Hang Down Your Head
Hang down your head, Clay Carey
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Clay Carey
Poor boy, you're bound to die
Hang down your head, Clay Carey
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Clay Carey
Poor boy, you're bound to die
I knew Clay Carey when he was still a young shaver, knee-high to a huntin' dog, when he caught tadpoles in the creek behind Jubal Johnson's barn. That was a coon's age ago, years before the Ol' South was catawamptiously chewed up by them damn Yankees.
Now, Clay wasn't any smarter than other boys his age or any stronger, yet he was sure popular with the young ladies. I reckon it was because he had a sweet face, more gal-like than manly, to my way of thinkin'. Course, it mighta had nothin' to do with his fair hair, blue eyes or dimpled cheeks. It might be because Clay could pick a banjo. In all my born days, I ain't never heard a body pick any better. When it came to music, he was one of them child prodigies—like that Mozart feller. Yup, he was powerful gifted when it came to playin' a tune. There was no one in Wilkes County that could hold a candle to him.
By the time he outgrew his knee britches and downy whiskers began sproutin' on his cheeks, Clay'd already won the hearts of half the unmarried gals in the county. Two young fillies in particular, cousins Cassie and Mary Beth Slocum, cottoned to young Clay. It was well known in these parts that the Slocum gals were pertier than dew drops on a rose petal. Both had hair the color of copper and skin like freshly churned butter. They were close in age, only a few months apart, and most people mistook them for sisters.
I don't rightly know which of the two gals Clay liked better. I often saw him escortin' one or the other—sometimes both—to church socials, square dances and picnics. They were just youngsters before the war: Clay was only seventeen and the gals barely sixteen. So, I guess the lad wasn't put in the position of havin' to choose between the two. Had the war not come when it did—Oh, what in the Sam Hill am I goin' on about? No use wonderin' what might have been.
Like I was sayin', Clay Carey was seventeen, right in the bloom of his manhood, when North Carolina seceded from the Union. Like many a true son of the South, he enlisted to fight them Yankees. The townspeople celebrated on the night before the boys went off to battle, expectin' a quick conclusion to the conflict. Clay, as good-natured a young man as you'd want to meet, was all smiles durin' the carryin's-on. For hours he played reels and jigs, stoppin' only to dance with the Slocum cousins.
When the cock crowed at daybreak the followin' mornin', the new recruits met at the railroad station where family and friends gathered around the departin' warriors to see them off. A heap o' tears were shed as loved ones said goodbye. Women promised to wait; the boys in gray promised to return. Cassie Slocum was the first to kiss Clay, followed shortly by her cousin. The Slocum gals held onto him, one on each arm, until he was forced at the last moment to board the train. Cassie waved farewell, smilin' brightly, whereas Mary Beth dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief to wipe the tears away.
* * *
Clay's comrades at arms enjoyed the young man's company and often asked him to play for them. Many a time after a battle, the exhausted Confederate soldiers would sit by the fire and get a hankerin' to listen to his tender ballads. On one occasion, when Clay's company was camped across the river from a Yankee encampment, an enemy lieutenant called across the water with a request for "Aura Lea." The young Rebel obliged, and both armies fell silent as they listened to his rendition of the popular love song.
Despite his soft disposition, Clay showed a lot of grit and proved to be a good soldier. He fought bravely at Manassas, Fredericksburg, Gettysburg and Cold Harbor. Yet there was little doubt that his greatest contribution to the Confederate cause was in boostin' the morale of the troops with his musical talents.
Meanwhile, back at home, life for the Slocum gals was not nearly as excitin' as it was before Clay left, but it by no means came to an end. The few eligible, able-bodied young men left in Wilkes County frequently visited Mary Beth's house. Though there was a passel of eager suitors, Cassie and her cousin kept their hopes pinned on Clay Carey. Mary Beth, especially, remained devoted to the young soldier, refusin' to so much as dance with another man.
* * *
In March 1865, just as the war was drawin' to a close, Private Clay Carey, CSA, was captured and sent to a federal military prison. While he was incarcerated for three months, the young soldier had no banjo to pass the time away. The loss of his music was almost more than he could bear. Lucky for him, the war finally ended. He was released from prison, and after swearin' an oath of allegiance to the Union, he was free to go home.
Word spread like wildfire through Wilkes County: Clay Carey was home from the war. The first place he went, after visitin' his parents, was Mary Beth's house.
