Fisher's River - Charters V-IX



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V.--UNCLE FROST SNOW.
   THE man who once saw "Uncle Frost Snow" would never forget him; and, of 
course, being raised under his eye, I can not forget his peculiar features 
and eccentric actions. He was of small stature, with a triune countenance--
the sad, the quizzical, and the cheerful, the cheerful preponderating--
ever ready for a loud, hearty laugh. He would laugh all over--his 
countenance, eyes, mouth, and body. He was energetic and eccentric in all 
his movements. He was fond of the "tickler," but not to excess; hated a 
"feller what would git down dog drunk under yer foot on the yeth."

   He was raised in "Albermarle, Fudginny," and didn't care "a durn 
whether he b'longed to one on the fust famblys uv Fudginny ur not." He 
certainly came from a section where rustic literature had attained to 
perfection; and he clung to the language 

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of his section and of his youth with great tenacity, as the following 
incident will show, which I record as a memento of my regard for his 
memory.

   Uncle Frost lived on a poor, broken piece of land, on which most men 
would have starved, but by uncommon energy and good farming he managed to 
live well. He rose early and worked late, obliged to do so or starve.

   He had a favorite negro boy named Anderson, who went to a neighbor's 
house one night, and did not get home next morning till a late hour. Uncle 
Frost was up early, and went out, nervously awaiting Anderson's arrival, 
jumping about like a mountain snowbird, hitching up his "hipped britches"--
being an old-fashioned man, he wouldn't wear "gallusses," not he. "Durned 
ef they'd strap thar backs in old Fudginny, nur I ain't a-gwine to do it 
nuther." Presently Anderson came, and what took place he reported to his 
neighbor and particular friend, Mrs. Easley, thus:

   "You see, Miss Yeasley, folks is gittin' too smart--too big fur thar 
britches. Larnin' 

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and big quality words is ruinin' on us fast. Even the niggers is a-
ketchin' big quality words. My Anderson went down t'other night ter 
'squire Whitlock's to git a par o' britches cut out, and got home late, he 
did. Anderson's a good nigger, and I jest wanted to skeer him. I runs up 
ter him with a bully hickory, lookin' bagonits at him, and, says I, 
'Anderson! whar you bin?' says I. His eyes looked like a skeered buck 
rabbit.

   " 'To Mr. Whitlock's,' says he.

   " 'To Mr. Whitlock's!' says I; 'and what fur?' says I.

   " 'To get a pair of pantaloons cut out,' says he, mighty qualityfied.

   " 'Pantaloons! pantaloons!!' says I; 'who larnt you to call 'um 
pantaloons?' says I. 'Gittin' above yer master? Talkin' like the Franklins 
and all the big quality folks, you lamper-jawed, cat-hamed puke,' says I. 
'You nuver hearn yer master call 'um any thing but britches, nur you 
sha'n't,' says I. 'I'll larn you to puke up big quality words, you
varmunt,' says I; and I larruped him well, I tell you. I 'clare, Miss 

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Yeasley, I wouldn't a tetched him ef he'd a said britches; fur I'm 
'tarmined my niggers sha'n't talk this big quality talk, nur shall my 
chillun talk it, ef I can help it; but my son John, sense he married inter 
yer fambly, he's quit talkin' like his daddy--got to qualityin' uv it. 
I'll let that go, but my niggers sha'n't do it, Miss Yeasley."



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VI.--DICK SNOW.
   SPEAKING of Uncle Frost Snow, the association of ideas will naturally 
carry the mind to his family; and of all the members of his family, which 
was quite numerous, I have the most vivid and distinct recollection of his 
son Dick. No wonder, when we were raised together, he being a few years my 
senior. I shall not have occasion to ask the reader's pardon for giving my 
friend Dick Snow so much space in this work, for he will find him, upon 
farther acquaintance, an "original document"--will be pleased with him 
every way. I shall first give some original anecdotes illustrative of the 
animus of the man, and, secondly, relate his thrilling courtship.

   I have just stated that Dick Snow was a son of Uncle Frost Snow, and a 
favorite one too, for he inherited most of the looks and eccentricities of 
his father; and as to the 

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vernacular of his father, no Roman Catholic ever stuck closer to his creed 
than Dick, besides a considerable addition from other sources. The fact 
is, Dick had a smattering of all the rustic literature of the land--a fair 
representative of Fisher's River literature, overdoing the thing a little, 
however. Uncle Frost loved Dick much, "because he won't git above his 
daddy, and talks like they did in old Albermarle, Fudginny."

   As to size, Dick was a little above ordinary, but well made and finely 
proportioned, with muscles clearly and fully developed. He was a little 
stoop-shouldered, and moved quickly and with great ease. His face was 
quite paradoxical, wearing both a vinegar and pleasant appearance. His 
eyes were black, small, and restless, indicating quick perception, 
particularly of the ridiculous. His nose was well set, indicative of 
decision of character, of which he evidently had much. His chin testified 
to the same, and so did his lips. His person and countenance combined 
bespoke his honesty, frankness, bravery, decision, and mischievousness.

   But this must suffice for description--a 

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poor one too. If the reader could see the man, he would agree with me. I 
will now give some

CHARACTERISTIC ANECDOTES.
   When Dick was married, he settled on a very poor farm, on which no 
other man could have lived. His wife Sallie in due time gave him a son, 
and as soon thereafter as things of the kind are ever done, she presented 
him one night with two beautiful twin sons. In the morning, some time 
before daylight, Dick was heard rattling his chains and gearing his horse. 
His attendant friends were surprised, and remonstrated.

   "Dick, where on earth are you going? What are you going to do?"

   "I'm gwine to wurk--that's what. When the fambly is 'creasin' so fast, 
I must 'crease my wurk, by jingo!"

   This was said, not by way of complaint, but from the promptings of his 
indomitable energy.

   People in that country, at the time of 

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which I speak, got nearly all their information by inquiry. They did not 
take the papers; the sound of the stage bugle never echoed through their 
hills and mountains. If a man went twenty miles from home, he might expect 
on his return to be quizzed not a little. Dick once went to Rockford, the 
seat of justice for Surry County, to court, when a certain "'Squire Byrd" 
was to be tried for murder. Expectation was on tiptoe. Dick returned, and 
was asked the news. He replied:

   "Thar warn't no trial; 'twas put off, an' 'Squire Byrd has gi'n 
siscurity for his exspearunce at the next court, so they 'least him."

   Dick had a pertinacious way of abbreviating nearly all his words, even 
when he knew better. He was a man of fine sense and good judgment, but he 
wished to take "short cuts," and "talk jest like he'd bin larnt," and was 
too energetic to take time to pronounce whole words. Once he returned from 
court, and was giving his neighbors the news in the presence of his wife, 
who was a 

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woman of good learning for that section, and said "sich an' sich" men were 
"'turned to court."

   His wife was amused at him, and said, "Dick, why don't you call that 
word right?"

   "Well, ree-turned, then, ef you will have it the long way," replied 
Dick. "Some folks are allers gwine the long way, but that ain't me. I gits 
right inter it, like a homminny-bird (humming-bird) inter a tech-me-not 
flower."

   I remember well the first time I ever heard of domestic cotton cloth. 
It was from my friend Dick Snow that I learned that there was such a 
thing. Dick had been to Waugh's store, in the "Hollows" of the Yadkin, and 
upon his return I inquired the news.

   "I'm danged ef thar ain't some uv the cheapestest mastiss cloth at 
Waugh's store on top of the yeth, by jingo!"

   "What?" said I.

   "Mastiss cloth, dang it! on'y twenty-five cents a yard."

   I saw it was useless to press the question, 

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as far as Dick was concerned, but I inquired of my father, and found it to 
be domestic cotton cloth.

