Anecdotes.
As we mounted our horses to proceed to Amherst, groups
of country people were to be seen standing about Pugnose's
inn, talking over the events of the morning, while others
were dispersing to their several homes. A pretty prime
superfine scoundrel, that Pettifog, said the Clockmaker;
he and his constable are well mated, and they've travelled
in the same gear so long together, that they make about
as nice a yoke of rascals, as you'll meet in a day's
ride. They pull together like one rope reeved through
two blocks. That are constable was een almost strangled
t'other day; and if he had'nt had a little grain more
wit than his master, I guess he'd had his wind-pipe
stopped as tight as a bladder. There is an outlaw of a
feller here, for all the world like one of our Kentucky
Squatters, one Bill Smith--a critter that neither fears
man nor devil. Sheriff and constable can make no hand of
him--they can't catch him no how; and if they do come up
with him, he slips through their fingers like an eel:
and then, he goes armed, and he can knock the eye out of
a squirrel with a ball, at fifty yards hand running--a
regular ugly customer. Well, Nabb, the constable, had a
writ agin him, and he was cyphering a good while how he
should catch him; at last he hit on a plan that he thought
was pretty clever, and he scheemed for a chance to try
it. So one day he heard that Bill was up at Pugnose's
Inn, a settling some business, and was likely to be there
all night. Nabb waits till it was considerable late in
the evening, and then he takes his horse and rides down
to the inn, and hitches his beast behind the hay stack.
Then he crawls up to the window and peeps in, and watches
there till Bill should go to bed, thinking the best way
to catch them are sort of animals is to catch them asleep.
Well, he kept Nabb a waiting outside so long, with his
talking and singing, that he well nigh fell asleep fist
himself; at last Bill began to strip for bed. First he
takes out a long pocket pistol, examines the priming,
and lays it down on the table, near the head of the bed.
When Nabb sees this, he begins to creep like all over,
and feel kinder ugly, and rather sick of his job; but
when he seed him jump into bed, and heerd him snore out
a noise like a man driving pigs to market, he plucked up
courage, and thought he might do it easy arter all if he
was to open the door softly, and make one spring on him
afore he could wake. So round he goes, lifts up the latch
of his door as soft as soap, and makes a jump right atop
of him, as he lay on the bed. I guess I got you this
time, said Nabb: I guess so too, said Bill, but I wish
you would'nt lay so plaguy heavy on me--jist turn over,
that's a good fellow, will you? With that Bill lays his
arm on him to raise him up, for he said he was squeezed
as flat as a pancake, and afore Nabb knew where he was,
Bill rolled him right over and was atop of him. Then he
seized him by the throat, and twisted his pipe till his
eyes were, as big as saucers, and his tongue grew six
inches longer, while he kept making faces for all the
world like the pirate that was hanged on Monument Hill
at Boston. It was pretty near over with him, when Nabb
thought of his spurs; so he just curled up both heels,
and drove the spurs right into him; he let him have it
jist below his cruper; as Bill was naked he had a fair
chance, and he ragged him like the leaf of a book cut
open with your finger. At last, Bill could stand it no
longer; he let go his hold and roared like a bull, and
clapping both hands ahind him, he out of the door like
a shot. If it had'nt been for them are spurs, I guess
Bill would have saved the hangman a job of Nabb that
time.
The Clockmaker was an observing man, and communicative.
Nothing escaped his notice; he knew every body's genealogy,
history and means, and like a driver of an English Stage
Coach, was not unwilling to impart what he knew. Do you
see that snug looking house there, said he, with a short
sarce garden afore it, that belongs to Elder Thomson.
The Elder is pretty close fisted, and holds special fast
to all he gets. He is a just man and very pious, but I
have observed when a man becomes near about too good, he
is apt, sometimes, to slip a head into avarice, unless
he looks sharp arter his girths. A friend of mine in
Connecticut, an old sea Captain, who was once let in for
it pretty deep, by a man with a broader brim than common,
said to me, friend Sam, says he, "I don't like those
folks who are too d--n good." There is, I expect, some
truth in it, tho' he need'nt have swore at all, but he
was an awful hand to swear. Howsomever that may be, there
is a story about the Elder, that's not so coarse neither.
It appears, an old Minister came there once, to hold a
meetin at his house--well, after meetin was over, the
Elder took the minister all over his farm, which is pretty
tidy, I tell you; and he shewed him a great Ox he had,
and a swingeing big Pig, that weighed some six or seven
hundred weight, that he was plaguy proud of, but he never
offered the old minister any thing to eat or drink. The
preacher was pretty tired of all this, and seeing no
prospect of being asked to partake with the family, and
tolerably sharp set, he asked one of the boys to fetch
him his horse out of the barn. When he was taking leave
of the Elder, (there were several folks by at the time,)
says he, Elder Thomson, you have a fine farm here, a very
fine farm, indeed; you have a large Ox too, a very large
Ox; and I think, said he, I've seen to-day, (turning and
looking him full in the face, for he intended to hit him
pretty hard,) I think I have seen to-day the greatest
hag I ever saw in my life. The neighbours snickered a
good deal, and the Elder felt pretty streaked. I guess
he'd give his great Pig or his great Ox either, if that
story had'nt got wind.