equent interruptions
from Nucky (who, during the stories, holds the place at my right hand
always) such as, "I can beat that with Asher Hardwick!", "Blant wouldn't
have took no such sass from Agamemnon or nobody!", and then would follow
stories which did indeed sometimes beat Greeks and Trojans.

Later, he remarked, "If Hector and Achilles and them had a-lived
now-a-days, they'd have got song-ballads made up about 'em, same as
Asher and Blant. There's four or five about Asher--"

"I know one," interrupted Absalom.

"And there's one about Blant's revengement on the Cheevers when they
laywayed him in April,--Basil Beaumont, over on Powderhorn, he made it."

"I know that, too," said Absalom.

"Achilles and Hector," I said, "did have song ballads made up about
them, the very tales I am relating to you now; and a great blind poet,
named Homer, went about singing them from palace to palace."

"Same as Basil Beaumont," said Nucky; "he don't never do a lick of
work,--folks gives him his bed and vittles just to set in the
chimley-corner and pick and sing song-ballads."

Geordie had left the room when Absalom spoke; he now returned with a
small, homemade banjo--produced, I suppose, from the mysterious locked
box he keeps there--and Absalom, tuning it, began to pick and sing an
indescribably bloody and doleful song, "The Doom of the Mohuns," which
fairly made my blood run cold. This finished, "Blant's Revengement" was
demanded and sung, the words of it being as follows:

Blant Marrs he was a fighting boy,
Most handy with his gun.
On Trigger Branch of Powderhorn
His famous deeds were done.

For thirty year' the war it raged
All o'er a strip of bottom.
Sometimes the Marrses triumphed strong,
Again, the Cheevers got 'em.

His paw lamed up, his uncles kilt,
Five year' Blant mourned his land,
Until, good-grown, beside the fence
He took his battle-stand.

Then Ben and Jeems they bit the dust
And perished in their gore,
And many Cheevers his good gun
Felt sharp, and dreaded sore.

Elhannon, Todd and Dalton then
Planned Blant for to layway
All unbeknownst, while travelling
Upon a fair spring day.

Beneath a cliff where Trigger bends
In ambush they lay low.
Oh, Blant, you better say your prayers!
Death lurks at your elbow!

Oh, Blant, I wish you was safe at home;
I think you'll never be