Gov. Bob. Taylor\'s Tales
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Robert L. Taylor >> Gov. Bob. Taylor\'s Tales
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[Illustration: THE OLD FIELD SCHOOL ORATOR.]
"The boy stood on the burnin' deck whence all but him had fled----The
flames that lit the battle's wreck shown 'round him o'er the dead,
yet beautiful and bright he stood----the boy stood on the burnin'
deck----and he wuz the bravest boy that ever wuz. His father told him to
keep a-stan'in' there till he told him to git off'n there, and the boy
he jist kep' a stan'in' there----and fast the flames rolled on----The
old man went down stairs in the ship to see about sump'n, an' he got
killed down there, an' the boy he didn't know it, an' he jist kept a
stan'in' there----an' fast the flames rolled on. He cried aloud: "say
father, say, if _yit_ my task is done," but his father wuz dead an'
couldn't hear 'im, an' the boy he jist kep' a stan'in' there----an' fast
the flames rolled on.----They caught like flag banners in the sky, an'
at last the ol' biler busted, an' the boy he went up!!!!!!!!"
At the close of this great speech the fiddle fainted as dead as a
herring.
THE QUILTING AND THE OLD VIRGINIA REEL.
The old fiddler took a fresh chew of long, green tobacco, and rosined
his bow. He glided off into "Hop light ladies, your cake's all dough,"
and then I heard the watch dog's honest bark. I heard the guinea's merry
"pot-rack." I heard a cock crow. I heard the din of happy voices in the
"big house" and the sizz and songs of boiling kettles in the kitchen.
It was an old time quilting--the May-day of the glorious ginger cake and
cider era of the American Republic; and the needle was mightier than the
sword. The pen of Jefferson announced to the world, the birth of the
child of the ages; the sword of Washington defended it in its cradle,
but it would have perished there had it not been for the brave women of
that day who plied the needle and made the quilts that warmed it, and
who nursed it and rocked it through the perils of its infancy, into
the strength of a giant. The quilt was attached to a quadrangular frame
suspended from the ceiling; and the good women sat around it and quilted
the live-long day, and were courted by the swains between stitches. At
sunset the quilt was always finished; a cat was thrown into the center
of it, and the happy maiden nearest to whom the escaping "kitty-puss"
passed was sure to be the first to marry.
Then followed the groaning supper table, surrounded by giggling
girls, bashful young men and gossipy old matrons who monopolized the
conversation. There was a warm and animated discussion among the old
ladies as to what was the most delightful product of the garden.
One old lady said, that so "fur" as she was "consarned," she preferred
the "per-turnip"--another preferred the "pertater"--another the
"cow-cumber," and still another voted "ingern" king. But suddenly a wise
looking old dame raised her spectacles and settled the whole question by
observing: "Ah, ladies, you may talk about yer per-turnips, and your
pertaters, and your passnips and other gyardin sass, but the sweetest
wedgetable that ever melted on these ol' gums o' mine is the 'possum."
At length the feast was ended, the old folks departed and the fun and
frolic began in earnest at the quilting. Old uncle "Ephraham" was an old
darkey in the neighborhood, distinguished for calling the figures for
all the dances, for miles and miles around. He was a tall, raw-boned,
angular old darkey with a very bald head, and a great deal of white in
his eyes. He had thick, heavy lips and a very flat nose. I will tell
you a little story of uncle "Ephraham." He lived alone in his cabin,
as many of the old time darkeys lived, and his 'possum dog lived with
him. One evening old uncle "Ephraham" came home from his labors and
took his 'possum dog into the woods and soon caught a fine, large,
fat 'possum. He brought him home and dressed him; and then he slipped
into his master's garden and stole some fine, large, fat sweet
potatoes--("Master's nigger, Master's taters,") and he washed the
potatoes and split them and piled them in the oven around the 'possum.
