I thanked him kindly, but repeated my assurances.

The reader will not suppose that the district took its name from the

character of the inhabitants. In almost every county in the State, there

is some spot or district which bears a contemptuous appellation, usually

derived from local rivalship, or from a single accidental circumstance.

XVII.

THE HORSE SWAP.

During the session of the Superior Court, in the village of ——, about

three weeks ago, when a number of people were collected in the principal

street of the village, I observed a young man riding up and down the

street, as I supposed, in a violent passion. He galloped this way, then

that, and then the other. Spurred his horse to one group of citizens,

then to another. Then dashed off at half speed, as if fleeing from

danger; and suddenly checking his horse, returned—first in a pace, then

in a trot, and then in a canter. While he was performing these various

evolutions, he cursed, swore, whooped, screamed, and tossed himself in

every attitude which man could assume on horseback. In short, he

_cavorted_ most magnanimously (a term which, in our tongue, expresses

all that I have described, and a little more), and seemed to be setting

all creation at defiance.

As I like to see all that is passing, I determined to take a position a

little nearer to him, and to ascertain, if possible, what it was that

affected him so sensibly. Accordingly, I approached a crowd before which

he had stopped for a moment, and examined it with the strictest

scrutiny. But I could see nothing in it that seemed to have anything to

do with the cavorter. Every man appeared to be in a good humour, and all

minding their own business. Not one so much as noticed the principal

figure. Still he went on. After a semicolon pause, which my appearance

seemed to produce—for he eyed me closely as I approached—he fetched a

whoop, and swore that “he could out-swap any live man, woman or child,

that ever walked these hills, or that ever straddled horse-flesh since

the days of old daddy Adam.”

“Stranger,” said he to me, “did you ever see the _Yallow Blossom_ from

Jasper?”

“No,” said I “but I have often heard of him.”

“I’m the boy,” continued he; “perhaps a _leetle_—jist a _leetle_ of the

best man, at a horse swap, that ever trod shoe-leather.”

I began to feel my situation a little awkward, when I was relieved by a

man somewhat advanced in years, who stepped up and began to survey the

“_Yallow Blossom’s_” horse with much apparent interest. This drew the

rider’s attention, and he turned the conversation from me to the

stranger.

“Well, my old ’coon,” said he, “do you want to swap _hosses_?”

“Why, I don’t know,” replied the stranger; “I believe I’ve got a beast

I’d trade with you for that one, if you like him.”

“Well, fetch up your nag, my old cock; you’re jist the lark I wanted to

get hold of. I am perhaps a _leetle_, jist a _leetle_, of the best man

at a horse swap, that ever stole _cracklins_ out of his mammy’s

fat-gourd. Where’s your _hoss_?”

“I’ll bring him presently; but I want to examine your horse a little.”

“Oh! look at him,” said the Blossom, alighting and hitting him a cut,

“look at him. He’s the best piece of _hoss_ flesh in the thirteen united

universal worlds. There’s no sort o’ mistake in little Bullet. He can

pick up miles on his feet and fling ’em behind him as fast as the next

man’s _hoss_, I don’t care where he comes from. And he can keep at it as

long as the sun can shine without resting.”

During this harangue, little Bullet looked as if he understood it all,

believed it, and was ready at any moment to verify it. He was a horse of

goodly countenance, rather expressive of vigilance than fire; though an

unnatural appearance of fierceness was thrown into it, by the loss of

his ears, which had been cropped pretty close to his head. Nature had

done but little for Bullet’s head and neck; but he managed, in a great

measure, to hide their defects, by bowing perpetually. He had obviously

suffered severely for corn; but if his ribs and hip bones had not

disclosed the fact, _he_ never would have done it; for he was, in all

respects, as cheerful and happy as if he commanded all the corn-cribs

and fodder-stacks in Georgia. His height was about twelve hands; but as

his shape partook somewhat of that of the giraffe, his haunches stood

much lower. They were short, strait, peaked and concave. Bullet’s tail,

however, made amends for all his defects. All that the artist could do

to beautify it, had been done; and all that horse could do to compliment

the artist, Bullet did. His tail was nicked in superior style, and

exhibited the line of beauty in so many directions, that it could not

fail to hit the most fastidious taste in some of them. From the root it

dropped into a graceful festoon; then rose in a handsome curve; then

resumed its first direction; and then mounted suddenly upwards like a

cypress knee, to a perpendicular of about two and a half inches. The

whole had a careless and bewitching inclination to the right.

Bullet obviously knew where his beauty lay, and took all occasions to

display it to the best advantage. If a stick cracked, or if any one

moved suddenly about him, or coughed, or hawked, or spoke a little

louder than common, up went Bullet’s tail like lightning; and if the

_going up_ did not please, the _coming down_ must of necessity, for it

was as different from the other movement, as was its direction. The

first, was a bold and rapid flight upward; usually to an angle of

forty-five degrees. In this position he kept his interesting appendage,

until he satisfied himself that nothing in particular was to be done;

when he commenced dropping it by half inches, in second beats—then in

tripple time—then faster and shorter, and faster and shorter still;

until it finally died away imperceptibly into its natural position. If I

might compare sights to sounds, I should say its _settling_ was more

like the note of a locust than anything else in nature.

Either from native sprightliness of disposition, from uncontrollable

activity, or from an unconquerable habit of removing flies by the

stamping of the feet, Bullet never stood still; but always kept up a

gentle fly-scaring movement of his limbs, which was peculiarly

interesting.

“I tell you, man,” proceeded the Yellow Blossom, “he’s the best live

hoss that ever trod the grit of Georgia. Bob Smart knows the hoss. Come

here, Bob, and mount this hoss and show Bullet’s motions.”

Here, Bullet bristled up, and looked as if he had been hunting for Bob

all day long, and had just found him. Bob sprang on his back.

“Boo-oo-oo!” said Bob, with a fluttering noise of the lips; and away

went Bullet, as if in a quarter race, with all his beauties spread in

handsome style.

“Now fetch him back,” said Blossom.

Bullet turned and came in pretty much as he went out.

“Now trot him by.”

Bullet reduced his tail to “_customary_”—sidled to the right and left

airily, and exhibited at least three varieties of trot, in the short

space of fifty yards.

“Make him pace!”

Bob commenced twitching the bridle and kicking at the same time. These

inconsistent movements obviously (and most naturally) disconcerted

Bullet; for it was impossible for him to learn, from them, whether he

was to proceed or stand still. He started to trot—and was told that

wouldn’t do. He attempted a canter—and was checked again. He stopt—and

was urged to go on. Bullet now rushed into the wide field of experiment,

and struck out a gait of his own, that completely turned the tables upon

his rider, and certainly deserved a patent. It seemed to have derived

its elements from the jig, the minuet, and the cotillon. If it was not a

pace, it certainly had _pace_ in it; and no man would venture to call it

any thing else; so it passed off to the satisfaction of the owner.

“Walk him!”

Bullet was now at home again; and he walked as if money was staked on

him.

The stranger, whose name I afterwards learned was Peter Ketch, having

examined Bullet to his heart’s content, ordered his son Neddy to go and

bring up Kit. Neddy soon appeared upon Kit; a well-formed sorrel of the

middle size, and in good order. His _tout ensemble_ threw Bullet

entirely in the shade; though a glance was sufficient to satisfy any

one, that Bullet had the decided advantage of him in point of intellect.

“Why man,” said Blossom, “do you bring such a hoss as that to trade for

Bullet? Oh, I see you’re no notion of trading.”

“Ride him off, Neddy!” said Peter.

Kit put off at a handsome lope.

“Trot him back!”

Kit came in at a long, sweeping trot, and stopt suddenly at the crowd.

“Well,” said Blossom, “let me look at him; maybe he’ll do to plough.”

“Examine him!” said Peter, taking hold of the bridle close to the mouth.

“He’s nothing but a tacky. He an’t as _pretty_ a horse as Bullet, I

know; but he’ll do. Start ’em together for a hundred and fifty _mile_;

and if Kit an’t twenty mile ahead of him at the coming out, any man may

take Kit for nothing. But he’s a monstrous mean horse, gentlemen; any

man may see that. He’s the scariest horse, too, you ever saw. He won’t

do to hunt on, no how. Stranger, will you let Neddy have your rifle to

shoot off him? Lay the rifle between his ears, Neddy, and shoot at the

blaze in that stump. Tell me when his head is high enough.”

Ned fired, and hit the blaze: and Kit did not move a hair’s breadth.

“Neddy, take a couple of sticks and beat on that hogshead at Kit’s

tail.”

Ned made a tremendous rattling; at which Bullet took fright, broke his

bridle and dashed off in grand style; and would have stopt all farther

negociations, by going home in disgust, had not a traveller arrested him

and brought him back: but Kit did not move.

“I tell you, gentlemen,” continued Peter, “he’s the scariest horse you

ever saw. He an’t as gentle as Bullet; but he won’t do any harm if you

watch him. Shall I put him in a cart, gig, or wagon for you, stranger?

He’ll cut the same capers there he does here. He’s a monstrous mean

horse.”

During all this time, Blossom was examining him with the nicest

scrutiny. Having examined his frame and limbs, he now looked at his

eyes.

“He’s got a curious look out of his eyes,” said Blossom.

“Oh yes, Sir,” said Peter, “just as blind as a bat. Blind horses always

have clear eyes. Make a motion at his eyes, if you please, Sir.”

Blossom did so, and Kit threw up his head rather as if something pricked

him under the chin, than as if fearing a blow. Blossom repeated the

experiment, and Kit jirked back with considerable astonishment.

“Stone blind, you see, gentlemen,” proceeded Peter; “but he’s just as

good to travel of a dark night as if he had eyes.”

“Blame my buttons,” said Blossom, “if I like them eyes.”

“No,” said Peter, “nor I either. I’d rather have ’em made of diamonds;

but they’ll do, if they don’t show as much white as Bullet’s.”

“Well,” said Blossom, “make a pass at me.”

“No,” said Peter; “you made the banter, now make your pass.”

“Well, I’m never afraid to price my hosses. You must give me twenty-five

dollars boot.”

“Oh certainly; say fifty, and my saddle and bridle in. Here, Neddy, my

son, take away daddy’s horse.”

“Well,” said Blossom, “I’ve made my pass, now you make yours.”

“I’m for short talk in a horse swap; and therefore always tell a

gentleman, at once, what I mean to do. You must give me ten dollars.”

Blossom swore absolutely, roundly, and profanely, that he never would

give boot.

“Well,” said Peter, “I didn’t care about trading; but you cut such high

shines that I thought I’d like to back you out; and I’ve done it.

Gentlemen, you see I’ve brought him to a hack.”

“Come, old man,” said Blossom, “I’ve been joking with you. I begin to

think you do want to trade; therefore give me five dollars and take

Bullet. I’d rather lose ten dollars, any time, than not make a trade;

though I hate to fling away a good hoss.”

“Well,” said Peter, “I’ll be as clever as you are. Just put the five

dollars on Bullet’s back and hand him over, it’s a trade.”

Blossom swore again, as roundly as before, that he would not give boot;

and, said he:

“Bullet wouldn’t hold five dollars on his back no how. But as I bantered

you, if you say an even swap, here’s at you.”

“I told you,” said Peter, “I’d be as clever as you; therefore, here goes

two dollars more, just for trade sake. Give me three dollars, and it’s a

bargain.”

Blossom repeated his former assertion; and here the parties stood for a

long time, and the by-standers (for many were now collected,) began to

taunt both parties. After some time, however, it was pretty unanimously

decided that the old man had backed Blossom out.

At length Blossom swore he “never would be backed out, for three

dollars, after bantering a man;” and accordingly they closed the trade.

