IV. THE GANDER-PULLING.

In the year ——, I resided in the city of Augusta, and upon visiting the Market-House one morning in that year, my attention was called to the following notice stuck upon one of the pillars of the building:

“ADVURTYSEMENT.

“Thos woo wish To be inform hearof, is hearof notyfide that edwd. Prator will Giv a Gander pullin’, jis this side of harisburg, on Satterday of thes pressent munth, to All woo mout wish to partak tharof.

“e. Prator—thos wishin’ to partak will cum yearly, as the pullin’ will begin Soon.—E. P.”

If I am asked why “jis this side of harisburg” was selected for the promised feat, instead of the city of Augusta? I answer from conjecture, but with some confidence, because the ground chosen was near the central point between four rival towns, the citizens of all which “mout wish to partak tharof,” namely, Augusta, Springfield, Harrisburg, and Campbelltown. Not that each was the rival of all the others, but that the first and last were competitors, and each of the others backed the pretensions of its nearest neighbour.

Harrisburg sided with Campbelltown, not because she had any interest in seeing the business of the two states centre upon the bank of the river, nearly opposite to her, but because, like the “Union democratic republican party of Georgia,” she thought, after the adoption of the Federal Constitution, that the several towns of the confederacy should no longer be “separated” by the distinction of local party; that laying down all former prejudices and jealousies as a sacrifice on the altar of their country, they should become united in a single body, for the maintenance of those principles which they deemed essential to the public welfare.

Springfield, on the other hand, espoused the state rights’ creed. She admitted that, under the federal compact, she ought to love the sister states very much; but that, under the social compact, she ought to love her own state a little more; and she thought the two compacts perfectly reconcilable to each other. Instead of the towns of the several states getting into single bodies to preserve the public welfare, her doctrine was, that they should be kept in separate bodies to preserve the private welfare. She admitted frankly, that living as she had always lived, right amidst gullies, vapours, fogs, creeks and lagoons, she was wholly incapable of comprehending that expansive kind of benevolence which taught her to love people whom she knew nothing about, as much as her next door neighbours and friends. Until, therefore, she could learn it from the practical operation of the federal compact, she would stick to the old-fashioned Scotch love, which she understood perfectly, and “go in” for Augusta, live or die, hit or miss, right or wrong.

As in the days of Mr. Jefferson, the Springfield doctrines prevailed, Campbelltown was literally nullified: insomuch, that ten years ago there was not a house left to mark the spot where once flourished this active, busy little village. Those who are curious to know where Springfield stood, at the time of which I am speaking, have only to take their position at the intersection of Broad and Manbury Streets, in the city of Augusta, and they will be in the very heart of old Springfield.

Between Harrisburg and Springfield, and eleven hundred and forty-three yards from the latter, there runs a stream which may be perpetual. At the time just mentioned, it flowed between banks twelve or fourteen feet high, and was then called, as it still is, “Hawk’s Gully.”

Now Mr. Prator, like the most successful politician of the present day, was on all sides in a doubtful contest; and accordingly he laid off his gander-pulling ground on the nearest suitable unappropriated spot to the centre point between Springfield and Harrisburg. This was between Harrisburg and Hawk’s Gully, but within one hundred yards of Harrisburg.

When “Satterday of the pressent munth” rolled round, I determined to go to the gander-pulling. When I reached the spot, a considerable number of persons of different ages, sexes, sizes, and complexions, had collected from the rival towns, and the country around. But few females were there, however, and those few were from the lowest walks of life.

A circular path, of about forty yards in diameter, had already been laid out; over which, from two posts about ten feet apart, stretched a rope, the middle of which was directly over the path. The rope hung loosely, so as to allow it, with the weight of a gander attached to it, to vibrate in an arc of four or five feet span, and so as to bring the breast of the gander within barely easy reach of a man of middle stature, upon a horse of common size.

A hat was now handed to such as wished to enter the lists, and they threw into it twenty-five cents each; this sum was the victor’s prize.

The devoted gander was now produced; and Mr. Prator having tied his feet together with a strong cord, proceeded to the neck-greasing. Abhorrent as it may be to all who respect the tenderer relations of life, Mrs. Prator had actually prepared a gourd of goose-grease for this very purpose.

For myself, when I saw Ned dip his hands into it, and commence stroking down the feathers, from breast to head, my thoughts took a melancholy turn. They dwelt in sadness upon the many conjugal felicities which had probably been shared between the greasess and the grease. I could see him, as he stood by her side, through many a chilly day, and cheerless night, when she was warming into life the offspring of their mutual loves, and repelled, with chivalrous spirit, every invasion of the consecrated spot which she had selected for her incubation. I could see him moving, with patriarchal dignity, by the side of his loved one, at the head of a smiling, prattling group, the rich reward of their mutual care, to the luxuries of the meadow, or the recreations of the pool. And now, alas! the smoking sacrifice of his bosom friend was desecrated to the unholy purpose of making his neck “a fit object” for Cruelty to reach “her quick, unerring fingers at.”

Ye friends of the sacred tie, judge what were my feelings when, in the midst of these reflections, the voice of James Prator thundered on mine ear:

“Durn the old dodger, Brother Ned! Grease his neck, till a fly can’t light on it!”

Ned having fulfilled his brother Jim’s request as well as he could, attached the victim of his cruelty to the rope, directly over the path. On each side of the gander was stationed a man, whose office it was to lash forward any horse which might linger there for a moment; for by the rules of the ring, all pulling was to be done at a brisk canter.

