Fisher's River - Charters I-III



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I.--DESCRIPTION OF THE COUNTRY.
   THE scenes and stories found in this work were enacted and told between 
the years 1820 and 1829. Some description of the wonderful country where 
such striking scenes were acted and such marvelous stories were told, and 
of the men who figured prominently in them, is imperatively demanded. I 
frankly confess, however, that I am utterly incapable of doing the 
subjects ample justice. But an effort must be made; apologies will not do; 
so I address myself to the important and mighty task, and hope that the 
united world will return me a vote of thanks for rescuing from Oblivion's 
fell grasp such important items in the history of our country.

   Surry County is one of the northwestern counties of North Carolina, and 
joins Grayson, 

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Carroll, and Patrick counties, Virginia. These scenes are laid in the 
extreme north-western part of this county. It is a romantic section, and 
produces a people equally romantic. The highest part of the majestic Blue 
Ridge, a branch of the great Alleghany, stands in bold view, overlooking 
the whole country. From its base flow many crystal streams as cold as ice-
water can be made in southern cities. Some of them are dignified with the 
name of "river." Thus there are "Mitchell's River," "Big Fisher's River," 
and "Little Fisher's River;" and of creeks there are "Stewart's Creek," 
"Ring's Creek," "Beaver Dam Creek," and so forth. All these streams, with 
branches and springs constantly pouring into them, after running a short 
and swift course, precipitate themselves into the pure, clear, and rapid 
Yadkin. Near the foot of the Blue Ridge, on its spurs and ridges, and on 
those rivers and creeks, lived the heroes whose wondrous feats and stories 
are recorded in the following pages.

   But "Shipp's Muster-Ground," on Ring's Creek, lying between Big 
Fisher's and Little 

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Fisher's Rivers, being the common centre of rendezvous for the whole 
country, I choose to call my work "FISHER'S RIVER SCENES AND CHARACTERS." 
These two rivers took their names from the loftiest peak of the Blue Ridge 
chain of the Alleghany, called "Fisher's Peak." It is a peak of 
overwhelming beauty and grandeur. It was named after Colonel Daniel 
Fisher, who ran the line between Virginia and North Carolina to the top of 
this peak. The line crosses this lofty point near its centre. The 
tradition of the country says--and I suppose it is correct--that, Mr. 
Fisher being a fleshy man, the ascent of the mountain overcame him; he 
fell sick, died, and was buried on its height.

   From the top of Fisher's Peak one has an unsurpassed view, east, west, 
north, and south, of mountain piled upon mountain, lifting their heads 
high in the immense blue horizon far as the eye can take in an object, 
strengthened and assisted by the clear and pure atmosphere of that 
elevated region. If heathen mythology were true, this might have been the 
place where giants piled 

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mountain upon mountain to scale the walls of heaven. Then "knobs" of 
lesser size more modestly lift up their heads to aid and swell the grand 
variety, while hills and ridges assist the spectator to gradually descend 
to small valleys, river and creek bottoms, where now and then may be seen 
small farms, cabins, and houses. But the view is indescribably grand, and 
I shall attempt no farther description of it. One must see it to realize 
its grandeur.

   Near the base of the mountain, and a few miles east, south, and 
southwest of it, lived a healthy, hardy, honest, uneducated set of 
pioneers, unlike, in many respects, any set of pioneers that ever peopled 
any other portion of the Lord's globe. They came mostly from Virginia, and 
a portion of them from the middle and lower parts of North Carolina, and a 
few from other sections--a sufficient number from all parts to make a 
singular and pleasing variety. The emigrants from Virginia furnished 
exceptions to the general claims of Virginians, most of whom claim to 
belong to the "first families;" but it was 

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honor enough for them that they came from "Fudginny." This section was 
settled between the years 1770 and 1780. They had stirring times during 
the Revolution. The early settlers were pretty equally divided between 
Whigs and Tories. A majority were probably Tories, but the Whigs, headed 
by a few daring spirits, held the Tories in check, and drove them to the 
mountain fastnesses. Many thrilling incidents could be narrated, but that 
is not my business in these sketches. Well do I remember hearing the old 
soldiers of the Revolution tantalize the Tories and their descendants.

