THE SHOOTING-MATCH
BY A.B. LONGSTREET
Shooting-matches are probably nearly coeval with the colonization ofGeorgia. They are still common throughout the Southern States, thoughthey are not as common as they were twenty-five or thirty years ago.Chance led me to one about a year ago. I was traveling in one of thenortheastern counties, when I overtook a swarthy, bright-eyed, smirkylittle fellow, riding a small pony, and bearing on his shoulder a long,heavy rifle, which, judging from its looks, I should say had doneservice in Morgan's corps.
"Good morning, sir!" said I, reining up my horse as I came beside him.
"How goes it, stranger?" said he, with a tone of independence andself-confidence that awakened my curiosity to know a little of hischaracter.
"Going driving?" inquired I.
"Not exactly," replied he, surveying my horse with a quizzical smile; "Ihaven't been a driving _by myself_ for a year or two; and my nose hasgot so bad lately, I can't carry a cold trail _without hounds to helpme_."
Alone, and without hounds as he was, the question was rather a sillyone; but it answered the purpose for which it was put, which was only todraw him into conversation, and I proceeded to make as decent a retreatas I could.
"I didn't know," said I, "but that you were going to meet the huntsmen,or going to your stand."
"Ah, sure enough," rejoined he, "that _mout_ be a bee, as the old womansaid when she killed a wasp. It seems to me I ought to know you."
"Well, if you _ought_, why _don't_ you?"
"What _mout_ your name be?"
"It _might_ be anything," said I, with a borrowed wit, for I knew my manand knew what kind of conversation would please him most.
"Well, what _is_ it, then?"
"It _is_ Hall," said I; "but you know it might as well have beenanything else."
"Pretty digging!" said he. "I find you're not the fool I took you to be;so here's to a better acquaintance with you."
"With all my heart," returned I; "but you must be as clever as I'vebeen, and give me your name."
"To be sure I will, my old coon; take it, take it, and welcome. Anythingelse about me you'd like to have?"
"No," said I, "there's nothing else about you worth having."
"Oh, yes there is, stranger! Do you see this?" holding up his ponderousrifle with an ease that astonished me. "If you will go with me to theshooting-match, and see me knock out the _bull's-eye_ with her a fewtimes, you'll agree the old _Soap-stick's_ worth something when BillyCurlew puts his shoulder to her."
This short sentence was replete with information to me. It taught methat my companion was _Billy Curlew_; that he was going to a_shooting-match_; that he called his rifle the _Soap-stick_, and that hewas very confident of winning beef with her; or, which is nearly, butnot quite the same thing, _driving the cross with her_.
"Well," said I, "if the shooting-match is not too far out of my way,I'll go to it with pleasure."
"Unless your way lies through the woods from here," said Billy, "it'llnot be much out of your way; for it's only a mile ahead of us, and thereis no other road for you to take till you get there; and as that thingyou're riding in ain't well suited to fast traveling among brushy knobs,I reckon you won't lose much by going by. I reckon you hardly ever wasat a shooting-match, stranger, from the cut of your coat?"
"Oh, yes," returned I, "many a time. I won beef at one when I was hardlyold enough to hold a shot-gun off-hand."
"_Children_ don't go to shooting-matches about here," said he, with asmile of incredulity. "I never heard of but one that did, and he was alittle _swinge_ cat. He was born a shooting, and killed squirrels beforehe was weaned."
"Nor did _I_ ever hear of but one," replied I, "and that one wasmyself."
"And where did you win beef so young, stranger?"
"At Berry Adams's."
"Why, stop, stranger, let me look at you good! Is your name _Lyman_Hall?"
"The very same," said I.
"Well, dang my buttons, if you ain't the very boy my daddy used to tellme about. I was too young to recollect you myself; but I've heard daddytalk about you many a time. I believe mammy's got a neck-handkerchiefnow that daddy won on your shooting at Collen Reid's store, when youwere hardly knee high. Come along, Lyman, and I'll go my death upon youat the shooting-match, with the old Soap-stick at your shoulder."
