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.Mark looked up above Ruth's trembling golden head."You were able to defeat them," he said."Youknew music would hold them back.""No, I nair rightly knew that." The big hand swept a melody from the silver string."I hoped it, was all,and the hope wasn't vain."230 Manly Wade WellmanMark held out a shaking hand."We'll never be able to thank you, Mr. I don't even know your name.""My name's John." "John what?" Mark asked."Just call me John."Where Did She Wander?1 hat gravelly old road ran betwixt high rocks and twiny-branched trees.I tramped with my pack andsilver-strung guitar past a big old dornick rock, wide as a bureau, with words chopped in with a chisel:THIS GRAVE DUG FORBECKY TIL HOPPARDHUNG BY THE TRUDO FOLKSAUG THE 12 18 & 49 WE WILL REMEMBER YOUAnd flowers piled round.Blue chicory and mountain mint and turtlehead, fresh as that morning.Iwondered about them and walked on, three-four miles to the old county seat named Trudo, where I'd bepicking and singing at their festival that night.The town square had three-four stores and some cabin-built houses, a six-room auto court, a jail and courthouse and all like that At the auto court stood Luns Lamar, the banjo man who was run-ning thefestival, in white shirt and string tie.His bristly hair was still soot-black, and he wore no glasses.Didn'tneed them, for all his long years."I knew you far down the street, John," he hailed me."Long, tall, with the wide hat and jeans and yourguitar.All that come tonight will have heard tell of you.And they'll want you to sing songs theyrecollect 'Vandy, Vandy,"Dream True,' those ones.""Sure enough, Mr.Luns," I said."Look, what do you know about Becky Til Hoppard's grave backyonder?"232 Manly Wade WellmanHe squinted, slanty-eyed."Come into this room I took for us, and I'll tell you what I know of the tale."Inside, he fetched out a fruit jar of blockade whiskey and we each of us had a whet."Surprised youdon't know about her," said Mr.Luns."She was the second woman to get hung in this state, and it wasn'tthe true law did it.It was folks thought life in prison wasn't the right call on her.They strung her up in thesquare yonder, where we'll sing tonight."We sipped and he talked.Becky Til Hoppard was a beauty of a girl with strange, dark ways.JuniusWorral went up to her cabin to court her and didn't come back, and the law found his teeth and beltbuckle in her fireplace ashes; and when the judge said just prison for life, a bunch of the folks busted intothe jail and took her out and strung her to a white oak tree.When she started to say something, herdaddy was there and he hollered.'Die with your secret, Becky!' and she hushed and died with it,whatever it was.""How came her to be buried right yonder?" I asked him."That Hoppard set was strange-wayed," said Mr.Luns."Her fa-ther and mother and brothers put herthere.They had dug the hole during the trial and set up the rock and cut the words into it, then set out forother places.Isaiah Hoppard, the father, died when he was cutting a tree and it fell onto him.The motherwas bit by a mountain rattler and died screaming.Her brother, Harrison, went to Kentucky and got killedstealing hogs.Otway, the youngest brother, fell at Chancellorsville in the Civil War.""Then the family was wiped out.""No," and he shook his head again."Otway had married and had children, who grew up and hadchildren, too.I reckon Hoppards live hereabouts in this day and time.Have you heard the Becky TilHoppard song?""No, but I'd sure enough like to."He sang some verses, and I picked along on my silver strings and sang along with him.It was alonesome tune, sounded like old-country bagpipes."I doubt if many folks know that song today," he said at last."It's reckoned to be unlucky.Let's go eatsome supper and then start the show."john the balladeer 233They'd set up bleachers in the courthouse square for maybe a couple thousand.Mr.Luns announcedact after act.Obray Ramsey was there with near about the best banjo-picking in the known world, andTom Hunter with near about the best country fiddling.The audience clapped after the different numbers,especially for a dance team that seemed to have wings on their shoes.Likewise for a gold-haired girlnamed Rilla something, who picked pretty on a zither, something you don't often hear in these mountains.When it came my turn, I did the songs Mr.Luns had named, and the people clapped so loud for morethat I decided to try the Becky Til Hoppard song.So I struck a chord