  I. II. "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.'" III. "There's John Stocklager, daddy," Said young Nick, thinking much; "A hundred years he's settled Amongst the mountain Dutch. You young fellows run too fast: I shall set out here a thinking, And maybe Funk'll go past!" IV. He drank and smoked and pondered, And deep in the mystery sunk; And the more Nick Hammer wondered The duller he grew about Funk. The wagoners talked it over, And a new idea to trace Enlivened the dead old village Like a new house built in the place. V. One day in June two wagons Came over Antietam bridge And a tall old man behind them Strode up the turnpike ridge. His beard was long and grizzled, His face was gnarled and long, His voice was keen and nasal, And his mouth and eye were strong. One wagon was full of boxes And the other full of poles, As the weaver's wife discovered While the weaver took the tolls. Two young men drove the horses, And neither the people knew; But young Nick asked a question And that old man looked him through. A little feed they purchased, And their teams drank in the creek, And to and fro they travelled As silently for a week— Went southward laden heavy, And northward always light, And the gnarled old man aye with them, With the long beard flowing white. From Sharpsburg up to Cavetown The story slowly rolled— That old man knew the mountains Were filled with ore of gold. The boxes held his crucibles; 'Twas haunted where he trod; And every shafted pole he brought Was a divining rod! And none knew whence he came there, Nor they his course who took, Down the road to Harper's Ferry, In a shaggy mountain nook; But Nick the Sire grew certain, While from his eye he shrunk, That old man was none other Than the missing Mr. Funk: The famous city-builder Who once had pitched upon The sunny ledge of Funkstown, And the site of Washington. Again he was returning To the Potomac side, To found a temple in the hills Before he failed and died! And Nick laughed gently daily That he alone had guessed The mystery of the elder Funk That had puzzled all the rest. And younger Nick thought gently: "Since that chap asked for Funk There's been commotion in this town, And daddy's always drunk." VI. But once the ring of rapid hoofs Came sudden in the night, And on the Blue Ridge summits flashed The camp-fire's baleful light. Young Nick was in the saddle, With half the valley men, To find that old man's fighting sons Who kept the ferry glen. And like the golden ore that grew To his divining rod, The shining, armed soldiery Swarmed o'er the clover sod; O'er Crampton's gap the columns fought, And by Antietam fords, Till all the world, Nick Hammer thought, At Funkstown had drawn swords. VII. Together, as in quiet days Before the battle's roar, Nick Hammer and his one-legg'd son Smoked by the tavern door. The dead who slept on Sharpsburg Heights Were not more still than they; They leaned together like the hills, But nothing had to say; Save once, as at his wooden stump The young man looked awhile, And damned the man who made that war— He saw Nick Hammer smile. "My little boy," the old man said, "Think long as I have thunk— You'll find this war rests on the head Of that 'air Mister Funk!" |
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