"Ah, Billy," said I, "the old Soap-stick will do much better at your ownshoulder. It was my mother's notion that sent me to the shooting-matchat Berry Adams's; and, to tell the honest truth, it was altogether achance shot that made me win beef; but that wasn't generally known; andmost everybody believed that I was carried there on account of my skillin shooting; and my fame was spread far and wide, I well remember. Iremember, too, perfectly well, your father's bet on me at the store._He_ was at the shooting-match, and nothing could make him believe butthat I was a great shot with a rifle as well as a shot-gun. Bet he wouldon me, in spite of all I could say, though I assured him that I hadnever shot a rifle in my life. It so happened, too, that there were buttwo bullets, or, rather, a bullet and a half; and so confident was yourfather in my skill, that he made me shoot the half bullet; and, strangeto tell, by another chance shot, I like to have drove the cross and wonhis bet."
"Now I know you're the very chap, for I heard daddy tell that very thingabout the half bullet. Don't say anything about it, Lyman, and darn myold shoes, if I don't tare the lint off the boys with you at theshooting-match. They'll never 'spect such a looking man as you are ofknowing anything about a rifle. I'll risk your _chance_ shots."
I soon discovered that the father had eaten sour grapes, and the son'steeth were on edge; for Billy was just as incorrigibly obstinate in hisbelief of my dexterity with a rifle as his father had been before him.
We soon reached the place appointed for the shooting-match. It went bythe name of Sims's Cross Roads, because here two roads intersected eachother; and because, from the time that the first had been laid out,Archibald Sims had resided there. Archibald had been a justice of thepeace in his day (and where is the man of his age in Georgia who hasnot?); consequently, he was called 'Squire Sims. It is the custom inthis state, when a man has once acquired a title, civil or military, toforce it upon him as long as he lives; hence the countless number oftitled personages who are introduced in these sketches.
We stopped at the 'squire's door. Billy hastily dismounted, gave me theshake of the hand which he had been reluctantly reserving for a mileback, and, leading me up to the 'squire, thus introduced me: "UncleArchy, this is Lyman Hall; and for all you see him in these fineclothes, he's a _swinge_ cat; a darn sight cleverer fellow than he looksto be. Wait till you see him lift the old Soap-stick, and draw a beadupon the bull's-eye. You _gwine_ to see fun here to-day. Don't saynothing about it."
"Well, Mr. Swinge-cat," said the 'squire, "here's to a betteracquaintance with you," offering me his hand.
"How goes it, Uncle Archy?" said I, taking his hand warmly (for I amalways free and easy with those who are so with me; and in this course Irarely fail to please). "How's the old woman?"
"Egad," said the 'squire, chuckling, "there you're too hard for me; forshe died two-and-twenty years ago, and I haven't heard a word from hersince."
"What! and you never married again?"
"Never, as God's my judge!" (a solemn asseveration, truly, upon so lighta subject.)
"Well, that's not my fault."
"No, nor it's not mine, _ni_ther," said the 'squire.
Here we were interrupted by the cry of another Rancey Sniffle. "Hello,here! All you as wish to put in for the shoot'n'-match, come on here!for the putt'n' in's _riddy_ to begin."
About sixty persons, including mere spectators, had collected; the mostof whom were more or less obedient to the call of Mealy Whitecotton, forthat was the name of the self-constituted commander-in-chief. Somehastened and some loitered, as they desired to be first or last on thelist; for they shoot in the order in which their names are entered.
The beef was not
present, nor is it ever upon such occasions; butseveral of the company had seen it, who all concurred in the opinionthat it was a good beef, and well worth the price that was set uponit--eleven dollars. A general inquiry ran around, in order to form someopinion as to the number of shots that would be taken; for, of course,the price of a shot is cheapened in proportion to the increase of thatnumber. It was soon ascertained that not more than twenty persons wouldtake chances; but these twenty agreed to take the number of shots, attwenty-five cents each.
The competitors now began to give in their names; some for one, some fortwo, three, and a few for as many as four shots.
Billy Curlew hung back to the last; and when the list was offered him,five shots remained undisposed of.
"How many shots left?" inquired Billy.
"Five," was the reply.
"Well, I take 'em all. Put down four shots to me, and one to Lyman Hall,paid for by William Curlew."
I was thunder-struck, not at his proposition to pay for my shot, becauseI knew that Billy meant it as a token of friendship, and he would havebeen hurt if I had refused to let him do me this favor; but at theunexpected announcement of my name as a competitor for beef, at leastone hundred miles from the place of my residence. I was prepared for achallenge from Billy to some of his neighbors for a _private_ match uponme; but not for this.