   A large portion of these early settlers were wholly uneducated, and the 
rest of them had but a rude and imperfect rudimental education. Each 
settler brought with him the rustic vernacular of his native section, and 
held on to it with great tenacity, thus making a common stock of the 
richest unwritten rustic literature that ever graced any community. They 
had no use for grammar nor for grammarians; they had no dictionaries; what 
few literary questions arose among 

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them were decided by Meshack Franklin, for he was the only well-educated 
man in the community, and had been to Congress. Jesse Franklin, for 
several years United States Senator, and afterward Governor of North 
Carolina, lived and died here. For his opportunities, he was the greatest 
man North Carolina has ever produced. But with most of the people a rifle, 
shot-pouch, butcher-knife, and an article they dubbed "knock-'em-stiff" 
were of vastly more importance than "larn-in';" while the younger ones 
preferred the sound of the "fiddle," a "seven-handed reel," and "Old 
Sister Phebe" to a log-pole school-house. Yet, for all this, they were a 
clever folk, and one raised among them, who knows their worth every way, 
has ventured to record some few of their deeds of daring.

   It is emphatically a "poor man's country." There is but little good 
land in it. All the valuable land lies on the small rivers and creeks, in 
very narrow bottoms. No rich man will ever be tempted to live there. But, 
notwithstanding their long, cold winters and poor lands, the inhabitants, 
by hard labor 

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and by the most rigid economy, live well. All extravagance, however, is 
necessarily excluded, and the people make the greater part of their own 
apparel, material and all. Money is very scarce, and corrupting fashions 
seldom reach them. That is one place where Paris, London, and Broadway 
seldom reach. I visited them in 1857, and found "sacks" and "joseys" in 
full fashion.

   But the reader is tired, I fear, of this prelude, if he has read it at 
all. A long introduction to a book is treated as unceremoniously as a long 
grace at table when men are hungry. It is like a green field to a starving 
horse when the fence is sorry. But what has been said is essential to what 
follows, and if I have erred it has been in being too brief.



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II.--"FAMUS OR NO FAMUS."
   FISHER'S RIVER was one of the last places for the importance of militia 
musters, in the expressive language of that section, "to give up the 
ghost." I account for it from the fact that a few old Revolutionary 
soldiers lived in the community, and kept the "militeer sperit" always at 
blood heat in the rising generation.

   Their musters were semi-annual, held in May and November, and the old 
"Revolutionaries" were ever present. The "capting," "leftenant," 
"sargint"--all the "ossiffers"--were proud to perform "revolutions" before 
them. "They knowed a thing or two about militeer tacktucks, just as well 
as old Steuben ur Duane tharselves." And the "cap'en" never thought for 
once of giving the word "Right face! dismissed!" till they were gravely 
reviewed by the "old sogers."

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   There was another matter of powerful attraction to the old 
"'Lutionaries" and the "'Litia"--the "knock-'em-stiff"--that was as 
punctual in attendance as any of the "patriots." "Nigger Josh Easley" with 
his "gingy cakes," and Hamp Hudson with his "licker," were men and things 
as much looked for as "Capting Moore with his militeer uniform."

   Hamp Hudson was the only man in that whole country who kept a "still-
house" running all the year; the weaker ones would "run dry." Of course, 
Hamp and his still-house, and all the "appurtenances thereof," were well 
known to the whole country.

   Hamp also had a noted dog, named "Famus," as famous for being in the 
distillery as Hamp himself, and quite as well known in that entire region 
as his master.

   Now it came to pass in the course of human and dog events that Famus 
fell into a "mash-tub" and was drowned. It was "narrated" all through the 
country "that Famus was drownded in a mash-tub, and Hamp had distilled the 
beer in which Famus was drownded, and was gwine to carry 

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it to the May muster to sell." This report produced a powerful sensation 
in the community, and was the only topic of conversation. All appeared to 
believe it, and there was a general determination "not to drink one drap 
uv Hamp's nasty old Famus licker."