He set the oven on the red hot coals and put the lid on, and covered
it with red hot coals, and then sat down in the corner and nodded and
breathed the sweet aroma of the baking 'possum, till it was done. Then
he set it out into the middle of the floor, and took the lid off, and
sat down by the smoking 'possum and soliloquized: "Dat's de fines' job
ob bakin' 'possum I evah has done in my life, but dat 'possum's too
hot to eat yit. I believes I'll jis lay down heah by 'im an' take a nap
while he's coolin', an' maybe I'll dream about eat'n 'im, an' den I'll
git up an' eat 'im, an' I'll git de good uv dat 'possum boaf times
dat-a-way." So he lay down on the floor, and in a moment he was sleeping
as none but the old time darkey could sleep, as sweetly as a babe in
its mother's arms. Old Cye was another old darkey in the neighborhood,
prowling around. He poked his head in at "Ephraham's" door ajar, and
took in the whole situation at a glance. Cye merely remarked to himself:
"I loves 'possum myself." And he slipped in on his tip-toes and picked
up the 'possum and ate him from tip to tail, and piled the bones down by
sleeping "Ephraham;" he ate the sweet potatoes and piled the hulls down
by the bones; then he reached into the oven and got his hand full of
'possum grease and rubbed it on "Ephraham's" lips and cheeks and chin,
and then folded his tent and silently stole away. At length "Ephraham"
awoke--"Sho' nuf, sho' nuf--jist as I expected; I dreampt about eat'n
dat 'possum an' it wuz de sweetest dream I evah has had yit." He looked
around, but empty was the oven--"'possum gone." "Sho'ly to de Lo'd,"
said "Ephraham," "I nuvvah eat dat 'possum while I wuz a dreamin' about
eat'n 'im." He poked his tongue out--"Yes, dat's 'possum grease sho,--I
s'pose I eat dat 'possum while I wuz a dreamin' about eat'n 'im, but ef
I did eat 'im, he sets lighter on my constitution an' has less influence
wid me dan any 'possum I evah has eat in my bo'n days."
Old uncle "Ephraham" was present at the country dance in all his glory.
He was attired in his master's old claw-hammer coat, a very buff vest,
a high standing collar the corners of which stood out six inches from
his face, striped pantaloons that fitted as tightly as a kid glove, and
he wore number fourteen shoes. He looked as though he were born to call
the figures of the dance. The fiddler was a young man with long legs,
a curving back, and a neck of the crane fashion, embellished with an
Adam's apple which made him look as though he had made an unsuccessful
effort to swallow his own head. But he was a very important personage
at the dance. With great dignity he unwound his bandana handkerchief
from his old fiddle and proceeded to tune for the fray.
Did you never hear a country fiddler tune his fiddle? He tuned, and he
tuned, and he tuned. He tuned for fifteen minutes, and it was like a
melodious frog pond during a shower of rain.
At length uncle "Ephraham" shouted: "Git yo' pardners for a
cow-tillion."
The fiddler struck an attitude, and after countless yelps from his eager
strings, he glided off into that sweet old Southern air of "Old Uncle
Ned," as though he were mauling rails or feeding a threshing machine.
Uncle "Ephraham" sang the chorus with the fiddle before he began to call
the figures of the dance:
"Lay down de shovel an' de hoe--hoe--hoe, hang up de fiddle an'
de bow,
For dar's no mo' work for poor ol' Ned--he's gone whar de good
niggahs go."
Then, drawing himself up to his full height, he began! "Honah yo'
pardnahs! swing dem co'nahs--swing yo' pardnahs! fust couple for'd an'
back! half right an' leff fru! back agin! swing dem co'nahs--swing yo'
pardnahs! nex' couple for'd an' back! half right and leff fru! back agin!
swing dem co'nahs--swing yo' pardnahs! fust couple to de right--lady in
de centah--han's all around--suhwing!!!--nex' couple suhwing!!! nex'
couple suhwing!!! suh-wing, suh-wing, suh-wing!!!!!!"
[Illustration: UNCLE "EPHRAHAM" CALLING THE FIGURES OF THE DANCE.]