I therefore protested against his putting in for me, and urged everyreason to dissuade him from it that I could, without wounding hisfeelings.
"Put it down!" said Billy, with the authority of an emperor, and with alook that spoke volumes intelligible to every by-stander. "Reckon Idon't know what I'm about?" Then wheeling off, and muttering in anunder, self-confident tone, "Dang old Roper," continued he, "if he don'tknock that cross to the north corner of creation and back again before acat can lick her foot."
Had I been king of the cat tribe, they could not have regarded me withmore curious attention than did the whole company from this moment.Every inch of me was examined with the nicest scrutiny; and some plainlyexpressed by their looks that they never would have taken me for such abite. I saw no alternative but to throw myself upon a third chance shot;for though, by the rules of the sport, I would have been allowed toshoot by proxy, by all the rules of good breeding I was bound to shootin person. It would have been unpardonable to disappoint theexpectations which had been raised on me. Unfortunately, too, for me,the match differed in one respect from those which I had been in thehabit of attending in my younger days. In olden times the contest wascarried on chiefly with _shot-guns_, a generic term which, in thosedays, embraced three descriptions of firearms: _Indian-traders_ (a long,cheap, but sometimes excellent kind of gun, that mother Britain used tosend hither for traffic with the Indians), _the large musket_, and the_shot-gun_, properly so-called. Rifles were, however, always permittedto compete with them, under equitable restrictions. These were, thatthey should be fired off-hand, while the shot-guns were allowed a rest,the distance being equal; or that the distance should be one hundredyards for a rifle, to sixty for the shot-gun, the mode of firing beingequal.
But this was a match of rifles exclusively; and these are by far themost common at this time.
Most of the competitors fire at the same target; which is usually aboard from nine inches to a foot wide, charred on one side as black asit can be made by fire, without impairing materially the uniformity ofits surface; on the darkened side of which is _pegged_ a square piece ofwhite paper, which is larger or smaller, according to the distance atwhich it is to be placed from the marksmen. This is almost invariablysixty yards, and for it the paper is reduced to about two and a halfinches square. Out of the center of it is cut a rhombus of about thewidth of an inch, measured diagonally; this is the _bull's-eye_, or_diamond_, as the marksmen choose to call it; in the center of this isthe cross. But every man is permitted to fix his target to his owntaste; and accordingly, some remove one-fourth of the paper, cuttingfrom the center of the square to the two lower corners, so as to leave alarge angle opening from the center downward; while others reduce theangle more or less: but it is rarely the case that all are not satisfiedwith one of these figures.
The beef is divided into five prizes, or, as they are commonly termed,five _quarters_--the hide and tallow counting as one. For several yearsafter the revolutionary war, a sixth was added: the _lead_ which wasshot in the match. This was the prize of the sixth best shot; and itused to be carefully extracted from the board or tree in which it waslodged, and afterward remoulded. But this grew out of the exigency ofthe times, and has, I believe, been long since abandoned everywhere.
The three master shots and rivals were Moses Firmby, Larkin Spivey andBilly Curlew; to whom was added, upon this occasion, by common consentand with awful forebodings, your humble servant.
The target was fixed at an elevation of about three feet from theground; and the judges (Captain Turner and 'Squire Porter) took theirstands by it, joined by about half the spectators.
The first name on the catalogue was Mealy Whitecotton. Mealy steppedout, rifle in hand, and toed the mark. His rifle was about three incheslonger than himself, and near enough his own thickness to make theremark of Darby Chislom, as he stepped out, tolerably appropriate: "Herecomes the corn-stalk and the sucker!" said Darby.
"Kiss my foot!" said Mealy. "The way I'll creep into that bull's-eye's afact."
"You'd better creep into your hind sight," said Darby. Mealy raised andfired.
"A pretty good shot, Mealy!" said one.
"Yes, a blamed good shot!" said a second.
"Well done, Meal!" said a third.
I was rejoiced when one of the company inquired, "Where is it?" for Icould hardly believe they were founding these remarks upon the evidenceof their senses.
"Just on the right-hand side of the bull's-eye," was the reply.
