Jockey Club was established at Nashville, by the most distinguished men
of Tennessee, among them General Jackson, Colonel Ed. Ward, General
Carroll, James Jackson, Dr. Sappington, Dr. Shelby, Dr. McNairy, Dr.
Butler, William Williams, Colonel Elliott, Newton Cannon and other
leading citizens of the State.
During the absence of Colonel Elliott and Uncle Berry, Dr. Sappington
employed Monkey Simon to ride for him, and when the race last above
mentioned came off, Simon rode Oscar against Whip, the latter owned and
run by his old friends and favorites, Col. Elliott and Uncle Berry. Some
uneasiness was manifested by the friends of Oscar, who was high-strung
and difficult to control, lest Simon should suffer himself to exhaust
himself early and thereby lose the race. This suspicion was altogether
groundless, for Simon always rode to win, if possible, and if he had a
weakness it was in being too eager for success in a close contest. At the
tap of the drum Oscar went off under a tremendous head of steam, and, in
spite of all Simon’s exertions to restrain him, was soon fifty or sixty
yards ahead, which served to increase the doubts of Simon’s fidelity. Dr.
Shelby dashed across the field and ordered Simon in a most peremptory
tone to hold his horse, to which Simon replied, in his characteristic
style: “You d—d fool, don’t you see his mouth is wide open?” And Simon
would have made the same reply to General Jackson under the same
circumstances.
The General said to Simon on one occasion, just before the horses started
in a very important race: “Now, Simon, when my horse comes up and is
about to pass you, don’t spit your tobacco juice in his eyes and the
eyes of his rider, as you sometimes do;” to which Simon replied: “Well,
Gineral, I’ve rode a good deal agin your horses, but (with an oath) none
were ever near enough to catch my spit.” On another occasion, after Maria
had beaten the General’s favorite, Pacolet, and when no friend dared
to take a liberty with him, Simon, meeting him in a large crowd, said:
“Gineral, you were always ugly, but now you’re a show. I could make a
fortune by showing you as you now look if I had you in a cage where you
could not hurt the people who come to look at you.”
Many years ago I was riding on horseback with Colonel Elliott to the
Nashville races, and when we reached a point about one mile from the
ferry at Nashville, on the Gallatin road, he observed: “Here is the place
where negroes were annually hired in old times, and where I have often
hired Simon, who, on account of his deformity and dissipated habits,
usually cost me from twelve to fifteen dollars per annum. On one occasion
Col. Robert C. Foster, guardian of the minor children to whom Simon
belonged, conceiving it to be his duty, bid against me and ran Simon up
to thirty-odd dollars, the then price of a good field hand. I concluded
to drop Simon on the Colonel’s hands and take the chance of hiring him
privately. Simon watched the bidding with the deepest interest, as he was
most anxious to remain in the stable and enjoy the fame and emoluments of
riding Haney’s Maria and other distinguished winners. When I indicated
that I would bid no more, Simon turned to the Colonel and said, in his
peculiarly sarcastic manner, with his head laid back and one eye closed:
‘Colonel Foster, by G—, I am not a sellin’ but hirin’ for only one year.’
The Colonel, who was a man of high spirit and great dignity, replied,
shaking his cane at Simon: ‘You impudent scoundrel, do you know who you
are talking to?’ Simon, with the most aggravating coolness, replied: ‘I
think I do, and if I am not mistaken, you are the same gentleman who made
a small ’speriment for governor once,’ alluding to a race the Colonel had
made for governor, under very unfavorable circumstances, in which he was
badly beaten. The witticism of Simon created much mirth, amidst which
Colonel Elliott got him at the next bid.”
The purses at that period were unworthy of the attention of so superior a
horse, and Dr. Sappington had neither the means nor disposition to travel
or run him for heavy matches; Oscar was, therefore, when sound in all
respects and in the prime of his racing career, withdrawn from the turf
and died at eleven years old, the property of General R. Desha and Mr.
Isaac Bledsoe, of Sumner County, where he left some fine running stock,
although he never served more than two or three thoroughbred mares.
The above ends Bailie Peyton’s interesting reminiscences of early horses
and horsemen. Mr. Peyton passed away many years ago, but his name will
live in the political and horse history of the State. He was a remarkable
man, a gentleman of the old school, a lawyer and a politician who ranked
with the great men of his day, while his knowledge on the subject quoted
above is authority.
