The Book of Ballads Part 4

Then a hideous head was lifted, With such huge distended jaws, That they might have held Goliath Quite as well as Rufus Dawes.

Paws of elephantine thickness Dragged its body from the bay, And it glared at Cullen Bryant In a most unpleasant way.

Then it writhed as if in torture, And it staggered to and fro; And its very sh.e.l.l was shaken In the anguish of its throe:

And its cough grew loud and louder, And its sob more husky thick!

For, indeed, it was apparent That the beast was very sick.

Till, at last, a spasmy vomit Shook its carca.s.s through and through, And as if from out a cannon, All in armour Slingsby flew.

Bent and b.l.o.o.d.y was the bowie Which he held within his grasp; And he seemed so much exhausted That he scarce had strength to gasp--

"Gouge him, Bryant! darn ye, gouge him!

Gouge him while he's on the sh.o.r.e!"

Bryant's thumbs were straightway buried Where no thumbs had pierced before.

Right from out their bony sockets Did he scoop the monstrous b.a.l.l.s; And, with one convulsive shudder, Dead the Snapping Turtle falls!

"Post the tin, sagacious Tyler!"

But the old experienced file, Leering first at Clay and Webster, Answered, with a quiet smile--

"Since you dragged the 'tarnal crittur From the bottom of the ponds, Here's the hundred dollars due you, _All in Pennsylvanian Bonds_!" {44}

The Lay of Mr Colt.

[The story of Mr Colt, of which our Lay contains merely the sequel, is this: A New York printer, of the name of Adams, had the effrontery to call upon him one day for payment of an account, which the independent Colt settled by cutting his creditor's head to fragments with an axe. He then packed his body in a box, and sprinkling it with salt, despatched it to a packet bound for New Orleans. Suspicions having been excited, he was seized and tried before Judge Kent. The trial is, perhaps, the most disgraceful upon the records of any country. The ruffian's mistress was produced in court, and examined, in disgusting detail, as to her connection with Colt, and his movements during the days and nights succeeding the murder. The head of the murdered man was bandied to and fro in the court, handed up to the jury, and commented on by witnesses and counsel; and to crown the horrors of the whole proceeding, the wretch's own counsel, a Mr Emmet, commencing the defence with a cool admission that his client took the life of Adams, and following it up by a detail of the whole circ.u.mstances of this most brutal murder in the first person, as though he himself had been the murderer, ended by telling the jury, that his client was "_ent.i.tled to the sympathy_ of a jury of his country," as "a young man just entering into life, _whose prospects, probably, have been permanently blasted_." Colt was found guilty; but a variety of exceptions were taken to the charge by the judge, and after a long series of appeals, which _occupied more than a year from the date of conviction_, the sentence of death was ratified by Governor Seward. The rest of Colt's story is told in our ballad.]

STREAK THE FIRST.

And now the sacred rite was done, and the marriage-knot was tied, And Colt withdrew his blus.h.i.+ng wife a little way aside; "Let's go," he said, "into my cell; let's go alone, my dear; I fain would shelter that sweet face from the sheriff's odious leer.

The jailer and the hangman, they are waiting both for me,-- I cannot bear to see them wink so knowingly at thee!

Oh, how I loved thee, dearest! They say that I am wild, That a mother dares not trust me with the weasand of her child; They say my bowie-knife is keen to sliver into halves The carca.s.s of my enemy, as butchers slay their calves.

They say that I am stern of mood, because, like salted beef, I packed my quartered foeman up, and marked him 'prime tariff;'

Because I thought to palm him on the simple-souled John Bull, And clear a small percentage on the sale at Liverpool; It may be so, I do not know--these things, perhaps, may be; But surely I have always been a gentleman to thee!

Then come, my love, into my cell, short bridal s.p.a.ce is ours,-- Nay, sheriff, never con thy watch--I guess there's good two hours.

We'll shut the prison doors and keep the gaping world at bay, For love is long as 'tarnity, though I must die to-day!"

STREAK THE SECOND.

