THE Thomas Hunt had arrived, she lay at the wharf at New Town, and a
rumor had reached our ears that "the Judge" was on board. Public anxiety
had been excited to the highest pitch to witness the result of the
meeting between us. It had been stated publicly that "the Judge" would
whip us the moment he arrived; but though we thought a conflict
probable, we had never been very sanguine as to its terminating in this
manner. Coolly we gazed from the window of the Office upon the New Town
road; we descried a cloud of dust in the distance; high above it waved a
whip lash, and we said, "'The Judge' cometh, and 'his driving is like
that of Jehu the son of Nimshi, for he driveth furiously.'"
Calmly we seated ourselves in the "_arm chair_," and continued our
labors upon our magnificent Pictorial. Anon, a step, a heavy step, was
heard upon the stairs, and "the Judge" stood before us.
"In shape and gesture proudly eminent, he stood like a tower: ... but
his face deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care sat on his faded
cheek; but under brows of dauntless courage and pride, waiting revenge."
"We rose, and with an unfaltering voice said: "Well, Judge, how do you
do?" He made no reply but commenced taking off his coat.
We removed ours, also our cravat.
* * * * *
The sixth and last round, is described by the pressman and compositors,
as having been fearfully scientific. We held "the Judge" down over the
Press by our nose (which we had inserted between his teeth for that
purpose), and while our hair was employed in holding one of his hands
we held the other in our left, and with the "sheep's foot" brandished
above our head, shouted to him, "Say Waldo," "Never!" he gasped--
"O my Bigler!" he would have muttered,
But that he "dried up," ere the word was uttered.
At this moment we discovered that we had been laboring under a
"misunderstanding," and through the amicable intervention of the
pressman, who thrust a roller between our faces (which gave the whole
affair a very different complexion), the _matter_ was finally settled on
the most friendly terms--"and without prejudice to the honor of either
party." We write this while sitting without any clothing, except our
left stocking, and the rim of our hat encircling our neck like a "ruff"
of the Elizabethan era--that article of dress having been knocked over
our head at an early stage of the proceedings, and the crown
subsequently torn off, while "the Judge" is sopping his eye with cold
water, in the next room, a small boy standing beside the sufferer with a
basin, and glancing with interest over the advertisements on the second
page of the San Diego Herald, a fair copy of which was struck off upon
the back of his shirt, at the time we held him over the Press. Thus ends
our description of this long anticipated personal collision, of which
the public can believe precisely as much as they please; if they
disbelieve the whole of it, we shall not be at all offended, but can
simply quote as much to the point, what might have been the commencement
of our epitaph, had we fallen in the conflict,
"HERE LIES PHOENIX."
_Phoenixiana._