Cowboy Songs, and Other Frontier Ballads

Concerning a young river man, so manly, true and brave;
'Twas on a jam at Gerry's Rock he met his watery grave;

'Twas on a Sunday morning as you will quickly hear,
Our logs were piled up mountain high, we could not keep them clear.
Our foreman said, "Come on, brave boys, with hearts devoid of fear,
We'll break the jam on Gerry's Rock and for Agonstown we'll steer."

Now, some of them were willing, while others they were not,
All for to work on Sunday they did not think they ought;
But six of our brave shanty boys had volunteered to go
And break the jam on Gerry's Rock with their foreman, young Monroe.

They had not rolled off many logs 'till they heard his clear voice say,
"I'd have you boys be on your guard, for the jam will soon give way."
These words he'd scarcely spoken when the jam did break and go,
Taking with it six of those brave boys and their foreman, young Monroe.

Now when those other shanty boys this sad news came to hear,
In search of their dead comrades to the river they did steer;
Six of their mangled bodies a-floating down did go,
While crushed and bleeding near the banks lay the foreman, young Monroe.

They took him from his watery grave, brushed back his raven hair;
There was a fair form among them whose cries did rend the air;
There was a fair form among them, a girl from Saginaw town.
Whose cries rose to the skies for her lover who'd gone down.

Fair Clara was a noble girl, the river-man's true friend;
She and her widowed mother lived at the river's bend;
And the wages of her own true love the boss to her did pay,
But the shanty boys for her made up a generous sum next day.

They buried him quite decently; 'twas on the first of May;
Come all you brave young shanty boys and for your comrade pray.
Engraved upon the hemlock tree that by the grave does grow
Is the aged date and the sad fate of the foreman, young Monroe.

Fair Clara did not long survive, her heart broke with her grief;
And less than three months afterwards Death came to her relief;
And when the time had come and she was called to go,
Her last request was granted, to be laid by young Monroe.

Come all you brave young shanty boys, I'd have you call and see
Two green graves by the river side where grows a hemlock tree;
The shanty boys cut off the wood where lay those lovers low,—
'Tis the handsome Clara Vernon and her true love, Jack Monroe.

THE DREARY BLACK HILLS

Kind friends, you must pity my horrible tale,
I am an object of pity, I am looking quite stale,
I gave up my trade selling Right's Patent Pills
To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills.

Don't go away, stay at home if you can,
Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne,
For big Walipe or Comanche Bills
They will lift up your hair on the dreary Black Hills.

The round-house in Cheyenne is filled every night
With loafers and bummers of most every plight;
On their backs is no clothes, in their pockets no bills,
Each day they keep starting for the dreary Black Hills.

I got to Cheyenne, no gold could I find,
I thought of the lunch route I'd left far behind;
Through rain, hail, and snow, frozen plumb to the gills,—
They call me the orphan of the dreary Black Hills.

Kind friend, to conclude, my advice I'll unfold,
Don't go to the Black Hills a-hunting for gold;
Railroad speculators their pockets you'll fill
By taking a trip to those dreary Black Hills.

Don't go away, stay at home if you can,
Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne,
For old Sitting Bull or Comanche Bills
They will take off your scalp on the dreary Black Hills.

A MORMON SONG

I used to live on Cottonwood and owned a little farm,
I was called upon a mission that gave me much alarm;
The reason that they called me, I'm sure I do not know.
But to hoe the cane and cotton, straightway I must go.

I yoked up Jim and Baldy, all ready for the start;
To leave my farm and garden, it almost broke my heart;
But at last we got started, I cast a look behind,
For the sand and rocks of Dixie were running through my mind.

Now, when we got to Black Ridge, my wagon it broke down,
And I, being no carpenter and forty miles from town,—
I cut a clumsy cedar and rigged an awkward slide,
But the wagon ran so heavy poor Betsy couldn't ride.

While Betsy was out walking I told her to take care,
When all of a sudden she struck a prickly pear,
Then she began to hollow as loud as she could bawl,—