St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1885-04-11
DAN TUCKER rs DEAD.

upon to chronicle the death of that celebrated
historical character, ''the man who struck
BILLY PATTERSON" 1t now becomes pain
full duty to make obituary mention of another
person of equal celebrity, of one whose name
will live in the songs of his country as long
as good song is appreciated and enjoyed by
his countrymen. We refer to the venerable
DANIEL TUCKER, whose death occurred a few
days ago at Chincoteague, on the eastern
shore of Virginia. There is no record of the
date of Mr.. fuckers birth. He must have
been very old, and it is barely possible that
| he was one of the first cargo OF slaves
brought over in Dutch vessel and sold TO
our New England ancestors. Mr.. TUCKER
was supposed to have been born in Africa,
| but there is no time within the memory OF
living man when he was not a prominent
| figure in the sweet potato fields OF the eastern
shore From the best information we can
gather Mr.. TUCKER was man Of bibulous
habits In the famous song which
commentaries his traits of character there
is an allusion to his getting drunk and IN
one instance, at least, while in the happy
state of being victorious over all the ills OF
life under the inspiring influence of JOHN
BARLEYCoRN, the hero Of Chincoteague fell
in the fire and kicked up chunk. Faithful
to the truth of history the bard, who cele-
brates lMr. fuckers Bacchanal revelry, de-
scribing the scene where the bibulous DANIEL
falls into the fire, in liquid lines full of the
purest poetic frenzy, exclaims: Lord bless
you, honey, how the ashes few" The truth
fulness of this incident was Vouched for by
the immortal TUCKER himself, who on his
dying bed boosted that during his lifetime
he had swallowed enough whisky to float any
vessel that ever traded over Chincoteague
bay.
Another failing of the distinguished Afri-
can was in his custom of being late at meals.
1t was the cause of many unseemly domestic
brawls in the humble cot by the seaside.
DINAH, the sole woman" was a punctual
person and she introduced system into her
domestic affairs. She had regular hours
for meals, and as it often occurred
that her liege lord did not put in his appear
ance at the regular time for tea, her invaria-
bic rule was to ''clar away de Dishes" and
supper" If there was any thing in the world
Mr. TUCKER loved next to whisky, it was
fried 'possum and baked clans for tea, and
when he would reach his cabin late in the
evening and find nothing to regale his
sense of appetite but the lingering flavor of
'possum gravy his anger knew no bounds.
Careful never to engage in personal combat
with DINAH, who was more dexterous with
the use of the fire shovel than he was, the
venerable TUCKER would go out into the
night winds and cut more antics in the sight
Of high heaven than the demented LEAR ever
performed, and thus it passed into the charm
of the song:
sect out of the way of DAN'L TUCKER,
He's too late to get his SUPPER
Mr. TUCKER leaves no relatives. He was
the last of three brothers who came over to-
gether from Africa's jungles, and he leaves
no descendants. DINAH, the good sole
woman" who had been his companion in
the log hut for nearly eighty years, went to
her reward last autumn, just as the first
frosts were nipping the '''tater vines" and
ripening the juicy persimmOn. Nearly
quarter of a century ago old NAPIER, the
elder brother, who was fayorite in hall and
kitchen in all that lower country, went up
one rainy night through the ''gloomering
meadows andwas gathered into the MAssA's
sheep fold. Not very long ago Uncle NED,
the other brother, laid down his shovel and
hoe forever, and hanging the fayorite fiddle
and how against the cabin wall for the last
time, started on his Journey to that land
where all the good darkeys go. And now
DAN TUCKER, the last of the immortal trio,
has gone TO swell the ranks of the silent ma
iority. He met death as a sable philosopher
should do. He had drained the cup of life's
cheer to the bottom and was ready to go.
He was old and feeble, too, and could not
work any more, AMI had no estate to leave
for other people to wrangle over. His dying
request was that he might be buried beneath
his favorite persimmon tree on the shore of
Chincoteague bay. He wanted his old banjo
laid in the grave by his side and expressed
desire that the 'poSsum and coon would at
tend his funeral. Who will not drop a tear
on the grave of old DAN TUCKER! He has
gone to the land where suppers are never
missed, and we may indulge the hope
where there are no chunks to be kicked.