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15. "Old Cumberland Land"
- The University Press of Kentucky
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274 CHARLES K. WOLFE 274 Chapter 15 ”OLD CUMBERLAND LAND” The Musical Legacy of the Upper Cumberland CHARLES K. WOLFE In December 1882, a twenty-five-year-old black railroad section hand named Willis Mayberry married a local girl named Amanda Galbraith in the village of Kingston, Tennessee. Willis had a reputation as a mean, violent man, and before the marriage was many months old, rumors began to reach the Galbraith family that Amanda was being mistreated. One of her brothers, Tom Galbraith, accosted Willis and words were exchanged; pulling a knife, Tom “cut” Willis. The wound was not serious , but Willis vowed to remember it. A few weeks later, he loaded an old musket with iron scrap and nails and set out for the home of Galbraith’s brother in Old Oakdale. He sawTom coming up the road, pointed the gun at him, and shouted, “By God, Mr. Tommy, I was fast enough for you today.” He pulled the trigger and walked away. Friends rushed out to help the wounded man into the house; witnesses recall him saying, “I’m a dead man Willis Mayberry has shot.” He died shortly thereafter.1 Willis stood trial for murder, but he denied the accusation, saying that he and Tom were “good friends” and fellow workers for the Cincinnati , New Orleans and Texas Pacific Railway Company. For some reason —a hung jury, a mistrial, an escape—Willis was not convicted, and began to wander around the country: Bluff City, Tennessee; Baltimore; Nebraska. Finally, after twenty-five years, he returned to Roane County, the scene of the murder. Before long, he landed in jail again on a minor charge, this time in Knoxville; officers from Roane County heard about his arrest and notified the Knoxville sheriff that Willis Mayberry was still wanted there to stand trial for a murder that had occurred twenty-five years before. Mayberry was extradited, tried, and sentenced to life in “Old Cumberland Land” 275 prison for the old crime. In November 1909, he began a term at the Tennessee State Penitentiary in Nashville. While in the Kingston jail, Willis composed a song. Known as a good vocalist, Willis had led singing schools in the area. He taught his song to a fellow inmate, Booger Gilbreath. This man—apparently no relation to Willis’s wife—was an itinerant minstrel who sang and played guitar on the streets of Rockwood. Gilbreath began singing the song during his travels; Willis, meanwhile, was transferred to the Nashville prison and continued to develop his own version. Before long a number of printed copies were circulating. Some people learned the song from printed copies, while others picked it up from various singers. Though the song was about a black man, white singers performed it as much as blacks. Gradually the song became known throughout the Upper Cumberland , and though several variations have been found in the region, the basic text usually goes something like this: In the beautiful hills, in the midst of Roane County, There’s where I have roamed for many long years. There’s where my heart’s been tending most ever, There’s where my first steps of misfortune I made. I was thirty years old when I courted and married, Amanda Gilbreath was then called my wife, Her brother stabbed me for some unknown reason. Just three months later I’d taken Tom’s life. For twentyfive years this old world I rambled, I went to old England, old France, and old Spain. I thought of my home way back in Roane County, I boarded a steamer and came back again. I was captured and tried in the village of Kingston. Not a man in that county would speak one kind word, When the jury came in with the verdict next morning, A lifetime in prison were the words that I heard. The train it pulled out, poor Mother stood weeping, And sister, she sat all alone with a sigh. The last words I heard were: Willie, God bless you, Willie, God bless you; God bless you, goodbye. [3.238.62.119] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 09:34 GMT) 276 CHARLES K. WOLFE The train left the shed about eleven thirty, The chains they did rattle, the handcuffs were tight. When Sonny Gibson took hold of the throttle, The engine one thirty was soon out of sight. In the scorching hot sun and sand I’ve been toiling, Just working and worrying my sweet life away. You can...