The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Dance of Dinwiddie, by Marshall Moreton

The Dance of Dinwiddie

There the dancers had come on the evening before.

The Dance of Dinwiddie

BY
MARSHALL MORETON

STEWART & KIDD COMPANY
PUBLISHERS CINCINNATI

COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY
MARSHALL MORETON

The Dance of Dinwiddie

A HOUSE and a barn on an acre of ground—

And there wasn’t another of either around

Save the houses afloat that went flying apast,

For the waters had closed all around them at last.

There the dancers had come on the ev’ning before

In their high-seated wagon—a full score or more,

With fiddlers and one they called “Oracle,” who

Was a modern Sebastian Cerezo, and knew

(About dancing and things) more than any one ’round

In the house or the barn on the acre of ground.

’Twas at the great bend near the town of Dinwiddie

On the banks of the river Ohio, and giddy,

The gay, dizzy dance, like a far-away echo,

Seems laughing to me of a time long ago,

In the merry round waltz and the songs for the reels,

In the “Oracle’s” rhymes that were slicker than eels,

And the snug little town whence the dancers had come

On the evening before to the old country home,

Is as fresh to my mind as the tall trees around

The frame house and the barn on the acre of ground.

There the tall trees are standing, still standing alone

Like sentinels now, and are now taller grown,

Where once was the homestead. How often I’m told

By the boatmen who traveled the river of old,

That they never can pass round the great sweeping bend

But the dance is recalled, and they think of the end

That so suddenly came to the cherished old place;

They note the tall trees as its last lingering trace—

Their long branches waving as if in a trance

From a waltz they had caught on the night of the dance.

There often the town folks, still curious, stray

To look o’er the place on a summery day,

Recounting the story when nearing the sight,

And some one will tell of the dance of that night,

Of the dancers who came there that evening before—

Not thinking the river could rise any more—

Will sing the reel songs and will point to the place

Where once stood the house on that now crumbling base

When caught in the flood on that night without warning

To the dancers within till the dawn of the morning.

’Twas a house of firm structure, but fashioned quite plain,

With its hallway, its rooms and a roof ’gainst the rain,

With a story below and a story above,

And the rooms were all ample and wide; but the love

For the house was of measure far more than its worth.

’Twas the mem’ries that ever recurred for its hearth

That made it so precious. I love to recall

The long row of windows, the doorway and hall,

And fondly thought lingers—in fancy I see

The trees that seem nodding and laughing to me.

The farm swept the valley to right and to left

For a mile to the hill where the quarry was cleft.

From the house to the hill it was level and low,

And oft in the spring-time the flood-tide would grow

Till the back-waters covered the fields at their will,

But they lay there as peaceful and placid and still

As the mountain lakes seem, then, as if in a dream,

They would gently recede as they followed the stream;

And the house and the barn that were built on a mound

Overlooked the great river and all of the ground.

’Twas Twilleger’s farm. It was Twilleger’s way

To give a big dance and be joyous and gay

In the early spring season. It did his soul good

To gather around him the whole neighborhood;

For Twilley (they called him) had ways of his own,

And except a few servants, he lived quite alone.

In the early spring season, when cider grows harder,

He would stock up his cellar and also his larder,

And then would invite the gay dancers to come

From out of the town to the old country home.

For a week, ere the night of the dance, a high tide

Of water had covered the farm to the side

Of a road running out from the house to the hill.

’Twas receding, they said—it was even and still.

Yet the sky had been sullen and surcharged with rain,

And there was an unrest at the threatening gain

Of the waters that leaped o’er the banks at the shore

To a point that was higher than known of before,

For the early spring thaw of the deep-lying snow

In the mountains augmented the high overflow.

They were coming, were coming.

But the clear sky it left when the sun had declined

On the eve of the dance reassured every mind.

How balmy and sweet was the evening! How fair

Was the face of all nature that smiled everywhere!

Far out on the highway their voices rang clear

As the dancers were coming with song and a cheer

In their wagon that rumbled along with its load.