and began:Becky Til Hoppard, as sweet as a dove, Where did she wander, and who did shelove?Right off, the crowd went still as death.I sang:Becky Til Hoppard, and where can she be?Rope round her neck, swung up high on the tree.And that deathly silence continued as I did the rest of it:On Monday she was charged, on Tuesday she was tried,By the laws of her country she had to abide.If I knew where she lay, to her side I would go,Round sweet Becky's grave pretty flowers I would straw.When I was done, not a clap, not a voice.I went off the little stage, wondering to myself about it.After the show, Rilla, the zither girl, came to my room to talk."Folks here think it's unlucky to sing that Becky Hoppard song, John," she said."Even to hark at it.""I seem to have done wrong," I said."I didn't know.""Well, those Hoppards are a right odd lot.Barely come into town except to buy supplies.And theytake pay for curing sickness and making spells to win court cases.They're strong on that kind of thing.""Who made the song?" I asked.234 Manly Wade Wellman"They say it was sung back yonder by some man who was crazy for Becky Til Hoppard, and shenever even looked his way.None of the Hoppard blood likes it, nor either the Worral blood.I know,because I'm Worral blood myself.""Can you tell me the tale?" I inquired."Have some of this block-ade.Mr.Luns left it in here, and it'sgood.""I do thank you." She took a ladylike sip."All I know is what my oldest folks told me.BeckyHoppard was a witch-girl, the pure quill of the article.Did all sorts of spells.Junius Worral reckoned towin her with a love charm.""What love charm?" I asked, because such things interest me."I've heard tell she let him have her handkerchief, and he did something with it.Went to the Hoppardcabin, and that's the last was seen of him alive.Or dead, either he was all burnt up except his buckleand teeth.""The song's about flowers at her grave," I said."I saw some there.""Folks do that, to turn bad luck away."I tweaked my silver guitar strings."Where's the Hoppard place?""Up hill, right near the grave.A broken-off locust tree there points to the path.I hope I've told youthings that'll keep you from going there.""You've told me things that make me to want to go [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Mark looked up above Ruth's trembling golden head."You were able to defeat them," he said."Youknew music would hold them back.""No, I nair rightly knew that." The big hand swept a melody from the silver string."I hoped it, was all,and the hope wasn't vain."230 Manly Wade WellmanMark held out a shaking hand."We'll never be able to thank you, Mr. I don't even know your name.""My name's John." "John what?" Mark asked."Just call me John."Where Did She Wander?1 hat gravelly old road ran betwixt high rocks and twiny-branched trees.I tramped with my pack andsilver-strung guitar past a big old dornick rock, wide as a bureau, with words chopped in with a chisel:THIS GRAVE DUG FORBECKY TIL HOPPARDHUNG BY THE TRUDO FOLKSAUG THE 12 18 & 49 WE WILL REMEMBER YOUAnd flowers piled round.Blue chicory and mountain mint and turtlehead, fresh as that morning.Iwondered about them and walked on, three-four miles to the old county seat named Trudo, where I'd bepicking and singing at their festival that night.The town square had three-four stores and some cabin-built houses, a six-room auto court, a jail and courthouse and all like that At the auto court stood Luns Lamar, the banjo man who was run-ning thefestival, in white shirt and string tie.His bristly hair was still soot-black, and he wore no glasses.Didn'tneed them, for all his long years."I knew you far down the street, John," he hailed me."Long, tall, with the wide hat and jeans and yourguitar.All that come tonight will have heard tell of you.And they'll want you to sing songs theyrecollect 'Vandy, Vandy,"Dream True,' those ones.""Sure enough, Mr.Luns," I said."Look, what do you know about Becky Til Hoppard's grave backyonder?"232 Manly Wade WellmanHe squinted, slanty-eyed."Come into this room I took for us, and I'll tell you what I know of the tale."Inside, he fetched out a fruit jar of blockade whiskey and we each of us had a whet."Surprised youdon't know about her," said Mr.Luns."She was the second woman to get hung in this state, and it wasn'tthe true law did it.It was folks thought life in prison wasn't the right call on her.They strung her up in thesquare yonder, where we'll sing tonight."We sipped and he talked.Becky Til Hoppard was a beauty of a girl