Pioneer Memories

PIONEER MEMORIES

(Contents)

THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY (Music arr. Alfred G. Wathall)

WHERE O WHERE is OLD ELIJAH? (Music arr. Leo Soicerby)

TURKEY IN THE STRAW (Music arr. Leo Soicerby)

WHO WILL SHOE YOUR PRETTY LITTLE FOOT? (Music arr. Leo Soicerby)

THE TRUE LOVER'S FAREWELL

FAIR ANNIE OF LOCH YUAN

TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY

OLD GRAY MARE (Music arr. Alfred G. Wathall)

THE DRUNKARD'S DOOM (Music arr. Jenny Louis Mencken)

WHAT WAS YOUR NAME IN THE STATES? (Music arr. Hazel Ft'Imutll)

SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE

CALIFORNIA (Music arr. Marion Lyehenhcinil) 

THE BANKS OF SACRAMENTO

MONEY

THE MONKEY'S WEDDING

ROSIE NELL (Music arr. Alfred G. Wathall)

CHICKEN REEL

HANGING OUT THE LINEN CLOTHES  (Music arr. Marion Lyehenhcinil) 

DOWN, DOWN DERRY DOWN Henry Fruneis Parks

THE LANE COUNTY BACHELOR
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HONOUR TO PIONEERS WHO BROKE ROD THAT  MAN TO COME MIGHT LIVE.
Inscription from state capitol building at  Lincoln , Nebraska

TO THE STARS BY HARD WAYS.
Motto adopted by the State of Kansas

IOWA THE AFFECTIONS OF HER PEOPLE, LIKE THE RIVERS OF HER BORDERS, FLOW ON TO AN INSEPARABLE UNION
Inscription from the state capitol building at Des Aloincs, Iowa

THE COWARDS NEVER STARTED AND THE WEAK ONES DIED BY THE WAY.
Slogan of the Society of California

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THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY
A little girl from western Nebraska, home again after a trip to the East, was asked, "What is  the East?" She answered, "The East is where trees come between you and the sky." Early  settlers noticed log cabins were scarcer as timber land thinned out going farther west. On the  windy, open prairies of the Great Plains, the best house to be had in short order was of sod. A 
cellar was dug first; long slices of turf were piled around the cellar lines; wooden crosspoles held the  sod roof. Ceilings went high or low: tall men put roofs farther from the ground than short men  did. In timber country farther east they sang The Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane; its tune was  familiar to the lonely "sodbuster" who made this song about his dwelling in a region where  rivers are sometimes a half mile wide and a half inch deep.

THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY

1. I am looking rather seedy now while holding down my claim,
And my victuals are not always of the best;
And the mice play shyly round me as I nestle down to rest,
In my little old sod shanty in the West.
Yet I rather like the novelty of living in this way,
Though my bill of fare is always rather tame,
But I'm happy as a clam on the land of Uncle Sam,
In my little old sod shanty on my claim.

Refrain: The hinges are of leather and the windows have no glass,
While the board roof lets the howling blizzards in,
And I hear the hungry kiyote as he slinks up through the grass,
Round my little old sod shanty on my claim.

2. When I left my eastern home, a bachelor so gay,
To try and win my way to wealth and fame,
I little thought that I'd come down to burning twisted hay
In the little old sod shanty on my claim.
My clothes are plastered o'er with dough, I'm looking like a fright,
And everything is scattered round the room,
But I wouldn't give the freedom that I have out in the West
For the table of the Eastern man's old home.

Refrain:

3. Still I wish that some kind-hearted girl would pity on me take,
And relieve me from the mess that I am in;
The angel, how I'd bless her if this her home she'd make
In the little old sod shanty on my claim.
And we would make our fortunes on the prairies of the West,
Just as happy as two lovers we'd remain;
We'd forget the trials and troubles we endured at the first,
In the little old sod shanty on our claim.
Refrain:

4. And if kindly fate should bless us with now and then an heir,
To cheer our hearts with honest pride of fame,
O then we'd !>e contented for the toil that we had spent
In the little old sod shanty on our claim.
When time enough had lapsed and all of those little brats
To noble man- and womanhood had grown,
It wouldn't seem half so lonely as around us we should look,
And see the little old sod shanty on our claim.
Refrain:

WHERE O WHERE IS OLD ELIJAH?
A widely known song among pioneers in the middle west was this one borrowed, possibly, from  the negroes. It might be called a white man's spiritual. Its melody, its half-story elements, its  weaving repetitions, make it a good song for company and party singing. And it is one of the best  I know of for children and grown-ups to join in on, to loosen up, and to get at each other's voices.  This complete version comes to us from Lloyd Lewis, Free Quaker, and former and early resident of  Pendlcton, Indiana, a man of sterling integrity and many devices.

WHERE WHERE IS OLD ELIJAH?

