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6
GEORGIA SCENES.
By Judge Augustus ft aid Ivin Longstreet.
THE SHOOTING MATCH.
Shooting matches are nearly coeval
with the colonization of Georgia. They
are still common throughout the
southern states, though they are not
as common as they were twenty-five
or thirty years ago. Chance led me
to one about a year ago. I was trav
eling to one of the northeastern coun
ties, when I overtook a swarthy, bright
eyed, smerky little fellow, riding a
small pony, and bearing on his shoul
ders a long, heavy rifle, which, judg
ing from its looks, I should say, had
done service in Morgan’s corps.
“Good morning, sir,” said I, reining
up my horse as I came beside him.
“How goes it, stranger?’’ with a
tone of independence and self-confi
dence that awakened my curiosity to
know a little of his character.
“Going driving?’’ inquired I.
“Not exactly,” replied he, surveying
my horse with a quizzical smile; “I
haven’t been a driving by myself for
a year or two; and my nose has
got so bad lately, I can’t carry a cold
trail without hounds to help me.”
Alone, and without hounds as he
was, the question was rather a sillv
one; but it answered the purpose for
which it was put, which was only to
draw him into conversation, and I
proceeded to make as decent a re
treat as I could.
“I didn’t know, said I, “but that you
were going to meet the huntsmen, or
going to your own stand.”
“Ah, sure enough,” rejoined he, “that
mout be a bee, as the old woman said
when she killed a wasp. It seems to
me I ought to know you.”
“Well, if you ought, why don’t you?”
“What mout you name be?”
“It might be anything,” said I, with
borrowed wit; for I knew my man,
and knew what kind of conversation
would please him most.
“Well, what is it, then?”
“It Is Hall,” said I; “but you know
it might as well have been anything
else.”
“Pretty digging,” said he. “I find
you are not the fool I took you to be;
so here’s to a better acquaintance
with you.”
“With all my heart,” returned I;
“but you must be as clever as I’ve
been, and give me your name.”
“To be sure I will, my old coon;
take it, take it, and welcome. Any
thing else about you’d like to have?”
“No,” said I. “There’s nothing else
about you worth having.”
“Oh, yes, there is, stranger! Do you
see this?” holding out his ponderous
rifle with an ease that astonished me.
“If you will go with me to the shoot
ing match, and see me knock out the
bull’s eye with her a few times, you’ll
agree that old soap-stick’s worth
something when Billy Curlew puts
his shoulder to her.”
This short sentence was replete
with information to me. It taught me
that my companion was Billy Curlew;
that he was going to a shooting
match; that he called his rifle the
soap-stick, and that he was very con
fident of winning beef with her; cr
which is nearly but not quite the same
thing, driving the cross with her.
“Well,” said I, “if the shooting
match is not too far out of my way,
I’ll go to it with pleasure.”
“Unless your way lies through the
woods from here,” said Billy, “it’ll not
be much out of your way; for it’s only
a mile ahead of us, and there Is no
other road for you to take until you
get there, and as that thing you are
riding in an’t well suited to traveling
among brushy knobs, I reckon you
won’t use much by going by. I reckon
ynn hardly aver was at a shooting
match, stranger, from the cut of your
coat?”
“Oh, yes,” returned I, “many a time.
I won beef at one when I was hardly
old enough to hold a shot gun off
hand.”
“Children don’t go to shooting
matches about here,” said he with a smile
of incredulity. “I never heard of but
one that did, and he was a little swinge
cat. He was born a shooting, and
killed squirrels before he was
weaned.”
“Nor did I ever hear of but one,”
replied I, “and that one was myself.”
“And where did you win beef so
young, stranger?”
“At Berry Adams’s.”
“Why, stop, stranger; let me look
at you good! Is your name Lyman
Hall?”
“The very same,” said I.
“Well, dang my buttons, if you an’t
the very boy my daddy used to tell
me about. I was too young to recol
lect you myself; but I’ve heard daddy
talk about you many a time. I be
lieve mammy’s got a neck-handker
chief now that daddy won on your
shooting at Collen Reid’s store, when
you were hardly knee high. Come
along, Lyman, and I’ll go my death
upon you at the shooting match, with
the old soap-stick at your shoulder.”
