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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:55:19 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:55:19 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19273-h.zip b/19273-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7206e3f --- /dev/null +++ b/19273-h.zip diff --git a/19273-h/19273-h.htm b/19273-h/19273-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..893ff3c --- /dev/null +++ b/19273-h/19273-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3568 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title>The Dead Men's Song, by Champion Ingraham Hitchcock.</title> + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- +body { + font-family: Georgia,serif; + margin:0em 15%; +} + +p { + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.5em; + line-height: 1.5; + margin: 0em; +} + +h1,h2,h3 { text-align: center; 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+ margin-right: 20%; + text-indent: 0em; +} + +.internal_title { + text-align: center; + font-size: 1.1em; + margin: 1.75em 0em 1em 0em; + text-indent: 0em; +} + +.poem .internal_title { + text-align: left; + text-indent: 3.5em; +} + +.article_date { + text-align: left; + text-indent: 0em; + font-style: italic; + margin: 1.5em 0em; +} + +.article { + margin: 0em 15%; + border-left: thin gray solid; + border-right: thin gray solid; + padding: 1em; +} + +.article_title { + text-align: center; + font-size: 1.2em; + font-family: sans-serif; + margin-bottom: 1em; + text-indent: 0em; +} + +.text_break { + margin: 1em 0em; + text-align: center; + letter-spacing: 1em; + font-size: 1.5em; + text-indent: 0em; +} + +.spaced_top { margin-top: 1em; } + +#pocket { + text-align: center; + margin-bottom:5em; +} + +.transcriber_note { + margin: 2em 15%; + width: 70%; + font-size: 80%; + border: thin gray dashed; + background-color: #CCF; + color: inherit; + padding: 0em 1em; +} + +a:link { text-decoration: none; } +a:visited { text-decoration: none; } + +a:hover { + color: #F99; + background-color: inherit; +} + + --> + </style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Dead Men's Song, by Champion Ingraham Hitchcock + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Dead Men's Song + Being the Story of a Poem and a Reminiscent Sketch of its + Author Young Ewing Allison + +Author: Champion Ingraham Hitchcock + +Release Date: September 17, 2006 [EBook #19273] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEAD MEN'S SONG *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, David Newman and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<hr class="full" /> +<p class="edition">OF THIS LITTLE VOLUME TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES HAVE BEEN MADE</p> +<div class="pre_title_page"> +<p class="pre_title">YOUNG EWING ALLISON</p> +<p class="pre_subtitle">—A REMINISCENCE</p> +</div> +<div class="frontispiece"> +<div class="figcenter" id="frontis"> +<img src="images/frontis2.jpg" alt="A photographic portrait of a seated man" id="frontispiece" name="frontispiece" width="362" height="534" /> +<p class="sign"><em>Photograph By Cusick.</em></p> +<p>Young Ewing Allison</p> +</div> +<div class="frontisquote"> +<p>“The man who wrote such a poem should not be unknelled, unhonored +and unsung.”</p> +<p class="sign">—Walt Mason.</p> +</div> + +</div> +<div id="Title_Page"> + +<h1>The Dead Men’s Song:</h1> + +<p>Being the <br /> +Story of a Poem and a Reminiscent Sketch <br /> +of Its Author</p> + +<p class="important_name">YOUNG EWING ALLISON</p> + +<p>Together with a Browse Through Other <br /> +Gems of His and Recollections <br /> +of Older Days</p> + +<p>by</p> + +<p>His Friend and Associate</p> + +<p class="important_name">CHAMPION INGRAHAM HITCHCOCK</p> + +<p class="facsimile_notice">Incorporated with which are Facsimiles of Certain Interesting Manuscripts</p> + +<p>LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY</p> + +<p>1914</p> + +</div><!--Title Page--> +<div id="verso"> +<p>copyright by<br /> +Champion Ingraham Hitchcock</p> +<p>1914</p> +</div> +<div id="Contents"> +<h2 class="chapter_title">IN THESE PAGES</h2> +<dl> +<dt><a href="#preface">A Word Said Beforehand</a></dt> +<dd>Explaining How a Certain “Chap” Lost His Temper and Found It Again Very Quickly.</dd> +<dt><a href="#Chapter_1">Derelict</a>, <span class="dt_normal">By Young Ewing Allison</span></dt> +<dd>A Reminiscence of Stevenson’s “Treasure Island” Based On the Quatrain of Captain Billy Bones.</dd> +<dt><a href="#Chapter_2">Picturing the Individual</a></dt> +<dd>With Some Observations About A Man Whom I Have the Honor to Call Friend.</dd> +<dt><a href="#Chapter_3">Man and Newspaper Man</a></dt> +<dd>A Peep Into Personal Records of the Past With Some Comments of a Current Nature.</dd> +<dt><a href="#Chapter_4">Just Browsing Around</a></dt> +<dd>Excursions Into the “Higher Altitudes” With Something About the Books Up There.</dd> +<dt><a href="#Chapter_5">In the Operatic Field</a></dt> +<dd>Being a Look Behind the Scenes With Some Glimpses of a Pursuing Jinx.</dd> +<dt><a href="#Chapter_6">Ballad of Dead Men</a></dt> +<dd>The Same Being Mostly About Able Pirates And the Very Able Descendant of a Pirate.</dd> +<dt><a href="#Chapter_7">If There Is Controversy!</a></dt> +<dd>Just a Few Bits From the Olden Days With Some Comment On a Certain Critic.</dd> +<dt><a href="#Chapter_8">Some Clippings—And a Letter</a></dt> +<dd>Which Tells How One Who Did Not Know Set Himself Up As a “Chanty” Authority.</dd> +<dt><a href="#Chapter_9">Yo-Ho-Ho And A Bottle Of Rum</a></dt> +<dd>Discussed As a Chanty Entertainingly By a Mariner and With a Deep-Sea Flavor.</dd> +</dl> +<h2 class="chapter_title">SUPPLEMENTING <em>the</em> TEXT</h2> +<dl> +<dt><a href="#frontis" title="Go to Frontispiece">Young Ewing Allison</a> <span class="dt_normal">(By Cusick)</span><span class="supplement_info">Frontispiece.</span></dt> +<dd>A “Sitting” for Which Photograph Forms A Story Known Only to This Writer.</dd> +<dt><a href="#Chapter_1" title="Go to Poem">Derelict</a> <span class="supplement_info">Illuminating the Poem</span></dt> +<dd>Facsimiles of the Original Illustrations in <i>Rubric</i> (Vol. 1, No. 1, 1901) to Which Certain Piratical Tints Have Been Added.</dd> +<dt><a href="#Bauble">“A Tempting Bauble”</a></dt> +<dd>Said “Bauble” Being a Check (to Cover the Cost of a Certain Book) Which Allison Returned in a Frame With a Few Comments of His Own.</dd> +<dt><a href="#Caricature">Young E. Allison</a> <span class="dt_normal">(By Wyncie King)</span></dt> +<dd><em>Louisville Herald</em> Demon Caricaturist’s Conception of a Pirate’s Poet, With a Cigarette Replacing the Customary “Stogie.”</dd> +<dt><a href="#Infallible">The Infallible</a> <span class="dt_normal">(By Charles Dana Gibson)</span></dt> +<dd>A “Type” in Every Old Daily Newspaper Office, Reproduced from <em>Century</em> (October, 1889), Illustrating “The Longworth Mystery.”</dd> +<dt><a href="#Ogallallas">Book of “The Ogallallas”</a></dt> +<dd>Being a Facsimile (Slightly Reduced) of the Cover of Allison’s First Opera Pursued and Captured By a Jinx.</dd> +<dt><a href="#Prompt_book">From The Old “Prompt” Book</a></dt> +<dd>Page (slightly reduced) From “The Mouse and the Garter,” Showing Allison’s Characteristic Penciled Notations.</dd> +<dt><a href="#piratical_ballad_music">“A Piratical Ballad”</a> <span class="dt_normal">(Words And Music)</span></dt> +<dd>Facsimile in Miniature of the First Printed Verses of “Derelict” Published and Copyrighted by William A. Pond & Co., 1891.</dd> +</dl> +<hr class="short" /> + +<p class="pocket_contents">Together With Certain Letters and Memoranda, Proofs, Mss., etc., + About “Fifteen Dead Men,” in Facsimile of Young E. Allison’s + Characteristic Handwriting, which are to be Found in a “<a href="#pocket">Pocket</a>” in + the Inside Back Cover of This Volume.</p> + +</div><!--Contents--> +<div id="preface"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page11" name="page11"></a>11</span></p> + +<h2 class="chapter_title">A WORD SAID BEFOREHAND</h2> +<p>If a careless and uninformed writer in <em>The New York Times Book Review</em> had +not hazarded the speculation in his columns that it was very doubtful if +Young Ewing Allison wrote the famous poem “Fifteen Men on the Dead Man’s +Chest,” the creation and perfection of which took him through a period of +about six years, the idea of undertaking a sketch of him and the stuff he +has done might never have occurred to me. While not exactly thankful to the +New York editor, I have abandoned a blood-thirsty raid on his sanctum and a +righteous indignation has been dissipated in the serene pleasure I have +found in expressing an appreciation of Allison’s genius in this private +volume for our friends. God bless the Old Scout! In all of our intimate +years there has been such a complete understanding between us that spoken +words have been largely unnecessary, and so the opportunity of saying +publicly what has ever been in my heart, is a rare one, eagerly seized.</p> +<p class="signature">C. I. H.</p> +<p class="location">Louisville, November, 1914.</p> +</div><!--A WORD SAID BEFOREHAND--> +<p class="dedication"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page12" name="page12"></a>12</span>THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED TO HER WHOSE FAITH IN ME AND LOVE FOR ME NEVER WANED</p> +<div id="Chapter_1"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page13" name="page13"></a>13</span></p> +<div class="figcenter first"> +<img src="images/illo_13.jpg" alt="Woodcut in red and black of a ship on a swelling sea" id="illo_13" name="illo_13" width="570" height="359" /> +</div> +<div class="figcenter fish"> +<img src="images/fishy_break.png" alt="A fish decoration" width="67" height="44" /></div> + + +<h2 class="derelict_title">DERELICT</h2> +<h3 class="derelict_subtitle">A Reminiscence of “Treasure Island”</h3> + + +<h3 class="derelict_author">YOUNG E. ALLISON</h3> + + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza epigram"> +<p>Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Drink and the devil had done for the rest—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p class="epigram signature">(Cap’n Billy Bones his song.)</p> +</div> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page14" name="page14"></a>14</span></p> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Drink and the devil had done for the rest—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>The mate was fixed by the bos’n’s pike,</p> +<p>The bos’n brained with a marlinspike</p> +<p>And Cookey’s throat was marked belike</p> +<p class="i8">It had been gripped</p> +<p class="i12">By fingers ten;</p> +<p class="i8">And there they lay,</p> +<p class="i12">All good dead men,</p> +<p>Like break-o’-day in a boozing-ken—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter fish"> +<img src="images/fishy_break.png" alt="A fish decoration" width="67" height="44" /></div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fifteen men of a whole ship’s list—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Dead and bedamned, and the rest gone whist!—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>The skipper lay with his nob in gore</p> +<p>Where the scullion’s axe his cheek had shore—</p> +<p>And the scullion he was stabbed times four.</p> +<p class="i8">And there they lay,</p> +<p class="i12">And the soggy skies</p> +<p class="i8">Dripped all day long</p> +<p class="i12">In up-staring eyes—</p> +<p>At murk sunset and at foul sunrise—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page15" name="page15"></a>15</span></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_15.jpg" alt="A woodcut of a swelling sea" width="560" height="825" /> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page16" name="page16"></a>16</span></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_16.jpg" alt="A woodcut of 3 dead men, one with a knife in his hands" width="567" height="429" /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fifteen men of ’em stiff and stark—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Ten of the crew had the Murder mark—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>’Twas a cutlass swipe, or an ounce of lead,</p> +<p class="i4">Or a yawing hole in a battered head—</p> +<p>And the scuppers glut with a rotting red.</p> +<p class="i8">And there they lay—</p> +<p class="i12">Aye, damn my eyes!—</p> +<p class="i8">All lookouts clapped</p> +<p class="i12">On paradise—</p> +<p>All souls bound just contrariwise—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page17" name="page17"></a>17</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_17.jpg" alt="A woodcut of more dead men, one slumped at a table." width="567" height="429" /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fifteen men of ’em good and true—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Every man jack could ha’ sailed with Old Pew—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>There was chest on chest full of Spanish gold,</p> +<p>With a ton of plate in the middle hold,</p> +<p>And the cabins riot of stuff untold.</p> +<p class="i8">And they lay there</p> +<p class="i12">That had took the plum,</p> +<p class="i8">With sightless glare</p> +<p class="i12">And their lips struck dumb,</p> +<p>While we shared all by the rule of thumb—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page18" name="page18"></a>18</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter fish"> +<img src="images/fishy_break.png" alt="A fish decoration" width="67" height="44" /></div> + +<div class="stanza bridge"> +<p>More was seen through the sternlight screen—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Chartings ondoubt where a woman had been—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>A flimsy shift on a bunker cot,</p> +<p>With a thin dirk slot through the bosom spot</p> +<p>And the lace stiff-dry in a purplish blot.</p> +<p class="i8">Or was she wench …</p> +<p class="i12">Or some shuddering maid…?</p> +<p class="i8">That dared the knife</p> +<p class="i12">And that took the blade!</p> +<p>By God! she was stuff for a plucky jade—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter fish"> +<img src="images/fishy_break.png" alt="A fish decoration" width="67" height="44" /></div> + + +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page19" name="page19"></a>19</span>Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Drink and the devil had done for the rest—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>We wrapped ’em all in a mains’l tight,</p> +<p>With twice ten turns of a hawser’s bight,</p> +<p>And we heaved ’em over and out of sight—</p> +<p class="i8">With a yo-heave-ho!</p> +<p class="i12">And a fare-you-well!</p> +<p class="i8">And a sullen plunge</p> +<p class="i12">In the sullen swell</p> +<p>Ten fathoms deep on the road to hell—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_19.jpg" alt="A woodcut of surf, with a wrecked ship in the distance" width="564" height="371" /> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page20" name="page20"></a>20</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_20.jpg" alt="A circular woodcut of a stylized fish" width="200" height="198" /> +</div> + +</div><!--DERELICT--> +<div id="Chapter_2"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page21" name="page21"></a>21</span></p> +<h2 class="chapter_title">PICTURING <em>the</em> INDIVIDUAL</h2> + + +<p>One of my earliest recollections of my friend and business associate for +very many, very short and very happy years, is a conversation in the old +Chicago Press Club rooms on South Clark Street, near Madison, in the early +90’s, about three o’clock one morning, when the time for confidences +arrives—if ever it does. What his especial business in Chicago was at that +particular moment makes no particular difference. He might have been +rehearsing “The Ogallallas,” or mayhap he was on duty as Kentucky +commissioner to the World’s Fair. As a matter of mere fact he was there and +we had spent an evening and part of a morning together and were bent on +extending the session to daybreak. Sunrise on Madison Street always was a +wonderful sight. The dingy buildings on that busy old thoroughfare, +awakening to day-life, then appeared as newly painted in the mellow of the +early morning.</p> + +<p>My companion knew something was coming. Our chairs were close +together—side by side—and we were looking each in the other’s face. He +had his hand back of his ear. “Allison,” I said—and I suppose that after a +night in his company I was so impregnated with his strong personality that +I had my hand back of my ear too, and spoke in a low, slightly drawling +nasal, like his—“Allison,” I repeated, “don’t you miss a great deal by +being deaf?” Now, it is said with tender regret, but a deep and sincere +regard for truth, that my friend makes a virtue of a slight deafness. He +uses it to avoid arguments, assignments, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page22" name="page22"></a>22</span>conventions, parlor parties—and +bores—and deftly evades a whole lot of “duty” conversations as well. Of +course I know all this now, but in those days I thought his lack of +complete hearing an infirmity calling for a sort of sympathy on my part. +Anyway it was three o’clock in the morning, and…!</p> + + +<p>“Well,” he replied, after a little pause, “I can’t say that I do. You see, +if anyone ever says anything worth repeating, he always tells me about it +anyway.” Such is the philosophical trend that makes Allison an original +with a peculiar gift of expression both in the spoken and written word. He +is literary to his finger tips, in the finest sense of the word, for pure +love, his own enjoyment and the pleasure of his friends. There is an +ambition for you! With all his genuine modesty (and he is painfully modest) +by which the light of his genius is hid under even less than the Scriptural +bushel, he has a deep and healthy and honorable respect for fame—not of +the cheap and tawdry, lionizing kind, but fame in an everlasting +appreciation of those who think with their own minds. Almost any pen +portraiture could but skim the surface of a nature so gifted and with which +daily association is so delightful—an association which is a constant +fillip to the mind in fascinating witticisms, in deft characterizations of +men and things, and in deep drafts on memory’s storehouse for odd incidents +and unexpected illuminations. A long silence from “Allison’s corner” may +precede a gleeful chortle, as he throws on my desk some delicious satirical +skit with a “Well, I’ve got that out of my system, anyway!”</p> + +<p>Allison has a method of prose writing all his own. If you could see him day +in and out, you would soon recognize the symptoms. An idea strikes him; he +becomes abstracted, reads a great deal, pull down books, fills pages of +particularly ruled <span class="pagenum"><a id="page23" name="page23"></a>23</span>copy paper with figures from a big, round, black pencil +until you might think he was calculating the expenditures of a Billion +Dollar Congress. He is not a mathematician but, like Balzac, simply dotes +on figures. Then comes the analytical stage and that he performs on foot, +walking, head bent forward, upstairs, downstairs, outdoors, around the +block, in again, through the clattering press room and up and down the +hall. When the stride quickens and he strikes a straight line for his desk, +his orderly mind has arranged and classified his subject down to the +illuminating adjectives even and the whole is ready to be put on paper. +Though his mind is orderly, his desk seldom is. He is the type of +old-school editor who has everything handy in a profound confusion. He +detests office system, just as he admires mental arrangement. I got a +“rise” out of him only once when making a pretence of describing his very +complex method of preserving correspondence, and then he flared: “It saved +us a lot of trouble, didn’t it?” The fact was patent, but the story is +apropos. Allison was complaining to a friend of office routine.</p> + +<p>“Hitch has no heart,” he said. “He comes over here, takes letters off my +desk and puts ’em into an old file somewhere so no one can find them. +That’s no way to do. When a letter comes to me I clip open the end with my +shears, like a gentleman, read it, and put it back in the envelope. When in +the humor I answer it. Of course there is no use keeping a copy of what I +write; I know well enough what <em>I</em> say. All I want to keep is what the +other fellow said to me. When it is time to clean the desk, I call a boy, +have him box all the letters and take them over to the warehouse. Then +whenever I want a letter I know damned well where it is—it’s in the +warehouse.” It really happened that certain important and badly needed +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page24" name="page24"></a>24</span>letters were “in the warehouse” and so Allison’s system was vindicated.</p> + +<p>Just the mere mention of his system brings up the delightful recollections +of his desk-cleaning parties, Spring and Fall, events so momentous that +they almost come under the classification of office holidays. The dust +flies, torn papers fill the air and the waste-baskets, and odd memoranda +come to light and must be discussed. While wielding the dust cloth Allison +hums “Bing-Binger, the Baritone Singer,” has the finest imaginable time and +for several day wears an air of such conscious pride that every paper laid +upon his desk is greeted with a terrible frown.</p> + +<p>Musical? Of course. His is the poetic mind, the imaginative, with an +intensely practical, analytical perception—uncanny at times. He is +perfectly “crazy” about operas, reads everything that comes to his +hand—particularly novels—and is an inveterate patron of picture shows. +“Under no strain trying to hear ’em talk,” he confidences. While such +occasions really are very rare, once in an age he becomes depressed—a +peculiar fact (their rarity) in one so temperamental. After the fifth call +within a month to act as pall-bearer at a funeral, he was in the depths. A +friend was trying to cheer him.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it too bad, Mr. Allison,” the friend suggested, “that we can’t all +be like the lilies in the field, neither toiling nor spinning, but shedding +perfume everywhere?”</p> + +<p>“That lily business is all right,” was Allison’s retort, “but if I were a +flower it would be just my luck to be a tube-rose and be picked for a +funeral!”</p> + +<p>In all our years of association and friendship, I have never known him to +do an unkind or dishonorable act. He is considerate of others, +tender-hearted, sentimental. But, believe <span class="pagenum"><a id="page25" name="page25"></a>25</span>me, in “contrariwise,” he is +flinty obsidian when it comes to his convictions. Shams and hypocrites and +parading egotists are his particular and especial abomination and when he +gets on the editorial trail of one of that ilk, he turns him inside out and +displays the very secrets of what should be his immortal soul. He is always +poking fun at friends and they laugh with him at what he writes about them, +which recalls one of his earliest and best bits of advice—“never to write +about a man so that others will laugh <em>at</em> him, unless your intention is +deliberately to hurt his feelings. Write so that he will laugh <em>with</em> you.”</p> + +<p>If I could have one grand wish it would be that everybody could know him as +I do: the man; the book-worm; the toastmaster; the public speaker; the +writer; the sentimentalist; the friend. Absolutely natural and approachable +at all times with never the remotest hint of theatricalism, (unless the +careless tossing over his shoulder of one flap of the cape of a cherished +brown overcoat might be called theatrical), he is yet so many sided and +complex that, without this self-same naturalness, often would be +misunderstood. That he never cultivated an exclusiveness or built about +himself barriers of idiosyncrasy is a distinct credit to his common sense. +He’s chock-full of that!</p> + +<p>Let us see just how versatile Young Allison is. Years ago—twenty-six to be +exact—he took the dry old subject of insurance and week in and out made it +sparkle with such wit and brilliancy that every-day editorials became +literary gems which laymen read with keenest enjoyment. Insurance writing +might be said to be his vocation—a sort of daily-bread affair, well +executed, because one should not quarrel with his sustenance—with +librettos for operas, and poems and essays as an avocation. Fate must have +doomed his operas in the very beginning, for despite some delicious +productions, captivating in words <span class="pagenum"><a id="page26" name="page26"></a>26</span>and spirit, and set to slashing music, +they go unsung because a a malign Jinx pursued.</p> + +<p>While Allison is an omnivorous reader of novels and every other form of +book, which he carries to and from his home in a favorite brown-leather +handbag of diminutive size, he never had an ambition to create novels, +though to his everlasting credit wrote two for a particular purpose which +he accomplished by injecting the right tone or “color” into tales depicting +the inner life on daily newspapers. We of the old Press Club used to grow +choleric as we would read stories about alleged newspaper men, but a serene +satisfaction fell upon us when Allison’s reflections appeared. They were +“right!” And while “resting” (definition from the private dictionary of +Cornelius McAuliff) from the more or less arduous and routine and yet +interest-holding duties of newspaper-man, Allison’s relaxation and +refreshment come in studies of human nature in all its mystifying aspects, +whether in war or in peace; or in the sports—prize-fighting and baseball; +or in the sciences; in politics; in the streets or in the home. Or they +come from pleasure in the creation of essays on books—novels; of lectures; +of formal and serious addresses; of tactful and witty toasts.</p> + +<p>From my viewpoint Allison appears in public speaking to best advantage at +banquets, either when responding to some toast, or as toastmaster. On such +occasions he very quickly finds the temper of his listeners and without +haste or oratorical effect, for he never orates, and almost without +gesture, he “gets ‘em” and “keeps ‘em.” Knowing how little he hears at +public functions his performances at the head of the table, when acting as +toastmaster, to me are only a shade removed from the marvelous. Either he +has an uncanny second-sight, or that vaunted deafness is all a big +pretense, for I have heard him “pull <span class="pagenum"><a id="page28" name="page28"></a>28</span>stuff” on a preceding speaker so pat +that no one else could be made to believe what I knew was the truth: +that—he—had—not—heard—a—single—word—uttered!</p> + + +<p class="out_of_order_page"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page27" name="page27"></a>27</span></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_27.png" alt="A bank check, and a note from Allison to Hitchcock" width="616" height="491" id="Bauble" /> +<p class="fig_caption">A Check in a Frame Returned without Inelegant Marks of “Paid”</p> +</div> + +<p>Perchance as a character note, should be added here a line or two about a +work undertaken in behalf of a friend on a few hours notice for which he +received a reward only in thanks. This friend had contracted to write +certain memoirs but was incapacitated by illness and hung out the distress +signal. Allison responded, shut himself up for a month, and produced a +smooth and well balanced work of five hundred and fifty pages. Once I sent +him a check to cover the cost of one of his books but he declared the check +a “tempting bauble” and returned it framed. But I got a copy just the same +inscribed “With the compliments of the Author” which I prized just as much +as if I had paid for it with a clearing house certificate.</p> + +<p>Physically he is of medium height, rather slight in form and, when walking, +stoops a bit with head forward and a trifle to one side. In conversing he +has a captivating trick of looking up while his head is bent and keeping +his blue eyes nailed to yours pretty much all the time. Around eyes and +mouth is ever lurking a wrinkling smile and its break—the laugh—is hearty +and contagious with a timbre of peculiar huskiness. His face is a trifle +thin through the cheeks, which accentuates a breadth of head, now crowning +with silvery—and let me whisper this—slowly thinning hair. Stubby white +mustaches for facial adornment, and cloth of varying brown shades to +encompass the physical man, complete the picture.</p> + +<p>Such is Young Ewing Allison as I see him.</p> + +</div><!--PICTURING the INDIVIDUAL--> +<div id="Chapter_3"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page29" name="page29"></a>29</span></p> + +<h2 class="chapter_title">MAN <em>and</em> NEWSPAPER MAN</h2> + + +<p>Young Allison is a Kentuckian (Henderson, December 23, 1853) and proud of +it with a pride that does not restrain him from seeing the peculiarities +and frailties as well as the admirable traits of his fellow natives and +skillfully putting them on paper to his own vast delight—and theirs too. +What he gives, he is willing to take with Cromwell-like philosophy: “Paint +me warts and all!” To speak of Allison in any sense whatever must be in the +character of newspaper man, since to this work his whole life has been +devoted. And if I may speak with well intentioned frankness: He’s a damn +good editor, too! However little our lay friends may understand this +message, aside from its emphasis, I rest secure in the thought that to the +brotherhood it opens a wide vista of qualifications to which reams might be +devoted without doing full justice to the subject. Today he might not be +the ideal city editor, or night editor, or managing editor of our great +modern miracle-machines called newspapers, but I have yet to meet the man +who can more quickly absorb, analyze, sum-up and deliver an editorial +opinion, so deliciously phrased and so nicely gauged. He who can do this is +the embodiment of all staff editors!</p> + +<p>If I may be pardoned for a moment, I will get myself associated with +Allison and proceed with this relation. In 1888 he left daily newspaper +work to found <i>The Insurance Herald</i>, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page30" name="page30"></a>30</span>though he continued old associations +by occasional contributions, and in 1899 sold that publication and +established <i>The Insurance Field</i>. In the fall of 1902 when presented with +the opportunity of becoming editor-in-chief of <i>The Daily Herald</i> in +Louisville, he gave up temporarily an active connection with <i>The Insurance +Field</i> and in January, 1903, chose me to carry on this latter work, from +which I am thankful to say he was absent only three years.</p> + + +<p>Allison is newspaper man through and through and was all but born in the +business for he was “a devil in his own home town” of Henderson in a +printing office when thirteen, “Y. E. Allison, Jr., Local Editor” on the +village paper at fifteen and city reporter on a daily at seventeen. Up to +this point in his career I might find a parallel for my own experience, but +there the comparison abruptly ceases. He became a writer while I took to +blacksmithing according to that roystering Chicagoan, Henry Barrett +Chamberlin, who thinks because he once owned a paper called <i>The Guardsman</i> +in days when a new subscription often meant breakfast for the two of us, +that he is at liberty to cast javelins at my style of writing. And yet, to +be perfectly frank, I have always been grateful for even <em>his</em> intimation +that I had a “style.” Allison once accepted—I can hardly say enjoyed—one +of those subscription breakfasts———But that is a matter not wholly concerned +with his newspaper experience, which has extended through nearly all the +daily “jobs:” reporter and city editor of <i>The Evansville Journal</i>, +dramatic and city editor of <i>The Louisville Courier-Journal</i>; managing +editor of <i>The Louisville Commercial</i>, and after a lapse of years as +previously told, editor-in-chief of <i>The Daily Herald</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page31" name="page31"></a>31</span>Fifteen years or more ago, long before we dreamed of being associated in +business, Allison wrote me with the frankness that has characterized our +friendship from the first, just how he came to enter newspaper work. Where +he was concerned I was always “wanting to know” and he seemed ever willing +to tell—me. The letter was as usual written in lead pencil on soft, +spongy, ruled copy paper and that portion having reference to the subject +named is given verbatim:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p>You see I lost two years going to school—from seven to nine years + old. I was put out of all the private schools for incorrigible + “inattention”—then it was discovered that I had been partially + deaf and not guilty—but my schooling ended there and I was turned + loose on my father’s library to get an education by main force—got + it by reading everything—had read Rousseau’s “Confessions” at + 14—and books replaced folks as companions. Wanted to get nearer to + books and so hired myself to the country printer and newspaper at + 13—great disappointment to the family, my mother having dreams of + my becoming a preacher—[hell of a preacher I would have made]. I + had meantime begun and finished as much as a page apiece of many + stories and books, several epic poems—but one day the Old Man went + home to dinner and left me only a scrap of “reprint” to set during + his hour and a half of absence. It was six or eight lines nonpareil + about the Russian gentleman who started to drive from his country + home to the city one evening in his sleigh with his 4 children. + Wolves attacked them and one by one he threw the children to the + pack, hoping each time thus to save the others. When he had thrown + the last his sleigh came to the city gate with him sitting in it a + raving maniac. That yarn had been going the rounds of print since + 1746. The Old Man was an absent-minded old child, and I knew it, so + I turned my fancy loose and enlarged the paragraph to a full galley + of long primer, composing the awful details as I set the type and + made it a thriller. The Old Man never “held copy” reading proof, so + he passed it all right and I saw myself an author in print for the + first time. The smell of printer’s ink has never since been out of + my hair.