Where where is old Elijah?
Where where is old Elijah?
Where O where is old Elijah?
'Way over in the promised land.

He went up in a fiery chariot,
He went up in a fiery chariot,
He went up in a fiery chariot,
'Way over in the promised land.

Refrain:

By and by we will go and see him,
By and by we will go and see him,
By and by we will go and see him,
'Way over in the promised land.

Where, where are the Hebrew children?
Where O where are the Hebrew children?
Where where are the Hebrew children?
'Way over in the promised land.

They went up in a fiery furnace,
They went up in a fiery furnace,
They went up in a fiery furnace,
'Way over in the promised land.

Where where is the bad boy Absolom?
Where O where is the bad boy Absolom?
Where where is the bad boy Absolom?
'Way over in the promised land.

He went up on the spear of Joab,
He went up on the spear of Joab,
He went up on the spear of Joab,
'Way over in the promised land.

Where where is poor old Daniel?
Where where is poor old Daniel?
Where O where is poor old Daniel?
'Way over in the promised land.

He went up in a den of lions,
He went up in a den of lions,
He went up in a den of lions,
'Way over in the promised land.

 
TURKEY IN THE STRAW
This is the classical American rural tune. It goes back to " Zip Coon " and early minstrel songs.  It has been sung at horses and mules from a million wagons. It has a thousand verses, if all were  gathered. In the solitudes of tall timbers it has been the companion of berry pickers in summer  and squirrel hunters in fall time. On mornings when the frost was on the pumpkin and the fodder  in the shock, when nuts were ripe and winter apples ready for picking, it echoed amid the horizons  of the Muskingum river of Ohio and the Ozark foothills of Missouri. Arguments have been presented that the turkey, the Thanksgiving bird, is more the Yankee national emblem than the eagle.  Maybe so. Anyhow the turkey has a song of the people and the eagle hasn't. And as a song it  smells of hay mows up over barn dance floors, steps around like an apple-faced farmhand, has the  whiff of a river breeze when the catfish are biting, and rolls along like a good wagon slicked up with  new axlegrease on all four wheels. It is as American as Andrew Jackson, Johnny Appleseed, and  Corn-on-the-Cob.

Text B. was printed by Delaney who tells me this is the earliest stage version he knows of and  it is at least fifty years old. With a little "puckering in" and doubling up, the lines can be adjusted  to the harmonized melody. Text C. is a 1925 ditty from the oil fields of Ohio; Paul Schact, of  Columbus, passed it along; like oil strikes, gushers, wildcats, doodlebugs, it is a little mysterious.

 TURKEY IN THE STRAW

1 As I was a-gwine down the road,
Tired team and a heavy load,
Crack my whip and the leader sprung;
I says day-day to the wagon tongue.

Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay,
Roll 'ern up and twist 'em up a high tuckahaw,
And hit 'em up a tune called Turkey in the Straw.

2. Went out to milk and I didn't know how,
I milked the goat instead of the cow.
A monkey sittin' on a pile of straw
A-winkin' at his mother-in-law.

Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay, etc.

3. Met Mr. Catfish comin* down stream,
Says Mr. Catfish, "What does you mean?"
Caught Mr. Catfish by the snout
And turned Mr. Catfish wrong side out.

Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay, etc.

4. Came to the river and I couldn't get across
Paid five dollars for an old blind hoss
Wouldn't go ahead, nor he wouldn't stand still
So he went up and down like an old saw mill.

Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay, etc.

5. As I came down the new cut road
Met Mr. Bullfrog, met Miss Toad
And every time Miss Toad would sing
Ole Bullfrog cut a pigeon wing.

Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay, etc.

TURKEY IN THE STRAW (B)

I jumped in the seat, and I gave a little yell,
The horses run away, broke the wagon all to hell;
Sugar in the gourd and honey in the horn,
I never was so happy since the hour I was born,

Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay, etc.

Went down to New Orleans, got on a fence, Tom Turkey in de buckwheat straw.
Dutchman asked me I talk French, dat's nine points ob de law;
Hit 'em in de head wid a great big brick, Tom Turkey in de buckwheat straw,
Didn't I make dat nigger look sick, dat's nine points ob de law.

Refrain:

Den a turkey in a straw, den a turkey in a straw;
Roll a web of straw 'round to hide de turkey's paw,
And we'll shake 'em up a tune called Turkey in a Straw.

Tobacco am an Ingin weed, Tom Turkey in dc buckwheat straw,
From de debil it did seed, dat's nine points ob de law;
Rots your pocket, scents your clothes, Tom Turkey in a buckwheat straw.
Makes a chimbley of your nose, dat's nine points ob de law.

Refrain:

Said the tooler to the driller, "Will you dance me a jig?"
"O yes, by golly, if I tear down the rig."
So he took down the wrench that the contractor stole,
And he danced a jig around the ten-inch hole.

