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6
G'LOB&I'A SCENES.
Sy Judge Augustus Saidlvin Longstreet.
THE HORSE SWAP.
During the session of the supreme
court, in the village of , about
three weeks ago, when a number of
people were collected in the princi
pal street of the village, I observed
a young man riding up and down
the street, as I supposed, in a violent
passion. He galloped this way, then
that, and then the other; spurred his
horse to one group of citizens, and
to another; then dashed off at half
speed, as if fleeing from danger; and,
suddenly checking his horse, return
ed first in a pace, then in a trot, and
then in a canter. While he was per
forming these various evolutions, he
cursed, swore, whooped, screamed,
and tossed himself in every attitude
which man could assume on horse
back. In short, he cavorted most
magnanimously (a term which, in our
tongue, expresses all that I have de
scribed, and a little more), and seem
ed to be setting all creation at de
fiance. As I like to see all that is
passing, I determined to take a posi
tion a little nearer to him, and to
ascertain, if possible, what it was
that affected him so sensibly. Ac
cordingly, I approached a crowd be
fore which he had stopped for a mo
ment, and examined it with the
strictest scrutiny. But I could see
nothing in it that seemed to have
anything to do with the cavorter. Ev
ery man appeared to be in good hu
mor, and all minding their own busi
ness. Not one so much as noticed
the principal figure. Still he went
on. After a semicolon pause, which
my appearance seemed to produce
(for he eyed me closely as I ap
proached), he fetched a whoop, and
swore that “he could out-swap any
live man, woman or child that ever
walked these hills, or that ever strad
dled horseflesh since the days of old
Daddy Adam.” “Stranger,” he
said to me, “did you ever see the
Yaller Blossom from Jasper?”
“No,” said I, “but I have often
heard of him.”
“I’m the boy,” continued he;
“perhaps a leeitle, jist a leetle, of the
best man at a horse-swap that ever
trod shoe leather.”
I began to feel my situation a lit
tle awkward, when I was relieved by
a man somewhat advanced in years,
who stepped up and began to survey
the “Yaller Blossom’s” horse with
much apparent interest. This drew
the rider’s attention, and he turned
the conversation from me to the
stranger.
“Well, my old coon,” said he, “do
you want to swap horses?”
“Why, I don’t know,” replied the
stranger; “I believe I’ve got a beast
I’d trade with you for that one, if
you like him.”
“Well, fetch up your nag, my old
cock; you’re jist the lark I wanted
to get hold of. I am perhaps a leetle,
jist a leetle, of the best man at a
horse-swap 'that ever stole crackling
out of his mammy’s fat-gourd.
Where’s your hoss?”
“I’ll bring him presently; but I
want to examine your horse a lit
tle.”
“Oh! look at him,” said the Blos
som, alighting and hitting him a cut;
“look at him. He’s the best piecfe
of horseflesh in the thirteen united
universal worlds. There’s no sort o’
mistake in little bullet. He can pick
up miles on his feet, and fling ’em
behind him as fast as the next man’s
hoss, I don’t care where he comes
from. And lie can keep at it as long
as the sun can shine without rest
ing.”
During this harangue, little Bullet
looked as if he understood it all, be
lieved it, and was ready at any mo
ment to verify it. He was a horse
of goodly countenance, rather ex
pressive of vigilance than fire; though
an unnatural appearance of fierce
ness was thrown into it by the loss
of his ears, which had been cropped
pretty close to his head. Nature had
done very little fo<r Bullet’s head
and neck; but he managed, in a great
measure, to hide their defects by
bowing perpetually. He had obvious
ly suffered severely for corn; but if
his ribs and hip bone? had not dis
closed the fact, he never would have
done it; for he was in all respects as
cheerful and happy as if he com
manded all the corn-cribs and fodder
stacks in Georgia.