</p> +</div><!--Allison's history--> + +<p>Allison’s newspaper years are rich with experience, for while he could +never be classed as a Yellow Reformer, his caustic, or amusing, or pathetic +pen, as the case demanded, has never been idle. Away back in the old days +the gambling <span class="pagenum"><a id="page32" name="page32"></a>32</span>element in Louisville fairly “owned the town” and he attempted +to curtail their power. They tried to cajole him and to bribe him and when +both alike failed, intimidated the millionaire owner of the <i>Commercial</i> +out from under him! He either had to sacrifice Allison or his street +railway interests, and chose Allison to throw to the lions. But he made Mr. +Dupont go the whole length and “fire” him! He wouldn’t resign when asked to +do so. And of course while it all lasted Allison had his meed of personal +amusement. For no editor ever took himself less seriously. Prominent +citizens came with fair words and he listened to them and printed them; +bribes were offered and accepted only for publication; while threats were +received joyously and made the subject of half-whimsical comment.</p> + +<p>As a newspaper man Allison prided himself on never having involved any of +his papers in a libel suit, though he was usually the man who wrote the +“danger-stuff.” He had complaints, yes; libel suits, no. Dick Ryan, known +in prehistoric newspaper circles in Louisville as “Cold Steel,” because his +mild blue eyes hardened and glinted when his copy was cut—the typical +police court reporter who could be depended upon for a sobbing “blonde-girl +story” when news was off—always said that when a party came in to complain +of the hardship of an article, Allison talked to him so benevolently that +the complainant always went away in tears, reflecting on how much worse it +might have been if Allison hadn’t softened the article that seemed so raw. +“Damned if I don’t believe he cries with ’em, too!” said Ryan. “If I had +that sympathetic stop in my own voice I know I’d cry during ordinary +conversations, just listening to myself.”</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page33" name="page33"></a>33</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_33.png" id="Caricature" alt="A drawing of a man's head, a cigarette clamped in his lips" width="504" height="720" /> +<p class="fig_caption">Caricature by Wyncie King in Louisville Daily Herald</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page34" name="page34"></a>34</span>But of course the libel suit had to come to spoil an otherwise perfect +record. And of course it was political and sprang out of a red-hot state +campaign, while he was editor-in-chief of the <i>Herald</i>, in which his pen +went deep enough to enrage the adversary and force the libel case. Like all +political cases of this kind it was not a suit for damages, but an +indictment for criminal libel, found by a complaisant political grand jury +at the other end of the state—intended to cause the greatest amount of +annoyance and to die out slowly. By that means it costs the accused both +time and money while the state pays all expenses for the prosecution.</p> + +<p>Judge “Bill” Smith, one of the greatest of Kentucky lawyers on +constitutional points, or rather Judge William Smith of the Jefferson +Circuit Court—because he has passed over now, taking his kindly and +childlike, yet keen and resourceful personality out of life’s war for good +and all—Judge Smith told me the story of that case one night after we had +discussed down to the water-marks in the paper, his treasured copy of +Burns. And at my very urgent solicitation he transcribed the salient +features, not in all the intimate details of the spoken words, but with +deep poetic feeling and rare conception of their human aspects. He wrote:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> + +<p>There are three poets in Burns. One is the poet you read; the + second is the poet some mellow old Scot, with an edge on his + tongue, recites to you; the third and most wonderful is the Burns + that somebody with even a thin shred of a high voice sings to you. + Burns is translated to the fourth power by singing him—without + accompaniment—just the whinnying of a tenor or soprano voice, + vibrant with feeling and pathos, at the right time of the evening, + or in some penumbrous atmosphere of seclusion where memory can work + its miracles.</p> + +<p>I was defending Allison in that libel case and we started off on + the 200-mile trip together. We had the smoker of the Pullman all to + ourselves, and <span class="pagenum"><a id="page35" name="page35"></a>35</span>after I had recited some furlongs of Burns to him, + he began to sing “Jockey’s Ta’en the Parting Kiss” in a sort of + thin and whimpering quaver of a tenor that cut through the noise of + the train like a violin note through silence. I thought I knew the + poem, but it seemed to me I had never dreamed what was in it, with + the wail of a Highland woman pouring plaintive melody through the + flood gates of her heart. And he knew every one of them and sang + them all with the tailing of the bag-pipes in the sound.</p> + +<p>I wasn’t going down to practice law, but to practice patience and + politics. I had been on that circuit for years and knew the court + and the bar very well. So I said to Allison “Don’t you sing one of + those songs again until I give the sign.” And the first thing I did + was to bring him into touch with the circuit judge, who had the + room adjoining mine at the hotel. He was a Burns lover, too; and + besides as I had brought whiskey and as the town was prohibition, + there was really nowhere else for the judge to spend his evenings. + Soon we were capping back and forth, the judge and I, with Burns.</p> + +<p>I don’t remember now—nobody ever remembers, after a cold, snowy + night outside, between Burns quotations, hot whiskies, and + reminiscences, exactly how anything happens—but about 10 o’clock, + maybe, Allison was somewhere between “Jockey’s Ta’en the Parting + Kiss,” “Bonnie Doon,” “Afton Water” and “Wert Thou in the Cauld + Blast,” and the judge and I were looking deep into the coals of the + grate and crying softly and unconsciously together. You see it + wasn’t only the songs. Every damned one of us was Scotch-Irish and + we just sat there and were transported back to the beginning of + ourselves in the bare old primitive homes of us in farm and + village, saw the log and coal fires of infancy blazing up again, + and heard the voices of our mothers crooning and caressing those + marvelous lines, and behind them <em>their</em> mothers crooning and + wailing the same back in the unbroken line to Ayrshire and the + Pentland Hills. And all life was just a look into yesterday and the + troubles and the struggles of manhood fell right off as garments + and left us boys again. That’s what’s in Burns, the singing poet. + That is, when anybody knows how to sing him—not concert singers + with artfulness, but just a singer with the right quaver and the + whine of catgut in the voice and the tailing of Scotch pipes for + the swells. It was perhaps two o’clock of the morning when we stood + up, said “Little Willie’s Prayer” softly together, arms on + shoulders, and the judge remarked:</p> + +<p>“Allison, if you wrote like you sing Burns, maybe you wouldn’t be + here—but it’s well worth the trouble!”</p> + +<p>I knew then there was no more politics to practice—just law enough + to be found to let the court stand firm when the time came.</p> + +<p>The next night it was in the judge’s room. Half a dozen old + followers of the circuit were there on the judge’s tip. “You bring + your whiskey,” he said to me, privately, “or there’ll be none.” And + I brought it. And between Burns and the bottle and the long low + silences of good country-bred men listening back through the soft + cadences of memory, the case was won that night. I think <span class="pagenum"><a id="page36" name="page36"></a>36</span>it was + Jock’s song that did it. You never hear it sung by concert singers; + because it has no theatricalism in it. It’s just the wailing of the + faith of the country lass in her lover:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>‘When the shades of evenin’ creep</p> +<p class="i4">O’er the day’s fair, gladsome e’e</p> +<p>Sound and safely may he sleep,</p> +<p class="i4">Sweetly blithe his waukenin’ be.</p> +<p>He will think on her he loves,</p> +<p class="i4">Fondly he’ll repeat her name,</p> +<p>For, where’er he distant roves,</p> +<p class="i4">Jockey’s heart is still at hame.’</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>If you listen right close you’ll hear the hiss of the kettle behind + it, and you can see the glow of the firelight and smell the sap of + green wood in the smoke.</p> + +<p>Well, there were continuances; of course. It is never + constitutional to throw a case of politics out of court too soon. + We made that four hundred-mile round trip four times and, every + time, Burns sat at night where Blackstone ruled by day. Never one + word of the case from judge to accused, just continuances. But on + the last night—the case was to be pressed next day—the judge said + to Allison at the door, as he went off to bed:</p> + +<p>“I think you will be before me in a case tomorrow. If the worst + comes and you demand your right to address the jury, the court will + sustain you. And I advise you give ’em ‘Jockey’s Ta’en the Parting + Kiss’—<em>and no more</em>. I know the jury.”</p> + +<p>But the case was dismissed; we were serenaded at the hotel and held + a reception. Driving away in a buggy over the fourteen miles to the + railway station, Allison said: “There never was a prettier + summer-time jail anywhere in the world than this one. I’ve been + down to see it. It has vines growing over the low, white-washed + walls, there’s apple trees in the yard and the jailer has a curly + headed little girl of six who would bring ‘em to you and could slip + ‘em through the barred window by standing on the split bottom chair + where her father sleeps in the shade after dinner. It’s a beautiful + picture—but it hasn’t got a single damned modern convenience for + winter and a six months’ term would have landed me there till + January!”</p> + +</div><!--Judge Smith's remarks--> + +<p>I shall always believe this to be the most graceful, sympathetic and poetic +relation involving a legal case I ever heard and never will cease to give +thanks that my always strong and constantly growing admiration for Allison +led me to insist upon its transcription.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page37" name="page37"></a>37</span>As soon as the trial fizzled I called on Allison at the <i>Herald</i> office, to +extend congratulations and with eager requests for details.</p> + +<p>“Well,” Allison ruminated, with that ever present twinkle in his eye, “my +experience was very interesting. I found I had friends; and discovered +traces of a family unknown to history claiming direct kinship with +President Thomas Jefferson!”</p> + +<p>When the “sports” brought about Allison’s discharge from the <i>Commercial</i> +to stop his articles on the gambling control of Louisville, unconsciously +they added a forceful factor to insurance publishing and I might truthfully +say to the insurance business itself. I cannot begin to tell how much has +been encompassed in these twenty-six years, but our bound volumes are full +of his editorials and articles—the serious, the analytical, the +constructive, the caustic, the witty and the amusing. He created <i>The Piney +Woods Clarion</i> and in quotations from that mythical publication put a new +light on the business. “Insurance Arabian Nights” which he declared were +“translated from the Persian,” contained more of the odd conceits that +fairly flowed from his pen and these two series, with a marine policy-form +insuring the “contents” of Noah’s Ark, concocted in collaboration with good +old Col. “Tige” Nelson (gone long ago, but not forgotten) are the classics +of the business.</p> + +<p>During his insurance newspaper work Allison was once called upon to give a +public endorsement to a friend and very kindly expressed conviction that +had his management continued “all the interest of the company would have +been secured.” When later on he was forced to criticise extraordinary acts +of this whilom friend, the endorsement was called <span class="pagenum"><a id="page38" name="page38"></a>38</span>up against him in a +broadside affidavit, which he promptly reviewed in the most deliciously +sarcastic editorial concluding:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p>And we do not hesitate to declare anew that “we believe if he had + been continued as president, all the interests of the company would + have been secured.” It was certainly not his fault that he did not + secure more. Everything cannot be done in eleven months. But in the + language of the far-Western tombstone it can be justly said, “He + done what he could.”</p> +</div> +</div><!--MAN and NEWSPAPER MAN--> +<div id="Chapter_4"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page39" name="page39"></a>39</span></p> +<h2 class="chapter_title">JUST BROWSING AROUND</h2> +<p>One who has never read around the clock in a virtual debauch of novel +reading cannot appreciate Allison’s “Delicious Vice;” no more can he +Field’s “Dibdin’s Ghost” who has not smuggled home under his coat some +cherished volume at the expense of his belly—and possibly someone else’s +too! “The Delicious Vice!” What a tart morsel to roll on one’s tongue in +anticipation and to speculate over before scanning the pages to discover +that the vice is not “hitting the pipe” or “snuffing happy dust” but is as +Allison paints it with whimsical but affectionate words, “pipe dreams and +fond adventures of an habitual novel-reader among some great books and +their people.” These are the all too skimpy pages through which its author +rhapsodizes on the noble profession, makes a keen distinction between novel +readers and “women, nibblers and amateurs,” brings up reminiscences of +“early crimes and joys” and discourses learnedly, discerningly and +entertainingly upon “good honest scoundrelism and villains.” Every page is +the best and when the last has passed under your eye, you again begin +square at the beginning and read it all over. You are here only to have the +appetite spiced by one single gem quoted from the first novel for the boy +to read which of course is “Robinson Crusoe:”</p> + +<div class="quotation"> + +<p>… There are other symptoms of the born novel-reader to be + observed in him. If he reads at night he is careful so to place his + chair that the light will fall on the page from a direction that + will ultimately ruin the eyes—<span class="pagenum"><a id="page40" name="page40"></a>40</span>but it does not interfere with the + light. He humps himself over the open volume and begins to display + that unerring curvilinearity of the spine that compels his mother + to study braces and to fear that he will develop consumption. Yet + you can study the world’s health records and never find a line to + prove that any man with “occupation or profession—novel-reading” + is recorded as dying of consumption. The humped-over attitude + promotes compression of the lungs, telescoping of the diaphragm, + atrophy of the abdominal abracadabra and other things (see + Physiological Slush, p. 179, et seq.); + but—it—never—hurts—the—boy!</p> + +<p>To a novel-reading boy the position is one of instinct like that of + a bicycle racer. His eyes are strained, his nerves and muscles at + tension—everything ready for excitement—and the book, lying open, + leaves his hands perfectly free to drum on the sides of the chair, + slap his legs and knees, fumble in his pockets or even scratch his + head, as emotion and interest demand. Does anybody deny that the + highest proof of special genius is the possession of the instinct + to adapt itself to the matter in hand? Nothing more need be said.</p> + +<p>Now, if you will observe carefully such a boy when he comes to a + certain point in “Robinson Crusoe” you may recognize the stroke of + fate in his destiny. If he’s the right sort, he will read gayly + along; he drums, he slaps himself, he beats his breast, he + scratches his head. Suddenly there will come the shock. He is + reading rapidly and gloriously. He finds his knife in his pocket, + as usual, and puts it back; the top-string is there; he drums the + devil’s tattoo, he wets his finger and smears the margin of the + page as he whirls it over and then—he finds—</p> + +<p>“The—Print—of—a—Man’s—Naked—Foot—on—the—Shore ! ! !”</p> + +<p>Oh, Crackey! At this tremendous moment the novel-reader, who has + genius, drums no more. His hands have seized the upper edges of the + muslin lids, he presses the lower edges against his stomach, his + back takes an added intensity of hump, his eyes bulge, his heart + thumps—he is landed—landed!</p> + +<p>Terror, surprise, sympathy, hope, skepticism, doubt—come all ye + trooping emotions to threaten and console; but an end has come to + fairy stories and wonder tales—Master Studious is in the awful + presence of Human Nature.</p> + +<p>For many years I have believed that that + Print—of—a—Man’s—Naked—Foot was set in Italic type in all + editions of “Robinson Crusoe.” But a patient search of many + editions has convinced me that I must have been mistaken.</p> + +<p>The passage comes sneaking along in the midst of a paragraph in + common Roman letters and by the living jingo, you discover it just + as Mr. Crusoe discovered the footprint itself!</p> + + +</div><!--The Delicious Vice:Robinson Crusoe--> + +<p>I wish I might tell the reason why no scoundrel was ever a novel reader; +that I might browse for the benefit of those who have never been translated +into ecstacies over “good old <span class="pagenum"><a id="page41" name="page41"></a>41</span>honest scoundrelism and villains” or describe +my friend’s first blinding and unselfish tears that watered the grave of +Helen Mar, but these are among the delicious experiences of the “Vice” +itself, so sacred that other hands, no matter how loving, may not be laid +upon them.</p> + +<p class="text_break">††††</p> + +<p>Allison has a very happy faculty of hitting upon titles for essays and +addresses that stir the imagination and whet the appetite. Probably the +best example is “The Delicious Vice” to which reference has just been made. +This title was more or less an evolution from an address delivered before +the Western Writers Association “On the Vice of Novel Reading” that started +a discussion lasting through one whole day. Allison is a warm champion of +The Novel as an institution, and as well an avowed and confirmed reader of +novels, which he declares are poetry in essence, lacking only the form and +rhyme but having measure, the accent and the figures of the whole range of +poetry. He says that in all literature—</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p>The great muse of History ranks first in dignity, power and + usefulness; but who will say that at her court the Prime Minister + is not the Novel which by its lightness, grace and address has + popularized history all over the world?</p> +</div><!--from The Vice of Novel Reading--> + +<p>At that time the word “microbe” and the theory of its significance was in +the full swell of popular use. Allison took it to illustrate the essence of +spiritual intellectuality struggling against the swarming bacteria of +animalism that made up the rest of the human body controlled by the brain. +He pointed out that the difference between types of brains was two ounces +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page42" name="page42"></a>42</span>of grayish pulp, almost wholly absent in the unthinking herd of men. But it +enlarged in gradually lessening groups of men to the intellectual few that +dominate thought, thus:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p>The microbe that might have become glorious ounces of brain has + been content at first to become merely a little wart of pulp, which + finds expression in skill and quickness and more of coveted + leisure. There is the next higher terrace and another and another, + until finally it becomes a pyramid, ever more fragile and + symmetrical, the apex of which is a delicate spire, where the + purest intellects are elevated to an ever increasing height in ever + decreasing numbers, until in the dizzy altitude above the groveling + base below they are wrapped little by little in the cold solitude + of incarnate genius burning like suns with their own essence. It is + so far up that the eyes deceive and men dispute who it is that + stands at the top, but, whoever he may be, he has carried by the + force of strength, determination and patient will, the whole swarm + of his evil bacteria with him. They swarm through every terrace + below, increasing in force as the pyramid enlarges downward. It is + the pyramidal bulk of human nature with its finest brain, true to + anatomic principles, at the top. That radiance at the summit is the + delight and the aspiration of all below.</p> +</div><!--The Delicious Vice:Microbes--> + + + +<p class="text_break">††††</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page43" name="page43"></a>43</span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_43.jpg" id="Infallible" alt="A drawing of a seated man reading papers" width="555" height="318" /> +<p class="fig_caption">The Infallible—Type of Handy Man formerly in every Newspaper Office. Century, 1889</p> +</div> + +<p>As an active, enthusiastic and successful newspaper man, every time Allison +read a novel depicting the reporter as a sharp-featured and +half-disreputable young man running about with pencil and note-book in hand +and making himself personally and professionally obnoxious, it produced +apoplectic tendencies that permanently threatened health and peace of mind. +Hence with the characteristic energy devoted to writing, he proceeded to +get it out of his system and produced “The Longworth Mystery,” published in +<i>Century</i>,† <span class="sidenote">† Century, October, 1889.</span> (which it is interesting to note was illustrated by Charles +Dana Gibson who then signed himself “C. D. Gibson”), and “The Passing of +Major Kilgore,” appearing in <i>Lippincott’s</i>,† <span class="sidenote">† Lippincott’s January, 1892.</span> both +depicting <span class="pagenum"><a id="page44" name="page44"></a>44</span>newspaper +life. When this latter novelette was printed it soothed me so that I had +the paper covers protected with more permanent boards and sent it on many +pilgrimages from which it safely returned enriched with further messages of +thanks to the creator for his good job. Having browsed deeply behind the +bindings of many books I have yet to find others written in the first +person, where the pronoun “I” is used by the relator so seldom as in either +“The Longworth Mystery” or “The Passing of Major Kilgore,” the intimacy of +the relation the while being maintained very adroitly by the observations +of the “City Editor” who tells both stories. Major Kilgore in the latter +tale, is financial man on the <i>Banner</i>. He is an old school gentleman and +profound student of finances who finally goes mad over the study of the +market and while dreaming himself possessed of vast wealth, is seeking to +further the happiness of others where riches will assist. Of course the +denouement shattered many sumptuous air castles but it left the profession +the richer by a faithful portrayal. It is in the development of this tale +that Allison, ever seeking an opportunity to draw amusement from his +friends, created a fine occasion through a reminiscent conversation between +Major Kilgore and Colonel Hamilton to inject a famous Southern quartette, +Clarence Knowles, Col. John D. Young, James A. Thomas and Col. W. C. +Nelson, then in their prime, but who have since passed on to swell the +silent throng. Colonel Hamilton is trying to divert Major Kilgore, already +showing signs of mental unbalance:</p> + + +<div class="quotation"> +<p>“Some of the fellows we knew in the C. S. A. have had queer luck in + the shuffle, Kilgore. You remember Knowles of Georgia? I found him + keeping bar in Sacramento. Young of North Carolina, who led that + charge at Fredericksburg, is running a restaurant in Colorado; and + Thomas, of Tennessee—<span class="pagenum"><a id="page45" name="page45"></a>45</span>by the Lord Harry, he killed himself with + drink working in a mine in Arizona—had the jim-jams seven times + they say and thought his head was a rabbit’s nest. Last time I saw + you riled, Kilgore, was that night in the trenches at + Fredericksburg when Nelson hid your tobacco bag. You wanted to + fight him, by the Lord Harry, there and then, but he wouldn’t do + it—because he said he would rather kill Yankees than gentlemen. + And you both agreed to take your chances next day on a fool trial + which would fight the Yankees best!”</p> +</div><!--Excerpt from Major Kilgore--> + +<p>Only one who knows Allison intimately can measure the delight, expressed in +chuckles of joy, with which he marked this passage in <i>Lippincott’s</i> and +mailed copies to the friends he had whimsically pilloried.</p> + +<p class="text_break">††††</p> + +<p>When one browses around among Allison’s productions he runs across many odd +conceits as in “The Ballad of Whiskey Straight” which he declares was +“prepared according to the provisions of the Pure Food Law, approved 1906.” +Whatever quarrel one might have with the subject itself, or the sentiment, +he cannot fail to fall a victim to the soft cadences of the rippling rhyme.</p> + + +<div class="quotation"> +<p class="internal_title">THE BALLAD OF WHISKEY STRAIGHT.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="internal_title">I</p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8">Let dreamers whine</p> +<p class="i8">Of the pleasures of wine</p> +<p class="i4">For lovers of soft delight;</p> +<p class="i8">But this is the song</p> +<p class="i8">Of a tipple that’s strong—</p> +<p class="i4">For men who must toil and fight.</p> +<p class="i8">Now the drink of luck</p> +<p class="i8">For the man full of pluck</p> +<p class="i4">Is easy to nominate:</p> +<p class="i8">It’s the good old whiskey of old Kentuck,</p> +<p class="i8"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page46" name="page46"></a>46</span>And you always drink it straight.</p> +</div> +<p class="internal_title">II</p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8">A julep’s tang</p> +<p class="i8">Will diminish the pang</p> +<p class="i4">Of an old man’s dream of yore,</p> +<p class="i8">When meadows were green</p> +<p class="i8">And the brook flowed between</p> +<p class="i4">The hills he will climb no more;</p> +<p class="i8">But the drink of luck</p> +<p class="i8">For the youth of good pluck,</p> +<p class="i4">Who can stare in the eye of fate,</p> +<p class="i8">Is the good old whiskey of old Kentuck</p> +<p class="i8">And invariably straight.</p> +</div> +<p class="internal_title">III</p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8">So here’s to the corn</p> +<p class="i8">That is growing this morn</p> +<p class="i4">All tasselled and gold and gay!</p> +<p class="i8">And the old copper still</p> +<p class="i8">In the sour mash mill</p> +<p class="i4">By the spring on the turnpike gray!</p> +<p class="i8">May the fount of luck</p> +<p class="i8">For the man full of pluck</p> +<p class="i4">Flow ever without abate</p> +<p class="i8">With the good old whiskey of old Kentuck,</p> +<p class="i8">And strong and pure and straight.</p> +</div> +<p class="internal_title">ENVOY</p> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Old straight whiskey! That is the drink of life—</p> +<p>Consolation, family, friends and wife!</p> +<p class="i4">So make your glasses ready,</p> +<p class="i4">Pour fingers three, then—steady!</p> +<p>“Here’s good luck to Kentucky and whiskey straight!”</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!---The Ballad of Whiskey Straight--> +<p class="text_break">††††</p> + +<p>No one, like Allison, who has made the newspaper profession a life work, +has failed to study its weak spots and to note its imperfections; or on the +other hand, to grasp its marvelous <span class="pagenum"><a id="page47" name="page47"></a>47</span>opportunities for studying the wonderful +mystery of the variations of human nature. In the very essence of things +therefore, he recognizes the human elements in his own profession and does +not hold that the newspaper man is perfect or that it does not harbor types +of black sheep the likes of which may not be found in other flocks. At the +same time nothing raises his gorge quicker than to hear the uninformed or +unthinking deliver themselves, parrot-like, of the formula “that’s only a +newspaper lie” or to see some man climb high by the aid of the newspaper +and then kick down the ladder by which he rose. Allison once discussed this +subject skillfully in an address on “Newspaper Men and Other Liars” which +is worth a half-hour of any man’s time. The only difficulty would be +experienced in finding a copy, for so far as known, I have the only one +extant. Allison believes and says that by the very nature of his occupation +and training the newspaper man is the least of liars among men and proves +to his own complete satisfaction that the reporter gets his undeserved +reputation for lying from his very impersonality—an impersonality that may +be condemned with perfect safety. Fact, he declares, is a block of granite +that the whole world may see without wrangling over, but once inject the +human interest, with its divided opinions, into the occult mystery of the +printed type and you have the newspaper “lie” in so many of its aspects, an +analysis that leads him to arrive at this rather remarkable deduction:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p>I might almost define a lie as being the narrative of a human event + that had been printed.</p> +</div> + +<p>And what about a comparison of those “other” liars with the newspaper man? +Allison makes it very adroitly this way:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page48" name="page48"></a>48</span>Suppose every word that every member of this intelligent and most + respectable audience has said today:—the merchant to his customers + and creditors; the man of leisure to his cronies and companions, + the professional man to his clients; even the ladies to their bosom + friends at tea or euchre—suppose, I say, that every word you had + uttered had been taken down by some marvelous mechanical + contrivance, and should be published verbatim tomorrow morning with + your names attached showing just what each of you had said. What do + you think would happen? I can tell you from observation. You would + likely spend next year explaining, denying, apologizing and + repenting. Suits for slander would appear on the courthouse shelves + as thick as blackberries in August. There would be friendships + shattered, confidences dissipated, feuds established, social + anarchy enthroned and perhaps this admirable club could never hold + another meeting for lack of a quorum of members willing to meet + each other in one room.</p> +</div> + +<p>Well, browsing time is up! I wish I might open the pages of other gems and +quote from their wit, their satire and their sentiment, but any reference +to Allison’s productions must of very necessity touch only the high spots +and besides that—</p> + +<p>This volume wouldn’t be big enough!</p> +</div><!--JUST BROWSING AROUND--> +<div id="Chapter_5"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page49" name="page49"></a>49</span></p> + +<h2 class="chapter_title">IN <em>the</em> OPERATIC FIELD</h2> + + +<p>Did I remark in some preceding breath that Allison is more or less “dippy” +over music? Well, the statement, though made kindly, is severely and +unqualifiedly true and whenever there is “big music” in town I can always +find him in a front seat where he won’t miss a single note. This inherent +love of music was what first led him to listen by the hour to Henry Waller +at the piano and later into setting words to Waller’s big creations. When +Philip Sousa was in Louisville five or six years ago and told Allison that +the time was ripe to revive “The Ogallallas,” which embraced, he said, some +of the finest music he had ever heard, I inquired of Waller’s whereabouts. +“Heaven knows!” Allison replied, “And I wish I did, too!” Some years prior +to that time they had “lost” each other; that is, Allison lost Waller.</p> + +<p>Henry Waller was the adopted son of Mrs. Scott Siddons, the English actress +and dramatic reader—a famous beauty. He had been an infant prodigy as a +pianist, but was overdriven by his father and Mrs. Siddons intervened and +bought his freedom. She sent him to Woolwich Academy, the great Royal +Artillery and Engineering School of Great Britain, where, curiously enough +for a musician, he graduated at the head of his class in mathematics. +Waller was a class-mate and friend of the ill-fated Prince Imperial of +France, killed by the Zulus, and afterwards spent three years in Franz +Liszt’s house as the master’s pupil. Strangely enough, too, Waller’s piano +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page50" name="page50"></a>50</span>performances on the stage were almost mediocre, but to private audiences of +those known to be appreciative, he was a tireless marvel. Allison was a +frequent visitor at Waller’s quarters and here his idea germinated for an +American opera. At that time he had no intention of writing the libretto +but, after outlining the plot, at Waller’s urgent request he wrote the +scenario. Waller was enthused by Allison, the past master in creating +enthusiasm, to a point where he had entered into its spirit and was +composing great accompanying music, so there was nothing left for him but +to complete the job. While they worked together the mode of procedure was +about this: Allison would sketch out an idea and raise Waller to a seventh +heaven over some dramatic scene until he struck fire and evolved its +musical conception. Whereupon Allison would fit words to the music. So “The +Ogallallas” was completed, submitted to The Bostonians, accepted at once, +rehearsed in New York, Washington and Chicago, making its first public bow +at the Columbia Theatre in the latter city in 1893, where I heard it. The +plot is simple enough and is all worked out in the opening conversation of +the “Scouts” while waiting for their leader. Here it is:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p><i>Joe.