Chapter 11
Not even Aunt Lindie could keep a straight face, but to spare Ben's feelings she gave out a verse that she felt certain no one could say after her. And try as they would no one could, not even when she said it slowly:
One a-tuory Dickie davy Ockie bonie Ten a-navy. Dickie manie Murkum tine Humble, bumble Twenty-nine.
One a-two A zorie, zinn Allie bow Crock a-bowl. Wheelbarrow Moccasin Jollaway Ten.
No one could say it, try as they would.
"Then answer me this," Aunt Lindie said. "Does it spell Tennessee or is it just an old comical way of counting?"
Again no one could answer and Aunt Lindie said smilingly if she told all she knew they would know as much as she. Though perhaps she wasn't aware of it, Aunt Lindie was keeping alive their interest in telling riddles. For young folks went about in their neighborhood trying to find answers to her riddles.
She now pointed to Katie Ford, and that young miss started right off, saying:
"As I was going to St. Ives," but everyone protested, so Katie had to try another that everyone didn't know.
As I was going over London bridge I heard a lad give a call; His tongue was flesh, his mouth was horn, And such a lad was never born.
"A rooster!" shouted cross-eyed Steve Morley, who vowed Katie looked straight at him. And in the bat of an eye he said:
As I went over London bridge I met my sister Ann; I pulled off her head and sucked her blood And let her body stand.
"A bottle of wine," two in the corner spoke at once, which was against the rules, but both thought Steve was looking in their direction.
"Tell another," Aunt Lindie settled the matter.
"As I went over London bridge I met a man," said Steve. "If I was to tell his name I'd be to blame. I have told his name five times over. Who was it?"
No one spoke up for they all knew the answers to Steve's simple, threadbare riddles. "The answer is I," he said, running a hand over his bristling pompadour.
And lest he assert his rights by starting on another, Aunt Lindie, which was her right, gave a jingle and the answer to it too.
As I walked out in my garden of lilies There I saw endible, crindible, cronable kernt Ofttimes pestered my eatable, peatable, partable present, And I called for my man William, the second of quillan, To bring me a quill of anatilus feather That I might conquer the endible, crindible, cronable kernt.
She looked about the puzzled faces. "I'll not plague your minds to find the answer. I'll give it to you. As the woman walked out in her garden she saw a rabbit eating her cabbage and she called for her second husband to bring her a shotgun that she might kill the rabbit."
The old teller of riddles pointed out that there was good in their telling. "People have been known to be scared out of doing meanness just by a riddle. Now what would you think this one would be?
Riddle to my riddle to my right, You can't guess where I laid last Friday night; The wind did blow, my heart did ache To see what a hole that fox did make.
Whoever knows can answer." She looked at Josie Binner. "You have the best remembrance of anyone I know. Don't tell me you can't give the answer."
"I never heard it before," Josie had to admit, twisting her kerchief and looking down at the floor.
"Speak out!" urged Aunt Lindie. But no one did so she riddled the riddle. "A wicked man once planned to kill his sweetheart. He went first to dig her grave and then meant to throw her into it. She got an inkling of his intent, watched from the branches of a tree, then accused him with that riddle. He skipped the country and so that riddle saved a young girl's life. And while we're on trees, here's another:
Horn eat a horn in a white oak tree. Guess this riddle and you may hang me.
For the fun of it they all pretended not to know the answer so she gave it. "You're just pranking," she admonished playfully, "but nohow--a man named Horn eat a calf's horn as he sat up in a white oak tree. But I'll give you one now to take along with you. It's a Bible riddle, now listen well:
God made Adam out of dust, But thought it best to make me first; So I was made before the man, To answer God's most holy plan.
My body he did make complete, But without legs or hands or feet; My ways and actions did control, And I was made without a soul.
A living being I became; 'Twas Adam that gave me my name; Then from his presence I withdrew; No more of Adam ever knew.
I did my Maker's laws obey; From them I never went astray; Thousands of miles I run, I fear, But seldom on the earth appear.
But God in me did something see, And put a living soul in me. A soul of me my God did claim, And took from me that soul again.
But when from me the soul was fled, I was the same as when first made. And without hands, or feet, or soul, I travel now from pole to pole.
I labor hard, both day and night, To fallen man I give great light; Thousands of people, both young and old, Will by my death great light behold.
No fear of death doth trouble me, For happiness I cannot see; To Heaven I shall never go, Nor to the grave, or hell below.
And now, my friends, these lines you read, And scan the Scriptures with all speed; And if my name you don't find there, I'll think it strange, I must declare."
That was the way Aunt Lindie and other older mountain women had of sending young folk to read the Word.