   Not long after this, Dick came where I was at work. "Dick," said I, 
"how is your health?"

   "Laus-a-day, I'm 'most dade."

   "Truly," said I, "your face is quite long. What is the matter?"

   "I've got the wust discontary that uver a poor reflicted critter had. 
It's wearin' me out fast. I'm empty as a bar'l."

   "What is it?" I inquired.

   "Discontary! Dang it! can't you hear? I'll pick yer ears with a 
handspike d'rectly."

   Dick was a good farmer, and was among the first to get any new plow 
that came along and promised to be useful. There came into the 
neighborhood a valuable plow called the Dagon Cooter. Dick, determined to 
have one, went to the blacksmith, Meredy Edmonds, and said,

   "Meredy, I'm come to git you to make me a bully plow."

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   "What sort of a plow?" asked the blacksmith.

   "Dang it! I furgit the name, but I b'leeve it's Caten Dooden or Doodly 
Dagon. It makes no odds; you know what's what--what I wants jest as well 
as I does."

   Dragoon bridle-bits used to be in fashion. Dick had never used a pair, 
but, having an unruly horse, he concluded he'd try him with a pair of 
dragoon bits; but, not having a pair of his own, he went to a neighbor and 
inquired,

   "I'm come to borry yer dagon bits."

   "What is it?" asked the neighbor.

   "Dagon bits! Cuss these hard names!

   My mouf was nuver made to 'nounce 'um. Ding such big quality words."

   Game of every kind was plentiful in that mountainous country, and 
sometimes hunters would descend from big game down to rabbit hunting. Dr. 
K. Thompson and Dick took a rabbit hunt one day, and when the hunt was 
over the doctor proposed to divide the game with Dick, to which he 
responded emphatically,

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   "Don't want 'um. I doesn't like rabbit meat; it tastes too danged 
rabbity."

   Dick was a man of respectability, and had a wife whom he and every body 
else considered number one. The best of company, even the "quality," 
visited his house. The Misses Franklin, daughters of Meshech Franklin, 
"the Congressman," went to a Methodist quarterly meeting near Dick's 
residence, called on, and staid all night with him. Dick was unacquainted 
with "quality ways," and when the ladies retired to bed up stairs, they 
bade the family "good-night." He didn't know what it meant, and it worried 
him worse than the nightmare. At last he concluded it was some "rig" the 
young ladies were running on him, and he resolved to retrieve what he had 
lost, for he was a man who did not like to be outdone. So, early next 
morning, he rose, built his fire, and watched the stair-steps until he 
heard the ladies coming down. He then ran and hid himself near the foot of 
the stairway. As soon as they landed on the lower floor, Dick rushed out 
of his hiding-place, scaring 

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the misses not a little, and bawled out loudly,

   "Good-mornin' at ye, ladies! I's fast anuff fur you this time. Now I'll 
quit ye, as we's even. You got me last night; I's got ye this mornin'."

   I have never seen a place yet where politics had not reached. In that 
secluded spot where Dame Fashion has seldom found her way, or has met with 
such a cold reception that she does not care to visit it, even there the 
demon Politics is open-mouthed. Dick was therefore compelled to take 
sides. He became a warm "Dimicrat--a mortal Jackson man."

   During the Revolution there were many Tories in that region, and their 
descendants were derided and despised by the descendants of the Whigs. 
Dick entered the list in controversy with the grandson of a Tory, who was 
a Whig in politics. Sam J--was a little too hard for Dick in discussion, 
and Dick turned upon him with a "jodarter," and smote him thus:

   "Sam, you's chock full uv yer grandaddy's 

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blood. You's got his old rade coat he wore in the Revolution now put away 
in yer chist. Next thing you'll be wearin' on it; the first good chance 
you git, you'll be rippin', an' shinin', an' sailin' about in it. I'm 
danged ef I don't gin you a dollar to see it any day."

   Speaking of politics reminds me of one more anecdote connected 
therewith. It was customary for "candidites" in olden times to treat with 
liquor; but after a while the temperance* reformation reached Fisher's 
River, mainly through the instrumentality of Solomon Graves, Esq., of 
Mount Airy, and "polititioners" in treating had to change their 
"tacktucks" a little. Mackerel were used by some candidates instead of 
Johnson Snow's "knock-'em-stiff."

   "Mackerel! why, didn't every body have mackerel?"

   Not so fast, captious reader. Close under the Blue Ridge we had nothing 
but chubs, hornyheads, pikes, white suckers, sunperch, eels, speckled 
trout, and a few other 

(* The first time I ever heard of temperance societies in that section, 
the people called them "temple societies.")

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small varieties of the finny tribes. Mackerel was unknown when I left in 
1829.

   Now it came to pass that a candidate for the suffrages of the 
sovereigns of Fisher's River, by the name of Reeves, procured a barrel of 
mackerel from Fayetteville, Wilmington, or somewhere else, at a great deal 
of expense, brought them into Surry, and a few of them into Dick's 
neighborhood, and resolved to have a mackerel supper at Wylie Franklin's. 
Dick was invited. Said the person inviting him, "Mr. Reeves sends his 
compliments, and wishes you to come over this evening to Mr. Franklin's, 
and take some mackerel with him."

   "Ah! dang Reeves," said Dick. "That's jest like him. I knows him jest 
as well as the man that made him. He knowed I couldn't read his dinged 
newspapers and pamphlets" (Dick couldn't read); "but I'll go and hear him 
read 'um; I loves to hear 'um read; I loves good readin'."

   Imagine Dick's surprise when he went and found his newspapers and 
pamphlets were converted into fish.

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   Dick was a rough hand to joke people. It was a law in that region, 
enacted by common consent, that no one was to get angry at a joke, however 
rough it might be. Dick observed M. H., a married man, walking with a 
young lady, and conversing pretty fluently, and, as he thought, a little 
too amorously, in a crowd. He thought it a good chance, and blurted out 
loudly,

   "Hellow, M--! I'll tell your wife, sir. I'm danged ef you hain't sot 
your coulter too deep to make a good crap. You can't fool this chile. I'se 
cut my eye teeth long ago."

   Dick had lost none of his joking propensities when I visited that 
section in 1857. I wore a long beard--the whole beard--and was a perfect 
wonder to the people. For, as stated, Fashion either neglects that place 
wholly, or makes it the last place she visits. Upon my arrival, I found 
that Dame Fashion had just introduced in full vogue sacks and joseys among 
the young ladies; and as to a full-grown beard, except among the
"Dunkards," it was "onhearn on." I made 

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my defense one day in a large crowd, and when I was through Dick came to 
my relief as follows:

   "Gintlemen, I knows what Hardy wears his beard for. You doesn't know 
him well as I does. I was raised wiz him; I knows him adzackly. You see, 
gintlemen, wimin's mighty 'ticin' things to men, and men's mighty 'ticin' 
things to wimin. Hardy is out a grate deal from home, and he doesn't want 
to 'tice the wimin, nur he don't want the wimin to 'tice him; so he's put 
on that great big, ugly beard, that there mayn't be any 'ticement neither 
way."

   The foregoing anecdotes of Dick Snow are a few only of the many now in 
my memory. They have been selected at random, or nearly so. If all that 
are remembered were written, they would fill a large volume; but space 
allows no more, and I will now give the reader his

COURTSHIP.
   The word "courtship" reminds one of courting and of courting days, 
probably long 

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past. So back I go to old Surry, to the days of my boyhood. Where is the 
boy who has entered his teens who has not "tried his hand" at courting? 
His first essays in the business are quite laughable. The first time I 
ever attempted to court a girl, being quite bashful, we went into the cook-
house, and while I was very awkwardly prefacing matters, a shrill tenor 
voice was heard from the "big house," which, set to music, runs thus:

   "Oh, Poll, mammy says you must git dinner; and she says you must fry a 
piece o' meat apiece, and two for daddy."