</i> So, then, you know all about this errand of ours?</p> + +<p><i>Wickliffe.</i> As much as you do. I know that General Belcher sent a +messenger, asking Deadshot to provide a safe escort for Professor +Andover, of Boston, and a party of ladies, to Lone Star Ranch. +Andover declined a military escort, but Belcher, notwithstanding +the country is quiet, wants us to see them safely through.</p> + +<p><i>Joe.</i> Yes, that’s it; but who are Professor Andover and his party?</p> + +<p><i>Wickliffe.</i> Boston people; with a mission to regenerate the world, +Indians especially.</p> + +<p><i>Joe.</i> Well, I should think Deadshot would like his errand. He is a +Boston man I’ve always understood.</p> + +<p><i>Wickliffe.</i> Yes. He came out here with me ten years ago, just out +of college, rich, adventurous and restless. City life was too tame +for Arthur <span class="pagenum"><a id="page52" name="page52"></a>52</span>Cambridge. You know how he took to the life of a scout, +and now, under the name of Captain Deadshot, he is the most famous +Indian fighter and scout on the plains.</p> +</div><!--sample dialog from The Ogallallas--> + +<p class="out_of_order_page"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page51" name="page51"></a>51</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_51.png" id="Ogallallas" alt="A printed cover" width="599" height="932" /> +<p class="fig_caption">Title Page, Book of “The Ogallallas”</p> +</div> + +<p>Imagination could finish the story, but the old, old Beadle Dime Novel of +the Scout, the Girl and the Redskins—capture, threatened death, beautiful +Indian maidens, villain, hero, heroine and rescue, “You set fire to the +girl and I’ll take care of the house”—excellently executed in dialogue and +verse, briefly represent the whole thing. The cast of characters in the +first night’s production, February 16, 1893, which was widely reviewed and +complimented by the critics in next day’s Chicago dailies, was as follows:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p class="internal_title">CAST OF CHARACTERS.</p> + +<table summary="cast of The Ogallallas"> + <tr> + <td style="width:50%;">Arthur Cambridge, known as Captain Deadshot</td> <td></td> <td>Tom Karl</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Professor Andover, a philanthropist</td> <td></td> <td>H. C. Barnabee</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>War Cloud, chief of the Ogallallas</td> <td></td> <td>W. H. McDonald</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Cardenas, a Mexican bandit</td> <td></td> <td>Eugene Cowles</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Mississinewa, medicine man of Ogallallas</td> <td></td> <td>George Frothingham</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Wickliffe</td> <td rowspan="2"><span style="font-size:1.5em;">}</span> Scouts <span style="font-size:1.5em;">{</span></td> <td>Peter Lang</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Buckskin Joe</td> <td>Clem Herschel</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Commander United States forces</td> <td></td> <td>W. A. Howland</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Edith, niece and ward of Professor Andover</td> <td></td> <td>Camille D'Arville</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Minnetoa, an Indian girl</td> <td></td> <td>Flora Finlayson</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Miss Hepzibah Small, Edith's governess</td> <td></td> <td>Josephine Bartlett</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Kate, friend of Edith</td> <td></td> <td>Lillian Hawthorne</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Cosita, a Mexican girl</td> <td></td> <td>Lola Hawthorne</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Laura, friend of Edith</td> <td></td> <td>Georgie Newel</td> + </tr> +</table> + + +</div> + +<p>“Bill” MacDonald, the big baritone, as “War Cloud,” seized the opportunity +of his life. He almost ran away with the piece and anyone ever after, who +would say “Ogallallas” could get a conversation out of him that would wind +up with “that was the greatest stuff ever written.” When costumed and +wearing the Chief’s head-dress (old-timers may recall having <span class="pagenum"><a id="page53" name="page53"></a>53</span>observed it +hanging in Harry Ballard’s city room of the <i>Chicago Inter-Ocean</i>, at +Madison and Dearborn) MacDonald boomed out the War Song of the Ogallallas, +he scored the big hit of the opera.</p> + +<div class="quotation"> + +<p class="internal_title">WAR SONG OF THE OGALLALLAS.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Great is the warrior of the Ogallallas,</p> +<p>Fearless his heart is and great is his glory.</p> +<p>Lighted my war-fires and hill-tops flaming</p> +<p>Red to the skies, arouse all my braves.</p> +<p>In the air the swelling war-cry—</p> +<p>In the air that swelling cry—</p> +<p>Wildest sound to combat calling,</p> +<p>Swift the onset in the lust of war.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i4">Shrill is the cry of the wolf</p> +<p class="i4">As he howls in the moonlight,</p> +<p class="i4">Shrill is the sound of the war-cry—</p> +<p class="i8">Ogallalla! Ogallalla!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Lo! where the warriors, trailing their lances,</p> +<p>Sweep o’er the plain upon resistless steeds!</p> +<p>There, on the trail, vengeance is launching</p> +<p>Swift as the arrow upon the hated foe.</p> +<p>In their hearts the whispered war-cry—</p> +<p>In their hearts that wailing cry.</p> +<p>Low the sound of vengeance breathing.</p> +<p>Ride they boldly in the thrill of war.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i4">Low is the cry of the bird</p> +<p class="i4">As he chants in the moonlight,</p> +<p class="i4">Low is the sound of the war-cry—</p> +<p class="i8">Ogallalla! Ogallalla!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Great are the warriors of the Ogallallas!</p> +<p>Strong of arm and fearless of danger,</p> +<p>Where wait the foemen—</p> +<p>Warriors will meet them where the white sun</p> +<p>Is burning on the plain.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page54" name="page54"></a>54</span>In the air resounds the war-cry—</p> +<p>In the air resounds that cry.</p> +<p>Wildest sound to combat calling,</p> +<p>Bold the onset of the warriors charge.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i4">Shrill is the cry of the wolf</p> +<p class="i4">As he howls in the moonlight,</p> +<p class="i4">Shrill is the sound of the war-cry—</p> +<p class="i8">Ogallalla! Ogallalla!</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--War Song of the Ogallallas--> +<p>Mr. Barnabee (Professor Andover—dignified, staid and circumscribed; a +misogynist if there ever was one) took huge delight in accentuating the +satire of his character’s advice to the bevy of school girls in his charge +to—</p> + + +<div class="quotation"> +<p class="internal_title">BEWARE OF LOVE.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Whoever heard of Homer making sonnets to an eye-brow?</p> +<p class="i4">Or Aristotle singing to a maiden with his lute?</p> +<p>Imagine wise old Plato, with his pale and massive high-brow.</p> +<p class="i4">Wrinkling it by thinking how his love he’d prosecute;</p> +<p>Do you think Professor Agassiz learned all he knew by sighing?</p> +<p class="i4">Or that Mr. Herbert Spencer thought out ethics at a ball?</p> +<p>If our own lamented Emerson of love had been a-dying,</p> +<p class="i4">We never should have heard of his philosophy at all.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Can love teach youthful maidens anything at all of Botany?</p> +<p class="i4">Or Mathematics cause a thrill erotic in the heart?</p> +<p>Will flirting give a lady brains—if she hasn’t got any?—</p> +<p class="i4">Or solve the esoteric problems hid in Ray’s Third Part?</p> +<p>You may lose yourself completely in pursuing Etiology,</p> +<p class="i4">Or safely throw yourself away upon a Cubic Rule;</p> +<p>But nowhere else in nature will you find such useless “ology,”</p> +<p class="i4">As in a man who’s dead in love and makes himself a fool.</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--Beware of Love--> + +<p>Quite in contrast, is the delicate little waltz song of Edith’s (Camille +D’Arville) in which the ring of the blue bells sounds the gladsomeness of +springtime and the intoxication of love.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page55" name="page55"></a>55</span></p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p class="internal_title">THE BREATH OF MAY.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah! The breath of May!</p> +<p class="i4">Never was wine</p> +<p class="i4">Half so divine;</p> +<p class="i4">Never the air</p> +<p class="i4">As fresh or as fair.</p> +<p>Ah! Delight of May!</p> +<p class="i4">When every bud</p> +<p class="i4">Upon the tree</p> +<p class="i4">Lays bare its heart</p> +<p class="i4">To every bee.</p> +<p>Ah! The breath of May.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Glowing sunshine everywhere</p> +<p>Flings a gleaming, golden snare—</p> +<p class="i6">Flowers here—</p> +<p class="i6">And there—</p> +<p>Are blowing in May air.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah! The joy of May!</p> +<p class="i4">When to the heart</p> +<p class="i4">Love doth impart</p> +<p class="i4">All the delight</p> +<p class="i4">Love can excite.</p> +<p>Ah! The joy of Spring!</p> +<p class="i4">When every bird</p> +<p class="i4">Hath found its mate,</p> +<p class="i4">And every heart</p> +<p class="i4">Hath had its sate.</p> +<p>Ah! Love is King!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Love and music everywhere,</p> +<p>Weaving rapture’s joyous snare,</p> +<p class="i6">Love is here—</p> +<p class="i6">Is there—</p> +<p>Is wafted on May air.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah! The song of May!</p> +<p class="i4">How every trill</p> +<p class="i4">Makes hearts to thrill,</p> +<p class="i4">And every note’s</p> +<p class="i4">Aleap in our throats.</p> +<p class="i2"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page56" name="page56"></a>56</span>Ah! Sweet lay of love!</p> +<p class="i4">Story so tender,</p> +<p class="i4">Old and gray;</p> +<p class="i4">Yet sing again</p> +<p class="i4">Love’s roundelay—</p> +<p>Ah! Love is King!</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--The Breath of May--> + +<p>In greater contrast is the roystering drinking song of Cardenas, the +Mexican bandit, who was characterized by Eugene Cowles without in any way +overdoing a part easily overdone.</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p class="internal_title">CARE’S THE KING OF ALL.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i4">Oh, care’s the King of all—</p> +<p class="i4">A King who doth appal;</p> +<p>But shall we who love delight bow before him?</p> +<p class="i4">Or raise revolting cry—</p> +<p class="i4">Proclaiming pleasure high,</p> +<p>Declare it treason if good men dare adore him?</p> +<p class="i4">And to this design</p> +<p class="i4">We’ll pledge in good wine;</p> +<p>Come all and drink and laugh tonight;</p> +<p class="i4">We’ll clink and we’ll drink,</p> +<p class="i4">Nor stop to sigh or think—</p> +<p>Come all with me who love delight.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i4">Away, away with care;</p> +<p class="i4">Come on, come all who dare</p> +<p>With me to banish care in joyous drinking.</p> +<p class="i4">The night’s for pleasure bought,</p> +<p class="i4">The day alone for thought—</p> +<p>Let all begone who would annoy us thinking.</p> +<p class="i4">Then come while above</p> +<p class="i4">The stars wink at love—</p> +<p>Come all and drink and laugh tonight.</p> +<p class="i4">We’ll clink and we’ll drink,</p> +<p class="i4">Nor stop to sigh or think—</p> +<p>Come on with me who love delight.</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--Care's the King of All--> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page57" name="page57"></a>57</span>Jessie Bartlett Davis was cast for “Minnetoa, an Indian Girl,” but didn’t +take the part until Flora Finlayson had made a hit and even then she wanted +certain changes made in the finale, which Waller refused.</p> + +<p>Well, “The Ogallallas” deserved a better fate and probably would have been +a go, if there had been tenors enough to carry Waller’s big themes. They +were really Grand Opera parts and the average—and better than +average—tenor could not continue night after night without breaking down. +It was great! Too bad it was so far ahead of the times—and failed.</p> + +<p>That was Jinx No. 1.</p> + +<p class="text_break">††††</p> + +<p>Allison was everlastingly encouraging Waller to musical creations by +exciting his imagination with suggestions and in the end writing the story, +although he tried faithfully to find a librettist who, he too modestly +believed, might do better work than he. In the end, however, each of the +children of his brain came back to its creator. The fact was that Waller +couldn’t or wouldn’t work with others. So was conceived “Brother +Francesco,” an opera set in a monastery in Italy during the Seventeenth +Century, and bringing up a vivid picture of monks, medieval chapels—dark, +massive and severe—and the dank scent of deep tragedy. There were but four +main characters, a quartette of voices, in “Brother Francesco,” which was +in one act of about an hour and ten minutes, the whole story unravelling +itself in the public chapel between the ringing of the church bell and the +conclusion of the mass of the Benediction of the Holy Virgin. The altar +lights have not been lit. Enter Francesco, a novice, to light them. A +candle flashes <span class="pagenum"><a id="page58" name="page58"></a>58</span>on the altar; then another—and the tale unfolds. Francesco, +sorrowing over his lost love, Maria, observes the Father Confessor enter +the Confessional and, reminded of his too worldly thoughts, kneels and +sings an aria, “The Confession,” in which the tragedy of his life is +revealed.</p> + + +<div class="quotation"> + <p class="internal_title">THE CONFESSION.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>All my sins confessing humbly, oh, my father—</p> +<p>All my thoughts are ever of my lost Maria.</p> +<p>Wondrously fair and so pure was she</p> +<p>Whom I loved ere my heart was dead—</p> +<p>When love yet thrilled with tender mystery.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah, her face! I see it ever—waking, dreaming,</p> +<p>Hear her voice in cadence tender, softly speaking.</p> +<p>Pure was the love that from heaven above</p> +<p>Filled my heart with its ardent flame</p> +<p>And blowed with passion’s thrilling mystery.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Our fathers were at strife</p> +<p>And we were kept apart.</p> +<p>I told Lucretia all and</p> +<p>Bade her pour my love</p> +<p>Into Maria’s breast.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>I waited long and then</p> +<p>She said Maria—false</p> +<p>To me—was pledged to wed</p> +<p>Another that she loved.</p> +<p>That cruel message, father, broke my heart.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>It was not long until I saw</p> +<p>Lucretia’s heart—that she could love</p> +<p>Where false Maria failed. And so</p> +<p>In sympathy we two were wed.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The vows had scarce been said—</p> +<p>Aye, on the church’s steps—a messenger</p> +<p>Did crush a letter in my hand.</p> +<p>’Twas but a line, but at the end—</p> +<p>Oh God in Heaven! Maria’s name.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page59" name="page59"></a>59</span>“I hear that thou art false,” it said,</p> +<p>“But I cannot believe</p> +<p>“That one who loved as thou didst</p> +<p>“Could fail me or deceive.”</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ah! suspicion, like a lightning flash,</p> +<p>Transfixed me and I held</p> +<p>The paper to Lucretia’s face</p> +<p>And bade her read and tell me all.</p> +<p>Upon her knees she fell and whined</p> +<p>That she had loved me too, and had</p> +<p>Deceived me of Maria’s heart—Ah! God!</p> +<p>In that damned moment’s rage</p> +<p>I struck her as she knelt—to kill!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>The wedding guests did drag me off</p> +<p>And take the knife away. But, Ah!</p> +<p>There was one stain of blood it bore,</p> +<p>Where, as I struck, it slashed across</p> +<p>The dark and faithless cheek of her</p> +<p>And left it scarred for life. Scarred!</p> +<p>When I had meant to kill.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>All that night I lingered, watching ’neath her window—</p> +<p>Saw once more the haunting face of my Maria—</p> +<p>Saw her once more—I can see her still!—</p> +<p>Fled away and am buried here</p> +<p>In God’s own house and all unchastened yet.</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--The Confession--> + +<p>In very irony, it would seem, to the simplicity of his nature, the +outpourings of the novitiate’s sorrowing heart have been confessed to his +wife, the scarred-faced Lucretia, who inhabits the monastery in the guise +of the Father Confessor (not an unknown historical fact) thus in its very +inception lending an intense dramatic effect to the story. Now, at the +ringing of the bell, the villagers enter the public loft, Maria—his lost +love—in the foreground unrecognized either by Francesco or Lucretia, +singing an “Ave Maria:”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page60" name="page60"></a>60</span></p> +<div class="quotation"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Ave Maria, Mother of Mercy,</p> +<p>Thou art our hope, and our sweetness and life.</p> +<p>Pray for Francesco, Oh, watch o’er his footsteps;</p> +<p>Turn on his sorrow thine eyes sweet and tender.</p> +<p>At thy dear feet anguished I fall</p> +<p>To pray for him—</p> +<p>For oh! somewhere he’s wandering,</p> +<p>Sorrow enduring.</p> +<p>Pray for him Mother, oh watch o’er his footsteps.</p> +<p>Lost, lost to me, yet so dear to me—</p> +<p>Pray for him, oh Mother dear.</p> +<p>Ave Maria! Hope of the hopeless!</p> +<p>To thy sweet mercy in anguish I cry—</p> +<p>Pray for Francesco, my own, my beloved—</p> +<p>Pray for him Mother, oh pray for Francesco.</p> +<p>Lost, lost to me—oh! loved and lost!</p> +<p>Oh Mother dear pray for him.</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--Ave Maria--> + +<p>Again the bell rings and the monks pass before the altar with genuflections +and sink in their stalls in prayer, while a male chorus chants the Office +of the Benediction. During the singing of the anthem, Francesco enters with +cowl thrown back and a lighted taper in his hand. He is recognized by Maria +and at her exclamations starts to her but is restrained by the Father +Confessor now disclosed to him for the first time as his discarded wife. +After a trio of great dramatic force, Francesco seizes a dagger drawn by +Lucretia to kill him, and stabbing himself, expires in Maria’s arms, while +Lucretia, still disguised as the Father Confessor, takes back her place +unnoticed among the monks who hold their crosses in horror against the +suicide!</p> + +<p>Waller wrote the entire service in imitation of the sombre Gregorian Mass, +and then over the face of this dark background sketched in modern +passionate music the lyrical and dramatic lightning of the action. This +wonderful conception, both in idea, words and music, was “passed by +censors” of the church—that is, Archbishop Corrigan and the Archbishop of +Paris both <span class="pagenum"><a id="page61" name="page61"></a>61</span>said that while they did not approve of representations of the +Church on the stage, it had been done before, and would no doubt be done +again. Otherwise there was nothing objectionable in it.</p> + +<p>Yet when it was produced in Berlin at the Royal Opera, under the wing of +Emperor William, even though horribly mutilated by the Public Censor, the +Catholic party, (aided and abetted by the musical cabal that has always +existed in Berlin), made it the cause of protests against the German +Government and Jinx No. 2 came to life in riotous uprisings against it +during its three performances. Whereupon it was withdrawn. These simple +facts are gleaned from Mr. Waller’s descriptive letters. Jean de Reszke +thought so well of “Brother Francesco” that he proposed—nay promised—to +have it produced at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. But the old Jinx +proceeded to put his No. 3 seal on de Reszke’s voice that year, and he and +the opera were heard from no more under the proscenium arch.</p> + +<p class="text_break">††††</p> + +<p>Then there was “The Mouse and the Garter,” a travesty on Grand Opera in two +acts that Clarence Andrews was to produce at the opening of the +Waldorf-Astoria ballroom-theater. Many has been the pleasurable moment I +have had in examining the old “prompt <span class="pagenum"><a id="page62" name="page62"></a>62</span>book” in use during rehearsals, for +the company was picked, the scenery modeled, the costumes made and the +“fancy,” as Allison called it, ready to be staged, when Oscar Hammerstein, +who had a contract with Andrews to transfer successes to the old Victoria +Theater, blew up in one of his bankruptcies. The Jinx was again monarch of +all he surveyed—and Monte-Cristo-like held up four fingers! That old +“prompt book” mentioned shows the wear and tear of much use and is filled +with odd notes in Allison’s characteristic handwriting. No less interesting +were the “Librettist’s Notes on Characters in the Opera and the Business,” +dated October 21, 1897, and taken from an old letter-press copy that turned +up in our archives. There we find that—</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p>The general tone of the performance is to be light, gay, rapid, +suggestive and delicate—without a trace of the license of current +musical farce. The suggestiveness must naturally arise from the +innocent freedom of village life. The whole idea is a travesty of +sentimental grand opera, the vocal characters being transposed so +far as their fate and actions are concerned.</p> +</div> + +<p>Good stuff! And who were these innocent villagers? Well, there was Tenor +Robusto, in love with Soprano and fated to be left at the post; Tenor Di +Grazia, his twin brother; Giovanni Baritono, a Soldier of Fortune; Piccolo, +an innkeeper; Fra Tonerero Basso, a priest; Signorina Prima Soprano, a bar +maid; Signorina Mezzo, also a bar maid, and Signora Contralto, Piccolo’s +wife, besides villagers, eight topers, musicians, five couples of rustic +brides and grooms, and a dancing bear and his keeper. Let us not forget the +mythical mouse and the ribbon from which The Garters were made, though +neither appears among the “properties” scheduled by Allison.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page63" name="page63"></a>63</span></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_63.png" id="Prompt_book" alt="A sketch of a stage, with typed description and hand-written notes" width="653" height="821" /> +<p class="fig_caption">Page from the old Prompt Book “The Mouse and the Garter”</p> +</div> + +<p>Robusto and Soprano flirted. He gave her a ribbon and she promised to marry +him. Just a bluff! And then he wanted his ribbon back, but she had already +made it into garters, and when he tried to take them by force she boxed him +smartly. He got fussy, drank a gallon of gooseberry wine, smoked two +cigarettes and making out that he was a great bounder, threatened her with +sudden death. Great dialogue! He would have gone to war, only there was no +war at the time and anyway <span class="pagenum"><a id="page64" name="page64"></a>64</span>his “mother wouldn’t let him”—the topical +number. After smacking Robusto good and plenty before all the villagers, +Soprano, who seems to know how to take care of herself, swears that she’ll +marry no one unless he has the wit “to get—that! And this!”—the garters. +Baritono, Soldier of Fortune, comes on the scene. Lots more bully dialogue +and song and then Baritono hears of Soprano’s oath. It’s easy for him and +he bides his time—you always have to bide your time—to indicate a point +behind Soprano, when she is in a wholly unsuspecting mood, and shout “Ha! A +mouse!! A mouse!!!” Village maidens scream and scatter. Soprano, skirts to +knees, hurdles into a chair, while Baritono deftly seizes the loose ends of +the now visible “lover-knots” and holds aloft the precious talismen. +Wedding. Finis!</p> + +<p>But the Jinx got it.</p> +</div><!--IN the OPERATIC FIELD--> + +<div id="piratical_ballad_music"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page65" name="page65"></a>65</span> <span class="sidenote"><a href="music/PiraticalBallad.mid"><i>Click to play music.</i></a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_65.png" alt="Title Page from 'A Piratical Ballad', song for Bass or Deep Baritone" width="662" height="896" /> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page66" name="page66"></a>66</span></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_66.jpg" alt="First page of sheet music" width="644" height="904" /> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page67" name="page67"></a>67</span></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_67.jpg" alt="Second page of sheet music" width="637" height="904" /> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page68" name="page68"></a>68</span></p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illo_68.jpg" alt="Third (and last) page of sheet music" width="650" height="905" /> +</div> +</div><!--A PIRATICAL BALLAD--> + +<div id="Chapter_6"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page69" name="page69"></a>69</span></p> +<h2 class="chapter_title">BALLAD <em>of</em> DEAD MEN</h2> + +<p>If Young Allison is vain of anything he has done I have yet to hear such an +expression from him. He just writes things and tucks them away in odd +corners and it has devolved upon me to collect them and keep them. So it is +that, while not a literary executor—because Allison, thank God, is +scandalously healthy and I am making no professions—it falls to my +satisfied lot to be a literary collector in a certain sense—if he who +gathers and preserves and gloats over the brain products of others may thus +be described. That is why, treasured among my earthly possessions—scant +enough, the good Lord knows, but full of joy and satisfaction to me—are +extensive lead-pencil manuscript memoranda in Allison’s writing showing the +painstaking stages by which “Fifteen Dead Men,” characterized by James +Whitcomb Riley as that “masterly and exquisite ballad of delicious +horrificness,” reached its perfection. Under whatever name it may be sung, +be it “The Ballad of Dead Men,” or “On Board the Derelict” or “Derelict,” +it is a poem big enough to fix the Jewel of Fame firmly over the author’s +brow.</p> + +<p>Away back in the Allison strain somewhere must have been a bold buccaneer, +for who else but the descendant of a roystering, fighting, blood-letting +pirate could have seen the “scuppers glut with a rotting red?” Through all +the visible mildness of his deep and complex nature there surely runs a +blood-thirsty current, in proof of which <span class="pagenum"><a id="page70" name="page70"></a>70</span>I submit this single paragraph +from certain confessions† <span class="sidenote">† The Delicious Vice. Pages 23-24. First Series, 1907.</span> of his:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p>With character seared, abandoned and dissolute in habit, through + and by the hearing and seeing and reading of history, there was but + one desperate step left. So I entered upon the career of a pirate + in my ninth year. The Spanish Main, as no doubt you remember, was + at that time upon an open common just across the street from our + house, and it was a hundred feet long, half as wide and would + average two feet in depth. I have often since thanked Heaven that + they filled up that pathless ocean in order to build an iron + foundry upon the spot. Suppose they had excavated for a cellar! Why + during the time that Capt. Kidd, Lafitte and I infested the coast + thereabout, sailing three “low, black-hulled schooners with long + rakish masts,” I forced hundreds of merchant seamen to walk the + plank—even helpless women and children. Unless the sharks devoured + them, their bones are yet about three feet under the floor of that + iron foundry. Under the lee of the Northernmost promontory, near a + rock marked with peculiar crosses made by the point of the stiletto + which I constantly carried in my red silk sash, I buried tons of + plate, and doubloons, pieces of eight, pistoles, Louis d’ors, and + galleons by the chest. At that time galleons somehow meant to me + money pieces in use, though since then the name has been given to a + species of boat. The rich brocades, Damascus and Indian stuffs, + laces, mantles, shawls and finery were piled in riotous profusion + in our cave where—let the whole truth be told if it must—I lived + with a bold, black-eyed and coquettish Spanish girl, who loved me + with ungovernable jealousy that occasionally led to bitter and + terrible scenes of rage and despair. At last when I brought home a + white and red English girl, whose life I spared because she had + begged me on her knees by the memory of my sainted mother to spare + her for her old father, who was waiting her coming, Joquita passed + all bounds. I killed her—with a single knife thrust, I remember. + She was buried right on the spot where the Tilden and Hendricks + flag pole afterwards stood in the campaign of 1876. It was with + bitter melancholy that I fancied the red stripes on the flag had + their color from the blood of the poor, foolish, jealous girl below.</p> +</div><!--The Delicious Vice--> + +<p>So it is, naturally enough, that to Allison, “Treasure Island” is the <i>ne +plus ultra</i> and composite of all pirate stories, and this marvel of delight +he called to Waller’s attention while they were incubating “The +Ogallallas.” No sooner had Waller read it than the quatrain of Old Billy +Bones took possession <span class="pagenum"><a id="page71" name="page71"></a>71</span>of him and converted itself into music. The two of +them, as so many other thousands had done, bewailed the parsimony of +Stevenson in the use and development of the grisly suggestion and Waller +declared that if Allison would complete the verse he would set it to music. +That same night Allison composed three ragged but promising verses, at +white heat, while walking the floor in a cloud of tobacco smoke of his own +making. Next morning he gave them to Waller, who by night had the score and +words married and a day later the finished product went forward to Wm. A. +Pond & Co., and was published under the title of “A Piratical +Ballad”† <span class="sidenote">† A Piratical Ballad. Song for Bass or Deep Baritone. Words by +Young E. Allison; Music by Henry Waller; New York. Published by +William A. Pond & Co. Copyright 1891. [See pages <a href="#page65">65</a>-68.]</span>. +Note that these initial verses are described as “ragged” and in this I am +also quoting Allison himself who in our various chats on his reminiscence +of “Treasure Island” has often given them this characterization. Be that as +it may these three verses were the foundation for the perfect six that were +to emerge after several years more of intermittent but patient development +and labor.</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p class="internal_title">A PIRATICAL BALLAD.</p> + + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Drink and the devil had done for the rest—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>The mate was fixed by the bo’s’n’s pike,</p> +<p>The bo’s’n brained with a marlinspike,</p> +<p>And cookey’s throat was marked belike</p> +<p class="i4">It had been gripped</p> +<p class="i8">By fingers ten.</p> +<p class="i4">And there they lay,</p> +<p class="i8">All good dead men—</p> +<p>Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum,</p> +<p>Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page72" name="page72"></a>72</span>Fifteen men all stark and cold—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Their eyes popp’d wide and glazed and bold—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>The skipper lay with his nob in gore</p> +<p>Where the scullion’s axe his cheek had shore,</p> +<p>And the scullion he was stabbed times four.</p> +<p class="i4">And there they lay,</p> +<p class="i8">And the soggy skies</p> +<p class="i4">Rained all day long</p> +<p class="i8">On the staring eyes—</p> +<p>Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum,</p> +<p>Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fifteen men of the Vixen’s list—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>All gone down from the devil’s own fist—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>We wrapped ’em all in a mainsail’s fold,</p> +<p>We sewed at the foot a bit of gold,</p> +<p>And we heaved ’em into the billows cold.</p> +<p class="i4">The bit was put</p> +<p class="i8">As snug’s could be,</p> +<p class="i4">Where’t ne’er will bother</p> +<p class="i8">You nor me—</p> +<p>Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum,</p> +<p>Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--3-verse Piratical Ballad--> + +<p>This is the requiem of the Fifteen Dead Men that Eugene Cowles would sing +so effectively in his booming bass after rehearsals of “The Ogallallas.” It +must have been great!