There was rarely a gathering for telling riddles and trying simple fortunes, especially during the winter, that did not end with a taffy pull. That too afforded the means for courting couples to pair off and pursue their romance.
The iron pot filled with sorghum was swung over the hearth fire to bubble and boil. In due time the mother of the household dropped some of it with a spoon into a dipper of cold water. If it hardened just right she knew the sorghum had boiled long enough. Then it was poured into buttered plates to cool. Often to add an extra flavor the taffy was sprinkled with walnut kernels. The task of picking out the kernels with Granny's knitting needles usually fell to the younger folks. There on the hearth was a round hole worn into the stone where countless walnuts had been cracked year after year.
When the taffy had cooled so that it could be lifted up in the hands the fun of pulling it began. The girls buttered or greased their hands so that it would not stick, and the boys, of their choice, did likewise. Pulling taffy to see who could get theirs the whitest was an occasion for greatest merriment. "Mine's the whitest," you'd hear a young, tittering miss call out. Then followed comparisons, friendly argument. And when at last the taffy was pulled into white ropes it was again coiled on buttered plates in fancy designs of hearts and links and left to harden until it could be broken into pieces with quick tap of knife or spoon.
Once more the courting couples paired off together and helped themselves politely when the plate was passed.
Riddles and fortunes, taffy pulling and harmless kissing games, like Clap In and Clap Out, Post Office, and I Lost My Kerchief Yesterday, made for the young folk of the mountains a most happy and (to them of yesterday) a most hilarious occasion.
And when a neighbor like Aunt Binie Warwick gave out the word there'd be a frolic and dance at her house, nothing but sickness or death could keep the young people away. Such an occasion started off with a play-game song in order to get everyone in a gay mood. The hostess herself led off in the singing:
Come gather east, come gather west, Come round with Yankee thunder; Break down the power of Mexico And tread the tyrants under.
Everyone knew how to play it. The boys stood on one side of the room, the girls on the other, and when the old woman piped out the very first notes the boys started for the girls, each with an eye on the one of his choice. Sometimes two or more of the young fellows were of the same mind, which added to the fun and friendly rivalry. The one who first caught the right hand of the girl had her for his partner in the dance that would follow. Immediately each couple stepped aside and waited until the others had found a partner. If there was a question about it, the oldest woman present, who by her years was the recognized matchmaker of the community, decided the point.
"Who'll do the calling?" asked the hostess, Aunt Binie.
Everyone knew there was not a better caller anywhere than Uncle Mose, who was just as apt at fiddling. So Uncle Mose proudly took his place in the corner, chair tilted back against the wall. Fiddle to chin, he called out: "Choose your partners!"
With a quick eye he singled out one couple. "Lizzie, you've got a bound to stand to the right of the gent!"
Quickly Lizzie, tittering and blushing, stepped to the other side of Dave.
"And you, Prudie," Uncle Mose waved a commanding hand, "get on the other side of John. You fellows from Fryin' Pan best learn the proper ways here and now."
A wave of laughter swept over the gathering and Uncle Mose, sweeping the bow across the strings, called: "Salute your partner!"
There was bowing and shuffling of feet and, as the tempo of the fiddle increased, heels clicked against the bare floor and the caller's voice rang out above music and laughter:
Salute your corner lady, Salute your partners, all: Swing your corner lady And promenade the hall.
They danced to the fiddle music of O Suzanna and Life on the Ocean Wave, and Uncle Mose had calls to suit any tune:
Swing old Adam Swing Miss Eve, Then swing your partner As you leave.
Now and then a breathless girl would drop out and rest a moment leaning against the wall. And just for fun an oldster like Old Buck Rawlins, who didn't even have a partner, caught up one boot toe and hopped off to a corner moaning:
Sudie, Sudie, my foot is sore, A-dancing on your puncheon floor.
Sometimes a young miss limped off to a chair. "Making out like someone stepped on her toe," Aunt Binie whispered behind her hand, for she knew all the signs of young folks, "but she's just not wanting to dance with Big Foot Jeff Pickett." The next moment Dan Spotswood had pulled himself loose from his cross-eyed partner and made his way to the side of his true love who had limped to the corner.
Nor was Uncle Mose unmindful of what was going on. The caller must have a quick eye, know who is courting, who is on the outs, who craves to be again in the arms of so and so. Quick as a flash he shouted, "Which shall it be Butterfly Swing or Captain Jinks?"
