Chapter VI: Front Matter (6)

Far, very far away from the tall Blue Mountains, at a little place called Lodom, there were upon a time three neighbours called in, as arbitrators, to settle a point relative to some stolen chickens, in dispute between one Lot Corson, and a “hard case” called Emanuel Allen, better known thereabouts as King of the Marsh.

“Mister Constable,” said one of the semi-judicials, “now call the principal witness.”

“Lanty Oliphant! Lanty Oliph-ant!” bawled Dogberry; “Mosey in, and be sworn!”

In obedience to this summons, little Lanty, whose bottle had usurped the place in his affections commonly assigned to soap and water, waddled up, and was qualified, deprecating, by a look, the necessity of such a useless ceremony among gentlemen.

“Mister Oliphant, you are now swore. Do you know the value of an oath?” asked the senior of the board.

“Doesn’t I?” rejoined Lanty, with a wink at a bystander. “Four bushel of weight wheat, the old score wiped off, and licker for the hul day throw’d in.”

This matter-of-fact answer met a severe frown from the man with the red ribbon round his hat.

“Well, Mister Oliphant,” continued the senior, “tell all you know about this here case.”

Lanty here testified:

“Feelin’ a sort of outish t’other day,” ses I to the old woman, ses I, ‘I’ll jist walk over to Lot’s, and take a nipper or two this mornin’,’ ses I. ‘It’ll take the wind off my stomach sorter,’ ses I. Then the old woman’s feathers riz, they did, like a porky-pine’s bristles, and ses she:

“‘Lanty,’ says she, ‘if you’d on’y airn more bread and meat, and drink less whisky, you wouldn’t have wind on your stomach.’

“‘Suse,’ ses I, ‘this is one of my resarved rights, and I goes agin home industry,’ ses I, sort o’ laugh-in’ out o’ the wrong side o’ my mouth.

“‘Resarved rights or desarved wrongs,’ ses her, ‘you’r always a drinkin’ and talkin’ politics when you orter be at work, and there’s never nothin’ to eat in the house.’

“Well, as I was a-goin’ over to Lot’s, jist fernent where the fence _was_, ses I to myself, ses I: ‘If there isn’t the old King’s critters in my corn-field, so I’ll jist go and tell him on’t.’ When I gets there, ‘Good mornin’, Lanty,’ ses he.

“‘Good mornin’, old hoss,’ ses I; and when I went in, there was a pot on the fire a-cookin’, with a _great big speckled rooster_ in it.”

“Mister Oliphant!” here interposed one of the arbitrators, “remember that you are on oath. How do you know that the chicken in the pot was ‘a big speckled rooster?’”

“’Kase I _seed the feathers at the woodpile_!” promptly responded Lanty, who then continued:

“Well, when I gits to Lot’s, ‘Good mornin’, Lot,’ ses I.

“‘Good mornin’, Lanty,’ ses he. ‘You didn’t see nothin’ nowhere of nar’ a big speckled rooster that didn’t belong to nobody, did you?’ ses he.

“‘Didn’t I?’ ses I.

“‘Come, Lanty,’ ses he, ‘let’s take a nipper,’ ses he; and then I up and tells him all about it.”

“Had Mr. Allen no chickens of his own?” asked the senior.

“Sartin’,” rejoined Lanty; “but there warn’t a rooster in the crowd. They was _all layin’ hens_!”

“Well,” inquired another of the referees, “how many of these hens had Mr. Allen?”

This question fairly “stump’d” Lanty for a moment, but he quickly answered:

“Why, with what was there, and what wasn’t there, counting little and big, spring chickens and all, _there was forty odd, exactly_!”

No further questions were put to this witness.

XXIV.
OLD SINGLETIRE.[15]
THE MAN THAT WAS NOT ANNEXED.

A good story is told of this bold frontiersman, who had made himself notorious, and given his character the _bend sinister_, by frequent depredations on both sides the boundary line between Texas and the United States. The old fellow had migrated thither from parts unknown, years since, knew every foot of country for fifty miles on either side in his vicinity, and had communication by runners with many “_birds of the same feather_,” then common in the region.