</p> + +<p>Allison felt that he had done little justice to an idea full of great +possibilities and made a number of revisions during the polishing process +until it was raised to five verses. I have the original manuscript† <span class="sidenote">† Reproduced in <a href="#pocket">facsimile</a>.</span> of +the first revision of “A Piratical Ballad” unearthed from a cubby-hole in +an old desk of his to which I fell heir, the only change being in the title +to “A Ballad of <span class="pagenum"><a id="page73" name="page73"></a>73</span>Dead Men,” the elimination of one of the concluding lines +“Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum” from the refrain of each verse, (it had been +added originally to fit the musical cadence), and the strengthening of the +final verse by the substitution of—</p> +<div class="quotation"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>With willing hearts</p> +<p class="i4">And a Yo-heave-ho</p> +<p>Over the side</p> +<p class="i4">To the sharks below.</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--final verse--> +<p>Many will no doubt recall “The Philosophy of Composition”† <span class="sidenote">† Stone & Kimball Edition. Vol. 6; page 31.</span> by Edgar Allen +Poe, and those who by some mischance have missed it, can spend a delightful +hour in the perusal of what, beyond the least doubt, is the most skillful +analysis of poetic composition ever written, even though it fails to carry +conviction that “The Raven” was ever produced by the formula described. Poe +declared that—</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p>… most writers—poets in especial—prefer having it understood + that they compose by a species of fine frenzy—an ecstatic + intuition; and would positively shudder at letting the public take + a peep behind the scenes at the elaborate and vacillating crudities + of thought, at the true purposes seized only at the last moment, at + the innumerable glimpses of idea that arrived not at the maturity + of full view, at the fully matured fancies discarded as + unmanageable, at the cautious selections and rejections, at the + painful erasions and interpolations—in a word at the wheels and + pinions, the tackle for scene shifting, the step ladders and demon + traps, the cock’s feather, the red paint and the black patches, + which in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred constitute the + properties of the literary <i>histrio</i>.</p> + +</div><!--Poe quote--> + +<p>And so he proceeds to detail how he composed “The Raven.” First he decided +on a length of about one hundred lines that could be read at one sitting; +on beauty as its province; on sadness as its tone; on a variation of the +application of the refrain—it remaining for the most part unvaried—to +obtain what he <span class="pagenum"><a id="page74" name="page74"></a>74</span>termed “artistic piquancy;” proceeding only at that stage to +the composition of the last verse as the first step. All this of course has +little to do with “Derelict” and yet I cannot but see a sort of analogy of +effect by processes wholly divergent, particularly as Allison once told me +that the central idea of the last verse for consigning the bodies to the +deep was ever in his mind and that this verse was first projected, although +its development was the most difficult and its perfection did not come +until later. So much for that! In the five verses he had arrived +approximately at a consummation of the sea burial, the introduction very +properly repeating the quatrain of Billy Bones before concluding:</p> +<div class="quotation"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>We wrapped ’em all in a mains’l tight,</p> +<p>With twice ten turns of a hawser’s bight,</p> +<p>And we heaved ’em over and out of sight—</p> +<p class="i4">With a yo-heave-ho!</p> +<p class="i8">And a fare-you-well!</p> +<p class="i4">And a sullen plunge</p> +<p class="i8">In the sullen swell—</p> +<p>Ten fathom-lengths of the road to hell—</p> +<p>Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--Last verse--> +<p>While this composition is fine and tight as a drum in poetic meter and +conception, the real perfection was not arrived at until he made it “Ten +fathoms <em>deep on</em> the road to hell.” In the five-verse revision a part of +the last verse as it appeared in “A Piratical Ballad” went into the second, +a part of the second verse was shifted to the third and a fourth was added +to give an implied reason for the riot of death in an inferred quarrel over +the “chest on chest full of Spanish gold, with a ton of plate in the middle +hold.” Strangely enough all these shifts and additions do not appear to +have altered the sentiment in the least and at times I am amazed, in +reading over old versions, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page75" name="page75"></a>75</span>that I do not appreciably miss certain lines and +ideas that seem vital to the finished product.</p> + +<p>Shortly after the five verses had been privately printed for his friends on +a single slip, Allison conceived the rather daring idea of injecting the +trace of a woman on board the Derelict which up to this time he had very +closely developed in the Stevensonian spirit. While there was no woman in +“Treasure Island,” he proved to himself by analysis that his new thought +would do no violence to Stevenson’s idea, because Billy Bones’ song was a +reminiscence of <em>his own past</em> and not of Treasure Island. Hence the trace +of a woman, skillfully injected, might be permissible. Here, too, his +analysis gave him the melancholy tone—of which Poe speaks as so highly +desirable—greatly accentuated by doubt of whether she was “wench” or +“maid,” and a further possible incentive for the extermination of the whole +ship’s list. This verse† <span class="sidenote">† Reproduced in <a href="#pocket">facsimile</a>.</span> has undergone little change since the woman +trace was first injected:</p> +<div class="quotation"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>More we saw, through the stern-light screen—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Chartings ondoubt where a woman had been—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>A flimsy shift on a bunker cot,</p> +<p>With a dagger-slot in the bosom spot</p> +<p>And the lace stiff-dry in a purplish blot.</p> +<p class="i4">Now whether wench</p> +<p class="i8">Or a shuddering maid,</p> +<p class="i4">She dared the knife</p> +<p class="i8">And she took the blade.</p> +<p>By God! She was stuff for a plucky jade—</p> +<p class="i4">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--woman's verse--> +<p>There were certain niceties of word adjustment to follow as for instance +the substitution of “a thin dirk-slot” for “a <span class="pagenum"><a id="page76" name="page76"></a>76</span>dagger-slot,” the word “thin” +carrying a keen mental impression of a snaky, hissing sound-sensation as +the idea unfolded of the dirk slipping through the flimsy fabric of the +shift, cast on the bunker cot to remain the silent evidence of the tragedy. +The very acme of touches came in the punctuation† <span class="sidenote">† Reproduced in <a href="#pocket">facsimile</a>.</span> of the concluding +lines—pauses that emphasize with so much ingenuity the very question that +lends the speculatively mournful cadence to the whole:</p> +<div class="quotation"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Or was she wench ...</p> +<p class="i4">Or some shuddering maid...?</p> +<p>That dared the knife</p> +<p class="i4">And that took the blade!</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--punctuation example--> +<p>And as a cap-sheaf came the thought of differentiating the +whole verse† <span class="sidenote">† Reproduced in <a href="#pocket">facsimile</a>.</span> by an Italicized setting! That is almost the last +word of the conception of poet-printer.</p> + +<p>The dogged persistency that Allison applied to the completion of this +masterpiece has always won my deepest admiration. And the admiration of +many others too, for this poem, first publicly printed in the Louisville +<i>Courier-Journal</i>, has been reprinted in one form or another, in almost +every newspaper in the country and has an honored place in many scrap +books. What great and painstaking effort was encompassed in its composition +only one can know even partly who has been privileged to “peep behind the +scenes” at the “properties of the literary <i>histrio</i>”—the manuscript notes +and memoranda, a few of which accompany this volume in <a href="#pocket">facsimile</a>.</p> + +</div><!--BALLAD of DEAD MEN--> +<div id="Chapter_7"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page77" name="page77"></a>77</span></p> + +<h2 class="chapter_title">IF THERE <em>is</em> CONTROVERSY!</h2> + + +<p>If any one in this wide, old world, after reading the wealth of evidence in +this little volume, still thinks Young E. Allison did not write “Derelict,” +let him come to me like a man and say so and I’ll give him a good swift +stab in the eye, with my eye, and say: “You don’t want to be convinced.” +This includes the editor of <i>The New York Times Book Review</i>. When he made +an egregious blunder by stating that “Derelict” was an unskilled sailor’s +jingle, a wave of protest reached him. He then printed Walt Mason’s letter +describing the poem as a work of art and altered his editorial +characterization of it to “famous old chanty.” In the same breath he wrote +that it was not likely that Mr. Allison was the author—but why not likely? +It is plain that somebody must have written it. Nobody else’s name had ever +been associated with it. The <i>Times</i> man had nobody to suggest as the +author. Why, then, maintain that Mr. Allison was not the author? His sole +reason is that the “Bowdlerized” and bastard version which he printed had +been <em>copied from a manuscript written into an old book printed in 1843</em>! +What does the ink say about dates? What do the pen marks say? Great gods +and little fishes! If ever I shall desire to antiquitize a modernity I’ll +copy it into an old book and send a transcript to that delightful Babe of +the Woods of <i>The New York Times Book Review</i>.</p> + +<p>When <i>Rubric</i>, a Chicago magazine venture of attractiveness, but doomed in +advance to failure, published Allison’s <span class="pagenum"><a id="page78" name="page78"></a>78</span>poem under the title “On Board the +Derelict,” I detached three sets of the eight illustrated and illuminated +pages on which it was printed, had the sheets inlaid in hand-made paper and +neatly bound. This was accomplished with the sage advice of my old +playmate, Frank M. Morris, the bookman of Chicago. One of these volumes was +made for Mr. Allison, (so that he would surely have at least one copy of +his own poem), a second was for my bookish friend, James F. Joseph, then of +Chicago and now of Indianapolis, and a third was for my own library. The +mere fact that Allison was five years autographing my particular copy has +no bearing whatever in this discussion, but leads me to say that I felt +amply repaid in the end by this very handsome inscription on the fly-leaf:</p> + +<div class="quotation inscription"> +<p>This Volume,</p> + +<p class="cen">No. 1</p> + + +<p>of the limited private edition of “On Board the Derelict,” is + for the private delight of my dear friend,</p> + +<p class="cen">Champion Ingraham Hitchcock,</p> + + +<p>the publisher and designer thereof—appreciative guide, + counselor and encourager of other excursions into “the higher + altitudes,”—with all love and long memory</p> + +<p class="location">Christmas, 1906.</p><p class="signature"><span class="sc">Young E. Allison.</span></p> + + +</div><!--inscription--> + +<p>Well, because “Derelict” was a delight and Allison my friend, I gave away +<i>Rubrics</i> by the score and, among others, saw that a copy went to Wallace +Rice, literatus—and Chicago book reviewer—to whom I owe an everlasting +debt of gratitude for precious moments saved by good advice on modern stuff +not to read. In presenting “Derelict,” the <i>Rubric</i> publishers left an +impression that the poem had but then been completed† <span class="sidenote">† See letter to “The New York Times Book Review”.</span> for its pages. I +knew better; Wallace had read it <span class="pagenum"><a id="page79" name="page79"></a>79</span>before, in whole or in part and raised a +question. It so worked upon me that later I decided to submit it to Allison +himself. Sometimes we do things, and know not why, that have a very +distinct later and wholly unexpected bearing upon situations, and when the +opportunity for this volume arose, the memory that I had saved Allison’s +penciled reply came over me. A patient search had its reward. Here is the +letter† <span class="sidenote">† Reproduced in <a href="#pocket">facsimile</a>.</span> written with the same old lead pencil on the same old spongy +copy paper:</p> +<div class="quotation"> +<p class="letter_date">Louisville Feb. 22, 1902.</p> +<p class="salutation">Dear Hitch:</p> + + +<p>My supposition is that the <i>Rubric</i> folks misunderstood or have +been misunderstood. The Dead Man’s Song was first written about 10 +years ago—3 verses—and Henry Waller set it to music & it was +published in New York. The version for the song did not exhaust it +in my mind and so I took it up every now & then for 4 or 5 years +and finally completed it. A very lovely little girl who was +visiting my wife helped me to decide whether I should write in one +verse “a flimsy shift” or “a filmy shift” or other versions, and +her opinion on “flimsy” decided me. She is the only person that +ever had anything to do with it—<em>as far as I know</em>! What hypnotic +influences were at work or what astral minds may have intervened, I +know not. But I have always thought I did it all. It was not much +to do, except for a certain 17th Century verbiage and grisly humor.</p> + +<p>I am glad you still believe I wouldn’t steal anybody else’s brains +any more than I would his money. Waller wrote splendid singing +music to it which Eugene Cowles used to bellow beautifully.</p> + +<p class="closing">With best love, as always,</p> + +<p class="signature">Y. E. A.</p> +</div><!--letter of Feb 22 1902--> + + +<p>That this narrative may be complete, the articles and comment that appeared +in <i>The New York Times Book Review</i> are reproduced, together with a letter +to the editor written by the author of this volume, which, neither +acknowledged nor published by him, obtained wide circulation through <i>The +Scoop</i>,† <span class="sidenote">† Issue of October 10, 1914.</span> a <span class="pagenum"><a id="page80" name="page80"></a>80</span>magazine issued every Saturday by The Press Club of Chicago. +It was quite characteristic of Allison to decline the very urgent requests +of many friends to jump into the arena and make a claim for that which is +his own creation and in coming to a negative decision, his reasons are +probably best expressed in a letter to Henry A. Sampson, who himself writes +poetry:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p>Yours of the 5th containing wormwood from the <em>N. Y. Times</em> (and +being the 11th copy received from loving friends) is here.</p> + +<p>Jealous! Jealous! Just the acute development on your part of the +ordinary professional jealousy. Merely because I have at last found +my place amongst those solitary and dazzling poets, Homer and +Shakespeare, who, also, it has been proved, did not write their own +stuff, but found it all in folk lore and copied it down.</p> + +<p>Well, damn me, I can’t help my own genius and do not care for its +products because I can always make more, and I compose these things +for my own satisfaction.</p> + +<p>I, with Shakespeare and Homer, perceive the bitter inefficacy of +fighting the scientific critics. Walt Mason saw the versification +was artful instead of “bungling and crude,” but the <em>Times</em> critic +knows a copy out of a “chanty book” when he sees it.</p> + + +<p>I envy your being unpublished. You do not have to bleed with me and +Homer and Bill. I feel the desiccating effects of my own dishonor. +I grow distrustful. I wonder if <em>you</em> wrote <em>your</em> poems. You +refused to publish. Were you, astute and keen reader of auguries, +afraid of being found out? Who writes all these magnificent things +that me and Homer and Bill couldn’t and didn’t write?</p> + +<p>No, I don’t owe it to my friends to settle this. I’d a sight rather +plead guilty and accept indeterminate sentence than to waste time +on my friends. I’ve got ’em or I haven’t. And I want to convince +enemies by a profound and dignified sneak.</p> + +<p class="closing">From one who has had dirt done him.</p> + +<p class="signature"><span class="sc">Mantellini</span></p> + +<p class="location">Louisville, Oct. 6, 1914.</p> +</div><!--letter of "Mantellini"--> +</div><!--IF THERE is CONTROVERSY!--> +<div id="Chapter_8"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page81" name="page81"></a>81</span></p> + + +<h2 class="chapter_title">SOME CLIPPINGS; <em>and</em> A LETTER</h2> + + +<p>The controversial comments on Allison’s “Fifteen Men on the Dead Man’s +Chest,” heretofore mentioned, appeared in <i>The New York Times Book Review</i> +of September 20, 1914, and October 4, 1914, while the inquiry that +precipitated the discussion was published July 26. The printed matter, +<i>verbatim et literatim</i>, and the matter not printed, are subjoined:</p> + + +<p class="article_date">July 26, 1914.</p> +<div class="quotation article"> +<p class="article_title">APPEALS TO READERS</p> + +<p>EDWARD ALDEN.—Can some reader tell me if the verse or chorus of a +pirate’s song, which Robert Louis Stevenson recites several times +in whole or in part in “Treasure Island,” was original or quoted; +and, if there are other verses, where they may be found? The lines +as Stevenson gives them are:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest,</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ha and a bottle of rum;</p> +<p>Drink and the devil had done for the rest,</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ha and a bottle of rum.</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--appeals to readers--> + +<p class="text_break">††††</p> + +<p class="article_date">September 20, 1914.</p> +<div class="quotation article"> +<p class="article_title">ANSWERS FROM READERS</p> + +<p>W. L.—The verse about which Edward Alden inquired in your issue of +July 26. and which is quoted in Stevenson’s “Treasure Island,” is +the opening stanza of an old song or chantey of West Indian piracy, +which is believed to have originated from the wreck of an English +buccaneer on a cay in the <span class="pagenum"><a id="page82" name="page82"></a>82</span>Caribbean Sea known as “The Dead Man’s +Chest.” The cay was so named from its fancied resemblance to the +old sailors’ sea chest which held his scanty belongings. The song +or chantey was familiar to deep-sea sailors many years ago. The +song is copied from a very old scrapbook, in which the author’s +name was not given. The verses† <span class="sidenote">† To observe liberties taken with the text, compare these verses with authentic version.</span> are as follows:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest,</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Drink and the devil had done for the rest.</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>The mate was fixed by the bo’sun’s pike</p> +<p>An the bo’sun brained with a marlin spike.</p> +<p>And the cookie’s throat was marked belike</p> +<p>It had been clutched by fingers ten,</p> +<p>And there they lay, all good dead men,</p> +<p>Like break o’ day in a boozin’ ken—</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fifteen men of a whole ship’s list,</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Dead and bedamned and their souls gone whist,</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>The skipper lay with his nob in gore</p> +<p>Where the scullion’s axe his cheek had shore,</p> +<p>And the scullion he was stabbed times four;</p> +<p>And there they lay, and the soggy skies</p> +<p>Dripped ceaselessly in upstaring eyes,</p> +<p>By murk sunset and by foul sunrise—</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fifteen men of ’em stiff and stark,</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Ten of the crew bore the murder mark,</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>’Twas a cutlass swipe or an ounce of lead,</p> +<p>Or a gaping hole in a battered head,</p> +<p>And the scuppers’ glut of a rotting red;</p> +<p>And there they lay, ay, damn my eyes,</p> +<p>Their lookouts clapped on Paradise,</p> +<p>Their souls gone just the contrawise—</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fifteen men of ’em good and true,</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Every man Jack could a’ sailed with Old Pew,</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>There was chest on chest of Spanish gold</p> +<p>And a ton of plate in the middle hold,</p> +<p>And the cabin’s riot of loot untold—</p> +<p>And there they lay that had took the plum,</p> +<p>With sightless eyes and with lips struck dumb,</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page83" name="page83"></a>83</span>And we shared all by rule o’ thumb—</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>More was seen through the stern light’s screen,</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Chartings undoubt where a woman had been,</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>A flimsy shift on a bunker cot</p> +<p>With a dirk slit sheer through the bosom spot</p> +<p>And the lace stiff dry in a purplish rot—</p> +<p>Or was she wench or shuddering maid,</p> +<p>She dared the knife and she took the blade—</p> +<p>Faith, there was stuff for a plucky Jade!</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest,</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>Drink and the devil had done for the rest,</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +<p>We wrapped ’em all in a mainsail tight</p> +<p>With twice ten turns of a hawser’s bight,</p> +<p>And we heaved ’em over and out of sight</p> +<p>With a yo-heave-ho and a fare-ye-well,</p> +<p>And a sullen plunge in a sullen swell,</p> +<p>Ten fathoms along on the road to hell—</p> +<p class="i2">Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!</p> +</div> +</div> +</div><!--answers from readers--> + + +<p class="text_break">††††</p> + +<p class="article_date">September 20, 1914.</p> + +<div class="quotation article"> +<p>Who that loves tales of adventure, thrilling yarns involving the + search for mysteriously lost treasure, has not gloried in “Treasure + Island”? And who that recalls <span class="sc">Stevenson’s</span> stirring romance does not + involuntarily chant to himself the ridiculous but none the leas + fascinating verse commencing</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest—”</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p>as if the gruesome rhyme were in a way intended as a sort of + refrain for the entire story? When we were younger we undoubtedly + speculated on <span class="pagenum"><a id="page84" name="page84"></a>84</span>the amazing capacity of this particular dead man’s + chest, and we gloated over the uncanny wickedness of the whole + affair. The verse, however, turns out to be one of those + curiosities of literature which is unearthed every now and then by + some industrious contributor to the “Query Page” of <span class="sc">The New York + Times Book Review</span>. In this number of the latter the entire song or + “chantey” is given, copied from an old scrapbook, and while it can + hardly be recommended as a delectable piece of literature, in any + sense, it is interesting, aside from its Stevensonian connection, + as a bit of rough, unstudied sailor’s jingle, the very authorship + of which is long since forgotten. And the youthful myth of the Dead + Man’s Chest—that, too, it appears, is not at all the thing that + fancy painted it. The real Dead Man’s Chest, however, as “W. L.” + explains it, is quite as alluring as the imaginary one and will + appeal to the student of geographical peculiarities in the West + Indies.</p> +</div><!--Sept 20 1914 letter--> + +<p class="text_break">††††</p> + +<p class="article_date">October 4, 1914.</p> + +<div class="quotation article"> +<p class="article_title">“FIFTEEN MEN ON THE DEAD MAN’S CHEST”</p> + +<p class="salutation"><i>New York Times Review of Books</i>:</p> + + +<p>The fine old sea poem, “Fifteen Men on the Dead Man’s Chest,” + recently quoted in your columns, was written by Younge E. Allison. + I have raked through various biographical dictionaries trying to + discover who Younge <span class="pagenum"><a id="page85" name="page85"></a>85</span>E. Allison was, but without results. The man + who wrote such a poem should not be unknelled, unhonored, and + unsung. In your editorial touching the rhyme I don’t think you do + it justice. You describe it as “a rough, unstudied sailor’s + jingle,” whereas it is a work of art. Some of the lines are + tremendous, and the whole poem has a haunting quality that never + yet distinguished a mere jingle. I never weary of repeating some of + its sonorous lines.</p> + +<p class="signature">WALT MASON.</p> +<p class="location">Emporia, Kan., Sept. 24.</p> + + +<p class="spaced_top">EDITORIAL NOTE.—We have received several other letters in which + the authorship of the lines is credited to Mr. Allison, who is a + resident of Louisville, Ky., and the editor of The Insurance Field + of that city. Mr. Allison was at one time a correspondent of + THE NEW YORK TIMES and also has written several books of fiction, + including “The Passing of Major Galbraith.” It is not likely, + however, that he wrote the famous old chanty. One of our + correspondents writes that Mr. Allison “reconstructed” the song + some years ago on the first four lines which are quoted in + Stevenson’s “Treasure Island.”</p> + +<p>Our correspondent, “W. L.,” who furnished the copy of the song as + published recently in THE BOOK REVIEW says, however, that he copied + the verses from a manuscript written into a book which bears this + title: “Tales of the Ocean and Essays for the Forecastle, + Containing Matters and Incidents Humorous, Pathetic, Romantic, and + Sentimental, by Hawser Martingale, Boston, Printed and Published by + S. W. Dickinson, 52 Washington St., 1843.” This book belonged to + his grandfather, who died in 1874, and the song was familiar to “W. + L.” in his youth as early as 1870.</p> + +<p>In a letter to W. E. Henley, dated at Braemar, Aug. 25, 1881, + written when Stevenson had begun the writing of “Treasure Island,” + he writes:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p>I am now on another lay for the moment, purely owing to +Lloyd this <span class="pagenum"><a id="page86" name="page86"></a>86</span>one; but I believe there’s more coin in it than +in any amount of crawlers. Now see here “The Sea Cook or +Treasure Island: A Story for Boys.” [This was the first +title selected for the book.]</p> + +<p>If this don’t fetch the kids, why, they have gone rotten +since my day. Will you be surprised to learn that it is +about Buccaneers, that it begins in the Admiral Benbow +public house on the Devon coast, that it’s all about a map +and a treasure and a mutiny and a derelict ship and a +current and a fine old Squire Trelawney, (the real Tre. +purged of literature and sin to suit the infant mind,) and +a doctor and another doctor and a sea cook with one leg and +and a sea song with a chorus, “Yo-ho-ho and a Bottle of +Rum,” (at the third “ho” you heave at the capstan bars,) +which is a real buccaneer’s song, only known to the crew of +the late Capt. Flint, who died of rum at Key West much +regretted?</p> +</div><!--Stevenson letter--> + +<p>The first publication of “Treasure Island” was in 1883, and in a + letter to Sidney Colvin in July, 1884, Stevenson writes: “‘Treasure + Island’ came out of Kingsley’s ‘At Last,’ where I got ‘The Dead + Man’s Chest.’”</p> + +</div><!-- Mason's letter and response--> + +<p class="text_break">††††</p> + +<div class="quotation" id="The_Unpublished_Letter"> +<p class="internal_title">THE UNPUBLISHED LETTER</p> + + +<p class="salutation"><i>New York Times Review of Books</i>,</p> + + +<p>It has been my great pleasure and satisfaction to sit with Young E. +Allison of Louisville in business intimacy and friendship for many +years, and to have seen the inception of his “Derelict” in three +verses based on Billy Bones’ song of “Fifteen Men on the Dead Man’s +Chest” from “Treasure Island.” During this intimacy also I have +observed those original three stanzas grow to six and viewed the +adjustment and balance and polish he has given to what I now +consider a masterpiece.</p> + +<p>No one who ever read “Treasure Island” with a mind, but feels there +is something lacking in Billy Bones’ song. It left a haunting wish +for more and if the book was closed with a single regret it was +because Billy Bones had not completed his weird chant. So it +affected Mr. Allison, a confirmed novel reader and a great admirer +of Stevenson. Henry Waller, collaborating with Mr. Allison in the +production† <span class="sidenote">† Incubation at that time. Production in 1893.</span> of the “Ogallallas” by the Bostonians along back in +1891, declared he had a theme for that swashbuckling chant and +Allison, who <span class="pagenum"><a id="page87" name="page87"></a>87</span>wrote the libretto for the “Ogallallas,” agreed to +work it out. That same night with Waller’s really brilliant musical +conception in his mind, Mr. Allison wrote what might be considered +the first three verses of the present revision, which were set to +Waller’s music, written for a deep baritone, and published by Pond. +Thereafter during the rehearsal of the “Ogallallas” no session was +complete until Eugene Cowles, in his big, rich bass, had sung +Allison’s three verses of “Fifteen Men on the Dead Man’s Chest” to +Waller’s music, as “lagniappe,” while cold chills raced up and down +the spines of his hearers—more or less immune to sensations of +that character.</p> + +<p>As I write I have before me a copy of the music, the title page of +which reads as follows: “A Piratical Ballad. Song for Bass or Deep +Baritone. Words by Young E. Allison. Music by Henry Waller. New +York. Published by William A. Pond & Co. 1891.”</p> + +<p>Later it occurred to Mr. Allison that he had done scant justice to +an idea full of great possibilities, and another verse was added, +and still later another, making five in all, when in a more +polished condition it was submitted to the <i>Century</i> for +publication, and accepted, though later the editor asked to have +the closing lines re-constructed as being a bit too strong for his +audience. Mr. Allison felt that to bring back those drink-swollen +and weighted bodies “wrapp’d in a mains’l tight” from their “sullen +plunge in the sullen swell, ten fathoms deep on the road to hell” +would cut the heart out of the idea—while admitting to the +<i>Century’s</i> editor that such a sentiment might not be entirely +fitted for his clientele—and so declined to make the alteration.</p> + +<p>About this time Mr. Allison had “Derelict” privately printed for +circulation among friends. I have in my possession his printer’s +copy, and the various revisions in his own handwriting—probably a +dozen in all.</p> + +<p>Six years after the first verses were written, Mr. Allison decided +to inject a woman into his “Reminiscence of Treasure Island,” as he +styles it, which was most adroitly done in the fifth verse—last +written—and in the private copies it is set in Italics as a +delicate intimation that the theme of a woman was foreign to the +main idea which he attempted to carry out just as he believed +Stevenson might have done. There was no woman on Treasure Island +yet she passes here without question.</p> + +<p>Shortly after the sixth verse had been added, the editors of the +<i>Rubric</i>—a Chicago magazine venture of the late 90’s†<span class="sidenote">† Vol. I No. 1, 1901.</span>—asked +Mr. Allison for permission to publish the five verses which had +fallen into their hands, and in granting the request he furnished +the later revision in six verses. This was published on eight pages +of the <i>Rubric</i> in two colors, very happily illustrated, I thought, +and was captioned “On Board the Derelict.”</p> + +<p>It is the fine adjustment, the extreme delicacy, the very +artfulness of the whole poem, I might say, which has led you into +believing it “a rough, unstudied <span class="pagenum"><a id="page88" name="page88"></a>88</span>sailor’s jingle” and in stating +editorially, “it is not likely however that he [Mr. Allison] wrote +the famous old chanty.” Were it not that you hazarded this +speculation I would not feel called upon to recite this history, in +justice to Mr. Allison, who is one of the most honorable, modest +and original men of letters and who would scorn to enter the lists +in an effort to prove that what he had created was his own. Among +those who know him like Henry Watterson, Madison Cawein, James H. +Mulligan, (who was one of Stevenson’s friends, present in Samoa +when he died), James Whitcomb Riley, and a host of others he needs +no defense.</p> + +<p>Mr. Mason’s comment in your issue of October 4, 1914, is a very +fine tribute to the work of a stranger to him and testifies to his +artistic judgment, for a study of this “old chanty” will prove it +to be a work of art, not only for the tremendous lines of which Mr. +Mason speaks, but because it creates the impression of antiquity +while being entirely modern by every rule of versification.</p> + +<p>If you take the pains to scan the lines you must soon admit how +subtle and delicate are the alternating measures, prepared +purposely to create the very idea of age and coarseness and +succeeding with every almost matchless line and selected word.</p> + +<p>Just a word more. Of course I cannot pretend to say how the version +published in your issue of September 20, 1914, got copied into the +“Old Scrap Book” to which “W. L.” refers, but violence to the text +and the meter—which you may determine by reference to the +authentic copy inclosed herewith—would indicate that it had been +“expurgated” for drawing room recital by an ultra-fastidious†<span class="sidenote">† And non-poetic.