“Now,” said Blossom, as he handed Peter the three dollars, “I’m a man,

that when he makes a bad trade, makes the most of it until he can make a

better. I’m for no rues and after-claps.”

“That’s just my way,” said Peter; “I never goes to law to mend my

bargains.”

“Ah, you’re the kind of boy I love to trade with. Here’s your hoss, old

man. Take the saddle and bridle off him, and I’ll strip yours; but lift

up the blanket easy from Bullet’s back, for he’s a mighty tender-backed

hoss.”

The old man removed the saddle, but the blanket stuck fast. He attempted

to raise it, and Bullet bowed himself, switched his tail, danced a

little, and gave signs of biting.

“Don’t hurt him, old man,” said Blossom archly; “take it off easy. I am,

perhaps, a leetle of the best man at a horse-swap that ever catched a

’coon.”

Peter continued to pull at the blanket more and more roughly; and Bullet

became more and more _cavortish_: in so much, that when the blanket came

off, he had reached the _kicking_ point in good earnest.

The removal of the blanket, disclosed a sore on Bullet’s back-bone, that

seemed to have defied all medical skill. It measured six full inches in

length, and four in breadth; and had as many features as Bullet had

motions. My heart sickened at the sight; and I felt that the brute who

had been riding him in that situation, deserved the halter.

The prevailing feeling, however, was that of mirth. The laugh became

loud and general, at the old man’s expense; and rustic witticisms were

liberally bestowed upon him and his late purchase. These, Blossom

continued to provoke by various remarks. He asked the old man, “if he

thought Bullet would let five dollars lie on his back.” He declared most

seriously, that he had owned that horse three months, and had never

discovered before that he had a sore back, “or he never should have

thought of trading him,” &c. &c.

The old man bore it all with the most philosophic composure. He evinced

no astonishment at his late discovery, and made no replies. But his son,

Neddy, had not disciplined his feelings quite so well. His eyes opened

wider and wider, from the first to the last pull of the blanket; and

when the whole sore burst upon his view, astonishment and fright seemed

to contend for the mastery of his countenance. As the blanket

disappeared he stuck his hands in his breeches pockets, heaved a deep

sigh, and lapsed into a profound reverie; from which he was only roused

by the cuts at his father. He bore them as long as he could; and when he

could contain himself no longer, he began with a certain wildness of

expression, which gave a peculiar interest to what he uttered:

“His buck’s mighty bad off, but ded drot my soal if he’s put it to daddy

as bad as he thinks he has, for old Kit’s both blind and _deef_, I’ll be

ded drot if he eint.”

“The devil he is,” said Blossom.

“Yes, ded drot my soal if he _eint_. You walk him and see if he _eint_.

His eyes don’t look like it; but he _jist as live go agin_ the horse

with you, or in a ditch, as anyhow. Now you go try him.”

The laugh was now turned on Blossom; and many rushed to test the

fidelity of the little boy’s report. A few experiments established its

truth, beyond controversy.

“Neddy,” said the old man, “you oughtn’t to try and make people

discontented with their things. Stranger, don’t mind what the little boy

says. If you can only get Kit rid of them little failings, you’ll find

him all sorts of a horse. You are a _leetle_ the best man, at a horse

swap, that ever I got hold of; but don’t fool away Kit. Come, Neddy, my

son, let’s be moving; the stranger seems to be getting snappish.”

XVIII.

THREE CHANCES FOR A WIFE.

When a man has three chances for a wife, it is, indeed, a hard mischance

if he should fail. The following is one of those cases which might have

occurred down east, but I am rather doubtful if a similar event was ever

known in any other part of the world. But let me give the experience of

the gentleman, who had three chances, in his own language:

“I once courted a gal by the name of Deb Hawkins. I made it up to get

married. Well, while we was going up to the deacon’s, I stepped my foot

into a mud puddle, and spattered the mud all over Deb Hawkins’ new gown,

made out of her grandmother’s old chintz petticoat. Well when we got to

the deacon’s, he asked Deb if she would take me for her lawful wedded

husband?

“‘No,’ says she, ‘I shan’t do no such thing.’

“‘What on airth is the reason?’ says I.

“‘Why,’ says she, ‘I’ve taken a mislikin’ to you.’

“Well, it was all up with me then, but I give her a string of beads, a

few kisses, some other notions, and made it all up with her; so we went

up to the deacon’s a second time. I was determined to come up to her

this time, so when the deacon asked me if I would take her for my

lawfully wedded wife, says I:

“‘No, I shan’t do no such thing.’

“‘Why,’ says Deb, ‘what on airth is the matter?’

“‘Why,’ says I, ‘I have taken a mislikin’ to you now.’

“Well there it was all up again, but I gave her a new apron, and a few

other little trinkets, and we went up again to get married. We expected

then we would be tied so fast that all nature couldn’t separate us, and

when we asked the deacon if he wouldn’t marry us he said:

“‘No, I shan’t dew any such thing.’

“‘Why, what on airth is the reason? says we.

“‘Why,’ says he, ‘I’ve taken a mislikin’ to both on you.’

“Deb burst out cryin’, the deacon burst out scoldin’, and I burst out

laughin’, and sich a set of reg’lar busters you never did see.”

XIX.

THE YANKEE AMONGST THE MERMAIDS.

A YARN, BY A CAPE CODDER.

Do I b’leve in the sea-sarpint? You might as well ax me if I b’leved in

the compass, or thought the log could lie. I’ve never seed the critter

myself, cos I haint cruised in them waters as he locates himself in, not

since I started on my first voyage in the ‘Confidence’ whaler, Captain

Coffing; but I recking I’ve got a brother as hails from Nahant, that

sees him handsome every year, and knows the latitude and longitude of

the beast, just as well as I knows the length o’ the futtock shrouds o’

the foretops.

Did _you_ ever see a marmaid? Waell, then, I reckon you’d best shut up,

cos _I_ have, and many on ’em; and marmen too, and marmisses and

marmasters, of all sizes, from babbies not bigger nor mackrels to

regular six-feeters, with starns like a full-grow’d porpus. I’ve been at

a marmaid’s tea-party, and after larnin’ the poor ignorant scaly

critters how to splice the main-brace, I left the hull bilin’ on ’em

blazin’ drunk.

You see, when our craft was cruisin’ up the Arches, we cast anchor one

mornin’ in pretty deep water, just abrest of a small green island as

wasn’t down in the chart, and hadn’t got no name, nyther. But our

capting know’d what he was arter, abeout as right as ninepence, cos a

small skewner came alongside pretty sune, freighted with brandy and wine

for the officers, what they’d ordered for their own private stores.

Waell, the slings was run up to the end o’ the main-yard, and the

waisters were busy hoistin’ up the barrils, when a cask o’ brandy

slipped from the slings as it was being canted round, and dropped right

splash into the sea, sinkin’ right away. Upon ’zaminationing the

manifest, it proved to be the best cask o’ brandy in the skewner,

imported from Boardo direct for the capting himself.

“You etarnal lazy suckers,” said he; “look here! take all the boats’

anchors, lash ’em together in tews so as to form grapnels o’ four pints

each, and drag all about here for that ar’ brandy—and mind you find it,

or I’ll put every mother’s son of you on short allowance o’ rye for the

next month.”

Waell, the boats was ordered out, and a gropin’ we went. I was placed in

the jolly, with Sy Davis and Pete Slinks, and a middy to direct. The

middy was a pretty considerable smart fellow, and jest as we was puttin’

off, he nodded up to the chaplin as was leanin’ over the side, and says:

“What say you to an hour’s float upon this here glassy sea?”

The parson was down by the man ropes in a minnit, and off we sot a

fishin’ for the brandy tub.

The current run pretty slick by the side o’ the little island, and the

second luff, who was in the cutter, ordered us to go a-head and watch

along the shore jest to see if the tub warn’t rolled up there by the

tide. We pretended to look right hard for the tub, till we made the lee

o’ the island, and then if we didn’t resolve to take it easy and run the

noose o’ the jolly into the yaller sand o’ the shore, there ain’t no

snakes. I held on in the starn by the grapnel, and the parson pulled out

of his pocket a good-sized sample bottle o’ the new stuff as he’d jest

bought, and wanted the middy to taste—and arter passin’ their ideas on

the licker, the chaplin gave us men a pretty stiff horn a piece, now I

tell you—and first-rate it was, I swow. It iled the parson’s tongue

like all out-doors—it took him to talk—all abeout the old original

anteek names o’ the islands that laid in spots all about thar’—classic

ground, as he called it, and a pretty yarn he did spin tew.

Then the middy, who’d been keepin’ dark and layin’ low all this time,

show’d his broughtens-up, and let fly a hull broadside at the parson

about them ar’ syringes and other fabblus wimming.

Waell, you see, all this here talk made us dry as thunder; so the

chaplin said he guessed the sun was over the fore-yard, and baled us out

another horn o’ licker all round. Then he took a “spell ho!” at the

jawin’ tackle, and allowed there was a river in Jarminy, where all our

Dutch imegrants hails from, and that a naked gall used to locate herself

in a whirlpool, and come up on moonshiney nights and sing a hull bookful

o’ songs, as turned the heads o’ all the young fellers in them parts.

Waell, reports ruz up as she’d a hull cargo o’ gold stowed away at the

bottom o’ the whirlpool, and many a wild young Jarman, seduced by the

gall’s singin’ and hopes o’ gold, lept into the river, and warn’t heerd

on never arter. These matters hurt the young gall’s kariter, and the old

folks, who’d always allowed that she was a kind of goddess, began to

think that she warn’t the clear grit, and the young fellers said her

singin’ was no great shakes, and that her beauty warn’t the thing it was

cracked up to be.

There was a famous general, who wasn’t raised in that section o’ the

country, but had swapped a castle on a mountain in Spain for one o’ them

ar’ water lots near the whirlpool; he began to find himself rayther

short o’ cash to buy his groceries, and concluding that he couldn’t dew

without a leetle whiskey to keep off the aguy, resolved to pay the

whirlpool gall a visit, and jest see if he couldn’t soft soap the young

critter out of a leetle rhino. Next full moon, he tortles to the bluff

what hung over the bilin’ and foamin’ river, and jest at eight bells, up

ruz the gall, stark naked, a sittin’ on the white froth o’ the whirlin’

water, and singin’, “Won’t you come to my bower what I’ve shaded for

you?”

“Waell,” says the gineral, not a bit daunted—says he, “look here, my

gall: I mean to eat a lobster salad with you to-night, if you promise to

behave like a lady, and won’t cut up no shines.”

Waell, the gall give her word o’ honour, and the gineral dove into the

whirlpool, and down they went right slick.

Next mornin’, the gineral was found to hum with a sighter old gold

pieces, bigger round than the top of a backer-box, and a hull pot full

o’ the tallest kind o’ jewels; you see, the sojer had carried a small

flask of Monongahely in his pocket, and the river gall couldn’t git over

the old rye—tew glasses opened her heart, I guess, and she let the

gineral slip his cable in the mornin’ with just abeout as much gold as

he could stow away.

Some o’ his friends kalkilated as he’d better drop his anchor thar’

agin—and there was some talk in the settlement of formin’ a jynt-stock

company for the purpose o’ gettin’ up all the gold—but the gineral

tell’d ’em he guessed he’d got enough for him, and he seed quite enough

down thar’ not to want to go no more; and refusin’ to say what he had

seen, or tell ’em how they was to go to work, it kinder stopped the

jynt-stock company.

The river gall she fell quite in love with the gineral right up to the

hub, and sot on the bilin’ water night arter night, singin’, “Meet me by

moonlight alone;” but the gineral said he’d see her drowned first afore

he trust her agin—for, says he, “No woman was never deceived twyst,”

which riled the river gall like mad, and in revenge she sot the

whirlpool a bilin’ like all creation, as if resolved to keep the

neighbourhood in hot water. From the sarcumstance of the gineral’s

gettin’ so much gold out o’ the river, the Jarmins called it the Rhino,

and its been known by somethin’ like that name ever since.