About this time an angry lad who had been jilted by his sweetheart,
shied a fresh egg from without; it struck "Ephraham" square between the
eyes and broke and landed on his upper lip. Uncle "Ephraham" yelled:
"Stop de music--stop de dance--let de whole circumstances of dis
occasion come to a stan' still till I finds out who it is a scram'lin
eggs aroun' heah."
And then the dancing subsided for the candy-pulling.
THE CANDY PULLING
The sugar was boiling in the kettles, and while it boiled the boys and
girls played "snap," and "eleven hand," and "thimble," and "blindfold,"
and another old play which some of our older people will remember:
"Oh! Sister Phoebe, how merry were we,
When we sat under the juniper tree--
The juniper tree-I-O."
And when the sugar had boiled down into candy they emptied it into
greased saucers, or as the mountain folks called them, "greased
sassers," and set it out to cool; and when it had cooled each boy and
girl took a saucer; and they pulled the taffy out and patted it and
rolled it till it hung well together; and then they pulled it out a foot
long; they pulled it out a yard long; and they doubled it back, and
pulled it out; and when it began to look like gold the sweethearts
paired off and consolidated their taffy and pulled against each other.
They pulled it out and doubled it back, and looped it over, and pulled
it out; and sometimes a peachblow cheek touched a bronzed one; and
sometimes a sweet little voice spluttered out; "you Jack;" and there was
a suspicious smack like a cow pulling her foot out of stiff mud. They
pulled the candy and laughed and frolicked; the girls got taffy on their
hair--the boys got taffy on their chins; the girls got taffy on their
waists--the boys got taffy on their coat sleeves. They pulled it till
it was as bright as a moonbeam, and then they platted it and coiled it
into fantastic shapes and set it out in the crisp air to cool. Then the
courting in earnest began. They did not court then as the young folks
court now. The young man led his sweetheart back into a dark corner
and sat down by her, and held her hand for an hour, and never said
a word. But it resulted next year in more cabins on the hillsides and
in the hollows; and in the years that followed the cabins were full of
candy-haired children who grew up into a race of the best, the bravest,
and the noblest people the sun in heaven ever shone upon.
In the bright, bright hereafter, when all the joys of all the ages are
gathered up and condensed into globules of transcendent ecstacy, I doubt
whether there will be anything half so sweet as were the candy-smeared,
ruby lips of the country maidens to the jeans-jacketed swains who tasted
them at the candy-pulling in the happy long ago.
(Sung by Gov. Taylor to air of "Down on the Farm.")
In the happy long ago,
When I used to draw the bow,
At the old log cabin hearthstone all aglow,
Oh! the fiddle laughed and sung,
And the puncheons fairly rung,
With the clatter of the shoe soles long ago.
Oh! the merry swings and whirls
Of the happy boys and girls,
In the good old time cotillion long ago!
Oh! they danced the highland fling,
And they cut the pigeon wing,
To the music of the fiddle and the bow.
But the mischief and the mirth,
And the frolics 'round the hearth,
And the flitting of the shadows to and fro,
Like a dream have passed away--
Now I'm growing old and gray,
And I'll soon hang up the fiddle and the bow.
When a few more notes I've made,
When a few more tunes I've played,
I'll be sleeping where the snowy daises grow.
But my griefs will all be o'er
When I reach the happy shore,
Where I'll greet the friends who loved me long ago.
Oh! how sweet, how precious to us all are the memories of the happy long
ago!
[Illustration: THE OLD VIRGINIA REEL.]
THE BANQUET.
Let us leave the "egg flip" of the country dance, and take a bowl of
egg-nog at the banquet. It was a modern banquet for men only. Music
flowed; wine sparkled; the night was far spent--it was in the wee sma'
hours. The banquet was given by Col. Punk who was the promoter of a town
boom, and who had persuaded the banqueters that "there were millions
in it." He had purchased some old sedge fields on the outskirts of
creation, from an old squatter on the domain of Dixie, at three dollars
an acre; and had stocked them at three hundred dollars an acre. The old
squatter was a partner with the Colonel, and with his part of the boodle
nicely done up in his wallet, was present with bouyant hopes and
feelings high. Countless yarns were spun; numberless jokes passed 'round
the table until, in the ecstacy of their joy, the banqueters rose from
the table and clinked their glasses together, and sang to chorus:
"Landlord, fill the flowing bowl
Until it doth run over;
Landlord fill the flowing bowl
Until it doth run over;
For to-night we'll merry merry be,
For to-night we'll merry merry be,
For to-night we'll merry merry be;
And to-morrow we'll get sober."