His height was about twelve hands;
but as his shape partook somewhat
of that of the giraffe, his haunches
stood much lower. They were short,
straight, peaked, and concave. Bul
let’s tail, however, made amends for
all other defects. All that the ar
tist could do to beautify it had been
done; and all that horse could do to
compliment the artist, Bullet did.
His tail was nicked in superior style,
and exhibited the line of beauty in
so many directions that it could not
fail to hit the most fastidious taste
in some of them. From the root it
dropped into a graceful festoon; then
rose in a handsome curve; then re
sumed its first direction; and then
mounted suddenly upward like a cy
press knee to a perpendicular of
about two and a half inches. The
whole had a careless and bewitching
inclination to the right. Bullet ob
viously knew where his beauty lay,
and took all occasions to display it
to the best advantage. If a stick
cracked, or if any one moved sud
denly about him, or coughed, or
hawked, or spoke a little louder than
common, up went Bullet’s tail like
lightning; and if the going up did not
pleiase, the coming down mutsit of
necessity, for it was as different
from the other movement as was its
direction. The first was a bold and
rapid flight upward, usually to an
angle of forty-five degrees. In this
position he kept his interesting ap
pendage until he satisfied himself
that nothing in particular was to be
done; when he commenced dropping
it by half inches, in second beats,
then in triple time, then faster and
shorter, and faster and shorter still,
until it finally died away impercepti
bly into its natural position. If I
might compare sights to sounds. 1
should say its settling was more like
the note of a locust than anything
else in nature.
Either from native sprightliness of
discipline, from uncontrollable ac
tivity, or from an unconquerable
habit of removing flies by the stamp
ing of the feet, Bullet never stood
THE WEEKLY JEFFERSONIAN.
still; but always kept up a gentle,
fly-searing movement of his limbs,
which was peculiarly interesting.
“I tell you, man,” proceeded the
Yellow Blossom, “he’s the best live
hoss that ever trod the grit of Geor
gia. Bob Smart knows the hoss.
Come here, Bob, and mount this hoss,
and show Bullet’s motions.”
Here Bullet bristled up, and looked
as if he had been hunting for Bob
all day long, and had just found him.
Bob sprang on his back. “800-oo
oo!” said Bob, with a fluttering noise
of the lips; and away went Bullet, as
if in a quarter race, with all his
beauties spread in handsome style.
“Now, fetch him back,” said Blos
som. Bullet turned and came in
pretty much as he went out.
“Now, trot him by.” Bullet re
duced his tail to “customary”; sid
led to the right and left airily, and
exhibited at least three varieties of
trot in the short space of fifty yards.
11 Make him pace. ’ ’ Bob com
menced twitching the bridle and kick
ing at the same time. These incon
sistent movements obviously (and
naturally), disconcerted Bullet; for
it was impossible for him to learn,
from them, whether he was to pro
ceed or stand still. He started to
trot, and was told that it wouldn’t
do. He attempted a canter, and was
checked again. He stopped, and was
urged to go on. Bullet now rushed
into the wide field of experiment, and
struck out a gait of his own, that
completely turned the tables upon
his rider, and certainly deserved a
patent. It seemed to have derived
its elements from the jig, the min
uet and the cotillon. If it was not
a pace, it certainly had pace in it,
and no man could venture to call it
anything else; so it passed off to
the satisfaction of the owner.
“Walk him.” Bullet was now ait
home again; and he walked as if
money was staked on him.
The stranger, whose name, I af
terward learned, was Peter Ketch,
having examined Bullet to his heart’s
content, ordered his son Neddy to
go and bring up Kit. Neddy soon
appeared upon Kit; a well-formed
sorrel of the middle size, and in good
order. His tout ensemble threw Bul
let entirely in the shade, though a
glance was sufficient to satisfy any
one that Bullet had the decided ad
vantage of him in point of intel
lect.
“Why, man,” said Blossom, “do
you bring such a hoss as that to
trade for Bullet? Oh, I see you’re
no notion of trading.”