His interesting account of the early historical horse reminds me of
another incident, with which I shall close this chapter, being in line
with the account of Mr. Peyton, the story of a pair of horses that
helped make American history.
Horses have figured so often in the affairs of our country—they
have helped us out of so many close places, so to speak—that a most
interesting book could be written about the historical horses of America.
There was Washington’s famous war horse, Paul Revere’s sprinter,
Sheridan’s charger, General Lee’s Traveler, Stonewall Jackson’s old
sorrel, Gen. John Adams’ old Charley, who died on the breastworks of
Franklin—in fact, as I said, a most readable book could be written of the
historical horses of America.
To-day I shall write about a pair of horses which played a most important
part in a most critical moment of our history. We have single horses in
plenty which have gone hand in hand with man in making history and fame,
but this is the only instance in our history that I can find where a pair
of horses accomplished the purpose. It is a part of the unwritten history
of the West, but every word of it is true, as I have been able to gather
it from old letters of pioneers, and old histories long since gone out of
print.
The most critical period of American history was that right after the
Revolutionary war, when the States were debating on the question of the
new constitution and the West—Kentucky, Tennessee and Ohio—were uncertain
whether they had any rights which anybody else was bound to respect.
For the first ten years after the Revolutionary war the most dangerous
foe the young Republic had was the great, but waning empire of Spain. At
that time the States were a narrow strip on the Atlantic stretching from
Maine to Florida, and practically bounded by the Appalachian Mountains.
England had large claims on the Great Lakes and extending down nearly
to the Ohio, and Spain owned nearly everything else, holding all the
territory bordering on the Gulf from Florida to Mexico, extending up
into the present States of Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana. In this
instance Louisiana meant really all that vast domain which lay west of
the Mississippi, stretching clear up to the present State of Oregon.
The great Mississippi river flowed for a long way through Spanish
possessions, and Spain, foolhardy and narrow then as to-day, and wishing
to do the young Republic all the harm she could, closed the river to
American commerce, an act which meant stagnation and ruin to the young
territories of the West. For these border settlers were altogether an
agricultural people and a great wilderness infested by hostile Indians
lay between them and the older States. What they raised for sale had to
pass down the Mississippi river.
And they increased rapidly in Tennessee, Ohio and Kentucky, and,
moreover, they were of that stock of people who would not be fooled with.
They looked upon the great river as God-given and they did not understand
how an arrogant nation living across the ocean, could deprive them of
their natural rights. But that was not all. Spain was then as now cruel
and vindictive, and while professing friendship for these people she
secretly armed the savages and encouraged them to kill all the settlers
west of the Alleghanies. And that they came near doing this the early
records of Tennessee and Kentucky attest. The Indians murdered them day
and night. But for a few heroic men and Indian fighters like Sevier,
Robertson and Shelby, they had been entirely exterminated. But they
increased in spite of everything, and naturally accumulating both in
numbers and products, they wanted a market for their stuff. They asked
aid of Congress, but Congress seemed to have troubles of her own just
then and paid no attention to them, except to send John Jay over to treat
with Spain about it. But Jay could do nothing, and it seems fell into the
Spanish idea, for he sent in a report to Congress recommending a treaty
with Spain which should close the Mississippi to commerce for twenty-five
years. Jay explained that the right to use the river could only be
acquired by a war with Spain, for which the United States was unprepared;
that the matter was not important now, and that in twenty-five years
the country would be strong enough to do as they wished. New York, New
Jersey, Pennsylvania and New England voted for this resolution, but the
Southern States opposed it, and it failed to pass by only two votes.
The Western people became indignant. Public meetings were held everywhere
from the Watauga settlement, in East Tennessee, to Kentucky, and
the remoter West. “To inclose us in a Chinese wall, to prohibit the
navigation of the Mississippi, to sell us and make us vassals to the
merciless Spaniards, is a grievance not to be borne,” they said. So great
was their discontent that strong talk was indulged in, and it began to be
feared that they would have to organize a government of their own, since
their own Congress would give them no assistance. The attorney-general
of Kentucky wrote to the President of Congress: “I am decidedly of the
opinion that this Western country will, in a few years, act for itself
and erect an independent government; for under the present system we
cannot exert our strength, neither does Congress seem disposed to help
us.” In fact, things soon came to such a pass that one of two things
would happen: the West would form a government of their own or the
Mississippi must be opened for them. I shall show how a smart, brainy
rascal and a pair of Kentucky geldings accomplished the opening of the
river and saved the West to the Union.
