Part 12

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

To the outsider far removed, or even to people in the nearby lowlands, mountain people may seem stoic. A mountain woman whose husband is being tried for his life may sit like a figure of stone not for lack of feeling, but because she'd rather die than let the other side know her anguish. A little boy who loses his father will steal off to cliff or wood and suffer in silence. No one shall see or know his grief. "He's got a-bound to act like a man, now." The burden of the family is upon his young shoulders.

Mountain folk love oratory. Men, especially, will travel miles to a speaking--which may be a political gathering or one for the purpose of discussing road building.

To all outward appearances they seem unmoved, yet they drink in with deep emotion all that is said. Both men and women are eager to go to meeting. Meeting to them means a religious gathering. Here they listen with rapt attention to the lesser eloquence of the mountain preacher. But at meeting, unlike at speaking, they give vent to their emotions, especially if the occasion be that of funeralizing the dead.

Much has been written upon this custom, but the question still prevails, "Why do mountain people hold a funeral so long after burial?"

The reason is this. Long ago, before good roads were even dreamed of in the wilderness, when death came, burial of necessity followed immediately. But often long weeks, even months, elapsed before the word reached relatives and friends. There were few newspapers in those days and often as not there were those who could neither read nor write. For the same reason there was little, if any, exchange of letters.

So the custom of funeralizing the dead long after burial grew from a necessity. The funeralizing of a departed kinsman or friend was published from the pulpit. The bereaved family set a day, months or even a year in advance, for the purpose of having the preacher eulogize their beloved dead. "Come the third Sunday in May next summer," a mountain preacher could be heard in mid winter publishing the occasion. "Brother Tom's funeral will be held here at Christy Creek church house."

The word passed. One told the other and when the appointed Sunday rolled around the following May, friends and kin came from far and near, bringing their basket dinner, for no one family could have prepared for the throng. Together, when they had eaten their fill, they gathered about the grave house to weep and mourn and sing over "Brother Tom," dead and gone this long time.

The grave house was a crude structure of rough planks supported by four short posts, erected at the time of the burial to shelter the dead from rain and snow and scorching wind.

Many a one, having warning of approaching death, named the preacher he wished to preach his funeral, even naming the text and selecting the hymns to be sung.

As the service moved along after the singing of a doleful hymn, the sobbing and wailing increased. The preacher eulogized the departed, praising his many good deeds while on earth, and urged his hearers on to added hysteria with, "Sing Brother Tom's favorite hymn, Oh, Brother, Will You Meet Me!"

Sobs changed to wailing as old and young joined in the doleful dirge:

Oh, brother, will you meet me, Meet me, meet me? Oh, brother, will you meet me On Canaan's far-off shore.

It was a family song; so not until each member had been exhorted to meet on Canaan's shore did the hymn end--each verse followed of course with the answer:

Oh, yes, we will meet you On Canaan's far-off shore.

By this time the mourners were greatly stirred up, whereupon the preacher in a trembling, tearful voice averred, "When I hear this promising hymn it moves deep the spirit in me, it makes my heart glad. Why, my good friends, I could shout! I just nearly see Brother Tom over yonder a-beckoning to me and to you. He ain't on this here old troubled world no more and he won't be. Will Brother Tom be here when the peach tree is in full blowth in the spring?"

"No!" wailed the flock.

"Will Brother Tom be here when the leaves begin to drap in the falling weather?" again he wailed.

"No!"

"Will Brother Tom be up thar? Up thar?"--the swift arm of the preacher shot upward--"when Gabriel blows his trump?"

"Eh, Lord, Brother Tom will be up thar!" shouted an old woman.

"Amen!" boomed from the throat of everyone.

As it often happened, Tom's widow had long since re-wed, but neither she nor her second mate were in the least dismayed. They wept and wailed with fervor, "He'll be thar! He'll be thar!"

"Yes," boomed the preacher once more, "Brother Tom will be thar when Gabriel blows his trump!"

Then abruptly in a very calm voice, not at all like that in which he had shouted, the preacher lined the hymn:

Arise, my soul, and spread thy wings, A better portion trace.

Having intoned the two lines the flock took up the doleful dirge.

So they went on until the hymns were finished.

After a general handshaking and repeated farewells and the avowed hope of meeting again come the second Sunday in May next year, the funeralizing ended.

OLD CHRISTMAS

Though in some isolated sections of the Blue Ridge, say in parts of the Unakas, the Cumberlands, the Dug Down Mountains of Georgia, there are people who may never have heard of the Gregorian or Julian calendar, yet in keeping Old Christmas as they do on January 6th, they cling unwittingly to the Julian calendar of 46 B.C., introduced in this country in the earliest years. To them December 25th is New Christmas, according to the Gregorian calendar adopted in 1752.

They celebrate the two occasions in a very different way. The old with prayer and carol-singing, the new with gaiety and feasting.

To these people there are twelve days of Christmas beginning with December 25th and ending with January 6th. In some parts of these southern mountain regions, if their forbears were of Pennsylvania German stock, they call Old Christmas Little Christmas as the Indians do. But such instances are rare rather than commonplace.