"Captain Jinks," cried Dan Spotswood jovially. For Dan knew the ways of the mountains. He didn't want any hard feelings with anyone. This dance would give all an opportunity to mingle and exchange partners. Even though Big Foot had tried his best to break up the match between him and Nellie, Dan meant that that fellow shouldn't have the satisfaction of knowing his jealousy. So he urged the couples into the circle. Dan, however, did see to it that he had Nellie's hand as they circled halfway around the crowded room before following the familiar calls of the play-party game as they sang the words along with the lively notes of the fiddle. They were words that their grandparents had sung in the days of the Civil War, with some latter-day changes:
Captain Jinks came home last night. Pass your partner to the right; Swing your neighbor so polite, For that's the style in the army.
All join hands and circle left, Circle left, circle left, All join hands and circle left, For that's the style in the army.
They saluted partners, they stepped and circled, and sashayed, they fairly galloped around the room, much to the disapproval of old Aunt Binie. "I don't favor no such antic ways. They're steppin' too lively." Her protest was heeded.
The fiddler stopped short. Folks were respectful in that day and time.
"Mose," the hostess called out to the fiddler when he had rested a little while, "please to strike up the tune Pop Goes the Weasel."
No sooner said than done. The notes of the fiddle rang out and Uncle Mose himself led off in the singing:
A penny for a spool of thread, A penny for a needle,
while old and young joined in the singing as each lad stepped gallantly to the side of the girl of his choice and went through the steps of the Virginia Reel.
Though all knew every step and danced with grace and ease, they perhaps did not know that the dance was that of Sir Roger de Coverley; that it was one of a large number of English country dances, so called, not because they were danced in the country, but because their English ancestors corrupted the French word _contredanse_, which had to do with the position the dancers assume. Of one thing they could be sure, however, they owed it to their elders that this charming dance had survived.[A]
With what charming ease even old Aunt Binie with an aged neighbor went through the lovely figures of the Virginia Reel, harking back to the days of powdered wigs, buckled shoes, satin breeches and puffed skirts, as the head lady and foot gentleman skipped forward to meet each other in the center of the set. How gracefully she bowed to him and he to her with hand upon his chest, as they returned to their places!
Then the head lady and foot gentleman skipped forward, made one revolution, holding right hands.
With dignity and charm they went through the entire dance while those on the side lines continued to sing with the fiddle:
A penny for a spool of thread, A penny for a needle. That's the way the money goes. Pop! goes the weasel.
Each time on the word "Pop!" the fiddler briskly plucked a string.
There was an interlude of fiddle music without words, then followed another verse while the dancers stepped the tune:
All around the American flag, All around the eagle, The monkey kissed the parson's wife, Pop! goes the weasel.
This was followed by a lively tune, Vauxhall Dance, with a lusty call from the fiddler: "Circle eight!"
Whereupon all joined hands, circled to the left and to place.
Head couple out to the right and circle four, With all your might Around that couple take a peek!
At this Dan Spotswood peeked at smiling Nellie, almost forgetting to follow the next figure in his excitement.
Back to the center and swing when you meet, Around that couple peek once more.
Back to the center and swing all four, Circle four and cross right o'er.
The dance was moving toward the end.
"Balance all. Allemande left and promenade," the fiddler's voice raised louder.
There was repetition of calls and figures and a final booming from the indefatigable caller: "Meet your partners and promenade home."
Then the fiddler struck up Cackling Hen and a Breakdown so that the nimblest of the dancers might show out alone and so the frolic and dance ended.
[Footnote A: DANCE DIRECTIONS:
I. (a). Head lady and foot gentleman skip forward to meet each other in center of the set. They bow and return to places. (b). Head gentleman and foot lady repeat (a).
II. (a). The head lady and foot gentleman skip forward and make one revolution, holding right hands. (b). The head gentleman and foot lady repeat (a). (c). The head lady and foot gentleman skip forward and make one revolution, holding left hands. (d). Head gentleman and foot lady repeat (c).
III. (a). Head lady and foot gentleman skip forward and around each other back to back. (b). Head lady and foot gentleman repeat (a).
IV. The head couple meet in center, lock right arms, and make one and one-half revolutions. They go down the set swinging each one once around with left arms locked, the gentleman swinging the ladies, the lady swinging the gentlemen. They meet each other swinging a round with right arms locked, between each turn down the line. They swing thus down the set.
V. Couples join hands, forming a bridge under which the head couple skips to head of set. They separate, skipping down the outside of the lines and take their new places at the foot of the set. The original second couple is now the head couple. The dance is repeated from the beginning until each couple has been the head couple.]
THE INFARE WEDDING
Even when the dulcimer, that primitive three-stringed instrument, could not be had, mountain folk in the raggeds of Old Virginia were not at a loss for music with which to make merry at the infare wedding. They stepped the tune to the singing of a ballad, nor did they tire though the infare wedding lasted all of three days and nights. It began right after the wedding ceremony itself had been spoken--at the bride's home, you may be sure.
