 | THE FIGHT. Georgia scenes |  |
THE FIGHT.
In the younger days of the Republic, there lived in
the county of —, two men, who were admitted on
all hands to be the very best men in the county—which,
in the Georgia vocabulary, means they could flog any
other two men in the county. Each, through many a
hard fought battle, had acquired the mastery of his own
battalion; but they lived on opposite sides of the Court
House, and in different battalions: consequently they
were but seldom thrown together. When they met, however,
they were always very friendly; indeed, at their
first interview, they seemed to conceive a wonderful attachment
as they became better acquainted; so that, but
for the circumstance which I am about to mention, the
question which had been a thousand times asked “Which
is the best man, Billy Stallions, (Stallings,) or Bob Durham?”
would probably never have been answered.
Billy ruled the upper battalion, and Bob the lower.
The former measured six feet and an inch, in his stockings,
and without a single pound of cumbrous flesh about
him weighed a hundred and eighty. The latter, was an
inch shorter than his rival, and ten pounds lighter; but
he was much the most active of the two. In running
and jumping, he had but few equals in the county; and
in wrestling, not one. In other respects they were nearly
equal. Both were admirable specimens of human nature
in its finest form. Billy's victories had generally been
achieved by the tremendous power of his blows; one of
which had often proved decisive of his battles; Bob's,
by his adroitness in bringing his adversary to the ground.
This advantage he had never failed to gain, at the onset,
and when gained, he never failed to improve it to the
defeat of his adversary. These points of difference,
have involved the reader in a doubt, as to the probable
issue of a contest between them. It was not so, however,
with the two battalions. Neither had the least
difficulty in determining the point by the most natural
and irresistible deductions a priori: and though, by the
same course of reasoning, they arrived at directly opposite
conclusions, neither felt its confidence in the least
shaken by this circumstance. The upper battalion
swore “that Billy only wanted one lick at him to knock
his heart, liver and lights out of him; and if he got two
at him, he'd knock him into a cocked hat.” The lower
battalion retorted, “that he would'nt have time to double
his fist, before Bob would put his head where his feet
meat would fly off his face so quick, that people would
think it was shook off by the fall.” These disputes
often lead to the argumentum ad hominem; but with
such equality of success on both sides, as to leave the
main question just where they found it. They usually
ended, however, in the common way, with a bet; and
many a quart of old Jamaica, (whiskey had not then
supplanted rum,) were staked upon the issue. Still,
greatly to the annoyance of the curious, Billy and Bob
continued to be good friends.
Now there happened to reside in the county, just alluded
to, a little fellow, by the name of Ransy Sniffle: a
sprout of Richmond, who, in his earlier days, had fed
copiously upon red clay and blackberries. This diet had
given to Ransy a complexion that a corpse would have
disdained to own, and an abdominal rotundity that was
quite unprepossessing. Long spells of the fever and
ague, too, in Ransy's youth, had conspired with clay and
blackberries, to throw him quite out of the order of nature.
His shoulders were fleshless and elevated; his
head large and flat; his neck slim and translucent; and
his arms, hands, fingers and feet, were lengthened out of
all proportion to the rest of his frame. His joints were
large, and his limbs small; and as for flesh, he could
not with propriety be said to have any. Those parts
which nature usually supplies with the most of this article—the
calves of the legs for example—presented in him
the appearance of so many well drawn blisters. His
height was just five feet nothing; and his average weight
in blackberry season, ninety-five. I have been thus
particular in describing him, for the purpose of showing
what a great matter a little fire sometimes kindleth.
There was nothing on this earth which delighted Ransy
so much as a fight. He never seemed fairly alive, except
a fight. Then, indeed, his deep sunken grey eye, assumed
something of a living fire; and his tongue acquired
a volubility that bordered upon eloquence. Ransy
had been kept for more than a year in the most torturing
suspense, as to the comparative manhood of Billy
Stallings and Bob Durham. He had resorted to all his
usual expedients to bring them in collision, and had entirely
failed. He had faithfully reported to Bob all that
had been said by the people in the upper battalion “agin
him,” and “he was sure Billy Stallings started it. He
heard Bill say himself, to Jim Brown, that he could whip
him, or any other man in his battalion;” and this he told
to Bob—adding, “Dod durn his soul, if he was a little
bigger, if he'd let any man put upon his battalion in
such a way.” Bob replied, “If he, (Stallings) thought
so, he'd better come and try it.” This Ransy carried
to Billy, and delivered it with a spirit becoming his own
dignity, and the character of his battalion, and with a
coloring well calculated to give it effect. These, and
many other schemes which Ransy laid, for the gratification
of his curiosity, entirely failed of their object.