</span> who +nevertheless recognized its great force.</p> + +<p>By the way, Mr. Allison wrote “The Passing of Major Kilgore,” not +“Major Galbraith,” one of the first really good newspaper stories +“from the inside” then written, though since there have been many.</p> + +<p class="closing">Yours very truly,</p> + +<p class="signature"><span class="sc">C. I. Hitchcock</span></p> + +<p class="location">Louisville, October 6, 1914.</p> + +</div><!--The Unpublished Letter--> +</div><!--SOME CLIPPINGS; and A LETTER--> +<div id="Chapter_9"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page89" name="page89"></a>89</span></p> + +<h2 class="chapter_title">YO-HO-HO <em>and a</em> BOTTLE OF RUM</h2> + +<p>It has not been the purpose of this sketch of a poem’s history, with +which has been joined other matters, reminiscent or germane, to enter +into a discussion relative to the origin of chanties, or to attempt to +trace the four lines of Captain Billy Bones’ song to any source beyond +their appearance in “Treasure Island.” In a more or less extensive, +though desultory, reading of a little of almost everything, the writer +has never stumbled upon any chanty or verse from which the famous +quatrain might have sprung. Nor has he ever met anyone who remembers to +have read or heard of anything of the kind. This includes Allison +himself, an omnivorous reader, a Stevenson admirer and student, a +friend of many of Stevenson’s friends, and who, since the appearance of +“Treasure Island,” has had hundreds of letters and conversations +bearing on the subject.</p> + +<p>While “Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum,” as a line, occasionally has since +been used in modern versification, but without any of the Stevenson +flavor and seldom with much poetic or dramatic instinct, all +authorities appear to be agreed that he evolved the quatrain. This +however is not a point at issue here. What seems to be of prime +importance to this narrative though, is that Allison, taking this +quatrain as a starting point, wrote a wholly modern versification in +words and meter so skillfully used as to create not only a vivid +atmosphere of piracy and antiquity, but of unskillfulness and +coarseness. That is the highest expression of art.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page90" name="page90"></a>90</span>Since <i>The New York Times Book Review</i> very unjustly raised a question +of the authorship of “Derelict,” it has been my privilege to read the +really remarkable correspondence that has reached Mr. Allison from men +all over the country who have been treasuring newspaper clippings of +perverted versions of the poem out of pure admiration for its classical +lines and the bold portrayal of a grewsome story. These letters have +increased since <i>The Scoop</i> of the Press Club of Chicago printed the +correspondence [See “<a href="#The_Unpublished_Letter">The Unpublished Letter</a>”] addressed to <i>The New +York Times Book Review</i>. <i>The Scoop</i> continued its interesting +discussion of the poem in the issue of October 24, under a caption of +“Yo-ho-ho!” and incorporated a communication from “our Bramleykite +Pilling” on chanties in general, submitting also a criticism of +Allison’s sea-faring knowledge of the consistency of mainsails and the +size of hawsers. If anything were needed to prove that “Derelict” is +not “of the sea,” this in itself would be sufficient. <i>The Scoop</i> +article is worthy of production in toto:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p class="internal_title">YO-HO-HO!</p> + +<p>In an annoying discussion of Young Allison’s “Derelict” and the +origin of the chanty beginning “Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s +Chest,” <i>The New York Times</i> quotes Robert Louis Stevenson as +saying “Treasure Island came out of Kingsley’s ‘At Last,’ where I +got ‘The Dead Man’s Chest.’” That is interesting, and apparently +authentic, but it has nothing to do with Allison’s poem. The +development of that poem, as related by C. I. Hitchcock in <i>The +Scoop</i> two weeks ago, is as clearly established as the similar +process out of which emerged Smith’s “Evolution,” and is abundantly +attested. Allison’s chanty is one of the best, if not the very +best, in its class, and <i>The Scoop</i> is glad to have been given a +chance to so accredit it.</p> + +<p>Taking up the subject matter, our Bramleykite Pilling, a retired +mariner now enjoying his otium cum dignitate at the town of Athol +in the state of Massachusetts, writes this letter:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page91" name="page91"></a>91</span>“In the days when sailing ships and sailors were on the +deep, chanties were used with every heave or pull.</p> + +<p>“Fifteen or twenty men trailing onto a rope, fitting each +other like spoons, as the sway-back pull induced whatever +was at the other end to give way.</p> + +<p>“Nothing ever was broken, as it was seen to that such a +possibility did not exist; hence the command ‘Break +something, break something.’</p> + +<p>“A chanty contained one verse or line only, the rest +depending on the composition of the man who sang the verse +or line. The pull was always at the accent of the chorus, +as follows:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">“‘Blow a man down is a blow me down trick.</p> +<p class="i4">Blow—Blow—Blow—a man Down.</p> +<p>Blow a man down to the home of old Nick.</p> +<p class="i4">Give me some time to blow a man down.’</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>“The pull being at every other line, there are eight pulls +in the above.</p> + +<p>“For a quick pulling chanty we often use this one:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“‘Rendso was no sailor—</p> +<p class="i4">Rendso, boys, Rendso,</p> +<p>He shipped on board a whaler—</p> +<p class="i4">Rendso, boys, Rendso.’</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>“What happened to Rendso depended on the imagination of the +one who sang the ‘coal box’—the line. Here is a heaving +chanty, or slow pull:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“‘To South Australia we’re bound to go—</p> +<p class="i4">Heave away, heave away.</p> +<p>Let the wind blow high or low—</p> +<p class="i4">We’re bound to South Australia.</p> +<p>We’re going home and don’t give a damn—</p> +<p class="i4">Heave away, heave away.</p> +<p>For the captain, the mate or any other man—</p> +<p class="i4">We’re bound to South Australia.’</p> +</div> +</div> +<p>“‘Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest’ never was used as a +chanty. It would require too much bass; but it was used as +a drone, which it is. An abstracted man would use a line, +or may be, the whole verse, or the first line, used as +derision. For illustration:</p> +<p>“When I was last at the Press Club a question pertaining to +the sea came up. One man sought the dictionary. To express +my contempt I repeated the first line. ‘We have no use for +the dictionary. To hell with it,’ expresses the idea. We +sailors have a language of our own. It is ours, it is up to +us to put you right when the impossible is said. I quote +two such lines:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“‘We wrapped ’em all in a mains’l tight</p> +<p class="i4">With twice ten turns of the hawser’s bight!</p> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page92" name="page92"></a>92</span>“These two lines are part of a poem written by Young +Allison as a continuance of the Billy Bones song in +Treasure Island.</p> +<p>“A mainsail is made of 0, 1 or 2 canvas, which will stand +alone; 28 sheet-iron would do as well.</p> +<p>“A hawser, with us, is anything in the shape of a rope +which is above six inches circumference. You will note that +the bight is used—two parts, or loop. Instead of using the +largest rope on board a ship, the smallest—skysail +bunt-line—would have been more to the point.</p> +<p>“A sailor would get back at me by saying ‘Perhaps she +didn’t carry skysails.’</p> +<p>“I would reply, ‘Suppose the mainsail was as soft as silk +and the hawser as pliable, would you, as a sailor, throw +them away on dead men?’</p> +<p>“A mistaken idea exists that Stevenson wrote the Billy +Bones song and only used one verse in “Treasure Island.” He +‘quotes’ the only verse there is. We of the sea locate the +scene of the verse at Dead Chest Island, half way between +the S. W. & S. E. points of Porto Rico, four and one-half +miles off shore, which was used as a buccaneer rendezvous, +and later as the haven of wreckers and smugglers. It was +first named by the Spanish ‘Casa de Muertos’—the Coffin.</p> +<p>“While I knew that Stevenson wrote, I did not know him as a +writer. I knew him as the grandson and son of men who dared +to do, and who achieved in the doing. I also knew him as a +man interested in everything pertaining to the sea.</p> +<p>“In fancy, I can see him gazing off to leeward, and hear +him drone—as of yore—</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>“‘Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest.’”</p></div> +</div> +</div><!--letter from Bramleykite Pilling--> +</div><!--article from _The Scoop_--> + + +<p>My personal interest in “Derelict” from its earliest stages has led me to +discuss it with many people, some of them A. B.’s, and this is the first +criticism I have ever heard of the technic of the words used to convey the +picture. I do not mean to say that Bramleykite Filling’s points are not +well taken, technically, but I do say that qualified sailors, with literary +judgment, have been carried over these delinquencies of technic, if that +expresses it, by the very vividness but simplicity of the picture, which +could not be so were there a false note in either sentiment or portrayal. +Thus for this purpose a mainsail is a piece of jute bagging, if you please, +or ordinary canvas, and a hawser is a flexible rope.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page93" name="page93"></a>93</span>When <i>The Scoop</i> reached my hand with its entertaining and not unjust +criticism, I besought Allison for a few lines of comment to add to my +collection of “Derelict” treasures. In the same old characteristic way +(same old black pencil; same old spongy copy paper) he wrote me the +following note with which this volume closes:</p> + +<div class="quotation"> +<p class="letter_date">Oct. 26, 1914.</p> +<p class="salutation">Dear Hitch:</p> +<p>Bramleykite Pilling’s comments on “Derelict,” from the standpoint +of scientific criticism, seem to me to be beyond any sort of +reproach. He is evidently an actual, real water sailor who learned +his nautics within the smell of bilgewater and the open sea. My own +education as an able seaman was gained from years of youthful deep +study of dime-novel sea yarns by Ned Buntline, Fenimore Cooper, +Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., Billy Bowline, and other masters of the sea in +libraries. I have, however, made two ocean trips from Norfolk to +New York, time 23 hours. On both occasions I went sound asleep at +the end of the first hour and woke up at the end of twenty-third +hour. Under such circumstances I may have missed many important +details of realism. I have also visited often the tomb of that fine +old patriot-pirate and ex-Alderman, Dominique You, in the old +French cemetery at New Orleans. As chief gunner for Jean Lafitte, +he was some pirate; as chief artilleryman for Gen. Andrew Jackson +at the battle of New Orleans, he was some patriot. I feel stronger +in my piracy than in my seamanship. I love criticism—especially of +poetry. If there is a single verse, or, mayhap, one line, of +“Derelict” that will hold, without leaking, anything of a specific +gravity heavier than moonshine, it would surprise me. But it +<em>seems</em> to, when it is adopted as a “real chanty”—and that’s the +test, that it “seems.”</p> +<p class="signature">Y. E. A.</p> +</div><!--letter from YEA to CIH--> +</div><!--YO-HO-HO and a BOTTLE OF RUM--> +<hr /> +<div id="pocket"> +<h2 class="chapter_title">The Pocket</h2> +<a href="images/pocket_1.jpg"><img src="images/pocket_1_thumb.jpg" alt="Handwritten edits of version to be printed in 'Rubric'" width="150" height="100" /></a> +<a href="images/pocket_2.jpg"><img src="images/pocket_2_thumb.jpg" alt="Handwritten version of the lyric to 'A Piratical Ballad' (originally, 'A Ballad of Dead Men')" width="150" height="104" /></a> +<a href="images/pocket_3.jpg"><img src="images/pocket_3_thumb.jpg" alt="Handwritten versions of the stanza with the woman in it." width="150" height="102" /></a> +<a href="images/pocket_4.jpg"><img src="images/pocket_4_thumb.jpg" alt="Another version of the stanza with the woman in it" width="150" height="102" /></a> +<a href="images/pocket_5a.jpg"><img src="images/pocket_5a_thumb.jpg" alt="First page of the (handwritten) letter that closes the volume" width="150" height="104" /></a> +<a href="images/pocket_5b.jpg"><img src="images/pocket_5b_thumb.jpg" alt="Second page of the (handwritten) letter that closes the volume" width="150" height="100" /></a> +<a href="images/pocket_6.jpg"><img src="images/pocket_6_thumb.jpg" alt="Article reviewing this book, with note by Hitchcock saying it is 'for 'Pocket''" width="150" height="101" /></a> +</div><!--pocket--> +<hr /> +<div class="transcriber_note"> +<h2>Transcriber’s Notes</h2> +<p>The music for <em>A Piratical Ballad</em> has been transcribed into a <em>Finale</em> music file (<a href="music/PiraticalBallad.mus">.mus file</a>), a <a href="music/PiraticalBallad.pdf">.pdf file</a>, and a <a href="music/PiraticalBallad.mid">.midi file</a>.</p> +<p>The chapter title “The Pocket” was added by the transcriber.</p> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Dead Men's Song, by Champion Ingraham Hitchcock + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEAD MEN'S SONG *** + +***** This file should be named 19273-h.htm or 19273-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/2/7/19273/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, David Newman and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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0000000..2cb5853 --- /dev/null +++ b/19273-h/music/PiraticalBallad.pdf diff --git a/19273.txt b/19273.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4aea521 --- /dev/null +++ b/19273.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3027 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Dead Men's Song, by Champion Ingraham Hitchcock + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Dead Men's Song + Being the Story of a Poem and a Reminiscent Sketch of its + Author Young Ewing Allison + +Author: Champion Ingraham Hitchcock + +Release Date: September 17, 2006 [EBook #19273] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEAD MEN'S SONG *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, David Newman and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + OF THIS LITTLE VOLUME TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES HAVE BEEN MADE + + + + +YOUNG EWING ALLISON + + --_A REMINISCENCE_ + + + + + [Illustration: _Photograph By Cusick._ + Young Ewing Allison] + + + + "The man who wrote such a poem should not be unknelled, unhonored + and unsung." + + --_Walt Mason._ + + + + +THE DEAD MEN'S SONG: + +BEING THE +STORY OF A POEM AND A REMINISCENT SKETCH +OF ITS AUTHOR + + +YOUNG EWING ALLISON + + +TOGETHER WITH A BROWSE THROUGH OTHER +GEMS OF HIS AND RECOLLECTIONS +OF OLDER DAYS + + +BY + +HIS FRIEND AND ASSOCIATE + +CHAMPION INGRAHAM HITCHCOCK + + +_Incorporated with which are Facsimiles +of Certain Interesting Manuscripts_ + + +LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY + +1914 + + + + +COPYRIGHT BY CHAMPION INGRAHAM HITCHCOCK + +1914 + + + + +IN THESE PAGES + + +A WORD SAID BEFOREHAND + + Explaining How a Certain "Chap" Lost His Temper and Found It Again + Very Quickly. + + +DERELICT, By Young Ewing Allison + + A Reminiscence of Stevenson's "Treasure Island" Based On the + Quatrain of Captain Billy Bones. + + +PICTURING THE INDIVIDUAL + + With Some Observations About A Man Whom I Have the Honor to Call + Friend. + + +MAN AND NEWSPAPER MAN + + A Peep Into Personal Records of the Past With Some Comments of a + Current Nature. + + +JUST BROWSING AROUND + + Excursions Into the "Higher Altitudes" With Something About the + Books Up There. + + +IN THE OPERATIC FIELD + + Being a Look Behind the Scenes With Some Glimpses of a Pursuing + Jinx. + + +BALLAD OF DEAD MEN + + The Same Being Mostly About Able Pirates And the Very Able + Descendant of a Pirate. + + +IF THERE IS CONTROVERSY! + + Just a Few Bits From the Olden Days With Some Comment On a Certain + Critic. + + +SOME CLIPPINGS--AND A LETTER + + Which Tells How One Who Did Not Know Set Himself Up As a "Chanty" + Authority. + + +YO-HO-HO AND A BOTTLE OF RUM + + Discussed As a Chanty Entertainingly By a Mariner and With a + Deep-Sea Flavor. + + + + +SUPPLEMENTING _the_ TEXT + + +YOUNG EWING ALLISON (By Cusick) _Frontispiece._ + + A "Sitting" for Which Photograph Forms A Story Known Only to This + Writer. + + +DERELICT _Illuminating the Poem_ + + Facsimiles of the Original Illustrations in _Rubric_ (Vol. 1, + No. 1, 1901) to Which Certain Piratical Tints Have Been Added. + + +"A TEMPTING BAUBLE" + + Said "Bauble" Being a Check (to Cover the Cost of a Certain Book) + Which Allison Returned in a Frame With a Few Comments of His Own. + + +YOUNG E. ALLISON (By Wyncie King) + + _Louisville Herald_ Demon Caricaturist's Conception of a Pirate's + Poet, With a Cigarette Replacing the Customary "Stogie." + + +THE INFALLIBLE (By Charles Dana Gibson) + + A "Type" in Every Old Daily Newspaper Office, Reproduced from + _Century_ (October, 1889), Illustrating "The Longworth Mystery." + + +BOOK OF "THE OGALLALLAS" + + Being a Facsimile (Slightly Reduced) of the Cover of Allison's + First Opera Pursued and Captured By a Jinx. + + +FROM THE OLD "PROMPT" BOOK + + Page (slightly reduced) From "The Mouse and the Garter," Showing + Allison's Characteristic Penciled Notations. + + +"A PIRATICAL BALLAD" (Words and Music) + + Facsimile in Miniature of the First Printed Verses of "Derelict" + Published and Copyrighted by William A. Pond & Co., 1891. + + * * * * * + + Together With Certain Letters and Memoranda, Proofs, Mss., etc., + About "Fifteen Dead Men," in Facsimile of Young E. Allison's + Characteristic Handwriting, which are to be Found in a "Pocket" in + the Inside Back Cover of This Volume. + + + + +A WORD SAID BEFOREHAND + + +If a careless and uninformed writer in _The New York Times Book Review_ had +not hazarded the speculation in his columns that it was very doubtful if +Young Ewing Allison wrote the famous poem "Fifteen Men on the Dead Man's +Chest," the creation and perfection of which took him through a period of +about six years, the idea of undertaking a sketch of him and the stuff he +has done might never have occurred to me. While not exactly thankful to the +New York editor, I have abandoned a blood-thirsty raid on his sanctum and a +righteous indignation has been dissipated in the serene pleasure I have +found in expressing an appreciation of Allison's genius in this private +volume for our friends. God bless the Old Scout! In all of our intimate +years there has been such a complete understanding between us that spoken +words have been largely unnecessary, and so the opportunity of saying +publicly what has ever been in my heart, is a rare one, eagerly seized. + + C. I. H. + +Louisville, November, 1914. + + + + + _THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED TO HER WHOSE FAITH IN ME AND LOVE FOR ME + NEVER WANED_ + + + + + [Illustration] + +DERELICT + +A Reminiscence of "Treasure Island" + +YOUNG E. ALLISON + + +_Fifteen men on the dead man's chest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +Drink and the devil had done for the rest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!_ + + (_Cap'n Billy Bones his song._) + + +Fifteen men on the dead man's chest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +Drink and the devil had done for the rest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +The mate was fixed by the bos'n's pike, +The bos'n brained with a marlinspike +And Cookey's throat was marked belike + It had been gripped + By fingers ten; + And there they lay, + All good dead men, +Like break-o'-day in a boozing-ken-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + * * * * * + +Fifteen men of a whole ship's list-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +Dead and bedamned, and the rest gone whist!-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +The skipper lay with his nob in gore +Where the scullion's axe his cheek had shore-- +And the scullion he was stabbed times four. + And there they lay, + And the soggy skies + Dripped all day long + In up-staring eyes-- +At murk sunset and at foul sunrise-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + [Illustration] + + [Illustration] + +Fifteen men of 'em stiff and stark-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +Ten of the crew had the Murder mark-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +'Twas a cutlass swipe, or an ounce of lead, + Or a yawing hole in a battered head-- +And the scuppers glut with a rotting red. + And there they lay-- + Aye, damn my eyes!-- + All lookouts clapped + On paradise-- +All souls bound just contrariwise-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + [Illustration] + +Fifteen men of 'em good and true-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +Every man jack could ha' sailed with Old Pew-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +There was chest on chest full of Spanish gold, +With a ton of plate in the middle hold, +And the cabins riot of stuff untold. + And they lay there + That had took the plum, + With sightless glare + And their lips struck dumb, +While we shared all by the rule of thumb-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + * * * * * + +_More was seen through the sternlight screen-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +Chartings ondoubt where a woman had been-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +A flimsy shift on a bunker cot, +With a thin dirk slot through the bosom spot +And the lace stiff-dry in a purplish blot. + Or was she wench ... + Or some shuddering maid...? + That dared the knife + And that took the blade! +By God! she was stuff for a plucky jade-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!_ + + * * * * * + +Fifteen men on the dead man's chest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +Drink and the devil had done for the rest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! +We wrapped 'em all in a mains'l tight, +With twice ten turns of a hawser's bight, +And we heaved 'em over and out of sight-- + With a yo-heave-ho! + And a fare-you-well! + And a sullen plunge + In the sullen swell +Ten fathoms deep on the road to hell-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + [Illustration] + + [Illustration] + + + + +PICTURING _the_ INDIVIDUAL + + +One of my earliest recollections of my friend and business associate for +very many, very short and very happy years, is a conversation in the old +Chicago Press Club rooms on South Clark Street, near Madison, in the early +90's, about three o'clock one morning, when the time for confidences +arrives--if ever it does. What his especial business in Chicago was at that +particular moment makes no particular difference. He might have been +rehearsing "The Ogallallas," or mayhap he was on duty as Kentucky +commissioner to the World's Fair. As a matter of mere fact he was there and +we had spent an evening and part of a morning together and were bent on +extending the session to daybreak. Sunrise on Madison Street always was a +wonderful sight. The dingy buildings on that busy old thoroughfare, +awakening to day-life, then appeared as newly painted in the mellow of the +early morning. + +My companion knew something was coming. Our chairs were close +together--side by side--and we were looking each in the other's face. He +had his hand back of his ear. "Allison," I said--and I suppose that after a +night in his company I was so impregnated with his strong personality that +I had my hand back of my ear too, and spoke in a low, slightly drawling +nasal, like his--"Allison," I repeated, "don't you miss a great deal by +being deaf?" Now, it is said with tender regret, but a deep and sincere +regard for truth, that my friend makes a virtue of a slight deafness. He +uses it to avoid arguments, assignments, conventions, parlor parties--and +bores--and deftly evades a whole lot of "duty" conversations as well. Of +course I know all this now, but in those days I thought his lack of +complete hearing an infirmity calling for a sort of sympathy on my part. +Anyway it was three o'clock in the morning, and...! + +"Well," he replied, after a little pause, "I can't say that I do. You see, +if anyone ever says anything worth repeating, he always tells me about it +anyway." Such is the philosophical trend that makes Allison an original +with a peculiar gift of expression both in the spoken and written word. He +is literary to his finger tips, in the finest sense of the word, for pure +love, his own enjoyment and the pleasure of his friends. There is an +ambition for you! With all his genuine modesty (and he is painfully modest) +by which the light of his genius is hid under even less than the Scriptural +bushel, he has a deep and healthy and honorable respect for fame--not of +the cheap and tawdry, lionizing kind, but fame in an everlasting +appreciation of those who think with their own minds. Almost any pen +portraiture could but skim the surface of a nature so gifted and with which +daily association is so delightful--an association which is a constant +fillip to the mind in fascinating witticisms, in deft characterizations of +men and things, and in deep drafts on memory's storehouse for odd incidents +and unexpected illuminations. A long silence from "Allison's corner" may +precede a gleeful chortle, as he throws on my desk some delicious satirical +skit with a "Well, I've got that out of my system, anyway!" + +Allison has a method of prose writing all his own. If you could see him day +in and out, you would soon recognize the symptoms. An idea strikes him; he +becomes abstracted, reads a great deal, pull down books, fills pages of +particularly ruled copy paper with figures from a big, round, black pencil +until you might think he was calculating the expenditures of a Billion +Dollar Congress. He is not a mathematician but, like Balzac, simply dotes +on figures. Then comes the analytical stage and that he performs on foot, +walking, head bent forward, upstairs, downstairs, outdoors, around the +block, in again, through the clattering press room and up and down the +hall. When the stride quickens and he strikes a straight line for his desk, +his orderly mind has arranged and classified his subject down to the +illuminating adjectives even and the whole is ready to be put on paper. +Though his mind is orderly, his desk seldom is. He is the type of +old-school editor who has everything handy in a profound confusion. He +detests office system, just as he admires mental arrangement. I got a +"rise" out of him only once when making a pretence of describing his very +complex method of preserving correspondence, and then he flared: "It saved +us a lot of trouble, didn't it?" The fact was patent, but the story is +apropos. Allison was complaining to a friend of office routine. + +"Hitch has no heart," he said. "He comes over here, takes letters off my +desk and puts 'em into an old file somewhere so no one can find them. +That's no way to do. When a letter comes to me I clip open the end with my +shears, like a gentleman, read it, and put it back in the envelope. When in +the humor I answer it. Of course there is no use keeping a copy of what I +write; I know well enough what _I_ say. All I want to keep is what the +other fellow said to me. When it is time to clean the desk, I call a boy, +have him box all the letters and take them over to the warehouse. Then +whenever I want a letter I know damned well where it is--it's in the +warehouse." It really happened that certain important and badly needed +letters were "in the warehouse" and so Allison's system was vindicated. + +Just the mere mention of his system brings up the delightful recollections +of his desk-cleaning parties, Spring and Fall, events so momentous that +they almost come under the classification of office holidays. The dust +flies, torn papers fill the air and the waste-baskets, and odd memoranda +come to light and must be discussed. While wielding the dust cloth Allison +hums "Bing-Binger, the Baritone Singer," has the finest imaginable time and +for several day wears an air of such conscious pride that every paper laid +upon his desk is greeted with a terrible frown. + +Musical? Of course. His is the poetic mind, the imaginative, with an +intensely practical, analytical perception--uncanny at times. He is +perfectly "crazy" about operas, reads everything that comes to his +hand--particularly novels--and is an inveterate patron of picture shows. +"Under no strain trying to hear 'em talk," he confidences. While such +occasions really are very rare, once in an age he becomes depressed--a +peculiar fact (their rarity) in one so temperamental. After the fifth call +within a month to act as pall-bearer at a funeral, he was in the depths. A +friend was trying to cheer him. + +"Isn't it too bad, Mr. Allison," the friend suggested, "that we can't all +be like the lilies in the field, neither toiling nor spinning, but shedding +perfume everywhere?" + +"That lily business is all right," was Allison's retort, "but if I were a +flower it would be just my luck to be a tube-rose and be picked for a +funeral!" + +In all our years of association and friendship, I have never known him to +do an unkind or dishonorable act. He is considerate of others, +tender-hearted, sentimental. But, believe me, in "contrariwise," he is +flinty obsidian when it comes to his convictions. Shams and hypocrites and +parading egotists are his particular and especial abomination and when he +gets on the editorial trail of one of that ilk, he turns him inside out and +displays the very secrets of what should be his immortal soul. He is always +poking fun at friends and they laugh with him at what he writes about them, +which recalls one of his earliest and best bits of advice--"never to write +about a man so that others will laugh _at_ him, unless your intention is +deliberately to hurt his feelings. Write so that he will laugh _with_ you." + +If I could have one grand wish it would be that everybody could know him as +I do: the man; the book-worm; the toastmaster; the public speaker; the +writer; the sentimentalist; the friend. Absolutely natural and approachable +at all times with never the remotest hint of theatricalism, (unless the +careless tossing over his shoulder of one flap of the cape of a cherished +brown overcoat might be called theatrical), he is yet so many sided and +complex that, without this self-same naturalness, often would be +misunderstood. That he never cultivated an exclusiveness or built about +himself barriers of idiosyncrasy is a distinct credit to his common sense. +He's chock-full of that! + +Let us see just how versatile Young Allison is. Years ago--twenty-six to be +exact--he took the dry old subject of insurance and week in and out made it +sparkle with such wit and brilliancy that every-day editorials became +literary gems which laymen read with keenest enjoyment. Insurance writing +might be said to be his vocation--a sort of daily-bread affair, well +executed, because one should not quarrel with his sustenance--with +librettos for operas, and poems and essays as an avocation. Fate must have +doomed his operas in the very beginning, for despite some delicious +productions, captivating in words and spirit, and set to slashing music, +they go unsung because a a malign Jinx pursued. + +While Allison is an omnivorous reader of novels and every other form of +book, which he carries to and from his home in a favorite brown-leather +handbag of diminutive size, he never had an ambition to create novels, +though to his everlasting credit wrote two for a particular purpose which +he accomplished by injecting the right tone or "color" into tales depicting +the inner life on daily newspapers. We of the old Press Club used to grow +choleric as we would read stories about alleged newspaper men, but a serene +satisfaction fell upon us when Allison's reflections appeared. They were +"right!" And while "resting" (definition from the private dictionary of +Cornelius McAuliff) from the more or less arduous and routine and yet +interest-holding duties of newspaper-man, Allison's relaxation and +refreshment come in studies of human nature in all its mystifying aspects, +whether in war or in peace; or in the sports--prize-fighting and baseball; +or in the sciences; in politics; in the streets or in the home. Or they +come from pleasure in the creation of essays on books--novels; of lectures; +of formal and serious addresses; of tactful and witty toasts. + +From my viewpoint Allison appears in public speaking to best advantage at +banquets, either when responding to some toast, or as toastmaster. On such +occasions he very quickly finds the temper of his listeners and without +haste or oratorical effect, for he never orates, and almost without +gesture, he "gets 'em" and "keeps 'em." Knowing how little he hears at +public functions his performances at the head of the table, when acting as +toastmaster, to me are only a shade removed from the marvelous. Either he +has an uncanny second-sight, or that vaunted deafness is all a big +pretense, for I have heard him "pull stuff" on a preceding speaker so pat +that no one else could be made to believe what I knew was the truth: +that--he--had--not--heard--a--single--word--uttered! + + [Illustration: _A Check in a Frame Returned without Inelegant + Marks of "Paid"_] + +Perchance as a character note, should be added here a line or two about a +work undertaken in behalf of a friend on a few hours notice for which he +received a reward only in thanks. This friend had contracted to write +certain memoirs but was incapacitated by illness and hung out the distress +signal. Allison