How happy the young couple were as they stood before the elder, the groom with his waiter at his side, and the bride with her waiter beside her. Careful they were too that they stood the way the floor logs were running. Thoughtless couples who had stood contrary to the cracks in the floor had been known to be followed by ill luck.
When the elder had spoken the word which made them one, the bride with her waiter hurried out to another room, if there was such, if not she climbed the wall ladder to the loft and there in the low-roofed bedroom she changed her wedding frock for her infare dress--the second day dress. In early times it was of linsey-woolsey, woven by her own hands, and dyed with homemade dyes, while her wedding frock had been of snowy white linsey-woolsey.
And what a feast _her_ folks had prepared for the occasion. Cakes and pies, stewed pumpkin that had been dried in rings before the fireplace, venison, and wild honey.
While the bride was changing to her infare dress, older hands quickly took down the bedsteads, tied up the flock ticks and shuck ticks in coverlids and quilts, shoved them back into the corners so as to make room for the frolic and dancing.
If the bride's granny lived it was her privilege to lead off in the singing, which she did in a high querulous voice while the young folks, the boys on one side, the girls on the other, faced each other and to soft handclapping and lightly tapping toe sang:
There lived an old Lord by the Northern sea, Bowee down, There lived an old Lord by the Northern sea, And he had daughters one, two three; I'll be true to my love, If my love will be true to me.
All the while the bride and groom sat primly side-by-side near the hearth and looked on.
The rest stepped the tune to the singing of the Twa Sisters, reenacting the story of the old ballad as it moved along.
It gave everyone an opportunity to swing and step.
After that the bride's father stepped to the middle of the room and urged even the bride to join in. In the meantime the young folks had taken the opportunity to tease the bride, while the young men went further by bussing her cheek. A kiss of the modest, proper sort was not out of order; every groom knew and expected that. Even a most jealous fellow knew to conceal his displeasure, for it would only add to further pranking on the part of the rest if he protested.
Presently two of the young lads came in bearing a pole. They caught the eye of the groom who knew full well the meaning of the pole. Quickly he tapped his pocket till the silver jingled, nodded assent to the unspoken query. They should have silver to buy a special treat for all the menfolks; forthwith the polebearers withdrew, knowing the groom would keep his word.
And now the father of the bride egged the groom and his wife to step out and join in singing and dancing the next song, which the father started in a rollicking, husky voice:
Charlie's neat, and Charlie's sweet, And Charlie he's a dandy.
It was a dignified song and one of the few in which the woman advanced first toward the man in the dance. The lads already being formed in line at one side, the girls one at a time advanced as all sang, took a partner by the hand, swung him once; then stepping, in time with the song, to the next the lad repeated the simple step until she had gone down the line. The second girl followed as soon as the first girl had swung the first lad, and so each in turn participated, skipping finally on the outside of the opposite line, making a complete circle of the dancers, and resuming her first position.
It did not concern them that they were singing and stepping an old Jacobean song that had been written in jest of a Stuart King, Charles II.
At the invitation of the bride's mother the dancing ceased for a time so that all might partake of the feast she had spent days preparing. Even in this there was the spirit of friendly rivalry. The bride's mother sought to outdo the groom's parent in preparing a feast for the gathering; the next day, according to their age-old custom, the celebration of the infare would continue at the home of his folks.
When all had eaten their fill again the bride's granny carried out her part of the tradition. She hobbled in with a rived oak broom. This she placed in the center of the floor with the brush toward the door. Everyone knew that was the sign for ending the frolic at the bride's home. Also they knew it was the last chance for a shy young swain to declare himself to his true love as they sang the ancient ballad, which granny would start, and did its bidding. Usually not one of the unwed would evade this custom. For, if _she_ sang and stepped with _him_, it meant betrothal. So they stepped and sang lustily:
Here comes the poor old chimney sweeper, He has but one daughter and cannot keep her, Now she has resolved to marry, Go choose the one and do not tarry.
Now you have one of your own choosing, Be in a hurry, no time for losing; Join your right hands, this broom step over, And kiss the lips of your true lover.
So ended the infare wedding at the bride's home.
The next day all went to the home of the groom's parents and repeated the feasting and dancing, and on the third day the celebration continued at the home of the young couple.
In those days mountain people shared each other's work as well as their play. Willing hands had already helped the young groom raise his house of logs on a house seat given by his parents, and along the same creek.
It was the way civilization moved. The son settled on the creek where his father, like his before him, had settled, only moving farther up toward its source as his father had done when he had wed.
5. RELIGIOUS CUSTOMS
FUNERALIZING