   The auspicious muster-day arrives, and the people collect from 
Stewart's Creek, Ring's Creek, Beaver Dam, Big Fisher's and Little 
Fisher's Rivers, from the "Hollow," "the Foot uv the Mounting"--from the 
Dan to the Beersheba of that whole country. I, too, was there--though but 
a lad, deeply interested in the action of that important day--to see who 
would triumph, Hamp and Famus, or an indignant community.

   As soon as they collect they meet in little squads to debate the grave 
question. The old "Revolutioners" are there, and their sage counsels 
decide all questions. "They fout for our liberties, and they must be 
hearn." "Uncle Jimmy Smith," a leading man among them, particularly on 
"licker questions," makes a speech to the crowd just 

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before Cap'en Moore tells the "orderly sargint" to "form ranks." Uncle 
Jimmy lisps, but he is clearly understood by his waiting and attentive 
audience. They are "spellbound" by his nervous and patriotic eloquence. 
What if he has a slight impediment in his speech? his eloquence is in his 
subject. Hear him:

   "Now, boyith, I'm an old man--wath at the storming uv Stony Pint, under 
old 'Mad Anthony Wayne,' ath we boyith allers called him; and I've marched 
and countermarched through thick and thin; hath fout, bled, and died 
nairly for seven long years; I hath theen many outrages, but thith Famus 
business caps the stack and saves the grain. Jist think uv thith feller, 
Hamp Hudson, to 'still the beer uv that mash-tub that Famus--that nathty, 
stinkin', mangy dog--was drownded in; and fur to think fur to bring it 
here fur to thell the nathty, stinkin' whisky to hith neighbors, Cap'en 
Moore and company, and to the old sogers, what fout for yer libertith. I 
tell you, boyith, you can do ath you pleath, but old Jimmy Smith--old 
Stony Pint--ain't a-gwine to tech it!"

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   "Nur I!" "Nur I, Uncle Jimmy!" shouted hundreds.

   The voice of the sergeant is now heard like a Blue Ridge cataract:

   "O-yis! o-yis! The hour of muster have arrove! O-yis! All uv ye what 
b'longs to Cap'en Moore's company, parade here! Fall inter ranks right 
smart, and straight as a gun-bar'l, and dress to the right and left, 
accordin' to the militeer tacktucks laid down by Duane in his cilebrated 
work on that fust of all subjecks."

   They fall into ranks with precision, order, dignity, and gravity, 
prompted by their patriotism. Besides, the old "Lutionary sogers" are 
looking at them.

   Cap'en Moore now appears in his old-fashioned uniform, worn probably by 
some "'Lutionary cap'en" in many a bloody fight. 'Tis an odd-looking 
affair; the collar of it repulses his "ossifer hat" from the top of his 
"hade;" the tail, long and forked, striking his hams at every step, and 
two great rusty epaulets on his shoulders--enough to weigh down a man of 
less patriotic spirit, and on a less patriotic occasion.

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   Thus equipped, "as the law directs," he commences the "drill accordin' 
to Duane."

   I had seen every muster on that patriotic spot from the time I was able 
to get there and to eat a "gingy cake," but never had I seen as poor a one 
as that was. There was no spirit nor life in the "militeer." Instead of 
following Duane, they were whispering and talking about Hamp and Famus. 
Indeed, they greatly needed the inspiration of Hamp's barrel. Cap'en Moore 
bawled till he was hoarse; his "leftenant" and "sargint" were exhausted, 
but it all did no good. They performed no "revolutions" according to 
Duane, Steuben, nor any other author extant. The old "Revolutioners" could 
render them no assistance, and in despair the "capting" dismissed them, in 
deep mortification.

   But where are Hamp and Famus all this time? Yonder he sits, under the 
shade of a large apple-tree, solitary and alone, astride of his whisky-
barrel.

   It is now one o'clock P.M., and his chances look bad; his whisky-barrel 
has not been tapped, nor has any man dared to approach 

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his condemned head-quarters. "Old Nigger Josh Easley" has sold all his 
"gingy cakes," and is showing his big white teeth, rejoicing at his 
unparalleled success. Josh is the only joyful man on the "grit." The rest 
are all melancholy, standing or sitting in little squads, debating the 
mash-tub question. Hamp is quite composed, and his looks say, "Never mind, 
gentlemen, I'll sell you every drap uv my licker yit."

