Poor Ellen Smith

The 19th century popular murder ballad, Poor Ellen Smith, recounts the tale of a woman named Ellen Smith, who was shot through the heart by a former lover. When Ellen was found, her ragged clothes were scattered all about the ground around her body. A group of townspeople got together and began a murder hunt which led to the apprehension of the murderer, Peter DeGraff, who was captured while he was loafing around the area.

As is the case with many Appalachian Mountain Ballads, "Poor Ellen Smith" is based on real events. In this case, the locale was Mount Airy, North Carolina. In 1894, a town drunk and ne'er-do-well named Peter DeGraff had an ill-fated love affair with Ellen Smith, who reportedly may have been mentally challenged. After a few months of the affair, Ellen Smith became pregnant by DeGraff, who then wanted nothing to do with her. It was said that Ellen could not understand his rejection of her. Their baby died at birth, and Ellen soon after took to following DeGraff around town.

After a few months of this, DeGraff sent Ellen Smith a letter that asked her to meet him in a secluded area where they could talk. The letter was worded in such a way that Smith reportedly believed that DeGraff wanted to reconcile with her, and she was elated at the prospect. However, when Ellen arrived at the designated location, DeGraff pulled out a gun, shot her through the chest and left her alone where she bled to death.

It was later reported that Degraff confessed to the crime while awaiting the gallows shortly before he was hanged for the murder of Ellen Smith. During the confession, when asked if Ellen Smith had any reaction to being shot, Degraff said that she looked stunned and that she looked at him and said, "Lord have mercy on me" and then fell to the ground where she later died.

As with most Appalachian folk ballads, there is more than one version of the song. I'll include the words to two different versions of the story.

Here are the lyrics to the first version.

Poor Ellen Smith

Poor Ellen Smith how she was found
Shot through the heart lying cold on the ground
Her clothes were all scattered and thrown on the ground
And blood marks the spot where poor Ellen was found

They picked up their rifles and hunted me down
And found me a-loafin' in Mount Airy town
They picked up the body and carried it away
And now she is sleeping in some lonesome old grave

I got a letter yesterday and I read it today
The flowers on her grave have all faded away
Some day I'll go home and say when I go
On poor Ellen's grave pretty flowers I'll sow

I've been in this prison for twenty long years
Each night I see Ellen through my bitter tears
The warden just told me that soon I'll be free
To go to her grave near that old willow tree

My days in this prison are ending at last
I'll never be free from the sins of my past
Poor Ellen Smith how she was found
Shot through the heart lying cold on the ground

And here is the second version of the ballad. As you will see, this version is more sympathetic to Degraff than the first version.


Poor Ellen Smith

Come all kind people, my story to hear,
What happen'd to me in June of last year.
It's of poor Ellen Smith and how she was found,
A ball in her heart, lyin' cold on the ground.

It's true I'm in jail, a prisoner now,
But God is here with me and hears every vow.
Before Him I promise the truth to relate
And tell all I know of poor Ellen's sad fate.

The world of my story's no longer a part,
But knows I was Ellen's own lovin' sweetheart.
They knew my intention to make her my wife,
I loved her too dearly to take her sweet life.

I saw her on Monday, before that sad day
They found her poor body and took her away;
That she had been killed never entered my mind
Till a ball through her heart they happened to find.

Oh who was so cruel, so heartless, so base
As to murder poor Ellen in such a lonesome place?
I saw her that morning so still and so cold
And heerd the wild stories the witnesses told.

I choked back my tears, for the people all said
That Peter Degraph had shot Ellen Smith dead!
My love is in her grave with her hand on her breast
The bloodhound and sheriff won't give me no rest.

They got their Winchesters and hunted me down,
But I was away in ole Mount Airy town.
I stayed off a year and I prayed all the time
That the man might be found whut committed the crime.

So I could come back in my character save
Ere the flowers had faded on poor Ellen's grave.
So I come back to Winston my trial for to stand
To live or to die as the law might command.

Ellen sleeps calm in the lonely church yard
While I look trough the bars --- God knows it is hard!
I know they will hang me --- at least, if they can,
But I know I will die as an innocent man.

My soul will be free when I stand at the bar
Where God tries his cross, then, there, like a star,
That shines in the night, will an innocent shine
Oh, I do appeal to the Justice of Time!

So which version do you like best? Do you have another version that you like better?

Here is a Youtube video of "Poor Ellen Smith" being performed by a distant cousin of mine, Wilma Lee Cooper, star of the Grand Ole Opry.

