AN IREDELL NEIGHBORHOOD A HALF CENTURY AGO 1845-53
By Captain H.A. Chambers of Chattanooga, Tennessee
The Landmark
Statesville, N.C.
April 27, 1900
It may be that the singings are still kept up and,
like at corn shuckings, may be so familiar as not to be of much interest
to the present readers. They certainly constitute one of the most
important and pleasant customs of the neighborhood and were among its
best entertainment a half century ago. As they helped to make up the
history of the neighborhood, a short statement will be made about them.
The young people and some of the old ones too, would meet at a
neighbor’s house usually on a winter night, and practice singing. They
brought with them their song books, of which nearly every family had
one—and sometimes several members of thee family each had copies.
Although they might be of different kinds, there were usually songs
enough common to all the books to enable them to be used.
In these books, each note with its name was known by its shape or color
(blue or white) and not merely by its place on the staff. They were
sometimes called “shaped” notes to distinguish them from “round” notes
which afterwards came into use.
When the company had assembled, the leader divided them up and arranged
them across the room according to the qualities of their respective
voices. Those who sing bass, tenor, treble and second treble or alto (I
am not up on musical terms), respectively, were required to get together
in sections in different parts of the room. The leader then took his
stand in the center in front of the fireplace and conducted the singers
through the mazes of the tunes.
Sometimes he had what he called a tuning fork, which was struck on some
hard substance and then held to his ear to get the “pitch” or sound for
the tune about to be sung. The first man I remember seeing use one of
these tuning forks was Mr. Kestler at one of the many singings that used
to be held at Mr. Harkey’s house.
When everyone was ready and the singers waiting in expectation, the
command was given “take the sound”. The leader would then with his arm
or inclination of his body indicate in succession to each section of
singers around the room when to take up the sound. Then would come the
command “all together, sing”. And then would break forth a volume of
sound which, in tunes that permitted it, seemed almost to lift the roof
from the house. The leader, in the meantime, stood and beat the time
with his arms for the guidance of the singers.
Whenever the leader understood his business and had the gift of
controlling the crowd and inducing the singers to their best, these were
exceedingly pleasant as well as useful occasions.
The good results were seen in the congregation singing of the
surrounding churches. Most of these people in these congregations, with
voices that had been trained at these singings, usually joined pretty
promptly and heartily in the sacred songs. This was before the day of
choirs and organs in the country and village churches. All that was
needed was for some man like Jesse McNeely at Bethesda, John Steele at
Third Creek, Harvey Morrison and others at Fourth Creek, and the old
brothers Robert and James White at Perth to stand up and lead the
congregation in songs.
I constantly regret that I never learned to sing or learned even the
rudiments of music and that I cannot join in singing, no matter how glad
at times, I would be to do so. But I always greatly enjoy music made by
others when it is good—that is, good according to my standards,
according to the way it affects me. I have heard music in some of the
finest churches, cathedrals, and opera houses in the land. I greatly
enjoy the performances, though my untrained ear did not enable me to
tell whether they were technically successes or failures. It sometimes
seems to me to be a real misfortune to some persons to be very highly
educated and accordingly trained in music. They become super sensitive
and critical. The slightest violation of the technical rules, no matter
how much real melody there may be, makes them miserable and destroys
that pleasure. They cannot even enjoy the songs of birds or the good
sweet voices of nature. Each individual must necessarily be his own
judge in these matters. A fine picture, statue, or other work of art
will be judged by the onlooker according to the impression it makes on
him.
Contrasting the impressions made on me in later life by the fine music
above mentioned, with that of my boyhood days, at the singings and
churches of the time, seems to me now that it was not halfway as much
devotion, warmth and heart in the former as in the latter, however
inartistic it may have been.
Down at the Third Creek Church, there was a large gallery running around
three sides of the interior of the building. A part of this gallery was
set apart for the Negro members. On sacramental occasions, both the
floor and the gallery of the church were generally crowded. At these
times, when such old, familiar tunes as “Alas There Did My Savior
Bleed”, “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing”, “How Firm A Foundation” and
“There Is A Fountain Filled With Blood”, were given out to be sung,
almost the whole congregation joined in the song. The great volume of
melodious sound that came from hundreds of black and white singers would
completely drown the strident voice of John Steele. Waves of sound would
rise up to praise Almighty God. Hearts were warmed, thoughts up lifted,
and souls filled with sincere devotion under the spell of this simple
but grand country music. The same was true according to the occasion and
size of the congregations at Bethesda, Four Creeks, St. Paul’s and the
other churches surrounding the old neighborhood.
Among the incidents that used to excite interest in the old neighborhood
was the passage of drovers and their droves along the Salisbury Road on
their way to eastern and southern markets. There were sometimes droves
of horses and cattle but most of them were great droves of hogs from
Tennessee.
The coming of the hogs would be told a mile or two ahead by the peculiar
calls and yells of the drovers, the cracking of the whips and the
squealing of the hogs. The people within hearing would generally go to
the side of the road to see the droves pass by and examine, criticize
and discuss the animals. Usually with a drove of hogs would be one or
two men on horseback and a number of men on foot, armed with whips
having long lashes and short sticks or handles whose business it was to
keep the hogs in line and not wander too far from the road.
The passing of these droves was a source of profit to the people
immediately along the road for a good deal of food was required for the
men and a great deal for the animals. A sort of local market was thus
made for the surplus products of the little farms along the way. The
coming of the railroad, however, has long since done away with the
droves and the local profit.
Speaking of these passing animals reminds me that doubtless some of the
old people will remember the neighborhood incident of the crazy cow. At
one time the bell cow of my grandfather’s little herd was a rather tall,
raw boned, black or dark brown cow that we called “Old Dais”. I suppose
her name was originally “Daisy” for there are few people who have cows
that do not give one of them that name.
One evening when the cows came home I was sent to let down the bars so
that they could get into the barnyard to be milked and remain for the
night. Probably my aunt also went along to milk the cows. They were
coming southward along the lane north of the barn. The bars were let
down and we took our station in the lane south of them to see that the
cows went into the barnyard. All came and went in except “Old Dais” the
bell cow. When she reached the top of the hill just north of the barn,
she stopped, raised her head and looked at us in a startled manner.
After waiting some time for her to approach, and go into the lot with
the other cows, we called to her or made some motion to induce her to
come forward. Instead of that, to our surprise, she turned and fled.
Whenever anyone approached her, in an effort to drive her into the yard,
she would look at them in a scared and startled manner and then rush off
in the opposite direction. We could not get her home.
During the night, whenever anyone of the family were awake, they could
hear the bell as “Old Dais” ran from place to place in the vicinity. In
the morning, another effort was made to get her home but without
success. The constant ringing of the bell that night and the next
morning, attracted the attention of the neighbors. They could tell from
the sound that she was running and began to come out to see what was the
matter. They joined in the effort to drive the cow home. Finally, when
everyone was tired out it was decided to kill the cow and I think she
was shot.
The incident and its probably cause created considerable discussion and
interest in the immediate neighborhood. The general opinion was that the
cow had been bitten by a mad dog and thus given hydrophobia though I do
not remember what symptoms indicated this. No other cows belonging to my
grandfather or any of the neighbors were similarly affected. So far as I
can remember, no mad dog or other animal affected with hydrophobia was
found but certain it was that the cow had gone crazy for some reason.
She gave the men and dogs of the vicinity a lively and interesting
experience.
To Be Continued
Transcribed by Christine Spencer, May, 2008