Billy and Bob continued friends, and Ransy had began
to lapse into the most tantalizing and hopeless despair,
when a circumstance occurred, which led to a settlement
of the long disputed question.
It is said that a hundred game cocks will live in perfect
harmony together, if you will not put a hen with
them: and so it would have been with Billy and Bob,
had there been no women in the world. But there were
women in the world, and from them, each of our heroes
had taken to himself a wife. The good ladies were no
strangers to the prowess of their husbands, and strange
as it may seem, they presumed a little upon it.
The two battalions had met at the Court House, upon
and their wives had accompanied them. Neither knew
the other's lady, nor were the ladies known to each
other. The exercises of the day were just over, when
Mrs. Stallings and Mrs. Durham stept simultaneously
into the store of Zepheniah Atwater, from “down east.”
“Have you any Turkey-red?” said Mrs. S.
“Have you any curtain calico?” said Mrs. D. at the
same moment.
“Yes, ladies,” said Mr. Atwater, “I have both.”
“Then help me first,” said Mrs. D., “for l'm in a
hurry.”
“I'm in as great a hurry as she is,” said Mrs. S., “and
I'll thank you to help me first.”
“And pray, who are you, madam!” continued the
other.
“Your betters, madam,” was the reply.
At this moment Billy Stallings stept in. “Come,”
said he, “Nancy, lets be going; it's getting late.”
“I'd o' been gone half an hour ago,” she replied, “if
it had'nt o' been for that impudent huzzy.”
“Who do you call an impudent huzzy? you nasty,
good-for-nothing, snaggle-toothed gaub of fat, you,”
returned Mrs. D.
“Look here woman,” said Billy, “have you got a
husband here? If you have, I'll lick him till he learns
to teach you better manners, you sassy heifer you.”
At this moment something was seen to rush out of the
store, as if ten thousand hornets were stinging it; crying
“Take care—let me go—don't hold me—where's Bob
Durham?” It was Ransy Sniffle, who had been listening
in breathless delight, to all that had passed.
“Yonder's Bob, setting on the Court-house steps,”
cried one. “What's the matter?”
“Don't talk to me!” said Ransy. “Bob Durham,
wife. They're playing h—l with her there, in Zeph.
Atwater's store. Dod deternally durn my soul, if
any man was to talk to my wife as Bill Stallions
is talking to yours, if I did'nt drive blue blazes through
him in less than no time.”
Bob sprang to the store in a minute, followed by a
hundred friends; for the bully of a county never wants
friends.
“Bill Stallions,” said Bob, as he entered, “what have
you been saying to my wife?”
“Is that your wife?” inquired Billy, obviously much
surprised, and a little disconcerted.
“Yes, she is, and no man shall abuse her, I don't care
who he is.”
“Well,” rejoined Billy, “it an't worth while to go
over it—I've said enough for a fight: and if you'll step
out, we'll settle it!”
“Billy,” said Bob, “are you for a fair fight?”
“I am,” said Billy. “I've heard much of your manhood,
and I believe I'm a better man than you are. If
you will go into a ring with me, we can soon settle the
dispute.”
“Choose your friends,” said Bob; “make your ring,
and I'll be in it with mine, as soon as you will.”