WHO WILL SHOE YOUR PRETTY LITTLE FOOT?
One night after I had given my song and guitar recital at Indiana University, I went with Prof. Frank C. Senour to his room and we sang and talked till three o'clock in the morning. He had in his heart and memory a little piece that he called "exquisite"; that is the word. As a boy  growing up in Brown County, Indiana, he heard his mother sing it at dish washing and sewing and mending, and sometimes for company. He remembered only the verse given below in text A.  R. W. Gordon gave me text B and I went to Alexander Whitelaw's "Book of Scottish Ballads" for  text C, where it is titled, "Fair Annie of Lochyran." In another old version, it is known as "The  Lass of Loch Royal." A little book could be written around this song and all its ramifications in the past.

O, who will shoe your pretty little foot,
And who will glove your hand,
And who will kiss your ruby lips
When I've gone to the foreign land?


B. THE TRUE LOVER'S FAREWELL

1. "Farewell, farewell, my pretty maid,
Fare-thee-well for a while;
For I'm going away ten thousand miles,
Ten thousand miles from here.

2 "Who will shoe your bonny feet,
And who will glove your hand?
Who will kiss your red, rosy lips,
While I'm in some foreign land?"

3 "My father will shoe my bonny little feet,
My mother will glove my hand;
But my red, rosy lips shall go wanting,
Till you return again."

4 "You know a crow is a coal, coal black,
And turns to a purple blue;
And if ever I prove false to you,
I hope my body may melt like dew.

5. "I'll love you till the seas run dry,
And rocks dissolve by the sun;
I'll love you till the day I die,
And then you know I'm done."

C. FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHYRAN

1 "O who will shoe my fair foot,
And who will glove my han'?
And who will lace my middle jimp
Wi' a new-made London ban'?

2. "Or who will kemb my yellow hair
Wi' a new-made silver kemb?
Or who'll be father to my young bairn,
Till love Gregor come hame?"

3. "Your father'll shoe your fair foot,
Your mother'll glove your hand;
Your sister'll lace your middle jimp
Wi' a new-made London ban';

4 "Your brethern will kemb your yellow hair
Wi' a new-made silver kemb;
And the King of Heaven will father your bairn
Till love Gregor come hame."

TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY
Four times a year for twenty-two years William W. Delaney published at Park Row, New York,  his ten-cent songbook, each one with about 170 songs, words only. "On the last page or two," he  told me, "I always put a few old ones." A favorite of his, among the old ones, is Ten Thousand  Miles Away. "It's a good song, you can have it," he said as I took down the notes. "Some  mighty good men have sung it. The songs these days are cheap alongside what we used to have.  You can't find tunes now like you could in the old days." And he said, after singing, "It's one  people have forgotten. I don't know how old it is. The old men who sang it for me when I was  a boy said it was an old song then. And they learned it from old men when they were boys."

TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY

1. Sing I for a brave and a gallant barque, and a stiff and a rattling breeze,
A bully crew, and a Captain, true, to carry me o'er the seas;

To carry me o'er the seas, my boys, to my true love so gay-ay-ay,
Who went on a trip in a Government ship ten thousand miles away I

Refrain: Blow, ye winds, hi oh! a-roaming I will go,
I'll stay no more on England's shore, so let the music play;
I'll start by the morning train to cross the raging main,
For I'm on the road to my own true love, ten thousand miles away!

2 My true love she was aandsome, my true love she was young,
Her eyes were blue as the violet's hue, and silvery was the sound of her tongue;
And silvery was the sound of her tongue, my boys, and, while I sing this lay-ay-ay,
She's a-doing of the grand in a far off land, ten thousand miles away!

Refrain:

3 Dark and dismal was the day when last I seen my Meg,
She'd a Government band around each hand, and another one round her leg;
And another one round her leg, my boys, as the big ship left the bay-ay-ay,
Adieu, said she, remember me, ten thousand miles away!

Refrain:

4 Oh! if I were a sailor lad, or even a bombardier,
I'd hire a boat and go afloat, and straight to my true love steer;
And straight to my true love steer, my boys, where the dancing dolphins play-ay-ay,
And the whales and sharks kick up their larks, ten thousand miles away!

Refrain:

5 The sun may shine through a London fog, or the river run bright and clear,
The ocean's brine be changed to wine, and I forget my beer,
And I forget my beer, my boys, or the landlord's quarter day-ay-ay,
But never will I part from my own sweetheart ten thousand miles away.