When the chaplain had expended his yarn, he sarved out another allowance

o’ licker. I recking that he was the raal grit for a parson—always

doin’ as he’d be done by, and practisin’ a darned sight more than he

preached. “’Taint Christian-like,” says he, “to drink by one’s self, and

a raal tar never objects to share his grog with a shipmate.” Them’s

gin-a-wine Bunker Hill sentiments, and kinder touch the bottom of a

sailor’s heart!

The middy then uncoiled another length o’ cable abeout the fabbelus

wimming o’ the sea, and said it were a tarnation pretty idea, that them

angels from hevving as ruled the airth should keep watch over the

treasures o’ the water. Then he telled a yarn consarnin’ the capting of

a marchantman as was trading in the South Seas, layin’ at anchor,

becalmed, one Sunday mornin’ abeout five bells, when a strange hail was

heard from under the bows o’ the craft, and the hands on deck as

answered the hail seed somebody in the water with jest his head and arms

stickin’ out, and holdin’ on to the dolphing striker. Waell, I guess

they pretty soon throw’d him a rope and hauled him aboard, and then they

seed he was a regular built marman, one half kinder nigger, and tother

half kinder fish, but altogether more kinder fish than kinder nigger.

So, as I was tellin’ you, they got him aboard, and he made an enquerry

arter the capting, who come out o’ his cabing, and the marman made him a

first-rate dancin’-skeul bow, and says in ginnewine English:

“Capting, I sorter recking it ain’t entered into your kalkilation as

this here is Sabber-day, for you’ve dropped your tarnal big anchor right

in front o’ our meetin’-house door, and our folks can’t go to prayers.”

Waell, the capting was rayther taken aback, and the calm, you see,

overlayin’ him in that thar’ hot latitude, had sot his back up above a

bit; and besides that, he felt considerable streeked at bein’ roused out

o’ his mornin’s nap for nothin’; so, altogether he felt sorter wolfish,

and lookin’ at the strannger darned savagerous, says:

“Who in creation are _you_?”

This here speech put the marman’s dander up, for he says right sassy:

“I guess I’m appinted deacon over all the marmans and marmaids in these

here parts, and I’ll jest trouble you to treat me with the respect due

_tew_ a strannger and a gentleman.”

Waell, I recking the capting’s ebenezer _was_ roused, for he seized hold

of a harpoon that was layin’ on the fowksell, and hollered to the

marman:

“You fishy vaggybund, make tracks out o’ my ship, you sammony-tailed son

of a sea-cook, or I’ll drive the grains slick through your scaly

carkiss, I will.”

Waell, the critter seein’ as the capting meant dannger, made but one

flop with his tail, and skeeted over the side o’ the ship into the

water. The capting did not weigh anchor, nor nothin’, only during the

night the cable was cut by the marmen, and the ship drifted on tew a

korril reef, and rubbed a tarnal big hole in her plankin’.

“That’s a good yarn,” said the parson, “and I b’leve it’s true as

gospel. Nothin’s impossible in natur, and the hull o’ these strange

fixins as we hear tell on, is nothin’ more than links in the almighty

great chain cable of universal natur’. Bats is the link o’ betweenity as

connects the naturs o’ fowls o’ the air and the beasts o’ the field.

Seals and alligators links the naturs o’ beasts and fishes. Babboons and

apes links beasts with humans; and why should not marmaids be the links

between humans and the fishes o’ the sea? But there’s the signal for the

boat’s return; here’s jest a little horn a piece in the bottle—let’s

licker one more round, and then absquattle.”

We pulled quietly back to the ship. The barrel of brandy had not been

found, and I wish I may be sniggered if the capting did not fly into the

biggest kind o’ quarter-deck passion I ever did see. He stormed great

guns and fired hull broadsides at the boat’s crews, swearin’ that they

should keep on dredgin’ till the tub was found, if it was the day arter

eternity. So, you see, the hands was piped to dinner, but I was ordered

tew keep in the boats and take care they didn’t stave each other.

Waell, I laid down in the capting’s gig, and what with the parson’s

licker, and the talk abeout marmaids, and syringes, and water-galls, and

one thing and t’other, a very pretty muss began mixin’ in my brain pan.

So, as I was layin’ comfortably moored in the starn-sheets, with my head

a leetle over the boats’ quarter, I thought it highly unwrong that the

brandy tub hadn’t been fotched up, and that the men usin’ the grapnels

must have shirked as we did, cos, if they’d sarched as they oughter,

they must have seed the barrel, for the water was so petickler clear

that you could dissarn the crabs crawlin’ over the korril rocks at the

bottom o’ twenty fathom.

Waell, while I was lookin’ into the ocean to see if I could light upon

the barrel, a leetle o’ the largest fish I ever did see come and swum

right close to the bottom of the sea, jest under the boats. Then it kept

risin’ and risin’, till I seed its long fins were shaped like men’s

arms; and when it come near the sarfis, it turned on its back, and then

I seed a human face! I know’d at once that it was a marmaid, or a

marman, or one o’ them amfibberus critters called fabbelus syringes, as

the chaplain had been spinnin’ his yarns abeout. So, the critter popt

its head up jest above the water, which was smooth as glass, and a

little smoother tew by a darned sight, and jest as clear and jest as

shiny, and says he to me:

“Look here, strannger, you and your shipmates ain’t doin’ the genteel

thing to me no how you can fix it, for they’re playing old hub with my

garding grounds and oyster beds by scratchin’ and rakin’ ’em all over

with them ar’ darned anchors and grapnel fixins, in a manner that’s

harrowin’ to my feelins. If the capting wants his thundernation licker

tub, let him just send eeny decent Christian down with me, and I’ll gin

it him.”

Waell, I’m not goin’ to say that I didn’t feel kinder skeered, but the

chaplain’s yarns had rubbed the rough edge off, and the notion o’

findin’ the capting’s cask pleased me mightily, cos I knowed it would

tickle the old man like all creation, and sartingly get me three or four

liberty days for shore goin’ when we returned to Port Mahon. So, as I

hadn’t on nothin’ petikler as would spile, only a blue cotting shirt and

sail-cloth pantys, and the weather bein’ most uncommon warm, I jest told

the marman I was ready, and tortled quietly over the boat’s side into

the blue transparent sea.

The marman grappled me by the fist, and we soon touched bottom, now I

tell ye. I found as I could walk easy enough, only the water swayed me

abeout jest as if I war a leetle tight, but I didn’t seem to suffer

nothin’ from want o’ breath, nyther.

We soon reached whar’ the brandy-cask was lyin’ right under the ship’s

keel, which accounts for its not bein’ seen nor nothin’ by the boats’

crews. I felt so everlastingly comical abeout findin’ the tub, that I

told the half-bred dolphing fellow that pinted it out, that if I knowed

how to tap it, I wish I might die if I wouldn’t give him a gallon o’ the

stuff as a salvage fee.

“What’s in it?” says the marman.

“Why, licker,” says I.

“Waell,” says the marman, “so I heerd them scrapin’ fellers in the boats

say; but I guess I’ve licker enough to last my time, tho’ I recking your

licker is something stronger than salt water, seein’ that its hooped up

in that almighty way.”

“Why, you lubber,” says I, “it’s brandy—the raal ginnewine coneyhack.”

“And what’s that?” says the marman.

“Why, dew tell—want to know?” says I; “have you lived to your time o’

life without tastin’ spirretus licker? Waell, I swow, you oughter be the

commodore of all them cold water clubs, and perpetual president of all

temp’rance teetotallers. Go ahead, matey; pilot the way to your shanty,

and I’ll roll the barrel arter you. I’ll sune give you a drink o’ licker

that will jest take the shirt-tail off eeny thing you ever did taste,

now I tell you.”

Waell, the critter flopped ahead, for you see its the natur’ o’ the

marmen, seein’ as they’ve no legs, only a fish’s tail what’s bent under

them, jest like the lower part o’ the letter J, to make way by floppin’

their starns up and down, and paddlin’ with their hands—somethin’

between a swim and a swagger—but the way they get through the water is

a caution. I rolled the tub along over the smooth white shiny sand, and

the crabs and lobsters skeeted off right and left sides out o’ my way

regular skeered, and big fishes of all shapes and makes, with bristlin’

fins, swum close alongside me, and looked at me quite awful with their

small gooseberry eyes, as much as to say, “What the nation _are_ you

at?”

Bymeby, the marman brought up in front of rayther a largeish cave or

grotto of rock and shell work, kivered with korril and sea-weed. So, you

see, the tub was put right on eend in one corner; I made an enquerry o’

the marman if he had a gimblet, and he said he b’leved there was such a

thing in the hold or cellar; he’d found a carpenter’s tool-chest in a

wreck a few miles to the easterd, and he fotched away six or seving of

the leetle fixins, thinkin’ they might be useful to hum—so, he opened

the back door and hailed a young marman to bring him the gimblet.

Seein’ as there was no benches nor nothin’ to sit down on, which marmen

and marmaids don’t desire, cos they’ve no sittin’ parts to their bodies,

which is all fish from their waistbands, I jest sot on the top o’ the

brandy tub, and took an observation of the critter before me. His face

was reglar human, only it looked rayther tawney and flabby like a biled

nigger, with fishy eyes, and a mouth like a huge tom cod. His hair hung

stret down his shoulders, and was coarse and thick, like untwisted

rattlin’; his hands were somethin’ like a goose’s paw, only the fingers

were longer and thicker; and his body was not exactly like an Injin’s

nor a nigger’s, nor a white man’s—nor was it yaller, nor blue, nor

green—but a sorter altogether kinder mixed up colour, lookin’ as if it

were warranted to stand the weather. Jest abeout midships, his body was

tucked into a fish’s belly, with huge green scales right down to the

tail.

Whilst I was surveyin’ the marman fore and aft, the back door opened,

and a she critter flopped in, with a young marman at the breast. The

leetle sucker was not bigger than a pickerel, with a tail of a delicate

sammon colour, and a head and body jest like one o’ them small tan

monkeys, with a face as large as a dollar. The marman introduced the she

critter as his wife, and we soon got into a coil of talk right slick,

all abeout the weather, and the keare and trouble o’ a young family—and

I wished I may be swamped if the marmaid warn’t a dreadful nice critter

to chatter. Like all wimming folk, she was plaguey kewrous as to whar’ I

was raised and rigged—and when I said I guess I hailed from Cape Cod,

and all along shore thar’, she looked at the marman, and said to me:

“Waell, I never—Cape Cod! why, strannger, I guess there must be some

finnity in our breeds.”

Waell, you see, I grew rayther kewrous tew, and wanted to log the

petiklers o’ the nateral history o’ the race o’ marmen—so I made a few

enquerries respectin’ their ways o’ life.

“I guess,” says I, “you’ve a tarnal good fish market in these here

parts, and keep your table well supplied with hallibut and sea-bass, and

black-fish, eh?”

“Why, strannger,” says the marman, rayther wrathy, “seein’ its you I

won’t be offended, or, by hevving, if that speech ain’t enough to make a

marman feel scaly, why then it ain’t no matter. We claim to be half fish

in our natur’, and I reckon you don’t kalkilate we gobbles our

relations? there’s sea varmint enough in all conscience, sitch as

oysters, and clams, and quahogs, and muscles, and crabs, and lobsters.

We go the hull shoat with them; and then we cultivates kail and other

sea truck in our gardings, and sometimes we swims under the wild fowl as

they’re floatin’, and jerks down a fine duck or a gull, or gathers their

eggs off the rocks, or the barnacles off drift wood.”