The whole banquet was drunk (as banquets usually are), and the principal
stockholders finally succumbed to the music of "Old Kentucky Bourbon,"
and sank to sleep under the table. The last toast on the programme was
announced. It was a wonderful toast--"Our mineral resources:" The old
squatter rose in his glory, about three o'clock in the morning, to
respond to this toast, and thus he responded:
"Mizzer Churman and Gent-tul-men of the Banquet: I have never made
mineralogy a study, nor zoology, nor any other kind of 'ology,' but
if there haint m-i-n-e-r-l in the deestrick which you gent-tul-men
have jist purchased from me at sitch magnifercent figers, then the
imagernation of man is a deception an' a snare. But gent-tul-men, you
caint expect to find m-i-n-e-r-l without plenty uv diggin'. I have been
diggin' thar for the past forty year fur it, an' haint never struck it
yit, I hope you gen-tul-men will strike it some time endurin' the next
forty year." Here, with winks and blinks and clinched teeth, the old
Colonel pulled his coat tail; he was spoiling the town boom. But he
would not down. He continued in the same eloquent strain: "Gent-tul-men,
you caint expect to find m-i-n-e-r-l without plenty uv diggin.' You
caint expect to find nothin' in this world without plenty uv diggin'.
There is no excellence without labor gent-tul-men. If old Vanderbilt
hadn't a-been persevering in his pertickler kind uv dig-gin', whar would
he be to-day? He wouldn't now be a rich man, a-ridin' the billers of old
ocean in his magnifercent 'yatchet.' If I hadn't a-been perseverin',
an' hadn't a-kep on a-dig-gin' an' a-diggin, whar would I have been
to-day? I mout have been seated like you gent-tul-men, at this
stupenduous banquet, with my pockets full of watered stock, and some
other old American citizen mout have been deliverin' this eulogy on our
m-i-n-e-r-l resources. Gent-tul-men, my injunction to you is never to
stop diggin'. And while you're a-diggin', cultivate a love for the
beautiful, the true and the good. Speakin' of the beautiful, the true,
and the good, gent-tul-men, let us not forgit woman at this magnifercent
banquet--Oh! woman, woman, woman! when the mornin' stars sung together
for joy--an' woman--God bless 'er----Great God, feller citerzens, caint
you understand!!!!"
[Illustration: THE BANQUET.]
At the close of this great speech the curtain fell to slow music, and
there was a panic in land stocks.
THERE IS MUSIC ALL AROUND US.
There is music all around us, there is music everywhere. There is no
music so sweet to the American ear as the music of politics. There is
nothing that kindles the zeal of a modern patriot to a whiter heat than
the prospect of an office; there is nothing that cools it off so quickly
as the fading out of that prospect.
I stood on the stump in Tennessee as a candidate for Governor, and thus
I cut my eagle loose: "Fellow Citizens, we live in the grandest country
in the world. It stretches
From Maine's dark pines and crags of snow
To where magnolia breezes blow;
It stretches from the Atlantic Ocean on the east, to the Pacific Ocean
on the west"--and an old fellow jumped up in my crowd and threw his hat
in the air and shouted: "Let 'er stretch, durn 'er--hurrah for the
Dimocrat Party."