   Thinking meat was a little scarce, and being very bashful too, I 
unceremoniously left.

   Courting was done then and there on an original scale, differing from 
that adopted in most other places on this green earth--very different from 
nowadays courting every where. Being a peculiar place, it had its own 
etiquette.

   Most of the people walked to "meetin'." Boys and "gals," the boys 
mostly barefooted, would get together as by magic, and walk
"side-and-side," the "gals" with their 

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beautiful striped cotton home-made dresses on, with their shoes in their 
"redicules" till they got in sight of the "meetin'-house." They would then 
halt, go aside and put on their shoes, while their barefooted gallants, 
with tow and cotton shirts and "britches," stood in the road till their 
return. Reader, don't be incredulous; every word of it true. And those 
were happy, happy days. I love them because I was an actor in such 
primitive scenes of life.

   There were endless ways of getting the "young folks" together. In the 
spring there would be "grubbings" and "log-rollings;" in summer,
"reapings;" and in the fall, "corn-shuckings." On all such occasions the 
girls would always manage to have "quiltings" and "sewings." As soon as 
night came, or the work was done, the fiddle sounded, and they danced and 
courted all night. Christmas was a great festival. They felt grateful to 
and blessed the man that invented it. With the "young uns" it was a 
generation from one Christmas to another. For a whole week they would 
dance from house to house day and night, "sparkin'" going 

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on at a "big lick" all the time. The old-fashioned "seven-handed reel" was 
the only go. A brainless, barrel-headed dancing-master (for all are such) 
was a perfect lion; a fiddler was next in repute; and the parson was 
"nowhar."

   For one young man to get the advantage of another in "sparkin' " was 
considered quite lawful and shrewd, and it was called "cuttin' out." No 
duels were fought on account of it. It was a law in their courtships. The 
young ladies admired it; hence they would make no engagements with young 
men to be partners with them for a time--not even to accompany them to 
"meetin' " and back to their homes. No; the young misses loved to see the 
young "sparkers" exercise their ingenuity in the game of "catch and keep." 
They might start coupled, but before they arrived at their destination 
they would probably "change pardners" often. All right, for it has been 
shrewdly done, and has afforded merriment for the crowd and matter for 
conversation. The same was true of the few who rode on horseback; for I 
have been speaking of the foot 

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crowd. Some fine feats of horsemanship, worthy of a Murat or a Cossack, 
have been performed in that region by way of "cuttin' out."

   But I have wandered, yet not unintentionally, for it is necessary and 
prefatory to Dick Snow's courtship.

   Now it came to pass, in the course of human events, that Dick fell in 
love with Sally Tucker, youngest daughter of William and Molly Tucker, a 
very respectable family. "Uncle Billy Tucker" being "well off" for that 
country, and Sally being an admirable girl, Dick had quite a time of it, 
owing to her many suitors. Algias Cave was Dick's principal opponent, and 
the struggle was long, hard, and doubtful. Nothing but Dick's energy and 
perseverance, and "gittin' on the blind side o' the old folks," caused him 
to succeed. Many a man would have "gi'n it up as a lost ball;" but not so 
with Dick; "fur," said he, "I nuver gins a thing up as long as there's a 
pea in the gourd."

   But I must let Dick tell his own courtship.

   "The fust time I uver seen Sally," said 

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Dick, "I sot my 'fections on her right smack like a leech on to a fish, so 
that I'd a gi'n my life fur her. But I was mighty dry a lettin' her know 
how I was a-takin' on. I knowed the boys was a-takin' on and shinin' 
around her, 'tickeler Caldwell Shipp and 'Gius Cave--'Gius the wust. I 
knowed ef I didn't spark her soon my cake was dough. I made a 'skuse to 
Sally to go wim me inter the garden to show me the hollyhawks and all the 
purty flowers. She went wim me, and kept showin' me this, that, and 
t'other cussed thing, which I keered no more for 'um than a hog does fur 
holiday. My heart was a-spinnin' round like a top, and my breath short as 
pie-crust, and my body shakin' like a dog with the ager. Last I made out 
to ax Sally ef she'd have me. She said she'd 'sider on it a while. Now I'd 
ruther hearn any thing else. I didn't like that 'siderin' a bit, fur I 
knowed 'Gius had his eye on her like a blue-tailed hawk watchin' a 
chicken; but I helt a stiff upper lip; let on like I didn't care a dried-
apple durn, and left.

   "I staid away fur some time, and 'Gius 

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was all the time knittin' away. I b'leeved I could onravel all his 
knittin' when I got my pegs sot; yet I was a good deal consarned about it, 
I must 'fees. Last I got a hint from Sally, as I tuck it. I went over and 
onraveled all 'Gius's knittin', and showed him whar Tony hid the wadge. 
Still I was sorter 'served, all to make Sally b'leeve I wasn't sich 
anxious arter all. Last I made a 'skuse to wuck some fur the old man, 
Sally's daddy. It was corn-gathering time, and, I tell you, I made things 
wake--wucked all day, wouldn't stop fur dinner--to show my smartness.

   "Sally waited on me at supper, and I 'tarmined to wuck a new plan, and 
feel uv Sally's pulse in a new way. I told her I was a-gwine to court a 
sartin gal, widout namin' her. I seen it wucked well, fur she didn't like 
it. I sparked her a little that night, and told her I was a-gwine wiz her 
to meetin' next Sunday.

   "We went, and 'bout the fust man I seen was 'Gius. I seen him cuttin' 
his fox eyes 'bout as I and Sally walked up to the meetin'-house door. The 
preachin' didn't do me 

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much good that day, sartin as a turkle fallin' off uv a log into a mill-
pond. They mout a shouted the top of the meetin'-house off, and I wouldn't 
a hearn a word on it. I was all the time doin' my own knittin', and 
'siderin' how to head 'Gius gwine home, as I seen it in his foxy looks 
that he 'tended to gin me a clatter.

   "So no sooner had they 'nounced the word 'amen' than I got Sally's eye, 
gin her the wink, and started wiz her. I cotch our horses, and helped 
Sally on, and afore I could git on my animil, 'Gius--pox take him!--like 
to a got in atween us. But he didn't cut me out that bout, and off we put, 
'Gius close arter us. At last we cum chug up to a fence that had no draw-
bars nur gate. Thar was 'Gius slinkin' along clost behind us. I thought 
I'd be fast anuff fur him, so I jumped down, jerked down the fence, 
'tendin' to git mine and Sally's hosses over, put it up, and leave 'Gius 
on t'other side. But no sooner had Sally's hoss jumped over and clared the 
fence, than 'Gius--confound him!--jumped his over too, afore I could git 
up a single rail. I put up the fence in a mighty great 

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hurry, and was sich anxious that I put it up and left my hoss on t'other 
side. The fat was all in the fire, and I caved in. Aginst I pulled down 
the fence and got my hoss over, Sally and 'Gius was away yender. 'Twasn't 
long afore we cum to another fence, and thar I slayed 'Gius, and I rode 
home wiz Sally arter all 'Gius's knittin'.

   "This scrape made me mighty oneasy, and I 'cluded that night to make 
the big war-talk to Sally, hit ur miss. So I yoked her, and 'swaded and 
'swaded her all night, till jest before day I got her 'sent to marry me. 
When I got her 'sent, I felt like I could a shouted 'most as loud as 
Passon Beller at a Mathodiss meetin'; but I helt my tongue.

