SPEARIN’
EELS
 |
ed Wheeler ‘lowed
that he could spear more eels in ha’f a day
Than any chap in Gungawamp, or 20 miles
away.
“They’s some things in this life,” said
Jed, “I can’t do very well,
But I kin puggle after eels to beat –
well, truth to tell,
I ain’t a-takin’ no back seat when
spearin’ eels is named,
From any man who ever helt an eel-spear,
I’ll be blamed!
Ef you hev got a feller who you think kin
down me, why,
Jest bring him on,” Jed Wheeler said, “an’
let him hev a try.”
“Jest bring him down to Lizzard Crick an’
open up some holes,
An’ we will see
Ef him or me
Is
King-pin on the holes!”
t had happened
that a certain chap, whose name was Baxter Lane,
Had lately moved to Gungawamp, frum down
the State o’ Maine,
An’ Baxter had been tellin’ of the mighty things
he’d done
Down in the roomy Pine Tree State, an’
spearin’ eels was one.
He said he’d speared ’em out so fast his
boys – an’ he had two –
Could skurce begin to pick ’em up as off
his spear they flew.
“An’ big ones, well, don’t say a word,”
said neighbor Baxter Lane,
“Ef they was under seven pounds, I’ll
never eel again.”
We asked him would he try a “go” with Jed,
we’d give a prize;
“Why
yes,” he said,
“I’ll
eel with Jed,
Fur
numbers an’ fur size.”
n’ so the match
was all arranged, an’ half the town was there
To see the mighty eelin’ bout between the
skillful pair;
More bets were placed on Bax’ than Jed,
becuz, as can be seen,
E’en a town like Gungawamp, the newest
broom sweeps clean.
Two score of holes were chopped an’
cleared, an’ when the clock struck ten
The gladiators shoved their poles down in
the holes, an’ then
Began the greatest eelin’ scrape that ever
human eyes
Beheld. It was for blood an’ not fur any
measly prize.
They jabbed an’ poked an’ walked around each
hole with swishin’ heels,
Until it looked
As tho’ they’d hooked
A
million squirmin’ eels;
xcitement rose an’
fell again. First Baxter; then, ol’ Jed,
Was way ahead or way behind, but fin’ly
Baxter led
In size an’ numbers, when ol’ Jed begun to
work his pole
Jest like a rivetin’ machine; he did, upon
my soul!
He drove it home an’ yanked it out as
spiteful as could be,
Sometimes he had a monstrous eel,
sometimes a sunken tree.
Bimeby he got a-holt for fair of somethin’
big an’ stout,
Which wouldn’t let go of his spear, nor
could he pull it out.
“Dog-gone ye for a whale!” cried Jed, “I’ll
have ye’ out, by gosh!
Or in I’ll go,
One of the two,”
An’
in he went, “kersplosh!”
ed kept a-holt his
eelin’ pole an’ went down out of sight,
When Baxter, too, was in the midst of one
tremenjust bite.
He pulled an’ yanked an’ purty soon out come
his spear locked fast
To Jed’s, an’ Jed a-clingin’ holt a-comin’
upward last!
When Jed popped up in Baxter’s hole, I b’lieve,
upon my soul,
He’d half a mind to drop back in let go of
his pole.
He didn’t want it noised around that
Baxter’d pulled him through,
Although, of course, the crowd had seen
the hull hullaballoo.
They pulled Jed out an’ stood him up, a sight
for sorry eyes;
His courage fell,
He knew right well
That
Baxter’d git the prize. JOE
CONE.
March
21, ‘09
THE
SAD CASE OF SLEEPY SAM
___________
by
JOE CONE.
Old Sleepy Sam
Warn’t worth a
slam,
No
matter how you took him;
His good wife, Clo’,
Ten years ago
Packed
up her duds an’ shook him.
He was so dead
For sleep, they said,
He
didn’t seem to mind it;
But slept all day
The same ol’ way,
When
sleepy Sam struck Gunga-wamp, two score of years ago,
Jest
who he was, or whence he came, nobody seemed to know;
He
simply hit our lively town one day all in a heap,
An’
then the only thing he done was go right off to sleep.
He
slept all through the hull blamed week, an’ Sunday was the same,
They
couldn’t wake him long enough to learn his secunt name;
He’d
go to sleep where’er he set, an’ ’twasn’t any sham,
An’
so there warn’t no other way but call him “Sleepy Sam”.
One
day Bill Jones got short for help and went clen out to Sam’s,
An’
offered him a dollar if he’d come an’ smoke some hams;
Ol’
Sam – he yawned an’ garped an’ stretched an’ settled in a heap
An’
Bill he couldn’t wake him up, an’ so left him asleep.
“Gosh
ding him for a sleepy head!” said Bill to us that night,
“He’s
got ol’ Rip Van Winkle skinned for sleep, clean out o’ sight;
He
ain’t no bus’ness livin’ here in this here active town,
He’d
orter live where they hev night the hull blamed year around.”
One
day Sam’s dwellin’ ketched afire, an’ ev’rybody run
To
help put out the blaze an’ at the same time hev some fun;
They
‘spected jest for once they’d see ol’ Sam a-hustlin’ round,
A-luggin’
stuff out of the house to safety on the ground.
But
there he set in his ol’ chair as sleepy as could be,
While
half the roof was blazin’ up, an awful sight to see.
They
yanked him out, an’ shook him up, an’ Sam said, yawin’ deep:
“Fur
heben’s sake put out the fire an’ let me go to sleep!”
Old Sleepy Sam
Warn’t worth a slam,
No
matter how you took him;
They stopped the blaze,
Then turned their gaze
On
Sleepy Sam an’ shook him;
But Sam jest set –
He’s settin’ yet –
His
lifelong nap unbroken;
He’ll never wake
Except to take
A
drink, I’ve heard it spoken.
Undated, but from April, 1909,
and published in The Boston Herald.
Originally titled just ‘Sleepy Sam’.
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