An old Dutchman had a beautiful boy of whom he was very proud; and
he decided to find out the bent of his mind. He adopted a very novel
method by which to test him. He slipped into the little fellow's room
one morning and placed on his table a Bible, a bottle of whiskey, and
a silver dollar. "Now," said he, "Ven dot boy comes in, ef he dakes dot
dollar, he's goin' to be a beeznis man; ef he dakes dot Bible he'll
be a breacher; ef he dakes dot vwiskey, he's no goot--he's goin' to
be a druenkart." and he hid behind the door to see which his son would
choose. In came the boy whistling. He ran up to the table and picked up
the dollar and put it in his pocket; he picked up the Bible and put it
under his arm; then he snatched up the bottle of whiskey and took two or
three drinks, and went out smacking his lips. The old Dutchman poked his
head out from behind the door and exclaimed: "Mine Got--he's goin' to be
a bolitician."
There is no music like the music of political discussion. I have heard
almost a thousand political discussions. I heard the great debate
between Blaine and Ben Hill; I heard the angry coloquies between Roscoe
Conkling and Lamar; I have heard them on down to the humblest in the
land. But I prefer to give you a scrap of one which occurred in my own
native mountains. It was a race for the Legislature in a mountain county,
between a straight Democrat and a straight Republican. The mountaineers
had gathered at the county site to witness the great debate. The
Republican spoke first. He was about six feet two in his socks, as slim
as a bean pole, with a head about the size of an ordinary tin cup and
very bald, and he lisped. Webster in all his glory in the United States
Senate never appeared half so great or half so wise. Thus he opened the
debate:
"F-e-l-l-o-w T-h-i-t-i-t-h-e-n-s: I come befo' you to-day ath a
Republikin candidate, fer to reprethent you in the lower branch uv
the Legithlachah. And, fellow thitithens, ef I thould thay thumpthin
conthernin' my own carreckter, I hope you will excuthe me. I sprung frum
one of the humbletht cabins in all thith lovely land uv thweet liberty;
and many a mornin' I have jumped out uv my little trundle bed onto the
puncheon floor, and pulled the splinterth and the bark off uv the wall
of our 'umble cabin, for to make a fire for my weakley parenth. Fellow
thitithenth, I never had no chanthe. All that I am to-day I owe to my
own egtherthionth!! and that aint all. When the cloud of war thwept like
a bethom of destructhion over this land uv thweet liberty, me and my
connecthion thouldered our musketh and marched forth on the bloody
battlefield to fight for your thweet liberty! Fellow thitithenth, if you
can trust me in the capathity uv a tholjer, caint you trust me in the
capathity uv the Legithlature? I ask my old Dimocrat competitor for to
tell you whar he wath when war shook thith continent from its thenter to
its circumputh! I have put thith quethtion to him on every stump, and
he's ath thilent ath an oysthter. Fellow citithenth, I am a Republikin
from printhiple. I believe in every thing the Republikin Party has
ever done, and every thing the Republikin Party ever expecthts to do.
Fellow thitithenth, I am in favor of a high protective tarriff for the
protecthion of our infant induthtreth which are only a hundred yearth
old; and fellow thitithenth, I am in favor of paying of a penthun to
every tholjer that fit in the Federal army, while he lives, and after
hethe dead, I'm in favor of paying uv it to hith Exthecutor or hith
Adminithtrator."
He took his seat amid great applause on the Republican side of the
house, and the old Democrat who was a much older man, came forward
like a roaring lion, to join issue in the great debate, and thus he
"joined:"
"Feller Citerzuns, I come afore you as a Dimocrat canderdate, fur to
ripresent you in the lower branch of the house of the Ligislator. And
fust and fomust, hit becomes my duty fer to tell you whar I stand on the
great queshtuns which is now a-agitatin' of the public mind! Fust an'
fomust, feller citerzuns, I am a Dimocrat inside an' out, up one side
an' down tother, independent defatigly. My competitor axes me whar I wuz
endurin' the war--Hit's none uv his bizness whar I wuz. He says he wuz
a-fightin' fer yore sweet liberty. Ef he didn't have no more sense than
to stand before them-thar drotted bung-shells an' cannon, that's his
bizness, an' hit's my bizness whar I wuz. I think I have answered him
on that pint.