   Two o'clock arrives, and no one approaches Hamp's apple-tree. His 
prospects are growing worse. But look yonder! The crowd has collected 
around Uncle Jimmy Smith. Let us approach and hear him:

   "Well, boyith, I don't know tho well about thith matter. Maybe we've 
accused thith feller, Hamp, wrongfully. He hath allers been a clever 
feller, and ith a pity ef he ith innercent uv thith charge. The fact ith, 
boyith, it's mighty dull, dry times; nuthin's a-gwine on right. Boyith, 
you are free men. I fout for your freedom. I thay, boyith, you can do ath 
you pleath, but ath fur me, old Stony Pint Jimmy Smith, Famus or no Famus, 
I must take a little."

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   The speech of Uncle Jimmy was satisfactory and moving. His audience was 
not "spell-bound," for they moved up to Hamp's head-quarters with a 
"double-quick step;" the "bar'l" was tapped, "Famus or no Famus," by the 
generous Hamp, who never reproached them for their severe accusations. 
Soon the condemned barrel was emptied, the money was in Hamp's pocket, and 
he was merry as "Gingy-cake Josh."

   Uncle Jimmy soon began to sing his Revolutionary ditties, spin his 
yarns, and was happy enough. Cap'en Moore, "leftenant" and "sargint," soon 
forgot their hard day's work. The "'Litia" and others fell to discussing 
questions of great moment; but the whole affair ended in skinned noses, 
gouged eyes, and bruised heads. That was a Famus day in the annals of 
"Shipp's Muster-Ground."



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III.--JOHNSON SNOW.
   OF all the men in that romantic and picturesque country, I must yield 
the palm, in many respects, to JOHNSON SNOW.

   He was one of the oldest settlers of Stewart's Creek, near its head, 
and within a few miles of the "Flour Gap" of the Blue Ridge. "Johnson," 
for so he was always familiarly called, had not the advantages of even a 
Dilworth's Spelling-Book education. He had learned the common vernacular 
of the country, with a few additional eccentricities of his own, but he 
"axed nobody no boot, and could weed his own row, and keep it clean too--
that's sartin."

   Look at him, and you will believe every word of it, and more too.

   He is about five feet six inches high, well set, muscularly and 
powerfully made; but he is good-humored, wears a generous face, and has a 
warm heart. Well for the "Stewart's 

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Creek Suckers" that he was a good-natured man. He is also fond of good 
eating, and shows his keeping.

   There was a long line of kings in Egypt that went by the common name of 
"Ptolemy," and to distinguish one Ptolemy from another the people and 
historians appended an adjunct expressive of the character or habits of 
each monarch. One of them was called "Ptolemy Physcon," or "Tunbelly." And 
to distinguish Johnson Snow from the numerous Snows that lived in that 
region, and to give the reader some idea of the effects of a good 
appetite, he might with great propriety be called TUNBELLY JOHNSON SNOW.

   Two things he was particularly fond of, and upon which he flourished 
whenever he could get them--turnip greens and "hog's gullicks," the 
"Adam's apple" of a hog's haslet, or the "google," as it is commonly 
called. Johnson had departed from all technicalities, and called it 
"gullick."

   Hog-killing time was a glorious time with Johnson--equal to herring 
time with seaboard North Carolinians. At meals he would say to his wife 
Patsey, after "sweepin' 

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the platter" of the gullicks and turnip greens already on his rude, 
crossed-legged table,

   "Hello, Patsey! God love your soul! is there any more gullicks and 
greens in the pot? If there is, God love your soul, Patsey! git 'um fur 
me."

   I will add that he would help all his neighbors kill hogs for the 
"gullicks."

   There was an arch, provoking smile ever playing upon his full face, 
which would attract attention in any crowd, and mark him out as a "rare 
bird" in any community. He had, moreover, a fund of sharp, provoking wit, 
running into satire when necessary, which Johnson maintained "were worth 
more than all yer college lingo, a plaguy sight." His waggish wit was a 
terror to the whole country. Woe to the man who happened to fall into some 
ludicrous mishap! He never heard the last of it from Johnson. He had "a 
rig" on nearly every man. Invulnerable himself, in one scrape only was he 
"cotched" --at Bellow's meeting--as you shall soon learn.