Sweet William died for Love

Here is probably one of the most famous Appalachian folk ballads, Bar'bry Allen. Some say it as Bar'bry Ellen. I can't remember a time when I didn't hear someone singing this song, in part or in whole. The song, I've always heard, is hundreds of years old and was brought to America from Scotland. The song retained it's authenticity in the mountains of Appalachia, and was "rediscovered" in the early 1900's.

Bar'bry Allen

VERSE 1
Twas in the merry month of May
When all greenbuds was swellin'
Sweet William on his death bed lay
For love of Barbry Allen

VERSE 2
He sent his servant to the town
To the place where she was a dwellin'
Said my master's sick and he sends for you
If your name be Barbry Allen

VERSE 3
Slowly, slowly, she got up
And slowly she drew beside him
And the only words she did say to him,
Was young man I think you're a-dyin'

VERSE 4
O yes, I'm sick, and very sick
And death on me is dwellin'
And no better will I ever be
If I caint have Barbry Allen

VERSE 5
O yes, you're sick and very sick
And death is on you dwellin'
No better will you ever be
For you cain't have Barbry Allen

VERSE 6
Don't you remember in yonder town
When we were at the tavern
You drank a health to the ladies fair
But slighted Barbry Allen

VERSE 7
O yes, I remember in yonder town
In yonders town a drinking
I gave a health to the ladies fair
But my heart to Barbry Allen

VERSE 8
As she was on her highway home
The birds kept on a-singing
A sang so clear, that seemed to say
Hard hearted Barbry Allen

VERSE 9
As she was walkin' o'er the field
She heard the death bells a-ringin'
With every stroke they seemed to say
Hard hearted Barbry Allen

VERSE 10
She looked to the east and she looked to the west
And she saw his corpse a-comin'
Lay down, lay down, that corpse of clay
That I may look upon him

VERSE 11
The more she looked, the more she mourned
Till she busted out a-cryin'
And said pick me up and carry me home
I feel like I'm a-dyin'

VERSE 12
O Mother, O Mother, go make my bed
Go make it long and narrow
Sweet William died for pure, pure love
And I shall die for sorrow

VERSE 13
O Father, O Father, go dig my grave
Go dig it long and narrow
Sweet William died for me today
I'll die for him tomorrow

VERSE 14
They buried him in the ol' church yard
They buried her beside him
And from his heart grew a red, red rose
And from her heart a brier

VERSE 15
They grew and grew up the old church tower
'Til they could reach no higher
Then wrapped and twined in a true loves knot
With the rose growed 'round the brier

Here's one of my favorite versions of the song, sung by Emmy Rossum of the "Songcather" movie. Click here to hear it.

Mercian Tittery Ay

Today I thought I'd post an old folk song that I know called, "Mercian Tittery Ay". However, it seems that most people know this song as "Eggs & Marrowbones". I remember my Grandmaw Mary used to sing this in her kitchen while she cooked. She would hum and sing, and I was expected to join in on the chorus. I always thought this song was so funny.


Grandmaw Mary in the kitchen. I can still hear her singing, "Mercian Tittery Ay"

I never did know what the words "Mercian Tittery Ay" meant, but I've heard a similar version of this song (but not exactly the same) by Maggie Hammons. Hers is the only recorded version that I know of that uses the "Mercian Tittery Ay" in it. All of the other versions uses a different chorus line. Webster County, where Maggie Hammons was from, and Pendleton County, where my Granny was from, are fairly close to each other, and pretty much only a mountain separates the two locations. I wonder if they knew the same people, or if their ancestors came from the same place in Ireland. If the latter is the case, that would put this ballad in Pendleton County by the 1820's.

From what I can find, this folk song is Irish in origin and is classified as a Broadside Ballad. It is also known as "The Old Woman from Wexford".
=======================
Mercian Tittery Ay (Eggs and Marrowbones)

There was a woman up on the hill,
In a big house she did dwell,
She loved her husband dearly,
But another man twice as well.

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

One day she went to the doctor,
Some medicine for to find,
She said, "Doctor give me something,
For to make the old man blind."

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

"Feed him eggs and marrowbone,
And make him suck them all;
It won't be very long until
Your man won't see at all."

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

She fed him eggs and marrowbone,
And made him suck them all,
It wasn't very long until,
He couldn't see the wall.

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

The old man said, "I'd drown myself,
But that would be a sin."
The woman said, "I'll go with you,
To see you don't fall in."

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

They walked along together,
'Til they came to the river's brim,
But he said, "I'll not drown myself,
You'll have to push me in.

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

The woman made the offer,
And had a run and go;
But the old man quickly stepped aside,
And she fell in the river below.