Jest then, the marman’s eldest son-fish fotched in the gimblet, and

brought up the marman’s jawin’ tacks with a round turn. The young un was

about the size of an Injin boy jest afore he runs alone—half papoose,

half porpus. He got a leetle skeered when he clapt eyes on me, but I

gave him a stale quid o’ backer to amuse himself, and the sugar plum

made the marmaster roll his eyes above a bit, now I tell you.

Waell, I bored a hole in the brandy tub, and pickin’ up an empty

clam-shell, handed a drink to the lady, and told her to tote it down.

She swaller’d it pretty slick, and the way she gulped afterwards, and

stared, and twisted her fishy mouth, was a sin to Davy Crockett. The

marman looked rayther wolfy at me, as if I’d gin her pison; so I drawed

a shell-fall and swallered it myself. This kinder cooled him down, and

when the marmaid got her tongue tackle in runnin’ order agin, she said

she guessed the licker was the juice of hevving, and she’d be darned if

she wouldn’t have another drink right off the reel.

Seein’ this, the marman swallered his dose, and no sooner got it down

than he squealed right out, and clapped his webby hands together, and

wagged his tail like all creation. He swore it was elegant stuff, and he

felt it tickle powerful from the top of his head to the eend of his

starn-fin. Arter takin’ two or three horns together, the sonny cried for

a drink, and I gin him one that sent him wrigglin’ on the sand like an

eel in an uneasiness. So, the marman said as the licker was raal

first-rate, and first-rater than that tew, he guessed he’d ask in his

next door neighbour and his lady, jest to taste the godsend. Waell, in a

minnit, in comes a huge marman of the most almighty size, looking jest

like Black Hawk when he was bilious; he fotched up his lady with him,

and his eldest son, a scraggy hobbadehoy marman, and his darters, two

young marmaids or marmisses, jest goin’ out o’ their teens, who flapped

their yaller-skinned paws over their punking-coloured chops, pretendin’

to be almighty skeered at comin’ afore a strannge man in a state o’

natur’—but they forgot all abeout that thar’ when the licker was handed

to them.

Arter takin’ a few smallers, the fresh marman said he guessed the

clam-shell was altogether tew leetle to get a proper amount of licker

whereby a feller could judge correctly of the raal taste o’ the

stuff—so he went to his berth in the next cave, and fotched a large

blue and silver shell that held abeout a pint.

The news o’ the brandy-tub spred pretty slick, for in half an hour, I’d

the hull grist o’ the marmen belongin’ to that settlement cooped up in

the cavern. Sitch a noisy swillin’ set o’ wet souls I never did see; the

drunk com’ on em almighty strong, for they kept me sarvin’ out the

licker jest as quick as it would run. I thought if the capting could

have seen me astridin’ his brandy-cask, in an underground grocery at the

bottom o’ the sea, surrounded by sich a skeul of odd fish, how many

dozen at the gangway would he have ordered the bosen’s mate to have

sarved me out?

The way the drunk affected the different critters was right kewrous, now

I tell you. One great scaly feller stiffened his tail all up, and stood

poppindickler erect on the peaked pints of the eend fin, like a

jury-mast, and jawed away raal dignified at all the rest, wantin’ them

to appoint him a sort o’ admiral over the hull crew. Another yeller

feller, with a green tail, was so dreadful blue, that he doubled himself

into a figgery 5, and sung scraps and bits o’ all sorts o’ sea songs,

till he got tew drunk to speak at all. Some o’ the marmen wanted to kiss

all the marmaids, and tew o’ the ladies begun scratchin’ and fightin’

like two pusseys, cos one trod on t’other’s tail. Some went floppin’ and

dancin’ on the sand like mad, raisin’ sitch a dust that I could not see

to draw the licker—but the party round the tub soon druv’ them to the

right abeout, as interferin’ with the interest o’ the settlement. Every

minnit some fresh marman dropped on the ground with the biggest kind of

load on; I never seed a set o’ critters so almighty tight, yellin’,

swearin’, huggin’, and fightin’, till they growed so darned savagerous

that I kinder feared for my own safety amongst them drunken moffradite

sea aborgoines. So, you see, I up and told them that I’d clapt my veto

on the licker, and that they should not have any more.

Waell, if ever you did hear a most etarnal row, or see a hull raft o’

drunken fellers cut didoes, then _was_ the time. It was voted that I

were a public enemy, and every half-drunken marman suddenly become very

’fishus to have me lynched, and it were settled at last that I were to

be rode on a rail, and then tarred and feathered. But, while some o’ the

varmint went arter the rail and the tar, the rest o’ the critters begun

quarrelin’ who was to sarve out the licker; and as each marman, drunk or

sober, wanted to have the keare o’ the precious stuff, they soon raised

a pretty muss, and kept on tearin’ at each other like a pack o’ wolves.

Seein’ this, I jest kinder sneaked quietly away from the cave grocery

till I com’ in sight o’ the ship, when I struck upperd for the sarfis,

and swum for dear life. I soon seed that the boats’ crew were musterin’

for another bout o’ draggin’ for the brandy-cask; so, fearin’ least the

capting should miss me, I jest laid hold o’ the edge o’ the gig, and

crawled in pretty quickly, and laid myself down in the starn-sheets, as

if I’d never been out o’ the boat.

I hadn’t laid thar’ half a second, when I heerd a noise jest for all the

world as if somebody was squeezin’ a small thundercloud right over my

head. I ruz up, and thar’ were the capting and the hull crew lookin’

over the ship’s side at me—the officers in a tarnal rage, and the men

grinnin’ like so many hyenas.

“Rouse up, you long-sided lazy swab, and bring the boats in from the

boom. Are you goin’ to sleep all day?”

“Ay, ay, Sir,” said I, jumpin’ up in the boat, when all the water run

off me like forty thousand mill-streams—I’d been so outrageous soaked

while down with the marmen. I felt kinder skeered lest the capting

should see it, but when I stood up he laughed right out, and so did the

hull crew tew.

“Why, he’s not awake yet,” said the capting. “Bosen, give him another

bucket.”

You see they wanted to persuade me that I’d fell asleep in the gig, as

fast as a meetin’-house, and slept thar’ the hull while the crew were at

dinner, and that no shoutin’ nor nothin’ couldn’t wake me up—so, the

bosen run along the boom and jest give me a couple o’ buckets o’

sea-water right over me. When I told ’em my yarn abeout the marman

poppin’ up his head, and invitin’ me down, and all abeout findin’ the

brandy-tub and the rest, they swore that I’d got drunk on the parson’s

licker, and dreamt it all in the boat. But I guess I know what I did

see, jest abeout as slick as anybody; and the chaplain b’lieved the hull

story; and said that as I’d learnt the marmen the valley o’ licker,

they’d get huntin’ up all the tubs and barrels out of the different

wrecks in all the various seas; and that intemperance would spile the

race, and thin ’em off till they became one o’ the things that was—jest

like the Injins what’s wastin’ away by the power o’ rum and whiskey

given ’em by the white men.

I recking the parson warn’t far out in his kalkilashing. The love o’

licker has had its effect upon the marmen and the marmaids; they must

have thinned off surprisin’ly, for I ain’t seed none since, nor I don’t

know nobody that has nyther.

XX.

CAPTAIN STICK AND TONEY.

Captain Stick was a remarkably precise old gentleman, and a

conscientiously just man. He was, too, very methodical in his habits,

one of which was to keep an account in writing of the conduct of his

servants, from day to day. It was a sort of account-current, and he

settled by it every Saturday afternoon. No one dreaded these hebdomadal

balancings more than Toney, the boy of all-work; for the Captain was

generally obliged to write a receipt, for a considerable amount, across

his shoulders.

One settling afternoon, the Captain, accompanied by Toney, was seen

“toddling” down to the old stable, with his little account-book in one

hand, and a small rope in the other. After they had reached the “Bar of

Justice,” and Toney had been properly “strung up,” the Captain proceeded

to state his accounts, as follows:

“_Toney, Dr._

“Sabbath, to not half blacking my boots, &c., five stripes.

“Tuesday, to staying four hours at mill longer than necessary, ten

stripes.

“Wednesday, to not locking the hall door at night, five stripes.

“Friday, to letting the horse go without water, five stripes.

“Total, twenty-five stripes.

“_Toney, Cr._

“Monday, by first-rate day’s work in the garden, ten stripes.

“Balance due, fifteen stripes.”

The balance being thus struck, the Captain drew his cow-hide and

remarked:

“Now, Toney, you black scamp, what say you, you lazy villain, why I

shouldn’t give you fifteen lashes across your back, as hard as I can

draw?”

“Stop, old Mass,” said Toney; “dar’s de work in de garden, Sir—dat

ought to tek off some.”

“You black dog,” said the Captain, “havn’t I given you the proper credit

of ten stripes for that? Come, come!”

“Please, old Massa,” said Toney, rolling his eyes about in agony of

fright, “dar’s—you forgot—dar’s de scourin’ ob de floor—old missus

say e nebber been scour as good before.”

“Soho, you saucy rascal,” quoth Captain Stick; “you’re bringing in more

off-sets, are you? Well, now, there!”—here the Captain made an entry

upon his book—“you have a credit of five stripes and the balance must

be paid.”

“Gor a mity, Massa, don’t hit yet—dar’s sumpen else—oh, Lord! please

don’t—yes, Sir—got um now—ketchin’ de white boy and fetchin’ um to

ole missus, what trow rock at de young duck.”

“That’s a fact,” said the Captain, “the outrageous young

vagabond!—that’s a fact, and I’ll give you credit of _ten_ stripes for

it—I wish you had brought him to _me_—now we’ll settle the balance.”

“Bress de Lord, ole Massa,” said Toney, “_dat’s all!_”

Toney grinned extravagantly.

The Captain adjusted his tortoise-shell spectacles with great exactness,

held the book close to his eyes, and ascertained that the fact was as

stated by Toney. He was not a little irritated.

“You swear off the account, you infernal rascal!—you swear off the

account, do you?”

“All de credit is fair, old Massa,” answered Toney.

“Yes, but—” said the disappointed Captain, “but—but—” still the

Captain was sorely puzzled how to give Toney a _few licks any how_,

“but—” an idea popped into his head, “_where’s my costs_, you

incorrigible, abominable scoundrel? You want to swindle me, do you, out

of my costs, you black, deceitful rascal! And,” added Captain Stick,

chuckling as well at his own ingenuity, as the perfect justice of the

sentence, “I enter judgment against you for costs—ten stripes!” and

forthwith administered the stripes and satisfied the judgment.

“Ki nigger!” said Toney; “ki nigger! what dis judgmen’ for coss, ole

Massa talk ’bout. Done git off ’bout not blackin’ de boot—git off ’bout

stayin’ long time at de mill—and ebry ting else; but dis judgmen’ for

coss gim me de debbil! Bress God, nigger must keep out ob de ole stable,

or I’ll tell you what, dat _judgmen’ for coss_ make e back feel mighty

warm, for true!”

XXI.

THE WAY BILLY HARRIS DROVE THE DRUM-FISH TO MARKET.

The afternoon of a still, sultry day, found us at the Bankhead spring,

on Chaptico Bay, Maryland—Billy Harris, old “Blair,” and myself. Billy

was seated on the head of his canoe, leisurely discussing a bone and a

slice of bread, the remnant of his mid-day’s repast on the river; old

“Blair” was busily engaged in overhauling and arranging the fish that he

had taken in the course of the morning: while I, in a state of

half-listlessness, half-doziness, was seated on the trunk of an uprooted

cedar near the spring, with my head luxuriously reclining against the

bank.