responded, shut himself up for a month, and produced a +smooth and well balanced work of five hundred and fifty pages. Once I sent +him a check to cover the cost of one of his books but he declared the check +a "tempting bauble" and returned it framed. But I got a copy just the same +inscribed "With the compliments of the Author" which I prized just as much +as if I had paid for it with a clearing house certificate. + +Physically he is of medium height, rather slight in form and, when walking, +stoops a bit with head forward and a trifle to one side. In conversing he +has a captivating trick of looking up while his head is bent and keeping +his blue eyes nailed to yours pretty much all the time. Around eyes and +mouth is ever lurking a wrinkling smile and its break--the laugh--is hearty +and contagious with a timbre of peculiar huskiness. His face is a trifle +thin through the cheeks, which accentuates a breadth of head, now crowning +with silvery--and let me whisper this--slowly thinning hair. Stubby white +mustaches for facial adornment, and cloth of varying brown shades to +encompass the physical man, complete the picture. + +Such is Young Ewing Allison as I see him. + + + + +MAN _and_ NEWSPAPER MAN + + +Young Allison is a Kentuckian (Henderson, December 23, 1853) and proud of +it with a pride that does not restrain him from seeing the peculiarities +and frailties as well as the admirable traits of his fellow natives and +skillfully putting them on paper to his own vast delight--and theirs too. +What he gives, he is willing to take with Cromwell-like philosophy: "Paint +me warts and all!" To speak of Allison in any sense whatever must be in the +character of newspaper man, since to this work his whole life has been +devoted. And if I may speak with well intentioned frankness: He's a damn +good editor, too! However little our lay friends may understand this +message, aside from its emphasis, I rest secure in the thought that to the +brotherhood it opens a wide vista of qualifications to which reams might be +devoted without doing full justice to the subject. Today he might not be +the ideal city editor, or night editor, or managing editor of our great +modern miracle-machines called newspapers, but I have yet to meet the man +who can more quickly absorb, analyze, sum-up and deliver an editorial +opinion, so deliciously phrased and so nicely gauged. He who can do this is +the embodiment of all staff editors! + +If I may be pardoned for a moment, I will get myself associated with +Allison and proceed with this relation. In 1888 he left daily newspaper +work to found _The Insurance Herald_, though he continued old associations +by occasional contributions, and in 1899 sold that publication and +established _The Insurance Field_. In the fall of 1902 when presented with +the opportunity of becoming editor-in-chief of _The Daily Herald_ in +Louisville, he gave up temporarily an active connection with _The Insurance +Field_ and in January, 1903, chose me to carry on this latter work, from +which I am thankful to say he was absent only three years. + +Allison is newspaper man through and through and was all but born in the +business for he was "a devil in his own home town" of Henderson in a +printing office when thirteen, "Y. E. Allison, Jr., Local Editor" on the +village paper at fifteen and city reporter on a daily at seventeen. Up to +this point in his career I might find a parallel for my own experience, but +there the comparison abruptly ceases. He became a writer while I took to +blacksmithing according to that roystering Chicagoan, Henry Barrett +Chamberlin, who thinks because he once owned a paper called _The Guardsman_ +in days when a new subscription often meant breakfast for the two of us, +that he is at liberty to cast javelins at my style of writing. And yet, to +be perfectly frank, I have always been grateful for even _his_ intimation +that I had a "style." Allison once accepted--I can hardly say enjoyed--one +of those subscription breakfasts------But that is a matter not wholly +concerned with his newspaper experience, which has extended through nearly +all the daily "jobs:" reporter and city editor of _The Evansville Journal_, +dramatic and city editor of _The Louisville Courier-Journal_; managing +editor of _The Louisville Commercial_, and after a lapse of years as +previously told, editor-in-chief of _The Daily Herald_. + +Fifteen years or more ago, long before we dreamed of being associated in +business, Allison wrote me with the frankness that has characterized our +friendship from the first, just how he came to enter newspaper work. Where +he was concerned I was always "wanting to know" and he seemed ever willing +to tell--me. The letter was as usual written in lead pencil on soft, +spongy, ruled copy paper and that portion having reference to the subject +named is given verbatim: + + You see I lost two years going to school--from seven to nine years + old. I was put out of all the private schools for incorrigible + "inattention"--then it was discovered that I had been partially + deaf and not guilty--but my schooling ended there and I was turned + loose on my father's library to get an education by main force--got + it by reading everything--had read Rousseau's "Confessions" at + 14--and books replaced folks as companions. Wanted to get nearer to + books and so hired myself to the country printer and newspaper at + 13--great disappointment to the family, my mother having dreams of + my becoming a preacher--[hell of a preacher I would have made]. I + had meantime begun and finished as much as a page apiece of many + stories and books, several epic poems--but one day the Old Man went + home to dinner and left me only a scrap of "reprint" to set during + his hour and a half of absence. It was six or eight lines nonpareil + about the Russian gentleman who started to drive from his country + home to the city one evening in his sleigh with his 4 children. + Wolves attacked them and one by one he threw the children to the + pack, hoping each time thus to save the others. When he had thrown + the last his sleigh came to the city gate with him sitting in it a + raving maniac. That yarn had been going the rounds of print since + 1746. The Old Man was an absent-minded old child, and I knew it, so + I turned my fancy loose and enlarged the paragraph to a full galley + of long primer, composing the awful details as I set the type and + made it a thriller. The Old Man never "held copy" reading proof, so + he passed it all right and I saw myself an author in print for the + first time. The smell of printer's ink has never since been out of + my hair. + +Allison's newspaper years are rich with experience, for while he could +never be classed as a Yellow Reformer, his caustic, or amusing, or pathetic +pen, as the case demanded, has never been idle. Away back in the old days +the gambling element in Louisville fairly "owned the town" and he attempted +to curtail their power. They tried to cajole him and to bribe him and when +both alike failed, intimidated the millionaire owner of the _Commercial_ +out from under him! He either had to sacrifice Allison or his street +railway interests, and chose Allison to throw to the lions. But he made Mr. +Dupont go the whole length and "fire" him! He wouldn't resign when asked to +do so. And of course while it all lasted Allison had his meed of personal +amusement. For no editor ever took himself less seriously. Prominent +citizens came with fair words and he listened to them and printed them; +bribes were offered and accepted only for publication; while threats were +received joyously and made the subject of half-whimsical comment. + +As a newspaper man Allison prided himself on never having involved any of +his papers in a libel suit, though he was usually the man who wrote the +"danger-stuff." He had complaints, yes; libel suits, no. Dick Ryan, known +in prehistoric newspaper circles in Louisville as "Cold Steel," because his +mild blue eyes hardened and glinted when his copy was cut--the typical +police court reporter who could be depended upon for a sobbing "blonde-girl +story" when news was off--always said that when a party came in to complain +of the hardship of an article, Allison talked to him so benevolently that +the complainant always went away in tears, reflecting on how much worse it +might have been if Allison hadn't softened the article that seemed so raw. +"Damned if I don't believe he cries with 'em, too!" said Ryan. "If I had +that sympathetic stop in my own voice I know I'd cry during ordinary +conversations, just listening to myself." + + [Illustration: Young E Allison + _Caricature by Wyncie King + in Louisville Daily Herald_] + +But of course the libel suit had to come to spoil an otherwise perfect +record. And of course it was political and sprang out of a red-hot state +campaign, while he was editor-in-chief of the _Herald_, in which his pen +went deep enough to enrage the adversary and force the libel case. Like all +political cases of this kind it was not a suit for damages, but an +indictment for criminal libel, found by a complaisant political grand jury +at the other end of the state--intended to cause the greatest amount of +annoyance and to die out slowly. By that means it costs the accused both +time and money while the state pays all expenses for the prosecution. + +Judge "Bill" Smith, one of the greatest of Kentucky lawyers on +constitutional points, or rather Judge William Smith of the Jefferson +Circuit Court--because he has passed over now, taking his kindly and +childlike, yet keen and resourceful personality out of life's war for good +and all--Judge Smith told me the story of that case one night after we had +discussed down to the water-marks in the paper, his treasured copy of +Burns. And at my very urgent solicitation he transcribed the salient +features, not in all the intimate details of the spoken words, but with +deep poetic feeling and rare conception of their human aspects. He wrote: + + There are three poets in Burns. One is the poet you read; the + second is the poet some mellow old Scot, with an edge on his + tongue, recites to you; the third and most wonderful is the Burns + that somebody with even a thin shred of a high voice sings to you. + Burns is translated to the fourth power by singing him--without + accompaniment--just the whinnying of a tenor or soprano voice, + vibrant with feeling and pathos, at the right time of the evening, + or in some penumbrous atmosphere of seclusion where memory can work + its miracles. + + I was defending Allison in that libel case and we started off on + the 200-mile trip together. We had the smoker of the Pullman all to + ourselves, and after I had recited some furlongs of Burns to him, + he began to sing "Jockey's Ta'en the Parting Kiss" in a sort of + thin and whimpering quaver of a tenor that cut through the noise of + the train like a violin note through silence. I thought I knew the + poem, but it seemed to me I had never dreamed what was in it, with + the wail of a Highland woman pouring plaintive melody through the + flood gates of her heart. And he knew every one of them and sang + them all with the tailing of the bag-pipes in the sound. + + I wasn't going down to practice law, but to practice patience and + politics. I had been on that circuit for years and knew the court + and the bar very well. So I said to Allison "Don't you sing one of + those songs again until I give the sign." And the first thing I did + was to bring him into touch with the circuit judge, who had the + room adjoining mine at the hotel. He was a Burns lover, too; and + besides as I had brought whiskey and as the town was prohibition, + there was really nowhere else for the judge to spend his evenings. + Soon we were capping back and forth, the judge and I, with Burns. + + I don't remember now--nobody ever remembers, after a cold, snowy + night outside, between Burns quotations, hot whiskies, and + reminiscences, exactly how anything happens--but about 10 o'clock, + maybe, Allison was somewhere between "Jockey's Ta'en the Parting + Kiss," "Bonnie Doon," "Afton Water" and "Wert Thou in the Cauld + Blast," and the judge and I were looking deep into the coals of the + grate and crying softly and unconsciously together. You see it + wasn't only the songs. Every damned one of us was Scotch-Irish and + we just sat there and were transported back to the beginning of + ourselves in the bare old primitive homes of us in farm and + village, saw the log and coal fires of infancy blazing up again, + and heard the voices of our mothers crooning and caressing those + marvelous lines, and behind them _their_ mothers crooning and + wailing the same back in the unbroken line to Ayrshire and the + Pentland Hills. And all life was just a look into yesterday and the + troubles and the struggles of manhood fell right off as garments + and left us boys again. That's what's in Burns, the singing poet. + That is, when anybody knows how to sing him--not concert singers + with artfulness, but just a singer with the right quaver and the + whine of catgut in the voice and the tailing of Scotch pipes for + the swells. It was perhaps two o'clock of the morning when we stood + up, said "Little Willie's Prayer" softly together, arms on + shoulders, and the judge remarked: + + "Allison, if you wrote like you sing Burns, maybe you wouldn't be + here--but it's well worth the trouble!" + + I knew then there was no more politics to practice--just law enough + to be found to let the court stand firm when the time came. + + The next night it was in the judge's room. Half a dozen old + followers of the circuit were there on the judge's tip. "You bring + your whiskey," he said to me, privately, "or there'll be none." And + I brought it. And between Burns and the bottle and the long low + silences of good country-bred men listening back through the soft + cadences of memory, the case was won that night. I think it was + Jock's song that did it. You never hear it sung by concert singers; + because it has no theatricalism in it. It's just the wailing of the + faith of the country lass in her lover: + + 'When the shades of evenin' creep + O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e + Sound and safely may he sleep, + Sweetly blithe his waukenin' be. + He will think on her he loves, + Fondly he'll repeat her name, + For, where'er he distant roves, + Jockey's heart is still at hame.' + + If you listen right close you'll hear the hiss of the kettle behind + it, and you can see the glow of the firelight and smell the sap of + green wood in the smoke. + + Well, there were continuances; of course. It is never + constitutional to throw a case of politics out of court too soon. + We made that four hundred-mile round trip four times and, every + time, Burns sat at night where Blackstone ruled by day. Never one + word of the case from judge to accused, just continuances. But on + the last night--the case was to be pressed next day--the judge said + to Allison at the door, as he went off to bed: + + "I think you will be before me in a case tomorrow. If the worst + comes and you demand your right to address the jury, the court will + sustain you. And I advise you give 'em 'Jockey's Ta'en the Parting + Kiss'--_and no more_. I know the jury." + + But the case was dismissed; we were serenaded at the hotel and held + a reception. Driving away in a buggy over the fourteen miles to the + railway station, Allison said: "There never was a prettier + summer-time jail anywhere in the world than this one. I've been + down to see it. It has vines growing over the low, white-washed + walls, there's apple trees in the yard and the jailer has a curly + headed little girl of six who would bring 'em to you and could slip + 'em through the barred window by standing on the split bottom chair + where her father sleeps in the shade after dinner. It's a beautiful + picture--but it hasn't got a single damned modern convenience for + winter and a six months' term would have landed me there till + January!" + +I shall always believe this to be the most graceful, sympathetic and poetic +relation involving a legal case I ever heard and never will cease to give +thanks that my always strong and constantly growing admiration for Allison +led me to insist upon its transcription. + +As soon as the trial fizzled I called on Allison at the _Herald_ office, to +extend congratulations and with eager requests for details. + +"Well," Allison ruminated, with that ever present twinkle in his eye, "my +experience was very interesting. I found I had friends; and discovered +traces of a family unknown to history claiming direct kinship with +President Thomas Jefferson!" + +When the "sports" brought about Allison's discharge from the _Commercial_ +to stop his articles on the gambling control of Louisville, unconsciously +they added a forceful factor to insurance publishing and I might truthfully +say to the insurance business itself. I cannot begin to tell how much has +been encompassed in these twenty-six years, but our bound volumes are full +of his editorials and articles--the serious, the analytical, the +constructive, the caustic, the witty and the amusing. He created _The Piney +Woods Clarion_ and in quotations from that mythical publication put a new +light on the business. "Insurance Arabian Nights" which he declared were +"translated from the Persian," contained more of the odd conceits that +fairly flowed from his pen and these two series, with a marine policy-form +insuring the "contents" of Noah's Ark, concocted in collaboration with good +old Col. "Tige" Nelson (gone long ago, but not forgotten) are the classics +of the business. + +During his insurance newspaper work Allison was once called upon to give a +public endorsement to a friend and very kindly expressed conviction that +had his management continued "all the interest of the company would have +been secured." When later on he was forced to criticise extraordinary acts +of this whilom friend, the endorsement was called up against him in a +broadside affidavit, which he promptly reviewed in the most deliciously +sarcastic editorial concluding: + + And we do not hesitate to declare anew that "we believe if he had + been continued as president, all the interests of the company would + have been secured." It was certainly not his fault that he did not + secure more. Everything cannot be done in eleven months. But in the + language of the far-Western tombstone it can be justly said, "He + done what he could." + + + + +JUST BROWSING AROUND + + +One who has never read around the clock in a virtual debauch of novel +reading cannot appreciate Allison's "Delicious Vice;" no more can he +Field's "Dibdin's Ghost" who has not smuggled home under his coat some +cherished volume at the expense of his belly--and possibly someone else's +too! "The Delicious Vice!" What a tart morsel to roll on one's tongue in +anticipation and to speculate over before scanning the pages to discover +that the vice is not "hitting the pipe" or "snuffing happy dust" but is as +Allison paints it with whimsical but affectionate words, "pipe dreams and +fond adventures of an habitual novel-reader among some great books and +their people." These are the all too skimpy pages through which its author +rhapsodizes on the noble profession, makes a keen distinction between novel +readers and "women, nibblers and amateurs," brings up reminiscences of +"early crimes and joys" and discourses learnedly, discerningly and +entertainingly upon "good honest scoundrelism and villains." Every page is +the best and when the last has passed under your eye, you again begin +square at the beginning and read it all over. You are here only to have the +appetite spiced by one single gem quoted from the first novel for the boy +to read which of course is "Robinson Crusoe:" + + ... There are other symptoms of the born novel-reader to be + observed in him. If he reads at night he is careful so to place his + chair that the light will fall on the page from a direction that + will ultimately ruin the eyes--but it does not interfere with the + light. He humps himself over the open volume and begins to display + that unerring curvilinearity of the spine that compels his mother + to study braces and to fear that he will develop consumption. Yet + you can study the world's health records and never find a line to + prove that any man with "occupation or profession--novel-reading" + is recorded as dying of consumption. The humped-over attitude + promotes compression of the lungs, telescoping of the diaphragm, + atrophy of the abdominal abracadabra and other things (see + Physiological Slush, p. 179, et seq.); + but--it--never--hurts--the--boy! + + To a novel-reading boy the position is one of instinct like that of + a bicycle racer. His eyes are strained, his nerves and muscles at + tension--everything ready for excitement--and the book, lying open, + leaves his hands perfectly free to drum on the sides of the chair, + slap his legs and knees, fumble in his pockets or even scratch his + head, as emotion and interest demand. Does anybody deny that the + highest proof of special genius is the possession of the instinct + to adapt itself to the matter in hand? Nothing more need be said. + + Now, if you will observe carefully such a boy when he comes to a + certain point in "Robinson Crusoe" you may recognize the stroke of + fate in his destiny. If he's the right sort, he will read gayly + along; he drums, he slaps himself, he beats his breast, he + scratches his head. Suddenly there will come the shock. He is + reading rapidly and gloriously. He finds his knife in his pocket, + as usual, and puts it back; the top-string is there; he drums the + devil's tattoo, he wets his finger and smears the margin of the + page as he whirls it over and then--he finds-- + + "The--Print--of--a--Man's--Naked--Foot--on--the--Shore!!!" + + Oh, Crackey! At this tremendous moment the novel-reader, who has + genius, drums no more. His hands have seized the upper edges of the + muslin lids, he presses the lower edges against his stomach, his + back takes an added intensity of hump, his eyes bulge, his heart + thumps--he is landed--landed! + + Terror, surprise, sympathy, hope, skepticism, doubt--come all ye + trooping emotions to threaten and console; but an end has come to + fairy stories and wonder tales--Master Studious is in the awful + presence of Human Nature. + + For many years I have believed that that + Print--of--a--Man's--Naked--Foot was set in Italic type in all + editions of "Robinson Crusoe." But a patient search of many + editions has convinced me that I must have been mistaken. + + The passage comes sneaking along in the midst of a paragraph in + common Roman letters and by the living jingo, you discover it just + as Mr. Crusoe discovered the footprint itself! + +I wish I might tell the reason why no scoundrel was ever a novel reader; +that I might browse for the benefit of those who have never been translated +into ecstacies over "good old honest scoundrelism and villains" or describe +my friend's first blinding and unselfish tears that watered the grave of +Helen Mar, but these are among the delicious experiences of the "Vice" +itself, so sacred that other hands, no matter how loving, may not be laid +upon them. + + * * * * * + +Allison has a very happy faculty of hitting upon titles for essays and +addresses that stir the imagination and whet the appetite. Probably the +best example is "The Delicious Vice" to which reference has just been made. +This title was more or less an evolution from an address delivered before +the Western Writers Association "On the Vice of Novel Reading" that started +a discussion lasting through one whole day. Allison is a warm champion of +The Novel as an institution, and as well an avowed and confirmed reader of +novels, which he declares are poetry in essence, lacking only the form and +rhyme but having measure, the accent and the figures of the whole range of +poetry. He says that in all literature-- + + The great muse of History ranks first in dignity, power and + usefulness; but who will say that at her court the Prime Minister + is not the Novel which by its lightness, grace and address has + popularized history all over the world? + +At that time the word "microbe" and the theory of its significance was in +the full swell of popular use. Allison took it to illustrate the essence of +spiritual intellectuality struggling against the swarming bacteria of +animalism that made up the rest of the human body controlled by the brain. +He pointed out that the difference between types of brains was two ounces +of grayish pulp, almost wholly absent in the unthinking herd of men. But it +enlarged in gradually lessening groups of men to the intellectual few that +dominate thought, thus: + + The microbe that might have become glorious ounces of brain has + been content at first to become merely a little wart of pulp, which + finds expression in skill and quickness and more of coveted + leisure. There is the next higher terrace and another and another, + until finally it becomes a pyramid, ever more fragile and + symmetrical, the apex of which is a delicate spire, where the + purest intellects are elevated to an ever increasing height in ever + decreasing numbers, until in the dizzy altitude above the groveling + base below they are wrapped little by little in the cold solitude + of incarnate genius burning like suns with their own essence. It is + so far up that the eyes deceive and men dispute who it is that + stands at the top, but, whoever he may be, he has carried by the + force of strength, determination and patient will, the whole swarm + of his evil bacteria with him. They swarm through every terrace + below, increasing in force as the pyramid enlarges downward. It is + the pyramidal bulk of human nature with its finest brain, true to + anatomic principles, at the top. That radiance at the summit is the + delight and the aspiration of all below. + + * * * * * + + [Illustration: _The Infallible--Type of Handy Man formerly in + every Newspaper Office. Century, 1889_] + +As an active, enthusiastic and successful newspaper man, every time Allison +read a novel depicting the reporter as a sharp-featured and +half-disreputable young man running about with pencil and note-book in hand +and making himself personally and professionally obnoxious, it produced +apoplectic tendencies that permanently threatened health and peace of mind. +Hence with the characteristic energy devoted to writing, he proceeded to +get it out of his system and produced "The Longworth Mystery," published in +_Century_,[1] (which it is interesting to note was illustrated by Charles +Dana Gibson who then signed himself "C. D. Gibson"), and "The Passing of +Major Kilgore," appearing in _Lippincott's_,[2] both depicting newspaper +life. When this latter novelette was printed it soothed me so that I had +the paper covers protected with more permanent boards and sent it on many +pilgrimages from which it safely returned enriched with further messages of +thanks to the creator for his good job. Having browsed deeply behind the +bindings of many books I have yet to find others written in the first +person, where the pronoun "I" is used by the relator so seldom as in either +"The Longworth Mystery" or "The Passing of Major Kilgore," the intimacy of +the relation the while being maintained very adroitly by the observations +of the "City Editor" who tells both stories. Major Kilgore in the latter +tale, is financial man on the _Banner_. He is an old school gentleman and +profound student of finances who finally goes mad over the study of the +market and while dreaming himself possessed of vast wealth, is seeking to +further the happiness of others where riches will assist. Of course the +denouement shattered many sumptuous air castles but it left the profession +the richer by a faithful portrayal. It is in the development of this tale +that Allison, ever seeking an opportunity to draw amusement from his +friends, created a fine occasion through a reminiscent conversation between +Major Kilgore and Colonel Hamilton to inject a famous Southern quartette, +Clarence Knowles, Col. John D. Young, James A. Thomas and Col. W. C. +Nelson, then in their prime, but who have since passed on to swell the +silent throng. Colonel Hamilton is trying to divert Major Kilgore, already +showing signs of mental unbalance: + + "Some of the fellows we knew in the C. S. A. have had queer luck in + the shuffle, Kilgore. You remember Knowles of Georgia? I found him + keeping bar in Sacramento. Young of North Carolina, who led that + charge at Fredericksburg, is running a restaurant in Colorado; and + Thomas, of Tennessee--by the Lord Harry, he killed himself with + drink working in a mine in Arizona--had the jim-jams seven times + they say and thought his head was a rabbit's nest. Last time I saw + you riled, Kilgore, was that night in the trenches at + Fredericksburg when Nelson hid your tobacco bag. You wanted to + fight him, by the Lord Harry, there and then, but he wouldn't do + it--because he said he would rather kill Yankees than gentlemen. + And you both agreed to take your chances next day on a fool trial + which would fight the Yankees best!" + + [1] Century, October, 1889. + + [2] Lippincott's January, 1892. + +Only one who knows Allison intimately can measure the delight, expressed in +chuckles of joy, with which he marked this passage in _Lippincott's_ and +mailed copies to the friends he had whimsically pilloried. + + * * * * * + +When one browses around among Allison's productions he runs across many odd +conceits as in "The Ballad of Whiskey Straight" which he declares was +"prepared according to the provisions of the Pure Food Law, approved 1906." +Whatever quarrel one might have with the subject itself, or the sentiment, +he cannot fail to fall a victim to the soft cadences of the rippling rhyme. + + + THE BALLAD OF WHISKEY STRAIGHT. + + I + + Let dreamers whine + Of the pleasures of wine + For lovers of soft delight; + But this is the song + Of a tipple that's strong-- + For men who must toil and fight. + Now the drink of luck + For the man full of pluck + Is easy to nominate: + It's the good old whiskey of old Kentuck, + And you always drink it straight. + + II + + A julep's tang + Will diminish the pang + Of an old man's dream of yore, + When meadows were green + And the brook flowed between + The hills he will climb no more; + But the drink of luck + For the youth of good pluck, + Who can stare in the eye of fate, + Is the good old whiskey of old Kentuck + And invariably straight. + + III + + So here's to the corn + That is growing this morn + All tasselled and gold and gay! + And the old copper still + In the sour mash mill + By the spring on the turnpike gray! + May the fount of luck + For the man full of pluck + Flow ever without abate + With the good old whiskey of old Kentuck, + And strong and pure and straight. + + ENVOY + + Old straight whiskey! That is the drink of life-- + Consolation, family, friends and wife! + So make your glasses ready, + Pour fingers three, then--steady! + "Here's good luck to Kentucky and whiskey straight!" + + * * * * * + +No one, like Allison, who has made the newspaper profession a life work, +has failed to study its weak spots and to note its imperfections; or on the +other hand, to grasp its marvelous opportunities for studying the wonderful +mystery of the variations of human nature. In the very essence of things +therefore, he recognizes the human elements in his own profession and does +not hold that the newspaper man is perfect or that it does not harbor types +of black sheep the likes of which may not be found in other flocks. At the +same time nothing raises his gorge quicker than to hear the uninformed or +unthinking deliver themselves, parrot-like, of the formula "that's only a +newspaper lie" or to see some man climb high by the aid of the newspaper +and then kick down the ladder by which he rose. Allison once discussed this +subject skillfully in an address on "Newspaper Men and Other Liars" which +is worth a half-hour of any man's time. The only difficulty would be +experienced in finding a copy, for so far as known, I have the only one +extant. Allison believes and says that by the very nature of his occupation +and training the newspaper man is the least of liars among men and proves +to his own complete satisfaction that the reporter gets his undeserved +reputation for lying from his very impersonality--an impersonality that may +be condemned with perfect safety. Fact, he declares, is a block of granite +that the whole world may see without wrangling over, but once inject the +human interest, with its divided opinions, into the occult mystery of the +printed type and you have the newspaper "lie" in so many of its aspects, an +analysis that leads him to arrive at this rather remarkable deduction: + + I might almost define a lie as being the narrative of a human event + that had been printed. + +And what about a comparison of those "other" liars with the newspaper man? +Allison makes it very adroitly this way: + + Suppose every word that every member of this intelligent and most + respectable audience has said today:--the merchant to his customers + and creditors; the man of leisure to his cronies and companions, + the professional man to his clients; even the ladies to their bosom + friends at tea or euchre--suppose, I say, that every word you had + uttered had been taken down by some marvelous mechanical + contrivance, and should be published verbatim tomorrow morning with + your names attached showing just what each of you had said. What do + you think would happen? I can tell you from observation. You would + likely spend next year explaining, denying, apologizing and + repenting. Suits for slander would appear on the courthouse shelves + as thick as blackberries in August. There would be friendships + shattered, confidences dissipated, feuds established, social + anarchy enthroned and perhaps this admirable club could never hold + another meeting for lack of a quorum of members willing to meet + each other in one room. + +Well, browsing time is up! I wish I might open the pages of other gems and +quote from their wit, their satire and their sentiment, but any reference +to Allison's productions must of very necessity touch only the high spots +and besides that-- + +This volume wouldn't be big