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Cowboy Songs and Other Frontier Ballads

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THE DAYS OF FORTY-NINE We are gazing now on old Tom Moore, A relic of bygone days; 'Tis a bummer, too, they call me now, But what cares I for praise? It's oft, says I, for the days gone by, It's oft do I repine For the days of old when we dug out the gold In those days of Forty-Nine. My comrades they all loved me well, The jolly, saucy crew; A few hard cases, I will admit, Though they were brave and true. Whatever the pinch, they ne'er would flinch; They never would fret nor whine, Like good old bricks they stood the kicks In the days of Forty-Nine. There's old "Aunt Jess," that hard old cuss, Who never would repent; He never missed a single meal, Nor never paid a cent. But old "Aunt Jess," like all the rest, At death he did resign, And in his bloom went up the flume In the days of Forty-Nine. There (p. 010) is Ragshag Jim, the roaring man, Who could out-roar a buffalo, you bet, He roared all day and he roared all night, And I guess he is roaring yet. One night Jim fell in a prospect hole,— It was a roaring bad design,— And in that hole Jim roared out his soul In the days of Forty-Nine. There is Wylie Bill, the funny man, Who was full of funny tricks, And when he was in a poker game He was always hard as bricks. He would ante you a stud, he would play you a draw, He'd go you a hatful blind,— In a struggle with death Bill lost his breath In the days of Forty-Nine. There was New York Jake, the butcher boy, Who was fond of getting tight. And every time he got on a spree He was spoiling for a fight. One night Jake rampaged against a knife In the hands of old Bob Sine, And over Jake they held a wake In the days of Forty-Nine. There was Monte Pete, I'll ne'er forget The luck he always had, He would deal for you both day and night Or (p. 011) as long as he had a scad. It was a pistol shot that lay Pete out, It was his last resign, And it caught Pete dead sure in the door In the days of Forty-Nine. Of all the comrades that I've had There's none that's left to boast, And I am left alone in my misery Like some poor wandering ghost. And as I pass from town to town, They call me the rambling sign, Since the days of old and the days of gold And the days of Forty-Nine. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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