morning breezes,   Borne on the evening gale, Cometh a voice of mourning,  A sad and solemn wail. Lost on the Lady Elgin, Sleeping to wake no more, Numbered in death three hundred Who failed to reach the shore. O it's the cry of children

  Weeping for parents gone, Children who slept at evening   But orphans awoke at dawn; Sisters for brother weeping,   Husbands for missing wives, Such were the ties dissevered With those three hundred lives.

61

THE JAMESTOWN FLOOD

Is it news you ask for, strangers, as you stand and gaze around

At those cold and lifeless bodies lying here upon the ground?

Do you see that lady yonder, with the little girl and boy?

That's my wife, my darling Minnie, once my household pride and joy.

Just an hour ago I brought them from the river's fatal tide,

Laid them here where now you see them, all together side by side.

Strangers, if you'll turn to listen to my story long and sad,

You'll confess it is no wonder that today I'm almost mad.

We were seated at the table chatting in a happy mood, When we heard a mighty rushing like some great and awful flood,

Nearer! nearer! came the water, till at last it reached our home,

O the horror of the moment when we realized our doom!

Not one moment did we tarry, but with cheeks and brow aglow

Climbed we to the topmost chamber for how long I do not know,

Then I clasped my wife and children to my chilled and aching heart

For I saw that soon or later we would surely have to part.

Faster, faster rushed the waters; tighter, tighter grew my grasp

Till a wave of mud and fury tore both children from my clasp

Then my wife grew faint and trembly, cold and white

her marble brow, One low whisper, scarcely spoken; "You are all that's

left me now.

"Let your arms enfold me, husband, lay your head

upon my breast, O, our children, may tfe guide them to a place of peace

and rest;

May |fe spare you to me, darling, to protect"—But

while she spoke Downward rushed a mighty current and my deathlike

grasp was broke.

Down she went, my last sweet darling, she my true and loving wife,

She had been my joy and comfort all along the path of life.

Just as in a dream I stood there till at last a shout I heard,

From some men who stood above me, "Grasp the rope, we'll help you out."

And before night's sable curtain spread across the angry wave

I was drawn above and rescued from a cold and watery grave,

But my darling wife and children floated on till one by one

They were found and carried to me, but their work on earth was done.

Sad and mournful as I stood there, saw no signs of life or breath;

O'er my heart fell deep dark shadows as I saw them cold in death.

And a flood of thought came o'er me, overwhelming

mind and heart, And my soul cried out within me, "O my loved ones,

must we part?

Fare thee well, my wife and children, in my heart you'll ever be

Till I too shall cross the river where we will united be, Then we'll have the joy of loving as we never loved before,

Where no hearts are chilled and broken, in the sweet forevermore."

62

THE MILWAUKEE FIRE

'Twas the gray of early morning when the dreadful cry of fire

Rang out upon the cold and piercing air; Just that little word alone is all it would require To spread dismay and panic everywhere. Milwaukee was excited as it never was before, On learning that the fire bells all around

Were ringing to eternity a hundred souls or more

And the Newhall house was burning to the ground.

0 hear the firebells ringing at the morning's      early dawn. Hear the voices as they give that dreadful cry! O hear the wail of terror 'mid the fierce and     burning flames. Heaven protect them for they're waiting there to die.

The firemen worked like demons and did all within

their power To save a life or try to soothe a pain. It made the strongest heart sick, for in less than half

an hour

All was hushed and further efforts were in vain. When the dread alarm was sounded through the oft.     condemned hotel They rushed in mad confusion every way. The smoke was suffocating and blinding them as weH| The fire king could not be held at bay. At every window men and women wildly would beseech

For help in tone of anguish and despair;

What must have been their feelings where the ladders

could not reach As they felt death's grasp round them everywhere. Up in the highest window stood a servant girl alone;
The crowd beneath all gazed with bated breath; They turned away their faces; there was many a stifled groan

When she jumped to meet perhaps as hard a death.

A boy stood in a window and his mother was below;

She saw him, and the danger drawing near;

With hands upraised to pray for him she knelt down

in the snow, And the stoutest men could not restrain a tear. She madly rushed toward the fire and wildly tore her

hair

"Take me, 0 God, but spare my pride, my joy." She saw the flames surround him and then in dark despair

Said, "God have mercy on my only son."

63

THE FATAL WEDDING

The wedding bells were ringing

 On a moonlight winter's night; The church was decorated,   All within was gay and bright. A mother with her baby   Came and saw the light aglow. She thought of how those same bells chimed Fdr. her three years ago.

While the wedding bells were ringing

And the bride and groom were there, Marching up the aisle together

While the organ pealed an air, Speaking words of fond affection,

Vowing never more to part, Just another fatal wedding,

Just another broken heart.

"I'd like to be admitted, sir,

She told the sexton old, Just for the sake of baby,

  To protect him from the cold." He told her that the wedding   Was for the rich and grand, And with the eager watching crowd Outside she'd have to stand.