   "Next time I went over I axed fur Sally. I went over on Saturday night, 
but kep' puttin' it off till Sunday night, and then didn't ax fur her. I 
didn't sleep much Sunday night, for sartin. I fixed my plan: I'd git up 
afore Tommy, Sally's brother, soon in the mornin' (Tommy slep' wiz me), 
knowin' the old folks was yearly risers, and ax 'um fur her as soon as I 
got down stairs. But, bless you, mate! I wasn't more'n out'n my 

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bade afore Tommy was up too, peart as a cricket. I went down stairs, Tommy 
a-follerin' along arter me. Dang him! he nuver got up so soon afore in all 
his life. I waited till the old man went out to feed his hogs, and I axed 
him. Said he, 'Go and ax the old 'omun.' I went, which I was in sich a 
sweat to git home to work that I couldn't wait till she got out'n the 
smoke-house. While she was in thar cuttin' meat, I axed her, and she gin 
her 'sent. I went home tickled to death, nearly, to see how I'd slayed 
'Gius, and had onraveled all his knittin'.

   "We didn't have much of a weddin', 'case as how the old man, old 'omun, 
and all the gals, Sally too, was sich Mathodises they wouldn't 'low 
dancin', and uvry thing was serious as a love-feast, 'most, only we didn't 
tell our 'spearances, as they does on sich 'casions. The fact is, I'd been 
whizzin' round all my life, and had no 'spearance uv 'ligion to tell ef 
I'd been axed."

GETTING RELIGION.
   The foregoing are a few only of the many interesting incidents in 
Dick's courtship, 

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which he always told with great gusto. But before I dismiss him he must 
tell the story of his attempt to "git 'ligion."

   "Not long arter I was married, old Mister and old Miss Tucker 'menced 
'swadin me to git 'ligion; as I had a fambly, I ought to set a good 
'zample afore 'um, and hold fambly prayer, and all sich good 'vice. I 
knowed it would please them and Sally too; and, knowin' I was a poor, 
sinful creetur, I'cluded I'd try the 'speriment. So there cum on a 
quarterly meetin' at the old man's, and I 'cluded that was the time to 
make my Jack. I went on Saturday, wiz my face tolluble long, and 'cluded 
I'd make a good start at the 'ginnin'. Nobody knowed what was in my head, 
more'n dander, till Sunday. When they 'vited up mourners I went up, and 
you may s'pose there was some racket jist then. They all tuck on mightily. 
Besides Sally's folks, the circus-rider prayed fur me, like he was beatin' 
tan-bark off uv trees in dade uv winter. They beat my back wusser nur a 
nigger beatin' hominy in a mortar, jist like 'ligion could be beat inter a 
man, like maulin' rails out'n locked timber. The meetin' 

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broke up, and I tried gittin' 'ligion a whole week; but I got along so 
shacklin' I 'cluded I wouldn't waste my time, and quit short off--short as 
pie-crust. So I've nuver 'fessed 'ligion to this day; I don't say this 
boastin'--jist state the fact."

   Here, for want of space, I leave my friend Dick, only giving the 
reader, in the following pages, an occasional glance at him.



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VII.--OLIVER STANLEY.
   OLIVER was quite a competitor in the line of big story-telling, and 
came to that region from the "seaboard." It did him so much good to spin 
his yarns and tell his feats that you would feel perfectly at ease while 
he laughed and "norated" one after another of his "bully scrapes." I have 
room for but two of them, though I could fill a volume.

   But I must first attempt a description of Oliver, though a photographer 
could not get his inexpressibly eccentric features. He was one of your 
rare men whose whole physiognomy bids defiance to all picture-taking 
artists.

   He was a small, well-set man, with a sallow, dyspeptic complexion, 
black eyes, wide-mouthed naturally, and it was generally spread with 
uproarious laughter. His stout, well-compacted body stood firmly upon, and 
was carried with great ease and facility by, a 

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short, stubbed pair of benched legs and little feet, after the Chinese 
fashion. Though his skin was tanned yellow as a pumpkin by the seaboard 
sun, yet he was strongly attached to white garments, and with great 
uniformity wore that color, to present, no doubt, the striking contrast 
between white cloth and a yellow skin. And, to give his white shirt and 
pants some variety in color, he was quite careful to besmear his front 
well with tobacco.

   But I must not take up too much time in describing an indescribable 
man, and will hasten to give the reader two of Oliver's stories, giving 
them in his own language; and, by the way, he was a good hand at coining 
new words. His looks and laugh I can not give, for they are not 
transferable to paper. The first story is

THE ESCAPE FROM THE WHALE.
   "On the shank ov one monstracious nice evenin'," said the redoubtable 
Oliver, after spitting a stream of tobacco-juice on a very decent floor, 
"I toddled down to the sea-board to git a bait ov oysters, feelin' 
considdible 

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qualmy 'bout my gizzard. I seen a passel ov men com trucklin' to me, 
rockin' along, see-saw one side, then see-saw t'other side. They soon 
fixed thar tarnul peepers on me, all on 'um at once, and charmed me to the 
spot, like a black snake charms a catbird, and I couldn't budge a peg for 
the life on me. I were tetotatiously spellbound. They come right chug up 
to me, and says one on 'um, 'Hellow, old landlubber! Go with us down to 
the boat, and we'll gin you a gullywhompin bait ov oysters.'

   "So, by the same darned charm that had chained me to that fatal spot, I 
was forced off with 'um. I seen they was a string ov sailors, but what o' 
that? They had sorcerized me, and I were a done-over sucker; so I jist gin 
up. No sooner had we 'rove at the boat, instead o' feastin' me on gully-
whompin oysters, they nabbed me quick as a snappin' turkle, put a gag in 
my mouf quicker nur yer could bridle a hoss, a bandage on my peepers, tied 
me hand and foot like a hog, shouldered me, and trolluped off with me I 
couldn't 'jecter whar. I had ten thousand idees in a minit, but to no use.

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   "'Way in the night they loosened me, and I soon seen I were out on the 
'Lantick Pond, and says I, 'What on the face ov the yeth does this mean?' 
says I; but they gin me no answer but a great big hoss laugh. 
Scissorifactions! how mad I were. I felt like I could a whipped a string 
o' wildcats long as Tar River. But thar they stood with pistols 'nuff to 
make a corn-sifter ov my hide afore you could bat yer eye, pintin' right 
at me, and said, 'No questions, you landlubber, else we'll send you to 
Davy Jones's Locker afore three strokes ov a mutton's tail.'

   "I soon seen that the jig were up, and I mout as well cave in. So I 
jist laid down and moseyed off to the land of Nod, and staid in that 
blessed country ov forgitfulness till mornin'. I had sich great respect 
for the sun that I riz not till he did; then the cap'en come to me and 
explorated the whole thing. He said they was scase ov sailors, and thought 
they'd jist kidnump me, and make a gentleman sailor ov me. I seen my cake 
were dough, and that it warn't wuth while to grieve arter spilt milk, and 
that I'd 

Page 128

make the best on it. I bowed, told him I were at his sarvice, 'tarmined to 
make my rent out'n 'um and 'fect my escape, whether I got out'n the big 
eend or the little eend o' the horn. So I went to work bully fashion.

   "It were a custom ov the sailors to shave when they crossed the 
equinox. So they fixed to shave tharselves 'cordin' to this rule when they 
got into the Topic of Capincorn. Arter one on 'um, who acted as barber, 
had shaved several on 'um, which he done by layin' 'um flat on thar backs, 
he said to me, 'Oliver,' says he, 'sprawl yerself leeward, and let me 
shave you 'cordin' to the custom o' the world-renowned craft.'

   "Says I, 'What do you lather with?' says I, for I had been 'spectin' 
thar nasty lather.

   " 'With hog's dung and tarpintine,' says he.

   "I felt orful indignunt, and looked daggerified at him, and said, 'Not 
I!' says I.

   " 'You'll see,' says he, and made at me.

