Your fingers are too small,
I am afraid from your countenance
You can't face a cannon ball."
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
"My waist is not too slender,
My fingers are not too small,
And never would I quiver
To face a cannon ball."
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
"We don't often 'list an officer
Unless the name we know;"
She answered him in a low, sweet voice,
"You may call me Jack Munro."
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
We gathered up our men
And quickly we did sail,
We landed in France
With a sweet and pleasant gale.
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
We were walking on the land,
Up and down the line,--
Among the dead and wounded
Her own true love she did find.
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
She picked him up all in her arms,
To Tousen town she went;
She soon found a doctor
To dress and heal his wounds,
Sing I am left alone,
Sing I am left alone.
So Jacky, he is married,
And his bride by his side,
In spite of her old parents
And all the world beside.
Sing no longer left alone,
Sing no longer left alone.
FREIGHTING FROM WILCOX TO GLOBE
Come all you jolly freighters
That has freighted on the road,
That has hauled a load of freight
From Wilcox to Globe;
We freighted on this road
For sixteen years or more
A-hauling freight for Livermore,--
No wonder that I'm poor.
And it's home, dearest home;
And it's home you ought to be,
Over on the Gila
In the white man's country,
Where the poplar and the ash
And mesquite will ever be
Growing green down on the Gila;
There's a home for you and me.
'Twas in the spring of seventy-three
I started with my team,
Led by false illusion
And those foolish, golden dreams;
The first night out from Wilcox
My best wheel horse was stole,
And it makes me curse a little
To come out in the hole.
This then only left me three,--
Kit, Mollie and old Mike;
Mike being the best one of the three
I put him out on spike;
I then took the mountain road
So the people would not smile,
And it took fourteen days
To travel thirteen mile.
But I got there all the same
With my little three-up spike;
It taken all my money, then,
To buy a mate for Mike.
You all know how it is
When once you get behind,
You never get even again
Till you damn steal them blind.
I was an honest man
When I first took to the road,
I would not swear an oath,
Nor would I tap a load;
But now you ought to see my mules
When I begin to cuss,
They flop their ears and wiggle their tails
And pull the load or bust.
Now I can tap a whiskey barrel
With nothing but a stick,
No one can detect me
I've got it down so slick;
Just fill it up with water,--
Sure, there's no harm in that.
Now my clothes are not the finest,
Nor are they genteel;
But they will have to do me
Till I can make another steal.
My boots are number elevens,
For I swiped them from a chow,
And my coat cost dos reals
From a little Apache squaw.
Now I have freighted in the sand,
I have freighted in the rain,
I have bogged my wagons down
And dug them out again;
I have worked both late and early
Till I was almost dead,
And I have spent some nights sleeping
In an Arizona bed.
Now barbed wire and bacon
Is all that they will pay,
But you have to show your copper checks
To get your grain and hay;
If you ask them for five dollars,
Old Meyers will scratch his pate,
And the clerks in their white, stiff collars
Say, "Get down and pull your freight."
But I want to die and go to hell,
Get there before Livermore and Meyers,
And get a job of hauling coke
To keep up the devil's fires;
If I get the job of singeing them,
I'll see they don't get free;
I'll treat them like a yaller dog,
As they have treated me.
And it's home, dearest home;
And it's home you ought to be,
Over on the Gila,
In the white man's country,
Where the poplar and the ash
And mesquite will ever be
Growing green down on the Gila;
There's a home for you and me.
THE ARIZONA BOYS AND GIRLS
Come all of you people, I pray you draw near,
A comical ditty you all shall hear.
The boys in this country they try to advance
By courting the ladies and learning to dance,--
And they're down, down, and they're down.
The boys in this country they try to be plain,
Those words that you hear you may hear them again,
With twice as much added on if you can.
There's many a boy stuck up for a man,--
And they're down, down, and they're down.
They will go to their parties, their whiskey they'll
take,
And out in the dark their bottles they'll break;
You'll hear one say, "There's a bottle around here;
So come around, boys, and we'll all take a share,"--
And they're down, down, and they're down.
There is some wears shoes and some wears boots,
But there are very few that rides who don't shoot;
More than this, I'll tell you what they'll do,
They'll get them a watch and a ranger hat, too,--
And they're down, down, and they're down.
They'll go in the hall with spurs on their heel,
They'll get them a partner to dance the next reel,
Saying, "How do I look in my new brown suit,
With my pants stuffed down in the top of my boot?"--
And they're down, down, and they're down.
Now I think it's quite time to leave off these lads
For here are some girls that's fully as bad;
They'll trim up their dresses and curl up their hair,
And like an old owl before the glass they'll stare,--
And they're down, down, and they're down.