She begged the sexton once again

  To let her step inside, "For baby's sake you may come in,"   The gray-haired man replied. "If anyone knows reason why This couple should not wed Speak now or hold your peace forever,"

Soon the preacher said.

"I must object," the woman cried   With voice so meek and mild, "The bridegroom is my husband,   And this our little child." "What proof have you?" the preacher said,

 "My infant," she replied, Then raised the babe and knelt to pray; The little one had died.

The parents of the bride then took

The outcast by the hand, "We'll care for you through life," they said,

  "You've saved our child from harm." The outcast wife, the bride, and parents   Then quickly drove away. The husband died by his own hand Before the break of day.

No wedding feast that night was spread,

Two graves were made next day, One for the babe, and in the one

The father soon was laid. This story has been often told,

By fireside warm and bright, Of bride and groom and outcast

On that fatal wedding night.

------------------------
NOTES:
40. The Battle Op Point Pleasant. Song included with other traditional songs in Kate Aplington's Pilgrims of the Plains (1913), p. 209. She says of its singers: "There are many among them who cannot read, and for those who can there are no newspapers or books. The time would hang heavy on their hands if one did not take it upon himself to help entertain the others. They are capital story tellers and they are all of them singers, and they give themselves up to the spell of the music with a whole-hearted enthusiasm that gives to their rudest ballads something of charm and power."

41. James Bird. This song of a hero of the war of 1812 was known to S. B. Pound of Lincoln, Nebraska, who brought it from Ontario County, New York. H. M. Belden has a copy from Clinton County, Missouri, written down in 1915. It was composed in 1814 by Charles Miner, of Wilkesbarre, Pennsylvania.

42. (A) O Johnny Dear, Why Did You Go? Secured by Marie Gladys Hayden of Hobson, Montana, in 1914 from E. B. Lyon, who reported the song as he heard it sung in a log schoolhouse in Illinois in the year 1857. This song dates from the eighteenth century and grew out of a local event. See "Elegy of a Young Man Bitten by a Rattlesnake" in E. E. Hale's New England History in Ballads (1904), p. 86. See also The Journal of American Folk-Lore, vol. 13, pp. 105-112; vol. 18, pp. 295-302; vol. 22, pp. 366-67; vol. 28, p. 169. The original text is in existence, and the variants of this song, from different regions well exhibit what has happened to it in more than a century of oral, transmission and migration.

(B) [woodville Mound.] Text secured for H. M. Belden by Miss G. M. Hamilton from Marie Walt, one of her pupils in the West Plains, Missouri, High School in 1909, who knew it as sung to her in her childhood by her mother. Title supplied.

(C) In Springfield Mountain. Text sent to H. M. Belden by Miss G. M. Hamilton, who secured it from one of her students at the Kirksville Normal School, Missouri, in 1911.

(D) Springfield Mountain. Text secured by Frances Botkin and Zora Schaupp from Mrs. Adna Dobson of Lincoln, Nebraska, in 1920.

43. (A) The Jealous Loveb. From a manuscript book of ballads in the possession of L. C. Wimberly, 1916. This is one of the most widespread of American ballads. It is current under many names, as "Lorella," "Floella," "Florilla," "Flora Ella," "Poor LureUa," "Poor Lora," "Poor Loila," "Nell," etc. Professor J. H. Cox has pointed out that the West Virginia "Pearl Bryan" is an adaptation of this song, with a minimum of verbal changes, to fit the murder of a gill of that name which occurred near Fort Thomas, Kentucky, in 1896. The song had an ephemeral popularity after the execution of the murderers.

(B) The Weeping Willow. Obtained by Lillian Gear Boswell from the singing of Albert Clay of Junction, Wyoming, in 1914.

44. Young Charlotte. Text obtained by Marie Gladys Hayden of Hobson, Montana, from the singing of a girl from Plainvillo, Kansas, in 1914. For the history of this song, which was composed in Bensontown, Vermont, before 1835 and grew out of a local event, see Phillips Barry, Journal of American Folk-Lore, vol. 25, p. 156, 1912. Mr. Barry believes that it was carried over the country as its author went to Ohio and later to Illinois, on his way to join the Mormons in Utah. It is widely current.

45. (A) The Old Shawnee. Text from a manuscript book in the possession of L. C. Wimberly, 1916.

(B) On The Banes Of The Old Pedes. The same song, as obtained from Lillian Gear Boswell at Junction, Wyoming, 1915.

46. The Younq Man Who Wouldn't Hoe Corn. Text secured from Bessie Aten when a student at the University of Nebraska in 1914. The song is sometimes known as "Harm Link." See Campbell and Sharp, English Folk Songs of the Southern Appalachians, p. 314; Journal of American Folk Lore, vol. 29, p. 181. A. H. Tolman's text of the same piece goes under the name of The Lazy Man.

