The Vicar of Stiffkey
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The Vicar of Stiffkey

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The “Nefarious Marauder” Hiding in Dumfries!
By: Lisa Timmerman, Executive Director
Ready for a folk ballad involving a local Marine?
“When Morgan first came to this country,
he came in a four-wheeled carriage.
He put up at Parson Weem’s house
and proposed to his daughter in marriage.
The colonel had a nice gold watch,
It hung at his right side.
He gave it to Miss Fanny
and his bulldog besides.
Morgan, Morgan move along, you’re movin’ mighty slow.
Morgan drank buttermilk, and Tansill drank the whey.
So ride up Col. Morgan, while Tansill gains the day.”
In 1841, William D. Dowell wrote to Mr. William A. Hawley, editor of the newspaper Vermont Telegraph, regarding a reputable man in Dumfries. Dowell wrote, “This man Morgan came to this place last March & put up at a public house kept by a widow woman named Merchant where he remained perhaps two or three weeks & visited about with his fiddle. He attracted the attention of several gentlemen who made him an associate. He then fell in company with Mr. Weems & his daughters at a meeting.” This fiddler notably liked the title “Captain Morgan” and had a trusty dog at his side – “…he had with him a tremendous dog which always followed him, this dog had a brass collar…” Morgan lodged with Jesse Weems at Somerfield, and Weems served as the administrator of Morgan’s estate when he died in 1840. Dowell noted “…he was what the Virginians sometime say a good looking man yet he looked to me suspicious & seemed restless.” While hindsight often clouds our perceptions, restless might have been an appropriate description of Morgan.
(Source: Vermont Telegraph, Volume XI, No. 21, 02/16/1839. Library of Congress: Chronicling America Historic American Newspapers)
This letter was part of a Chancery Court case regarding the property and money earned from the sale of Morgan’s inventory. While Morgan may have charmed Frances Weems and the residents of Dumfries with his fiddling (apparently Dumfries attracts fiddlers…note to self: look into that), the citizens of Vermont had discovered his duplicitous character. According to a series of letters published in the Vermont Telegraph (02/16/1839 and 02/20/1839), the “dancing master” Morgan married Jane Anson in 10/1835, but left the following year supposedly under “…the pretense of going to the house of Wm. Waltermyer, in the town of Milan…to play the violin, at a ball” and never returned. In 12/1838, Moses Swanzey inquired into the character of a dancing master named James Morgan in New York, “Mr. Morgan has a school at my house of great respectability; and since it has been in operation, some reports concerning his character, (of a damning nature to one of his profession)* have been circulated among us.” The Vermont Telegraph asked other newspapers to “…assist in putting the public generally on guard against a consummate villain – a nefarious marauder – who appears to live only to indulge his barest lusts, rioting on the affections of as many as he can deceive…degrading human nature, and subverting the institution of Heaven, which lie at the foundation of good society on earth.” In 02/1839, S.K.P. responded to the Vermont Telegraph contradicting their claim that Morgan taught in Highgage.
Enter the Town of Dumfries! By 1840, Morgan had traveled through Dumfries to Richmond with a companion but returned to Dumfries after the death of his fellow traveler. Dowell speculated Dumfries was the perfect location as a “great many persons pass through this place from North & from the South”. Weems apparently liked Morgan enough to lodge him and become involved in the matters of Morgan’s estate when Morgan died in 1840. So where does Robert Tansill fit into this story? Frances Weems, Mason Locke Weems granddaughter (not daughter), married Robert Tansill in 1843. The Marine Corps Officers list from 1790-1900 noted Tansill as a Second Lieutenant on 11/03/1840, becoming a First Lieutenant in 1847, Captain in 1858, Brevet Captain in 1847 with a dismissal in 1861. He was court martialed in Florida in the early 1840s, but we will save his interesting biography for another post. Regardless, whether Tansill actively courted Ms. Weems before Morgan’s death is a fun speculation as this ballad has origins in some source.