Refrain:

OLD GRAY MARE
Before the horseless carriage came, in the years when people went buggy-riding, there were more  songs about horses than now. Oats for Dobbin was an expense then as gas is at the filling station  now. Fodder for the mare and her foal cost money the same as oil, water and new wind shields  do today. The horse doctor earned his living as the crack mechanic at the garage does, by fixing  the ailing parts. We remember in our school readers the verse from Bayard Taylor, voicing the  sentiments of an Arab to his steed, "My beautiful, my beautiful, thou standest so meekly by."  The following poem is in a different vein and mood. It is keyed rather to the homely philosophy of  an Iowa editor who was asked by a Kansas editor what he wanted on his gravestone. The answer  was they could write, "He et what was sot before him/' It is not as lofty in manner as the reply  of an Iowa farmer asked about his first horse, a two-year-old given him by his father. "How was  she? Well, she was stylish but she couldn't stand grief." The melody here is directly appropriated  from the negro spiritual, The Old Gray Mare Came Tearin' Out the Wilderness.

OLD GRAY MARE

1. Oh, the old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be,
Ain't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be.
The old gray mare she ain't what she used to be,
Many long years ago.

Many long years ago, many long years ago,
The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be,
Many long years ago.

2. The old gray mare she kicked on the whiffletree,
Kicked on the whiffletree, kicked on the whiffletree.
The old gray mare she kicked on the whiffletree,
Many long years ago.

Many long years ago, many long years ago,
The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be,
Many long years ago.

THE DRUNKARD'S DOOM
"Whiskey!" cried the land rent agitator in a famine year in Ireland. "Whiskey it is that  makes ye shoot at the landlords and miss *em!" When the Washingtonian Society flourished  in the 1840's its basic argument was that George Washington drank liquor but knew when to stop.  Later came the saying, "The difference between a barber shop and a saloon is that when a man has  had one shave he quits." School children in midwest states in the 1880's carried physiology books  with color charts showing the progress of a drunkard's stomach from the pink of health to the  raging crimson of delirium tremens. The drink habit, as an insidious destroyer, was presented in  church, school, and town opera house, in the play Ten Nights in a Bar Room. The mood of that  melodrama is gathered in these six verses of The Drunkard's Doom. Mary O. Eddy heard it from old women who sang it as girls in Ohio when the Temperance Movement was using songs in its  crusades. Henry L. Mencken, a chamber music pianist, a composer, a contrapuntalist, a critic of  music and the arts in general, writes the harmonization here.


1. At dawn of day I saw a man
Stand by a grog saloon:
His eyes were sunk, his lips were parched,
that's the drunkard's doom.

2. His little son stood by his side,
And to his father said,
"Father, mother lies sick at home
And sister cries for bread."

3. He rose and staggered to the bar
As oft he'd done before,
And to the landlord smilingly said,
"Just fill me one glass more."

4 The cup was filled at his command,
He drank of the poisoned bowl,
He drank, while wife and children starved,
And ruined his own soul.

5 A year had passed, I went that way,
A hearse stood at the door;
I paused to ask, and one replied,
"The drunkard is no more."

6 I saw the hearse move slowly on,
No wife nor child was there;
They too had flown to heaven's bright home
And left a world of care.

7 Now, all young men, a warning take,
And shun the poisoned bowl;
Twill lead you down to hell's dark gate,
And ruin your own soul.

WHAT WAS YOUR NAME IN THE STATES?
This ditty, of course, is out of the time when fugitives from the East preferred western to eastern  climate.

It's four long years since I reached this land,
In search of gold among the rocks and sand;
And yet I'm poor when the truth is told, I'm a lousy miner,
I'm a lousy miner in search of shining gold.

My sweetheart vowed she'd wait for me
"Till I returned; but don't you see
She's married now, sure, so I am told,
Left her lousy miner,
Left her lousy miner, in search of shining gold.

Oh, land of gold, you did me deceive,
And-I intend in thce my bones to leave;
So farewell, home, now iny friends grow cold,
I'm a lousy miner,
I'm a lousy miner in search of shining gold.

The verses from a song of California known as The Lousy Minor go to the tune of an older piece  The Dark-Eyed Sailor. In Put's Original California Songster, we find the comic and the bitter.  Many a line has a sting and a bite in it, a cry of the frustrated fool, sitting in the ashes of defeat and  humiliation. There were two ways to reach the goldfields from the Atlantic seaboard or the Mississippi Valley. One was by ship around Cape Horn, the other across the Great Plains by covered  wagon. These routes are told of in verses from The Fools of '49 to the tune of Commence, You Darkies All; they give facts in a half -comic manner that, as the testimony piles up, becomes sardonic.

The poor, the old and rotten scows, were advertised to sail
From New Orleans with passengers, but they must pump and bail;
The ships were crowded more than full, and some hung on behind,
And others dived off from the wharf, and swam till they were blind.

Refrain: Then they thought of what they had been told,
When they started after gold,
That they never in the world would make a pile.

With rusty pork and stinking beef, and rotten, wormy bread,
And captains, too, that never were up as high as the main-mast head,
The steerage passengers would rave and swear that they'd paid their passage
And wanted something more to eat besides Bologna sausage.