with strange, dark ways.JuniusWorral went up to her cabin to court her and didn't come back, and the law found his teeth and beltbuckle in her fireplace ashes; and when the judge said just prison for life, a bunch of the folks busted intothe jail and took her out and strung her to a white oak tree.When she started to say something, herdaddy was there and he hollered.'Die with your secret, Becky!' and she hushed and died with it,whatever it was.""How came her to be buried right yonder?" I asked him."That Hoppard set was strange-wayed," said Mr.Luns."Her fa-ther and mother and brothers put herthere.They had dug the hole during the trial and set up the rock and cut the words into it, then set out forother places.Isaiah Hoppard, the father, died when he was cutting a tree and it fell onto him.The motherwas bit by a mountain rattler and died screaming.Her brother, Harrison, went to Kentucky and got killedstealing hogs.Otway, the youngest brother, fell at Chancellorsville in the Civil War.""Then the family was wiped out.""No," and he shook his head again."Otway had married and had children, who grew up and hadchildren, too.I reckon Hoppards live hereabouts in this day and time.Have you heard the Becky TilHoppard song?""No, but I'd sure enough like to."He sang some verses, and I picked along on my silver strings and sang along with him.It was alonesome tune, sounded like old-country bagpipes."I doubt if many folks know that song today," he said at last."It's reckoned to be unlucky.Let's go eatsome supper and then start the show."john the balladeer 233They'd set up bleachers in the courthouse square for maybe a couple thousand.Mr.Luns announcedact after act.Obray Ramsey was there with near about the best banjo-picking in the known world, andTom Hunter with near about the best country fiddling.The audience clapped after the different numbers,especially for a dance team that seemed to have wings on their shoes.Likewise for a gold-haired girlnamed Rilla something, who picked pretty on a zither, something you don't often hear in these mountains.When it came my turn, I did the songs Mr.Luns had named, and the people clapped so loud for morethat I decided to try the Becky Til Hoppard song.So I struck a chord and began:Becky Til Hoppard, as sweet as a dove, Where did she wander, and who did shelove?Right off, the crowd went still as death.I sang:Becky Til Hoppard, and where can she be?Rope round her neck, swung up high on the tree.And that deathly silence continued as I did the rest of it:On Monday she was charged, on Tuesday she was tried,By the laws of her country she had to abide.If I knew where she lay, to her side I would go,Round sweet Becky's grave pretty flowers I would straw.When I was done, not a clap, not a voice.I went off the little stage, wondering to myself about it.After the show, Rilla, the zither girl, came to my room to talk."Folks here think it's unlucky to sing that Becky Hoppard song, John," she said."Even to hark at it.""I seem to have done wrong," I said."I didn't know.""Well, those Hoppards are a right odd lot.Barely come into town except to buy supplies.And theytake pay for curing sickness and making spells to win court cases.They're strong on that kind of thing.""Who made the song?" I asked.234 Manly Wade Wellman"They say it was sung back yonder by some man who was crazy for Becky Til Hoppard, and shenever even looked his way.None of the Hoppard blood likes it, nor either the Worral blood.I know,because I'm Worral blood myself.""Can you tell me the tale?" I inquired."Have some of this block-ade.Mr.Luns left it in here, and it'sgood.""I do thank you." She took a ladylike sip."All I know is what my oldest folks told me.BeckyHoppard was a witch-girl, the pure quill of the article.Did all sorts of spells.Junius Worral reckoned towin her with a love charm.""What love charm?" I asked, because such things interest me."I've heard tell she let him have her handkerchief, and he did something with it.Went to the Hoppardcabin, and that's the last was seen of him alive.Or dead, either he was all burnt up except his buckleand teeth.""The song's about flowers at her grave," I said."I saw some there.""Folks do that, to turn bad luck away."I tweaked my silver guitar strings."Where's the Hoppard place?""Up hill, right near the grave.A broken-off locust tree there points to the path.I hope I've told youthings that'll keep you from going there.""You've told me things that make me to want to go [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]