“Well, this is about as pooty a fish as I’ve had the handling ov for

some time,” remarked old “Blair,” holding up and surveying with much

satisfaction a rock about two feet and a half in length.

“Smart rock that,” said Billy, as he measured the fish with his eye.

“What an elegint team a couple o’ dozen o’ that size would make!”

“Elegint _what_, Mr. Harris?” inquired old “Blair,” depositing the fish

under the bushes in the bow of his canoe, and turning round towards

Billy.

“Why, an elegint team for a man to travel with,” replied Billy. “Did I

never tell you ’bout my driving the drums to the Alexandri’ market?” he

added, at the same time casting a furtive glance in the direction of the

spot where I was seated.

“Well, I’ve hearn a right smart of your exploits, Mr. Harris, in our

meetin’s down here on the bay,” said “Blair,” “but I don’t remember ov

hearin’ you tell about that.”

“The fact is,” said Billy, “it’s a little out o’ the usual run o’

things, and it’s not every one that I care about telling it to. Some

people are so hard to make believe, that there’s no satisfaction in

telling them anything; seeing it’s you, though, Lewis, I don’t mind

relating that little spree—’specially as the tide won’t serve us up the

narrows for some time yet, and Mr. ——, there, seems inclined to do a

little napping. Well, to begin at the beginning,” he continued, as old

“Blair” assumed the attitude of an attentive listener at the head of his

canoe, “it’s just seven years ago the tenth day of this here last month,

that I went down to the drumming-ground off the salt-works to try my

luck among the thumpers. I know’d the gents were about, for I’d heard

’em drumming the day before while I was out rocking on the outer eend o’

Mills’s; so I got everything ready the over night, and by an hour by sun

the next morning I had arrived upon the ground, ready for action. For

the first half-hour or so I done nothing. Sometimes an old chanu’ler or

a greedy cat would pay his respects to my bait in a way that would make

my heart jump up into my mouth, and get me kind o’ excited like, but

that was all. Devil the drum ever condescended to favour me with a

nibble. A’ter a while I begun to get tired o’ that kind o’ sport, and

concluded that I’d just up-stake and shove a little nearer in shore.

Just as I was preparing to pull in my line, though, I spied a piece o’

pine bark, ’bout twenty yards off, floating down towards me. ‘Now,’ says

I, ‘gents, I’ll give you until that bit of bark passes my line, to bite

in, and if you don’t think proper to do it in that time, you may

breakfast as you can—I’ll not play the waiting-boy any longer.’ Well,

the piece of bark got right off against my line without my getting so

much as a nibble, and I begun wind up; but I hadn’t got more’n a foot or

so o’ the line outer the water, when I felt something give me a smart

tug. At first I thought it might be a crab or an oyster-shell that I’d

hooked, but presently my line begun to straighten under a strong, steady

pull, and then I know’d what was about. I give one sangorous jerk, and

the dance commenced.”

“What was it—a drum?” inquired old “Blair,” a little eagerly.

“Yes, a drum, and a regular scrouger, at that. I wish you had only been

there, Lewis, to see the fun. Of all the hard fish to conquer, that ever

I took in hand, that chap was the Major. I got him alongside at last,

though, and lifted him in. I then run a rope through his gills, and sent

him overboard agin, makin’ the two eends of the line fast to a staple in

the stern o’ the boat, just behind me.

“Well, this put me in first-rate spirits, and out went my line agin in

the twinklin’ of an eye. Before it had time to touch the bottom, it was

jerked through my hand for the matter of a yard or so, and then cum

another interestin’ little squabble. Just as I got that chap to the top

o’ the water, ’way went t’other line!”

“My patience!” exclaimed old “Blair,” who had probably never taken a

drum in the whole course of his life, “_two_ goin’ at once?”

“Yes, _two_ at once.”

“And did you save ’em both, Mr. Harris?”

“Save ’em!” said Billy; “did you ever know me to lose a fish arter I’d

once struck him?”

“Well, exceptin’ that big rock this mornin’,” replied “Blair,” as a

scarcely perceptible smile crept over his ebony visage, “I don’t

remember as I ever did.”

“But that, you know, was the fault o’ the hook—the beard wasn’t quite

long enough,” said Billy. “But to come back to the drums,” he continued,

quickly. “In about three hours from the time I staked down, I had no

less than thirty-nine fine fish floating at the eend o’ my little

corner; so I concluded that I’d just up-stake, and make a push for the

narrows.

“‘But how am I to get the drums along?’ said I to myself; ‘that’s the

next question. If I take ’em in the boat, I shall be swamped to a

certainty; and if I undertake to tow ’em straight up the river, it’s a

school o’ pilchers to a single crocus that I’m run away with.’

“A’ter debating the matter for a little while with myself, I concluded

that I’d just shove in quietly towards the land, until I got into schoal

water, and then follow the shore. So I bent over as easy as I could,

pulled up the stake, and commenced shoving along; but no sooner did the

drums feel themselves moving through the water, than they turned tack,

and, with a flirt of their tails, dashed smack off down the river, like

so many terrified colts.”

“Thar, bless the Lord!” ejaculated old “Blair,” suddenly rising from his

seat, and then resuming it again.

“My first thought,” continued Billy, “was to cut the rope, and let the

whole batch of ’em go; but on turning round for that purpose, I found

that the stern of the boat was buried so low in the water, that a little

stream was beginning to run over the top; so I jist travelled to the

other end of the boat, and tried to bear down. But the thing wasn’t to

be done so easy. The drums had taken the bit between their teeth, and

were pullin’ down with a regular forty-horse power. Seeing no other way

of saving myself from the crabs, I just got a-straddle o’ the boat, and

worked my way backwards, until I reached the last half inch o’ the bow,

and there I sot, with my legs dangling in the water, ’till the gents

begun to cool down, and come to the top. By this time we had got over

Cobb Bar, and the drums were looking straight up the Potomac. I never

knowed how to account for it, but just then a queer notion struck me:

“‘’Spose, now,’ said I, to myself, ‘I was to take these chaps in hand,

and drive ’em to Alexandri’; wouldn’t it be something to talk about when

I got back!’

“The thing sorter pleased me, and I determined to try it, come what

might of it. So I reached down, and got holt o’ my drum-line, and

carefully doubled it. I then got down into the boat, and crawled along

on my hands and knees to the other eend o’ the corner, where the drums

were, and looked over. Finding that they were all moving along quietly,

I tied my line to the two eends o’ the rope that they were fastened

with, and then cut the rope loose from the staple. This made the reins

about twenty-five yards long, but I only let out about one-half ov ’em.

I was afraid, you see, if I give the gents too much play room, that they

might get into tantrums, and give me more trouble. Seeing, arter a

while, though, that I could manage ’em pretty well, I just wound the

line round my left hand, picked up my angel rope for a whip, took my

seat in the stern of the boat, and told ’em to travel. And _didn’t_ they

travel! I wish you could only have seen me, Lewis. Old Neption, that Mr.

——, there, sometimes tells about, wasn’t a circumstance. I had a

thundering big red drum in the lead, and nineteen as pretty matches o’

black ones following after, as ever a man could wish to look at; and

they all moved along as nicely as so many well-broke carriage-horses.

It’s true, a chap would sometimes become a little fractious, like, and

sheer off towards the Ma’yland or Virginny shore, but I’d just fetch a

draw on t’other tack, and give him a slight touch with the rod near the

back fin, and he’d fall into line agin as beautiful as could be. Well,

Lewis, to make a long story short, it was about ten o’clock in the day

when I took the gentlemen in hand, and by three hours by the sun that

evening, I pitched the reins over one o’ the posts on the Alexandri’

wharf. A crowd o’ people had collected together to see me land, and as

the thing ov a man’s drivin’ fish to market seemed to tickle ’em, I soon

sold out my whole team, at a dollar and a half a head. I at first

thought of holding on to about half a dozen ov ’em to travel home with;

but as I expected they were pretty well tired out, and the wind happened

to be fair, I bought me a sail, laid in a supply ov eatables, and a jug

of the best old rye that ever tickled a man’s throat” (a slight working

of old “Blair’s” mouth was here perceptible), “and at day-break the next

morning was snoozing it away nicely under my own shingles at home.”

“Didn’t you see no steam-boats, nor nothin’, on your way up, Mr.

Harris?” inquired old “Blair.”

“Oh yes,” said Billy. “’Bout twenty miles this side o’ Alexandri’ I met

the old Columbria, coming down under a full head o’ steam. She was

crowded with people, and as I passed close along by the wheel-house, and

bowed my head to ’em, they all clapped their hands and hollored

mightily. I beam afterwards that the Captain, or somebody else, had it

all put in the papers, but I can’t say from my own knowledge whether it

was so or not. I also overtook two or three brigs, but didn’t stop to

talk—just give ’em a nod, and passed on.”

“My patience!” exclaimed old “Blair;” “well you _was_ a travellin’.”

“Just t’other side o’ Nangem’y Reach, too,” continued Billy, “I fell in

with a sa’cy little pungy, that brushed up alongside, and seemed

inclined to keep company. As the wind happened to freshen up just then,

I couldn’t get away from her no how; and the son of a blood of a captin

kept bearing me in towards the land until he got me almost right upon a

long bar before I know’d it. As the water was several feet deep at the

eend of the bar, the pungy could pass right by it without touching; so I

had either to cross the bar or go round the pungy. It was a desperate

undertaking to try the bar, for ’bout a yard or so wide it was perfectly

bare; but I couldn’t think of being beat, so I just stood up in the

boat, gathered the line well together in my hands, and with a whoop to

the drums, rushed ’em at it.”

“And did you _raily_ cross it, Mr. Harris?” said “Blair,” a little

staggered.

“Without turning a shell,” replied Billy.

“And what became o’ the pungy?”

“Why in a little while the wind died away, and she dropped behind, and I

saw nothing more of her. I reckon it mad the captin open his eyes,

though, to see the way I crossed the bar. But the greatest expl’it ov

all was—”

“What, you unconscionable liar—what?” exclaimed I, determined to put a

stop to any further drafts upon old “Blair’s” credulity.

“Why, the one you was tellin’ me t’other day ’bout old Neption’s

hitching his sea-horses to some big island or ’nother, and pulling it up

by the roots, and towing it off with the people and all on it, and

anchorin’ it down in some other place that he liked better,” was the

unexpected rejoinder.

A reply was deemed unnecessary; and in a few minutes more the cheerful

plash of the Bankhead spring was among the sounds we heard not.

XXII.

YANKEE HOMESPUN.

“When I lived in Maine,” said Uncle Ezra, “I helped to break up a new

piece of ground: we got the wood off in the winter, and early in the

spring we begun ploughing on’t. It was so consarned rocky that we had to

get forty yoke of oxen to one plough—we did faith—and I held that

plough more’n a week; I thought I should die. It e’en a most killed me,

I vow. Why, one day I was hold’n, and the plough hit a stump which

measured just nine feet and a half through it—hard and sound white oak.

The plough split it, and I was going straight through the stump when I

happened to think it might snap together again, so I threw my feet out,

and had no sooner done this, than it snapped together, taking a smart

hold of the seat of my pantaloons. Of course I was tight, but I held on

to the plough-handles, and though the teamsters did all they could, that

team of eighty oxen could not tear my pantaloons, nor cause me to let go

my grip. At last though, after letting the cattle breathe, they gave

another strong pull altogether, and the old stump came out about the

quickest; it had monstrous long roots, too, let me tell you. My wife

made the cloth for them pantaloons, and I havn’t worn any other kind

since.”

The only reply made to this was: “I should have thought it would have

come hard upon your suspenders.”

“Powerful hard.”

XXIII.

THE INDEFATIGABLE BEAR-HUNTER.

