University of Virginia Library

THE GEORGIA MAJOR IN COURT.

His honour, the mayor, was in the discharge of his
official functions on last Saturday evening—the business
before him consisting of two several charges of assault
and battery; to both of which our friend, the ubiquitous
"Georgia major," was the respondent.

"Do you plead guilty to the charge of assaulting the
Rev. Mr. Williams?" asked the mayor of the defendant.

"I do; that is to say—"

"Then I fine you ten dollars," said the mayor.

"That is to say," continued the major, "I plead
guilty; but if there's any way to get off from the fine, I
should like very much to do it."

"Doubtless," observed his honour.

"I will make a statement—or, as you may say, a
defence—um—a-a-few remarks."

The court nodded permission.

"You see, Williams came up to me, and spoke something
to me, and, said I, You d—d rascal, pull off your
hat when you speak to me:" said the major, throwing

himself into a military attitude. "That's enough—
ten dollars and costs," said his honour. The major
bowed gracefully.

Proceeding now to the second charge, his honour
asked the defendant if he would plead guilty again.
Not he! He would make a statement though, in relation,
or in respect to, or regarding, the manner of the
second fight.

"I was in the person's store who fought me, searching
for one of the silver eyes which had dropped out of
my walking cane in the previous fight, when that person
ordered me out. Sir, said I, you must talk softly—
dem'd softly when you address me, sir. Upon this, that
person struck me with a skillet, sir—an iron skillet, sir
—in the face." Here the major pointed to his face,
the nasal feature of which bore some purplish streaks
that beautifully varied its usual rich ruby. "And then,
sir, I fell—staggered and fell, as I returned the blow
with my cane. Immediately a crowd jumped upon me,
and beat me 'til they were pulled off—they didn't whip
me, though; that ca-n't be done!" Here he stopped
and looked round—(by the by we thought we heard
the major "holler.")

A witness being called and examined, corroborated
the major's statement, except as to the crowd's having
jumped upon him. No one interfered with the combatants.
The witness stated, in addition, that the major
had contrived to hide his head under the side of a hogshead,
so as to protect it very effectually.

The major cross-examined.

"You say nobody touched me but that man?" pointing
to his antagonist.

"Nobody."

"Wasn't the crowd all against me?" again asked the
hero.

"The crowd thought you deserved a whipping, for
striking an inoffensive man—a minister of the gospel,"
replied the witness very quietly.

"Didn't they all tell that man to whip me well?"

"Yes."

"And didn't he—that is—"

"Didn't he do it, you mean to ask? Yes he did,
nicely."

The major now "pulled up." He had been deceived;
his imagination had led him into error; completely
carried him off; had transformed an individual not over
the weight of a hundred and fifty pounds, into a large
crowd; or at least had furnished him with Briarean facilities
for a "rough and tumble scrummage."

"Well, well," said the mayor, "as I have already
fined you ten dollars, and as it seems in this case you
got a pretty good whipping, I reckon I must discharge
you as to this."

"Whipping?" ejaculated the major, becoming positively
tragic in his air; "whipping! is that a part of
your sentence—that I got whipped? Sir, I'd rather be
fined five hundred dollars than have that entered on the
record; it wasn't done! I, sir, have never been whipped—Angels
couldn't whip me!" And the major
loomed majestically about the room.

"If it ain't been done, it kin be done," said somebody
in the crowd—whereupon our friend collapsed into his
original dimensions, in the folding of a peacock's tail;
and wiping the perspiration from his brow, quietly retired.