I looked with all the power of my eyes, but was unable to discover theleast change in the surface of the paper. Their report, however, wastrue; so much keener is the vision of a practiced than an unpracticedeye.
The next in order was Hiram Baugh. Hiram was like some race-horses whichI have seen; he was too good not to contend for every prize, and toogood for nothing ever to win one.
"Gentlemen," said he, as he came to the mark, "I don't say that I'll winbeef; but if my piece don't blow, I'll eat the paper, or be mighty aptto do it, if you'll b'lieve my racket. My powder are not good powder,gentlemen; I bought it _thum_ (from) Zeb Daggett, and gin himthree-quarters of a dollar a pound for it; but it are not what I callgood powder, gentlemen; but if old Buck-killer burns it clear, the boyyou call Hiram Baugh eat's paper, or comes mighty near it."
"Well, blaze away," said Mealy, "and be d----d to you, and Zeb Daggett,and your powder, and Buck-killer, and your powder-horn and shot-pouch toboot! How long you gwine stand thar talking 'fore you shoot?"
"Never mind," said Hiram, "I can talk a little and shoot a little, too,but that's nothin'. Here goes!"
Hiram assumed the figure of a note of interrogation, took a long sight,and fired.
"I've eat paper," said he, at the crack of the gun, without looking, orseeming to look, toward the target. "Buck-killer made a clear racket.Where am I, gentlemen?"
"You're just between Mealy and the diamond," was the reply.
"I said I'd eat paper, and I've done it; haven't I, gentlemen?"
"And 'spose you have!" said Mealy, "what do that 'mount to? You'll notwin beef, and never did."
"Be that as it mout be, I've beat Meal 'Cotton mighty easy; and the boyyou call Hiram Baugh are able to do it."
"And what do that 'mount to? Who the devil an't able to beat Meal'Cotton! I don't make no pretense of bein' nothin' great, no how; butyou always makes out as if you were gwine to keep 'em makin' crosses foryou constant, and then do nothin' but '_eat paper_' at last; and that'sa long way from _eatin' beef_, 'cordin' to Meal 'Cotton's notions, asyou call him."
Simon Stow was now called on.
"Oh, Lord!" exclaimed two or three: "now we have it. I
t'll take him aslong to shoot as it would take 'Squire Dobbins to run round a _track_ o'land."
"Good-by, boys," said Bob Martin.
"Where are you going, Bob?"
"Going to gather in my crop; I'll be back again though by the time SimeStow shoots."
Simon was used to all this, and therefore it did not disconcert him inthe least. He went off and brought his own target, and set it up withhis own hand.
He then wiped out his rifle, rubbed the pan with his hat, drew a pieceof tow through the touch-hole with his wiper, filled his charger withgreat care, poured the powder into the rifle with equal caution, shovedin with his finger the two or three vagrant grains that lodged round themouth of his piece, took out a handful of bullets, looked them all overcarefully, selected one without flaw or wrinkle, drew out his patching,found the most even part of it, sprung open the grease-box in the breechof his rifle; took up just so much grease, distributed it with greatequality over the chosen part of his patching, laid it over the muzzleof his rifle, grease side down, placed his ball upon it, pressed it alittle, then took it up and turned the neck a little moreperpendicularly downward, placed his knife handle on it, just buried itin the mouth of the rifle, cut off the redundant patching just above thebullet, looked at it, and shook his head in token that he had cut offtoo much or too little, no one knew which, sent down the ball, measuredthe contents of his gun with his first and second fingers on theprotruding part of the ramrod, shook his head again, to signify therewas too much or too little powder, primed carefully, placed an archedpiece of tin over the hind sight to shade it, took his place, got afriend to hold his hat over the foresight to shade it, took a very longsight, fired, and didn't even eat the paper.
"My piece was badly _loadned_," said Simon, when he learned the place ofhis ball.
"Oh, you didn't take time," said Mealy. "No man can shoot that's in sucha hurry as you is. I'd hardly got to sleep 'fore I heard the crack o'the gun."
The next was Moses Firmby. He was a tall, slim man, of rather sallowcomplexion; and it is a singular fact, that though probably no part ofthe world is more healthy than the mountainous parts of Georgia, themountaineers have not generally robust frames or fine complexions: theyare, however, almost inexhaustible by toil.