   Johnson Snow was a necessary appendage 

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at every public gathering. "Licker" was at them all, and he loved it as a 
thirsty ox does pond-water. The fact is, it sharpened his wit, and he 
would indulge freely for that additional reason.

   He had a peculiar way of prefacing his weightiest sentences with a 
short word, uttered twice in a guttural manner, clearing up his throat, or 
his "gullick," as he would term it, just before uttering them. Henry VIII. 
and Johnson Snow used the same short, expressive, and significant word, 
though their pronunciation, action, and manner were quite different. When 
King Henry used his ha! men might walk a chalkline; when Johnson uttered 
his, some one might look out.

   For instance, when he was where "candidites" for the "Legislater" were 
treating for votes, he would say,

   "Ha! ha! boys, let's take some uv the knock-'em-stiff, fur I can't half 
talk to these gentlemen candidites till I'm 'bout half slewed."

   Soon Johnson would have first one then another of the "candidites" 
aside, "borin' 

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them fur the holler horn" to their hearts' content.

   He now lets fly his provoking gibes in every direction, striking one, 
then another, producing all the time peals of laughter from all except 
himself. In this he resembled Dean Swift. The man that laughs heartiest 
Johnson turns upon him and he is "seisorified." A physician dares to 
laugh, and he "cotches it" thus:

   "Ha! ha! hello, Doctor Oglesby, how do you come on killin' folks? You'd 
better be laughin' t'other side o' yer mouth, and down on yer knees a-
prayin'. Ef I'd a kilt as many folks as you, wid yer callomy and jollermy, 
I'd now, instid o' laughin', be on the yeth, in sackcloth and ashes. Ha! 
ha! look a here, Doctor Oglesby, where do you bury yer dade? It's a bully 
grave-yard by this time, I s'pose. When you a-gwine to add any more yeth 
to it?"

   But the above is as much space as I can give my tunbellied, merry, and 
illustrious Stewart's Creek hero by way of introduction, and will now 
bring him on the stage in a few acts and scenes.

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   The first act and the first scene was at

THE NIGHT MEETING.
   Johnson Snow had the bump of curiosity fully developed.

   "I want to know suthin uv every thing that's a-gwine on. I'll be 
smashed inter piecrust--yes, inter a million o' giblets, afore I'll be as 
ignunt as some jewkers! Ha! ha! I've hearn uv this feller Beller's 
shoutin' night meetin's, and I'm a-gwine to one on 'um."

   With such aspiring feelings as the above, our Stewart's Creek hero 
"moseyed" off, "three sheets in the breeze," to one of Parson Bellow's 
night meetings.

   In raw-hide "stitched-down shoes," he stood six feet four inches. He 
was rawboned, long-faced, pug-nosed, and wide-mouthed. In size, small men 
were no more to him than Liliputians were to Captain Gulliver. A mountain 
"boomer," dressed in a linsey hunting-shirt down to his knees, with a 
leather band round his waist, a tow and cotton shirt, dressed buckskin 
pants, with a few other things of minor importance, 

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made up the uniform, the surplice and gown, of the Rev. Mr. Bellow.

   We will now "mosey off" with Johnson to the "night meetin'," and see 
what happens, for there is always music where our jolly hero goes.

   Our "leather-britches parson" had a revival going on, and there was 
quite "a stir" among the people, for he made his mark as well as Johnson. 
Johnson staggers in, and with a good deal of difficulty takes his seat.

   Bellow commences "the sarvices," and, notwithstanding his powerful 
voice, quite in harmony with his name--despite of an occasional stamp with 
his big snake-killing foot, enough to break through any other than a 
puncheon floor; with now and then a heavy blow upon the Bible with his 
herculean fist, and often a keen, deafening pop with his hands together, 
by way of variety--Johnson goes fast to sleep, and snores grandiloquently.