47. Wicked Polly. Text from E. F. Piper, who had it from Mrs. Lydia Hinshaw of Richland, Iowa. The second text is one of four printed by P. Barry, Modem Language Notes, vol. 28, p. 1. A. H. Tolman has a version in The Journal of American Folk-Lore, vol. 29, p. 192, 1916.

48. Johnny Sands. The first text is from a manuscript book of songs obtained by Grace Munson of Chicago from Mrs. Woodruff of Weston Road, Wellesley, in 1916. The second text is from Harry Gear, of Junction, Wyoming, 1914. For this song see A. H. Tolman, "Some Songs Traditional in the United States," Journal oj American Folk-Lore, vol. 29, p. 178, with Kittredge's annotations. It belongs to the forties of the nineteenth century. It achieved enormous vogue in this country, says Professor Kittredge, by forming part of the repertory of the Hutchinson Family, the Continental Vocalists, and other singing "troupes."

49. Fuller And Warren. Obtained from Jane Andrews of Cambridge, Nebraska, in 1915. Miss Andrews made this comment: "This song was sung in 1874 by some young men in western Nebraska who had come from the vicinity in which this really happened."

50. Poor Goins. Obtained by G. L. Kittredge from Loraine Wyman "as sung by Rob Morgan, Hindman, Kentucky, in 1916." See "Songs and Ballads," Journal of American Folk-Lore, vol. 30, p. 361, 1917.

51. Poor Omie. From the singing of Mr. Hilliard Smith at Hindman, Kentucky, 1909. See Campbell and Sharp, English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians, p. 228. Professor H. M. Belden has a copy of Omie Wise (Poor Omie) from Earl Cruikshank, with the following account: "This song was handed down to my mother through her grandfather who came from Virginia. My mother says that he was acquainted with Omie Wise and had danced with her and went in the same circle with her. He described her as being a small light-complexioned girl. One time when he sang this song at a
literary meeting or singing school in Indiana, there was a atranger at the meeting who got up and left the meeting and skipped the country. Many people thought perhaps this man might have been the Lewis who murders Omie in the song."

52. Silver Dagger. The first text was secured by Lillian Gear Boswell from the singing of Myrtle Smith Badger of Junction, Wyoming, in 1914. The second text was learned in Mackinaw, Illinois, by Mrs. Mary F. Lindsay of Hebron, Nebraska.

53. The Aqed Indian. Text from Mrs. E. N. Hardin of Missouri Valley, Iowa, 1916. A fragment of the same song from Red Cloud, Nebraska (1915) bears the title "Uncle Tohido." H. M. Belden'a Missouri text is named "Uncle Tahia."

54. Calomel. Obtained by E. F. Piper of Iowa City from a manuscript book of ballads in the possession of Mrs. Lydia Hinshaw of Richland, Iowa, as it was sung by the latter's mother when she came from Ohio to Iowa in 1840. The song is still alive in fragment, or shortened versions. A copy in a manuscript book from Indian as the property of Edna Fulton Waterman, has for the date of its transcription 1844. Possibly of British importation.

55. The Creole Girl. Obtained by E. F. Piper from Ival McPeak, who learned it from the singing of his father in Iowa.

56. The Blub And The Gray. Text from L. C. Wimberly'a manuscript book, 1916. One of the most widely current of the songs remaining from the Cuban War.

57. The Gambler. Secured for H. M. Belden by Miss Frances Barbour, Washington University, from the singing of Minnie Doge at Arlington, Phelps County, Missouri, in 1917.

58. In The Bagoaoe Coach Ahead. Text obtained from Blanche Pope of Red Cloud, Nebraska, in 1914. According to The Literary Digest, November 13, 1915, In the Baggage Coach Ahead was one of the songs sung in vaudeville circuits to the accompaniment of colored pictures thrown on the screen—"pictures as honest and wholehearted in their coloring as they were heart-rending in subject."

59. Casey Jones. Phillips Barry writes of this song that Casey Jones was John Luther Jones, engineer of the Chicago and New Orleans Limited, who was killed in a wreck March 18, 1900. The song was composed by a negro, Wallace Saunders. See The Railroad Man's Magazine, November, 1910. The version printed here is from the issue of May 1918 of the same periodical. The vaudeville version was published in 1909 as the composition of T. L. Seibert and E. Newton. It was one of the "hits" of the day. This accounts for the currency of the ballad.

60. The Lady Elgin. Text as sung on a ranch at Junction, Wyoming. Obtained by Lillian Gear Boswell in 1914. This song is by Henry C. Work and commemorates a wreck on Lake Michigan in 1860. The singers had no knowledge whatever of its authorship and origin.

61. The Jamestown Flood. Text known to May B. Wimberly of Lincoln, 1917. The subject is plainly the Johnstown flood of 1890, but the title as given by Mrs. Wimberly is retained.

62. The Milwaukee Fire. Text obtained by L. C. Wimberly about 1916 from M. Boynton, Missouri Valley, Iowa.

63. The Fatal Wedding. Text obtained from Blanche Pope of Red Cloud, Nebraska, about 1914. Still popular in many regions.