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

She screamed and she hollered
Just as loud as she could bawl,
He said, "My dear beloved wife,
I still can't see at all."

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

She swam and swam and swam until,
She could no further swim;
When he grabbed up a cedar pole
And pushed her deeper in.

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

Now eatin' eggs and marrowbones,
Won't make your old man blind;
So if you want to be shed of him,
You must sneak up from behind.

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.
========

So have any of you out there ever heard this song? Do any of you know the origins of the words "Mercian Tittery Ay"?

The Ballad of Fisherman's Holler

For today's post, I thought I'd share with you a song from my wife Shirley's upcoming a capella CD titled "Been to the Mountaintop". The song is titled, "The Ballad of Fisherman's Holler", and Shirley said when she wrote it, the song was given to her while she was sleeping. It woke her up and needed to be written. She had everything but the ending of the ballad when she started, and she tried to change the outcome of the song, but as she puts it, "the song had other plans".

Shirley and I both wonder if this is a true story that we just haven't heard about. The names and events are pretty specific. Anyone know?

Here are the lyrics to the ballad, you will have to click here to go to Youtube to hear Shirley sing it.

The Ballad of Fisherman’s Hollow

Verse I
I had but one love, Charming Luther.
I loved him like no other man.
He held me close and swore he loved me
and we’d be married come the Spring.

He became my one obsession.
His honeyed words they doused my ears.
His warm embrace, his sweet caresses
could not ebb my lingering fears.

I followed him one night after he left me.
I followed him to the riverbed
for I had seen him with pretty Jane Price
who I thought was my dear friend

Chorus
I’m going down to Fisherman’s Hollow.
I’m going to see my next of kin.
For the place where I am going, I never shall see them again.

Verse 2
From his pocket, he withdrew a box
and from the box a wedding band.
As she held it in her fingers,
I shot them both ‘til they were dead.

I approached the lifeless bodies,
jerked the ring from her lovely limb.
I looked down and saw the paper
clutched tightly in her other hand.

I stood over the bodies trembling
Could not believe my mortal sin.
for it was my ring she was admiring.
It was my surprise of which they spoke

Chorus

Verse 3
I pushed the bodies into the river
With rocks tied to their feet and hands.
In two wee hours, it would be sunlight
I bid farewell to life as it had been


I only pray that God will forgive me
for two lives are gone at my hand.
I’m too frightened to face a jury.
I am a coward to take the stand.

So I’ll steal away and they’ll not find me.
I’ll go away to some distant shore.
Where I will linger in my misery
until I die to knock on Hell’s vast door.

Chorus

© 2000 Shirley Louise Stewart

Click here to hear Shirley sing this song.

The Wreck of the Dry Fork #4

The Wreck of the Dry Fork #4, as found in Don Teter's book, "Goin' Up Gandy".

I was recently reading the absolutely fabulous book, Goin' Up Gandy by Don Teter. the book discusses the History of the Dry Fork region of Randolph County, WV. I had many ancestors who worked and lived in these logging camps and I am intimately familiar with all of the places mentioned in this book. However, it was Teter's brief mention of the wreck of the Dry Fork #4 train that really stuck with me. I remember my Granddad telling stories about this wreck, which were told to him by his father, which were in turn told to him by his father, who lived in the area around Jenningston, WV, the site of the train wreck.

People in the area still talk about this wreck, and many will point you to the exact location, even though it has been many decades since the last logging train departed from these mountains. So I was inspired to write down the story of The Wreck of the Dry Fork #4, incorporating some of the information provided by Don Teter but mostly based on the stories given to me by my Grandfather. It was a story that evidently needed to be told.

I'm still not sure if it is a poem or the beginnings of a ballad, but this is the way this story was given to me. I hope you enjoy it. After reading it, you may wonder what happened to the widow Booker? I surely do, but that part of the story was not given to me. For me to write something, I have to be given the story out of the blue and if I force it, it just seems to come out all wrong. Oh well, perhaps her story is best saved for a later date.


The Wreck of the Dry Fork #4
by Matthew Burns, 16 March 2009

Come gather around and I’ll tell you
Of the logging days of yore,
And of the day of that dreadful wreck
Of the Dry Fork #4.

The engine was brought in from the flatlands,
Where it pulled the passenger trains.
But it was no match for the twists and turns
Of the mountainous Dry Fork grade.

On the evening of the 20th of June,
In the year of 19 and aught one.
The time was nigh and the signal given,
For the Dry Fork #4’s final run.

Tales of the wreck became legend,
Up and down the Dry Fork line
Of Superintendent Booker’s orders
And his obsession with making up time.