enough! + + + + +IN _the_ OPERATIC FIELD + + +Did I remark in some preceding breath that Allison is more or less "dippy" +over music? Well, the statement, though made kindly, is severely and +unqualifiedly true and whenever there is "big music" in town I can always +find him in a front seat where he won't miss a single note. This inherent +love of music was what first led him to listen by the hour to Henry Waller +at the piano and later into setting words to Waller's big creations. When +Philip Sousa was in Louisville five or six years ago and told Allison that +the time was ripe to revive "The Ogallallas," which embraced, he said, some +of the finest music he had ever heard, I inquired of Waller's whereabouts. +"Heaven knows!" Allison replied, "And I wish I did, too!" Some years prior +to that time they had "lost" each other; that is, Allison lost Waller. + +Henry Waller was the adopted son of Mrs. Scott Siddons, the English actress +and dramatic reader--a famous beauty. He had been an infant prodigy as a +pianist, but was overdriven by his father and Mrs. Siddons intervened and +bought his freedom. She sent him to Woolwich Academy, the great Royal +Artillery and Engineering School of Great Britain, where, curiously enough +for a musician, he graduated at the head of his class in mathematics. +Waller was a class-mate and friend of the ill-fated Prince Imperial of +France, killed by the Zulus, and afterwards spent three years in Franz +Liszt's house as the master's pupil. Strangely enough, too, Waller's piano +performances on the stage were almost mediocre, but to private audiences of +those known to be appreciative, he was a tireless marvel. Allison was a +frequent visitor at Waller's quarters and here his idea germinated for an +American opera. At that time he had no intention of writing the libretto +but, after outlining the plot, at Waller's urgent request he wrote the +scenario. Waller was enthused by Allison, the past master in creating +enthusiasm, to a point where he had entered into its spirit and was +composing great accompanying music, so there was nothing left for him but +to complete the job. While they worked together the mode of procedure was +about this: Allison would sketch out an idea and raise Waller to a seventh +heaven over some dramatic scene until he struck fire and evolved its +musical conception. Whereupon Allison would fit words to the music. So "The +Ogallallas" was completed, submitted to The Bostonians, accepted at once, +rehearsed in New York, Washington and Chicago, making its first public bow +at the Columbia Theatre in the latter city in 1893, where I heard it. The +plot is simple enough and is all worked out in the opening conversation of +the "Scouts" while waiting for their leader. Here it is: + + _Joe._ So, then, you know all about this errand of ours? + + _Wickliffe._ As much as you do. I know that General Belcher sent a + messenger, asking Deadshot to provide a safe escort for Professor + Andover, of Boston, and a party of ladies, to Lone Star Ranch. + Andover declined a military escort, but Belcher, notwithstanding + the country is quiet, wants us to see them safely through. + + _Joe._ Yes, that's it; but who are Professor Andover and his party? + + _Wickliffe._ Boston people; with a mission to regenerate the world, + Indians especially. + + _Joe._ Well, I should think Deadshot would like his errand. He is a + Boston man I've always understood. + + _Wickliffe._ Yes. He came out here with me ten years ago, just out + of college, rich, adventurous and restless. City life was too tame + for Arthur Cambridge. You know how he took to the life of a scout, + and now, under the name of Captain Deadshot, he is the most famous + Indian fighter and scout on the plains. + + [Illustration: _Title Page, Book of "The Ogallallas"_] + +Imagination could finish the story, but the old, old Beadle Dime Novel of +the Scout, the Girl and the Redskins--capture, threatened death, beautiful +Indian maidens, villain, hero, heroine and rescue, "You set fire to the +girl and I'll take care of the house"--excellently executed in dialogue and +verse, briefly represent the whole thing. The cast of characters in the +first night's production, February 16, 1893, which was widely reviewed and +complimented by the critics in next day's Chicago dailies, was as follows: + + + CAST OF CHARACTERS. + + Arthur Cambridge, known as Captain Deadshot Tom Karl + Professor Andover, a philanthropist H. C. Barnabee + War Cloud, chief of the Ogallallas W. H. McDonald + Cardenas, a Mexican bandit Eugene Cowles + Mississinewa, medicine man of Ogallallas George Frothingham + Wickliffe } { Peter Lang + Buckskin Joe } Scouts { Clem Herschel + Commander United States forces W. A. Howland + Edith, niece and ward of Professor Andover Camille D'Arville + Minnetoa, an Indian girl Flora Finlayson + Miss Hepzibah Small, Edith's governess Josephine Bartlett + Kate, friend of Edith Lillian Hawthorne + Cosita, a Mexican girl Lola Hawthorne + Laura, friend of Edith Georgie Newel + +"Bill" MacDonald, the big baritone, as "War Cloud," seized the opportunity +of his life. He almost ran away with the piece and anyone ever after, who +would say "Ogallallas" could get a conversation out of him that would wind +up with "that was the greatest stuff ever written." When costumed and +wearing the Chief's head-dress (old-timers may recall having observed it +hanging in Harry Ballard's city room of the _Chicago Inter-Ocean_, at +Madison and Dearborn) MacDonald boomed out the War Song of the Ogallallas, +he scored the big hit of the opera. + + + WAR SONG OF THE OGALLALLAS. + + Great is the warrior of the Ogallallas, + Fearless his heart is and great is his glory. + Lighted my war-fires and hill-tops flaming + Red to the skies, arouse all my braves. + In the air the swelling war-cry-- + In the air that swelling cry-- + Wildest sound to combat calling, + Swift the onset in the lust of war. + + Shrill is the cry of the wolf + As he howls in the moonlight, + Shrill is the sound of the war-cry-- + Ogallalla! Ogallalla! + + Lo! where the warriors, trailing their lances, + Sweep o'er the plain upon resistless steeds! + There, on the trail, vengeance is launching + Swift as the arrow upon the hated foe. + In their hearts the whispered war-cry-- + In their hearts that wailing cry. + Low the sound of vengeance breathing. + Ride they boldly in the thrill of war. + + Low is the cry of the bird + As he chants in the moonlight, + Low is the sound of the war-cry-- + Ogallalla! Ogallalla! + + Great are the warriors of the Ogallallas! + Strong of arm and fearless of danger, + Where wait the foemen-- + Warriors will meet them where the white sun + Is burning on the plain. + In the air resounds the war-cry-- + In the air resounds that cry. + Wildest sound to combat calling, + Bold the onset of the warriors charge. + + Shrill is the cry of the wolf + As he howls in the moonlight, + Shrill is the sound of the war-cry-- + Ogallalla! Ogallalla! + +Mr. Barnabee (Professor Andover--dignified, staid and circumscribed; a +misogynist if there ever was one) took huge delight in accentuating the +satire of his character's advice to the bevy of school girls in his charge +to-- + + + BEWARE OF LOVE. + + Whoever heard of Homer making sonnets to an eye-brow? + Or Aristotle singing to a maiden with his lute? + Imagine wise old Plato, with his pale and massive high-brow. + Wrinkling it by thinking how his love he'd prosecute; + Do you think Professor Agassiz learned all he knew by sighing? + Or that Mr. Herbert Spencer thought out ethics at a ball? + If our own lamented Emerson of love had been a-dying, + We never should have heard of his philosophy at all. + + Can love teach youthful maidens anything at all of Botany? + Or Mathematics cause a thrill erotic in the heart? + Will flirting give a lady brains--if she hasn't got any?-- + Or solve the esoteric problems hid in Ray's Third Part? + You may lose yourself completely in pursuing Etiology, + Or safely throw yourself away upon a Cubic Rule; + But nowhere else in nature will you find such useless "ology," + As in a man who's dead in love and makes himself a fool. + +Quite in contrast, is the delicate little waltz song of Edith's (Camille +D'Arville) in which the ring of the blue bells sounds the gladsomeness of +springtime and the intoxication of love. + + + THE BREATH OF MAY. + + Ah! The breath of May! + Never was wine + Half so divine; + Never the air + As fresh or as fair. + Ah! Delight of May! + When every bud + Upon the tree + Lays bare its heart + To every bee. + Ah! The breath of May. + + Glowing sunshine everywhere + Flings a gleaming, golden snare-- + Flowers here-- + And there-- + Are blowing in May air. + + Ah! The joy of May! + When to the heart + Love doth impart + All the delight + Love can excite. + Ah! The joy of Spring! + When every bird + Hath found its mate, + And every heart + Hath had its sate. + Ah! Love is King! + + Love and music everywhere, + Weaving rapture's joyous snare, + Love is here-- + Is there-- + Is wafted on May air. + + Ah! The song of May! + How every trill + Makes hearts to thrill, + And every note's + Aleap in our throats. + Ah! Sweet lay of love! + Story so tender, + Old and gray; + Yet sing again + Love's roundelay-- + Ah! Love is King! + +In greater contrast is the roystering drinking song of Cardenas, the +Mexican bandit, who was characterized by Eugene Cowles without in any way +overdoing a part easily overdone. + + + CARE'S THE KING OF ALL. + + Oh, care's the King of all-- + A King who doth appal; + But shall we who love delight bow before him? + Or raise revolting cry-- + Proclaiming pleasure high, + Declare it treason if good men dare adore him? + And to this design + We'll pledge in good wine; + Come all and drink and laugh tonight; + We'll clink and we'll drink, + Nor stop to sigh or think-- + Come all with me who love delight. + + Away, away with care; + Come on, come all who dare + With me to banish care in joyous drinking. + The night's for pleasure bought, + The day alone for thought-- + Let all begone who would annoy us thinking. + Then come while above + The stars wink at love-- + Come all and drink and laugh tonight. + We'll clink and we'll drink, + Nor stop to sigh or think-- + Come on with me who love delight. + +Jessie Bartlett Davis was cast for "Minnetoa, an Indian Girl," but didn't +take the part until Flora Finlayson had made a hit and even then she wanted +certain changes made in the finale, which Waller refused. + +Well, "The Ogallallas" deserved a better fate and probably would have been +a go, if there had been tenors enough to carry Waller's big themes. They +were really Grand Opera parts and the average--and better than +average--tenor could not continue night after night without breaking down. +It was great! Too bad it was so far ahead of the times--and failed. + +That was Jinx No. 1. + + * * * * * + +Allison was everlastingly encouraging Waller to musical creations by +exciting his imagination with suggestions and in the end writing the story, +although he tried faithfully to find a librettist who, he too modestly +believed, might do better work than he. In the end, however, each of the +children of his brain came back to its creator. The fact was that Waller +couldn't or wouldn't work with others. So was conceived "Brother +Francesco," an opera set in a monastery in Italy during the Seventeenth +Century, and bringing up a vivid picture of monks, medieval chapels--dark, +massive and severe--and the dank scent of deep tragedy. There were but four +main characters, a quartette of voices, in "Brother Francesco," which was +in one act of about an hour and ten minutes, the whole story unravelling +itself in the public chapel between the ringing of the church bell and the +conclusion of the mass of the Benediction of the Holy Virgin. The altar +lights have not been lit. Enter Francesco, a novice, to light them. A +candle flashes on the altar; then another--and the tale unfolds. Francesco, +sorrowing over his lost love, Maria, observes the Father Confessor enter +the Confessional and, reminded of his too worldly thoughts, kneels and +sings an aria, "The Confession," in which the tragedy of his life is +revealed. + + + THE CONFESSION. + + All my sins confessing humbly, oh, my father-- + All my thoughts are ever of my lost Maria. + Wondrously fair and so pure was she + Whom I loved ere my heart was dead-- + When love yet thrilled with tender mystery. + + Ah, her face! I see it ever--waking, dreaming, + Hear her voice in cadence tender, softly speaking. + Pure was the love that from heaven above + Filled my heart with its ardent flame + And blowed with passion's thrilling mystery. + + Our fathers were at strife + And we were kept apart. + I told Lucretia all and + Bade her pour my love + Into Maria's breast. + + I waited long and then + She said Maria--false + To me--was pledged to wed + Another that she loved. + That cruel message, father, broke my heart. + + It was not long until I saw + Lucretia's heart--that she could love + Where false Maria failed. And so + In sympathy we two were wed. + + The vows had scarce been said-- + Aye, on the church's steps--a messenger + Did crush a letter in my hand. + 'Twas but a line, but at the end-- + Oh God in Heaven! Maria's name. + + "I hear that thou art false," it said, + "But I cannot believe + "That one who loved as thou didst + "Could fail me or deceive." + + Ah! suspicion, like a lightning flash, + Transfixed me and I held + The paper to Lucretia's face + And bade her read and tell me all. + Upon her knees she fell and whined + That she had loved me too, and had + Deceived me of Maria's heart--Ah! God! + In that damned moment's rage + I struck her as she knelt--to kill! + + The wedding guests did drag me off + And take the knife away. But, Ah! + There was one stain of blood it bore, + Where, as I struck, it slashed across + The dark and faithless cheek of her + And left it scarred for life. Scarred! + When I had meant to kill. + + All that night I lingered, watching 'neath her window-- + Saw once more the haunting face of my Maria-- + Saw her once more--I can see her still!-- + Fled away and am buried here + In God's own house and all unchastened yet. + +In very irony, it would seem, to the simplicity of his nature, the +outpourings of the novitiate's sorrowing heart have been confessed to his +wife, the scarred-faced Lucretia, who inhabits the monastery in the guise +of the Father Confessor (not an unknown historical fact) thus in its very +inception lending an intense dramatic effect to the story. Now, at the +ringing of the bell, the villagers enter the public loft, Maria--his lost +love--in the foreground unrecognized either by Francesco or Lucretia, +singing an "Ave Maria:" + + Ave Maria, Mother of Mercy, + Thou art our hope, and our sweetness and life. + Pray for Francesco, Oh, watch o'er his footsteps; + Turn on his sorrow thine eyes sweet and tender. + At thy dear feet anguished I fall + To pray for him-- + For oh! somewhere he's wandering, + Sorrow enduring. + Pray for him Mother, oh watch o'er his footsteps. + Lost, lost to me, yet so dear to me-- + Pray for him, oh Mother dear. + Ave Maria! Hope of the hopeless! + To thy sweet mercy in anguish I cry-- + Pray for Francesco, my own, my beloved-- + Pray for him Mother, oh pray for Francesco. + Lost, lost to me--oh! loved and lost! + Oh Mother dear pray for him. + +Again the bell rings and the monks pass before the altar with genuflections +and sink in their stalls in prayer, while a male chorus chants the Office +of the Benediction. During the singing of the anthem, Francesco enters with +cowl thrown back and a lighted taper in his hand. He is recognized by Maria +and at her exclamations starts to her but is restrained by the Father +Confessor now disclosed to him for the first time as his discarded wife. +After a trio of great dramatic force, Francesco seizes a dagger drawn by +Lucretia to kill him, and stabbing himself, expires in Maria's arms, while +Lucretia, still disguised as the Father Confessor, takes back her place +unnoticed among the monks who hold their crosses in horror against the +suicide! + +Waller wrote the entire service in imitation of the sombre Gregorian Mass, +and then over the face of this dark background sketched in modern +passionate music the lyrical and dramatic lightning of the action. This +wonderful conception, both in idea, words and music, was "passed by +censors" of the church--that is, Archbishop Corrigan and the Archbishop of +Paris both said that while they did not approve of representations of the +Church on the stage, it had been done before, and would no doubt be done +again. Otherwise there was nothing objectionable in it. + +Yet when it was produced in Berlin at the Royal Opera, under the wing of +Emperor William, even though horribly mutilated by the Public Censor, the +Catholic party, (aided and abetted by the musical cabal that has always +existed in Berlin), made it the cause of protests against the German +Government and Jinx No. 2 came to life in riotous uprisings against it +during its three performances. Whereupon it was withdrawn. These simple +facts are gleaned from Mr. Waller's descriptive letters. Jean de Reszke +thought so well of "Brother Francesco" that he proposed--nay promised--to +have it produced at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. But the old Jinx +proceeded to put his No. 3 seal on de Reszke's voice that year, and he and +the opera were heard from no more under the proscenium arch. + + * * * * * + +Then there was "The Mouse and the Garter," a travesty on Grand Opera in two +acts that Clarence Andrews was to produce at the opening of the +Waldorf-Astoria ballroom-theater. Many has been the pleasurable moment I +have had in examining the old "prompt book" in use during rehearsals, for +the company was picked, the scenery modeled, the costumes made and the +"fancy," as Allison called it, ready to be staged, when Oscar Hammerstein, +who had a contract with Andrews to transfer successes to the old Victoria +Theater, blew up in one of his bankruptcies. The Jinx was again monarch of +all he surveyed--and Monte-Cristo-like held up four fingers! That old +"prompt book" mentioned shows the wear and tear of much use and is filled +with odd notes in Allison's characteristic handwriting. No less interesting +were the "Librettist's Notes on Characters in the Opera and the Business," +dated October 21, 1897, and taken from an old letter-press copy that turned +up in our archives. There we find that-- + + The general tone of the performance is to be light, gay, rapid, + suggestive and delicate--without a trace of the license of current + musical farce. The suggestiveness must naturally arise from the + innocent freedom of village life. The whole idea is a travesty of + sentimental grand opera, the vocal characters being transposed so + far as their fate and actions are concerned. + +Good stuff! And who were these innocent villagers? Well, there was Tenor +Robusto, in love with Soprano and fated to be left at the post; Tenor Di +Grazia, his twin brother; Giovanni Baritono, a Soldier of Fortune; Piccolo, +an innkeeper; Fra Tonerero Basso, a priest; Signorina Prima Soprano, a bar +maid; Signorina Mezzo, also a bar maid, and Signora Contralto, Piccolo's +wife, besides villagers, eight topers, musicians, five couples of rustic +brides and grooms, and a dancing bear and his keeper. Let us not forget the +mythical mouse and the ribbon from which The Garters were made, though +neither appears among the "properties" scheduled by Allison. + + [Illustration: _Page from the old Prompt Book + "The Mouse and the Garter"_] + +Robusto and Soprano flirted. He gave her a ribbon and she promised to marry +him. Just a bluff! And then he wanted his ribbon back, but she had already +made it into garters, and when he tried to take them by force she boxed him +smartly. He got fussy, drank a gallon of gooseberry wine, smoked two +cigarettes and making out that he was a great bounder, threatened her with +sudden death. Great dialogue! He would have gone to war, only there was no +war at the time and anyway his "mother wouldn't let him"--the topical +number. After smacking Robusto good and plenty before all the villagers, +Soprano, who seems to know how to take care of herself, swears that she'll +marry no one unless he has the wit "to get--that! And this!"--the garters. +Baritono, Soldier of Fortune, comes on the scene. Lots more bully dialogue +and song and then Baritono hears of Soprano's oath. It's easy for him and +he bides his time--you always have to bide your time--to indicate a point +behind Soprano, when she is in a wholly unsuspecting mood, and shout "Ha! A +mouse!! A mouse!!!" Village maidens scream and scatter. Soprano, skirts to +knees, hurdles into a chair, while Baritono deftly seizes the loose ends of +the now visible "lover-knots" and holds aloft the precious talismen. +Wedding. Finis! + +But the Jinx got it. + + + + + [Illustration: A PIRATICAL BALLAD + SONG FOR BASS OR DEEP BARITONE + WORDS BY YOUNG E. ALLISON. + MUSIC BY HENRY WALLER.] + + + + +BALLAD _of_ DEAD MEN + + +If Young Allison is vain of anything he has done I have yet to hear such an +expression from him. He just writes things and tucks them away in odd +corners and it has devolved upon me to collect them and keep them. So it is +that, while not a literary executor--because Allison, thank God, is +scandalously healthy and I am making no professions--it falls to my +satisfied lot to be a literary collector in a certain sense--if he who +gathers and preserves and gloats over the brain products of others may thus +be described. That is why, treasured among my earthly possessions--scant +enough, the good Lord knows, but full of joy and satisfaction to me--are +extensive lead-pencil manuscript memoranda in Allison's writing showing the +painstaking stages by which "Fifteen Dead Men," characterized by James +Whitcomb Riley as that "masterly and exquisite ballad of delicious +horrificness," reached its perfection. Under whatever name it may be sung, +be it "The Ballad of Dead Men," or "On Board the Derelict" or "Derelict," +it is a poem big enough to fix the Jewel of Fame firmly over the author's +brow. + +Away back in the Allison strain somewhere must have been a bold buccaneer, +for who else but the descendant of a roystering, fighting, blood-letting +pirate could have seen the "scuppers glut with a rotting red?" Through all +the visible mildness of his deep and complex nature there surely runs a +blood-thirsty current, in proof of which I submit this single paragraph +from certain confessions[3] of his: + + With character seared, abandoned and dissolute in habit, through + and by the hearing and seeing and reading of history, there was but + one desperate step left. So I entered upon the career of a pirate + in my ninth year. The Spanish Main, as no doubt you remember, was + at that time upon an open common just across the street from our + house, and it was a hundred feet long, half as wide and would + average two feet in depth. I have often since thanked Heaven that + they filled up that pathless ocean in order to build an iron + foundry upon the spot. Suppose they had excavated for a cellar! Why + during the time that Capt. Kidd, Lafitte and I infested the coast + thereabout, sailing three "low, black-hulled schooners with long + rakish masts," I forced hundreds of merchant seamen to walk the + plank--even helpless women and children. Unless the sharks devoured + them, their bones are yet about three feet under the floor of that + iron foundry. Under the lee of the Northernmost promontory, near a + rock marked with peculiar crosses made by the point of the stiletto + which I constantly carried in my red silk sash, I buried tons of + plate, and doubloons, pieces of eight, pistoles, Louis d'ors, and + galleons by the chest. At that time galleons somehow meant to me + money pieces in use, though since then the name has been given to a + species of boat. The rich brocades, Damascus and Indian stuffs, + laces, mantles, shawls and finery were piled in riotous profusion + in our cave where--let the whole truth be told if it must--I lived + with a bold, black-eyed and coquettish Spanish girl, who loved me + with ungovernable jealousy that occasionally led to bitter and + terrible scenes of rage and despair. At last when I brought home a + white and red English girl, whose life I spared because she had + begged me on her knees by the memory of my sainted mother to spare + her for her old father, who was waiting her coming, Joquita passed + all bounds. I killed her--with a single knife thrust, I remember. + She was buried right on the spot where the Tilden and Hendricks + flag pole afterwards stood in the campaign of 1876. It was with + bitter melancholy that I fancied the red stripes on the flag had + their color from the blood of the poor, foolish, jealous girl below. + + [3] The Delicious Vice. Pages 23-24. First Series, 1907. + +So it is, naturally enough, that to Allison, "Treasure Island" is the _ne +plus ultra_ and composite of all pirate stories, and this marvel of delight +he called to Waller's attention while they were incubating "The +Ogallallas." No sooner had Waller read it than the quatrain of Old Billy +Bones took possession of him and converted itself into music. The two of +them, as so many other thousands had done, bewailed the parsimony of +Stevenson in the use and development of the grisly suggestion and Waller +declared that if Allison would complete the verse he would set it to music. +That same night Allison composed three ragged but promising verses, at +white heat, while walking the floor in a cloud of tobacco smoke of his own +making. Next morning he gave them to Waller, who by night had the score and +words married and a day later the finished product went forward to Wm. A. +Pond & Co., and was published under the title of "A Piratical Ballad"[4]. +Note that these initial verses are described as "ragged" and in this I am +also quoting Allison himself who in our various chats on his reminiscence +of "Treasure Island" has often given them this characterization. Be that as +it may these three verses were the foundation for the perfect six that were +to emerge after several years more of intermittent but patient development +and labor. + + [4] A Piratical Ballad. Song for Bass or Deep Baritone. Words by + Young E. Allison; Music by Henry Waller; New York. Published by + William A. Pond & Co. Copyright 1891. [See pages 65-68.] + + + A PIRATICAL BALLAD. + + Fifteen men on the dead man's chest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Drink and the devil had done for the rest-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + The mate was fixed by the bo's'n's pike, + The bo's'n brained with a marlinspike, + And cookey's throat was marked belike + It had been gripped + By fingers ten. + And there they lay, + All good dead men-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + Fifteen men all stark and cold-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Their eyes popp'd wide and glazed and bold-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + The skipper lay with his nob in gore + Where the scullion's axe his cheek had shore, + And the scullion he was stabbed times four. + And there they lay, + And the soggy skies + Rained all day long + On the staring eyes-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + Fifteen men of the Vixen's list-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + All gone down from the devil's own fist-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + We wrapped 'em all in a mainsail's fold, + We sewed at the foot a bit of gold, + And we heaved 'em into the billows cold. + The bit was put + As snug's could be, + Where't ne'er will bother + You nor me-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + +This is the requiem of the Fifteen Dead Men that Eugene Cowles would sing +so effectively in his booming bass after rehearsals of "The Ogallallas." It +must have been great! + +Allison felt that he had done little justice to an idea full of great +possibilities and made a number of revisions during the polishing process +until it was raised to five verses. I have the original manuscript[5] of +the first revision of "A Piratical Ballad" unearthed from a cubby-hole in +an old desk of his to which I fell heir, the only change being in the title +to "A Ballad of Dead Men," the elimination of one of the concluding lines +"Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum" from the refrain of each verse, (it had been +added originally to fit the musical cadence), and the strengthening of the +final verse by the substitution of-- + + With willing hearts + And a Yo-heave-ho + Over the side + To the sharks below. + + [5] Reproduced in facsimile. + +Many will no doubt recall "The Philosophy of Composition"[6] by Edgar Allen +Poe, and those who by some mischance have missed it, can spend a delightful +hour in the perusal of what, beyond the least doubt, is the most skillful +analysis of poetic composition ever written, even though it fails to carry +conviction that "The Raven" was ever produced by the formula described. Poe +declared that-- + + ... most writers--poets in especial--prefer having it understood + that they compose by a species of fine frenzy--an ecstatic + intuition; and would positively shudder at letting the public take + a peep behind the scenes at the elaborate and vacillating crudities + of thought, at the true purposes seized only at the last moment, at + the innumerable glimpses of idea that arrived not at the maturity + of full view, at the fully matured fancies discarded as + unmanageable, at the cautious selections and rejections, at the + painful erasions and interpolations--in a word at the wheels and + pinions, the tackle for scene shifting, the step ladders and demon + traps, the cock's feather, the red paint and the black patches, + which in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred constitute the + properties of the literary _histrio_. + + [6] Stone & Kimball Edition. Vol. 6; page 31. + +And so he proceeds to detail how he composed "The Raven." First he decided +on a length of about one hundred lines that could be read at one sitting; +on beauty as its province; on sadness as its tone; on a variation of the +application of the refrain--it remaining for the most part unvaried--to +obtain what he termed "artistic piquancy;" proceeding only at that stage to +the composition of the last verse as the first step. All this of course has +little to do with "Derelict" and yet I cannot but see a sort of analogy of +effect by processes wholly divergent, particularly as Allison once told me +that the central idea of the last verse for consigning the bodies to the +deep was ever in his mind and that this verse was first projected, although +its development was the most difficult and its perfection did not come +until later. So much for that! In the five verses he had arrived +approximately at a consummation of the sea burial, the introduction very +properly repeating the quatrain of Billy Bones before concluding: + + We wrapped 'em all in a mains'l tight, + With twice ten turns of a hawser's bight, + And we heaved 'em over and out of sight-- + With a yo-heave-ho! + And a fare-you-well! + And a sullen plunge + In the sullen swell-- + Ten fathom-lengths of the road to hell-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + +While this composition is fine and tight as a drum in poetic meter and +conception, the real perfection was not arrived at until he made it "Ten +fathoms _deep on_ the road to hell." In the five-verse revision a part of +the last verse as it appeared in "A Piratical Ballad" went into the second, +a part of the second verse was shifted to the third and a fourth was added +to give an implied reason for the riot of death in an inferred quarrel over +the "chest on chest full of Spanish gold, with a ton of plate in the middle +hold." Strangely enough all these shifts and additions do not appear to +have altered the sentiment in the least and at times I am amazed, in +reading over old versions, that I do not appreciably miss certain lines and +ideas that seem vital to the finished product. + +Shortly after the five verses had been privately printed for his friends on +a single slip, Allison conceived the rather daring idea of injecting the +trace of a woman on board the Derelict which up to this time he had very +closely developed in the Stevensonian spirit. While there was no woman in +"Treasure Island," he proved to himself by analysis that his new thought +would do no violence to Stevenson's idea, because Billy Bones' song was a +reminiscence of _his own past_ and not of Treasure Island. Hence the trace +of a woman, skillfully injected, might be permissible. Here, too, his +analysis gave him the melancholy tone--of which Poe speaks as so highly +desirable--greatly accentuated by doubt of whether she was "wench" or +"maid," and a further possible incentive for the extermination of the whole +ship's list. This verse[7] has undergone little change since the woman +trace was first injected: + + More we saw, through the stern-light screen-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Chartings ondoubt where a woman had been-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + A flimsy shift on a bunker cot, + With a dagger-slot in the bosom spot + And the lace stiff-dry in a purplish blot. + Now whether wench + Or a shuddering maid, + She dared the knife + And she took the blade. + By God! She was stuff for a plucky jade-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + [7] Reproduced in facsimile. + +There were certain niceties of word adjustment to follow as for instance +the substitution of "a thin dirk-slot" for "a dagger-slot," the word "thin" +carrying a keen mental impression of a snaky, hissing sound-sensation as +the idea unfolded of the dirk slipping through the flimsy fabric of the +shift, cast on the bunker cot to remain the silent evidence of the tragedy. +The very acme of touches came in the punctuation[8] of the concluding +lines--pauses that emphasize with so much ingenuity the very question that +lends the speculatively mournful cadence to the whole: + + Or was she wench ... + Or some shuddering maid...? + That dared the knife + And that took the blade! + +And as a cap-sheaf came the thought of differentiating the +whole verse[8] by