The girls in the country they grin like a cat,
And with giggling and laughing they don't know what they're at,
They think they're pretty and I tell you they're wise,
But they couldn't get married to save their two eyes,--
And they're down, down, and they're down.
You can tell a good girl wherever she's found;
No trimming, no lace, no nonsense around;
With a long-eared bonnet tied under her chin,--
. . . . . . . . . . . .
And they're down, down, and they're down.
They'll go to church with their snuff-box in hand,
They'll give it a tap to make it look grand;
Perhaps there is another one or two
And they'll pass it around and it's "Madam, won't you,"--
And they're down, down, and they're down.
Now, I think it's quite time for this ditty to end;
If there's anyone here that it will offend,
If there's anyone here that thinks it amiss
Just come around now and give the singer a kiss,--
And they're down, down, and they're down.
THE DYING RANGER
The sun was sinking in the west
And fell with lingering ray
Through the branches of a forest
Where a wounded ranger lay;
Beneath the shade of a palmetto
And the sunset silvery sky,
Far away from his home in Texas
They laid him down to die.
A group had gathered round him,
His comrades in the fight,
A tear rolled down each manly cheek
As he bid a last good-night.
One tried and true companion
Was kneeling by his side,
To stop his life-blood flowing,
But alas, in vain he tried.
When to stop the life-blood flowing
He found 'twas all in vain,
The tears rolled down each man's cheek
Like light showers of rain.
Up spoke the noble ranger,
"Boys, weep no more for me,
I am crossing the deep waters
To a country that is free.
"Draw closer to me, comrades,
And listen to what I say,
I am going to tell a story
While my spirit hastens away.
Way back in Northwest Texas,
That good old Lone Star state,
There is one that for my coming
With a weary heart will wait.
"A fair young girl, my sister,
My only joy, my pride,
She was my friend from boyhood,
I had no one left beside.
I have loved her as a brother,
And with a father's care
I have strove from grief and sorrov
Her gentle heart to spare.
"My mother, she lies sleeping
Beneath the church-yard sod,
And many a day has passed away
Since her spirit fled to God.
My father, he lies sleeping
Beneath the deep blue sea,
I have no other kindred,
There are none but Nell and me.
"But our country was invaded
And they called for volunteers;
She threw her arms around me,
Then burst into tears,
Saying, 'Go, my darling brother,
Drive those traitors from our shore,
My heart may need your presence,
But our country needs you more.'
"It is true I love my country,
For her I gave my all.
If it hadn't been for my sister,
I would be content to fall.
I am dying, comrades, dying,
She will never see me more,
But in vain she'll wait my coming
By our little cabin door.
"Comrades, gather closer
And listen to my dying prayer.
Who will be to her as a brother,
And shield her with a brother's care?"
Up spake the noble rangers,
They answered one and all,
"We will be to her as brothers
Till the last one does fall."
One glad smile of pleasure
O'er the ranger's face was spread;
One dark, convulsive shadow,
And the ranger boy was dead.
Far from his darling sister
We laid him down to rest
With his saddle for a pillow
And his gun across his breast.
The Dying Ranger (Mus. Not.)
The sun was sink-ing in the west, And
fell with lin-g'ring ray Through the branches of the
for-est,... Where a wound-ed ran-ger lay;
'Neath the shade of a pal-met-to ... And the
sun-set sil-v'ry sky, Far a-way from his home in
Tex-as,... They laid him down to die.
THE FAIR FANNIE MOORE
Yonder stands a cottage,
All deserted and alone,
Its paths are neglected,
With grass overgrown;
Go in and you will see
Some dark stains on the floor,--
Alas! it is the blood
Of fair Fannie Moore.
To Fannie, so blooming,
Two lovers they came;
One offered young Fannie
His wealth and his name;
But neither his money
Nor pride could secure
A place in the heart
Of fair Fannie Moore.
The first was young Randell,
So bold and so proud,
Who to the fair Fannie
His haughty head bowed;
But his wealth and his house
Both failed to allure
The heart from the bosom
Of fair Fannie Moore.
The next was young Henry,
Of lowest degree.
He won her fond love
And enraptured was he;
And then at the altar
He quick did secure
The hand with the heart
Of the fair Fannie Moore.
As she was alone
In her cottage one day,
When business had called
Her fond husband away,
Young Randell, the haughty,
Came in at the door
And clasped in his arms
The fair Fannie Moore.
"O Fannie, O Fannie,
Reflect on your fate
And accept of my offer
Before it's too late;
For one thing to-night
I am bound to secure,--
'Tis the love or the life
Of the fair Fannie Moore."
