 | XIX.
THE SONG OF “NOTHIN' SHORTER.” The Squibob papers |  |
19. XIX.
THE SONG OF “NOTHIN' SHORTER.”
BY H. W. TALLBOY.
I transmit to you a heroic poem, the production
of the author, Mr. H. Wadding Tallboy, which it
strikes me any one might have waited to read, six
months at least, and probably longer, with satisfaction
and advantage. Several friends of mine, who
have had a sly peep at the manuscript, declare that
“this quaint legend is told with exquisite grace,
sweetness, and power!” and I trust you will be
of their opinion. You will perceive the moral is
excellent, and the general tone unexceptionable;
nothing in fact being introduced which could bring
a blush upon the cheek of the most fastidious.
The main incidents are facts; and thus woven together
191
to dwell upon.
At the Mission of Dolores,
Near the town of San Francisco,
Dwelt an ancient Digger Indian
Who supported his existence
Doing “chores” and running errands,
(When he “got more kicks than coppers.”)
He was old and gaunt and ghostly,
And they called him “Step-and-fetch-it.”
Old and grim and ghostly was he,
Yet he had a lovely daughter,
Sweet and budding, though not blushing,
For her skin was kinder tawny,
So she really could'nt do it.
But she was a “gushing creature,”
And her springing step so fawn-like
“Knocked the hind sights” off the daughters
Of the usurers consequential,
Who in buggies ride, important,
Rattling past the lonely toll-gate.
Yes, a sweet and fairy creature
Was old “Step-and-fetch-it's” daughter,
And her name was “Tipsydoosen,”
Or ye young grass-hopper eater!
Near the town of San Francisco,
Dwelt an ancient Digger Indian
Who supported his existence
Doing “chores” and running errands,
(When he “got more kicks than coppers.”)
He was old and gaunt and ghostly,
And they called him “Step-and-fetch-it.”
Old and grim and ghostly was he,
Yet he had a lovely daughter,
Sweet and budding, though not blushing,
For her skin was kinder tawny,
So she really could'nt do it.
But she was a “gushing creature,”
And her springing step so fawn-like
“Knocked the hind sights” off the daughters
Of the usurers consequential,
Who in buggies ride, important,
Rattling past the lonely toll-gate.
Yes, a sweet and fairy creature
Was old “Step-and-fetch-it's” daughter,
And her name was “Tipsydoosen,”
Or ye young grass-hopper eater!
192
Should you ask me whence this story,
Whence this legend and tradition?
I should answer, “That's my business;
And were I to go and tell you,
You would know as much as I do.”
Should you ask who heard this story,
This queer story, wild and wayward?
I should answer, I should tell you,
All the California people,
Pipes of Pipesville, King of William,
Jones and Cohen, Kean Buchanan,
And Miss Heron, sweet as sugar;
And the Chinese, eating birds'-nests,
Well they know old “Step-and-fetch-it.”
Near a grocery at the Mission,
Step-and-fetch-it and his daughter
In the sun were once reclining.
Near them lay a whiskey-bottle,
Mighty little was there in it,
For the old man's thirst consuming
Caused that fluid to evaporate.
In his hand old `Step-and-fetch-it”
Held a big chunk of boiled salmon,
And as fish, bones, all he bolted,
Wagged from side to side his visage,
And with moans, strange, wild, portentous,
Whence this legend and tradition?
I should answer, “That's my business;
And were I to go and tell you,
You would know as much as I do.”
Should you ask who heard this story,
This queer story, wild and wayward?
I should answer, I should tell you,
All the California people,
Pipes of Pipesville, King of William,
Jones and Cohen, Kean Buchanan,
And Miss Heron, sweet as sugar;
And the Chinese, eating birds'-nests,
Well they know old “Step-and-fetch-it.”
Near a grocery at the Mission,
Step-and-fetch-it and his daughter
In the sun were once reclining.
Near them lay a whiskey-bottle,
Mighty little was there in it,
For the old man's thirst consuming
Caused that fluid to evaporate.
In his hand old `Step-and-fetch-it”
Held a big chunk of boiled salmon,
And as fish, bones, all he bolted,
Wagged from side to side his visage,
And with moans, strange, wild, portentous,
193
Sung the song of “Nothin' Shorter,”
Accompanied by Tipsydoosen,
In four sharps, upon the Jew's-harp.