In my round of practice, I occasionally meet with men whose

peculiarities stamp them as belonging to a class composed only of

themselves. So different are they in appearance, habits, taste, from the

majority of mankind, that it is impossible to classify them, and you

have therefore to set them down as queer birds “of a feather,” that none

resemble sufficiently to associate with.

I had a patient once who was one of these queer ones; gigantic in

stature, uneducated, fearless of real danger, yet timorous as a child of

superstitious perils, born literally in the woods, never having been in

a city in his life, and his idea of one being that it was a place where

people met together to make whiskey, and form plans for swindling

country folks. To view him at one time, you would think him only a

whiskey-drinking, bear-fat-loving mortal; at other moments, he would

give vent to ideas, proving that beneath his rough exterior there ran a

fiery current of high enthusiastic ambition.

It is a favourite theory of mine, and one that I am fond of consoling

myself with, for my own insignificance, that there is no man born who is

not capable of attaining distinction, and no occupation that does not

contain a path leading to fame. To bide our time is all that is

necessary. I had expressed this view in the hearing of Mik-hoo-tah, for

so was the object of this sketch called, and it seemed to chime in with

his feelings exactly. Born in the woods, and losing his parents early,

he had forgotten his real name, and the bent of his genius inclining him

to the slaying of bears, he had been given, even when a youth, the name

of Mik-hoo-tah, signifying “the grave of bears,” by his Indian

associates and admirers.

To glance in and around his cabin, you would have thought that the place

had been selected for ages past by the bear tribe to yield up their

spirits in, so numerous were the relics. Little chance, I ween, had the

cold air to whistle through that hut, so thickly was it tapestried with

the soft, downy hides, the darkness of the surface relieved occasionally

by the skin of a tender fawn, or the short-haired irascible panther.

From the joists depended bear-hams and tongues innumerable, and the

ground without was literally white with bones. Ay, he was a bear-hunter,

in its most comprehensive sense—the chief of that vigorous band, whose

occupation is nearly gone—crushed beneath the advancing strides of

romance-destroying civilization. When his horn sounded—so tradition

ran—the bears began to draw lots to see who should die that day, for

painful experience had told them the uselessness of all endeavouring to

escape. The “Big Bear of Arkansas” would not have given him an hour’s

extra work, or raised a fresh wrinkle on his already care-corrugated

brow. But, though almost daily imbruing his hands in the blood of Bruin,

Mik-hoo-tah had not become an impious or cruel-hearted man. Such was his

piety, that he never killed a bear without getting down on his knees—to

skin it—and praying to be d—ned if it warn’t a buster; and such his

softness of heart, that he often wept when he, by mistake, had killed a

suckling bear—depriving her poor offspring of a mother’s care—and

found her too poor to be eaten. So indefatigable had he become in his

pursuit, that the bears bid fair to disappear from the face of the

swamp, and be known to posterity only through the one mentioned in

Scripture, that assisted Elisha to punish the impertinent children, when

an accident occurred to the hunter, which raised their hopes of not

being entirely exterminated.

One day, Mik happened to come unfortunately in contact with a stray

grizzly fellow, who, doubtless in the indulgence of an adventurous

spirit, had wandered away from the Rocky Mountains, and formed a league

for mutual protection with his black and more effeminate brethren of the

swamp. Mik saluted him, as he approached, with an ounce ball in the

forehead, to avenge half a dozen of his best dogs, who lay in fragments

around; the bullet flattened upon his impenetrable skull, merely

infuriating the monster, and before Mik could reload, it was upon him.

Seizing him by the leg, it bore him to the ground, and ground the limb

to atoms. But before it could attack a more vital part, the knife of the

dauntless hunter had cloven its heart and it dropped dead upon the

bleeding form of its slayer, in which condition they were shortly found

by Mik’s comrades. Making a litter of branches, they placed Mik upon it,

and proceeded with all haste to their camp, sending one of the company

by a near cut for me, as I was the nearest physician. When I reached

their temporary shelter, I found Mik doing better than I could have

expected, with the exception of his wounded leg, and that, from its

crushed and mutilated condition, I saw would have to be amputated

immediately, of which I informed Mik. As I expected, he opposed it

vehemently; but I convinced him of the impossibility of saving it,

assuring him if it were not amputated he would certainly die, and

appealed to his good sense to grant permission, which he did at last.

The next difficulty was to procure amputating instruments, the rarity of

surgical operations, and the generally slender purse of the “Swamp

Doctor,” not justifying him in purchasing expensive instruments. A

couple of bowie-knives, one ingeniously hacked and filed into a saw—a

tourniquet made of a belt and a piece of stick—a gun-screw converted

for the time into a tenaculum—and some buckskin slips for ligatures,

completed my case of instruments for amputation. The city physician may

smile at this recital, but I assure him many a more difficult operation

than the amputation of a leg, has been performed by his humble brother

in the “swamp,” with far more simple means than those I have mentioned.

The preparations being completed, Mik refused to have his arms bound,

and commenced singing a bear-song; and throughout the whole operation,

which was necessarily tedious, he never uttered a groan, or missed a

single stave. The next day, I had him conveyed by easy stages to his

pre-emption; and tending assiduously, in the course of a few weeks, he

had recovered sufficiently for me to cease attentions. I made him a

wooden leg, which answered a good purpose; and with a sigh of regret for

the spoiling of such a good hunter, I struck him from my list of

patients.

A few months passed over and I heard nothing more of him. Newer, but not

brighter, stars were in the ascendant, filling with their deeds the

clanging trump of bear-killing fame, and, but for the quantity of

bear-blankets in the neighbouring cabins, and the painful absence of his

usual present of bear-hams, Mik-hoo-tah bid fair to suffer that fate

most terrible in aspiring ambitionists—forgetfulness during life. It

was near sunset when I arrived at home from a long wearisome

semi-ride-and-swim through the swamp. Receiving a negative to my inquiry

whether there were any new calls, I was felicitating myself upon a quiet

night beside my tidy bachelor hearth, undisturbed by crying children,

babbling women, or amorous cats—the usual accompaniments of married

life—when, like a poor henpecked Benedict crying for peace when there

is no peace, I was doomed to disappointment. Hearing the splash of a

paddle in the bayou running before the door, I turned my head towards

the bank, and soon beheld, first the tail of a coon, next his body, a

human face, and, the top of the bank being gained, a full-proportioned

form clad in the garments which, better than any printed label, wrote

him down raftsman, trapper, bear-hunter. He was a messenger from the

indefatigable bear-hunter, Mik-hoo-tah. Asking him what was the matter,

as soon as he could get the knots untied, which two-thirds drunkenness

had made in his tongue, he informed me, to my sincere regret, that Mik

went out that morning on a bear-hunt, and in a fight with one had got

his leg broke all to flinders, if possible worse than the other, and

that he wanted me to come quickly. Getting into the canoe, which awaited

me, I wrapped myself in my blanket, and yielding to my fatigue, was soon

fast asleep. I did not awaken until the canoe striking against the bank,

as it landed at Mik’s pre-emption, nearly threw me in the bayou, and

entirely succeeded with regard to my half-drunken paddler, who—like the

sailor that circumnavigated the world, and then was drowned in a

puddle-hole in his own garden—had escaped all the perils of the

tortuous bayou to be pitched overboard when there was nothing to do but

step out and tie the dug-out. Assisting him out of the water, we

proceeded to the house, when, to my indignation, I learnt that the

drunken messenger had given me the long trip for nothing, Mik only

wanting me to make him a new wooden leg, the old one having been

completely demolished that morning.

I would have returned that night, but the distance was too great for one

fatigued as I was, so I had to content myself with such accommodations

as Mik’s cabin afforded, which, to one blessed like myself with the

happy faculty of ready adaptation to circumstances, was not a very

difficult task.

I was surprised to perceive the change in Mik’s appearance. From nearly

a giant he had wasted to a mere huge bony frame-work; the skin of his

face clung tightly to the bones, and showed nothing of those

laughter-moving features that were wont to adorn his visage; only his

eye remained unchanged, and it had lost none of its brilliancy—the

flint had lost none of its fire.

“What on earth is the matter with you, Mik? I have never seen any one

fall off so fast; you have wasted to a skeleton—surely you must have

the consumption.”

“Do you think so, Doc? I’ll soon show you whether the old bellows has

lost any of its force!” and hopping to the door, which he threw wide

open, he gave a death-hug rally to his dogs, in such a loud and piercing

tone, that I imagined a steam-whistle was being discharged in my ear,

and for several moments could hear nothing distinctly.

“That will do! stop!” I yelled, as I saw Mik drawing in his breath

preparatory to another effort of his vocal strength; “I am satisfied you

have not got consumption; but what has wasted you so, Mik? Surely you

ain’t in love?”

“Love! pooh! you don’t suppose, Doc, even if I was ’tarmined to make a

cussed fool of myself, that there is any gal in the swamp that could

stand that hug, do you?” and catching up a huge bull-dog, who lay

basking himself by the fire, he gave him such a squeeze that the animal

yelled with pain, and for a few moments appeared dead. “No, Doc, it’s

grief, pure sorrur, sorrur, Doc! when I looks at what I is now and what

I used to be! Jes think, Doc, of the fust hunter in the swamp having his

sport spilte, like bar-meat in summer without salt! Jes think of a man

standin’ up one day and blessing old Master for having put bar in

creation, and the next cussing high heaven and low h—ll ’cause he

couldn’t ’sist in puttin’ them out! Warn’t it enough to bring tears in

the eyes of an Injun tater, much less take the fat off a bar-hunter?

Doc, I fell off like ’simmons arter frost, and folks as doubted me,

needn’t had asked whether I war ’ceitful or not, for they could have

seed plum threw me! The bar and painter got so saucy that they’d cum to

the tother side of the bayou and see which could talk the impudentest!

“‘Don’t you want some bar-meat or painter blanket?’ they’d ask; ‘bars is

monstrous fat, and painter’s hide is mighty warm!’

“Oh! Doc, I was a miserable man! The sky warn’t blue for me, the sun war

always cloudy, and the shade-trees gin no shade for me. Even the dogs

forgot me, and the little children quit coming and asking:

“‘Please, Mr. Bar-Grave, cotch me a young bar or a painter kitten.’

“Doc, the tears would cum in my eyes, and the hot blood would come

biling up from my heart, when I’d hobble out of a sundown and hear the

boys tell, as they went by, of the sport they’d had that day, and how

the bar fit ’fore he was killed, and how fat he war arter he was slayed.

Long arter they was gone, and the whip-poor-will had eat up their

voices, I would sit out there on the old stump, and think of the things

that used to hold the biggest place in my mind when I was a boy, and

p’raps sense I’ve bin a man.

“I’d heard tell of distinction and fame, and people’s names never dying,

and how Washington and Franklin, and Clay and Jackson, and a heap of

political dicshunary-folks, would live when their big hearts had

crumbled down to a rifle-charge of dust; and I begun, too, to think,

Doc, what a pleasant thing it would be to know folks a million years off

would talk of me like them, and it made me ’tarmine to ’stinguish

myself, and have my name put in a book with a yaller kiver. I warn’t a

genus, Doc, I nude that, nor I warn’t dicshunary; so I detarmined to

strike out in a new track for glory, and ’title myself to be called the

‘bear-hunter of Ameriky.’ Doc, my heart jumpt up, and I belted my

hunting-shirt tighter for fear it would lepe out when I fust spoke them

words out loud.