They both stept out, and began to strip very deliberately;
each battalion gathering round its champion—
except Ransy, who kept himself busy, in a most honest
endeavor to hear and see all that transpired in both
groups, at the same time. He ran from one to the other,
in quick succession—peeped here, and listened there—
talked to this one—then to that one—and then to himself—squatted
under one's legs, and another's arms;
and in the short interval between stripping and stepping
into the ring, managed to get himself trod on by half of
upon this occasion:—the most intense interest prevailed
every where. Many were the conjectures,
doubts, oaths and imprecations uttered, while the parties
were preparing for the combat. All the knowing
ones were consulted as to the issue; and they all
agreed to a man, in one of two opinions: either that
Bob would flog Billy, or Billy would flog Bob. We
must be permitted, however, to dwell for a moment upon
the opinion of 'Squire Thomas Loggins; a man, who it
was said, had never failed to predict the issue of a fight, in
all his life. Indeed, so unerring had he always proved,
in this regard, that it would have been counted the most
obstinate infidelity, to doubt for a moment, after he had
delivered himself. 'Squire Loggins was a man who
said but little; but that little was always delivered with
the most imposing solemnity of look and cadence. He
always wore the aspect of profound thought, and you
could not look at him without coming to the conclusion,
that he was elaborating truth from its most intricate
combinations.
“Uncle Tommy,” said Sam Reynolds, “you can tell
us all about it, if you will—how will the fight go?”
The question immediately drew an anxious group
around the 'Squire. He raised his teeth slowly from
the head of his walking cane, on which they had been
resting—pressed his lips closely and thoughtfully together—threw
down his eye brows—dropped his chin—
raised his eyes to an angle of twenty three degrees—
paused about half a minute, and replied: “Sammy,
watch Robert Durham close in the beginning of the fight
—take care of William Stallions in the middle of it
—and see who has the wind at the end.” As he
uttered the last member of the sentence, he looked slily
at Bob's friends, and winked very significantly; whereupon
uncle Tommy had said. As they retired, the 'Squire
turned to Billy's friends, and said, with a smile: “Them
boys think I mean that Bob will whip.”
Here the other party kindled into joy, and hastened
to inform Billy how Bob's friends had deceived themselves
as to Uncle Tommy's opinion. In the meantime,
the principals and seconds, were busily employed in preparing
themselves for the combat. The plan of attack
and defence, the manner of improving the various turns
of the conflict, “the best mode of saving wind,” &c. &c.
were all discussed and settled. At length, Billy announced
himself ready, and his crowd were seen moving
to the centre of the Court House Square; he and
his five seconds in the rear. At the same time, Bob's
party moved to the same point, and in the same order.
The ring was now formed, and for a moment the silence
of death reigned through both battalions. It was soon
interrupted, however, by the cry of “clear the way!”
from Billy's seconds; when the ring opened in the centre
of the upper battalion, (for the order of march had arranged
the centre of the two battalions on opposite sides
of the circle,) and Billy stept into the ring from the east,
followed by his friends. He was stript to the trowsers,
and exhibited an arm, breast and shoulders, of the most
tremendous portent. His step was firm, daring and
martial; and as he bore his fine form a little in advance
of his friends, an involuntary burst of triumph broke
from his side of the ring; and at the same moment, an
uncontrollable thrill of awe, ran along the whole curve
of the lower battalion.
“Look at him!” was heard from his friends—“just
look at him.”
“Ben, how much you ask to stand before that man
two seconds?”
“Pshaw, don't talk about it! Just thinkin' about it 's
broke three o' my ribs a'ready!”
“What's Bob Durham going to do, when Billy let's
that arm loose upon him?”
“God bless your soul, he'll think thunder and lightning
a mint julip to it.”
“Oh, look here men, go take Bill Stallions out o' that
ring, and bring in Phil Johnson's stud horse, so that Durham
may have some chance! I don't want to see the
man killed right away.”
These and many other like expressions, interspersed
thickly with oaths of the most modern coinage, were
coming from all points of the upper battalion, while Bob
was adjusting the girth of his pantaloons, which walking
had discovered, not to be exactly right. It was just
fixed to his mind, his foes becoming a little noisy, and
his friends a little uneasy at his delay, when Billy called
out, with a smile of some meaning, “Where's the bully
of the lower battalion? I'm getting tired of waiting.”
“Here he is,” said Bob, lighting, as it seemed from
the clouds in the ring, for he had actually bounded clear
of the head of Ransy Sniffle, into the circle. His descent
was quite as imposing as Billy's entry, and excited
the same feelings, but in opposite bosoms.
Voices of exultation now rose on his side.