"You're alive!" the young gal cried with joy. "I was afeared you wouldn't come back."
"Well, I did. And all in one piece, too!" he exclaimed, laughin' and kickin' up his legs in a quick jig. "My arms and limbs are all still intact and in fine workin' order."
Mary Beth could contain her emotions no longer. She threw her arms around the young soldier's neck and kissed him on the mouth.
"I love you, Clay," she cried with long-suppressed passion.
"Mary Beth," he replied with genuine surprise, "I never knew you felt this way."
He had known the Slocum gals all his life, and while the three of them had always been as close as ticks on a hound dog, he underestimated the depth of their affection for him. Until that moment, Clay had never given any serious thought to romance, but his experiences durin' the war, particularly the time he spent in prison, had aged him considerably. Maybe it was time he settled down and married.
And why not Mary Beth? he thought as he returned her kisses.
Cassie was equally surprised when she learned Clay had come home. Unlike her cousin, however, Cassie Slocum had not waited four long years for his return. Once the tide of war turned and Confederate forces were headed toward certain defeat, Cassie reassessed her options. Fearin' the young man she loved might be killed in battle like so many men from Wilkes County had, Cassie married a man twenty years her senior. Although her husband was a lovin', generous soul, he was a far cry from the dashin' war hero.
Determined to renew her pursuit, Cassie slipped out of her house one night and made her way under cover of darkness to the roomin' house where Clay was temporarily stayin'. Although wed to another man, the brazen young woman proclaimed her love for him.
"I only married my husband because I was afraid I'd wind up a spinster," she confessed. "But it's you I always loved."
Clay was even more astonished by Cassie's revelation than he'd been by Mary Beth's.
"If you don't know how to knock a body into a cocked hat!" he exclaimed. "But you already have a husband."
"I can leave him."
"I wouldn't feel right takin' another man's wife."
"Don't be so all-fired noble. The two of us belong together," Cassie protested.
"I don't know," Clay said with confusion. "I allow I always liked you and Mary Beth when we were youngsters. Now that we're older I guess I have to choose between the two of you."
After much soul searchin', Clay made his decision. He woke early the followin' mornin' and headed directly to Mary Beth's home.
"Clay, what're you doin' here?" Mary Beth cried when she saw him standin' at her back door.
He described his meetin' with Cassie, and Mary Beth's smile quickly faded.
"I think it's best if I was to absquatulate and leave Wilkes County," he concluded. "If I stay, it might only cause hard feelin's betwixt the two of you."
"Where will you go?" she asked, crestfallen.
"Maybe Texas. Lots of men are leavin' the South and tryin' to start new lives out west."
"I'll miss you," Mary Beth sobbed.
"I was hopin' you'd come with me if you have the mind to."
Mary Beth's face lit up like a night sky durin' a thunderstorm.
"Oh yes!"
The two young people then made arrangements to steal away in the middle of the night.
"I'll be waitin' for you at the old Starner house," he promised and, after a brief kiss, took his leave of her.
* * *
By sundown of the followin' day, the news had circulated throughout Wilkes County: Mary Beth Slocum was missin'. Her family and friends searched for three days but could find no trace of her. Then an unconfirmed rumor surfaced: Mary Beth had run away with Clay Carey.
When the gal's parents heard the news, they were relieved. At least no harm had come to their daughter, and havin' known Clay since he was a boy, they were sure the young man would take care of her. Yet just when the Slocums began to relax again, Mary Beth's horse returned without its rider.
"Oh, my lord!" Mrs. Slocum shrieked at the sight of the animal. "I just know somethin' bad happened to my baby."
Mr. Slocum went directly to the sheriff's office, and the search was renewed. The worst was suspected when the sheriff spotted Clay Carey in town one day. When questioned about Mary Beth's disappearance, Clay claimed to have no knowledge of her whereabouts. Unfortunately, he failed to inform the sheriff of his plans to elope with the young woman. When she didn't meet him at the old Starner house as they'd agreed, he assumed she changed her mind about runnin' away with him.
"If she gets in touch with you, you tell me, ya hear?"
"Of course, sheriff."
* * *
As is the case in so many crimes, someone confided in a trusted confidante who couldn't keep a secret. Cassie's sister, Winifred, let slip the fact that she knew what happened to her missin' cousin. Once again gossip ran rampant along the Wilkes County grapevine. Soon Winifred's revelation was brought to the sheriff's attention. He immediately rode out to her parents' farm to interrogate her.