"Now, feller citerzuns, I'll tell you what I'm fur. I am in favor uv
payin' off this-here drotted tariff an' stoppin' of it; an' I'm in favor
of collectin' jist enuf of rivenue fur to run the Government ekernomical
administered, accordin' to Andy Jackson an' the Dimocrat flatform. My
competitor never told you that he got wounded endurin' the war. Whar did
he git hit at? That's the pint in this canvass. He got it in the back,
a-leadin' of the revance guard on the retreat--that's whar he got it."
This charge precipitated a personal encounter between the candidates,
and the meeting broke up in a general battle, with brickbats and tan
bark flying in the air.
It would be difficult, for those reared amid the elegancies and
refinements of life in city and town, to appreciate the enjoyments of
the gatherings and merry-makings of the great masses of the people who
live in the rural districts of our country. The historian records the
deeds of the great; he consigns to fame the favored few; but leaves
unwritten the short and simple annals of the poor--the lives and actions
of the millions.
The modern millionaire, as he sweeps through our valleys and around our
hills in his palace car, ought not to look with derision on the cabins
of America, for from their thresholds have come more brains and courage
and true greatness than ever eminated from all the palaces of this
world.
The fiddle, the rifle, the axe, and the Bible, symbolizing music,
prowess, labor, and free religion, the four grand forces of our
civilization, were the trusty friends and faithful allies of our
pioneer ancestry in subduing the wilderness and erecting the great
Commonwealths of the Republic. Wherever a son of freedom pushed his
perilous way into the savage wilds and erected his log cabin, these were
the cherished penates of his humble domicile--the rifle in the rack
above the door, the axe in the corner, the Bible on the table, and the
fiddle with its streamers of ribbon, hanging on the wall. Did he need
the charm of music, to cheer his heart, to scatter sunshine, and drive
away melancholy thoughts, he touched the responsive strings of his
fiddle and it burst into laughter. Was he beset by skulking savages, or
prowling beasts of prey, he rushed to his deadly rifle for protection
and relief. Had he the forest to fell, and the fields to clear, his
trusty axe was in his stalwart grasp. Did he need the consolation, the
promises and precepts of religion to strengthen his faith, to brighten
his hope, and to anchor his soul to God and heaven, he held sweet
communion with the dear old Bible.
The glory and strength of the Republic today are its plain working
people.
"Princes and Lords may flourish and may fade,
A breath can make them, as a breath has made;
But an honest yeomanry--a Country's pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied;"
Long live the common people of America! Long live the fiddle and the
bow, the symbols of their mirth and merriment!
THE TWO COLUMNS.
Music wooes, and leads the human race ever onward, and there are two
columns that follow her. One is the happy column, ringing with laughter
and song. Its line of march is strewn with roses; it is hedged on either
side by happy homes and smiling faces. The other is the column of
sorrow, moaning with suffering and distress. I saw an aged mother with
her white locks and wrinkled face, swoon at the Governor's feet; I saw
old men tottering on the staff, with broken hearts and tear stained
faces, and heard them plead for their wayward boys. I saw a wife and
seven children, clad in rags, and bare-footed, in mid-winter, fall upon
their knees around him who held the pardoning power. I saw a little
girl climb upon the Governor's knee, and put her arms around his neck;
I heard her ask him if he had little girls; then I saw her sob upon his
bosom as though her little heart would break, and heard her plead for
mercy for her poor, miserable, wretched, convict father. I saw want,
and woe, and poverty, and trouble, and distress, and suffering, and
agony, and anguish, march in solemn procession before the Gubernatorial
door; and I said: "Let the critics frown and rail, let this heartless
world condemn, but he who hath power and doth not temper justice with
mercy, will cry in vain himself for mercy on that great day when the two
columns shall meet! For, thank God, the stream of happy humanity that
rolls on like a gleaming river, and the stream of the suffering and
distressed and ruined of this earth, both empty into the same great
ocean of eternity and mingle like the waters, and there is a God who
shall judge the merciful and the unmerciful!"
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