(Source: Robert and Frances Tansill, Colorado College: Charles L. Tutt Library Digital CC, Robert Weems Tansill Family)
Lastly, besides for rhyming, why would Tansill’s notable characteristic be drinking whey and not buttermilk? Before the 20th century, buttermilk could be old milk that soured, the sour byproduct of churning sour milk or the byproduct of churning fresh milk. Today, our society embraces whey for supposed health benefits associated with whey proteins. It can be difficult to wade through the numerous articles regarding the modern use of whey, but we can throw back to “Little Miss Muffet” eating her “curds and whey” to see it was not an unfamiliar practice.
Note: There is still one spot left in our Ghost Walks: Return to the Shadows Tour at 7pm! Call and/or email to put your name on a waitlist – we may be able to offer a 9pm tour on some October weekends! Click here for more info about our popular Ghost Walks program – your participation helps support us throughout the year!
(HDVI Archival Records: MacDonald, Rick. Robert Tansill – Local Hero. Speech given to the Dumfries Historical Society, 09/01/1988; Turner, Ronald. James Morgan – Look Out for the Villain. Prince William County Virginia Books, 2004; PWC Clerk’s Loose Papers Volume VII Selected Transcripts 1833-1938, Transcribed by Ronald Turner; Library of Congress & National Humanities: Chronicling America Historic American Newspapers: 02/16/1839, Vermont Telegraph, Volume XI, No. 21 & 02/20/1839 Vermont Telegraph, Volume XI, No. 22; Naval History and Heritage Command: Officers of the Continental and U.S. Navy and Marine Corps 1775-1900; Anderson, L.V. Slate: Food: All Churned Around How Buttermilk Lost its Butter”)
My own true love has followed me From out a far-off distant land My pledged word belongs to her My life and heart she does command.
“The Ballad of Lord Bateman”, in The Frank C. Brown Collection of North Carolina Folklore
The night was dark and stormy; It sure did look like rain. Not a friend in the whole wide world, And no one knew my name.
“The Highway Man” in The Frank C. Brown Collection of North Carolina Folklore
There was a brisk young plow boy, Just in the bloom of years. He went to see his own true love In bitter woes and tears. He went to see his own true love Just for to let her know That he was going to take a trip And on the ocean go. 'Oh no my dearest Willie, Stay home and marry me. For sixteen months and better I have been in love with you.' 'The King is wanting soldiers, And I for one must go; And upon my very life I dare not answer no.' 'My yellow hair I'll cut off, Men's clothing I'll put on, And I'll go with you, my love, To be your waiting man.' 'Your waist is too slender, my love, Your fingers they are too small, Your cheeks are too delicate, To face the cannon ball.'
“The Brisk Young Plow Boy,” in The Frank C. Brown Collection of North Carolina Folklore
An incomplete ballad

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The storms are on the ocean, The sea begins to roll; The earth may lose its motion Ere I prove false to thee.
“The Storms are on the Ocean,” in The Frank C. Brown Collection of North Carolina Folklore
There was an old man lived under the hill, Sing toora lala loora, sing toora la day, If he's not moved away he's living there still, Sing toora lala loora, sing toora la day. This old man went out to his plow And saw the old devil fly over his mow. He had the old woman all up in a sack And carried her off to old tamplo shack. Twelve little devils came walking by. She upped with her foot and kicked them in the fire. She picked up a club, hit the devil on the back; And he carried her away from the old tamplo shack. He handed her to the old man over the wall And said 'Take her back, or she'll kill us all.' The old man said 'I know I'm cursed. She's been down to hell and come back worse.'
“The Farmer’s Wife,” in The Frank C. Brown Collection of North Carolina Folklore
The wind blows cold, my own true love, And a few cold drops of rain. I never had but one true love; In the cold grave she was lain. I'll do as much for my true love As any young man may; I'll sit and mourn by her graveside For a twelve-month and a day. The twelve-month and a day has passed, The dead begins to speak. 'Who is it sits at my grave side And will not let me sleep?' 'Tis I, my love, sits by your grave And will not let you sleep. I crave one kiss from your clay-cold lips And that is all I seek. You crave one kiss from my clay-cold lips. But the call of death is strong; If you get one kiss from my cold lips Your time will not be long. 'Tis down in yonder garden path, Love, where we used to walk, The finest flower that's ever seen Is withered on the stalk. The stalk is withered dry, my love; So will our hearts decay. So make yourself content, my love, Till God calls you away.
“The Restless Grave,” in The Frank C. Brown Collection of North Carolina Folklore