"Spare me, Oh, spare me!"
The young Fannie cries,
While the tears swiftly flow
From her beautiful eyes;
"Oh, no!" cries young Randell,
"Go home to your rest,"
And he buried his knife
In her snowy white breast.
So Fannie, so blooming,
In her bright beauty died;
Young Randell, the haughty,
Was taken and tried;
At length he was hung
On a tree at the door,
For shedding the blood
Of the fair Fannie Moore.
Young Henry, the shepherd,
Distracted and wild,
Did wander away
From his own native isle.
Till at length, claimed by death,
He was brought to this shore
And laid by the side
Of the fair Fannie Moore.
HELL IN TEXAS
The devil, we're told, in hell was chained,
And a thousand years he there remained;
He never complained nor did he groan,
But determined to start a hell of his own,
Where he could torment the souls of men
Without being chained in a prison pen.
So he asked the Lord if he had on hand
Anything left when he made the land.
The Lord said, "Yes, I had plenty on hand,
But I left it down on the Rio Grande;
The fact is, old boy, the stuff is so poor
I don't think you could use it in hell anymore."
But the devil went down to look at the truck,
And said if it came as a gift he was stuck;
For after examining it carefully and well
He concluded the place was too dry for hell.
So, in order to get it off his hands,
The Lord promised the devil to water the lands;
For he had some water, or rather some dregs,
A regular cathartic that smelled like bad eggs.
Hence the deal was closed and the deed was given
And the Lord went back to his home in heaven.
And the devil then said, "I have all that is needed
To make a good hell," and hence he succeeded.
He began to put thorns in all of the trees,
And mixed up the sand with millions of fleas;
And scattered tarantulas along all the roads;
Put thorns on the cactus and horns on the toads.
He lengthened the horns of the Texas steers,
And put an addition on the rabbit's ears;
He put a little devil in the broncho steed,
And poisoned the feet of the centipede.
The rattlesnake bites you, the scorpion stings,
The mosquito delights you with buzzing wings;
The sand-burrs prevail and so do the ants,
And those who sit down need half-soles on their pants.
The devil then said that throughout the land
He'd managed to keep up the devil's own brand,
And all would be mavericks unless they bore
The marks of scratches and bites and thorns by the score.
The heat in the summer is a hundred and ten,
Too hot for the devil and too hot for men.
The wild boar roams through the black chaparral,--
It's a hell of a place he has for a hell.
The red pepper grows on the banks of the brook;
The Mexicans use it in all that they cook.
Just dine with a Greaser and then you will shout,
"I've hell on the inside as well as the out!"
BY MARKENTURA'S FLOWERY MARGE
By Markentura's flowery marge the Red Chief's wigwam stood,
Before the white man's rifle rang, loud echoing through the wood;
The tommy-hawk and scalping knife together lay at rest,
And peace was in the forest shade and in the red man's breast.
Oh, the Spotted Fawn, oh, the Spotted Fawn,
The life and light of the forest shade,--
The Red Chief's child is gone!
By Markentura's flowery marge the Spotted Fawn had birth
And grew as fair an Indian maid as ever graced the earth.
She was the Red Chief's only child and sought by many a brave,
But to the gallant young White Cloud her plighted troth she gave.
By Markentura's flowery marge the bridal song arose,
Nor dreamed they in that festive night of near approaching woes;
But through the forest stealthily the white man came in wrath.
And fiery darts before them spread, and death was in their path.
By Markentura's flowery marge next morn no strife was seen,
But a wail went up, for the young Fawn's blood and White Cloud's dyed
the green.
A burial in their own rude way the Indians gave them there,
And a low sweet requiem the brook sang and the air.
Oh, the Spotted Fawn, oh, the Spotted Fawn,
The life and light of the forest shade,--
The Red Chief's child is gone!
THE STATE OF ARKANSAW
My name is Stamford Barnes, I come from Nobleville town;
I've traveled this wide world over, I've traveled this wide world round.
I've met with ups and downs in life but better days I've saw,
But I've never knew what misery were till I came to Arkansaw.
I landed in St. Louis with ten dollars and no more;
I read the daily papers till both my eyes were sore;
I read them evening papers until at last I saw
Ten thousand men were wanted in the state of Arkansaw.
I wiped my eyes with great surprise when I read this grateful news,
And straightway off I started to see the agent, Billy Hughes.
He says, "Pay me five dollars and a ticket to you I'll draw,
It'll land you safe upon the railroad in the State of Arkansaw."
I started off one morning a quarter after five;
I started from St. Louis, half dead and half alive;
I bought me a quart of whiskey my misery to thaw,
I got as drunk as a biled owl when I left for old Arkansaw.