“Ah, Billy,” said I, “the old soap
stick will do much better at your own
shoulder. It was my mother’s notion
that sent me to the shooting match at
Berry Adams’s; and to tell the honest
truth, it was altogether a chance shot
that made me win beef; but that was
n’t generally known; and most every
body believed that I was carried there
on account of my skill in shooting;
and my fame was spread far and wide,
I well remember. I remember, too,
perfectly well, your father’s bet on
me at the store. He was at the shoot
ing match, and nothing could make
him believe but that I was a great
shot with a rifle as well as with a
shot gun. Bet he would on me, in
spite of all I could say, though I as
sured him that I had never shot a
rifle in my life. It so happened, too,
that there were but two bullets, or
rather a bullet and a half; and so con
fident was your father in my skill,
that be made me shoot the half bul
let; and. strange to tell, by another
chance shot. I like to have drove the
cross and won his bet.”
“Now I know you’re the very chap,
for I heard daddv tell that very thing
about the half bullet. Don’t say any
thing about it. Lyman, and dam my
old shoes, If I don’t tear the lint off
the boys with you at the shooting
match. They’ll never ’spect such a
looking man as you are of knowing
anything about a rifle. I’ll risk your
chance shots.”
I soon discovered that the father
had eaten sour grapes, and the son’s
teeth were on edge: for Billy was just
as incorrigibly obstinate In his belief
of my dexterity with a rifle, as his fa
ther had been before him.
We soon reached the place appoint
ed for the shooting match. It went
by the name of Sims’ Cross Roads, be
cause here two roads Intersected each
other; and because, from the time
that the first had laid out, Archi
bald Sims had resided there. Archi
bald had been a justice of the peace
In his day (and where is the man of
his age In Georgia who has not?);
consequently, he was called ’Squire
Sims. It is the custom In this state,
when a man has once acquired a title,
either civil or military, to force it up
on him as long as he lieves; hence the
oonntless number of titled personages
THE WEEKLY JEFFERSONIAN
who are Introduced in these sketches.
We stopped at the ’squire’s door.
Billy hastily dismounted, gave me the
shake of the hand which he h'ad been
reluctantly reserving for a mile back,
and, leading me up to the ’squire, in
troduced me: “Uncle Archy, this is
Lyman Hall; and for all you see him
in fine clothes, he’s a swinge cat; a
darn sight cleverer fellow than he looks
to be. Wait until you see him lift
the old soap-stick, and draw a bead
upon the bull’s eye. You gwine to see
fun here today. Don’t say nothing
about it.”
“Well, Mr. Swinge-cat,” said the
’squire, “here’s to a better acquaint
ance with you,” offering me his hand.
“How goes it, Uncle Archy?” said
I, taking his hand warmly (for I am al
ways free and easy with those who are
with me, and in this course I rarely
fall to please). “How’s the old wo
man?”
“Egad,” said the ’squire, chuckling,
“There you’re too hard for me; for
she died two and twenty years ago,
and I haven’t heard a word from
her since.”
“What! and you never married
again!”
“Never, as God’s my judge!” (A
solemn asseveration, truly, upon so
light a subject.)
“Well, that’s not my fault.”
“No, nor it’s not my fault, nither,”
said the ’squire.
Here we were interrupted by the
cry for another Barney Sniffle. “Hel
lo, here! All you as wish to put in
for the shoot’n’-match, come on here!
for the putt’n’ in’s riddy to begin.”
About sixty persons, including more
spectators, had collected; most of
whom were more or less obedient to
the call of Mealy Whitecotton, for
that was the name of the self-consti
tuted commander-in-chief. Some has
tened, and some loitered, as they de
sired to be first or last on the list; for
they shoot in the order in which
their names are entered.
The beef was not present, nor is
it ever upon such occasions; but sev
eral of the company had seen it, who
all concurred in the opinion that it
was a good beef, and well worth
the price that was set upon it —elev-
en dollars. A general inquiry ran
round, in order to form some opin
ion as to the number of shots that
would be taken; for of course, the
price of a shot is cheapened in propor
tion to the increase of that number.
