Many of the books written by Pennsylvania historian, conservationist and politician Henry Wharton Shoemaker focused on the legends, folk stories, and people of northern Pennsylvania. 

Loggers, raftsmen, hunters, and mountain families were often the subjects of his books. Shoemaker said in the wintertime, in the pine jobs, and later in the hardwood camps, and in the remote farmhouses and cabins, music was an integral part.

In a 1919 book, North Mountain Minstrelsy, Shoemaker collected a volume of songs, many of which are credited to John C. French of Roulette, Potter County, and John Chatham of McElhattan, Clinton County.

According to Shoemaker, “The first settlers sang them, their descendants repeated them in original form, or else varied them to suit local conditions, giving them, if necessary, a Pennsylvania setting.”

Along with the stories woven into song, Shoemaker said musical instruments were always a familiar part of the gatherings. “No hunting camp along the Sinnemahoning in the old days, or lumber camp in the Black Forest twenty years ago (1899), was complete without musical instruments. The most numerous of these were violins and mouth-organs; there were many accordions, and even a few dulcimers and harps. In the summer evenings, after the day's bark peeling was done, the crews would gather under a tree or by the creek, and the song singer of the camp would begin his cycle of woodsmen's songs of old-time ballads. In contrast, the camp musicians accompanied him on violin, mouth-organ, or dulcimer.”

The workers on the canals were singers and musicians as well. “The West Branch canal created its chain of ballads. John Dyce would sing, "I hired on a Shawny boat, a dollar-forty-nine. If you don't work for this 'cap', you'll never get your 'time'." The old-time fiddlers possessed a wide assortment of "pieces."

Even a few hymns could be found in the backwoods gatherings in the northern mountains. “Some Methodist hymns have achieved almost the popularity and permanency of folksongs in the Pennsylvania mountains. Prof. James M. Black's "When the Roll is Called Up Yonder," composed in 1893, seems a part and parcel of every backwoods meeting house or fireside where primitive souls cluster.”

It should be noted that Black was a hymn writer, choir leader, and Sunday School teacher at the Methodist Episcopal Church in Williamsport.

As Shoemaker finished his introduction to the songs and ballads, he said, “There are hundreds of old songs yet to be garnered, hundreds of legends still unrecorded', hundreds of quaint proverbs to be had for the asking.”

We conclude this story with one of the songs in Shoemaker’s book, reflecting the dangers faced by those who plied their trade in the mountains and on the rivers of northern Pennsylvania.

THE RIVER DRIVER'S BURIAL

They drew him from his watery bed,

And shrouded him with kindly care;

At ev'n his humble bier was spread,

And o'er it rose the voice of pray'r;

His only pall night's sable damp,

The stars of heav'n his funeral lamp.

They bore away that youthful form.

And laid it in the humid grave.

That yester morn with life was warm,

And launched upon the dancing wave.

With jocund voice and hopes as bright

As stirr'd beneath that morning's light.

His oar with nervous arm he plied,

Nor shrank from dangers gath'ring fast.

Struggling against that treacherous tide.

His stout (heart braves it to the last;

Till, spent his strength, and dim his eye.

His oar and skiff float idly by.

Far distant lies the home he left,

And side by side an aged pair,

Unconscious of their hopes bereft,

Breathe now his cherished name in pray'r;

Their eyes with watchfulness grow dim;

Oh! vainly will they wait for him!

A fair young maid, with pensive face,

Looks forth upon the silent night,

Her heart sweet memories doth trace.

Till future years glow in their light.

Alas! for life's all changeful scene,

How soon must perish that fond dream

For him on whom her thoughts doth pore;

His hopes and schemes of earth all o'er.

Clinton County. Sung by John Q. Dyce, 1900.

Collected by H. W. S