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SOME PAGES TKOM ME SCEAP BOOK
THE ARKANSAS TRAVELER.
The following introduction by an
unremembered “explainer,” tells the
story of the origin of the “Arkan
saw Traveler”:
Col. Sandy Faulkner, the original
“Arkansaw Traveler,” was born in
Georgetown, Scott county, Ky., March
3, 1803. He came to Arkansas in
1829, and settled in Chicot county,
on the Mississippi River, as a cotton
planter. In 1839, Col. Faulkner
(with his father, the late Nicholas
Faulkner, a Virginian by birth) took
up his residence in Little Rock,
where he died August 4, 1874, at the
age of seventy-one years.
It is well known throughout the
northwest that Col. Faulkner was the
original personator of the “Arkan
saw Traveler.” It was his pride to
be known as such. The story, it is
said, was founded on a little incident
which occurred in the campaign of
1840, when he made the tour of the
state in company with Hon. A. H.
Sevier, Gov. Fulton, Chester, Ashley
and Gov. YelL One day in the Bos
ton mountains, the party approached
a squatter’s for information of the
route, and Col. “Sandy” was made
spokesman of the company, and it
was upon his witty responses the
tune- and story were founded. On
returning to Little Rock, a grand ban
quet was in the famous “bar
(room” which used to stand near
the Anthony House, and Col. “San
dy” was called upon to play the tune
and tell the story. Afterward it
grew into popularity. When he sub
sequently went to New Orleans, the
fame of the “Arkansaw Traveler”
had gone ahead of him and at a
banquet, amid clinking glasses and
brilliant toasts, he was handed a
violin by the then governor of Lou
isiana, and requested to favor them
with the favorite Arkansaw tune. At
the old St. Charles Hotel a special
room was devoted to his use, bearing
in gilt letters over the door, “Ar
kansaw Traveler.”
Dialogue.
Traveler —Hello, stranger.
Squatter—Hello, yourself.
T. —Can I get to stay all the night
with you!
S. —No, sir, you can’t git to —
T. —Have you any spirits here!
S. —Lots w em. Sal seed one last
night by that ar ole holler gum, and
it nearly skeered her to death.
T. —You mistake my meaning; have
you any liquor!
S. —Had some yesterday, but old
Bose he got in an’ lapped all uv it
out’n the pot.
T. —You don’t understand; I don’t
mean pot liquor. I’m wet and cold
and want some whisky. Have you
got any!
S. Oh, yes —I drunk the last tliis
mornin ’.
T. —l’m hungry; haven’t had a
thing since morning; can’t you give
me something to eat!
S. —Hain’t a durn thing in the
house. Not a mouthful uv meat, nor
a dust uv meal here.
T. —Well, can’t you give my horse
something!
8. —Got nothin’ to feed him on.
WATSON’S WEEKLY JEFFBkSONIAN.
T. —How far is it to the next
bouse!
S. —Stranger; I don’t know, I nev
er been thar.
T. —Well, do you know who lives
here!
S. —Yes, sir!
T. —As I’m so bold, then, what
might your name be!
S. —lt might be Dick, an’ it might
be Tom; but it lacks right smart uv
it.
T. —Sir! will you tell me where
this road goes to!
S. —lt’s never gone anywhar since
I ’ve lived here; it’s always thar when
I get up in the mornin’.
T. —Well, how far is it to where
it forks!
S. —lt don’t fork at all; but it
splits up like the devil.
T. —As I’m not likely to get to
another house tonight, can’t you let
me sleep in yours; and I’ll tie my
horse to a tree, and do without any
thing to eat or drink!
, S.—My house leaks. Thar’s only
one dry spot in it, and me and Sal
sleeps on it. And that thar tree is
the old woman’s persimmon; yo can’t
tie to it, ’cause she don’t want ’em
shuck off. She ’lows to make beer
out’n ’em.
T.—Why don’t you finish covering
your house and stop the leaks?
S. —lt’s been rainin’ all day.
T. —Well, why don’t you do it in
dry w’eather!
S. —lt don’t leak then.
T. —As there seems to be noth
ing alive about your place but chil
dren, how do yon do here, anyhow!
S. —Putty we11,.1 thank you, how
do you do yourself!
T. —I mean what do you do for a
living here!
S. —Keep tavern and sell whisky.
T. —Well, I told you 1 wanted
some whisky.
S. —Stranger, 1 bought a bar’l
mor’n a week ago. You see, me and
Sal went shar’s. Arter we got it
here, we only had a bit betweenst
us, and Sal didn’t want to use her’n
fust, nor me mine, see I had
a spiggen in one eend, and she in
t’other. So she takes a drink out’n
my eend, and pays me the bit for
it; then I’d take un out’n her’n, and
give her the bit. Well, we’s getting
long fust-rate, till Dick, durned
skulkin’ skunk, he born a hole on
the bottom to suck at, and the next
time I went to buy a drink, they
wa’n’t none thar.
T. —l’m sorry your whisky’■ all
gone; but, my friend, why don’t you
play the balance of that tune!
S. It’s got no balance to it
T. —I mean you don’t play the
whole of it.
S. —Stranger, can you play the fid
dul!
T. —Yes, a little, sometimes.
S. —You don’t look like a fiddler,
but es you think you can play any
more onto that thar tune, you kin jus
try it
(The traveler takes the fiddle and
plays the whole of it.)
