Fiddlin' Sammy Buck

Covered by pine needles lie remains of an old dance hall,
where once the walls rang with music and merriment for all.
Where maidens from the settlement flipped their gingham skirts
to foot-stompin' sawmill workers in their cleanest homespun shirts.
Their week's anticipation was met each Friday night,
as they beat footpaths to the hall by gleam of lantern light.
Musicians for the gathering were anyone at hand
who could sing and play the music of the pine barren land.

A young man they called Sammy Buck often took the floor
to jig or play a fiddle tune while people begged for more.
For Sammy'd been high-steppin' from the time that he was little,
and playing catchy tunes on his homemade swamp maple fiddle.
From miles around the people came to hear him, it is said,
and Sammy entertained them well, but fame went to his head.

One night a rowdy pulled a cork on moonshine he had brung.
He passed the jug, Sam took a swig, which loosened up his tongue.
For he commenced to braggin', "In these parts ain't any man -
even Ol' Scratch hisself can't jig a fiddle like I can.
The devil had an ear out; he scowled at Sammy's boast.
That night on the bridge that Sammy travelled, he kept post.

As Sam approached, Ol' Scratch jumped out, "I heard you call my name.
Well, here we are now, face to face, and I dispute that claim.
The only fair way I know is to put it to the test,
and play for each another, and see who comes out best."
So, Sammy played a jig tune, the fastest one he knew.
The devil danced so gracefully on feet that fairly flew.
As Sammy watched his rival cavorting by moonlight,
he knew he'd locked horns with the best he'd ever seen, that night.
Then the devil took Sam's fiddle, and played a strain so sweet.
Sam, knowing he was outmatched, conceded his defeat.

"Ol' Scratch, you won fair and square," said Sammy, "what's your due?"
"Your soul, Sammy Buck," the devil answered, "I want you!
But here's your fiddle, take it up, and play for me once more.
Yer MINE, if you can't play a tune I've never heard before."

Tremblin', Sammy clutched the bow; his fate would be known soon.
Then, suddenly the night was filled with Sammy's air tune.
It was the most melodious tune that ever could be heard.
The devil twitched his tail and left without another word.
Sam tried to play the tune again, but couldn't remember how.
"You'll never hear me brag again," he made a silent vow.

So now, dear friends, you have the tale of fiddlin' Sammy Buck,
his encounter with the devil and his timely streak of luck.
Sammy lived to ripe old age - and as storytellers do,
he told his tale a thousand times - and swore that it was true.

-Lillian Arnold Lopez "Pineylore"

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