Uncle Horace was spending several days in our neighborhood, filling a whitewashing contract. Red River was past fording; he worked till late, and did not wish to risk the ferry after dark, so he “took time about,” as he called it, staying among the neighbors at night.
The night he spent on my father’s premises, I went after supper to Aunt Lucy’s house in the back yard, and asked him to tell me of a corn shucking before the war. He drew his chair up near the door, and began as follows:
“I think about the biggest corn shucking I ever went to was on Mr. Waters’ farm, between Mr. Billie Weatherford’s and Mr. John Powers’. Mr. Waters was a prosperous farmer, and a mighty fine man with it.
“It was about the last of November, and the corn was piled high in a lot back of the house.[48] I would suppose there were about fifty hands invited, white and colored. They went to work, and they worked, too, I tell you.
“Old gray headed men were invited, not to work, mind you, but to sit off to themselves and talk over good old times.
“The night was cool, and frosty, and a log fire was built for their benefit. What we called the best men of the county were there. Mr. Hatcher, Mr. Hiter, Mr. Wilcox, Mr. Thomas Shaw, Mr. John Powers, and Mr. Patrick McGowan. I remember Mr. McGowan and Mr. Shaw seemed to be particular friends. They came together and went away together.
“Mr. McGowan owned a yellow man named John, and he could beat anybody there shucking corn; he could also find more red ears than anybody else, and would laugh the merriest laughs when he found them, for a red ear meant an extra dram, you know. Some of the hands accused him of bringing along a few from Mr. McGowan’s corn crib, but I hardly think that was true, for when it came to honesty, John was as straight as a shingle.
“Charles, Mr. Waters’ wagoner, was the heap walker that night. Always at corn shuckings they picked out somebody with a clear, good voice to sing, and made them the heap walker.[49] He walked over and around the corn heap, and sang the corn song. Somehow, the hands seemed to forget they worked, when they sang, the time passed so pleasantly.
“Charles was what they called a quick witted smart fellow, and he could fit into his songs some of the funny sayings of the neighborhood, and make the people laugh amazingly. He would sing the verses alone, and the crowd would join in the chorus. The corn song went like this:
‘Ginn erway de corn boys, ginn erway de corn,
Done come here ternight, fer ter ginn erway de corn.
Corn, cor-n, cor-n, cor-n, corn fer de
Bell cow, corn fer de mule,
Ash cake fer de yaller gal,
Dat make you all er fool,
Corn, corn, corn, dear old Marser’s corn.’
“Then the chorus went:
‘Cor-n, cor-n, ginn erway de corn,
Gwine ter shuck it all dis night,
As sho’s yer bor-n, bor-n.’
“And bless your life, they were happy times, those good old corn shucking days before the war! Along about midnight, they changed up from the corn song to the dram song, and when that started up, the boys worked like steam[50] engines. As well as I can remember, here’s the way the dram song went:
‘Dram, dram, little drop er dram sir,
Dram, dram, fetch erlong de dram.
Come, come, little Mister Whiskey,
Nigger mighty thirsty, wants er little dram.’
“When the corn pile was finished up, Mr. Waters took off his hat, made a polite bow, and thanked the hands for their good work.
“Then he said: ‘I’ll give you something to warm up your throats,’ and hands the big jug around; but he had good judgment, and would not give them enough to make them drunk. When the last one had taken his dram, John McGowan, that same active yellow man, and one of the Sale colored boys, caught Mr. Waters up on their shoulders, and away they went to the house with him, the hands following behind, singing the corn song. They set him down on the front door steps.
“Mrs. Waters was out in the hall, and said she had not laughed as much since Christmas. We were invited out to the big log kitchen, and there on a long table was spread the feast of all feasts. Boiled ham, barbecued shoat, sweet potatoes, coffee, pumpkin pies, ginger cakes, and cider; and[51] when the supper was over, the young folks lit in to dancing. I didn’t care for dancing myself, so I sat around and talked to the sober-minded folks.
“It was an old saying, that day must never break on a corn shucking feast, or bad luck would fall on the next one. So before we broke up, the boys took Mr. Waters on their shoulders three times around the house, to the music of a good bye song. Just now I can’t exactly remember how that went, but it was a pretty tune.
“When we scattered out, each one going to his home, some up the road, down the road, and across the fields, the frosty night air rang with ‘Run, nigger run, patroler’l ketch you,’ etc.
“Of course I went to many other corn shucking frolics, but this one was the biggest I ever attended, not only this, but they had the best order I ever noticed.
“Well I’ve told you about a corn shucking before the war, and the next time I come back I’ll tell you of when the stars fell.”
“Tell me now,” I said, “something may happen that you will not come again soon; its not late, and you will have time to tell part of it any way.”
He looked serious and said, “Well I was not to say skeered, but it was certainly a solemn[52] time! I was twenty-one years old when it happened, and was sleeping up stairs in a cabin on Miss Nancy Carr’s farm. A pitiful noise waked me, and I bounced up and run down, and the wood-pile in front of the cabin door was full of stars!
“I said, ‘signs and wonders in the heavens’
“Mr. Bob Bellamy, from Kentucky, was working at Miss Nancy’s, and he seemed to think it was funny, the way the colored people prayed and shouted, thinking judgment day was at hand. We could hear them praying at Mr. Riah Grant’s home, as plain as if they were in our yard.
“Brother Martin Grant was a colored preacher, and a mighty good man; he tried to reason with them, and told them they were in the hands of the Lord, and He would deal right with them.
“The white folks did not seem to be much excited. The very religious ones prayed in secret, but they made no great noise; the excitement was mostly among the colored people, and the ignorant white folks.
“After daybreak, and it began to get light, the stars on the ground grew dim, and got dimmer, and dimmer, till the sun came up and they could not be seen at all. An old colored man living down on the Clarksville road rejoiced when he saw the sun rise, and said, ‘Thank God, I know[53] the world is all right now, for the sun is rising in the same place!’
“I think Brother Robin Northington (at that time a young man belonging to Mr. David Northington) made more noise than any colored person in the neighborhood. In his young days he was inclined to be wild, and when he thought judgment day had found him unprepared, it was time to make a noise.
“It always seemed strange to me that Brother Robin was so late coming into the church. He was eighty odd, when he joined Mount Zion last year.”
The writer witnessed Uncle Robin’s baptism in Sulphur Fork Creek, near Mount Zion Church; there were eighty candidates for baptism, and Uncle Horace had his son Altheus to perform the sacred rite.
On account of Uncle Robin’s advanced age, and a very remarkable experience he had related the day he joined the church, he seemed to be a central figure of the occasion, and all eyes were turned on him, as he stood trembling at the water’s edge, pleading, “Now Brer Carr, be perticular, and don’t you drown me!”
“Be quiet Brother Northington,” he said in his[54] characteristic dignified tone, “by the help of the Lord I will take you safely through; Brother Edwards and Brother Baldry are here to assist me and you need not fear.”
It was soon over, and his nervousness gave place to rejoicing. I don’t think I ever heard sweeter singing than went up from hundreds of colored worshippers on the hillsides surrounding Mount Zion Church, that lovely Sabbath morning, October, 1875.