Moses kept us not long in suspense. His rifle was already charged, andhe fixed it upon the target with a steadiness of nerve and aim that wasastonishing to me and alarming to all the rest. A few seconds, and thereport of his rifle broke the deathlike silence which prevailed.
"No great harm done yet," said Spivey, manifestly relieved from anxietyby an event which seemed to me better calculated to produce despair.Firmby's ball had cut out the lower angle of the diamond, directly on aright line with the cross.
Three or four followed him without bettering his shot; all of whom,however, with one exception, "eat the paper."
It now came to Spivey's turn. There was nothing remarkable in his personor manner. He took his place, lowered his rifle slowly from aperpendicular until it came on a line with the mark, held it there likea vice for a moment and fired.
"Pretty _sevigrous_, but nothing killing yet," said Billy Curlew, as helearned the place of Spivey's ball.
Spivey's ball had just broken the upper angle of the diamond; beatingFirmby about half its width.
A few more shots, in which there was nothing remarkable, brought us toBilly Curlew. Billy stepped out with much confidence, and brought theSoap-stick to an order, while he deliberately rolled up his shirtsleeves. Had I judged Billy's chance of success from the looks of hisgun, I should have said it was hopeless. The stock of Soap-stick seemedto have been made with a case-knife; and had it been, the tool wouldhave been but a poor apology for its clumsy appearance. An auger-hole inthe breech served for a grease-box; a cotton string assisted a singlescrew in holding on the lock; and the thimbles were made, one of brass,one of iron, and one of tin.
"Where's Lark Spivey's bullet?" called out Billy to the judges, as hefinished rolling up his sleeves.
"About three-quarters of an inch from the cross," was the reply.
"Well, clear the way! the Soap-stick's coming, and she'll be along inthere among 'em presently."
Billy now planted himself astraddle, like an inverted V; shot forwardhis left hip, drew his body back to an angle of about forty-five degreeswith the plane of the horizon, brought his cheek down close to thebreech of old Soap-stick, and fixed her upon the mark with untremblinghand. His sight was long, and the swelling muscles of his left arm ledme to believe that he was lessening his chance of success with everyhalf second that he kept it burdened with his ponderous rifle; but itneither flagged nor wavered until Soap-stick made her report.
"Where am I?" said Billy, as the smoke rose from before his eye.
"You've jist touched the cross on the lower side," was the reply of oneof the judges.
"I was afraid I was drawing my bead a _leetle_ too fine," said Billy."Now, Lyman, you see what the Soap-stick can do. Take her, and show theboys how you used to do when you was a baby."
I begged to reserve my shot to the last; pleading, rathersophistically, that it was, in point of fact, one of the Billy's shots.My plea was rather indulged than sustained, and the marksmen who hadtaken more than one shot commenced the second round. This round was amanifest improvement upon the first. The cross was driven three times:once by Spivey, once by Firmby, and once by no less a personage thanMealy Whitecotton, whom chance seemed to favor for this time, merelythat he might retaliate upon Hiram Baugh; and the bull's-eye wasdisfigured out of all shape.
The third and fourth rounds were shot. Billy discharged his last shot,which left the rights of parties thus: Billy Curlew first and fourthchoice, Spivey second, Firmby third and Whitecotton fifth. Some of myreaders may perhaps be curious to learn how a distinction comes to bemade between several, all of whom drive the cross. The distinction isperfectly natural and equitable. Threads are stretched from theuneffaced parts of the once intersecting lines, by means of which theoriginal position of the cross is precisely ascertained. Eachbullet-hole being nicely pegged up as it is made, it is easy toascertain its circumference. To this I believe they usually, if notinvariably, measure, where none of the balls touch the cross; but if thecross be driven, they measure from it to the center of the bullet-hole.To make a draw shot, therefore, between two who drive the cross, it isnecessary that the center of both balls should pass directly through thecross; a thing that very rarely happens.
_The Bite_ alone remained to shoot. Billy wiped out his rifle carefully,loaded her to the top of his skill, and handed her to me. "Now," saidhe, "Lyman, draw a fine bead, but not too fine; for Soap-stick bears upher ball well. Take care and don't touch the trigger until you've gotyour bead; for she's spring-trigger'd and goes mighty easy: but youhold her to the place you want her, and if she don't go there, dang oldRoper."
