“There were other fiddlers of less note than those I have named,” Percival Drown continued. “Jim Peatt was a fiddler of fair attainments only as to the number of tunes. I only remember that he played ‘Pigeon on the Gate’, ‘Indian Eat the Woodcock’ (with words), and ‘Old Dan Tucker’ with words and chorous… Ike Handley and Jim Wilcot, who lived below Guyan seven or eight miles, were of the class with Jim Peatt, as I now regard them and recall their fiddling.”

Around 1846, a “dark-skinned” fiddler named Joplin with a “French-Italian look about him” appeared briefly in Cabell County. He was “an educated fiddler and dancing master.”

“It was charming to me, at least, to listen to Joplin’s refined music and I scarcely let the opportunity pass and not hear him,” Drown wrote.

While a master of the violin in the classical sense, Joplin didn’t impress many locals.

“The average native of Cabell County at the period of which I am writing,” one citizen said, “would be far more entertained listening to George Stephen’s ‘Possum Creek’ or ‘Soap Suds over the Fence’, or ‘Peach Tree’ as he played it by ear, than Joplin’s classics rendered from book Clythe Masters.”

These fiddlers made a great impression on young Percival Drown, who took up the fiddle himself as a teenager.

“As brief as I can make it, I will give an account of my own career as a fiddler, which is of little merit, yet would appear to be in order to detail here with other reminiscent memories,” he wrote.

Early in the 40s my father said to me: “Perl would you like to learn to play the fiddle?” I was in my thirteenth year, I think. “Yes sir, I certainly would,” was about my reply — I think my exact words. He went on at some length in extolling the virtues of the violin — how a fiddler could elevate himself socially, and even become a great and popular personage. I have no idea he had ever listened to Joplin or Turner at that time, and certainly not an Ole Bull, or other high class performers. “Bonaparte’s Retreat” and “Money Musk”, also the “Irish Washerwoman,” were his special tunes to listen to. He then said: “Take this $3.00 and get Vere or Gus Wolcott (who kept the wharfboat at Logan) to send to Cincinnati and get the best instrument the $3.00 will buy, and you can begin and try and learn”. I took the money. Wolcott sent and got the instrument, and I was not long “to try and learn to play on it.” The employment of a teacher was out of the question — not to be thought of. We lived far in the back country, too far from where an instructor of the violin ever came. I could never have paid the tuition of an instructor could one have been engaged, but the husband of a negro woman and two children my father had bought at a public sale of the property of Joe Gardner, dec’d at Guyan, was a fiddler. My father hired the husband [named Sam] every winter to work on the farm. Sam became my teacher. I watched his fingers as he played “Old Grimes”, and by timing the fingers and getting the tune effectively fixed in my mind, it was not long until I could actually play “Old Grimes” myself, by which time I could also “tune up” the instrument. The worst was over.

 [I learned] by listening to Geo. Stephens, and every other fiddler that came along the road, closely watching Sam’s fingers and hearing him play every rainy day that we wouldn’t work on the farm (and every night, rain or dry). In four to six months I could play any slow tune and the “Peach Tree” for a dance. For a cotillion I could play one tune, “Rose in the Mountain”. On an occasion, I think it was near 1846, a popular blacksmith and farmer named Stonebreaker who lived out on Beech Fork wanted to give the young people a party. So, he gathered his corn crop, hauled it into the barn, and appointed a day for the husking. “Corn shucking” it was called. The day for the corn shucking was Saturday. George Stephens was sought for, but was away and could not be got in time. Walcott lived twenty miles away, and was not known much anyway. Milstead lived in Ohio, fifteen miles or more. Joplin lived in Gallipolis, thirty miles up the Ohio, too. Hence, he was not available. I had no reputation as a fiddler, and Sam could not leave home — his wife was expecting to be sick of another kid — when it seemed that no fiddler of any known qualification could be engaged. A messenger was sent for me to ascertain if I would come, the time being short. I readily assented. Nothing said about the fiddler’s fee for the service. On the day set I done up the fiddle in my overcoat, and strapping it behind my saddle, mounted “Dave” a very comely animal and away to Stonebreaker’s. Afternoon I went nine or ten miles. Made the trip in good shape, arriving as big as life, fiddle and all. The husking of the corn concluded, the next order of business was to dance. The figures chiefly danced were “Virginia Reel”, “French Four”, and “Dan Tucker”. I could only play the “Peach Tree” in fairly good shape for dancing; and the “Peach Tree” it was for all night, except for supper. We adjourned for about an hour. Then on with the dance for the balance of the night. For this service I received all that was collected, 75 cents, fifteen times five cents in 5 cent pieces… but like George Stephens I felt that I, too, was a lilter. That was my very first playing for the dance. That was fully 68 years ago.

 In 1854 I obtained another and superior instrument that, figuring some time ago how many miles I had carried that violin, it amounted to some 38,000 miles.