The Cross Timbers

by Edward Everett Dale

  Praying that he might escape a broken bone he made the required count and pulled the rip cord. Fortune was with him, for the north wind carried him away from the boulder-strewn ground and he landed safely in soft new-fallen snow. His luck still held, for less than a mile away he found his collapsed balloon, with everything in the basket untouched, including the food. A day or so later the wind shifted to the south; he moored the balloon to a huge rock, repaired the leak, and reinflated the balloon. He then climbed into the basket and cut the mooring rope. The wind continued from the south and two or three days later he landed safely in Australia.

  Such yarns, slightly reminiscent of Jules Verne, were harmless and did much to relieve the boredom of hoeing corn and chopping or picking cotton. Little did we realize that nearly three-quarters of a century later millions of housewives in America would find entertainment by watching on television the unfolding of equally lurid and impossible narratives, while shelling peas for the family dinner or knitting a sweater for an appreciative husband.

  6. Play and Playmates

  Although my father firmly believed that every child in a family should work for the common good, he was careful not to give us tasks too difficult for our strength. Moreover, he never insisted that we work unreasonably long hours in a day, but I sometimes did not quite agree with his idea of what constituted “unreasonably long hours.”

  Upon one occasion I was given a grubbing hoe, commonly called a “mattock,” and put to work at cutting sprouts in a newly cleared field. That evening at supper, after my father had said grace, I turned my plate over and remarked, “This plate sure feels light after swinging that old mattock all afternoon!”

  Father made no reply, but the next morning at breakfast said, “Ed, I think you’d better not cut sprouts today. I’m afraid you’ll eat too much dinner and make yourself sick. You can take a hoe and thin corn this morning.” Evidently, he thought that he had given me too heavy a job the previous day.

  In spite of the fact that George and I started to work at what would today be considered a very early age, we had plenty of time for play. Our father, not being a reading man except for the Bible and his religious paper, had probably never heard of the old adage that “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy!” but he was wise enough to know that children, like the young of all animals, enjoy playing. He never joined in our games but never objected to them when our work was done.

  Sunday was a day of rest, which, to George and me, meant a day of leisure to be devoted largely to playing various games with some of the neighbor boys or merely “horsing around” looking for wild plums and mulberries in the woods or swimming in one of the stock ponds commonly called “tanks.” We never attended Sunday School because Father, like most other members of the Old School Baptist Church, objected to the “literature” used in Sunday Schools to explain the various passages of the Scriptures.

  The greatest difference between our play and that of present day children was that we had almost no toys except those which we made for ourselves. The greatest treasure of the average Cross Timbers boy of the 1880’s was his pocket knife. It was usually a Barlow knife with one blade. George and I each had one, which we whetted to a razor-sharp edge on the sandstone that was abundant on our farm. To lose one’s knife was a tragedy. Most little girls had only a doll and sometimes a set of little dishes.

  Almost every boy also had a few marbles of various types. The glass ones were called “glassies,” plain white ones were either “chalkies” or “connicks,” while mottled brown ones were known as “crocks.” The superduper or Cadillac of all marbles was an agate. I never owned one, but two or three boys in the neighborhood did and were envied by all the rest of us. The proud possessor of an agate always used it as his “taw.” This was a term applied to the marble with which a boy shot at those in the ring or at an opponent’s taw after the game was under way. To hit another player’s taw removed him from that particular game.

  In addition to marbles and a pocket knife, I once received the gift of a small toy pistol and one box of caps. These were about the only “store bought” toys I ever owned. My sister Fannie, in Nebraska, sent us a Christmas box one year containing a bag of beautiful glass marbles for me and a harmonica, which we called a “French harp,” for George. He was delighted with this and soon learned to play it very well. The average harmonica cost a quarter and was either a “Hohner” or “Richter” made in Germany.

  Although we lacked the toys that children have today, we made many of our own. A good ball could be made from yarn obtained by unraveling an old hand-knitted woolen sock. When the yarn had been rolled up as tightly as possible into a ball, somewhat smaller than a baseball, it had to be thoroughly sewed with a needle and thread or it would unravel. Rubber balls could be bought at a store for from ten to twenty-five cents, but neither George nor I ever felt that we could afford to buy one, even if we had that much money, which was not often.

  A sled was easily made upon those rare occasions when there was snow on the ground, and when we could find two or four wheels we often made a small cart or wagon. For use inside the house I would often make a little wagon from four spools and a match box. A wooden pistol could be whittled out of a soft pine board and we often worked at making a bow and some arrows. The bow was usually made either from hickory or Osage orange, called “bode ark” [bois d’arc], while straight shafts of false dogwood made excellent arrows. They were scraped down until only slightly thicker than a lead pencil, tipped with a point made of tin, and feathered with bluejay, woodpecker, or meadow-lark plumage.

