The Gin-Around; from Godey's Lady's Book 1874
[From; Godey's Lady's Book and Ladies' American Magazine, Volume 89, 1874. These play-party songs were collected by the author in the American South before the Civil War. The "gin-around" was a play-party gathering where everyone "marched around and around like horses in a gin" which was held at the "overseer's house" nearby.
R. Matteson 2017]
"THE GIN-AROUND."
by J. B. S.
Kind reader, were you ever at a "Ginaround?" No? Well, I have been at one, and, if you will lend me your attention for a little while, I will tell you what it is. We have read and heard all our lives of "Harvestings," "Corn-huskings," "Apple-Bees," and "Quiltings;" but no one seems disposed to honor the "Gin-around" by a written account of its proceedings. Perhaps they do not merit it as much as the storied "Corn-huskings," but of their worth, by way of diversion, 1 leave you to judge, after I have finished my story.
Well, this is how it happened. Mother, with her trio of children (sister, Willie, and myself), was spending her quarterly visit at the old homestead, when, one evening, I was observed to seat myself very demurely at the teatable, looking, instead of on my plate, at the vacant places usually occupied by my sister and our two aunties, very wistfully, with quivering lip and tremulous eyelids. I could not eat, though handsome Uncle Edward pressed the favorite viands upon me, and when grandmother tenderly asked "why her little 'Wisie Ardor' was so quiet," my poor heart overflowed, and the pent-up tears poured like rain down my tied-up face, and I sobbed piteously: "They wouldn't let me go—they 've run away and left me!"
"Poor child I" they all said, sympathizingly, but their sympathy did me no more good than that of "Silas Weathergreen," in the story, when he prayed on the bridge for the people who were bruised and bleeding below. What they needed was not his breath, wasted in loudsounding prayer, but his physical strength—his head and his hands; and what I wanted was a remedy for the wrong done me, so I went on :—
"Because I was little, they ran off and wouldn't take me, and I wanted to go to the party."
"Nevermind, chicka-de-dee," said grandma, selecting the largest lump of sugar from the tea-tray before her, and holding it out for me, "you shall go some other time."
I didn't want the sugar—there was but one thing sweet and tempting to me then, and that was the party across the wheatfleld, at the overseer's house. I must have looked imploringly at Uncle Edward, as the only one to help me in my sore strait, for he put his handsome, sunny face close to mine, and said, almost in a whisper: "Run and put on your prettiest dress, and I'll carry you to the party."
"O mamma, mamma! may I go?" I cried, joyously, while my face grew so radiant with happiness behind the tear-stains that they all caught the reflection. I hardly waited to hear the whole of what mother said, before I was off for the "pretty dress." She had consented— that was enough. In five minutes I was ready, and the gay little chatterbox, swinging to Uncle Edward's hand in the walk down the lane, bore but a slight resemblance to the picture of misery at the tea-table; for I was quite a plain-featured child, and happiness was the radiator and beautifier of my face. There was a great wheatfield to cross, and the wheat was quite wet with an afternoon shower, so that Uncle Edward put me on his shoulder and carried me till he set me down on the overseer's doorstep. There was quite a crowd of young people assembled, and, if I had been older, I am sure I could have learned many an interesting item from human nature's book as it was there before me. Young men and maidens from the "Piny Woods," in their "Sunday clothes" and gayest spirits, were ready to sing, play, dance, flirt, kiss, or engage, heart and body, in whatever plan of entertainment might be proposed. Flowers, gay ribbons, crinoline, and painted glass jewelry, with gilt settings, adorned the fair sex ; and the men were attired in "mossdyed" jeans of home manufacture, some in broadclotii and cassimer of rather doubtful quality, their only adornment being brightcolored cravats of enormous dimensions.
One of the young hostesses met us at the door and invited us to supper. My uncle politely declined, and I followed his example. I had often attended children's parties, but we never had supper before nine, and I did not suppose she meant the "party supper," or I should certainly have gone to see, for I had a little curiosity.
My aunties were not particularly delighted when I skipped across the floor in triumph exclaiming: "You ran away from me, but I've come anyhow!" But they made the best of a bad matter, and seated me by them in the corner where they had stationed themselves that they might be unobserved while they looked on at the gin-around. Uncle Edward occupied an opposite corner. The guests were ranged around the walls. For some time they remained in mute blankness, the girls with their hands crossed over their folded handkerchiefs in their laps; then one of the young men rose, saying, to his nearest companion :—
"Come, Bill, let's break the ice. 'Tain't no nse to set here all night this sort of fashion." They put their heads together in consultation for a minute, then, walking arm-in-arm up and down the floor, began singing in very good voices, but to a most doleful tune—
"Georgy boys, on you I call—
An Invitation to you all—
The road is wide, the ring is clear;
Georgy boys, come volunteer—volunteer!