“Where did he come from?”
“Why,” said one of his seconds, (all having just entered,)
“we were girting him up, about a hundred yards
out yonder, when he heard Billy ask for the bully; and
he fetched a leap over the Court House, and went out of
sight; but I told them to come on, they'd find him here.”
Here the lower battalion burst into a peal of laughter,
mingled with a look of admiration, which seemed to denote
their entire belief of what they had heard.
“Boys widen the ring, so as to give him room to
jump.”
“Oh, my little flying wild cat, hold him if you can!
and when you get him fast, hold lightning next.”
“Ned what you think he's made of?”
“Steel-springs and chicken-hawk, God bless you!”
“Gentlemen,” said one of Bob's seconds, “I understand
it is to be a fair fight; catch as catch can, rough
and tumble:—no man touch 'till one or the other hollos.”
“That's the rule,” was the reply from the other
side.
“Are you ready?”
“We are ready.”
“Then blaze away my game cocks!”
At the word, Bob dashed at his antagonist at full speed;
and Bill squared himself to receive him with one of his
most fatal blows. Making his calculation from Bob's
velocity, of the time when he would come within striking
distance, he let drive with tremendous force. But Bob's
onset was obviously planned to avoid this blow; for contrary
to all expectations, he stopt short just out of arms
reach; and before Billy could recover his balance—
Bob had him “all under-hold.” The next second, sure
enough, “found Billy's head where his feet ought to be.”
How it was done, no one could tell; but as if by supernatural
power, both Billy's feet were thrown full half
his own height in the air, and he came down with a force
that seemed to shake the earth. As he struck the
ground, commingled shouts, screams and yells burst
from the lower battalion, loud enough to be heard for
miles. “Hurra my little hornet!”—“Save him!”—
“Feed him!—Give him the Durham physic till his stomach
turns!” Billy was no sooner down than Bob was
on him, and lending him awful blows about the face and
breast. Billy made two efforts to rise by main strength,
—Lay still and take it!—you bleege to have it.”
Billy now turned his face suddenly to the ground, and
rose upon his hands and knees. Bob jerked up both his
hands and threw him on his face. He again recovered
his late position, of which Bob endeavored to deprive
him as before; but missing one arm, he failed, and
Billy rose. But he had scarcely resumed his feet before
they flew up as before, and he came again to the
ground. “No fight gentlemen!” cried Bob's friends,
“the man can't stand up!—Bouncing feet are bad things
to fight in.” His fall, however, was this time comparatively
light; for having thrown his right arm round Bob's
neck, he carried his head down with him. This grasp,
which was obstinately maintained, prevented Bob from
getting on him, and they lay head to head, seeming, for
a time, to do nothing. Presently they rose, as if by mutual
consent; and as they rose, a shout broke from both
battalions. “Oh, my lark!” cried the east, “has he
foxed you? Do you begin to feel him! He's only beginning
to fight—He ain't got warm yet.”
“Look yonder!” cried the west—“did'nt I tell you
so! He hit the ground so hard, it jarred his nose off.
Now ain't he a pretty man as he stands? He shall
have my sister Sall just for his pretty looks. I want to
get in the breed of them sort o' men, to drive ugly out
of my kin folks.”
I looked and saw that Bob had entirely lost his left
ear, and a large piece from his left cheek. His right
eye was a little discolored, and the blood flowed profusely
from his wounds.
Bill presented a hideous spectacle. About a third of
his nose, at the lower extremity, was bit off, and his face
so swelled and bruised, that it was difficult to discover
features which he carried into the ring.
They were up only long enough for me to make the
foregoing discoveries, when down they went again, precisely
as before. They no sooner touched the ground
than Bill relinquished his hold upon Bob's neck. In this,
he seemed to all, to have forfeited the only advantage
which put him upon an equality with his adversary.
But the movement was soon explained. Bill wanted this
arm for other purposes than defence; and he had made
arrangements whereby he knew that he could make it
answer these purposes; for when they rose again, he
had the middle finger of Bob's left hand in his mouth.
He was now secure from Bob's annoying trips; and he
began to lend his adversary most tremendous blows,
every one of which was hailed by a shout from his
friends. “Bullets!—Hoss kicking!—Thunder!”—
“That'll do for the face—now feel his short ribs, Billy!”