“‘The bar-hunter of Ameriky!’ Doc, you know whether I war ernin’ the

name when I war ruined. There is not a child, white, black, Injun, or

nigger, from the Arkansas line to Trinity, but what has heard of me, and

I were happy when”—here a tremor of his voice and a tear glistening in

the glare of the fire told the old fellow’s emotion—“when—but les take

a drink—Doc, I found I was dying—I war gettin’ weaker and weaker—I

nude your truck warn’t what I needed, or I’d sent for you. A bar-hunt

war the medsin that my systum required, a fust-class bar-hunt, the music

of the dogs, the fellers a screaming, the cane poppin’, the rifles

crackin’, the bar growlin’, the fight hand to hand, slap goes his paw,

and a dog’s-hide hangs on one cane and his body on another, the knife

glistenin’ and then goin’ plump up to the handle in his heart! Oh! Doc,

this was what I needed, and I swore, since death were huggin’ me, any

how, I mite as well feel his last grip in a bar-hunt.

“I seed the boys goin’ long one day, and haled them to wait awhile, as I

believed I would go along too. I war frade if I kept out of a hunt much

longer I wood get outen practis. They laughed at me, thinkin’ I war

jokin’; for wat cood a sick, old, one-legged man do in a bar-hunt? how

cood he get threw the swamp, and vines, and canes, and back-water? and

s’pose he mist the bar, how war he to get outen the way?

“But I war ’tarmined on goin’; my dander was up, and I swore I wood go,

tellin’ them if I coodent travel ’bout much, I could take a stand.

Seein’ it war no use tryin’ to ’swade me, they saddled my poney, and off

we started. I felt better right off. I knew I cuddent do much in the

chase, so I told the fellers I would go to the cross-path stand, and

wate for the bar, as he would be sarten to cum by thar. You have never

seed the cross-path stand, Doc. It’s the singularest place in the swamp.

It’s rite in the middle of a cane-brake, thicker than har on a bar-hide,

down in a deep sink, that looks like the devil had cummenst diggin’ a

skylite for his pre-emption. I knew it war a dangerous place for a well

man to go in, much less a one-leg cripple; but I war ’tarmined that time

to give a deal on the dead-wood, and play my hand out. The boys gin me

time to get to the stand, and then cummenst the drive. The bar seemed

’tarmined on disappinting me, for the fust thing I heard of the dogs and

bar, they was outen hearing. Everything got quiet, and I got so wrathy

at not being able to foller up the chase, that I cust till the trees

cummenst shedding their leaves and small branches, when I herd them

lumbrin’ back, and I nude they war makin’ to me. I primed old ‘bar

death’ fresh, and rubbed the frizin, for it war no time for rifle to get

snappin’. Thinks I, if I happen to miss, I’ll try what virtue there is

in a knife—when, Doc, my knife war gone. Oh! bar, for God’s sake have a

soft head, and die easy, for I _can’t_ run!

“Doc, you’ve hearn a bar bustin’ threw a cane-brake, and know how near

to a harrycane it is. I almost cummenst dodgin’ the trees, thinkin’ it

war the best in the shop one a comin’, for it beat the loudest thunder

ever I heard; that ole bar did, comin’ to get his death from an ole

one-legged cripple, what had slayed more of his brethren than his nigger

foot had ever made trax in the mud. Doc, he heerd a _monstrus long way

ahead of the dogs_. I warn’t skeered, but I must own as I had but one

shot, an’ no knife, I wud have prefurd they had been closer. But here he

cum! he bar—big as a bull—boys off h—llwards—dogs no whar—no

knife—but one shot—_and only one leg that cood run_!

“The bar ’peered s’prised to see me standin’ ready for him in the

openin’; for it war currently reported ’mong his brethren that I war

either dead, or no use for bar. I thought fust he war skeered; and, Doc,

I b’leve he war, till he cotch a sight of my wooden leg, and that toch

his pride, for he knew he would be hist outen every she bear’s company,

ef he run from a poor, sickly, one-legged cripple, so on he cum, a small

river of slobber pourin’ from his mouth, and the blue smoke curlin’

outen his ears. I tuck good aim at his left, and let drive. The ball

struck him on the eyebrow, and glanced off, only stunnin’ him for a

moment, jes givin’ me time to club my rifle, an’ on he kum, as fierce as

old grizzly. As he got in reach, I gin him a lick ’cross the temples,

brakin’ the stock in fifty pieces, an’ knockin’ him senseless. I struv

to foller up the lick, when, Doc, I war fast—my timber toe had run

inter the ground, and I cuddent git out, though I jerked hard enuf

almost to bring my thigh out of joint. I stuped to unscrew the infurnal

thing, when the bar cum too, and cum at me agen. Vim! I tuck him over

the head, and, cochunk, he keeled over. Oh! but I cavorted and pitched.

Thar war my wust enemy, watin’ for me to giv him a finisher, an’ _I

cuddent_ git at him. I’d cummense unacrewin’ leg—here cum

bar—vim—cochunk—he’d fall out of reach—and, Doc, _I cuddent git to

him_. I kept workin’ my body round, so as to unscrew the leg, and keep

the bar off till I cood ’complish it, when jes as I tuck the last turn,

and got loose from the pesky thing, here cum bar, more venimous than

ever, and I nude that war death to one out, and comin’ shortly. I let

him get close, an’ then cum down, with a perfect tornado on his head, as

I thought; but the old villain had learnt the dodge—the barrel jes

struck him on the side of the head, and glanst off, slinging itself out

of my hands ’bout twenty feet ’mongst the thick cane, and thar I war in

a fix sure. Bar but little hurt—no gun—no knife—no dogs—no frens—no

chance to climb—_an’ only one leg that cood run_. Doc, I jes cummenst

makin’ ’pologies to ole Master, when an idee struck me. Doc, did you

ever see a piney woods nigger pullin’ at a sassafras root? or a suckin’

pig in a tater patch arter the big yams? You has! Well, you can ’magin

how I jurkt at that wudden leg, for it war the last of pea-time with me,

sure, if I didn’t rise ’fore bar did. At last they both cum up, ’bout

the same time, and I braced myself for a death struggle.

“We fit all round that holler! Fust I’d foller bar, and then bar would

chase me! I’d make a lick, he’d fend off, and showin’ a set of teeth

that no doctor, ’cept natur, had ever wurkt at, cum tearin’ at me! We

both ’gan to git tired, I heard the boys and dogs cumin’, so did bar,

and we were both anxshus to bring the thing to a close ’fore they cum

up, though I wuddent thought they were intrudin’ ef they had cum up some

time afore.

“I’d worn the old leg pretty well off to the second jint, when, jest

’fore I made a lick, the noise of the boys and dogs cummin’ sorter

confused bar, and he made a stumble, and bein’ off his guard I got a

fair lick! The way that bar’s flesh giv in to the soft impresshuns of

that leg war an honour to the mederkal perfeshun for having invented

sich a weepun! I hollered—but you have heered me holler an’ I won’t

describe it—I had whipped a bar in a fair hand to hand fight—me, an

old, sickly, one-legged bar-hunter! The boys cum up, and, when they seed

the ground we had fit over, they swore they would hav thought, ’stead of

a bar-fight, that I had been cuttin’ cane and deadenin’ timber for a

corn-patch, the sile war so worked up, they then handed me a knife to

finish the work.

“Doc, les licker, it’s a dry talk—when will you make me another leg?

for bar-meat is not over plenty in the cabin, and I feel like tryin’

another!”

XXIV.

COLONEL CROCKETT’S RIDE ON THE BACK OF A BUFFALO.

About ten years ago I fell in with a camp of Konzas, a good piece off

the north fork of the Canadian. The Injuns a kyind a sorter give me a

sorter tanyard grin, and the old chief specially puckered up his pictur

like a green persimmon; but there were three raal roarers from Salt

River with me, so I didn’t care a picayoon if it cum to skulpin. Besides

I was tetotaciously tired, and I slepp so sound that I wish my rifle may

hang fire for ever if I don’t think it would have took something rougher

than an earthquake to wake me. So I lay till after daylite, and then one

of me comrades shook me, to tell me the Injun boys had found a huraah’s

neest. I took up old Kill-devil, and out I went, and about a hundred

yards from the camp there war an old buffalo bull with a hundred little

screeching imps about him, with their bows and arrows. They’d stuck so

many arrows in him that he looked as thorny as a honey locus or a

porky-pine; but they hadn’t got deep enough to touch the rite spot.

First the old Turk would go arter one full chizzle; but then another

would stick an arro into his posterity, saving your presence, and round

he would turn and arter the little torment like an ate-horse baggage

waggin. I railly pitied the old cretur, and sez I, “It are railly a

shame to let this uncircumsised Fillistin defy the army of Israel in

this ridiculous way. I’ll let him know there’s a warrant out arter him,”

and I wur gwine to blaze away; but an old Injun kort me elbow, and axed

me if it were the way in Kentuck to hinder the children from having a

little dust of diversion that did no harm to no one.

“Truth are the truth,” sez I, “if an Injun do speak it, and my sarvis to

you for the complement.”

After a wile the old devil’s baby of a bull laid down, for he’d lost a

purty smart chance of blood, and what doz one of the b’ys do, but gits

a-straddle on his back. The way he riz up warn’t slow, and off he sot as

if the prairie were afire behind him. I’ve a notion the b’y never rode

so sharp a rail before as that bull’s hump.

The old Injun the b’y belonged to wur as white as a lump of chalk for

fear his b’y would be killed, and he bangs away at the bull and hits him

in the belly, for he wur afraid of breaking the by’s leg if he squinted

at the heart. That maid the cretur as ugly as a copperhead in July, and

he takes arter the old hero like a whole team of thunderbolts.

“Run! run, father!” screeches the young varmint to the old one, “or I’ll

be down on ye like a falling star,” and I begun to see the old one was

in danger pretty considerably much.

So I sung out to the b’y to raze his leg, cause it kivered the critter’s

heart, and I wish I may be shot if he didn’t do it as cool as if I held

the breech of the rifle at him and not the muzzle, but that’s the nature

of an Injun. Bang goes old Kill-devil and down comes old bull-beef; but

the b’y couldn’t walk for a week, and he kyind of thort he’d never ride

bairbacked on a buffalo agin, without he seed some special ’casion.

XXV.

COLONEL CROCKETT’S ADVENTURE WITH A GRIZZLY BEAR.

You may say what you please, and be hanged to you, Mr. Stranger, about

your hannycondy, the great terrificacious sarpint of Seelon, in South

Ameriky, and your rale Bengal tiger from Afriky. Both on ’em heated to a

white heat, and welded into one, would be no part of a priming to a

grizzly bear of the Rocky Mountains. He’d chaw up your roonosseros, and

your lion, and your tiger, as small as cut tobacco, for breakfast, and

pick his teeth with the bones. The cretur’s rale grit, and don’t mind

fire no more than sugar plums, and none of your wild beastesses can say

that for themselves. I’ve killed one or two on ’em myself, which ar not

a thing many suckers can boast on, tho’ they are pretty good at scalping

Injuns. I was delightfully skeered by the fust I ever saw—no, that ar a

lie, tho’ I say it myself: Davy Crockett was never skeered by anything

but a female woman; but it ar a fact that I war tetotaciously consarned

for my life.