Georgy boys, come volunteer!
"We'll walk and talk and sing our songs
Till them Georgians come along.
This road is wide, the ring is clear;
Georgy boys, come volunteer—volunteer!
Georgy boys, come volunteer!"
Then a similar call to the "Georgy girls," but no one "volunteered," so, after another brief consultation, they struck another key, and went around, stopping before different members of the party, as they sung—
"Say, pretty miss, won't you Mist and go,
Say, pretty miss, won't you 'list and go,
Say, pretty miss, won't you 'list and go.
And Jine us in our dancing?"
But, on receiving no reply (as I suppose is the custom), they turned away, as if offended, singing, emphatically—
"You sassy girl, you shall come go,
You sassy girl, you shall come go,
You sassy girl, you shall come go,
And follow them boys to the Mexico."
Their ranks were soon filled, the young men each choosing a partner, and they marched around and around, like horses in a gin, about as slow and monotonous, singing something, of which I only remember—
"The drums do beat, and the fifes do play, All of them pretty girls a marching away;" and which was soon exchanged for one which ran thus:—
"As I walked out, one morning In May,
A gathering flowers (I looked so gay).
The prettiest little girl I ever did see
Come a-walking along by the side of me.
"Shall I go bound, or shall I go free?
Shall Hove a pretty girl that don't love met
No, uo, no! it never shall be
That ever love shall conquer me!"
Then, without any stop at all, they dashed off into another enthusiastically, but never quickening their slow tramp—
"A sailing on the boat when the tide rolls high,
A sailing on the boat when the tide rolls high,
O—h.asalllngonthe boat when the tide rolls high,
A waiting for some pretty girl to pass on by.
"Yonder she comes, all dressed In silk.
Yonder she comes, all dressed in silk.
Oh, yonder she comes, all dressed in silk,
A rose in her hand as white as any milk.
"You promised me you'd marry me six months ago.
You promised me you'd marry me six months ago,
O—h, you promised me you'd marry me six months ago,
I 'll hold you to your promise till you fall through,
"It's a bargain, a bargain to you, young man,
It's a bargain, a bargain to you, young man,
O—h, It's a bargain, a bargain to you, young man.
Hold her to your bargain, it's if you can."
The notes rang out loudly and clearly, with the exception of an occasional introduction of a nasal intonation. The word bargain, in the song, they invariably used with such a rolling of the r, that it sounded as if spelt bar-re-gin, with three syllables.
There was a short pause now, and the "ginners" left the circle and grouped around the room, laughing, chatting, and flirting. But this was very dull—sitting in my little corner, hearing people talk about their "sweethearts," and seeing them fight mock battles witli their" handkerchiefs; so I was highly delighted when some one called oat:—
"I say, boys, look a-herel 'Twon't never do to let the fire die out this a-way. 'Strike while the iron's hot,' boys I One or two of you come with me—I know how to start 'em I Come on, Sam; come on, Bill. Miss Delly, will you play with me?"
They placed a chair in the middle of the floor, and Sam seated himself in it; Bill placed himself behind it, and the other couple walked around as before, singing—
"Here's a young man set down to think.
And he has a house and a home;
But here he Is till yet—not a soul can he get;
And he's tired of living alone, lone, lone—
And he's tired of living alone.
"I hope some pretty girl will pity on him take,
And make him a husband of her own;
For, I really do declare, he will die In despair.
If he lives any longer alone, lone, lone—
If he lives any longer alone"
Then the lone young man requested one of the "pretty girls" to take a seat in the chair, and altering the song to suit the occasion, the game went on till nearly all of them were on the floor.
"Let's wind a pretty row now I" cried one. The suggestion was seized upon with avidity, and, just as they were, they joined hands. The man on the extreme end of the line stood perfectly still, while the girl at the other end started the line, leading them around him first, then under the clasped hands of himself and partner, and so on to the next, till the row was completed; leaving each of the party with his or her right arm drawn, as tightly as possible for comfort, across his own throat. All the time these evolutions were taking place, they were accompanied by the following verse, In certainly not a Handelian air:—
"From Pike County to Monroe,
From Pike County to Monroe,
From Pike County to Monroe,
Can't we wind a pretty row-row-row?"
repeating it till the "row" was finished. The rougher and fairer sexes were alternately placed, and the male voices sang out—
"I'sh potatoes, tops and all,
I'sh potatoes, tops and all,
I'sh potatoes, tops and all.