James Wilkerson was his name, and a smoother, brainier, more ambitious
and more unscrupulous scamp never figured but once before in American
history—and that was his prototype, Aaron Burr. I have no space for his
history. Suffice to say that he was one of the cabal who rose to some
prominence in the war and who tried to oust Washington and put Gates
in command of the army. Later events proved him to be an unscrupulous
politician, and he moved to Kentucky. Kentucky must have had great horses
even in those days, for Wilkerson got rich trading. He had a fine eye for
good horses, and in his trafficking he got hold of a pair of beautiful
geldings. Pork in the West was only a dollar and a half per hundred,
corn ten cents a bushel and tobacco rotting in the fields, all owing to
the great river being closed to American commerce. Wilkerson conceived a
brilliant idea. He could get fabulous prices for all these articles in
the Spanish city of New Orleans. He loaded an immense flat boat—several
of them—with these articles and set them afloat on the great river. He
himself got up a handsome retinue, took a pair of beautiful geldings and
went overland to the first Spanish fort at Natchez. It was a big risk he
ran, for it had been tried before, and every time the Spanish garrison
had stopped the boats with their guns, called them in and confiscated
the cargoes. Wilkerson went right to the Spanish commander, Don Gayoso
de Lamos, at Natchez, who was a scamp after Wilkerson’s own heart, and
there he began his game. He fascinated Lamos with his talk, his elegance,
his wit and his learning. He convinced Lamos that he was the greatest and
most influential man in the West, and could command an army of twenty
thousand Westerners. He got Lamos drunk—no difficult task—and finally,
as the flat boats neared, he began to talk horse to him. Mr. Lamos loved
a good one, too—in fact he could talk on that subject all night, and so
he and Wilkerson played cards and drank wine and talked horse until they
became boon chums and companions. But all the time Wilkerson was holding
back his trump card for the last. He kept the beautiful pair of Kentucky
geldings safely in the background, well groomed and on their mettle.
Then his men reported that his boats were coming—that they would be
under the guns of Natchez the next day. Early that day Wilkerson brought
out his beautiful geldings and called on the charming Mr. Don Gayoso de
Lamos. Would Mr. Don walk with him to the grass plat on the bluff? Would
he accept a trifling little gift, a token of his great admiration and
everlasting friendship for the mighty Mr. Don? Certainly he would. No one
ever heard of a Don refusing anything. When the blankets were taken off
the Don could not contain his admiration. What beauties they were! How
their coats shone! He hugged Wilkerson and then he hugged the horses. He
talked fast and his eyes glittered and he was immensely merry. Then a gun
boomed from the fort.
“What is it?” asked the Don.
“It was some flat boats loaded with produce,” so said the officer, “and
must he sink them or call them in?”
Then Wilkerson explained carelessly that they were his, going to New
Orleans, and that he had on them some trifling things like butter and
eggs and tobacco for his Majesty’s people there, and he hoped they might
be allowed to pass on.
The Don looked at the boats and he looked at the officer and then he
looked long and lovingly at the horses—and they won, by a neck. He waved
his hand to the officer and said:
“Let them pass. Let them report to Miro, at New Orleans.”
And so Wilkerson and his horses won, and for the first time an American
cargo went down the great river unmolested.
At New Orleans Wilkerson played a different game. He tried to wheedle
and frighten the Spanish commander by turns. He told him he could bring
enough riflemen there to wipe out Spain’s troops, but that in reality the
Westerners were tired of the Republic and would go under the protection
of Spain if the latter showed them any favors, such as opening up the
river to their trade, and thus playing on Spain’s fear, credulity, vanity
and ambitions, he accomplished his purpose, finally ending in Spain
opening up the river, and later, from fear, selling out the last remnant
of her once mighty empire of virgin land in the North American country.
But it was Wilkerson and his Kentucky geldings that did it, after John
Jay and Congress had failed.