I took hold of Soap-stick, and lapsed immediately into the most hopelessdespair. I am sure I never handled as heavy a gun in all my life. "Why,Billy," said I, "you little mortal, you! what do you use such a gun asthis for?"
"Look at the bull's-eye yonder!" said he.
"True," said I, "but _I_ can't shoot her; it is impossible."
"Go 'long, you old coon!" said Billy; "I see what you're at;" intimatingthat all this was merely to make the coming shot the more remarkable."Daddy's little boy don't shoot anything but the old Soap-stick hereto-day, I know."
The judges, I knew, were becoming impatient, and, withal, my situationwas growing more embarrassing every second; so I e'en resolved to trythe Soap-stick without further parley.
I stepped out, and the most intense interest was excited all around me,and it flashed like electricity around the target, as I judged from theanxious gaze of all in that direction.
Policy dictated that I should fire with a falling rifle, and I adoptedthis mode; determining to fire as soon as the sights came on a line withthe diamond, _bead_ or no _bead_. Accordingly, I commenced lowering oldSoap-stick; but, in spite of all my mus
cular powers, she was strictlyobedient to the laws of gravitation, and came down with a uniformlyaccelerated velocity. Before I could arrest her downward flight, she hadnot only passed the target, but was making rapid encroachments on my owntoes.
"Why, he's the weakest man in the arms I ever seed," said one, in a halfwhisper.
"It's only his fun," said Billy; "I know him."
"It may be fun," said the other, "but it looks mightily like yearnest toa man up a tree."
I now, of course, determined to reverse the mode of firing, and putforth all my physical energies to raise Soap-stick to the mark. Theeffort silenced Billy, and gave tongue to all his companions. I had juststrength enough to master Soap-stick's obstinate proclivity, and,consequently, my nerves began to exhibit palpable signs of distress withher first imperceptible movement upward. A trembling commenced in myarms; increased, and extended rapidly to my body and lower extremities;so that, by the time that I had brought Soap-stick up to the mark, I wasshaking from head to foot, exactly like a man under the continued actionof a strong galvanic battery. In the meantime my friends gave vent totheir feelings freely.
"I swear poin' blank," said one, "that man can't shoot."
"He used to shoot well," said another; "but can't now, nor never could."
"You better git away from 'bout that mark!" bawled a third, "for I'll bedod darned if Broadcloth don't give some of you the dry gripes if youstand too close thare."
"The stranger's got the peedoddles," said a fourth, with humorousgravity.
"If he had bullets enough in his gun, he'd shoot a ring round thebull's-eye big as a spinning wheel," said a fifth.
As soon as I found that Soap-stick was high enough (for I made nofarther use of the sights than to ascertain this fact), I pulledtrigger, and off she went. I have always found that the most creditableway of relieving myself of derision was to heighten it myself as much aspossible. It is a good plan in all circles, but by far the best whichcan be adopted among the plain, rough farmers of the country.Accordingly, I brought old Soap-stick to an order with an air oftriumph; tipped Billy a wink, and observed, "Now, Billy, 's your time tomake your fortune. Bet 'em two to one that I've knocked out the cross."
"No, I'll be dod blamed if I do," said Billy; "but I'll bet you two toone that you hain't hit the plank."
"Ah, Billy," said I, "I was joking about _betting_, for I never bet; norwould I have you to bet: indeed, I do not feel exactly right in shootingfor beef; for it is a species of gaming at last: but I'll say this much:if that cross isn't knocked out, I'll never shoot for beef again as longas I live."
"By dod," said Mealy Whitecotton, "you'll lose no great things at that."
"Well," said I, "I reckon I know a little about wabbling. Is itpossible, Billy, a man who shoots as well as you do, never practicedshooting with the double wabble? It's the greatest take in the worldwhen you learn to drive the cross with it. Another sort for getting betsupon, to the drop-sight, with a single wabble! And the Soap-stick's thevery yarn for it."
"Tell you what, stranger," said one, "you're too hard for us all here.We never _hearn_ o' that sort o' shoot'n' in these parts."
"Well," returned I, "you've seen it now, and I'm the boy that can doit."
