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1Author:  Simms William Gilmore 1806-1870Add
 Title:  Border beagles  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: The little town of Raymond, in the state of Mississippi, was in the utmost commotion. Court-day was at hand, and nothing was to be heard but the hum of preparation for that most important of all days in the history of a country village—that of general muster alone excepted. Strange faces and strange dresses began to show themselves in the main street; lawyers were entering from all quarters—“saddlebag” and “sulky” lawyers—men who cumber themselves with no weight of law, unless it can be contained in moderately-sized heads, or valise, or saddle-bag, of equally moderate dimensions. Prowling sheriff's officers began to show their hands again, after a ten or twenty days' absence in the surrounding country, where they had gone to the great annoyance of simple farmers, who contract large debts to the shop-keeper on the strength of crops yet to be planted, which are thus wasted on changeable silks for the spouse, and whistle-handled whips for “Young Hopeful” the only son and heir to possession, which, in no long time will be heard best of under the auctioneer's hammer. The population of the village was increasing rapidly; and what with the sharp militia colonel, in his new box coat, squab white hat, trim collar and high-heeled boots, seeking to find favour in the regiment against the next election for supplying the brigadier's vacancy; the swaggering planter to whom certain disquieting hints of foreclosure have been given, which he can evade no longer, and which he must settle as he may; the slashing overseer, prime for cockfight or quarterrace, and not unwilling to try his own prowess upon his neighbour, should occasion serve and all other sports fail; the pleading and impleaded, prosecutor and prosecuted, witnesses and victims,—Raymond never promised more than at present to swell beyond all seasonable boundaries, and make a noise in the little world round it. Court-day is a day to remember in the West, either for the parts witnessed or the parts taken in the various performances; and whether the party be the loser of an eye or ear, or has merely helped another to the loss of both, the case is still pretty much the same; the event is not usually forgotten. The inference was fair that there would be a great deal of this sort of prime brutality performed at the present time. Among the crowd might be seen certain men who had already distinguished themselves after this manner, and who strutted and swaggered from pillar to post, as if conscious that the eyes of many were upon them, either in scorn or admiration. Notoriety is a sort of fame which the vulgar mind essentially enjoys beyond any other; and we are continually reminded, while in the crowd, of the fellow in the play, who says he “loves to be contemptible.” Some of these creatures had lost an eye, some an ear, others had their faces scarred with the strokes of knives; and a close inspection of others might have shown certain tokens about their necks, which testified to bloody ground fights, in which their gullets formed an acquaintance with the enemy's teeth, not over-well calculated to make them desire new terms of familiarity. Perhaps, in most cases, these wretches had only been saved from just punishment by the humane intervention of the spectators—a humanity that is too often warmed into volition, only when the proprietor grows sated with the sport. At one moment the main street in Raymond was absolutely choked by the press of conflicting vehicles. Judge Bunkell's sulky hitched wheels with the carriage of Col. Fishhawk, and squire Dickens' bran new barouche, brought up from Orleans only a week before, was “staved all to flinders”—so said our landlady—“agin the corner of Joe Richards' stable.” The 'squire himself narrowly escaped the very last injury in the power of a fourfooted beast to inflict, that is disposed to use his hoofs heartily—and, bating an abrasion of the left nostril, which diminished the size, if it did not, as was the opinion of many, impair the beauty of the member, Dickens had good reason to congratulate himself at getting off with so little personal damage. These, however, were not the only mishaps on this occasion. There were other stories of broken heads, maims and injuries, but whether they grew out of the unavoidable concussion of a large crowd in a small place, or from a great natural tendency to broken heads on the part of the owners, it scarcely falls within our present purpose to inquire. A jostle in a roomy region like the west, is any thing but a jostle in the streets of New York. There you may tilt the wayfarer into the gutter, and the laugh is against the loser, it being a sufficient apology for taking such a liberty with your neighbour's person, that “business is business, and must be attended to.” Every man must take care of himself and learn to push with the rest, where all are in a hurry. But he brooks the stab who jostles his neighbour where there is no such excuse; and the stab is certain where he presumes so far with his neighbour's wife, or his wife's daughter, or his sister. There's no pleading that the city rule is to “take the right hand” —he will let you know that the proper rule is to give way to the weak and feeble—to women, to age, to infancy. This is the manly rule among the strong, and a violation of it brings due punishment in the west. Jostling there is a dangerous experiment, and for this very reason, it is frequently practised by those who love a row and fear no danger. It is one of the thousand modes resorted to for compelling the fight of fun—the conflict which the rowdy seeks from the mere love of tumult, and in the excess of overheated blood.
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