(Continued.)
[Illustration: A New Industry in the South—Tea Raising in Texas.]
Content
Shall I complain because on me is laid
The common burden of this world of pain?
No more my heart shall throb to joy’s sweet strain;
The path leads on through sorrow’s darkest shade.
Yet midst the gloom I venture, unafraid;
The power that gave me love will still sustain.
That which is mine forever shall remain,
Whatever powers against me are arrayed.
My shining ones! The glory round you cast
Fails to illumine all the desert space
And every wayward path my feet may choose.
No ruthless fate can rob me of my past.
Beyond death’s gloom I see each radiant face.
God help those women who have naught to lose!
SARAH D. HOBART.
The Economic Value of Birds
By JOHN H. WALLACE, JR., OF HUNTSVILLE, ALA.
The time has come when the people must call a halt on the reckless and
wanton slaughter of the small remnant of the game birds and game mammals,
or in a few years not a vestige will remain.
This can be done only by the enactment and enforcement of a law that will
in reality protect the game.
We have game laws, but there is no popular demand, or public sentiment,
that calls for their enforcement. All readily agree that infractors of
the existing statutes should be prosecuted, yet no one seems to be called
upon to instigate prosecutions.
The game law is violated, in most instances, because the offenders know
that they will not be indicted.
We need a uniform law, a game warden who has the authority to appoint
deputies in each county and precinct in the State, whose duty it is to
enforce the game law and bring the breakers thereof to justice.
Let every sportsman and lover of bird life in the country take up the
fight for such a law, and wage a vigorous and determined campaign for its
speedy enactment.
* * * * *
Game birds, to some extent, by virtue of their already deplorable
scarcity, have elicited protective legislation. The mind of man
imperatively demands recreation. Unless diversion can be found in
a legitimate vein he, in his great unrest, seeks that which is not
wholesome.
Hunting has ever been the sport of kings, peasants and savages alike, and
the chase will always hold for man an incomparable infatuation.
When America was first discovered, here abounded an idealistic
sportsman’s paradise. Buffalo, deer, moose, elk, bear, and panther roamed
the forests. Geese, duck, brant, swan and wild pigeons flew overhead in
countless millions. Practically all have been slaughtered, and the great
sport once enjoyed by primeval Nimrods lingers only in a tradition.
The few remaining species of game birds should be vigilantly protected
against annihilation, and so propagated that gentlemen will consider the
pursuit of the elusive denizens of the brush infinitely preferable to
Bacchanal hilarity and that riotous revelry that emasculates all that is
noble, pure and godlike in man’s architecture.
* * * * *
The great question of the cause of the prevalence of plant maladies and
the problem of the weed control each year grows more harassing to the
farmers. The reason for this is simple. Our most beneficial birds, among
them doves, robins, field larks and bullbats, have been so ruthlessly
destroyed that in less than a generation their numbers have decreased 80
per cent.
When the fact is recalled that the crop of one dove, recently killed in
Tennessee, contained over 7,000 weed seeds, and when it is understood
that a healthy dove will destroy each feeding day at least 5,000
prospective weeds, more than two negroes, working at $1.50 per day each,
could uproot in double the time, it is easy to see, from the tons upon
tons of weed seed (besides insects) that this bird would destroy each
year, that our cheapest, most efficient hoe hand proves in the end to be
the Alabama dove.
As an insect devourer, the bullbat is equally serviceable. Its stomach
is elastic and will hold more than that of a pigeon, and its voracity
is simply phenomenal, yet its diminutive frame is smaller than that of
a “killdee.” The part borne by the bullbat in mosquito destruction,
especially in the extermination of the “anopheles,” or malaria-spreading
species, transcends the combined work of a case of quinine and a tank of
kerosene oil. As a fever germ abater in a malarial district, a flock of
bullbats would be worth a grove of quinine trees.
Besides the robin and field lark, already mentioned, both being insect
and weed destroyers, there are many other birds that do invaluable work
for the farmer without. The ravages made by the dreaded Mexican boll
weevil, that devastates cotton fields like a withering simoon, cannot be
checked in a surer way than by being obliterated by our insectivorous
birds.