It was soon ascertained that not more
than twenty persons would take chan
ces; but these twenty agreed to take
the number of shots, at twenty-five
cents each.
The competitors now began to give
in their names; some for one, some
for two, three, and a few for as many
as four shots.
Billy Curlew hung back to the last;
and when the list was offered him, five
shots remained undisposed of.
“How many shots left?” inquired
Billy.
"Five,” was the reply.
“Well, I take ’em all. Put down
four shots to me, and one to Lyman
Hall, paid for by William Curlew.”
I was thunder-struck, not at his
proposition to pay for my shot, be
cause I knew that Billy meant it as
a token of friendship, and he would
have been hurt if I had refused to let
him do this favor for me; but at the
unexpected announcement of my name
as a competitor for beef, at least one
hundred miles from the place of my
residence. I was prepared for a chal
lenge from Billy to some of his neigh
bors for a private match upon me; but
not for this.
I therefore, protested against his
putting in for me, and urged every
reason to dissuade him from It that
1 could, without wounding his feel
ings.
“Put it down!” said Billy, with the
authority of an emperor, and with a
look that spoke volumes intelligible
to every bystander. “Reckon I don’t
know what I’m about?” Then wheel
ing about, and muttering in an under
self-confident tone, “Dang old Roper,”
continued he, “if he don’t knock that
cross to the north corner of creation
and back again before a cat can
lick her foot.”
Had I been king of the cat tribe,
they could not have regarded me with
more curious attention than did the
whole company from this moment. Ev
ery inch of me was examined with the
nicest scrutiny; and some plainly ex
pressed by their looks that they never
would have taken me for such a bite.
I saw no alternative but to throw my
self upon a third chance shot; for
though by the rules of the sport, I
would have been allowed to shoot by
proxy, by all the rules of good breed
ing, I was bound to shoot in person.
It would have been unpardonable to
disappoint the expectations which had
been raised on me. Unfortunately,
too, for me, the match differed in one
respect from those which I had been
in the habit of attending in my young
er days. In olden times the contest
was carried on chiefly with shot guns,
a generic term which, in those days,
embraced three descriptions of fire
arms: Indian-traders (a long, cheap,
but sometimes excellent kind of gun,
that mother Britain used to send here
for traffic with the Indians), the large
musket, and the shotgun, properly so
called, rifles were, however, always
permitted to compete with them, un
der equitable restrictions. There were,
and they should be fired offhand, while
the shot guns were allowed to rest,
the distance being equal; or that the
distance should be one hundred yards
for a rifle, to sixty for the shot gun,
the mode of firing being equal.
But this was a match of rifles exclu
sively; and these are by far the most
common at this time.
Most of the competitors fire at the
same target; which is usually a board
from nine inches to a foot wide, charr
ed on one side as black as it can be
made by fire, without impairing mate
rially the uniformity of its surface; on
the darkened side of which is pegged
a square piece of white paper, which
is larger, or smaller, according to the
distance at which it is to be placed
from the marksmen. This is almost
invariably sixty yards, and for it the
paper is reduced to about two and a
half inches square. Out of the center
of it is cut a rhombus of about the
width of an inch, measured diagonally;
this is the bulls-eye, or diamond, as
the marksmen choose to call it; in
the center of this is the cross. But
every man is permitted to fix his tar
get to his own taste; and according
ly, some remove one fourth of the
paper, cutting from the center of the
square to the lower corners, so as
to leave a large angle opening from
the center downward; while others re
duce the angle more or less; but it
is rarely the case that all are not sat
isfied with one of these figures.
The beef is divided into five prizes,
or, as they are commonly called, five
quarters—the hide and tallow count
ing as one. For several years after
the revolutionary war, a sixth was add
ed; the lead which was shot in the
match. This was the prize of the sixth
best shot; and it used to be carefully
extracted from the board, or the tree
in which it was lodged, and after
wards remoulded. But this grew out
of the exigency of the times, and has,
I believe, been long since abandoned
everywhere.
The three master shots and rivals
were Moses Firmby, Larkin Spivey,
and Billy Curlew; to whom was add
ad upon this oocwßlon, by common con