They were coming, were coming far down on the road,

And to meet them, away ran the great baying hound

To lead them down home to the acre of ground.

There the dancers were welcomed by Twilley soon after,

Where they filled all the rooms with a chatter and laughter.

Their sparkling bright eyes showed their fine healthy thriving,

And joyous and mirthful, their wits were soon striving,

And many sly banters and rail’ries were given

To lovers, that were in turn back again driven,

For some of them loved to be told of their love,

Whilst others were shy and as mild as a dove,

And just as soft-cooing—to some there’s a pleasure

In hiding their love as the birds hide their treasure.

Now most of the women who came from the town

Were sweetly suburban in manner and gown,

Though none the less merry or jauntily gay,

Whilst some were profuse in a brilliant display.

Selina! Selina was there! Were there ever

Such eyes as Selina’s? No wonder the river

Crept higher and higher to bask in the light

Of her dark, rolling eyes. No wonder that night

That the stars faded fast and from envy withdrew,

For her eyes were far brighter—they every one knew.

Ah, the runaway laugh of Louisa still rings

Like a merry and lingering echo. It brings

Recollections of pink-glowing cheeks, and a girl

Whose fun-loving spell set the house in a whirl,

As her laughter ran riot and touched everywhere,

Till Amanda, the chaperon, with dignified air

And a fine, arching brow, was compelled to unbend

And to follow the frivolous, frolicsome trend

Of a something she knew not—she wasn’t half sure

If she laughed with Louisa or just at her laughter.

But ’tis needless to point all their feminine graces,

Or with blund’ring endeavor to profile their faces,

For every one knows where the prodigal nature

Once lavished the rarest of all of her treasure;

Where she hung the steep hill in a moment of leisure,

And dreamed the sweet valleys with lingering pleasure;

She smiled, and the streamlets will run there forever

And yield their full measure to form the great river;

But how void were the hills and the valleys and waters,

Till she brought there the fairest of all of her daughters.

All the beauties were there from the strath-haven town,

And some were so queenly they lacked but the crown;

And the men, while of no very special great talent,

There was yet a lieutenant with airs that were gallant.

There was also a wit who was quite proud of it,

Who teased an old bachelor—not sociable a bit,

For love so absorbed him he smiled and was mute,

While Malinda just laughed and encouraged his suit,

Till the heart of the bachelor grew light as a feather,

And he and Malinda drew closer together.

And even the cynical Simon was won

As the chatter of dancers went merrily on,

Till once he laughed loudly and ever so jolly—

’Twas all on account of the popular Polly.

Tim Dolor, the bashful, was quite at his ease,

And every one there seemed as easy to please,

And every face beamed with a broadening smile

That broke into ripples of laughter the while,

As the men chose their partners some time in advance

Of the fiddles that had to be tuned for the dance.

Ah, the little sly glances that gave the love-token,

The soft-whispered words by the fond lovers spoken.

Whilst some were coquetting by way of diversion,

There were others inclined to an earnest assertion,

As around through the rooms and the halls they would ramble;

The Bold Roland Rare in a light-footed amble,

With an air of a fine condescending compassion,

Gave the latest new step that had come into fashion;

And some fell to giving and guessing new riddles

While the fumbling old fiddlers were fixing their fiddles.

Twice, thrice, had the band leader sprung to his feet

To call for attention, while deftly he beat

On the back of his fiddle, then drew a swift bow

’Crost its sensitive strings that the players might know

’Twas time to begin, but a fiddle-string snapped

And put things awry every time that he rapped;

Then tuning and strumming would vie with the horn

That was screeching a monotone strange and forlorn,

While Cupid accepted the timely delay

To lead the fond lovers aside and away.

And meanwhile the “Oracle” wrote some new rhymes

For the dances. Said he, “I write better at times.

My old rhymes were good, to be sure, some were fine,

Very fine—you could hardly find fault with a line.

On occasions like this, I write new ones,” said he,

“For everything here is inspiring to me.

