The Wellington enterprise. [volume] (Wellington, Ohio) 1867-188?, 1879-10-23
Some Indian Singing.

l referred to Chicago preacher and to
Deacon Richard Smith, of the Cincin-
natl Gazette. There was a chasm be-
tween the two five minutes after the
first meeting. Three of us sat on q pile
of slabs at East Bay, waiting for the
boat to go. think we had it all plan
ned to play game of three handed
euchre, and think the Deacon was try
ing to deal himself all the bowers in
the pack, when along came the preacher.
His appearance was hailed with joy.
"Come, old fellow-come and take
hand in," called the Deacon, as he
threw me ten spot of spades.
The preacher looked Mortified.
"No three-card monte about u.s."
continued the Deacon as he shuffled
away. "Come on-let's you and I
warm these chaps out of their boots"
"Sir!" thundered the preacher.
"Oh, well, we'll say poker if you
don't like euchre," said the Deacon.
81 want you to understand that Il"
Well, we'll take old sledge, then
anything to please you, though should
judge by your looks that you can play
most anything and win. Come squat
down here'"
"Pm a preacher, sir-a preacher
from Chicago, sir!" almost screamed
the stranger as he fell back.
-rn-be-blowedr' whistled
the Deacon. eff that's tho case
won't play game with you unless you
tie up your coat-sleeves!
That started the chasm. it grew a
little day by day, though an outsider
could not have seen it, and finally,
| when we took the boat to go up the
lake, the Deacon came to me and said:
THAT Chicago preacher is in the Ia
dies cabin telling the women and chill
dren that my example should be held
up as an awful warning to the world at
large. Now, then, I'm going to get
even with him if have to swallow a
crow-bar to do it, and you are no friend
of mine if you don't help mer'
May the recording angel forgive me,
| fiendish conspiracy with Richard Smith
to wollop and humiliate the Chicago
preacher.
Nothing occurred until we reached
Northport. The preacher held aloof
from us, and we had no chance to
throw him overheard or cast him down
| to the coal beavers. The Indians had
been holding q camp-meeting at North
port, and about fifty of them came
aboard the boat with meekness in their
eyes, and their Gospel hymn-books in
their hands. The preacher came out to
welcome them, and the boat had scarce
| ly left the dock when he got half a
dozen of them together and started
them singing. Perhaps you never heard
any Indians singing. If you have no
Indians handy, draw file across a
saw, add some rusty gate-hinges, and
get some one to blow a fife, and the
medley will be Just as sweet, and sad,
and lonely, and lingering as If twenty
redskins sat in a circle around you.
| After a few minutes the preacher
wanted to quit He believed in con-
gregational singing, but he couldn't go
an Indian massacre of Sankey's choic-
est hymns. 1t was at this time that
| Deacon Smith came to me and asked
for private interview. In two min
utes we had a great big six-foot Indian
down stairs. He was the worst singer
in the lot He'd sing against fish
horn all day long, and then beat a
horse-fddle after sundown. He sung
bass, alto, tenor, and four other sorts
of singing all at once, and he depended
on his nose to do half of it.
A pint bottle Of liquid was put into
this Indians keeping, and he was told
to 60 ahead and sing as if q drove OF
wolves were after him. He was to
sing for and at the preacher, and he
wasn't to stop until the machinery in
his larynx gave out, Or the preacher died.
"Me understands' he replied, as he
half emptied the bottle, "and don't
you forget herr'
| We went up stairs and sat in the
gangway to cut off escape; and Just as
the preacher was trying to bring the
singing to q close our Indian shied his
castor into the ring. He had removed
coat, hat, and vest, tightened his strap,
and as he bounded over two chairs and
came down before the preacher he yell
ed out:
"You wait q little! Me knock -
out of all that singing!"
Then he began. He waltzed, jump.
ed, kicked, danced, and cracked his
heels. His hymn was: "We're Going
Home Tomorrow" and he meant every
word of it. Some of the words were
shrieked, some screamed, and others
were spouted forth in a cultural sound
ing like the roll of pumpkin over a
sheet-iron floor. The preacher seemed
to be highly pleased at first, but after a
minute his smile died away, and in an
other he had his hands over his ears.
How do love choir-singing!" re-
marked Deacon Smith as the fun went
on, and that remark encouraged two
more Indians to rise up, throw off their
coats, and join the sad refrain. One OF
them sang: Il Would Not Live Away"
and the other got his work in on Hap
py Day" We thus had three hymns
going at once, and solemnly warn the
public that they went for all they were
worth.
They surrounded the preacher, danced
before and behind him, sung him into
corners and out. and every moment a
fresh Indian joined in with new hymn.
When the concert was at its height
counted thirteen different hymns, four
war songs, and Nancy Lee" and
Deacon Smith reverentially folded his
hands and solemnly said:
"Sing, brothers-sing! If l am ever
stirring music as this!"
They sang the preacher down stairs,
up again, into the ladies' cabin, and
finally to his state-room, and the last
few sad notes of "rm But Pilgrim
Here" were accompanied by two hand
springs and a war-whoop as big as a
barrel. When it was all. over and the
members of the "choir' were pick.
ing up their lost boot-heels and hymn
books the Deacon softly rubbed his
hands and gently remarked:
Nobody knows how much good it
would do me to have a daily Indian
camp-meeting in sin-stricken Cincin-
nati!"-M. Quad.-In Detroit Free Press.
/
The Worlds Granary.
A very shrewd French merchant
who is close observer of all matters
connected with the commercial rela.