   " 'Never!' says I; and, suitin' action to resolution, I kicked over the 
nasty gourd o' shavin' soap smack into the sea, jumped 

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overboard, kitin' right arter it, co-souse! head foremost, 'tarmined to 
die afore I'd summit to sich an indignitorious shavin' as that.

   "I duv 'bout one hundred and fifty yards, riz to the top, and outswum 
like creation, distancin' the sharks, and uvry other vinimus fish, fur 
eight hours, till a monstrus, maulbustin whale com upon me, and licked me 
down like I'd been a year-old herrin'.

   "I soon seen I'd 'jumped out'n the fryin'-pan smack inter the fire,' as 
the parrabal runs. He piked right off wi' me, for all the world like I'd 
been a tiny bullfrog--no more'n a bug moufful fur him. When I landed at 
the bottom uv his paunch, and had time to survey my parlor a little, I 
detarmined in less nur no time that I warn't a-gwine to stay thar; it were 
no place fur a white man well bred. I didn't like the furnitur at all. 
Every thing were so nasty, I detarmined to shift my boardin' and lodgin' 
in short-metre time.

   "I kep' in my pocket allers a tin water-tight fixin', which I toated my 
smokin' apperrattus in. So I detarmined to try what vartue there were in 
'baccer smoke, and see 

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ef I couldn't have a volcanic erucktion, and be throwed out'n his krater 
like rocks out'n Heckla. So I'liberately took out my pipe and 'baccer, 
flint, steel, and punk, struck fire, crossed my legs, lit my pipe, and 
went to smokin' like ketchin' herrin'. I nuver exed liberty to smoke in 
that parlor, fur it were so dirty I didn't think it wuth while to be 
perlite; so I soon filled that room with rich smoke. In little ur no time 
it waked up the old hoss, fur he soon shown signs uv disapperbation at my 
oncommon liberty. I didn't let on. Presuntly he begun to blow like a iron 
forge; but I smoked on, knowin' the subject were comin' to an issue fast. 
Soon the old feller begin to cast up fust one, then another piece uv belly-
furnitur, till at last he were sharp enuff to guess that I were the cause 
uv all the fuss in his 'dominal regions; so he gin me a rucktion, and sent 
me 'bout a hundred feet right up to'ads the good world. But alas! my 
troubles was not eended, fur I come down right on the flat uv my back in 
the sea, co-slash!

   "Soon as I struck water I whirled over, quick as a cat, and moseyed off 
fur tumma 

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Page 133

fumma. My old inimy were perfectly satisfied with me, and let me truckle 
off and save my bacon, so fur as he were consarned. So I drawed a bead fur 
land somewhar. I swum fur a whole day with sich verlocity that sea-
sarpints, sharks, and uvry other vinimous monster uv the deep was no more 
to me than snails a-crawlin'. Jist at night I landed on a friendly island, 
and staid thar till a vessel come along and tuck me in fifty miles uv 
home, whar, through great mercy, I landed next day, to the great joy and 
astonishment uv my friends."

   The above are the particulars of this wonderful adventure, "norated" 
without the least fear of contradiction, as was ever indicated in his 
looks of defiance. After a few hearty laughs and a fresh chew of tobacco, 
he would introduce, with great gusto, his

INDIAN AND BEAR STORY.
   "Soon arter this kidnappering by the sailors," said the imperturbable 
Oliver, "I 'cluded I'd best save my bacon by leavin' the seaboard, and try 
my luck in the Allegany 

Page 134

Mountings; fur this scrape had made a rantankerous impression on me. So I 
pulled up my stakes, which it warn't hard to do, and piked off to a higher 
latitude. I hadn't a doubt in my noggin but what I'd far a nation sight 
better nur I had on the seaboard. But hush, honey! thar were no rest fur 
Oliver Stanley, fur he were borned to rough 'ventures. It is the lot uv 
great men uvry whar, in uvry age.

   "No sooner had I landed and marked off a little spot uv yeth fur a 
home, and had made a little deadnin' on it, than the cussed red-skinned 
Injins 'vaded my peaceful homicil, kidnumped me wusser ef possible nur the 
tarnacious tompaulin sailors did, as jist norated. When they got me 'way 
out inter the mountings, where no huming but an Injin (ef they are 
humings) uver trod the sile, after wavin', brandisherin', and gleameratin' 
thar tommyhocks over my knowledge-box for a long spell, and then thar 
butcher-knives in the same threatnin' aspex, they helt a council over my 
case, and after much glomeration of talk they decided to head me up tight 
in a bar'l, and let me starve to death.

Page 135

   "This drefful detarmination they carried into refect, for they had 
toated a ile bar'l all the way with 'um on purpose, I s'pose. So they jist 
loosened some uv the hoops at one eend, tuck out the head, put me in, and 
headed me up tight as ef I'd a bin old peach brandy, all 'ceptin the bung-
hole at one eend fur me to git ar. Now ef the unhuman critters had 
'skluded all the ar, my wind would a bin broke quick as crockery, and my 
troubles would a been eended, and me at rest. But not so, bless you, mate! 
that were too good fur an Injun. So they jist left a bung-hole, inch and a 
half big, to feed me with ar till I bolted out, be it long or short.

   "They put me in, as jist norated, jabbered a little, and left me to my 
own codgertations. I codgertated and rumbinated fast, I tell you, but it 
done no good. I soon got a-hongry, which I allers had a rantankerous 
appertite, and thought uv uvry thing to eat, good and bad, in all 
creation, pertic'ler uv the big, lungin', fat oysters on the seaboard. But 
it didn't suffy any thing; it only whetted my gizzard to think uv 'um. And 
the 

Page 136

nasty, stinkin', tarnacious old ile bar'l stunk like thunder.

   "So I detarmined to git out'n thar ur bust a trace; and so I jist 
pounded away with my fist, till I beat it nairly into a jelly, at the eend 
uv the bar'l; but it were no go. Then I butted a spell with my noggin, but 
I had no purchase like old rams have when they butt, fur you know they 
back ever so fur when they take a tilt. Now ef I'd a had a purchase to a 
backed, I'd a knocked the head out'n that bar'l to the astonishment uv 
painters and wildcats--fur the woods was full on 'um, frum the racket they 
made.

   "So I caved in, made my last will and testerment, and vartually gin up 
the ghost. It were a mighty serious time with me, fur sure. While I were 
lyin thar, balancin' accounts with t'other world, and afore I had all my 
figgers made out to see how things 'ud stand, I hearn suthin' 
scrambulatin' in the leaves, and snortin' uvry whip-stitch like he smelt 
suthin' he didn't adzackly like. I lay as still as a salamander, and 
thought, Maybe there's a chance fur Stanley yit.

Page 137

   "So the critter, whatever it mout be, kep' moseyin' round the bar'l. 
Last he come to the bung-hole, put his nose in, and smelt mighty 
pertic'ler, and gin a monstrous loud snort. I helt what little breath I 
had, to keep the critter from smellin' the intarnuls uv the bar'l. I soon 
seen it were a bar--the big king bar uv the woods, who had lived thar from 
time immortal. Thinks I, old feller, look out; old Oliver ain't dade yit. 
Jist then he put his big black paw in jist as fur as he could, and 
scrabbled about to make some 'scovery.

   "The fust thought that struck my noggin was to nab his paw, as 'a 
drowndin' man will ketch at a straw;' but I soon seen that wouldn't do, 
fur, you see, he couldn't then travel. Thinks I, 'There's luck in leisure,
' as I've hearn folks say, so I'll try it, wusser fur better and better 
fur wusser, as the parson says when he marries folks. So I jist waited a 
spell, with great flutterbation of mind.