I can write of the things that I see on the spot,

And the dancers will notice that when I take thought,

I just leap upon Pegasus, speed him along,

Till my fancies go rhyming and turn to a song.

“I’m a very great poet, as every one knows.

See how dreamy I look, and how long my hair grows.

I talk in a rhythm that’s classical, too.

’Twere a marvel to tell all the things I can do.

I can dance every jig of the day or tradition,

But while dancing alone is my greatest ambition,

I often indulge in the light recreation

Of keeping the river at just its right station,

So that floods at Dinwiddie occasion no worry—

I have them subside when they get o’er their flurry.”

’Twas a story oft told, though it hardly deceived,

That the “Oracle” could—which he doubtless believed—

Make the rising Ohio floods quickly subside

When he stretched forth his hand and commanded the tide.

’Twas a great feat of magic, and if he seemed vain,

His pride was forgiven again and again,

For as often as flood-waters threatened the town,

It was well understood why the tide had gone down;

And for his dance-calling and mystical lore,

His neighbors yclept him the title he bore.

All were merry that night. They proceeded to tear

Up the carpets and rugs so the floor would be bare

For quadrilles and the reels that they all loved so well;

And the lovers who danced—but there’s no use to dwell

Upon that, for all lovers are happy who dance

To the music and whirl with a dizzy side glance.

So the “Oracle” called from a platform to stand on,

And they danced to his rhymes with a heedless abandon,

While the waters were leaving an Island becrowned

With a house and a barn on an acre of ground.

(The Oracle Calls.)

And bend the knee in courtesy

To sweethearts and your lovers true;

Next two, with lilting gayety,

The center glide away; now you

May nimbly trip back to your place,

And balance all—the even time

Will bring you once more face to face

To listen to my “old-time” reeling rhyme.

Come hither, pretty maid and swain,

It is your turn; tiptoe with grace

Adown the center lover’s lane;

With easy turn once more to place,

And now obeisance make to all,

And sweethearts courtesy; with rhyme

And melody, Oh, hear my call

To dance around your “Oracle” this time.

Go flutter like the turtle bird,

Don’t try to fly—’twould be absurd.

To me there’s music in the chime

Of twinkling feet with even time.

Lieutenant Love, lead home thy dove,

(The flood is falling up above),

And have her bring an olive sprall

To prove the flood was but a waterfall.

(O, cynic Simon, have a care;

Twice have you jostled Roland Rare

With elbows angled in the air;

It seems that Polly’s witching face

Has so beguiled you with its grace

That you have lost your time and place.)

Fly low, my turtle doves, fly low;

To right and left and form the double row.

And bend the knee in courtesy,

(There was a sometime prophesy)

Your turn sweet bach, Malindy, too.

(And some have thought it would come true,

That floods would some day higher swell

To sweep the valley where we dwell).

Sweet bachelor, prance down the lane,

And with you bring Malindy home again.

And balance all—the even time

Will fill the measure to my rhyme.

(But when the floods shall see my wand,

Obedient to my one command,

They’ll very soon recede, you’ll find

As heretofore they have declined)

Once more, my cooing doves, once more

Go tell your love-lorn tales as round you soar.

They danced till the “Oracle” said they were through;

If he ran out of rhymes not a soul of them knew;

No one doubted at all he could go on forever,

And ev’ry one thought he was wondrously clever;

Then some one called out for the “Old Gallantry;”

“Oh! ‘The Sweet Harry Lee,’ let us dance ‘Harry Lee,’”

Then, they ev’ry one cried, for it fit their feet neatly

To dance, while it suited their voices completely;

They sang and they danced and there was a resound

That was everywhere heard on the acre of ground.

(The Sweet Harry Lee.)

Oh, have you seen Sweet Harry Lee

With airs so light and breezy,

And such a gentle courtesy

That seems so soft and easy?

He is so tall and straight and trim

With military talent,

And all the girls run after him,

Because he is so gallant.

For Harry is a soldier bold,

And he’s a great defender,