   Johnson seems to be opposing the parson's eloquence--Bellow with his 
mouth, hands, and feet, Johnson only with his nose. The combat is not 
equal, but Johnson is 

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"one on 'um." Usually snorers have but little variety in their music, and 
it is grating and shocking to the nerves; but not so with our hero, for he 
has a great and pleasing variety. He is as freakish, amusing, and as 
interesting in snoring as in any other relation of life. There is nothing 
dull and monotonous about the man. It puts one in a good humor to look at 
him.

   The rivalry lasted for some time, and victory appeared to be doubtful; 
but at last the parson triumphed. At the close of his discourse--and a 
masterly effort it was--there was a general shout all through the 
congregation. Men and women mingled together, shouting and clapping their 
hands. Johnson's nose eloquence was "nowhar."

   At last some of them--it happened to be women mostly--"crowded" 
Johnson, and woke him up, and the first idea that entered his "noggin" was 
that he was in a general "still-house" fight. He was so "slewed" when he 
went in that he had forgotten all his antecedents, and woke up, as he 
thought, in a "gin'ral row." He was no coward, and he determined to "wade 
through 'um."

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   He rolled up his sleeves, clenched his fists, "gritted" his teeth, and 
commenced:

   "Ha! ha! what the devil you about here? What you smackin' yer fists in 
my face fur? Ha! ha! ef you ar' 'umun, you'd better skin yer eyes and look 
sharp. I don't 'low man nur 'umun to pop thar fists in my face. No, by 
juckers! Hello! git out'n the track here! Rip shins and marrer bones! Wake 
snakes, the winter's broke! Ha! ha! here's at you! I can lick the whole 
possercommertatus of yer afore you can say Toney Lumpkins three times, by 
Zucks! Come on, yer cowards!"

   By this time the people were quieted in the shouting line, and began to 
leave the house--some to laugh, but most of them through fear--and every 
body was silent in the house but Johnson. The cowardly retreat made him 
more furious than ever. He shouted after them,

   "Ha! ha! come back here ef you dare, and face a brave man! Look him 
plump in the face and eyes a minnit, you cowardly villuns! You're a purty 
set uv ill-begotten, turkey-trottin' pukes, to raise a quarrel with 

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a peaceubble man, and then run like a gang uv geese. Gone! gone, are you? 
Ha! ha! I've clared the tan-yard! I've clared the tan-yard! Hoo-pee!"

   Just here Johnson discovered that the parson was the only man that 
maintained his position. He marched up to him, without the least respect 
for his reverence, and said, "Ha! ha! Beller, you're the ringleader uv all 
this devilment. You're the biggest rascal in this crowd. I can lick you, 
sir, any day, any minnit."

   Rubbing first one fist, then the other, in the parson's face, he 
continued:

   "Smell uv yer master! Smell uv yer mistiss! Smell uv yer master! Smell 
uv yer mistiss! Ha! ha! no fight in you? You're a purty feller, to raise a 
row with a peaceubble man, and then won't fight it out! Mosey! Trollop! 
Git out'n here, you dinged old sloomy Yahoo!"

   The parson, to get rid of his furious antagonist, left the house, and 
Johnson was left alone in his glory, having "clared the tan-yard."

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HE JOINS THE CHURCH.
   Not long after the foregoing act and scene, Johnson had a spell of 
sickness that reduced his abdominal dimensions considerably, and, in his 
own expressive language, "I got so I couldn't eat nuther turnup greens nur 
hog's gullicks, and like to a pegged out, and left Patsey a poor reflicted 
widder upon this sinful, villanus world--these mundanious shores uv 
mortality."

   He reflected not a little on his past life, more especially about that 
"night-meetin' scrape." So, in a mellow state of feeling, and with quite a 
penitent heart, he joined Parson Bellow's church. There was great 
rejoicing by the class at this "triumph of grace"--at this "wonderful 
convarsion." The great Goliath, who had defied Israel--that Manasseh--that 
Saul of Tarsus--was now a humble penitent and a devout "seeker."

   Johnson, being an ardent and enthusiastic man any way, made pretty 
rapid progress in his religious duties and life, and so encouraged 

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the class that they had serious thoughts of procuring a license for him to 
preach; "fur," said Parson Bellow, "he sartinly has a good gift in prayer, 
and thar mout be a work fur him to do. He mout be the instrument to slay 
these Stewart's Creek sinners."

