13. AN AFFAIR OF HONOR.
In the pleasant village of Patton's-Hill, in the Flush
Times, there were several resorts for the refreshment of the
weary traveller, and for the allaying of the chronic thirst of
more than one of the inhabitants of the place and the country
adjacent. They are closed now, as are the gaping portals
of those who were wont in the wild days, to “indulge”
in exciting beverages. A staid, quiet, moral and intelligent
community have supplied the place of many of the early
settlers “who left their country for their country's good;”
and churches, school-houses and Lodges now are prominent
where the “doggery” made wild work with “the peace and
dignity of the State,” and the respectability and decency of
particular individuals.
In the old times there came into the village of a Saturday
evening, a company more promiscuous than select, who
gathered, like bees at the mouth of a hive, around the doors
of the grocery. On one of these occasions a scene occurred,
which I think worthy of commemoration; and it may be relied
upon as authentic, in the main, as it came regularly before
the Court as a part of the proceedings of a trial in a
State case.
Jonas Sykes was a very valiant man when in liquor.
But Jonas, like a good many other valiant men, was more
valiant in peace than in war. He was a very Samson in
fight—but, like Samson, he liked to do battle with that description
of weapon which so scattered the Philistine hosts
—that jaw-bone—one of which Nature had furnished Jonas
with. Jonas was prodigal in the jaw-work and wind-work
of a fight, and he could outswear “our army in Flanders.”
He had method in his madness, too, as he showed in selecting
his enemies. He always knew, or thought he knew, how
much a man would stand before he commenced “abusing”
him, and his wrath grew the fiercer according as the patience
of his enemy grew greater, and he was more fierce—like a
bull-dog chained—as he was the more held off.
Jonas had picked a quarrel with a quiet, demure fellow
of the name of Samuel Mooney, and lavished upon that gentleman's
liver, soul and eyes, many expressions much more
fervid than polite or kind. Sam stood it for some time, but
at length, like a terrapin with coals on his back, even his
sluggish spirit could stand it no longer. He began to retort
on Jonas some of the inverted compliments with which Jonas
had besprinkled him. Whereupon Jonas felt his chivalry
so moved thereat, that he challenged him to mortal
combat.
Now, Jonas, as most bullies did at that time, went armed.
Samuel had no weepins, as he called those dangerous implements,
and gave that fact as an apology for not accepting
Jonas's kind invitation. But Jonas would not “hear to”
any such paltry excuse; he denounced Sam, for a white-livered
poltroon, who would insult a gentleman (thereby
meaning himself), and then refuse him satisfaction, and swore
he would post him up all over town; regretting that he did
not have the chance of blowing a hole through his carcass with
his “Derringer” that “a bull-bat could fly through without
tetching airy wing,” and giving him his solemn word of
honor that if he, (Sam,) would only fight him, (Jonas,) he,
(Jonas,) wouldn't hit him, (Sam,) an inch above his hipbone—which
certainly was encouraging.
Sam still protested he was weaponless. “Well,” said
Jonas, “you shan't have that excuse any longer. I've got
two as good pistols as ever was bought at Orleens, and you
may have choice.” And pulling one out of either side
pocket, he produced two pistols very much alike, and, advancing
to Sam, put his hands behind him and shuffled them
from hand to hand a moment or two, and then held them
forward—one rather in advance of the other—towards Sam,
telling him to take which he chose. Sam took the one nearest
to him, and Jonas called out to Bob Dobbs, who stood
by, “to put them through in a fair duel,” and called the
crowd to witness “that he done it to the — rascal accordin'
to law.” Bob willingly accepted the honorable position
assigned him; commanded order; made the crowd stand
back:—measured off the ground—ten paces—and stationed
the combatants sidewise in duelling position. Bob then
armed himself with a scythe blade, and flourishing it in the
air, swore death and destruction to all who should interfere
by word, look, or sign.
Bob took his position at a right angle between two, and
gave out in a loud and sonorous voice the programme of
proceedings. “Gentlemen,” said he, “the rules are as follows:
the parties are to be asked—`Gentlemen are you
`ready'—answering Yes, I, as mutual second, will then pronounce
the words slowly, `Fire: one—two—three;' the
parties to fire as they choose between the words Fire and
three, and if either fires before or after the time, I shall proceed
to put him to death without quarter, bail or main
prize.” Micajah F., a lawyer present, suggested, “or benefit
of clergy.” “Yes,” said Bob, “or the benefit of a
clergyman.”
Bob then proceeded to give the words out. At the
word two Jonas's pistol snapped, but Sam's went off, the
ball striking a button on Jonas's drawers and cutting off a
little of the skin. Jonas fell—his legs flying up in the air,
and shouting, “Murder! Murder! he's knocked off all the
lower part of my abdomen. Send for a doctor! quick!
quick! Oh! Lordy! oh! Lordy! I'm a dead man: the
other fellow got the—wrong—pistol!” (And so he had; for
on examining Jonas's pistol, it was found to have had no
load in it. Jonas, by mistake in shuffling, having given the
loaded one to Sam and kept the empty one himself.)
The testimony in the case was related with such comic
humor by one of the witnesses, that the jury were thrown
into convulsions of laughter; and the case being submitted
without argument, the verdict was a fine of one cent only
against the combatants.
Jonas immediately retired from the bullying business
after that time, and as soon as he could get his affairs wound
up, like “the star of Empire,” “westward took his way.”
