A quarter race in Kentucky and other sketches, illustrative of scenes, characters, and incidents throughout "the universal Yankee nation." |
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KICKING A YANKEE. |
 | A quarter race in Kentucky |  |
KICKING A YANKEE.
BY JOS. M. FIELD, ESQ., OF THE ST. LOUIS "REVEILLE."
Few men of his age have written so much and so well as Mr.
Field, whose contributions to the press, under the signatures
of "Straws," "Everpoint," etc., etc., would make a large and
most amusing series of pen and ink sketches. His facility
of composition is not less surprising than his industry, for he
has been for years either engaged in the laborious profession
of the stage, or writing for a daily newspaper.
A very handsome friend of ours, who a few weeks ago
was poked out of a comfortable office up the river, has
betaken himself to Bangor, for a time, to recover from
the wound inflicted upon his feelings by our "unprincipled
and immolating administration."
Change of air must have had an instantaneous effect
upon his spirits, for, from Galena, he writes us an
amusing letter, which, among other things, tells us of a
desperate quarrel that took place on board of the boat
between a real live dandy tourist, and a real live Yankee
settler. The latter trod on the toes of the former;
whereupon the former threatened to "Kick out of the
cabin" the latter.
"You'll kick me out of this cabing?"
"Yes, sir, I'll kick you out of this cabin!"
"You'll kick me, Mr. Hitchcock, out of this cabing?"
"Yes, sir, I'll kick you, Mr. Hitchcock!"
"Wal, I guess," said the Yankee, very coolly, after
being perfectly satisfied that it was himself who stood
in such imminent peril of assault—"I guess, since you
talk of kicking, you've never heard me tell about old
Bradley and my mare, there, to hum?"
"No, sir, nor do I wish—"
"Wal, guess it won't set you back much, any how,
as kicking's generally best to be considered on. You
see old Bradley is one of these sanctimonious, long-faced
hypocrites, who put on a religious suit every
Sabbath morning, and with a good deal of screwing,
manage to keep it on till after sermon in the afternoon;
and as I was a Universalist, he allers picked me out as
a subject for religious conversation—and the darned
hypocrite would talk about heaven, hell, and the devil—
the crucifixion and prayer, without ever winking. Wal,
he had an old roan mare that would jump over any
fourteen-rail fence in Illinois, and open any door in my
barn that hadn't a padlock on it. Tu or three times I
found her in my stable, and I told Bradley about it, and
he was `very sorry'—`an unruly animal'—`would watch
her,' and a hull lot of such things, all said in a very
serious manner, with a face twice as long as old Deacon
Farrar's on Sacrament day. I knew all the time he was
lying, and so I watched him and his old roan tu; and
for three nights regular, old roan came to my stable
about bedtime, and just at daylight Bradley would come,
bridle her, and ride off. I then just took my old mare
down to a blacksmith's shop, and had some shoes made
with `corks' about four inches long, and had 'em nailed
on to her hind feet. Your heels, mister, aint nuthing
tu 'em. I took her home, give her about ten feet
her well with oats about nine o'clock, and after taking
a good smoke, went to bed, knowing that my old mare
was a truth-telling animal, and that she'd give a good
report of herself in the morning. I hadn't got fairly to
sleep before the old 'oman hunched me and wanted to
know what on airth was the matter out at the stable.
Says I, `Go tu sleep, Peggy, it is nothing but Kate—
she is kicking off flies, I guess!' Purty soon she
hunched me agin, and says she, `Mr. Hitchcock, du git
up and see what in the world is the matter with Kate,
for she is kicking most powerfully.' `Lay still, Peggy,
Kate will take care of herself, I guess.' Wal, the next
morning, about daylight, Bradley, with bridle in hand,
cum to the stable, as true as the book of Genesis; when
he saw the old roan's sides, starn, and head, he cursed
and swore worse than you did, mister, when I came
down on your toes. Arter breakfast that morning Joe
Davis cum to my house, and says he, `Bradley's old
roan is nearly dead—she's cut all to pieces and can
scarcely move.' `I want to know,' says I, `how on
airth did it happen?' Now Joe Davis was a member
of the same church with Bradley, and whilst we were
talking, up cum that everlastin' hypocrite, and says he,
`Mr. Hitchcock, my old roan is ruined!' `Du tell,'
says I. `She is cut all to pieces,' says he; `do you
know whether she was in your stable, Mr. Hitchcock,
last night?' Wal, mister, with this I let out: `Do I
know it?'—(the Yankee here, in illustration, made a
sudden advance upon the dandy, who made way for
him unconsciously, as it were)—`Do I know it, you
no-souled, shad-bellied, squash-headed, old night-owl
cent-shavin', whitlin'-of-nuthin' you!—Kate kicks like
a mere dumb beast, but I've reduced the thing to a
science!' " The Yankee had not ceased to advance, or
the dandy, in his astonishment, to retreat; and now, the
motion of the latter being accelerated by an apparent
demonstration on the part of the former to "suit the
action to the word," he found himself in the "social
hall," tumbling backwards over a pile of baggage, and
tearing the knees of his pants as he scrambled up, a
perfect scream of laughter stunning him from all sides.
The defeat was total:—a few moments afterwards he
was seen dragging his own trunk ashore, while Mr.
Hitchcock finished his story on the boiler deck.
"The Yankee had not ceased to advance, nor the Dandy, in his astonishment,
to retreat."
| A quarter race in Kentucky | |