I landed in Ft. Smith one sultry Sunday afternoon,
It was in the month of May, the early month of June,
Up stepped a walking skeleton with a long and lantern jaw,
Invited me to his hotel, "The best in Arkansaw."
I followed my conductor into his dwelling place;
Poverty were depictured in his melancholy face.
His bread it was corn dodger, his beef I could not chaw;
This was the kind of hash they fed me in the State of Arkansaw.
I started off next morning to catch the morning train,
He says to me, "You'd better work, for I have some land to drain.
I'll pay you fifty cents a day, your board, washing, and all,--
You'll find yourself a different man when you leave old Arkansaw."
I worked six weeks for the son of a gun, Jesse Herring was his name,
He was six foot seven in his stocking feet and taller than any crane;
His hair hung down in strings over his long and lantern jaw,--
He was a photograph of all the gents who lived in Arkansaw.
He fed me on corn dodgers as hard as any rock,
Until my teeth began to loosen and my knees began to knock;
I got so thin on sassafras tea I could hide behind a straw,
And indeed I was a different man when I left old Arkansaw.
Farewell to swamp angels, cane brakes, and chills;
Farewell to sage and sassafras and corn dodger pills.
If ever I see this land again, I'll give to you my paw;
It will be through a telescope from here to Arkansaw.
THE TEXAS COWBOY
Oh, I am a Texas cowboy,
Far away from home,
If ever I get back to Texas
I never more will roam.
Montana is too cold for me
And the winters are too long;
Before the round-ups do begin
Our money is all gone.
Take this old hen-skin bedding,
Too thin to keep me warm,--
I nearly freeze to death, my boys.
Whenever there's a storm.
And take this old "tarpoleon,"
Too thin to shield my frame,--
I got it down in Nebraska
A-dealin' a Monte game.
Now to win these fancy leggins
I'll have enough to do;
They cost me twenty dollars
The day that they were new.
I have an outfit on the Mussel Shell,
But that I'll never see,
Unless I get sent to represent
The Circle or D.T.
I've worked down in Nebraska
Where the grass grows ten feet high,
And the cattle are such rustlers
That they seldom ever die;
I've worked up in the sand hills
And down upon the Platte,
Where the cowboys are good fellows
And the cattle always fat;
I've traveled lots of country,--
Nebraska's hills of sand,
Down through the Indian Nation,
And up the Rio Grande;--
But the Bad Lands of Montana
Are the worst I ever seen,
The cowboys are all tenderfeet
And the dogies are too lean.
If you want to see some bad lands,
Go over on the Dry;
You will bog down in the coulees
Where the mountains reach the sky.
A tenderfoot to lead you
Who never knows the way,
You are playing in the best of luck
If you eat more than once a day.
Your grub is bread and bacon
And coffee black as ink;
The water is so full of alkali
It is hardly fit to drink.
They will wake you in the morning
Before the break of day,
And send you on a circle
A hundred miles away.
All along the Yellowstone
'Tis cold the year around;
You will surely get consumption
By sleeping on the ground.
Work in Montana
Is six months in the year;
When all your bills are settled
There is nothing left for beer.
Work down in Texas
Is all the year around;
You will never get consumption
By sleeping on the ground.
Come all you Texas cowboys
And warning take from me,
And do not go to Montana
To spend your money free.
But stay at home in Texas
Where work lasts the year around,
And you will never catch consumption
By sleeping on the ground.
THE DREARY, DREARY LIFE
A cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
Some say it's free from care;
Rounding up the cattle from morning till night
In the middle of the prairie so bare.
Half-past four, the noisy cook will roar,
"Whoop-a-whoop-a-hey!"
Slowly you will rise with sleepy-feeling eyes,
The sweet, dreamy night passed away.
The greener lad he thinks it's play,
He'll soon peter out on a cold rainy day,
With his big bell spurs and his Spanish hoss,
He'll swear to you he was once a boss.
The cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
He's driven through the heat and cold;
While the rich man's a-sleeping on his velvet couch,
Dreaming of his silver and gold.
Spring-time sets in, double trouble will begin,
The weather is so fierce and cold;
Clothes are wet and frozen to our necks,
The cattle we can scarcely hold.
The cowboy's life is a dreary one,
He works all day to the setting of the sun;
And then his day's work is not done,
For there's his night herd to go on.
The wolves and owls with their terrifying howls
Will disturb us in our midnight dream,
As we lie on our slickers on a cold, rainy night
Way over on the Pecos stream.
You are speaking of your farms, you are speaking of your charms,
You are speaking of your silver and gold;
But a cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
He's driven through the heat and cold.