“Twang a diddle, twang a diddle
Twang a diddle, twang a diddle,
Twang, Twang, Twang, Tum!”
“Nothin' Shorter” was a “digger;”
So am I, and nothin' shorter;
(Thus he sang, old “Step-and-fetch-it,”)
And he lived upon the mountains,
Dug his roots and pulled the acorns,
And the rich grass-hoppers roasted.
Happy was he, bold and fearless,
Had no troubles to molest him,
Had no fleas upon his blanket,
For in fact he had'nt got one.
“But one morning gazing earthward,”
He beheld a pond of water
Which he forthwith fell in love with,
And the pond reciprocated.
And they loved each other fondly,
Happy long they were together.
Twang a diddle, twang a diddle,
Twang! Twang! Twang!
Accompanied by Tipsydoosen,
In four sharps, upon the Jew's-harp.
“Twang a diddle, twang a diddle
Twang a diddle, twang a diddle,
Twang, Twang, Twang, Tum!”
“Nothin' Shorter” was a “digger;”
So am I, and nothin' shorter;
(Thus he sang, old “Step-and-fetch-it,”)
And he lived upon the mountains,
Dug his roots and pulled the acorns,
And the rich grass-hoppers roasted.
Happy was he, bold and fearless,
Had no troubles to molest him,
Had no fleas upon his blanket,
For in fact he had'nt got one.
“But one morning gazing earthward,”
He beheld a pond of water
Which he forthwith fell in love with,
And the pond reciprocated.
And they loved each other fondly,
Happy long they were together.
Twang a diddle, twang a diddle,
Twang! Twang! Twang!
194
Yes, the pond loved “Nothin' Shorter,
Every day she bathed his forehead,
Gave him drink when he was thirsty,
Would have washed him well all over,
Only that would take the dirt off,
And the grease, and yellow ochre,
In which his very soul delighted.
But “they lived and loved together;”
Yes, they lived and loved together
(An original expression)
Till the sun, with fever scorching,
Caused the little pond to “dry up.”
Then was “Nothin' Shorter” angry.
Loud he howled, and tore his breech-cloth.
And with fury shrieked and danced,
As on the sun he poured his curses.
And he cried, “O Scallewagger!”
Which is the Indian name for sun, “Sir,
You have been, and gone, and done it.
It was you dried up my sweet-heart,
Killed the beauteous Muddybottom,
You confess it; you confess it.”
And he saw the sun wink at him,
As if to say he felt glad of it.
Then up started “Nothin' Shorter,”
And making quick a pair of mittens
Out of willow-bark and rushes,
Every day she bathed his forehead,
Gave him drink when he was thirsty,
Would have washed him well all over,
Only that would take the dirt off,
And the grease, and yellow ochre,
In which his very soul delighted.
But “they lived and loved together;”
Yes, they lived and loved together
(An original expression)
Till the sun, with fever scorching,
Caused the little pond to “dry up.”
Then was “Nothin' Shorter” angry.
Loud he howled, and tore his breech-cloth.
And with fury shrieked and danced,
As on the sun he poured his curses.
And he cried, “O Scallewagger!”
Which is the Indian name for sun, “Sir,
You have been, and gone, and done it.
It was you dried up my sweet-heart,
Killed the beauteous Muddybottom,
You confess it; you confess it.”
And he saw the sun wink at him,
As if to say he felt glad of it.
Then up started “Nothin' Shorter,”
And making quick a pair of mittens
Out of willow-bark and rushes,
195
With them rent a crag asunder,
Rent a jutting crag asunder,
And, picking up the scattered pieces,
Hurled them at the sun in vengeance,
And so fast the rocks kept flying
That the air was nearly darkened
And obscured, so “Nothin' Shorter”
Could not see but what he hit it.
So he ran and kept on throwing
Stones and dirt, and other missiles,
Till the sun, which kept retreating,
Got alarmed at his persistence,
And behind the western mountains
Hid his recreant head in terror.
But the last rock “Nothin' Shorter”
Threw, fell back on his “cabeza,”
And produced a comminuted
Fracture of the cerebellum.
“Twang a diddle, twang a diddle,
Twang, Twang, tum.”