If our people could fully appreciate the value of preserving the existing
remnant of our birds, without considering its future increase, the halls
of our State capitol would resound with an emphatic and peremptory demand
for adequate legislation, for the preservation of our birds means little
less than the preservation of our agriculture itself. Their extinction
would amount practically to wiping out the entire farming interests of
our splendid commonwealth.
Statistics incontestably demonstrate the fact that rainfall not only
regulates the yield of our plantation, but that it directs and controls
the fate of our national politics. When rainfall is light, the people
raise poor crops, and are therefore unhappy and discontented. It is then
they desire to make a change in the administration of the governmental
affairs, and therefore the party in power is deposed. When there is
an excess of rainfall abundant crops result and the party in power is
retained. Thus it is that, unless speedy legislation is had in order that
the insectivorous birds remaining may be retained to do valiant service
for their farmer friends, discord will perennially blight the heart of
the happy husbandman, and political chaos and turbulence will reign
throughout the nation, and the anthems of contentment and cadences of
prosperity will not longer pervade the hearts of the honest sons of toil,
but will be hushed and swallowed up by the sighs and groans of the imp of
insatiate despair.
* * * * *
Song birds, aside from their brilliant plumage, so pleasing to the
observer, and their sweet music, redolent with liquid melody, have
a civic value of inestimable intrinsic worth that, if truly known
and practically comprehended, would win millions of friends for the
thrilling choristers of the fields and forests, who would indignantly
halt the crusade of relentless extermination strenuously waged that
gives excellent promise of ultimately depopulating all creation of man’s
valiant army of feathered coadjutors.
Did you ever hear an inspiring strain of music that failed to thrill the
soul with lofty ideals and more exalted aspirations?
All those who dwell in an atmosphere of intellectual refinement yearn for
brilliant things in flowers, birds, sunsets, and in their fellow mortals.
A heartless boy who recklessly slaughters birds will inevitably develop
into a relentless man. If taught to hold the law in high esteem when
young in years, he becomes a patriotic man, with a profound reverence for
the statutes of his State. The most courageous men, bravest warriors, and
the most aggressive leaders are those of gentle natures and of tender
hearts. Instill these precepts into the souls of boys, and, existing
in such noble environment, it will mold characters that will ornament
society and serve to lift mankind from the miasmic swamps of degeneracy
to the mountain tops where radiates the splendor of moral grandeur.
* * * * *
To help prevent the spread of the boll weevil, pass stringent laws for
the protection of birds! Then let the planters insist that the bird laws
be strictly enforced.
Note the following stupendous agricultural interests which are at stake:
Value of farms
Acres excluding
in farms. buildings.
North Carolina 22,749,356 $141,955,840
South Carolina 13,985,014 99,805,860
Georgia 26,392,057 138,616,430
Florida 4,363,891 31,823,016
Alabama 20,685,427 100,165,571
Mississippi 18,240,736 114,956,660
Louisiana 11,059,127 107,730,210
----------- ------------
Total 117,475,608 $733,852,587
Protect the birds—the farmers’ best helpers!
[Illustration: Digging Sweet Potatoes in Texas—a Plenteous Yield.]
Luther Burbank
(After reading the poem by John Trotwood Moore, October Trotwood’s
Monthly.)
They say you touched the desert
And turned its thorns to fruit;
That you nodded to the Daisy,
And raised the Lily mute;
That flowers ran to meet you,
The kind whose souls had died;
That they begged to touch your garment,
And they all stood glorified.
You’re a Poet, Preacher, Painter,
And a Master, all in one,
And I do congratulate you
On the good that you have done.
For your weddings have been “Fruitful,”
As the nuptial knot you tied
(With a Cabbage for a bridegroom
And an Onion for a bride).
And while you hang sweet pictures
On the boughs in gold and red,
There is one thing that you can’t do—
GROW SOME HAIR ON MY BALD HEAD.
E. E. SWEETLAND.
Lady Cornelia’s Spinet
By MARY POLK WYNN.
(A true story, and beautifully told, of an early pioneer incident.—Ed.)
Long stretches of white turnpike, with fields of ripening grain on either
side, and in the distance hills that fade into the blue horizon.
This is Middle Tennessee at the present time. Even so far back as 1790
there were a few good roads and houses built by workmen from the “Mother
State,” built in Colonial style, with white Corinthian pillars and
polished oaken floors.