Then they began to cross the plains with oxen, hollowing "haw";
And steamers they began to run as far as Panama,
And there for months the people staid that started after gold,
And some returned disgusted with the lies that had been told.

The people died on every route, they sicken'd and died like sheep,
And those at sea, before they were dead, were launched into the deep;
And those that died while crossing the Plains fared not so well as that,
For a hole was dug and they thrown in, along the miserable Platte.

SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE
The ups and downs of covered wagon life, mixed with romance and ending in divorce, are told  in one of the favorite songs of California in the 1850's. Sweet Betsy From Pike has the stuff of a  realistic novel. It is droll and don't-care, bleary and leering, as slippery and lackadaisical as some  of the comic characters of Shakespeare, or as trifling as the two murderers who are asked, "How  came you here? " and who answer, "On our legs." It was a good wagon song. Miles of monotonous  scenery would pass to the singing of it. Disappointed prospectors could share their own misery  with Betsy and Ike. The last line of each verse could be repeated, for a change, with the fol de rol  words, "Tooral lal looral lal, Tooral lal la loo." It was a good wagon song.

SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE
1 Oh don't you remember sweet Betsy from Pike,

Who crossed the big mountains with her lover Ike,
With two yoke of cattle, a large yellow dog,
A tall Shanghai rooster, and one spotted hog;

Refrain:
Saying goodbye, Pike County,

Farewell for a while;
We'll come back again
When we've panned out our pile.

One evening quite early, they camped on the Platte,
'Twas near by the road on a green shady flat;
Where Betsy, quite tired, laid down to repose,
While with wonder Ike gazed on his Pike County Rose.
Refrain:

3 They soon reached the desert, where Betsy gave out
And down in the sand she lay rolling about;
While Ike in great tears looked on in surprise,
Saying, "Betsy get up, you'll get sand in your eyes."
Refrain:

4 Sweet Betsy got up in a great deal of pain,
And declared she'd go back to Pike County again.
Then Ike heaved a sigh and they fondly embraced,
And she traveled along with his arm 'round her waist.
Refrain:

5 The Shanghai ran off and the cattle all died,
The last piece of bacon that morning was fried;
Poor Ike got discouraged, and Betsy got mad,
The dog wagged his tail and looked wonderfully sad.
Refrain:

6 One morning they climbed up a very high hill,
And with wonder looked down into old Placerville;
Ike shouted and said, as he cast his eyes down,

"Sweet Betsy, my darling, we've got to Hangtown."
Refrain:

7 Long Ike and Sweet Betsy attended a dance,
Where Ike wore a pair of his Pike County pants,
Sweet Betsy was covered with ribbons and rings,
Quoth Ike, "You're an angel, but where are your wings?"
Refrain:

8 A miner said "Betsy, will you dance with me?"
"I will, old boss, if you don't make too free;
But don't dance me hard. Do you want to know why?
Dog on ye, I'm chuck full of strong alkali."
Refrain:

9 Long Ike and Sweet Betsy got married, of course,
But Ike getting jealous obtained a divorce;
And Betsy, well satisfied, said with a shout,
"Goodbye, you big lummux, I'm glad you backed out,"

Last Refrain:

Saying goodbye, dear Isaac,
Farewell for a while.
But come back in time

To replenish my pile.

CALIFORNIA
Shortly after the young congressman, Abraham Lincoln, came home from Washington and  settled down again to the practice of law in Springfield, Illinois, there were announcements in newspapers occasionally, such as, " All who are interested in the California expedition will meet at candlelight to-night in the court house." California then was a place to talk about, to guess and wonder  about. News came from Slitter's Creek: ten men shook pay dirt through hand screens and found  a million dollars apiece in gold nuggets; the Sari Francisco city council adjourned without setting  a date when it would rncct again, churches closed their doors, newspapers stopped printing, ships  lay in harbor with no sailors, cooks and soldiers ran away from military forts. A free-for-all rush  started to the gold diggings: a spade sold for $1,000.00. It was news that made New York and London sit up. Across the Great Plains came wagon trains; in ten miles along the Matte River a  traveler counted 459 wagons. At the trail's end was gold and California.

 
1 When formed our band, we are all well manned,
To journey afar to the promised land;
The golden ore is rich in store
On the banks of the Sacramento shore.

Refrain: Then ho, boys, ho! To California go,
There's plenty of gold in the world, I'm told,
On the banks of the Sacramento shore.

2 As oft we roam o'er the dark sea's foam,
We'll not forget kind friends at home,
But memory kind still brings to mind
The love of friends we left behind.