For some time poor “Nothin' Shorter'
Lay upon the earth quite senseless,
Till a small exploring party
Under Colonel John C. Fremont,
Picked him up and fixed his bruises,
Rent a jutting crag asunder,
And, picking up the scattered pieces,
Hurled them at the sun in vengeance,
And so fast the rocks kept flying
That the air was nearly darkened
And obscured, so “Nothin' Shorter”
Could not see but what he hit it.
So he ran and kept on throwing
Stones and dirt, and other missiles,
Till the sun, which kept retreating,
Got alarmed at his persistence,
And behind the western mountains
Hid his recreant head in terror.
But the last rock “Nothin' Shorter”
Threw, fell back on his “cabeza,”
And produced a comminuted
Fracture of the cerebellum.
“Twang a diddle, twang a diddle,
Twang, Twang, tum.”
For some time poor “Nothin' Shorter'
Lay upon the earth quite senseless,
Till a small exploring party
Under Colonel John C. Fremont,
Picked him up and fixed his bruises,
196
Put on “Dalley's pain-extractor,
And some liquid opodeldoc.
When relieved, though sorely shattered,
He sat up, upon his haunches,
And to Fremont told his story.
Gravely listened that young savan,
Wrote it down upon his note-book,
Had old Preuss to make a drawing
Representing “Nothin' Shorter”
Throwing boulders; then he gave him
An old blanket and a beef-bone,
And when he asked him for a quarter,
Told him to go unto the Devil.
But far away in eastern cities
Fremont told that tale of wonder;
And a certain famous poet
Heard it all and saw the picture,
Wrote it out and had it printed
In one volume post octavo.
And I wish I had the money
For this song of “Nothin' Shorter.”
Twang a diddle, twang a diddle,
Twang! Twang! Twang!
At this juncture, Amos Johnson
Rushed tumultuously from his grocery.
And some liquid opodeldoc.
When relieved, though sorely shattered,
He sat up, upon his haunches,
And to Fremont told his story.
Gravely listened that young savan,
Wrote it down upon his note-book,
Had old Preuss to make a drawing
Representing “Nothin' Shorter”
Throwing boulders; then he gave him
An old blanket and a beef-bone,
And when he asked him for a quarter,
Told him to go unto the Devil.
But far away in eastern cities
Fremont told that tale of wonder;
And a certain famous poet
Heard it all and saw the picture,
Wrote it out and had it printed
In one volume post octavo.
And I wish I had the money
For this song of “Nothin' Shorter.”
Twang a diddle, twang a diddle,
Twang! Twang! Twang!
At this juncture, Amos Johnson
Rushed tumultuously from his grocery.
197
Crying, “Dern your Indian uproar;
Stop that noise and `dry up' quickly,
Or, by the Eternal Jingo!
Pll —” here he saw Miss Tipsydoosen,
And the heart of Amos caved in,
As afterward he told Miss Stebbins
That she “just completely knocked him.”
Why should I continue longer?
“Gentiles,” well ye know the sequer,
How the bright-eyed Tipsydoosen,
Now is Mrs. Amos Johnson;
Wears gipure, and old point laces,
And wont visit Mrs. Hodgkins,
'Cause her husband once made harness.
Yes, a leader of the fashion
Now is “Young Grasshopper-Eater,”
And the ancient “Step-and-fetch-it”
Has a residence at “Johnson's;”
In the back-yard an umbrella
Stuck for his accommodation,
Where he sleeps and dreams fair visions
Of the days of “Nothin' Shorter;”
And the moral of my tale is,
“To be virtuous and be happy.”
Stop that noise and `dry up' quickly,
Or, by the Eternal Jingo!
Pll —” here he saw Miss Tipsydoosen,
And the heart of Amos caved in,
As afterward he told Miss Stebbins
That she “just completely knocked him.”
Why should I continue longer?
“Gentiles,” well ye know the sequer,
How the bright-eyed Tipsydoosen,
Now is Mrs. Amos Johnson;
Wears gipure, and old point laces,
And wont visit Mrs. Hodgkins,
'Cause her husband once made harness.
Yes, a leader of the fashion
Now is “Young Grasshopper-Eater,”
And the ancient “Step-and-fetch-it”
Has a residence at “Johnson's;”
In the back-yard an umbrella
Stuck for his accommodation,
Where he sleeps and dreams fair visions
Of the days of “Nothin' Shorter;”
And the moral of my tale is,
“To be virtuous and be happy.”
| XIX.
THE SONG OF “NOTHIN' SHORTER.” The Squibob papers | |