   One day, in class-meeting, Johnson "got happy," and groaned, cried, 
shouted, and "tuck on no little." Johnson would make a "racket" any where; 
it was his "natur, and he didn't b'lieve in squashin' natur." Bellow was 
gratified, went to him, and inquired,

   "How do you feel, Brother Snow?"

   "Ha! ha! good--mighty good, Brother Beller, and no mistake! It beats 
creation all holler! Nothin' like it--not even hog's gullicks. Knock-'em-
stiff's nowhar compared unto it. Brethering and sistering, one an' all, 
I'll give you my 'pinion, though not axed fur it: a heap uv groanin', gobs 
uv shoutin' and cryin', goes a grate ways toads settin' off a meeting'. 
It's half the battle, sartin. The old inimy has to tuck his tail and leave 
when he hears it."

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HE APOSTATIZES.
   Johnson's "first love" did not continue sufficiently long for him to 
obtain a license to preach; hence he never "held forth," as was 
confidently expected. He imprudently went out to some public gathering, 
where "candidites," his old associates, were treating, got a scent of his 
old "inimy" knock-'em-stiff, tasted a little, and, some said, "got tight."

   Be the charge true or false, he declined rapidly in his religious 
duties, and it was very afflictive to his preacher and class. Bellow and 
the class did all they could to keep him in duty's path, but all their 
efforts signally failed. They never gave him up till they heard, with much 
pain, his answers one day to Parson Bellow in class-meeting.*

   All the other members of the class had been examined in the usual way, 
and had reported favorably in regard to their religious prospects 

(* The author has no intention, in this sketch, to slur that most 
excellent denomination of Christians among whom his mother lived and died 
a pious member.)

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to the parson, and Johnson was the last one that was examined. He had 
listened attentively to every one in their turn, with looks of doubt and 
indignation, as they gave an account of the "good work" in their hearts, 
believing all the time, judging from his looks, that they were "putting 
too much paint in the brush." At last the parson approached him, when the 
following questions were asked and answers were given:

   "How do you come on, Brother Snow?" asked the parson.

   "I come on my feet," growled Johnson.

   "But how do you feel, Brother Snow?"

   "Ha! ha! nation hungry! I want some hog's gullicks and turnup greens 
right smack now. Ef you've got any on 'um, I'm fur 'um right off. It 
wouldn't hurt my feelin's ef you'd draw a bottle o' knock-'em-stiff on me 
nuther."

   "But how do you feel in religious matters, Brother Snow? that's the 
question," persisted Bellow.

   "Ha! ha! deng shacklin, I tell you! I hain't a thimbleful o' religion, 
ef it was to save yer neck from the gallows. I can't tell 

Page 44

as grate tales as the rest on ye here, nur I ain't a-gwine to do it 
nuther. My chance is mighty slim; but I wouldn't swap it fur some uv yourn 
and a mess o' turnup greens to boot. Ax me no more questions, else I'll 
settle the hash with you all quick. That t'other time when I clared the 
tan-yard won't be a primin' to it."

   They took the hint, opened the door, and let him out, and thus ended 
Johnson's religious freak.

THE INTERVIEW AND TRIUMPH.
   Johnson Snow possessed, in addition to his waggish wit, a good deal of 
"hard common sense like a hoss." He was rich in resources and expedients, 
and seldom failed of a triumph in times of emergency. In all the "tight 
fits" and "tarnatious snarls" he got into, he would outfight, outquarrel, 
or outwit; out he would come with "flyin' colors."

   He triumphed over one of the sternest men in the community, as the 
following incident will show.

   There lived in the neighborhood a rigid 

Page 45

Baptist and great "Scriptorian," one of the few men in that social region 
that would not take some of the "good critter," but hated it most 
cordially. His aversion went so far that he would not let a drunken man 
tarry with him for the night. He was highly respected by all who knew him, 
even by the worst drunkards, and bore two titles which were quite 
honorable then and there. (This was before Americans began to manufacture 
and apply titles indiscriminately.) He was always addressed very 
respectfully as "'Squire Charles Taliaferro" and "Cap'en Taliaferro."