Refrain:

3 We'll expect our share of the coarsest fare,
And sometimes sleep in the open air,
On the cold damp ground we'll all sleep sound
Except when the wolves go howling round.
Refrain:

4 As we explore to the distant shore,
Filling our pockets with the shining ore,
How it will sound as the shout goes round,
Filling our pockets with a dozen of pounds.
Refrain:

5 The gold is there almost anywhere;
We dig it out rich with an iron bar,
But where it is thick, with spade or pick
We take out chunks as big as a brick.
Refrain:

THE BANKS OF SACRAMENTO
Sailing ships took tens of thousands of gold seekers around Cape Horn to San Francisco, later  taking thousands of the same passengers back. Many were bitter. A song came on the ships.  Sailors sang it. In the goldfields it passed the time over pick and sieve or frying pan or over shirt  and trousers having the vermin boiled out. The scramble for claims, belongings, pay dirt, was  fierce. What is called "the mortality rate, ran high. They tried to laugh it off, sing it away.

 Ho, boys, ho! for California, O!
There's plenty of gold, so I've been told,
On the banks of the Sacramento.

Ho, boys, ho! for California, O!
There's plenty of bones, so I've been told,
On the banks of the Sacramento.

 

MONEY
Black-faced banjoists on the wagons of medicine men used to sing a money song with many verses. I remember the following refrain as going with each verse.

O money is the meat in the cocoanut,
O money is the milk in the jug;
When you've got lots of money
You feel very funny,
You're happy as a bug in a rug.

THE MONKEY'S WEDDING
In many odd corners of America may be heard improvised verses rattled off to this tune of  The Monkey's Wedding with nonsense of a similar order, though most often such impromptus are  too silly or too irregular for use at gatherings of ordinary citizens. Some old English and Irish  jigs have much this same tune.

The monkey married the baboon's sister,
Gave her a ring and then be kissed her;
He kissed so hard he raised a blister,
She set up a yell.

The bridesmaid stuck on some court-plaster,
It stuck so fast it couldn't stick faster;
Surely 'twas a sad disaster,
But it soon got well.

S What do you think they had for supper?
Chestnuts raw and boiled and roasted,
Apples sliced and onions toasted,
Peanuts not a few.

What do you think they had for a fiddle?
An old banjo with a hole in the middle,
A tambourine and a worn-out griddle,
Hurdy-gurdy too.

What do you think the bride was dressed in?
White gauze veil and a green glass breast-pin,
Red kid shoes quite interestin',
She was quite a belle.

The bridegroom blazed with a blue shirt-collar,
Black silk stock that cost a dollar,
Large false whiskers, the fashion to follow;
He cut a monstrous swell.

What do you think were the tunes they danced to?
What were the figures they advanced to,
Up and down as they chanced to?
Tails they were too long!


"Duck in the kitchen," "Old Aunt Sally,"
Plain cotillion, "Who keeps Tally?"
Up and down they charge and rally!
Ended is my song.

ROSIE NELL
In the first Oklahoma land rush in the late 'Eighties, was a woman who rode a wild horse and  staked out a claim worth having. In the years that came she raised corn, broom corn, alfalfa, soy  beans and three daughters who had freckle faces, hair of a dark gold corn silk, and sweet dispositions. Time passed. The family moved. New York was their home, the address was on
Eighty-eighth Street, and the number in the phone book. They were now far from Oklahoma.  Yet there came one cold rainy night to their fireside, their steam radiator, a young man who had  raised corn, broom corn, alfalfa, and soy beans in Kansas, the next state to Oklahoma and standing  on the same big prairie. They sang on that cold rainy night, those people around the steam radiator.  And one of the songs was Rosie Nell. "It was a comfort to us in those days of the first Oklahoma  land rush," said the woman who rode a wild horse to stake out a claim.

ROSIE NELL

1 How oft I dream of childhood days, of tricks we used to play
Upon each other when at school, to pass the time away.
They often wished me with them, but they always wished in vain;
I'd rather be with Rosie Nell, a-swinging in the lane.

Refrain:

A-swinging in the lane, a-swinging in the lane,
I'd rather be witli Rosie Nell, a-swinging in the lane,
A-swinging in the lane, a-swinging in the lane,
I'd rather be with Rosie Nell, a-swinging in the lane.

2 But soon a cloud of sorrow came; a strange young man from town,
Was introduced to Rosie Nell by Aunt Jemima Brown;

She stayed away from school next day, the truth to me was plain ;
She'd gone with that young city chap, a-swinging in the lane.
Refrain:

3 Now all young men with tender hearts, pray take advice from me;
Don't IK? so quick to fall in love, with every girl you see;

For if you do you soon will find, you've only loved in vain;
She'll go of! with some other chap, a-swinging in the lane,
Refrain:

