Jim Bludso, of the "Prairie Belle"
Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives,Becase he don't live, you see;Leastways, he's got out of the habitOf livin' like you and me.Whar have you been for the last three yearThat you haven't heard folks tellHow Jimmy Bludso passed in his checksThe night of the Prairie Belle?
He weren't no saint,--them engineersIs all pretty much alike,--One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill,And another one here, in Pike;A keerless man in his talk was Jim,And an awkward hand in a row,But he never flunked, and he never lied,--I reckon he never knowed how.
And this was all the religion he had,--To treat his engine well;Never be passed on the river;To mind the pilot's bell;And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire,--A thousand times he swore,He'd hold her nozzle agin the bankTill the last soul got ashore.
All boats has their day on the Mississip,And her day come at last,--The Movastar was a better boat,But the Belle she WOULDN'T be passed.And so she come tearin' along that night--The oldest craft on the line--With a nigger squat on her safety-valve,And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine.
The fire bust out as she clared the bar,And burnt a hole in the night,And quick as a flash she turned, and madeFor that willer-bank on the right.There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out,Over all the infernal roar,"I'll hold her nozzle agin the bankTill the last galoot's ashore."
Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boatJim Bludso's voice was heard,And they all had trust in his cussedness,And knowed he would keep his word.And, sure's you're born, they all got offAfore the smokestacks fell,--And Bludso's ghost went up aloneIn the smoke of the Prairie Belle.
He weren't no saint,--but at jedgmentI'd run my chance with Jim,'Longside of some pious gentlemenThat wouldn't shook hands with him.He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing,--And went for it thar and then;And Christ ain't a-going to be too hardOn a man that died for men.
Words in this poem
- leastways adv.
- At least; at all events. At leastways, or At leastwise, at least. Fuller.
- folks n.
- In Anglo-Saxon times, the people of a group of townships or villages; a community; a tribe. [AS. folc; akin to D. volk, OS. & OHG. folk, G. volk, Icel. f, Sw. & Dan. folk, Lith. pulkas crowd, and perh. to E. follow.]
- jimmy n.
- A short crowbar used by burglars in breaking open doors. [Cf. Jemmy.]
- belle n.
- A young lady of superior beauty and attractions; a handsome lady, or one who attracts notice in society; a fair lady. [F. belle, fem. of bel, beau, beautiful, fine. See Beau.]
- lied n.
- A lay; a German song. It differs from the French chanson, and the Italian canzone, all three being national. [G.]
- craft n.
- Strength; might; secret power. [AS. cr strength, skill, art, cunning; akin to OS., G., Sw., & Dan. kraft strength, D. kracht, Icel. kraptr; perh. originally, a drawing together, stretching, fr]
- nigger n.
- A negro; -- in vulgar derision or depreciation.
- cussedness n.
- Disposition to willful wrongdoing; malignity; perversity; cantankerousness; obstinacy.
- afore prep.
- Before (in all its senses).
- ghost n.
- The spirit; the soul of man. [OE. gast, gost, soul, spirit, AS. gast breath, spirit, soul; akin to OS. g spirit, soul, D. geest, G. geist, and prob. to E. gaze, ghastly.]
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
- shook v. t.
- To pack, as staves, in a shook.
- thar v.
- It needs; need. Piers Plowman. [OE. thar, Þarf, AS. Þearf, infin. Þurfan to need; akin to OHG. durfan, G. dürfen to be allowed, Icel. Þurfa to need, Goth. Þaúrban.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Jim Bludso, of the "Prairie Belle" is in the public domain. This text is taken from Pike County Ballads and Other Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #6062; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: John Hay, Jim Bludso, of the "Prairie Belle", in Pike County Ballads and Other Poems (1871), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #6062, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hay-pike-county/jim-bludso-of-the-prairie-belle.html, id L21570.
Form and metre
Jim Bludso, of the "Prairie Belle" is 56 lines in 7 stanzas of 8 lines each. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 79%).
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-A-B-B lives · seeA · habit · meA · year · tellB · checks · belleB
- 2 -A-A---- engineers · alikeA · hill · pikeA · jim · row · lied · how
- 3 -A-A-B-B had · wellA · river · bellA · fire · sworeB · bank · ashoreB
- 4 -A-A-B-B mississip · lastA · boat · passedA · night · lineB · valve · pineB
- 5 -A-A-B-B bar · nightA · made · rightA · out · roarB · bank · ashoreB
- 6 -A-A-B-B boat · heardA · cussedness · wordA · off · fellB · alone · belleB
- 7 -ABA-B-B jedgment · jimA · gentlemenB · himA · thing · thenB · hard · menB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives, | 8 | ········ |
| Becase he don't live, you see; | 7 | ······· |
| Leastways, he's got out of the habit | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Of livin' like you and me. | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| Whar have you been for the last three year | 9 | ········· |
| That you haven't heard folks tell | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| The night of the Prairie Belle? | 7 | ····/˘· |
| He weren't no saint,--them engineers | 9 | ·/˘···/˘/ |
| Is all pretty much alike,-- | 7 | ··/˘·˘/ |
| One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill, | 9 | ···/····· |
| And another one here, in Pike; | 8 | ·˘/˘···· |
| A keerless man in his talk was Jim, | 9 | ········· |
| And an awkward hand in a row, | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| But he never flunked, and he never lied,-- | 8 | ··/···/· |
| I reckon he never knowed how. | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| And this was all the religion he had,-- | 10 | ·····˘/˘·· |
| To treat his engine well; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Never be passed on the river; | 8 | /˘····/˘ |
| To mind the pilot's bell; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire,-- | 9 | ··/·/˘··/ |
| A thousand times he swore, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank | 9 | ···/˘˘/·· |
| Till the last soul got ashore. | 7 | ·····˘/ |
| All boats has their day on the Mississip, | 10 | ·········· |
| And her day come at last,-- | 6 | ······ |
| The Movastar was a better boat, | 9 | ······/˘· |
| But the Belle she WOULDN'T be passed. | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| And so she come tearin' along that night-- | 10 | ······˘/·· |
| The oldest craft on the line-- | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| With a nigger squat on her safety-valve, | 10 | ··/˘···/˘· |
| And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine. | 9 | ··/˘·/˘·· |
| The fire bust out as she clared the bar, | 9 | ·/······· |
| And burnt a hole in the night, | 7 | ······· |
| And quick as a flash she turned, and made | 9 | ········· |
| For that willer-bank on the right. | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out, | 11 | ··/˘······· |
| Over all the infernal roar, | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| "I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank | 9 | ···/˘˘/·· |
| Till the last galoot's ashore." | 7 | ·····˘/ |
| Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat | 10 | ·········· |
| Jim Bludso's voice was heard, | 6 | ······ |
| And they all had trust in his cussedness, | 10 | ·······/˘˘ |
| And knowed he would keep his word. | 8 | ··˘····· |
| And, sure's you're born, they all got off | 8 | ········ |
| Afore the smokestacks fell,-- | 6 | ˘/·/·· |
| And Bludso's ghost went up alone | 8 | ······˘/ |
| In the smoke of the Prairie Belle. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| He weren't no saint,--but at jedgment | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| I'd run my chance with Jim, | 6 | ······ |
| 'Longside of some pious gentlemen | 9 | ····/˘/˘˘ |
| That wouldn't shook hands with him. | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing,-- | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| And went for it thar and then; | 7 | ······· |
| And Christ ain't a-going to be too hard | 9 | ····/···· |
| On a man that died for men. | 7 | ······· |
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