   "His next move was to put his tail in the bung-hole uv the bar'l to 
test its innards. I seen that were my time to make my Jack; 

Page 138

so I seized holt, and shouted at the top uv my voice, weak as it was,

   " 'Charge, Chester! charge!

   On, Stanley! on!'

   And the bar he put, and I knowed tail holt were better than no holt, 
and on we went, bar'l and all, the bar at full speed. Now my hope were 
that the bar would jump over some presserpiss, brake the bar'l all to 
shiverations, and liberate me from my nasty, stinking, ily prison. And, 
sure 'nuff, the bar at full speed, outrunning a scared wolf, leaped over a 
catterrack fifty foot high. Down we all went together in a pile, 
cowhollop, on a big rock, bustin' the bar'l all to flinderations, nairly 
shockin' my gizzard out'n me. I let go my tail holt--had no more use for 
it--and away went the bar like a whirlygust uv woodpeckers were arter it. 
I've nuther seen nur hearn from that bar since, but he has my best wishes 
fur his present and futer welfar."

   The foregoing are pretty fair specimens of the story-telling of my old 
friend Oliver Stanley.



Page 139

VIII.--LARKIN SNOW, THE MILLER.
   LARKIN SNOW was doomed to be a miller. I have ever believed that a man 
will fill the station for which he was designed by the Sovereign Master 
Overseer of mankind. Though Providence designs a man for a certain 
position, natural causes and agencies operate also, and, ere he is aware 
of it, he is fulfilling his destiny. But I will not moralize; my business 
is with facts.

   Larkin Snow was a graduate--an old stager--in milling when I was a mill-
boy; and the last time I heard of him, and no doubt at this present time 
of writing, he is grinding away at somebody's tub-mill, for he never owned 
a mill--not he. Over a quarter of a century ago I was a jolly, singing, 
hoop-pee mill-boy, and carried many a "grice" to William Easley's tub-mill 
on "Little Fish River," kept by my old friend Larkin Snow. But where am I 
wandering?

Page 140

   After all, the reader must indulge me a little while I pay a tribute of 
respect to the numerous tub-mills of my native country, for it does me 
good to think of them and of my mill-boy days. Who has not been a romping 
mill-boy?

   Well, I love tub-mills, and ever shall, for my grandfather was the 
father of them in that section.

   "But who is your grandfather?"

   Never mind. Go and ask Larkin Snow, for he knows every man that ever 
built a mill, or ever kept one in that mountain territory. His memory is a 
perfect genealogy of mills and millers. Uncle Billy Lewis built a tub-mill 
on nearly every mountain branch (and they were numerous) where he could 
get two or three customers. Uncle Davy Lane, who figures largely in this 
volume, had a tub-mill on "Moore's Fork," as lazy and slow in its 
movements as its owner. The truth is, Uncle Davy had the advantage, for 
"sarpunts" could move him to the speed of electricity, but a "good head of 
water" made but little difference with his mill. His son "Dave" kept it 
(said Dave was 

Page 141

his daddy's own son), and he and I used to bake "johnny-cakes" to keep 
from starving while it was grinding my "grice." We ate nearly as fast as 
it could grind. But my old neighbor, William Easley, had the fastest tub-
mill in all that country, on Little Fisher's River, and Larkin Snow was 
his faithful miller.

   Every man has ambition of some kind, and Larkin, though nothing but a 
humble miller who gloried in his calling, had his share, and a good one 
too, of ambition. His ambition consisted in being the best miller in the 
land, and in being number one in big story-telling. He had several 
competitors, as may be seen from these sketches, but he held his own with 
them all, even with Uncle Davy Lane. The reader will judge best, however, 
when he reads the stories given as samples of Larkin's gift in that line. 
Larkin must pardon us, should he ever see these pages, for giving but two 
of his fine stories, that of the eels and the fox-dog. These stories will 
do him ample justice.

   Larkin Snow was a patient, kind, forbearing-looking man, of ordinary 
size. His eyes 

Page 142

squinted, and so did his sallow features. His dress was plain: tow and 
cotton shirt, summer and winter; striped cotton pants in summer, and 
dressed buckskin ones in winter; no coat in summer, a linsey hunting-shirt 
in winter. His hat was wool, turned up all round, gummed up with meal, and 
so was his entire suit. His looks were wholly unambitious--strange that he 
should ever strive to excel in big story-telling. But looks sometimes 
deceive one, and we will let Larkin speak for himself in the

STORY OF THE EELS.
   "Now, you see, while I were keepin' Mr. Easley's mill," said Larkin, 
squinting his eyes and features, showing the remains of his little round 
teeth, nearly worn to the gums chewing tobacco, "I planted me a track 
patch near the bank uv the river, jist below the mill-dam. I knowed I 
could work it at odd spells, while the water were low and the mill ran 
slow, and I jist filled it with all sorts o' things and notions. But as 
all on us, the old Quilt (his wife), childering, and all, was mighty fond 
o' peas, I were 

Page 143

mighty pertic'ler to plant a mighty good share uv them; and to make a 
bully crap o' Crowders and all other sorts o' peas uver hearn on, I 
pitched them in the best spot uv the little bit uv yeth, near the river, 
clost on the bank.

   "We, the old Quilt and I, spilt sevrul galluns uv humin grease workin' 
on 'um, and they growed monstus nice. We was a-congratterlatin' ourselves 
on the monstus crap we'd make, when we seed suthin kept crappin' 'um, 
pertic'ler right on the bank uv the river. Uvry mornin' it was wuss and 
wuss. I soon seen the thing would be out wi' my peas ef thar warn't a stop 
put to it, fur thar wouldn't a bin a Crowder to sweeten our teeth with. I 
kept watchin' and watchin', but couldn't make the least 'scuvry. The fence 
were allers up good, the gate shot, and not the track of varmunts could be 
seen nur smelt, har nur hide. I were mighty low down in the mouth, I tell 
you. Starvation huv in sight; my sallet were meltin' away mighty fast.

   "I were so mightily taken down 'bout it I couldn't sleep a wink; so I 
thort I mout 

Page 144

as well watch. I sneaked along down to the bank uv the river through my 
pea-patch.

   The moon were shinin' mighty bright, and what do you think I seen? I 
seen 'bout five hundred big maulbustin eels dart into the river out'n my 
pea-patch. I soon seen through the dreadful 'vastation uv my blackeyed 
Crowders; the pesky eels had done it."

   "Dang it, Larkin," said Dick Snow, "whar did sich a gullbustin chance 
uv eels cum from?"

   "Eels, you see," continued Larkin, "ef you knowed the natur on 'um, are 
mighty creeturs to travel, and they'd cum up--a host on 'um--fur as the 
mill-dam, and couldn't git no furder. They had to live, and they'd cotched 
uvry minner, and had eat up uvry thing in the river about thar, and they 
moseyed out on my pea-patch.

   "Now I were fur from lettin' them eat up my crap, so I put on my 
studyin' cap to find out the best plan to make a smash uv the whole bilin' 
on 'um. I soon hit the nail on the head, and fixed on the plan.

   "You see thar were but one place whar they could git out'n the river 
inter my patch 

Page 146 [omitted image]

Page 147

uv Crowders, and that were a narrer place, 'bout three foot wide, that 
crossed the river. I knowed it warn't wuth while to try to hold the 
creeters, they was so slickery; so, you see, I sot a big, whoppin bar'l 
near the river whar they cum out, near thar path. I told the old Quilt to 
fill it full uv dry ashes durin' the day while I were grindin', which she 
done, fur the old creetur thought a mighty sight uv her pea-patch.