Winifred wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. For close to an hour, she denied knowledge of Mary Beth's whereabouts, but the lawman kept badgerin' her until she broke down.
"You know what happened to your cousin. Either you come clean and talk or else be charged as an accessory to murder should Mary Beth's body be found. And, woman or not, you'll hang. I promise you."
The thought of bein' executed for a crime she didn't commit loosened Winifred's lips.
"I had nothin' to do with it," she asserted. "It was all Clay and Cassie's doin', I swear."
The sheriff sat down, lit his pipe and listened to Winifred's story of the fatal love triangle that existed between Clay and the two Slocum gals. By the time she finished her account, the sheriff's pipe had grown cold.
When the lawman inquired what the two killers did with the body, Winifred led him to an abandoned farm where her cousin's remains were later uncovered. It was evident that the poor gal had been stabbed through the heart just as Winifred claimed.
The sheriff immediately ordered the arrest of Clay Carey and Cassie Slocum.
* * *
The former Confederate hero and his alleged accomplice were tried separately. In an effort to save her own life, Cassie testified against the man she claimed to love, swearin' that he alone had murdered her cousin. Clay refused to speak in his own defense, except to insist that he was innocent. The jury didn't believe him. To no one's surprise, they found Clay guilty of the murder of Mary Beth Slocum and sentenced him to die.
As he waited in his cell for his day of execution, the condemned man remained lighthearted. Havin' served four years in the Confederate Army and three months in a Union prison camp, he did not fear death. Still, the sheriff took pity on him and allowed him to play his banjo durin' his final days, seein' as Clay set such store in his music.
"What's that song?" the lawman asked as Clay sat in his cell, playin' an unknown melody.
"Just a little tune of my own," the prisoner replied.
"Sakes alive, you haven't asked about Cassie Slocum yet," the sheriff noted.
"How did it go for her?" Clay asked, his fingers still pickin' the strings of his banjo.
"She was acquitted."
Clay nodded.
"I suppose I should be happy for her."
"Somethin' about that gal's testimony bothers me," the sheriff admitted. "You say you wanted to run away with Mary Beth, so why would you kill her? Cassie, on the other hand, was a woman scorned. As I see it, she's the only one with a motive for murder here."
The prisoner temporarily stopped playin' and looked the other man in the eye.
"Let it go, sheriff. A young woman was murdered, and someone will hang for it; that's the law."
"But is it justice?"
Clay didn't respond. He simply bowed his head and recommenced pickin' his banjo.
* * *
On the mornin' of the execution, Clay was taken from his cell and led to a wagon on which his plain pine coffin had already been loaded. On the short drive from the jail to the courthouse, where the execution was to be held, Clay sat on top of the coffin, playin' the melody he'd composed in his cell.
Before mountin' the scaffold, he handed his banjo to the sheriff and thanked the lawman for the kindness he'd shown him. Finally, with a smile still on his boyishly handsome face, Clay Carey climbed the stairs toward the waitin' hangman.
* * *
Although Cassie had been acquitted of all charges in her cousin's death, her life changed drastically after the trial, and not for the better. The day after the verdict was read, her husband started proceedin's to divorce her, and she was forced to return, penniless, to her parents' home.
Despite the decision of the court, most people in Wilkes County, includin' her own ma and pa, eyed her with suspicion. Like the sheriff, they weren't hornswoggled by her female wiles. They believed a terrible injustice had taken place and that the wrong person was hanged for the crime.
Then one day, while Cassie was crossin' the street, she was struck by a wagon and killed instantly. Had he not been an eyewitness to the accident, the sheriff wouldn't have believed what occurred. Five people, includin' the lawman and his deputy, swore that Clay Carey was drivin' the cart and that Mary Beth Slocum was sittin' next to him. Yet when the sheriff ran to help free Cassie from beneath the overturned wagon, he saw that the vehicle was empty.
Later that same afternoon, when the sheriff returned to his rooms above the jail, he saw the banjo standin' upright in the corner of the parlor. Though its strings were still, he could clearly hear the melancholy tune Clay Carey had played en route to his hangin'.
Salem went down south and jammed with a couple of local musicians. Sakes alive! Did he ever absquatulate when they began playing the theme from Deliverance on their banjos!