   Johnson knew him well, and was fully aware of his hatred to his friend 
"Cap'en Knock-'em-stiff;" but what of that? "Ha! ha! I'm ready for the old 
'coon, cocked and primed, and triggers sprung. I'll show him he don't know 
uvry thing about Scripter afore I'm done with him. This boy has dipped 
into Scripter as well as still-houses, sure as gun's iron."

   These sentences were uttered by Johnson at a "still-house," not long 
after he had quit Parson Bellow's church. He had just made 

Page 46

a bet with some "jewkers" of a gallon of apple brandy that he could stay 
all night with "old Taliaferro, and could beat him all holler, too, 
talkin' on Scripter."

   Chuckling as above, he leaves a "still-house" one cold evening, "high 
up in the picters," and arrived at Taliaferro's gate just at sunset, 
altered his voice, and hallooed. Taliaferro opened the door, and our hero 
commenced.

   "Hellow, old Scripter; I'm come to stay all night with you. I want to 
talk all night with you on Scripter. I've hearn you was a reg'lar built 
screamer in that way, and I want to try my hand with you, sartin. 'Squire, 
I'll talk all round you. I'll ringfire you with Scripter. Ha! ha! see 
here, cap'en, ef you lick me out, you can beat the old Scripter-maker, 
sartin. I give you far warnin'. No shirkin', now, sartin."

   "You can not stay, Johnson," replied Taliaferro. "Come when you are 
sober, and you can stay a week, if you wish; but a drunken man shall not 
stay all night in my house."

   "Don't be too fast, old 'coon," said Johnson; 

Page 47

"I'll show you a trick ur two afore I'm done, sartin. You Humph! you 
Humph!" (calling a negro man named Humphrey); "come here, you bandy-
shanked rascal, and take my hoss. Put him up, and in the mornin', ef he 
ain't up to his eyes in corn and fodder, I'll larrup you well. Ha! ha! you 
b'longed to me once, you cathamed puke, but I gulluped you down my gullick 
in whisky, and sold you to this rich man, Taliaferro, who's got too big 
fur his britches, and won't let me stay all night with him. But I'll show 
him I'm a huckleberry over his 'simmon, sartin."

   Orders were obeyed; the horse was taken, and our Stewart's Creek hero 
walked to the door and halted. He placed one foot on the door-steps, his 
elbow upon his knee, his chin in his hand, with a face as long as the 
president of a club of Pharisees, and commenced his telling speech on 
"Scripter."

   "Ha! ha! Taliaferro, I read uv you in Scripter. You think I know 
nuthin' about Scripter, but I'll show you afore I'm done. I know and read 
of you in that holy book. You're that rich man in the parrabul, which 

Page 48

you may find by sarching the 16th chapter of Luke, that fared 
sumptoriously uvry day, and I'm poor Lezzerus. That rich man wouldn't let 
poor reflicted Lezzerus come into his house, nur will you let me come into 
yourn nuther. Don't you see the 'nalogy? But that rich man died, and how 
was it with him, Taliaferro? Be alarmed, sir! Poor reflicted Lezzerus 
died, too, and how was it with him? Look into Abram's bosom; see him 
restin' thar, safe as a bar in a hollow tree in the dead o' winter. Ah! 
you'll see how it will go with you and me in 'that day,' as Parson Beller 
calls it. When I'm shinin' away in Abram's bosom, like a piece uv new 
money, where will you be, Taliaferro? Don't Paul, in Hebrews, tell you to 
be 'careful to entertain strangers--thereby some have entertained angels?' 
What good does all yer Scripter readin' do you, ef you don't 'ply it 
better? You'd better be studyin' Gale's Almynac, for the good it does you. 
Ha! ha! you won't let me come into yer house, and even eat the crumbs what 
falls from your table, now groanin' and screechin' under rich dainties--
maybe some hog's gullicks on it 

Page 49

too. I'll go out here" (leaving the door, and affecting to weep), "and lie 
down in yer fence corner, and let yer dogs come and lick my sores. You'll 
see how it will go with us in that day, sartin."

   "Come back, Johnson," said Taliaferro, "and stay all night. I 
acknowledge myself beaten for once in 'Scripter.' You certainly got your 
lesson well while you were in Bellow's church."