   "Now when night cum on, and a dark one too--a good night fur eels to 
graze, and when I thort all on 'um was out a-grazin', I sneaked along by 
the bank uv the river, mighty sly, I tell you, till I got to the bar'l. I 
then listened, and hearn 'um makin' the peas wake; so I jist turned the 
bar'l over right smack in thar path, and filled it chug full uv the dry 
ashes fur ten steps, I reckon. I then went up in the patch above 'um, gin 
a keen holler, and away they went, scootin' fur the river. You nuver hearn 
sich a rippin' and clatteration afore, I reckon. I knowed I had 'um; so, 
you see, I called fur a torchlight to see my luck. Now when the old Quilt 
and the childering brought the 

Page 148

light, hallaluyer! what a sight. Sich a pile on 'um, all workin' up 
together in the dry ashes, like maggits in carron. The ashes were the very 
thing fur 'um, fur they soon gin up the ghost.

   "I soon, you see, 'cided what to do with 'um. We went to work and tuck 
out'n the ashes five hundred and forty-nine, some uv 'um master eels. All 
the next day we was a-skinnin', cleanin', and barrelin' on 'um up. They'd 
got fat out'n my peas, but we got good pay out'n 'um fur it. The fryin'-
pan stunk fur months with fat eels, and we all got fat and sassy. So I 
were troubled no more with eels that year; fur I think, you see, we 
shucked out the whole river."

   This story he would tell you coolly, while he would occasionally feel 
of his meal--while the old tub-mill would perform its slow revolutions as 
though it was paid by the year--to see whether it was ground fine enough 
to suit him. He would then give you one of his peculiar looks, having just 
got his hand in, and would tell you the story of the

Page 149

FAST-RUNNING DOG.
   Fox-hunting was a favorite sport with many; indeed, all loved it, but 
only a few kept hounds and gave chase to mischievous Reynard. Foxes were 
quite plenty, and renowned for deeds of daring. The women hated hounds 
most cordially, yet they would endure them for the sake of their fowls. If 
their fowls were destroyed, they could neither make soup nor their rick 
pot-pies, both of which were much admired. Wylie Franklin was a great 
favorite with chicken-raisers, for if a hen-roost was invaded a hint to 
him was all that was needed, and the marauder was soon taken. The 
compositions of Mozart, Handel, and Haydn were no music to these fox-
hunters compared with the voice of hounds in the chase. Sometimes there 
would be a great rally of fox-hunters at some point to have a united 
chase, to see who had the fastest and the toughest hound. This must be 
kept in view in reading the story of Larkin's fast-running dog.

   "You see," said Larkin, "a passel uv fellers 

Page 150

cum frum 'bout Rockford, Jonesville, and the Holler to have a fox-hunt, 
and kep' a-boastin' uv thar fast dogs. I told 'um my little dog Flyin'-jib 
could beat all thar dogs, and give 'um two in the game. I called him up 
and showed him to 'um, and you mout a hearn 'um laugh a mile, measured 
with a 'coonskin and the tail throwed in. I told 'um they'd laugh t'other 
side o' thar mouths afore it were done. They hooted me.

   "We went out with 'bout fifty hounds, and, as good luck would hev it, 
we started a rale old Virginny red fox, 'bout three hours afore day, on 
the west side uv Skull Camp Mountin. He struck right off for the Saddle 
Mountin, then whirled round over Scott's Knob, then to Cedar Ridge, up it, 
and over Fisher's Peak, round back uv the Blue Ridge, then crossed over 
and down it at Blaze Spur, then down to and over Round Peak, then Down 
Ring's Creek to Shipp's Muster-ground, and on agin to'ads Skull Camp. Not 
fur from Shipp's Muster-ground they passed me, and Flyin'-jib were 'bout 
half a mile ahead on 'um all, goin' fast as the report of a rifle gun. 
Passin' through a 

Page 151

meader whar thar were a mowin'-scythe with the blade standin' up, Flyin'-
jib run chug aginst it with sich force that it split him wide open frum 
the eend uv his nose to the tip uv his tail. Thar he lay, and nuver 
whimpered, tryin' to run right on. I streaked it to him, snatched up both 
sides uv him, slapped 'um together, but were in sich a hurry that I put 
two feet down and two up. But away he went arter the fox, scootin' jist in 
that fix. You see, when he got tired runnin' on two feet on one side, he'd 
whirl over, quick as lightnin', on t'other two, and it seemed ruther to 
hev increased his verlocity. He cotch the fox on the east side uv Skull 
Camp, a mile ahead uv the whole kit uv 'um.

   "Now when the fellers cum up, and seen all thar dogs lyin' on the 
ground pantin' fur life, and Flyin'-jib jist gittin' his hand in, they was 
mighty low down in the mouth, I warrant you. All the conserlation they had 
was seein' my dog in sich a curious fix. But I jist kervorted, and told 
'um that were the way fur a dog to run fast and long, fust one side up, 
then t'other--it rested him."



Page 152

IX.--UNCLE BILLY LEWIS.
   CLEVER old man! little did he think that his name would ever get "into 
prent," and be ranked among the heroes of Fisher's River. I know he never 
sought it; however, I love to honor an humble-minded man.

   Uncle Billy Lewis came from the "Huckleberry Ponds," near Fayetteville. 
An unfortunate accident forced him, much against his will, to leave his 
native section, to which he was devotedly attached. But he was quite a 
philosopher, and seemed cheerful and happy in the mountains of Surry. He 
was ever busy, either in building tub-mills across the mountain creeks and 
branches, sitting on his "hunkers" cutting out mill-stones in the lonely 
mountains, or hunting deer, turkeys, and bees in the wild forests. Not a 
lazy bone in his tough, yellow-tanned skin. No Cherokee Indian was more 
fleet on foot than he. A quarter of a century has passed since 

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I saw him, yet his image is as indelibly fixed on my mind as though I had 
seen him but yesterday. He was an unforgetable man.

   There he stands, full six feet high, well put up for walking, more 
limbs than body. His rifle and shot-pouch are prominent objects, for he 
wears them gracefully. It is winter, and he has on his winter dress. Begin 
at his head and look down to his feet. He wears a smooth "'coonskin" fur 
hat, glazed all over with sweat and grease from his head, and looks black 
and sleek as a dandy's boots. A walnut-dyed linsey hunting-shirt, girded 
with a leathern belt--said belt looks as if it might have come from off 
one of Adam's calves. His "jacket" is made of calfskin tanned with the 
hair on. His "britches" are dressed buckskin, tight as the skin, with sole-
leather buttons sewed on with a leather thong. Instead of shoes, he wears 
hogskin moccasins brogued with sole-leather. He wears a tow and cotton 
shirt, and as to drawers the deponent saith not.

   But look at that odd face, long and lank, yellow and thick-skinned; 
forehead large and high; eyes large and white, dull-looking 

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and expressive of confidence in and generosity toward men; two large upper 
front teeth sticking out of his mouth like iron wedges; his chin long and 
expressive of marvelousness. The whole countenance combined says Uncle 
Billy Lewis is an honest, confiding, simple-hearted, artless man, easily 
duped by wags and sharpers.

   Uncle Billy could not speak plainly, was a little tongue-tied, and then 
those iron-wedged teeth prevented him from articulating distinctly. 
Besides, he was naturally disposed to be short and sententious in his 
conversation, any way. But I must not be too long in trying to bring the 
image of my old friend before the reader's mind. Let the old man, in his 
characteristic way, tell you the story of

THE FIRE-HUNT.
   "This is a monstrous nice night to shine old bucks' eyes, Uncle Billy; 
s'pose we take a fire-hunt," said a quiz to the old man, to draw out of 
him the reasons that caused him to leave the "Huckleberry Ponds" of 
Cumberland.