He was running late for supper,
Or so the story is told,
Many miles yet to travel and
He’d be damned if he’d eat it cold.

Ordering Engineer Cromwell
To make all due haste
The Dry Fork #4 did hug the tracks
And was well upon its way.

Halfway home to supper,
They came to Jenningston grade,
Up and over the mountain they went
But the bridge they could not make.

They weight of the rushing engine
Snapped the railroad bridge.
The engine rested in the river,
The cars stayed on the ridge.

Three were killed in the madness,
That came from hunger and greed,
Booker, Cromwell and a man named Spillman,
Were all trapped underneath.

The work crew on the ridge above,
Riding in the cars that escaped
Shook their heads in dismay
At the wreckage and the watery grave.

They talked of Booker’s reckless ways,
And how he laid to waste,
The Dry Fork #4 and two good men,
At the foot of Jenningston grade.

The bodies were freed of the wreckage,
And taken to “the gateway of Hell”
Where the families of the three men
Began to weep and wail.

Except for one well-dressed woman
Who was Booker’s widowed wife,
Not a tear for her fallen husband and
On her face an almost smile.

Tales were told thereafter,
About her deceitful plans,
Of how she had plotted for many months
To be shed of her beastly man.

They told of how he came home every evening,
Full of hunger, anger and rage,
And took his frustrations out on her,
That read on her bruised up face.

She played the part of a loving wife,
Doing what she was told.
She cooked him his favorite meals,
Knowing it would rush him home.

It wasn’t just Booker nor his reckless ways,
That laid waste to the Dry Fork line.
It was deception, greed and a love turned cold,
That ruined so many good lives.

=======
So, what did you think of the story? Is it a poem or a ballad? Any idea's on what happened to the widow? I want to know the rest of the story.

Little Omie Wise

For the past few years, I have been constantly singing the old Appalachian murder ballad, "Little Omie Wise". I sing it in the car, I sing it in the shower, I sing it while walking through Wal-Mart (hey, I get some interesting looks), and so on and so forth. Over the years, I had read little snippets of the story surrounding the real life Omie, but not until a recent suggestion by Granny Sue did I do a little research on this really interesting song. I've always said, "You ain't lived 'til you've heard my version of Little Omie Wise." I remember I did this last summer when my brother was staying the weekend with us. We were on our way to visit Granny Sue and while driving up the interstate, I broke into a boisterous version of "Little Omie Wise". Captive though my audience was, I do believe if there were one more verse of the song that they would have tucked and rolled right there on I-77! I suppose that is a pretty good indication that instead of singing Rock-n-Roll music, I sing Tuck-n-Roll music.

Though you can't hear me sing it on here, you can read the lyrics that I sing. As with all true folksongs, you will find different versions of the song. Here are the lyrics that I use:

I'll tell you the story of Little Omie Wise
How she became deluded by John Lewis' lies,
He told her to meet him down by Adam's Spring
Some money he would bring her and other fine things.

And fool like she met him down by Adam's Spring
But no money he brought her nor other fine things.

John Lewis, John Lewis, please tell me your mind,
Do you intend to marry me or leave me behind?
Little Omie, Little Omie, I'll tell you my mind,
I intend to drown you and leave you behind.

Please pity our baby and spare me my life,
I'll go home a beggar and won't be your wife.
Little Omie, Little Omie, that never can be
You're passioned invitations been trouble to me.

He hugged her, he kissed her, he turned her around,
He shoved her in the river where he knew she would drown.
He jumped on his pony and away he did ride,
And the screams of Little Omie fell down by his side.

It was on last Wednesday mornin',
The rain was a-pourin' down,
The people searched for Omie,
But she could not be found.

Two boys went a-fishin' on a fine summers day,
The body of Little Omie went a-floatin' away.
They threw their net around her and they drug her to the shore.
The body of Little Omie was searched for no more.

They sent for John Lewis, John Lewis came by,
When confronted with her body, he broke down and cried.
You can shoot me, you can hang me for I am the man,
That murdered Little Omie in yonder ole mill dam.

My name is John Lewis, my name I'll ne'er deny,
I drownded Little Omie, and I'll never reach the sky.

=========

Little is known about the real Omie Wise, but records indicate that she was an orphan girl who was taken in by William Adams and his wife Mary Adams in Randolph County, North Carolina. It was at the Adams' farmhouse that Jonathan Lewis, son of Richard Lewis, met Naomi. Naomi and Jonathan Lewis quickly became lovers, but Jonathan was advised by his mother to pursue Hettie Elliott, whose family was "in good standing" both socially and financially. Naomi found out about Jonathan's courtship to Ms. Elliott, and although jilted, it did not stop their affair.