CHICKEN REEL
Of all the country fiddlers' tunes I have heard, the old timer Chicken Reel is the favorite that  keeps best. Other favorites hold their charm. Over the Sea is friendly and human. Hen Cackle  is funny; The Old Town Pump and Speckled lien, too. Also McLeod's Reel, Irish Washerwoman,  Turkey in the Straw, Hell on the Wabash, and Sweet Potatoes Grow in Sandy Land have their  points. Yet, the trickiest of all is Chicken Reel. Cunning of musical design, elusive and unexpected in its transitions, it is like a poem that parodies itself, like a cat that walks alone, like a woman  who forgets that she has forgotten, like three thistle sifters with thimbles sifting softly through three sieves. Its theme is "Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you." The tune here was notated  by Harry Gilbert from the playing of Jess Ricks, a Long Island, New York, fiddler. Ricks was  raised in Taylorville, Illinois, and learned Chicken Reel from Uncle Jim Simpson, a famous barn  dance fiddler of Palmer, Illinois.

VIOLIN


HANGING OUT THE LINEN CLOTHES
From break of day till set of sun, woman's work is never done. In those days there was linen.  And woman took thought about her clothes. Six days she toiled and smoothed and fashioned her  linen garb and vestment, and all the time she hoped to look good and seem fair and acceptable in  the eyes of her "darling" who, the song says, saw her at work. He regarded her all the more highly  because she was a working girl fixing her own clothes. Grandmothers of the present generation of Californians sang this over wash-tubs and ironing boards, over the needles as they stitched and  hemmed. Thus we have it from Pauline Jacobson and friends in San Francisco.

1 'Twas on a Monday morning, the first I saw my darling
A-hanging out the linen clothes, a-hanging out the linen clothes.

2 Twas on a Tuesday morning, the first I saw my darling
A-taking in the linen clothes, a-taking in the linen clothes.

3 'Twas on a Wednesday morning, the first I saw my darling
A-ironing of the linen clothes, a-ironing of the linen clothes.

4 Twas on a Thursday morning, the first I saw my darling
A-mending of the linen clothes, a- mending of the linen clothes.

5 Twas on a Friday morning, the first I saw my darling
A-folding of the linen clothes, a-folding of the linen clothes.

6 Twas on a Sunday morning, the first I saw my darling,
A-wearing of the linen clothes, a-wearing of the linen clothes.

DOWN, DOWN DERRY DOWN
When children in the old days asked for a story or a song, the older folks sometimes gave both  in a ballad such as this, which seems to have been known in Hartfordshire, England, in Massachusetts and Virginia, before it traveled to Illinois and the midwest. There were children heard a  father or uncle, a mother or aunt, sing it hundreds of times. "We'll go over to Aunt Mehitable and  ask her to sing 'Down, Down Derry Down/" Eyes were shiny with fascination over the boy hero selling the cow, matching his wits against the robber, and bringing home a horse, bags of gold,  and "bright pistols." The line "Down, down deny down," was useful; the singer while giving  that line could refresh his recollection about the next verse; in the same moment the children could  be guessing about what would happen next; they enjoy such guessing as they also enjoy wondering how many more verses there can be; and naturally, those well acquainted with a long ballad watch  and wait for their favorite verses. Text and tune here are from Margery K. Forsythe of Chicago,  who tells us, " Down, Down Derry Down was sung in our family before the Revolution. My mother (1800) heard her grandmother (1793) sing it and she in turn remembered it farther back. The first two lines of the third verse were lost and these are impromptu.

DOWN, DOWN DERRY DOWN

1 Oh! Ladies and gentlemen, please to draw near; I'll sing of a man who lived in Hertfordshire.
A fine Hartf ordshire boy he had for his man to do his business, his name was called John.
Down, Down Deny Down (repeat this line after each verse).

Bright early one morning he to him did come, saying, "John, take my cow to the fair in the town.
Oh, this very day take my cow to the fair, for she's in good order and her I can spare.

8 So John took the cow and rode to the fair; "I'll make a good bargain/' he then did declare.
And on the way there he met with a man and sold him the cow for six pound ten.

4 The man had paid the boy down all the chink, when they went into an ale-house to drink,
And unto the landlady then he did say, "Oh, what shall I do with this money I pray?'*

5 "Sew it into your coat lining," then she did say, "Lest you should be robbed upon the highway.'*
There sat a highwayman a-drinking his wine; he said to himself, "That money is mine."

6 The boy took his leave and away he did go, the highwayman followed soon after also;
He soon overtook him upon the highway, "You're well overtaken, young lad," he did say.

7 "Oh, jump up behind me," the highwayman said; "How far arc you going?" replied the young lad.
"About four miles further for all that I know," so he jumped up behind and away they did go.

8 They rode until they came to a dark lane; the highwayman said, " I must tell you now plain,
Deliver your money without any strife, or I will assuredly take your sweet life."

9 The boy, seeing there was no chance for dispute, be jumped from the horse and the money pulled out.
And from his coat-lining the money pulled out~and in the long grass he strewed it about.