The judges were now approaching with the target, and a singularcombination of circumstances had kept all my party in utter ignorance ofthe result of my shot. Those about the target had been prepared by BillyCurlew for a great shot from me; their expectations had receivedassurance from the courtesy which had been extended to me; and nothinghad happened to disappoint them but the single caution to them againstthe "dry gripes," which was as likely to have been given in irony as inearnest; for my agonies under the weight of the Soap-stick were eitherimperceptible to them at the distance of sixty yards, or, being visible,were taken as the flourishes of an expert who wished to "astonish thenatives." The other party did not think the direction of my ball worththe trouble of a question; or if they did, my airs and harangue had putthe thought to flight before it was delivered. Consequently, they wereall transfixed with astonishment when the judges presented the target tothem, and gravely observed, "It's only second best, after all the fuss."
"Second best!" exclaimed I, with uncontrollable transports.
The whole of my party rushed to the target to have the evidence of theirsenses before they would believe the report; but most marvelous fortunedecreed that it should be true. Their incredulity and astonishment weremost fortunate for me; for they blinded my hearers to the real feelingswith which the exclamation was uttered, and allowed me sufficient timeto prepare myself for making the best use of what I had said before witha very different object.
"Second best!" reiterated I, with an air of despondency, as the companyturned from the target to me. "Second best, only? Here, Billy, my son,take the old Soap-stick; she's a good piece, but I'm getting too old anddim-sighted to shoot a rifle, especially with the drop-sight and doublewabbles."
"Why, good Lord a'mighty!" said Billy, with a look that baffles alldescription, "an't you _driv_ the cross?"
"Oh, driv the cross!" rejoined I, carelessly. "What's that! Just lookwhere my ball is! I do believe in my soul its center is a full quarterof an inch from the cross. I wanted to lay the center of the bullet uponthe cross, just as if you'd put it there with your fingers."
Several received this palaver with a contemptuous but very appropriatecurl of the nose; and Mealy Whitecotton offered to bet a half pint "thatI couldn't do the like again with no sort o' wabbles, he didn't carewhat." But I had already fortified myself on this quarter of mymorality. A decided majority, however, were clearly of opinion that Iwas serious; and they regarded me as one of the wonders of the world.Billy increased the majority by now coming out fully with my history, ashe had received it from his father; to which I listened with quite asmuch astonishment as any other one of his hearers. He begged me to gohome with him for the night, or, as he expressed it, "to go home withhim and swap lies that night, and it shouldn't cost me a cent;" the truereading of which is, that if I would go home with him, and give him thepleasure of an evening's chat about old times, his house should be asfree to me as my own. But I could not accept his hospitality withoutretracing five or six miles of the road which I had already passed, andtherefore I declined it.
"Well, if you won't go, what must I tell the old woman for you, forshe'll be mighty glad to hear from the boy that won the silkhandkerchief for her, and I expect she'll lick me for not bringing youhome with me."
"Tell her," said I, "that I send her a quarter of beef which I won, as Idid the handkerchief, by nothing in the world but mere good luck."
"Hold your jaw, Lyman!" said Billy; "I an't a gwine to tell the oldwoman any such lies; for she's a reg'lar built Meth'dist."
As I turned to depart, "Stop a minute, stranger!" said one: thenlowering his voice to a confidential but distinctly audible tone, "Whatyou offering for?" continued he. I assured him I was not a candidate foranything; that I had accidentally fallen in with Billy Curlew, whobegged me to come with him to the shooting-match, and, as it lay righton my road, I had stopped. "Oh," said he, with a conciliatory nod, "ifyou're up for anything, you needn't be mealy-mouthed about it 'fore usboys; for we'll all go in for you here up to the handle."
"Yes," said Billy, "dang old Roper if we don't go our death for you, nomatter who offers. If ever you come out for anything, Lyman, jist letthe boys of Upper Hogthief know it, and they'll go for you to the hilt,against creation, tit or no tit, that's the _tatur_."
I thanked them, kindly, but repeated my assurances. The reader will notsuppose that the district took its name from the character of theinhabitants. In almost every county in the state there is some spot ordistrict which bears a contemptuous appellation, usually derived fromlocal rivalships, or from a single accidental circumstance.
The Wit and Humor of America, Volume IV. (of X.) Page 19