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   "It mout be," said Uncle Billy, with his white, leaden eyes looking 
very sorrowfully, "but I don' 'clude I'll fire-hunt no more. That drefful 
night that caused me to leave good ole Cumberland I shall never forgit. 
That wur the wust fire-hunt a poor mortal ever got inter. It was a dark, 
drizzly night --good night fur jacker-mer-lanterns and old bucks. I took 
O'Pan,* loaded her heavy with big buck drop-shot, which I bought in 
Fayetteville with huckleberries, with pan and torch on a shoulder; got 
lost--led out'n my way by a stinkin' jacker-mer-lantern. I went bogin 
along, thought I was gwine right, looked afore me, seed a whole heap 
o'bright shiny eyes, turned the pan round and round. 'Shiny eyes--shiny 
eyes,' says I; 'now's the time! now's the time!'

   "I whip up O'Pan, draw a bead--bang! went O'Pan; jingle, jingle, jingle 
went chains. I see men comin'; I throw down O'Pan, light, and all, and 
took through the huckleberry swamp like a 'coon. Here come men arter me, 
sayin', 'Here he goes, boys! here he goes!'

(* His musket.)

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   "I run on, come to mud-pond, and in I went, sock! sock! sock! last up I 
go to my armpits, and could go no furder. Men come up and say, 'Here he 
went, boys! here he went!'

   "I lay in the mud, still as a turkle, till they lost me. When they left 
me I tried to git out--had a hard time of it. Thar stood a jacker-mer-
lantern grinnin' at me. I rake mud, fust with one hand, then with t'other--
rake, rake. Last out I cum, muddy as a hog. I went home, told the fambly, 
left that night, fambly follered, and all the poor men got for my shootin' 
thar hosses was O'Pan and my torch-pan. That was a mem'ble night--never 
forgit--never firehunt since."

UNCLE BILLY PREACHES.
   Uncle Billy was a Baptist, and doubtless a good man. The only thing 
that ever was alleged against him was shining the horses' eyes, "liftin' 
up O'Pan, bang!" and making the horses' chains go "jingle, jingle!" and 
then leaving old Cumberland between two suns, if that part of the story is 
correct. Whether 

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or not there were any horses killed, no deponent has testified. It is 
probable Uncle Billy thought going through the mud "sock! sock!" sinking 
into the mud well-nigh chin deep, and being grinned at while in that 
pitiable condition by that impudent and wicked "jacker-mer-lantern," was a 
sufficient atonment. At any rate, in old Surry, "by his fruit" he was 
considered by all a good man.

   I have intimated that he was a very credulous man, and easily imposed 
upon by wags. He had wanted to preach for some time -- had some "loud 
calls" -- but his Church gave him no encouragement, believing some one 
else was "called" and Uncle Billy had answered. He was not "slow of
speech," but he could lay a good claim to a "stammering tongue." His 
brethren, on that account, thought he could not "edify them."

   There were, however, a few "outsiders" who urged the old man to 
"exercise his gift." Bill Holder, Hen Holder, Ike Puckett, Bill Auberry, 
Shack Gallion, and others, encouraged him to "hold forth." "They 

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wouldn't ax the Church no boot, no how. He were a free man. We'll make you 
up the biggest crowds ef you'll jist hold night meetin's."

   The thing took. There was a shrewd man, Jim Blevins, in whom Uncle 
Billy had unbounded confidence, who urged him forward to his "duty." Jim's 
advice was taken, and Uncle Billy made several appointments, and had 
"thundering crowds," mostly young people for their amusement. There they 
sat, with their "heads bowed down like the loonsome bulrush," as Uncle 
Billy poetically expressed it, weeping over their sins, as he thought, but 
the wicked creatures were laughing.

   Jim Blevins always attended, and manufactured a good portion of the old 
man's thunder--would tell him what to say to "relarm the wicked folks." 
The last sermon Uncle Billy ever preached, Blevins, his Vulcan, 
manufactured some heavy thunderbolts for him.

   Jim told him, one evening before he preached, that he had "suthin' 
relarmin' to tell him." That he had been that day on 

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the Bald Rock on Fisher's Peak, and while sitting under a bunch of bushes 
near the edge of the Bald Rock, it being very hot, he saw a huge flying 
snake in the air above him, full twelve feet long, with a stinger at the 
end of his tail at least twelve inches long, and its eyes were like balls 
of fire. It would fly round the Peak and the Bald Rock, looking first on 
one side, then on the other, screaming worse than a panther. "I sloped," 
continued Jim, "back uv Fisher's Peak, but it were like jumpin' out'n the 
fryin'-pan inter the fire; for thar I hearn a yahoo. It was a-bawlin' 
louder than a cannon, 'ya-hoo! ya-hoo!' I hid, and it come by in thirty 
yards uv me. What a bustin critter it was! It had horns ten foot long, 
mouth as big as a hogshead, and teeth long as a sword and sharp as a 
razor. The way it kills things is, it gits them on its horns, and keeps 
tossin' them up till they are dead as a herrin', then he swallows them 
down slick as a bar swallerin' down a piece uv honey-comb. Uncle Billy, 
you ought to warn the people uv thar drefful danger this night. I've 
discharged my duty in tellin' 

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you, and I now leave it with you to clare yer skirts of thar blood."

   That was enough. The conscientious old man felt newly commissioned, and 
more thunder to his former stock was added. He met his audience, 
commenced, and soon got through the doctrinal part of his sermon, and then 
came to the "pathetic part." I shall only attempt to give the closing part 
of his exhortation. With great earnestness in his sad, woe-begone 
countenance, he said,

   "Sinner, you'd better 'pent! Danger abroad! Look out, I tell ye. Skin 
yer eyes good. Open yer ears wide. Listen, that you may hear. Your blood 
mout be 'quired o' me. Jim Blevins seen--O sinner, 'pent and listen--Jim 
Blevins seen--O my soul!--Jim Blevins went on Fisher's Peak this mornin', 
and to the Baw' Rock, got tired, sot down under bunch o' bushes to rest, 
and what did he see? O my soul! Sinner, 'pent! He seen a flyin' snake--
drefful critter--twelve foot long, stinger 'bout a feet long, eyes red 
like balls o' fire from Pandermonium--O sinner, 'pent! My 

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bowels yearns over you--lookin' fust this way, then t'other, to see what 
he could see, and a-squallin' wusser nur a painter--O sinner, 'pent!--
'pent, I tell you, else yer a gone sucker. For sartin and for sure, ef he 
pops his stinger inter you, yer gone world 'thout eend, amen, 'thout the 
benefit o' clargy.

   "But, sinner, flyin' snakes is mighty bad; bad as they is, howsomever, 
'tain't nothin' to what Jim Blevins seen arter that. Jim, soon as the 
flyin' snake went out'n sight, he run over back o' Fisher's Peak, and--O 
my soul!--what did he see? A yahoo, sinner--a yahoo! Jim hid, and it past 
along close by, and it was high as a house, horns ten foot long, mouf big 
as a hogshead--'pent, sinner, 'pent! It run by Jim, hollerin' 'ya-hoo! ya-
hoo!' louder nur cannon at the battle o' Guilford Court-house, whar 
'Wallis was fout by Greene. Jim says the way he kills folks--sinner, 
'pent!--he gits you on his horns, he tossee up--he tossee up, jist like 
trouncin' a bullfrog, till life clean gone--'pent, sinner, 'pent!--then 
he'll take you in his mouf, and he'll lick you down like a hongry bar does 
a piece o' honey-comb, as 

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Jim Blevins says. Sinner, I've warned you; I'm clare o' yer blood. Ef that 
flyin' snake or that yahoo gits you, you can't blame me fur it. No, don't 
blame the old man nur Jim Blevins."

   The above discourse came to the ears of Uncle Billy's church, and they 
"called in his gift." But he never quit cutting out mill-stones, making 
tub-mills, and hunting bees long as his "head was above the yeth."