Tales of the Chesapeake

Nick Hammer sat in Funkstown

Before his tavern door-

The same old blue-stone tavern

The wagoners knew of yore,

When the Conestoga schooners

Came staggering under their load,

And the lines of slow pack-horses

Stamped over the National Road.

Nick Hammer and son together,

Both blowing pipe-smoke there,

Like a pair of stolid limekilns,

In the blue South Mountain air;

And the mills of the Antietam,

Grinding the Dunker's wheat

So oldly and so slowly,

Groaned up the deserted street.

"What think'st thou, Nick, my father?"

Said Nick, the old man's twin.

"This whole year thou art silent.

Let a little speech begin.

Thou think'st the bar draws little;

That the stables are empty yet,

And the growing pride of Hagerstown,

Thou can'st not that forget."

"Thou liest, Nick, my little boy;

For Hager's bells I hear

Like the bells of olden travel,

Forgot upon mine ear.

In a wonderful thing once asked him

Thy dear old daddy is sunk-

I have sot here a year and wondered

Who the devil was Mr. Funk!"

"A year ago I was smoking,

When a strange young fellow came by.

He was taking notes on paper,

And the rum in his'n was rye.

Says he: 'I'm a writin' a hist'ry'-

'Twas then I thought he was drunk-

'And I want to see your graveyard,

And the tomb of your founder, Funk!'

"I think if he'd sot there, sonny,

I'd looked at him a week;

But he wanished tow'rd the graveyard,

Before your daddy could speak.

Directly back he tumbled,

Before I had quit my stare,

And he says: 'I'm disappinted!

No Funk is buried in there.'

"'The Funks is all up-country'-

That's all I could think to say,

'There never was Funks in Funkstown,

And there ain't any Funks to-day.'

'Why man,' he says, 'the city

That stands on Potomac's shores

Was settled by Funk, the elder,

Who afterward settled yours!

"'The Carrols, they bust him yonder;

Old Hager, he bust him here;

But my heart will bust till I find him,

And make a sketch of his bier.

Oh shame on the Funkstown spirit

That in Maryland does dwell!

He wouldn't consent to be buried

Where you can keep a hotel.'"

"There's John Stocklager, daddy,"

Said young Nick, thinking much;

"A hundred years he's settled

Amongst the mountain Dutch.

Ask him!" "Nay, young Nick Hammer,

You young fellows run too fast:

I shall set out here a thinking,

And maybe Funk'll go past!"