You see it war when I war young I went to massacree the buffaloes on the

head of Little Great Small Deep Shallow Big Muddy River, with my nigger

b’y Doughboy, what I give three hundred dollars for. I’d been all day,

till now, vagabondizing about the prairie, without seeing an atom of a

buffalo, when I seed one grazing in the rushes, on the edge of a pond,

and a crusty old batchelder he was. He war a thousand year old at least,

for his hide were all kivered with skars, and he had as much beard as

would do all the dandies I’ve seen in Broadway for whiskers and

mustashes a hull year. His eyes looked like two holes burnt in a

blanket, or two bullets fired into a stump; and I see he was a cross

cantankerous feller, what coodent have no cumfort of his life bekays he

war too quarrelsome. If there’s ennything Davy Crockett’s remarkable

for, it’s for his tender feelings, speshally toward dum creturs; and I

thort it would be a marcy to take away his life, seeing it war onny a

torment to him, and he hadent no right to live, no how. So I creeps

toward him like a garter snake through the grass, tralein Kill-devil

arter me. I war a going to tickle him a little about the short ribs,

jest to make him feel amiable, when out jumps a great bear, as big as

Kongress Hall, out of the rushes, and lights upon the old Jew like a

grey-winged plover. He only hit him one blow, but that war a side

winder. I wish I may be kicked to death by grasshoppers, if he didn’t

tare out five of his ribs, and laid his heart and liver all bare. I

kinder sorter pitted the old feller when I see him brought to such an

untimely eend, and I didn’t somehow think the bear done the thing that

war right, for I always does my own skalping, and no thanks to

interlopers. So, sez I:

“I’m a civil man, Mr. Bear, saving your presence, and I won’t come for

to go to give you no insolatious language; but I’ll thank you, when we

meet again, not to disremember the old saying, but let every man skin

his own skunks.”

And with that I insinnivated a ball slap through his hart.

By the ghost of the great mammoth of Big Bone Licks, you’d have thort,

by the way he nashed his teeth, I’d a spoken sumthing onpleasant to him.

His grinders made a noise jest as if all creation war sharpening

cross-cut saws by steam-power, and he war down upon me like the whole

Missouri on a sand-bar.

There’s no more back out in Davy Crockett than thar ar go-ahead with the

Bunker Hill Monument, and so I give him a sogdologer over his coco-nut

with the barrel of old Kill-devil that sot him a konsidering, and he

thort better on it, and sot off after Doughboy as if the devil had

kicked him on eend. It’s true Doughboy slipped a ball into his ampersand

jest as I struck him; but that war not what turned him; I grinned him

out a countenance, so he thort it war safer to make his breakfast on

Doughboy than me, which war a thing oncreditable to his taste, seeing I

war a white man and he only a nigger.

Well, I hadn’t time to load my iron before he gathered upon Doughboy

like a Virginny blood mear, and the nigger give himself up for a gone

sucker, and fainted away. The bear got up to him jest as I war putting

down my ball, and I expected to see him swaller the b’y without

greasing; but he no sooner smelt of him than he turned up his nose in

disgust, as Isaac Hill did when Mr. Upham hosswipt him, and run away

howling as if his delicacy was hugaceously shocked.

By this time I felt most inticingly wolfy and savagerous, and I jest giv

him a hint that no man could neglect that it war best to turn in his

tracks, and I waited for him jest on the edge of Little Great Small Deep

Shallow Big Muddy. He pitched inter me like the piston of a steam-injun,

and we both rolled into the drink together. Onluckily for him I didn’t

lose holt of Kill-devil, and when he raised his head and tried to get

over his astonishment, I clapt the barrel right across his neck to shove

his visnomy under water. I’ll be shot with a packsaddle without benefit

of clargy if the ridiculous fool didn’t help me himself, for he clapped

both hands on the eends of the barrel and pulled away as if it war a

pleasure to him. I had nuthing to do but hold on to the stock and float

alongside of him till he war drowned.

Don’t you come for to say I’m telling the least of a lie, for every fool

knows a grizzly bear will live an hour with a ball through his heart, if

so be he’s onny mad enuff.

XXVI.

COLONEL CROCKETT, THE BEAR AND THE SWALLOWS.

People tell a great many silly stories about swallows. Some say that if

you kill one your cows will give bloody milk, and others tell as how

they fly away in the fall and come back again in the spring, when the

leaves of the white oaks are jest as big as a mowses ear. Agin, thar ar

some that tell how they keep Christmas and New Year’s among the little

fishes, at the bottom of some pond; but you may tell all them that sez

so they are dratted fools, and don’t know nothing about the matter.

Swallows sleep all winter in the holler of some old rotten sycamore, and

I’ll tell you how I come to find it out.

I war out airly in the spring with my rifle on the banks of the

Tennessee, making up my opinion about matters and things in general,

when all of a sudden I heard a clap of thunder, and that sot me a

thinking. “Now,” sez I, “if I war to go home and tell of that, the boys

would think me a liar, if they didn’t dare to call me so; for who ever

heard of such a thing as thunder under a clear sky of a bright spring

day!” And with that I looked up, and agin I heerd the thunder, but it

war not thunder anyhow I could fix it; for a hull swarm of swallors came

bodily out of an old hollow sycamore, and it war the noise they made

with the flapping of their wings.

Now I thought to myself that them ar little varmints war doing some

mischief in the tree, and that it war my duty to see into it; for you

see just then I felt hugeously grandiferous; for the nabors had made me

a Justus Pease. So I cut down a saplin’ with my knife, and set it agin

the tree, and clim’ up like a squirrel; for you know a sycamore has a

smooth bark. As I war bending over the edge of the holler to look down,

the saplin’ broke under me, and trying to catch at something I lost my

balance, and fell down into the tree head-foremust. When I got to the

bottom I found myself a little the nastiest critter ever you saw, on

account of the swallows’ dung, and how to get out I didn’t know; for the

hole war deep, and when I looked up I could see the stars out of the

top. Presently I put my hand into something as soft as a feather-bed,

and I heerd an awful growling. But it war only an old bar I woke out of

his winter nap, and I out butcher to see which war the best man. But the

kritter war clean amazed, and seemed to like my room better than my

company, and made a bolt to get out of the scrape most cowardly.

“Hollo, stranger!” sez I; “we don’t part company without having a fair

shake for a fite;” and so, saving your presence, I clenched hold both

his posterities. But finding the hair war like to give way, I got hold

of his stump of a tail with my teeth, and then I had him fast enough.

But still he kept on clim’ing up the holler, and I begun to sorter like

the idee; for you know he couldn’t get up without pulling me up arter

him. So when he begun to get tired, I quickened his pace with an awful

fundamental poke with my butcher, jest by way of a gentle hint. Before

long we got to the top of the tree, and then I got to the ground quicker

than he did, seeing he come down tale foremust, I got my shooting iron

to be ready for him. But he kinder seemed to got enough of my company,

and went off squeeling as if something ailed his hinder parts, which I

thought a kind of curious; for I’ve no opinion of a fellow that will

take a kick, much less such usage as I give him. However, I let him go,

for it would be onmanly to be onthankful for the sarvis he done me, and

for all I know he’s alive yet. And it war not the only thing I had to

thank him for, I had a touch of the toothache before, and the bite I got

at his tale cured me entirely. I’ve never had it since, and I can

recommend it to all people that has the toothache to chew two inches of

a bear’s tail. It’s a sartin cure. Thar ar a wicked sight of vartue in

bear’s grease, as I know by my own experience.

XXVII.

A PRETTY PREDICAMENT.

When I was a big boy, that had jist begun to go a galling, I got astray

in the woods one arternoon; and being wandering about a good deel, and

got pretty considerable soaked by a grist of rain, I sot down on to a

stump, and begun to wring out my leggin’s, and shake the drops off of my

raccoon cap.

Whilst I was on the stump, I got kind of sleepy, and so laid my head

back in the crotch of a young tree that growed behind me, and shot up my

eyes. I had laid out of doors for many a night before, with a sky

blanket over me—so I got to sleep pretty soon, and fell to snoring most

beautiful. So somehow, or somehow else, I did not wake till near

sundown; and I don’t know when I should have waked, had it not been for

somebody tugging at my hair. As soon as I felt this, though I wan’t more

than half awake, I begun to feel to see if my thum’ nail was on, as that

was all the ammunition I had about me. I lay still, to see what the

feller would be at. The first idee I had was that a cussed Ingun was

fixing to take off my scalp; so I thought I’d wait till I begun to feel

the pint of his knife scraping against the skin, and then I should have

full proof agin him, and could jerk out his copper-coloured liver with

the law all on my side. At last I felt such a hard twitch, that I roared

right out, but when I found my head was squeezed so tight in the crotch

that I could not get it out, I felt like a gone sucker. I felt raal

ridiculous, I can assure you; so I began to talk to the varmint, and

telled him to help me get my head out, like a man, and I would give him

five dollars before I killed him.

At last my hair begun to come out by the roots, and then I was mad to be

took advantage of in that way. I swore at the varmint, till the tree

shed all its leaves, and the sky turned yaller. So, in a few minutes, I

heerd a voice, and then a gall cum running up, and axed what was the

matter. She soon saw what was to pay, and telled me that the eagles were

tearing out my hair to build nests with. I telled her I had endured more

than a dead possum could stand already, and that if she would drive off

the eagles, I would make her a present of an iron comb.

“That I will,” says she; “for I am a she steam-boat, and have doubled up

a crocodile in my day.”

So she pulled up a small sapling by the roots, and went to work as if

she hadn’t another minnit to live. She knocked down two of the varmints,

and screamed the rest out of sight. Then I telled her the predicament I

was in; and she said she would loosen the hold that the crotch had on my

head. So she took and reached out her arm into a rattlesnake’s hole, and

pulled out three or four of them. She tied ’em awl together, and made a

strong rope out of ’em. She tied one eend of the snakes to the top of

one branch, and pulled as if she was trying to haul the multiplication

table apart. The tightness about my head begun to be different

altogether, and I hauled out my cocoa-nut, though I left a piece of one

of my ears behind.

As soon as I was clear, I could not tell which way to look for the sun,

and I was afeared I should fall into the sky, for I did not know which

way was up, and which way was down. Then I looked at the gal that had

got me loose—she was a strapper: she was as tall as a sapling, and had

an arm like a keel boat’s tiller. So I looked at her like all wrath, and

as she cum down from the tree, I says to her:

“I wish I may be utterly onswoggled if I don’t know how to hate an Ingun

or love a gal as well as any he this side of roaring river. I fell in

love with three gals at once at a log rolling, and as for tea squalls my

heart never shut pan for a minnit at a time; so if you will marry me, I

will forgive the tree and the eagles for your sake.”

Then she turned as white as an egg-shell, and I seed that her heart was

busting, and I run up to her, like a squirrel to his hole, and gave her

a buss that sounded louder than a musket. So her spunk was all gone, and

she took my arm as tame as a pigeon, and we cut out for her father’s

house. She complained that I hung too heavy on her arm, for I was

enermost used up after laying so long between the branches. So she took

up a stone that would weigh about fifty pound, and put it in her pocket

on the other side to balance agin my weight, and so she moved along as

upright as a steam-boat. She told me that her Sunday bonnet was a

hornet’s nest garnished with wolves’ tails and eagles’ feathers, and

that she wore a bran new goun, made of a whole bear’s-hide, the tail

serving for a train. She said she could drink of the branch without a

cup, could shoot a wild goose flying, and wade the Mississippi without

wetting herself. She said she could not play on the piane, nor sing like

a nightingale, but she could outscream a catamount and jump over her own

shadow; she had good strong horse sense and new a woodchuck from a

skunk. So I was pleased with her, and offered her all my plunder if she

would let me split the difference and call her Mrs. Crockett.

She kinder said she must insult her father before she went so fur as to

marry. So she took me into another room to introduce me to another beau

that she had. He was setting on the edge of a grind-stone at the back

part of the room with his heels on the mantel-piece! He had the

skull-bone of a catamount for a snuff-box, and he was dressed like he

had been used to seeing hard times. I got a side squint into one of his

pockets, and saw it was full of eyes that had been gouged from people of

my acquaintance. I knew my jig was up, for such a feller could outcourt

me, and I thort the gal brot me in on proppus to have a fight. So I

turned off, and threatened to call agin; and I cut through the bushes

like a pint of whiskey among forty men.

END OF VOL. I.

L O N D O N :

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