  A good bow and half a dozen arrows were highly prized for they represented many hours of patient whittling with a sharp knife and scraping with a piece of broken glass to produce them, and then more time to get the arrows properly tipped and feathered. We hunted with our bows and arrows but I cannot recall that we ever killed anything. Most of our pleasure was derived from shooting at a target and from playing a game with one of us as Robin Hood or William Tell, for our reading affected our play just as it did our work. Neither of us ever had enough faith in the other’s marksmanship, however, to risk having an apple shot off his head.

  Much of our play with other boys occurred when we had Sunday visitors, who came to spend the day bringing all the kids with them. A ball was used in several games but my favorite was “town ball,” which was a simplified version of baseball. Two self-appointed leaders chose the players for their teams. Who should have first choice was determined by spitting on one side of a small piece of board and calling, “wet or dry?” as it was tossed high in the air. One player called his guess and the two looked at the board when it struck the ground and called, “Dry she lie,” or “Wet she lie.” If the guess was correct the guesser had first choice, otherwise it went to his opponent. Another method of deciding who had first choice of players, or which team should bat first, was for one leader to toss either the bat or a stick the size of a broom handle to his opponent. The latter caught it about the middle; the tosser and “tossee” then clasped the stick hand over hand until the top was reached, and if the lad who reached the top had sufficient grip on the stick to throw it over his shoulder he was the winner. His opponent called, “Venture crow picks!” to prevent its being picked out by thumb and fingers.

  In the game itself the ball was pitched rather than thrown and the batter was allowed to have three strikes. He did not have to run, even though he hit the ball the first, or even the second time, that it was pitched to him, if he thought he could do better on his second or third, and final, swing at it. Then he must run for first base. If a fielder threw the ball between the runner and the base or “crossed him out,” he was out of the game. He was also out if the ball was caught by a player of the other side; any batter who struck at a ball and missed it was out if it was caught by the catcher. Usually when three men were out the opposing team “came to bat.” “Town ball” was great fun, especially when there were four or five players on each side and the teams were evenly matche
d.

  Other games played with a ball were “Antony-over,” “draw-base,” and “work-up,” sometimes called “scrub.” “Antony-over,” sometimes called “anti-over,” could be played by any number of players but we seldom had over six or eight at most. They were divided into opposing teams, as in most other games. The two groups lined up on opposite sides of the house or barn. The lad holding the ball called, “Antony” to warn the group on the other side of the building that the ball was coming. They responded by calling, “over” to indicate that they were ready. It should have been easy to catch the ball, but if there were three or four players reaching for it and getting in each others way it often hit the ground. In that case, the same warning was given and the ball was thrown back over the roof.

  When a player caught the ball, he streaked around the building, followed by his comrades, and threw the ball at one of the biggest and best players of his opponents as they fled for the opposite side of the barn or house. Any player he hit had to change sides and become a member of his former opponent’s team. The game ended when all players had been brought over to one group. We played “Antony-over” using the house as a base only when there was no one inside. Grownups took a very dim view of half a dozen or so kids racing around the outside of the house yelling and laughing, and demanded that we choose some other structure for our game, preferably as far away as possible.

  In “draw-base” players were chosen as in most other ball games. Two parallel lines then were drawn on the ground some fifty yards apart. These were “safety lines,” behind which the teams stood. A player on one side would throw the ball at the opposing group. If someone caught it he could call any player of the other team over to his own. If the ball was not caught but hit someone the person hit had to run for the line of the opposition. If he reached it safely he became a member of that group. If someone on his own side picked up the ball and hit the runner with it, he had to come back to his own team again.

  In “work-up” or “scrub” positions of first batter, second and third batters, pitcher, catcher, right fielder, center and left fielders were assigned by lot. The game was played as in “town ball” but there was usually only one base. If a batter reached it safely he returned to his position, but if put out he started at the bottom as left fielder and every boy in the hierarchy of players then moved up one notch. It was fun and not as complicated as it sounds; but we seldom played it, for there were other games we liked better.

  One of these more preferred games was “stink-base,” in which two teams were chosen as in “town ball.” Two large circles were drawn about seventy-five yards apart. The members of a team were safe as long as they were inside one of these circles. About ten feet from the edge of the part of the circle nearest to the enemy a line was drawn on the ground called the “dare mark.” If the opposing teams faced north and south, about forty yards east or west of each circle was a rock or chunk of wood called “the stink.” The chief object of each team was to send one of its fleetest runners over to touch its opponents’ dare mark. When on such a mission he was immune from attack by the opposition until the mark was touched.

  When he stopped within a foot of the forbidden line he asked, “Is that your dare mark?”

  “Yep,” was the answer.

  “Doesn’t look like much.”

  “Dare you to touch it though.”

  The visitor would stick one foot over the dare mark, being careful not to touch it, and make marks on the ground beyond it with the heel or toe of his shoe, while the opponents watched with bated breath, ready to pursue him if he touched the sacred line. The clever caller would then seek to distract the attention of his opponents, “Look,” he would cry excitedly, as he pointed his finger toward the house, “you’ve got company comin’.”