The old fellow saw, with sorrow and regret, the rapid influx of population within the last ten years, and was compelled gradually to narrow his sphere of _usefulness_; for, said he:

“People’s a gittin’ too thick about me—tha and their varmints and critters is fillin’ up the woods and spilin’ the huntin’—and then tha ain’t no chance for a fellar to _speculate_ upon travellers as tha used to be when tha wan’t anybody to watch a fellar. Why, tha is getten to be so _civylizated_ that a fellar can’t drink a barrel of double-rectified ’thout havin’ ’em all abusin’ him about it—and then ef he do as happen jist by accident to drap half an ounce of lead into a feller, why tha is all up in arms about it. Now t’other day, when I wanted to mark Joe Sliteses’ ears like tha marks their hogs, ’case he called me a vill-_yan_, they wanted to _jewdicate_ me afore the court. But, ’cuse ’em for a set of fools, they ain’t a-gwoin’ to fool ‘Old Singletire,’ ef he is a-gitten old, and ain’t as quick on the trigger as he used to was.

“Dang their skins, I don’t care ef tha _does_ annexate Texas! I’ll show ’em somethin’—tho’ tha thinks tha is got me slick when tha git the two countries wedged up into one—but I’ll fix ’em; I’ll quit, and go to Arkansaw, whar a decent white man kin live ’thout bein’ pestered, and ’bused and _jewdicated_!”

“Old Single,” as he was called, _for short_, had several years previous to the late discussion of the annexation question, with singular ’cuteness ascertained the precise line dividing the two territories, and built his cabin thereon in such a position, that, when lying down, _he slept, one half in the United States, and the other half in Texas_, for he lay at right angles with the line.

The authorities of both sides had frequently found him in that position, but as their separate claims lay severally on the _entire_ individual, they were not content to arrest _one half of him_ at a time. A great deal of courtesy was at times exhibited by the officers, each pressing the other to break the forms of international law by pulling Old Single bodily over either side of the line. Each was up to trap, and feared the other wished to trick him, and declined the effort which might cause a rupture between Texas and the Union.

On one occasion they were exceedingly pressing on the subject, at first politely so, then teasing each other, and then daring by taunt, and jeer, and jibe, until they worked themselves into such furious excitement, that “Old Single,” their pretended victim, had to command and preserve the peace.

“Gentle-_men_,” said he, “you may fun, and fret, and quarrel jist as much as you please in my house—but when tha is any lickin’ to be done ’bout these diggins, why “Old Single” is _thar sure_!—so look out boys, ef you strikes you _dies_. Show your sense, make friends, and let’s _liker_. You,” nodding to one, “hand me a gourd of water; and You,” to another, “pass that bottle, and I’ll drink to your better ’quaintance.”

The day passed, “Old Single” crosses the line, and one of the _beauties_ on each side his cot, all going it like forty at twenty-deck poker—a sociable game, as Sol. Smith says—and, as remarked our informant, “the old man was a perfect _Cumanche horse_ at any game whar tha was _curds_.”

For the last three months “Old Single” had been mightily distressed—“_mighty oneasy ’bout annexation_”—for he knew he would be compelled to travel. Well, the news of the action of Texas on this great question was received in “Old Single’s” vicinity on the 29th of June—the day it reached Fort Jessup.

Next morning “the boys” from Boston and De Kalb—a couple of border villages—after a glory gathering about annexation, determined to storm “Old Single,” and “_rout_” him. They accordingly, _en masse à-la-regulator_, started off for his cabin, and on arriving near it, a consultation was held, and it was determined that bloodshed was useless—as it was certain to occur if violence was resorted to—and that a flag of truce should be sent into the fortress, offering terms.

The old man was found in a gloomy mood, with a pack strapped to his back, in woodsman style. “Old _Centresplit_,” his friend of thirty years’ standing, his rifle, his favourite, his all, was laid across his knees, and he in deep thought, his eyes resting on vacancy. As the delegation entered, he looked up:

“Well, boys, the time is _cum_, and Texas and you is annixated; _but I ain’t_, and I _ain’t a gwoin’ to be nuther!—so take care how you raise my dander; I can shoot sum yet!_”

The party explained, and it was agreed the old fellow should take up the march _upon the line_ for the nearest point on Red River, the party escorting him at twenty paces distant on either side—that the last mile should be run—that if he struck the water’s edge first, he should go free—if otherwise, he was to be taken and rendered up a victim to the offended dignity of the laws.

“_Agreed_,” said Old Single, “it’s a bargain. Boys, tha is a _gallon_ in that barrel, let’s finish it in a friendly way, and then travel.”

The thing was done, the travel accomplished, and the race, fast and furious, was being done. The old fellow led the crowd, hallooing at his topmost voice as he gained the river:

“Hoopee!—Hurrah!—_I ain’t annixated!—I’m off—I ain’t no whar—nuther in the States nor Texas_, BUT IN ARKANSAW!” swam to the opposite shore, fired a volley, gave three cheers, and retired victorious.

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[15] By the late Robert Patterson.

XXV.
MAJOR JONES’S COURTSHIP.