S. —Stranger, tuck a half dozen
cheers and sot down. Sal, stir your
self round like- a six-horse team in
a mud-hole. Go round in the holler
whar I killed that buck this mornin’,
cut off some of the best pieces, and
fotch it and cook it fur me and this
gentleman, directly. Raise up the
board under the head of the bed, and
get the old black jug 1 hid from Dick,
and gin us some whisky, I know
thar’a some left yit. Til, drive ole
Bose out’n the bread tray, and climb
up in the loft, and get the rag that’s
got the sugar tied in it. Dick, carry
the gentleman’s ross round under the
shed, and give him some fodder and
corn, much as he kin eat.
TiL —Dad, they ain’t knives enuff
for to sot the table.
S. —Whar’s big butch, little butch,
old case, cob-handle, granny’s knife,
and the one 1 handled yesterday?
That’s nuff to sot any gentleman’s
table, out’n you’ve lost um. Durn
me, stranger, es you can’t stay as
long as you please. I’ll give you
plenty to eat and drink. Will you
have coffy for supper!
T. —l es, sir.
S. —l’ll be hanged if you do, tho’,
we don’t have nothin’ that way here
but grub Hyson, and I reckon it’s
mighty good with sweetnin’. Play
away, stranger, you kin sleep on the
dry spot tonight.
T. (after two hours’ fiddling)—My
friend, can’t you tell me about the
road I’m to travel tomorrow!
S. —Tomorrer! Stranger, you won’t
get out’n these diggin’s for six
weeks. But when it gits so you kin
start, you see that big sloo over thar?
Well, you have to get crost that, then
mightily in the weeds, but you need
about a mile you’ll come to a two
acre-and/a-half corn-patch. The com’s
you take the road up the bank, and in
n’t mind that; jist ride on. About
a mile and a half or two miles from
thar, you’ll cum to the damdeet
swamp you ever struck in all your
travels; it is boggy enuff to mire a
saddle blanket. Thar’s a fust-rate
road about six feet under thar.
T. —How am I to get at it?
S. —You can’t git at it nary time,
till the weather stiffens down sum.
Well, about a mile beyant, you come
to a place whar thar’s two roads. You
can take the nght hand es you want
to; you’ll foller it a mile or so, and
you’ll find it’s run out; you’ll then
have to come back and try the left;
when you git about two miles on that,
you may know you are wrong, fur
they ain’t any road thar. You’ll then
think you’re mighty lucky es you kin
find the way back to my house, whar
you kin sum and play on that ar tune
as long a* you please.—Arkansaw
Traveler.
OLDEN TIME PENALTIES IN VIR
GINIA AND MASBACHU-
• SETTS.
From some entries of decisions re
corded in the courthouse of Warwick
county, Virginia, under date of Oc
tober 21, 1663, we make some ex
wife, being by the grand inquest pre
mark that at that early period tobac
co was not only a staple commodity
but a substitute for currency.
“Mr. John Harlow and Alice his
wife, being by th egrand inquest pre-
sented for absenting themselves from
church, are accdrding to the act fined
each of them fifty pounds of tobacco;
and the said Mr. John Harlow order
ed to collect the same from her, and
in case of non-payment, to distress.
“John Lewis, his wife this day
refusing to take the oath of alle
giance, being ordered her, is commit
ted into the sheriff’s custody, to re
main until she take the said oath, or
until further ordered to the con
trary.
“John Lewis, his wife for absent
ing herself from church, is fined fif
ty pounds of tobacco, to be collect
ed by the sheriff from her husband';
and upon non-payment, the said sher
iff to distress.
“George Harwood, being prosecut
ed for his absenting himself from
church, is fined fifty pounds of tobac
co, to be levied byway of distress by
the sheriff from said White, and up
on non-payment of ths same, to dis
tress.
“Richard King, being presented as
a common swearer, is fined fifty
pounds of tobacco, to be levied by the
sheriff, byway of distress, upon his
non-payment. ’ ’
The following singular punishments
were inflicted in Massachusetts two
hundred years ago:
Sir Richard Salstonstall fined four
bushels of malt for his absence from
the court.
Thomas Peter, for suspisions of
slander, idleness and stubbornness, is
to be severely whipped and kept in
hold.
Josias Plaistowe, for stealing four
baskets of corn from the Indians, to
return them eight baskets again, to be
fined 5 lb. and hereafter to be called
Josias, not Mister as he used to be.
Captain Stone, for abusing Mr.
Ludlow, fined 100 lb. and prohibited
coming within the patent.
Joyce Dradwick to give unto Alex
ander Becks 20s, for promising him
marriage without her friend’s con
sent, and now refusing to perform the
same.
Richard Turner, for being noto
riously drunk, fined 21b.
Edward Palmer, for his extortion
in taking 325. 7d. for the plank and
work of Boston stocks., fined 51b.
and sentenced to sit one hour in the
stocks.
A DREAM OF DECEMBER.
Christmas is crowned
With colors divine.
See, it has found
The roses and wine!
The chimes in the church,
The maple and birch
Bear beautiful face
With December grace.
The orange and pine,
The voice of the vine,
Are telling to me
The song of the Free;
In glory and glee,
Their sweet voices hail
The vision of the sail
That shows another trip
Os the old December ship.
ARNOLD B. HALL.
Gainesville, Ga. \
PAGE THREE