Kiss 'em quick, or not at all;
Kiss to the right, and kiss to the left.
And kiss the one that you love best."
Then followed a general kissing, and much laughter among the swains; a succession of squeals and simpering, and "you sha'n't's," and "you'd better quit that, now's," on the part of the girls, while the ranks broke into a general stampede.
It was real fun for a child like me, and I laughed till I was tired. Soon, however, my merriment was changed to anger, for one of the young men came to where we were sitting, and asked my sister to play with him. She declined very politely, like a little lady, which she really was; but he insisted, taking her hand and trying to pull her away with him. Sister was a little girl, and my auntie told her to go; so she obeyed, though very reluctantly. I had all the time been holding her dress, and saying, In answer to the young man's importunities: "No, she shall not go; she can't go. Mamma would not let her play with him." But they only laughed at me, except my sister, who was ashamed for me to talk so, and bade me hush, as she rose to go. I sprang up like a little spitfire (which I might have been sometimes), and trying with all my might and main to take her hand away from him, exclaimed: "Let her go, sir I My sissie shall not play with a snaggle-toothed cracker." Everybody laughed at me, and the game went on as gayly as if I had not been there. There was nothing for me to do but sit still and hold my peace. I bad mortified my aunties and my sister, and Uncle Edward laughed at me, which was worse than all. This was the sorry thing they sung, using the real names of the parties on the floor:—
"Come a tripping down stairs, Miss Molly,
Come a tripping down stairs. Miss Molly,
Come a tripping down stairs, with Bill Baker by her side.
And I'm on my way to the weddln'.
"What you reckon your mammy'll say, Miss Molly?
What you reckon your mammy 'll say, Miss Molly?
What you reckon your mammy 'll say, when she finds you've run away.
And I 'm on my way to the weddln'?"
My poor little sister looked as blushing as a scarlet geranium almost, but nobody seemed to notice it; and they all broke forth anew, with one exception ('tis needless to say who that exception was) ;—
"I've wondered, and wondered, all the days of my life,
When Jack Smith will go to get a wife:
Eight to Mr. Sanders's, that's the very place;
He '11 have Miss Lizzie if she '11 give him grace.
"Out steps Mrs. Sanders, all dressed in white;
Comes to the door: It's 'Jacky, won't you 'light?'
'O Mrs. Sanders, I want your daughter]'
'Take her, take her, take her!
You may have her If you want her;
Take her, take her, take her I I'm glad to let her go.'"
There was much more of this nonsensical stuff, which I do not remember, and I may, perhaps, have misquoted some of this, for which offence I crave pardon of its gifted author. My eyelids began to droop, and Morpheus was whispering to me to go with him to a fairer, brighter scene than this; and one of the kind young hostesses insisted that I should sleep on her bed till the time for "breaking up." So I went with her gladly, only stopping at the door a little while, to catch a new song, with a most mournful tune, which runs somewhat thus:— '
"Next Thursday night, and It is too long
Till we get married;
Next Thursday night, and it is too long,
Fur surely we must marry]
All we want is the old folk's will,
For surely we must many;
If we can't get that, we 'll run away,
For surely we will marry
I hardly remember when Uncle Edward carried me home or how; but do remember thinking I had been cheated out of the "party supper," which had its charms for me, albeit I was no part of a glutton. But they explained to me that they always had supper at" Piny Woods" parties as soon as the guests arrived. I had plenty to tell at home that day, and for a good many to come; there were plenty of Interesting little items which I have forgotten since, and many, perhaps, that I remember, but will not tell now. There were other songs, too, which I might have learned if Morpheus had not enticed me away so soon; but I suspect you know well enough by this time what a ginaround is.
I wish I could teach you the tunes as well as the words of the songs which they sung; for, while I write, they ring in my ears, and I know I can only do part of the Justice that is due. This is a scene of long ago, and I turn from its ridiculous side to hear a strain memory is playing in my heart, and learn why it is that the tears are trying to creep into my eyes. I know now—for hosts of recollections rise before me —pictures of childhood's dear home, and the loved ones who have passed away.