The day itself can not be determined, but it is said that it was sometime in April 1808 that Naomi came up missing. Mr. Adams gathered a search party and followed the horse tracks to Asheboro, North Carolina, where they found Naomi Wise's body in the river. Mrs. Ann Davis, a resident close to the water, confirmed that she had heard a woman screaming the night before. The coroner from Asheboro examined the drowned and battered body of Naomi and confirmed that she had been pregnant.

Jonathan Lewis was found and taken to jail, where he escaped a month later. As the notoriety of the case grew, many members of the Lewis family began to move out of North Carolina and into the wilds of Kentucky. It was there that Jonathan Lewis was said to have started a family six years after Naomi's death. When word of Jonathan Lewis' whereabouts reached the outraged people of Randolph County, NC, the citizens demanded he be apprehended. The authorities acquiesced to the public outcry in North Carolina, and Jonathan Lewis once again found himself in jail. His trial was moved from Randolph County to Guilford County in 1815 because an impartial juror could not be found. In Guilford County, Jonathan Lewis was found not guilty, despite numerous witnesses and ample evidence, and was free to return to Kentucky. Most people said he bought his way out of the whole affair. Five years later, in 1820, Jonathan Lewis was said to have died of an illness, but confessed to the murder of Naomi Wise on his deathbed.

Isn't it neat that events that happened in the backwoods of Appalachia 200 years ago, are still being remembered. Do any of you have some old Appalachian murder ballads that you sing on occassion? Do you know the history behind these songs?

Here is a version of "Omie Wise" by Doc Watson. It is on Youtube. This version is slightly different than the one I sing, but the cadence is fairly close.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bm0Q_0n2JkU

The Ballad of Eugene Butcher

A few years ago, I remember hearing a true central West Virginia folksong about Eugene Butcher, a brakeman for the railroad. I got to thinking about it a few days ago, and decided to do a little research on it.

I believe our folk hero was born Eugene F. Butcher and that he was the son of Granville & Madura Butcher. Eugene was born in October of 1890 in the Salt Lick District of Braxton County, WV. He married Bessie Beatrice Butcher, daughter of J.N. and Margaret Butcher on July 21, 1909 in Weston, Lewis County, WV. Eugene’s father Granville went mostly by his initials G.S.M. Butcher, and he worked at the lumber company’s planing mill in Weston, so I’m sure Eugene grew up near the lumber industry and the mills, and that he was very capable at his job.

After the horrible accident that claimed Eugene Butcher’s life, there seems to have been several children (both boys and girls) born in that area of West Virginia that were named after Eugene Butcher. I found several instances of boys with the first and middle names of Eugene Butcher, and even several instances of girls with the first name of Eugenia or with their first and middle names being Eugenia Butcher. I even found one instance of a middle name of a girl being Eugene. The births of these children all fell within a 15 month window of Eugene’s death, so I’ve no doubt they were named in his honor.

Here is a link to a recorded version of “The Ballad of Eugene Butcher” that was performed by Georgie Carr of Gilmer County, WV in 1986. The recording comes from the Oral History Collection at Glenville State College in Glenville, WV.

Below I’ve transcribed the words to the Ballad and I’ve done my best to get them correct. I may be off a few words here or there, but I think it is complete.

The Ballad of Eugene Butcher

Eugene Butcher was a brakesman,
Toiling for the B & O,
While enlisted, 33 wrecked,
And threw him far below.

When his comrades found him later
He was fastened ‘neath the rod
“Release me, please,” he pleaded
And in prayer he turned to God.

“Lord, receive my soul in Heaven,
Give to me a home on high,
Where I’ll meet my own dear mother,
God, protect my wife and child.”

Yes, he had a wife and baby,
Toiling for them day by day.
And perhaps for him she is kneeling,
“God have mercy” hear her say.

Someone brings to her the message,
See her kiss her darling babe,
as she reads the fateful story,
“Killed last night on Hawkins Grade”.

In obedience to the engine,
O’er the icy rails he sped,
Twas the first of February,
And he was carried back home dead.

It was the first of February,
In the year of Nineteen and twelve,
It was in the town of Weston
that Eugene he did dwell.

To the home of Melvin Meadows,
he was taken that fatal night,
and there he lived eleven hours,
and as though asleep he died.

And we trust he entered Heaven,
Earnestly, he prayed while here
And we hope sometime to meet him
Up there with our Savior dear.

And it was his brother trainmen,
That greets him as he rushes by,
Though it may be our last greeting
‘til we meet again on high.