10 The highwayman immediately jumped from his horse, but little he judged it was for his loss*
For while he was putting it into his purse, the boy took his leave and rode off with the horse.

11 The highwayman hollooed and bade him to stay,fthe boy never minded but still rode away,
And unto his master's house he did bring horse, saddle and bridle and many fine thing.

12 On searching the saddle-bags, as we are told, there were ten thousand pounds in silver and gold,
Beside two bright pistols the boy said, "I trow, I think, my dear master, I've sold well your cow!"

18 His master smiled when him he had told, saying, "As for a boy you've been very bold,
As for the highwayman, he's lost all his store, let him go a-robbing until he gets more."

THE LANE COUNTY BACHELOR
What is a pioneer? An American poet answered, "A pioneer is a beginner." It was a childlike answer. The pioneers in any country are those who make its beginnings. They begin the  trails that later become roads. They stake out land claims, put in crops and start farming. An  inscription chiseled on the state capitol building of Nebraska reads, "Honour to pioneers who broke
sod that men to come might live." They were strugglers, those who went out on the Great Plains  to make homes. They took weeks for the wagon trip west as "movers." Or they rode on "Homeseekers' Excursion Trains," eating from lunch baskets, sleeping on the seats of railroad cars two,  three, four nights. Once located on the quarter-section claim, which would be their own land and  home if they stayed a few years and farmed it, there was strife and struggle. To get food and clothes,  to keep a shelter going that would shut out rain and snow, to outwit the grasshoppers that came to  eat crops, to live through bad cooking, blizzards and vermin, was a steady round of strife and  struggle. "There's nothing will make a man hard and profane like starving to death on a government claim," we are told in this song. They had a saying, "The worse things are the better they  are." Sometimes the battle wore them down; it was too much. With "nothing to lose and nothing to gain," they quit as this bachelor, Frank Bolar, did. "They moved to new parts," was common talk as to neighbors. Or, "they vamoosed, skedaddled." The text here is from Edwin Ford  Piper, whose poems of "barbed wire" cover that Iowa and Nebraska territory where cattle used to  have free range. There were no fences; then came bartied wire. "My people always sang Lane  County Bachelor to the Irish Washerwoman," says Piper. It is a document in jig time.

 THE LANE COUNTY BACHELOR

1 My name is Frank Bolar, 'nole bachelor I am,
I'm keepin' ole bach on an elegant plan.
You'll find me out West in the County of Lane
Starving to death on a government claim;

My house it is built of the national soil,
The walls are erected according to Hoyle,
The roof has no pitch but is level and plain
And I always get wet when it happens to rain.

Refrain:

But hurrah for Lane County, the land of the free,
The home of the grasshopper, bedbug, and flea,
1*11 sing loud her praises and boast of her fame
While starving to death on my government claim.

2 My clothes they are ragged, my language is rough,
My head is case-hardened, both solid and tough;
The dough it is scattered all over the room

And the floor would get scared at the sight of a broom;
My dishes are dirty and some in the bed
Covered with sorghum and government bread;
But I have a good time, and live at my ease
On common sop-sorghum, old bacon and grease.

Refrain:

But hurrah for Lane County, the land of the West,
Where the farmers and laborers are always at rest,
Where you've nothing to do but sweetly remain,
And starve like a man on your government claim.

3 How happy am I when I crawl into bed,
And a rattlesnake rattles his tail at my head,
And the gay little centipede, void of all fear
Crawls over my pillow and into my ear,

And the nice little bedbug so cheerful and bright,
Keeps me a-scratching full half of the night,
And the gay little flea with toes sharp as a tack
Plays "Why don't you catch me?" all over my back.

Refrain:

But hurrah for Lane County, where blizzards arise,
Where the winds never cease and the flea never dies,
Where the sun is so hot if in it you remain
Twill burn you quite black on your government claim.

4 How happy am I on my government claim,
Where I've nothing to lose and nothing to gain,
Nothing to eat and nothing to wear,
Nothing from nothing is honest and square.
But here I am stuck, and here I must stay,
My money's all gone and I can't get away;
There's nothing will make a man hard and profane
Like starving to death on a government claim.

Refrain:

Then come to Lane County, there's room for you all,
Where the winds never cease and the rains never fall,
Come join in the chorus and boast of her fame,
While starving to death on your government claim.

6 Now don't get discouraged, ye poor hungry men,
Wo 're all here as free as a pig in a pen;
Just stick to your homestead and battle your fleas,
And pray to your Maker to send you a breeze.
Now a word to claim-holders who are bound for to stay:
You may chew your hard-tack till you're toothless and gray,
But an for me, I'll no longer remain
And starve like a dog on my government claim.

Refrain:

Farewell to Lane County, farewell to the West,
I'll travel back East to the girl I love best;
I'll stop in Missouri and get me a wife,
And live on corn dodgers the rest of my life.