  If his opponents involuntarily turned their heads, he dragged his foot across the dare mark and fled for his home base. If caught he was put on his enemy’s “stink,” where he had to stay until rescued by one of his own men running out and touching him before being touched himself by a runner from the opposition. If he reached home base safely he and his comrades then had to guard their own dare mark from being touched by the swiftest runner of the other team.

  The game was varied by one runner calling to his opponents that he was going around their base. This was often done if his side had a man or two on “the stink,” for in sending out their fleetest men to capture the runner going around the base, those who stayed at home might not be able to prevent the rescue of their prisoners on “the stink.”

  There were many other outdoor games in which fleetness of foot was the most desirable quality of every player, including such simple games as “last-one-on-wood-is-a-bear,” and “black man,” sometimes called “wolf-over-the-river.” In the latter two the captains chose their teams as in “town ball,” determining who had first choice by the “wet-or-dry method.” Two lines then were drawn about seventy or eighty yards apart. These were the safety lines, behind which the opposing teams were lined up. The captain of one team led his comrades forward as he called, “What do you do when you see the black man a-comin’?” The answer was, “Run like a turkey.”

  The objective of the first black man’s team was to catch members of the second group as they spread out and ran to get behind their opponents’ line. When one was caught his captor had to pat him on the back three times and call out, “One, two, three.” The captive was out of that game and became a member of the team of his former opponents. The game ended when all of one side had been caught and what had been two teams had been merged into one. The winner was of course the original team that had caught all players of the opposition.

  Although we played other “running games” as “sheepy-sheepy-go” and simple “dare-base” with the “stink” omitted, probably the most common of all such games was “hide-and-seek,” often called “hide-and-go-seek,” “I spy,” and even “whoop-and-hide” by one old lady of our community whose seven kids were notoriously noisy. Like most other games mentioned, it had slight variations among different families of children. This was doubtless due to the fact that most of the people of the Cross Timbers had settled there not many years before and had come from other states or from different regions of Texas. Naturally they brought with them customs, idioms, superstitions, songs, and methods of work and play of the old homeland as part of their cultural baggage.

  Hide-and-seek, as we played it, required the choice of a base, which might be a large tree or the wall near one corner of a barn. The original “seeker” might be chosen by drawing straws or by one of the numerous counting-out rhymes. Our favorite was this one with the counter pointing his finger at a different player, including himself, with each word.

  Monkey, monkey, bottle o’ beer

  How many monkeys have we here.

  One, two, three

  Out goes he.

  The one designated as he stepped aside and the rhyme was repeated until all players were out but one, who became “it.”

  He put his face against the tree or wall at the corner of the barn designated, closed his eyes, and began to count slowly. At 100 he called loudly, “A bushel o’ wheat and a bushel o’ rye, all that ain’t hid holler I.”

  Usually everyone had found a hiding place behind a corn crib or a clump of bushes, or by lying flat on the ground behind a rail fence or cellar. If some slowpoke was not yet hidden he yelled “I.” The counter then continued to 120 and then called again, “A bushel o’ wheat and a bushel o’ clover, all that ain’t hid can’t hide over. All eyes open!”

  He then set out in search of the hidden players. When one was found a race for the base followed. If the counter reached it first he slapped it three times with his hand and called, “One, two, three for John.” If the hidden one got there first it was he that patted the base three times as he called, “One, two, three for me.” This rule of slapping the base three times no doubt was to avoid disputes as to which one won the race if it happened to be very close.

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p; The counter continued his search until all players had won the race or had been caught. The game was then resumed with the first player caught as “it.” The game was great fun and children of all ages, including both boys and girls, played it. There were minor variations, as in most other games. Some families of kids who called the game “I spy” called, “I spy Billy, one, two, three,” but it was still fundamentally “hide-and-seek.”

  Many other games were played, including “corn-cob-battle,” in which sides were chosen and every player was armed with corn cobs. Any player struck with a cob was “dead” and out of the battle. Another game, no doubt of English origin, was called “How-many-miles-to-Miley Bright?” In this a safety line was drawn some two hundred yards from the starting point. All players, but two or three, started for the line but soon met a traveler and asked, “How many miles to Miley Bright?”

  “Three score and ten.”

  “Can we get there by candlelight?”

  “If your legs are long and your heels are light.”

  As the group moved on, the lone traveler called a warning, “Look out for witches on the way!”

  A little farther on, one or two “witches” hidden in the bushes beside the road suddenly dashed out and tried to catch the fleeing pilgrims before they reached the safety line. The game was then resumed with the first two caught playing the part of witches.

  Other games were “what’s-your-trade,” no doubt the ancestor of “What’s My Line?,” and less strenuous ones, such as pitching horseshoes, or tossing marbles at a line. The latter, called “lagging-marbles,” was often played for “keeps,” meaning that the pitcher whose marble was closer to the line kept both of them. I seldom played marbles for keeps, partly because it seemed to be gambling, and also because one could go broke very quickly.