Some folks say that we are free from care,
Free from all other harm;
But we round up the cattle from morning till night
Way over on the prairie so dry.
I used to run about, now I stay at home,
Take care of my wife and child;
Nevermore to roam, always stay at home,
Take care of my wife and child.
Half-past four the noisy cook will roar,
"Hurrah, boys! she's breaking day!"
Slowly we will rise and wipe our sleepy eyes,
The sweet, dreamy night passed away.
The Dreary, Dreary Life (Mus. Not.)
A cow-boy's life is a drear-y, drear-y life, Some
REFRAIN.--Half-past four the ... noi-sy cook will roar,
say it's free from care; Rounding up the
"Whoop-a-whoop-a-hey!" Slow-ly you will
cat-tle from morn-ing till night In the
rise ... with sleep-y feel-ing eyes, The ...
mid-dle of the prai-rie so ... bare,
sweet, dream-y night passed a-way.
JIM FARROW
It's Jim Farrow and John Farrow and little Simon, too,
Have plenty of cattle where I have but few.
Marking and branding both night and day,--
It's "Keep still, boys, my boys, and you'll all get your pay."
It's up to the courthouse, the first thing they know,
Before the Grand Jury they'll have to go.
They'll ask you about ear-marks, they'll ask you about brand,
But tell them you were absent when the work was on hand.
Jim Farrow brands J.F. on the side;
The next comes Johnnie who takes the whole hide;
Little Simon, too has H. on the loin;--
All stand for Farrow but it's not good for Sime.
You ask for the mark, I don't think it's fair,
You'll find the cow's head but the ear isn't there
It's a crop and a split and a sort of a twine,--
All stand for F. but it's not good for Sime.
"Get up, my boys," Jim Farrow will say,
"And out to horse hunting before it is day."
So we get up and are out on the way
But it's damn few horses we find before day.
"Now saddle your horses and out on the peaks
To see if the heifers are out on the creeks."
We'll round 'em to-day and we'll round 'em to-morrow,
And this ends my song concerning the Farrows.
YOUNG CHARLOTTIE
Young Charlottie lived by a mountain side in a wild and lonely spot,
There was no village for miles around except her father's cot;
And yet on many a wintry night young boys would gather there,--
Her father kept a social board, and she was very fair.
One New Year's Eve as the sun went down, she cast a wistful eye
Out from the window pane as a merry sleigh went by.
At a village fifteen miles away was to be a ball that night;
Although the air was piercing cold, her heart was merry and light.
At last her laughing eye lit up as a well-known voice she heard,
And dashing in front of the door her lover's sleigh appeared.
"O daughter, dear," her mother said, "this blanket round you fold,
'Tis such a dreadful night abroad and you will catch your death of cold."
"Oh no, oh no!" young Charlottie cried, as she laughed like a
gipsy queen,
"To ride in blankets muffled up, I never would be seen.
My silken coat is quite enough, you know it is lined throughout,
And there is my silken scarf to wrap my head and neck about."
Her bonnet and her gloves were on, she jumped into the sleigh,
And swiftly slid down the mountain side and over the hills away.
All muffled up so silent, five miles at last were past
When Charlie with few but shivering words, the silence broke at last.
"Such a dreadful night I never saw, my reins I can scarcely hold."
Young Charlottie then feebly said, "I am exceedingly cold."
He cracked his whip and urged his speed much faster than before,
While at least five other miles in silence had passed o'er.
Spoke Charles, "How fast the freezing ice is gathering on my brow!"
Young Charlottie then feebly said, "I'm growing warmer now."
So on they sped through the frosty air and the glittering cold
starlight
Until at last the village lights and the ball-room came in sight.
They reached the door and Charles sprang out and reached his hands
to her.
"Why sit you there like a monument that has no power to stir?"
He called her once, he called her twice, she answered not a word,
And then he called her once again but still she never stirred.
He took her hand in his; 'twas cold and hard as any stone.
He tore the mantle from her face while cold stars on it shone.
Then quickly to the lighted hall her lifeless form he bore;--
Young Charlottie's eyes were closed forever, her voice was heard no more.
And there he sat down by her side while bitter tears did flow,
And cried, "My own, my charming bride, you nevermore shall know."
He twined his arms around her neck and kissed her marble brow,
And his thoughts flew back to where she said, "I'm growing warmer now."
He took her back into the sleigh and quickly hurried home;
When he arrived at her father's door, oh, how her friends did mourn;
They mourned the loss of a daughter dear, while Charles wept over
the gloom,
Till at last he died with the bitter grief,--now they both lie in one
tomb.
THE SKEW-BALL BLACK