an Italicized setting! That is almost the last +word of the conception of poet-printer. + + [8] Reproduced in facsimile. + +The dogged persistency that Allison applied to the completion of this +masterpiece has always won my deepest admiration. And the admiration of +many others too, for this poem, first publicly printed in the Louisville +_Courier-Journal_, has been reprinted in one form or another, in almost +every newspaper in the country and has an honored place in many scrap +books. What great and painstaking effort was encompassed in its composition +only one can know even partly who has been privileged to "peep behind the +scenes" at the "properties of the literary _histrio_"--the manuscript notes +and memoranda, a few of which accompany this volume in facsimile. + + + + +IF THERE _is_ CONTROVERSY! + + +If any one in this wide, old world, after reading the wealth of evidence in +this little volume, still thinks Young E. Allison did not write "Derelict," +let him come to me like a man and say so and I'll give him a good swift +stab in the eye, with my eye, and say: "You don't want to be convinced." +This includes the editor of _The New York Times Book Review_. When he made +an egregious blunder by stating that "Derelict" was an unskilled sailor's +jingle, a wave of protest reached him. He then printed Walt Mason's letter +describing the poem as a work of art and altered his editorial +characterization of it to "famous old chanty." In the same breath he wrote +that it was not likely that Mr. Allison was the author--but why not likely? +It is plain that somebody must have written it. Nobody else's name had ever +been associated with it. The _Times_ man had nobody to suggest as the +author. Why, then, maintain that Mr. Allison was not the author? His sole +reason is that the "Bowdlerized" and bastard version which he printed had +been _copied from a manuscript written into an old book printed in 1843_! +What does the ink say about dates? What do the pen marks say? Great gods +and little fishes! If ever I shall desire to antiquitize a modernity I'll +copy it into an old book and send a transcript to that delightful Babe of +the Woods of _The New York Times Book Review_. + +When _Rubric_, a Chicago magazine venture of attractiveness, but doomed in +advance to failure, published Allison's poem under the title "On Board the +Derelict," I detached three sets of the eight illustrated and illuminated +pages on which it was printed, had the sheets inlaid in hand-made paper and +neatly bound. This was accomplished with the sage advice of my old +playmate, Frank M. Morris, the bookman of Chicago. One of these volumes was +made for Mr. Allison, (so that he would surely have at least one copy of +his own poem), a second was for my bookish friend, James F. Joseph, then of +Chicago and now of Indianapolis, and a third was for my own library. The +mere fact that Allison was five years autographing my particular copy has +no bearing whatever in this discussion, but leads me to say that I felt +amply repaid in the end by this very handsome inscription on the fly-leaf: + + This Volume, + No. 1 + + of the limited private edition of "On Board the Derelict," is + for the private delight of my dear friend, + + Champion Ingraham Hitchcock, + + the publisher and designer thereof--appreciative guide, + counselor and encourager of other excursions into "the higher + altitudes,"--with all love and long memory + + Christmas, 1906. YOUNG E. ALLISON. + + +Well, because "Derelict" was a delight and Allison my friend, I gave away +_Rubrics_ by the score and, among others, saw that a copy went to Wallace +Rice, literatus--and Chicago book reviewer--to whom I owe an everlasting +debt of gratitude for precious moments saved by good advice on modern stuff +not to read. In presenting "Derelict," the _Rubric_ publishers left an +impression that the poem had but then been completed[9] for its pages. I +knew better; Wallace had read it before, in whole or in part and raised a +question. It so worked upon me that later I decided to submit it to Allison +himself. Sometimes we do things, and know not why, that have a very +distinct later and wholly unexpected bearing upon situations, and when the +opportunity for this volume arose, the memory that I had saved Allison's +penciled reply came over me. A patient search had its reward. Here is the +letter[10] written with the same old lead pencil on the same old spongy +copy paper: + + Louisville Feb. 22, 1902. + Dear Hitch: + + My supposition is that the _Rubric_ folks misunderstood or have + been misunderstood. The Dead Man's Song was first written about 10 + years ago--3 verses--and Henry Waller set it to music & it was + published in New York. The version for the song did not exhaust it + in my mind and so I took it up every now & then for 4 or 5 years + and finally completed it. A very lovely little girl who was + visiting my wife helped me to decide whether I should write in one + verse "a flimsy shift" or "a filmy shift" or other versions, and + her opinion on "flimsy" decided me. She is the only person that + ever had anything to do with it--_as far as I know_! What hypnotic + influences were at work or what astral minds may have intervened, I + know not. But I have always thought I did it all. It was not much + to do, except for a certain 17th Century verbiage and grisly humor. + + I am glad you still believe I wouldn't steal anybody else's brains + any more than I would his money. Waller wrote splendid singing + music to it which Eugene Cowles used to bellow beautifully. + + With best love, as always, + Y. E. A. + + [9] See letter to "The New York Times Book Review". + + [10] Reproduced in facsimile. + +That this narrative may be complete, the articles and comment that appeared +in _The New York Times Book Review_ are reproduced, together with a letter +to the editor written by the author of this volume, which, neither +acknowledged nor published by him, obtained wide circulation through _The +Scoop_,[11] a magazine issued every Saturday by The Press Club of Chicago. +It was quite characteristic of Allison to decline the very urgent requests +of many friends to jump into the arena and make a claim for that which is +his own creation and in coming to a negative decision, his reasons are +probably best expressed in a letter to Henry A. Sampson, who himself writes +poetry: + + Yours of the 5th containing wormwood from the _N. Y. Times_ (and + being the 11th copy received from loving friends) is here. + + Jealous! Jealous! Just the acute development on your part of the + ordinary professional jealousy. Merely because I have at last found + my place amongst those solitary and dazzling poets, Homer and + Shakespeare, who, also, it has been proved, did not write their own + stuff, but found it all in folk lore and copied it down. + + Well, damn me, I can't help my own genius and do not care for its + products because I can always make more, and I compose these things + for my own satisfaction. + + I, with Shakespeare and Homer, perceive the bitter inefficacy of + fighting the scientific critics. Walt Mason saw the versification + was artful instead of "bungling and crude," but the _Times_ critic + knows a copy out of a "chanty book" when he sees it. + + I envy your being unpublished. You do not have to bleed with me and + Homer and Bill. I feel the desiccating effects of my own dishonor. + I grow distrustful. I wonder if _you_ wrote _your_ poems. You + refused to publish. Were you, astute and keen reader of auguries, + afraid of being found out? Who writes all these magnificent things + that me and Homer and Bill couldn't and didn't write? + + No, I don't owe it to my friends to settle this. I'd a sight rather + plead guilty and accept indeterminate sentence than to waste time + on my friends. I've got 'em or I haven't. And I want to convince + enemies by a profound and dignified sneak. + + From one who has had dirt done him. + MANTELLINI + Louisville, Oct. 6, 1914. + + [11] Issue of October 10, 1914. + + + + +SOME CLIPPINGS; _and_ A LETTER + + +The controversial comments on Allison's "Fifteen Men on the Dead Man's +Chest," heretofore mentioned, appeared in _The New York Times Book Review_ +of September 20, 1914, and October 4, 1914, while the inquiry that +precipitated the discussion was published July 26. The printed matter, +_verbatim et literatim_, and the matter not printed, are subjoined: + + + _July 26, 1914._ + + APPEALS TO READERS + + EDWARD ALDEN.--Can some reader tell me if the verse or chorus of a + pirate's song, which Robert Louis Stevenson recites several times + in whole or in part in "Treasure Island," was original or quoted; + and, if there are other verses, where they may be found? The lines + as Stevenson gives them are: + + Fifteen men on the dead man's chest, + Yo-ho-ha and a bottle of rum; + Drink and the devil had done for the rest, + Yo-ho-ha and a bottle of rum. + + * * * * * + + _September 20, 1914._ + + ANSWERS FROM READERS + + W. L.--The verse about which Edward Alden inquired in your issue of + July 26. and which is quoted in Stevenson's "Treasure Island," is + the opening stanza of an old song or chantey of West Indian piracy, + which is believed to have originated from the wreck of an English + buccaneer on a cay in the Caribbean Sea known as "The Dead Man's + Chest." The cay was so named from its fancied resemblance to the + old sailors' sea chest which held his scanty belongings. The song + or chantey was familiar to deep-sea sailors many years ago. The + song is copied from a very old scrapbook, in which the author's + name was not given. The verses[12] are as follows: + + Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Drink and the devil had done for the rest. + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + The mate was fixed by the bo'sun's pike + An the bo'sun brained with a marlin spike. + And the cookie's throat was marked belike + It had been clutched by fingers ten, + And there they lay, all good dead men, + Like break o' day in a boozin' ken-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + Fifteen men of a whole ship's list, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Dead and bedamned and their souls gone whist, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + The skipper lay with his nob in gore + Where the scullion's axe his cheek had shore, + And the scullion he was stabbed times four; + And there they lay, and the soggy skies + Dripped ceaselessly in upstaring eyes, + By murk sunset and by foul sunrise-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + Fifteen men of 'em stiff and stark, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Ten of the crew bore the murder mark, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + 'Twas a cutlass swipe or an ounce of lead, + Or a gaping hole in a battered head, + And the scuppers' glut of a rotting red; + And there they lay, ay, damn my eyes, + Their lookouts clapped on Paradise, + Their souls gone just the contrawise-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + Fifteen men of 'em good and true, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Every man Jack could a' sailed with Old Pew, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + There was chest on chest of Spanish gold + And a ton of plate in the middle hold, + And the cabin's riot of loot untold-- + And there they lay that had took the plum, + With sightless eyes and with lips struck dumb, + And we shared all by rule o' thumb-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + More was seen through the stern light's screen, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Chartings undoubt where a woman had been, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + A flimsy shift on a bunker cot + With a dirk slit sheer through the bosom spot + And the lace stiff dry in a purplish rot-- + Or was she wench or shuddering maid, + She dared the knife and she took the blade-- + Faith, there was stuff for a plucky Jade! + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + Drink and the devil had done for the rest, + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + We wrapped 'em all in a mainsail tight + With twice ten turns of a hawser's bight, + And we heaved 'em over and out of sight + With a yo-heave-ho and a fare-ye-well, + And a sullen plunge in a sullen swell, + Ten fathoms along on the road to hell-- + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! + + [12] To observe liberties taken with the text, compare these verses + with authentic version. + + * * * * * + + _September 20, 1914._ + + Who that loves tales of adventure, thrilling yarns involving the + search for mysteriously lost treasure, has not gloried in "Treasure + Island"? And who that recalls STEVENSON's stirring romance does not + involuntarily chant to himself the ridiculous but none the leas + fascinating verse commencing + + "Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest--" + + as if the gruesome rhyme were in a way intended as a sort of + refrain for the entire story? When we were younger we undoubtedly + speculated on the amazing capacity of this particular dead man's + chest, and we gloated over the uncanny wickedness of the whole + affair. The verse, however, turns out to be one of those + curiosities of literature which is unearthed every now and then by + some industrious contributor to the "Query Page" of THE NEW YORK + TIMES BOOK REVIEW. In this number of the latter the entire song or + "chantey" is given, copied from an old scrapbook, and while it can + hardly be recommended as a delectable piece of literature, in any + sense, it is interesting, aside from its Stevensonian connection, + as a bit of rough, unstudied sailor's jingle, the very authorship + of which is long since forgotten. And the youthful myth of the Dead + Man's Chest--that, too, it appears, is not at all the thing that + fancy painted it. The real Dead Man's Chest, however, as "W. L." + explains it, is quite as alluring as the imaginary one and will + appeal to the student of geographical peculiarities in the West + Indies. + + * * * * * + + _October 4, 1914._ + + "FIFTEEN MEN ON THE DEAD MAN'S CHEST" + + _New York Times Review of Books_: + + The fine old sea poem, "Fifteen Men on the Dead Man's Chest," + recently quoted in your columns, was written by Younge E. Allison. + I have raked through various biographical dictionaries trying to + discover who Younge E. Allison was, but without results. The man + who wrote such a poem should not be unknelled, unhonored, and + unsung. In your editorial touching the rhyme I don't think you do + it justice. You describe it as "a rough, unstudied sailor's + jingle," whereas it is a work of art. Some of the lines are + tremendous, and the whole poem has a haunting quality that never + yet distinguished a mere jingle. I never weary of repeating some of + its sonorous lines. + + WALT MASON. + Emporia, Kan., Sept. 24. + + EDITORIAL NOTE.--We have received several other letters in which + the authorship of the lines is credited to Mr. Allison, who is a + resident of Louisville, Ky., and the editor of The Insurance Field + of that city. Mr. Allison was at one time a correspondent of + THE NEW YORK TIMES and also has written several books of fiction, + including "The Passing of Major Galbraith." It is not likely, + however, that he wrote the famous old chanty. One of our + correspondents writes that Mr. Allison "reconstructed" the song + some years ago on the first four lines which are quoted in + Stevenson's "Treasure Island." + + Our correspondent, "W. L.," who furnished the copy of the song as + published recently in THE BOOK REVIEW says, however, that he copied + the verses from a manuscript written into a book which bears this + title: "Tales of the Ocean and Essays for the Forecastle, + Containing Matters and Incidents Humorous, Pathetic, Romantic, and + Sentimental, by Hawser Martingale, Boston, Printed and Published by + S. W. Dickinson, 52 Washington St., 1843." This book belonged to + his grandfather, who died in 1874, and the song was familiar to "W. + L." in his youth as early as 1870. + + In a letter to W. E. Henley, dated at Braemar, Aug. 25, 1881, + written when Stevenson had begun the writing of "Treasure Island," + he writes: + + I am now on another lay for the moment, purely owing to + Lloyd this one; but I believe there's more coin in it than + in any amount of crawlers. Now see here "The Sea Cook or + Treasure Island: A Story for Boys." [This was the first + title selected for the book.] + + If this don't fetch the kids, why, they have gone rotten + since my day. Will you be surprised to learn that it is + about Buccaneers, that it begins in the Admiral Benbow + public house on the Devon coast, that it's all about a map + and a treasure and a mutiny and a derelict ship and a + current and a fine old Squire Trelawney, (the real Tre. + purged of literature and sin to suit the infant mind,) and + a doctor and another doctor and a sea cook with one leg and + and a sea song with a chorus, "Yo-ho-ho and a Bottle of + Rum," (at the third "ho" you heave at the capstan bars,) + which is a real buccaneer's song, only known to the crew of + the late Capt. Flint, who died of rum at Key West much + regretted? + + The first publication of "Treasure Island" was in 1883, and in a + letter to Sidney Colvin in July, 1884, Stevenson writes: "'Treasure + Island' came out of Kingsley's 'At Last,' where I got 'The Dead + Man's Chest.'" + + * * * * * + +THE UNPUBLISHED LETTER + + _New York Times Review of Books_, + + It has been my great pleasure and satisfaction to sit with Young E. + Allison of Louisville in business intimacy and friendship for many + years, and to have seen the inception of his "Derelict" in three + verses based on Billy Bones' song of "Fifteen Men on the Dead Man's + Chest" from "Treasure Island." During this intimacy also I have + observed those original three stanzas grow to six and viewed the + adjustment and balance and polish he has given to what I now + consider a masterpiece. + + No one who ever read "Treasure Island" with a mind, but feels there + is something lacking in Billy Bones' song. It left a haunting wish + for more and if the book was closed with a single regret it was + because Billy Bones had not completed his weird chant. So it + affected Mr. Allison, a confirmed novel reader and a great admirer + of Stevenson. Henry Waller, collaborating with Mr. Allison in the + production[13] of the "Ogallallas" by the Bostonians along back in + 1891, declared he had a theme for that swashbuckling chant and + Allison, who wrote the libretto for the "Ogallallas," agreed to + work it out. That same night with Waller's really brilliant musical + conception in his mind, Mr. Allison wrote what might be considered + the first three verses of the present revision, which were set to + Waller's music, written for a deep baritone, and published by Pond. + Thereafter during the rehearsal of the "Ogallallas" no session was + complete until Eugene Cowles, in his big, rich bass, had sung + Allison's three verses of "Fifteen Men on the Dead Man's Chest" to + Waller's music, as "lagniappe," while cold chills raced up and down + the spines of his hearers--more or less immune to sensations of + that character. + + [13] Incubation at that time. Production in 1893. + + As I write I have before me a copy of the music, the title page of + which reads as follows: "A Piratical Ballad. Song for Bass or Deep + Baritone. Words by Young E. Allison. Music by Henry Waller. New + York. Published by William A. Pond & Co. 1891." + + Later it occurred to Mr. Allison that he had done scant justice to + an idea full of great possibilities, and another verse was added, + and still later another, making five in all, when in a more + polished condition it was submitted to the _Century_ for + publication, and accepted, though later the editor asked to have + the closing lines re-constructed as being a bit too strong for his + audience. Mr. Allison felt that to bring back those drink-swollen + and weighted bodies "wrapp'd in a mains'l tight" from their "sullen + plunge in the sullen swell, ten fathoms deep on the road to hell" + would cut the heart out of the idea--while admitting to the + _Century's_ editor that such a sentiment might not be entirely + fitted for his clientele--and so declined to make the alteration. + + About this time Mr. Allison had "Derelict" privately printed for + circulation among friends. I have in my possession his printer's + copy, and the various revisions in his own handwriting--probably a + dozen in all. + + Six years after the first verses were written, Mr. Allison decided + to inject a woman into his "Reminiscence of Treasure Island," as he + styles it, which was most adroitly done in the fifth verse--last + written--and in the private copies it is set in Italics as a + delicate intimation that the theme of a woman was foreign to the + main idea which he attempted to carry out just as he believed + Stevenson might have done. There was no woman on Treasure Island + yet she passes here without question. + + Shortly after the sixth verse had been added, the editors of the + _Rubric_--a Chicago magazine venture of the late 90's[14]--asked + Mr. Allison for permission to publish the five verses which had + fallen into their hands, and in granting the request he furnished + the later revision in six verses. This was published on eight pages + of the _Rubric_ in two colors, very happily illustrated, I thought, + and was captioned "On Board the Derelict." + + [14] Vol. I No. 1, 1901. + + It is the fine adjustment, the extreme delicacy, the very + artfulness of the whole poem, I might say, which has led you into + believing it "a rough, unstudied sailor's jingle" and in stating + editorially, "it is not likely however that he [Mr. Allison] wrote + the famous old chanty." Were it not that you hazarded this + speculation I would not feel called upon to recite this history, in + justice to Mr. Allison, who is one of the most honorable, modest + and original men of letters and who would scorn to enter the lists + in an effort to prove that what he had created was his own. Among + those who know him like Henry Watterson, Madison Cawein, James H. + Mulligan, (who was one of Stevenson's friends, present in Samoa + when he died), James Whitcomb Riley, and a host of others he needs + no defense. + + Mr. Mason's comment in your issue of October 4, 1914, is a very + fine tribute to the work of a stranger to him and testifies to his + artistic judgment, for a study of this "old chanty" will prove it + to be a work of art, not only for the tremendous lines of which Mr. + Mason speaks, but because it creates the impression of antiquity + while being entirely modern by every rule of versification. + + If you take the pains to scan the lines you must soon admit how + subtle and delicate are the alternating measures, prepared + purposely to create the very idea of age and coarseness and + succeeding with every almost matchless line and selected word. + + Just a word more. Of course I cannot pretend to say how the version + published in your issue of September 20, 1914, got copied into the + "Old Scrap Book" to which "W. L." refers, but violence to the text + and the meter--which you may determine by reference to the + authentic copy inclosed herewith--would indicate that it had been + "expurgated" for drawing room recital by an ultra-fastidious[15] who + nevertheless recognized its great force. + + [15] And non-poetic. + + By the way, Mr. Allison wrote "The Passing of Major Kilgore," not + "Major Galbraith," one of the first really good newspaper stories + "from the inside" then written, though since there have been many. + + Yours very truly, + C. I. HITCHCOCK + Louisville, October 6, 1914. + + + + +YO-HO-HO _and a_ BOTTLE OF RUM + + +It has not been the purpose of this sketch of a poem's history, with +which has been joined other matters, reminiscent or germane, to enter +into a discussion relative to the origin of chanties, or to attempt to +trace the four lines of Captain Billy Bones' song to any source beyond +their appearance in "Treasure Island." In a more or less extensive, +though desultory, reading of a little of almost everything, the writer +has never stumbled upon any chanty or verse from which the famous +quatrain might have sprung. Nor has he ever met anyone who remembers to +have read or heard of anything of the kind. This includes Allison +himself, an omnivorous reader, a Stevenson admirer and student, a +friend of many of Stevenson's friends, and who, since the appearance of +"Treasure Island," has had hundreds of letters and conversations +bearing on the subject. + +While "Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum," as a line, occasionally has since +been used in modern versification, but without any of the Stevenson +flavor and seldom with much poetic or dramatic instinct, all +authorities appear to be agreed that he evolved the quatrain. This +however is not a point at issue here. What seems to be of prime +importance to this narrative though, is that Allison, taking this +quatrain as a starting point, wrote a wholly modern versification in +words and meter so skillfully used as to create not only a vivid +atmosphere of piracy and antiquity, but of unskillfulness and +coarseness. That is the highest expression of art. + +Since _The New York Times Book Review_ very unjustly raised a question +of the authorship of "Derelict," it has been my privilege to read the +really remarkable correspondence that has reached Mr. Allison from men +all over the country who have been treasuring newspaper clippings of +perverted versions of the poem out of pure admiration for its classical +lines and the bold portrayal of a grewsome story. These letters have +increased since _The Scoop_ of the Press Club of Chicago printed the +correspondence [See "The Unpublished Letter"] addressed to _The New +York Times Book Review_. _The Scoop_ continued its interesting +discussion of the poem in the issue of October 24, under a caption of +"Yo-ho-ho!" and incorporated a communication from "our Bramleykite +Pilling" on chanties in general, submitting also a criticism of +Allison's sea-faring knowledge of the consistency of mainsails and the +size of hawsers. If anything were needed to prove that "Derelict" is +not "of the sea," this in itself would be sufficient. _The Scoop_ +article is worthy of production in toto: + + + YO-HO-HO! + + In an annoying discussion of Young Allison's "Derelict" and the + origin of the chanty beginning "Fifteen men on the Dead Man's + Chest," _The New York Times_ quotes Robert Louis Stevenson as + saying "Treasure Island came out of Kingsley's 'At Last,' where I + got 'The Dead Man's Chest.'" That is interesting, and apparently + authentic, but it has nothing to do with Allison's poem. The + development of that poem, as related by C. I. Hitchcock in _The + Scoop_ two weeks ago, is as clearly established as the similar + process out of which emerged Smith's "Evolution," and is abundantly + attested. Allison's chanty is one of the best, if not the very + best, in its class, and _The Scoop_ is glad to have been given a + chance to so accredit it. + + Taking up the subject matter, our Bramleykite Pilling, a retired + mariner now enjoying his otium cum dignitate at the town of Athol + in the state of Massachusetts, writes this letter: + + "In the days when sailing ships and sailors were on the + deep, chanties were used with every heave or pull. + + "Fifteen or twenty men trailing onto a rope, fitting each + other like spoons, as the sway-back pull induced whatever + was at the other end to give way. + + "Nothing ever was broken, as it was seen to that such a + possibility did not exist; hence the command 'Break + something, break something.' + + "A chanty contained one verse or line only, the rest + depending on the composition of the man who sang the verse + or line. The pull was always at the accent of the chorus, + as follows: + + "'Blow a man down is a blow me down trick. + Blow--Blow--Blow--a man Down. + Blow a man down to the home of old Nick. + Give me some time to blow a man down.' + + "The pull being at every other line, there are eight pulls + in the above. + + "For a quick pulling chanty we often use this one: + + "'Rendso was no sailor-- + Rendso, boys, Rendso, + He shipped on board a whaler-- + Rendso, boys, Rendso.' + + "What happened to Rendso depended on the imagination of the + one who sang the 'coal box'--the line. Here is a heaving + chanty, or slow pull: + + "'To South Australia we're bound to go-- + Heave away, heave away. + Let the wind blow high or low-- + We're bound to South Australia. + We're going home and don't give a damn-- + Heave away, heave away. + For the captain, the mate or any other man-- + We're bound to South Australia.' + + "'Fifteen men on the dead man's chest' never was used as a + chanty. It would require too much bass; but it was used as + a drone, which it is. An abstracted man would use a line, + or may be, the whole verse, or the first line, used as + derision. For illustration: + + "When I was last at the Press Club a question pertaining to + the sea came up. One man sought the dictionary. To express + my contempt I repeated the first line. 'We have no use for + the dictionary. To hell with it,' expresses the idea. We + sailors have a language of our own. It is ours, it is up to + us to put you right when the impossible is said. I quote + two such lines: + + "'We wrapped 'em all in a mains'l tight + With twice ten turns of the hawser's bight! + + "These two lines are part of a poem written by Young + Allison as a continuance of the Billy Bones song in + Treasure Island. + + "A mainsail is made of 0, 1 or 2 canvas, which will stand + alone; 28 sheet-iron would do as well. + + "A hawser, with us, is anything in the shape of a rope + which is above six inches circumference. You will note that + the bight is used--two parts, or loop. Instead of using the + largest rope on board a ship, the smallest--skysail + bunt-line--would have been more to the point. + + "A sailor would get back at me by saying 'Perhaps she + didn't carry skysails.' + + "I would reply, 'Suppose the mainsail was as soft as silk + and the hawser as pliable, would you, as a sailor, throw + them away on dead men?' + + "A mistaken idea exists that Stevenson wrote the Billy + Bones song and only used one verse in "Treasure Island." He + 'quotes' the only verse there is. We of the sea locate the + scene of the verse at Dead Chest Island, half way between + the S. W. & S. E. points of Porto Rico, four and one-half + miles off shore, which was used as a buccaneer rendezvous, + and later as the haven of wreckers and smugglers. It was + first named by the Spanish 'Casa de Muertos'--the Coffin. + + "While I knew that Stevenson wrote, I did not know him as a + writer. I knew him as the grandson and son of men who dared + to do, and who achieved in the doing. I also knew him as a + man interested in everything pertaining to the sea. + + "In fancy, I can see him gazing off to leeward, and hear + him drone--as of yore-- + + "'Fifteen men on the dead man's chest.'" + +My personal interest in "Derelict" from its earliest stages has led me to +discuss it with many people, some of them A. B.'s, and this is the first +criticism I have ever heard of the technic of the words used to convey the +picture. I do not mean to say that Bramleykite Filling's points are not +well taken, technically, but I do say that qualified sailors, with literary +judgment, have been carried over these delinquencies of technic, if that +expresses it, by the very vividness but simplicity of the picture, which +could not be so were there a false note in either sentiment or portrayal. +Thus for this purpose a mainsail is a piece of jute bagging, if you please, +or ordinary canvas, and a hawser is a flexible rope. + +When _The Scoop_ reached my hand with its entertaining and not unjust +criticism, I besought Allison for a few lines of comment to add to my +collection of "Derelict" treasures. In the same old characteristic way +(same old black pencil; same old spongy copy paper) he wrote me the +following note with which this volume closes: + + Oct. 26, 1914. + Dear Hitch: + + Bramleykite Pilling's comments on "Derelict," from the standpoint + of scientific criticism, seem to me to be beyond any sort of + reproach. He is evidently an actual, real water sailor who learned + his nautics within the smell of bilgewater and the open sea. My own + education as an able seaman was gained from years of youthful deep + study of dime-novel sea yarns by Ned Buntline, Fenimore Cooper, + Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., Billy Bowline, and other masters of the sea in + libraries. I have, however, made two ocean trips from Norfolk to + New York, time 23 hours. On both occasions I went sound asleep at + the end of the first hour and woke up at the end of twenty-third + hour. Under such circumstances I may have missed many important + details of realism. I have also visited often the tomb of that fine + old patriot-pirate and ex-Alderman, Dominique You, in the old + French cemetery at New Orleans. As chief gunner for Jean Lafitte, + he was some pirate; as chief artilleryman for Gen. Andrew Jackson + at the battle of New Orleans, he was some patriot. I feel stronger + in my piracy than in my seamanship. I love criticism--especially of + poetry. If there is a single verse, or, mayhap, one line, of + "Derelict" that will hold, without leaking, anything of a specific + gravity heavier than moonshine, it would surprise me. But it + _seems_ to, when it is adopted as a "real chanty"--and that's the + test, that it "seems." + + Y. E. A. + + + + + Transcriber's Note: The book has a Pocket with 7 pieces of paper + which are facsimiles noted in the text. The music for _A Piratical + Ballad_ has been transcribed and is available as a _Finale_ .mus + file, a pdf file, and a midi file. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Dead Men's Song, by Champion Ingraham Hitchcock + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEAD MEN'S SONG *** + +***** This file should be named 19273.txt or 19273.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/2/7/19273/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, David Newman and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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