I now considered the contest settled. I deemed it impossible
for any human being to withstand for five
seconds, the loss of blood which issued from Bob's ear,
cheek, nose and finger, accompanied with such blows as
he was receiving. Still he maintained the conflict, and
gave blow for blow with considerable effect. But the
blows of each became slower and weaker, after the first
three or four; and it became obvious, that Bill wanted
the room, which Bob's finger occupied, for breathing.
He would therefore, probably, in a short time, have let it
go, had not Bob anticipated his politeness, by jerking
away his hand, and making him a present of the finger.
He now seized Bill again, and brought him to his knees
—but he recovered. He again brought him to his knees;
and he again recovered. A third effort, however,
brought him down, and Bob on top of him. These efforts
seemed to exhaust the little remaining strength of
breast, motionless, and panting for breath. After a short
pause, Bob gathered his hand full of dirt and sand, and
was in the act of grinding it in his adversary's eyes,
when Bill cried “Enough!”—Language cannot describe
the scene which followed—the shouts, oaths, frantic jestures,
taunts, replies and little fights; and therefore I
shall not attempt it. The champions were borne off
by their seconds, and washed: when many a bleeding
wound, and ugly bruise, was discovered on each, which
no eye had seen before.
Many had gathered round Bob, and were in various
ways congratulating and applauding him, when a voice
from the centre of the circle cried out: “Boys, hush
and listen to me!” It proceeded from Squire Loggins,
who had made his way to Bob's side, and had gathered
his face up into one of its most flattering and intelligible
expressions. All were obedient to the Squire's command.
“Gentlemen, continued he, with a most knowing
smile, “is—Sammy—Reynold—in—this—company—
of—gentlemen.” “Yes,” said Sam, “here I am.”
“Sammy,” said the Squire, winking to the company,
and drawing the head of his cane to his mouth with an
arch smile, as he closed, “I—wish—you—to tell—cousin—Bobby—and—these—gentlemen
here present—
what—your—uncle—Tommy—said—before—the—
fight—began?” “Oh! get away, uncle Tom,” says
Sam, smiling, (the Squire winked,) “you don't know
nothing about fighting.” (The 'Squire winked again.)
“All you know about it, is how it 'll begin; how it 'll go
on; how it 'll end; that's all. Cousin Bob, when you
going to fight again, just go to the old man, and let him
tell you all about it. If he can't, don't ask nobody else
nothing about it, I tell you.” The Squire's foresight
was complimented in many ways by the by-standers;
fighting was a bad business.”
Durham and Stallings kept their beds for several
weeks, and did not meet again for two months. When
they met, Billy stepped up to Bob and offered his hand,
saying: “Bobby you've licked me a fair fight; but you
would'nt have done it, if I had'nt been in the wrong. I
ought'nt to have treated your wife as I did; and I felt so
through the whole fight; and it sort o' cowed me.”
Well Billy,” said Bob, let's be friends. Once in the fight,
when you had my finger in your mouth, and was pealing
me in the face and breast, I was going to hollo; but I
thought of Betsy, and knew the house would be too hot
for me, if I got whipt, when fighting for her, after always
whipping when I fought for myself.”
“Now, that's what I always love to see,” said a by-stander:
“It's true, I brought about the fight; but I
would'nt have done it, if it had'nt o' been on account of
Miss, (Mrs.) Durham. But dod deternally durn my
soul, if I ever could stand by and see any woman put
upon—much less Miss Durham. If Bobby had'nt been
there, I'd o' took it up myself, be durned if I would'nt,
even if I'd o' got whipt for it—But we're all friends
now.” The reader need hardly be told, this was Ransy
Sniffle.
Thanks to the Christian religion, to schools, colleges,
and benevolent associations, such scenes of barbarism
and cruelty, as that which I have been just describing,
are now of rare occurrence: though they may still be
occasionally met with in some of the new counties.
Wherever they prevail, they are a disgrace to that community.
The peace officers who countenance them,
deserve a place in the Penitentiary.
HALL.
| THE FIGHT. Georgia scenes | |