The clock is ticking onward, It nears the hour of doom, And no one yet hath entered Into that ghastly room.

The jailer and the sheriff, They are walking to and fro: And the hangman sits upon the steps, And smokes his pipe below.

In grisly expectation The prison all is bound, And, save expectoration, You cannot hear a sound.

The turnkey stands and ponders;-- His hand upon the bolt,-- "In twenty minutes more, I guess, 'Twill all be up with Colt!"

But see, the door is opened!

Forth comes the weeping bride; The courteous sheriff lifts his hat, And saunters to her side,-- "I beg your pardon, Mrs C., But is your husband ready?"

"I guess you'd better ask himself,"

Replied the woeful lady.

The clock is ticking onward, The minutes almost run, The hangman's pipe is nearly out, 'Tis on the stroke of one.

At every grated window, Unshaven faces glare; There's Puke, the judge of Tennessee, And Lynch, of Delaware; And Batter, with the long black beard, Whom Hartford's maids know well;

And Winkinson, from Fish Kill Reach, The pride of New Roch.e.l.le; Elkanah Nutts, from Tarry Town, The gallant gouging boy; And 'c.o.o.n-faced Bushwhack, from the hills That frown o'er modern Troy; Young Julep, whom our Willis loves, Because, 'tis said, that he One morning from a bookstall filched The tale of "Melanie;"

And Skunk, who fought his country's fight Beneath the stripes and stars,-- All thronging at the windows stood, And gazed between the bars.

The little boys that stood behind (Young thievish imps were they!) Displayed considerable _nous_ On that eventful day; For bits of broken looking-gla.s.s They held aslant on high, And there a mirrored gallows-tree Met their delighted eye. {49} The clock is ticking onward; Hark! hark! it striketh one!

Each felon draws a whistling breath, "Time's up with Colt! he's done!"

The sheriff cons his watch again, Then puts it in his fob, And turning to the hangman, says-- "Get ready for the job."

The jailer knocketh loudly, The turnkey draws the bolt, And pleasantly the sheriff says, "We're waiting, Mister Colt!"

No answer! no! no answer!

All's still as death within; The sheriff eyes the jailer, The jailer strokes his chin.

"I shouldn't wonder, Nahum, if It were as you suppose."

The hangman looked unhappy, and The turnkey blew his nose.

They entered. On his pallet The n.o.ble convict lay,-- The bridegroom on his marriage-bed But not in trim array.

His red right hand a razor held, Fresh sharpened from the hone, And his ivory neck was severed, And gashed into the bone.

And when the lamp is lighted In the long November days, And lads and la.s.ses mingle At the shucking of the maize; When pies of smoking pumpkin Upon the table stand, And bowls of black mola.s.ses Go round from hand to hand; When slap-jacks, maple-sugared, Are hissing in the pan, And cider, with a dash of gin, Foams in the social can;

When the goodman wets his whistle, And the goodwife scolds the child; And the girls exclaim convulsively, "Have done, or I'll be riled!"

When the loafer sitting next them Attempts a sly caress, And whispers, "Oh, you 'possum, You've fixed my heart, I guess!"

With laughter and with weeping, Then shall they tell the tale, How Colt his foeman quartered, And died within the jail.

The Death of Jabez Dollar.

[Before the following poem, which originally appeared in 'Fraser's Magazine,' could have reached America, intelligence was received in this country of an affray in Congress, very nearly the counterpart of that which the Author has here imagined in jest. It was very clear, to any one who observed the then state of public planners in America, that such occurrences must happen, sooner or later. The Americans apparently felt the force of the satire, as the poem was widely reprinted throughout the States. It subsequently returned to this country, embodied in an American work on American manners, where it characteristically appeared as the writer's own production; and it afterwards went the round of British newspapers, as an amusing satire, by an American, of his countrymen's foibles!]

The Congress met, the day was wet, Van Buren took the chair; On either side, the statesman pride of far Kentuck was there.

With moody frown, there sat Calhoun, and slowly in his cheek His quid he thrust, and slaked the dust, as Webster rose to speak.