“Ride him off, Neddy,” said Pe
ter. Kit put off at a handsome lope.
“Trot him back.” Kit came in at
a long, sweeping trot, and stopped
suddenly at the crowd.
“Well,” said Blossom, “let me
look at him; maybe he ’ll do to
plough. ’ ’
“Examine him!” said Peter, tak
ing hold of the bridle close to the
mouth; “he’s nothing but a tacky.
He ain’t as pretty a horse as Bul
let, I know; but he’ll do. Start ’em
together for a hundred and fifty
mile, and if Kit ain’t twenty mile
ahead of him at the coming out, any
man may take Kit for nothing. But
he’s a monstrous mean horse, gentle
men; any man may see that. He’s
the scariest horse, too, you ever saw.
He won’t do to hunt on, nohow.
Stranger, will you let Neddy have
your rifle to shoot off him ? Lay
the rifle between his ears, Neddy, and
shoot at the blaze in that stump.
Tell me when his head is high
enough.”
Ned fired, and hit the blaze; and
Kit did not move a hair’s breadth.
“Neddy, take a couple of sticks,
and beat on that hogshead at Kit’s
tail.”
Ned made a tremendous rattling,
at which Bullet took fright, broke
his bridle, and dashed off in grand
style; and would have stopped all
further negotiations by going home
in disgust, had not a traveler ar
rested him and brought him back;
but Kit did not move.
“I tell you, gentlemen,” continued
Peter, “he’s the scariest horse you
ever saw. He ain’t as gentle as Bul
let, but he won’t do any harm if
you watch him. .Shall I put him in
a cart, gig or wagon for you, stran
ger? He’ll cut the same capers
there he does here. He’s a mon
strous mean horse.”
During all this time Blossom was
examining him with the nicest scru
tiny. Having examined his frame
and limbs, he now looked at his eyes.
“He’s got a curious look out of
his eyes,” said Blossom.
“Oh, yes, sir,” said Peter, “just
as blind as a bat. Blind horses al
ways have clear eyes. Make a moj
tion at his eyes, if you please, sir?®
Blossom did so, and Kit threw u®
his head, rather, as if
pricked him under the chin than as
if fearing a blow. Blossom repeated
the experiment, and Kit jerked back
in considerable astonishment.
“Stone blind, you see, gentlemen,”
proceeded Peter; “but he’s just as
good to travel of a dark night as if
he had eyes.”
“Blame my buttons!” said Blos
som, “if I like them eyes.”
“No,” said Peter, “nor I, neither.
I’d rather have ’em made of dia
monds; but they’ll do, if they don’t
show as much white as Bullet’s.”
“Well,” said Blossom, “make a
pass at me.”
“No,” said Peter; “you made the
banter; now make your pass.”
“Well, I’m never afraid to price
my hosses. You must give me twen
ty-five dollars ’boot.”
“Oh, certainly; say fifty, and my
saddle and bridle in. Here, Neddy,
my son, take away daddy’s horse.”
“Well,” said Blossom, “I’ve
ipade my pass, now you make yours. ’ ’
“I’m for short talk in a horse
swap, and, therefore, always tell a
gentleman ait once what I mean to
do. You must give me ten dollars.”
Blossom swore absolutely, roundly,
and profanely, that he never would
give ’boot.
“Well,” said Peter, “I don’t care
about trading; but you cut such high
shines, that I thought I’d like to
back you out, and I’ve done it. Gen
tlemen, you see I’ve brought him to
a hack.”
“Come on, old man,” said Blos
som, “I’ve been joking with you. I
begin to think you do want to trade;
therefore, give me five dollars and
take Bullet. I’d rather lose ten dol
lars any time than not to make e
trade, though I hate to fling away
a good hoss.”
“Well,” said Peter, “I’ll be as
clever as you are. Just put five dol
lars on Bullet’s back, and hand him
over; it’? a fpide,’ ?