The word was now given for the competitors to mount and take their places in the ring. Eight appeared: Tall Zubly Zin, mounted upon Sally Spitfire; Arch Odum, on Bull and Ingons (Onions); Nathan Perdew, on Wild Cat; James Dickson, on Nigger; David Williams, on Gridiron; fat John Fulger, on Slouch; Gorham Bostwick, on Gimblet; and Turner Hammond, on Possum.

“Come, gentlemen,” said Commandant Prator, “fall in! All of you get behind one another, sort o’ in a row.”

All came into the track very kindly, but Sally Spitfire and Gridiron. The former, as soon as she saw a general movement of horses, took it for granted there was mischief brewing; and because she could not tell where it lay, she concluded it lay everywhere, and therefore took fright at everything.

Gridiron was a grave horse; but a suspicious eye, which he cast to the right and left wherever he moved, showed that he was “wide awake,” and that “nobody had better not go fooling with him,” as his owner sometimes used to say. He took a sober, but rather intense view of things; insomuch that, in his contemplations, he passed over his track three times, before he could be prevailed upon to stop upon it. He stopped at last, and when he was made to understand that this was all that was expected of him for the present, he surrendered his suspicions at once, with a countenance which seemed plainly to say:

“Oh, if this is all you want, I’ve no objection to it.”

It was long before Miss Spitfire could be induced to do the like.

“Get another horse, Zube,” said one; “Sall will never do for a gander pullin’.”

“I won’t,” said Zube. “If she won’t do, I’ll make her do. I want a nag that goes off with a spring, so that when I get a hold, she’ll cut the neck in two, like a steel trap.”

At length Sally was rather flung, than coaxed, into the track, directly a-head of Gridiron.

“Now, gentlemen,” said the master of the ceremonies, “no man’s to make a grab till all’s been round; and when the first man are got round, then the whole twist and tucking off you grab away, as you come under (Look here, Jim Fulger, you’d better not stand too close to that gander, I tell you!), one after another. Now blaze away!” (the command for an onset of every kind, with people of this order.)

Off they went, Miss Sally delighted; for now she thought the whole parade would end in nothing more nor less than her favourite amusement, a race. But Gridiron’s visage, pronounced this the most nonsensical business that ever a horse of sense was engaged in since the world began.

For the first three rounds Zubly was wholly occupied in restraining Sally to her place; but he lost nothing by this, for the gander had escaped unhurt. On completing his third round, Zube stretched forth his long arm, grabbed the gander by the neck, with a firmness which seemed likely to defy goose-grease, and at the same instant, he involuntarily gave Sally a sudden check. She raised her head, which had been kept nearly touching her leader’s hocks; and for the first time, saw the gander in the act of descending upon her; at the same moment she received two pealing lashes from the whippers. The way she now broke for Springfield “is nothin’ to nobody.” As Zube dashed down the road, the whole circus raised a whoop after him. This started about twenty dogs, hounds, curs, and pointers in full chase of him (for no man moved without his dog in those days). The dogs alarmed some belled cattle, which were grazing on Zube’s path, just as he reached them; these joined him, with tails up, and a tremendous rattling. Just beyond these went three tobacco-rollers, at a distance of fifty and a hundred yards apart, each of whom gave Zube a terrific whoop, scream, or yell, as he passed.

He went in and out of Hawk’s Gully like a trap-ball, and was in Springfield “in less than no time.” Here he was encouraged onward by a new recruit of dogs, but they gave up the chase as hopeless before they cleared the village. Just beyond Springfield, what should Sally encounter but a flock of geese, the tribe to which she owed all her misfortunes.

She stopped suddenly, and Zube went over her head with the last-acquired velocity. He was up in a moment, and the activity with which he pursued Sally satisfied every spectator that he was unhurt.

Gridiron, who had witnessed Miss Sally’s treatment with astonishment and indignation, resolved not to pass between the posts until the whole matter should be explained to his satisfaction. He therefore stopped short, and by very intelligible looks, demanded of the whippers, whether, if he passed between them, he was to be treated as Miss Spitfire had been. The whippers gave him no satisfaction, and his rider informed him by reiterated thumps of the heel that he should go through, whether he would or not. Of these, however, Gridiron seemed to know nothing. In the midst of the conference, Gridiron’s eye lit upon the oscillating gander, and every moment’s survey of it begat in him a growing interest, as his slowly rising head, suppressed breath, and projected ears plainly evinced. After a short examination, he heaved a sigh, and looked behind him to see if the way was clear. It was plain that his mind was made up: but to satisfy the world that he would do nothing rashly, he took another view, and then wheeled and went for Harrisburg, as if he had set in for a year’s running. Nobody whooped at Gridiron, for all saw that his running was purely the result of philosophic deduction. The reader will not suppose that this occupied half the time which has been consumed in telling it, though it might have been so, without interrupting the amusement, for Miss Spitfire’s flight had completely suspended it for a time.

The remaining competitors now went on with the sport. A few rounds showed plainly that Odum or Bostwick would be the victor, but which no one could tell.

Whenever either of them came round, the gander’s neck was sure of a severe wrench. Many a half pint of Jamaica was staked upon them, besides other things. The poor gander withstood many a strong pull before his wailings ceased. At length, however, they were hushed by Odum. Then came Bostwick and broke the neck. The next grasp of Odum, it was thought, would bear away the head, but it did not. Then Bostwick was sure of it, but he missed it. Now Odum must surely have it. All is interest and animation. The horses sweep round with redoubled speed—every eye is upon Odum—his backers smiling—Bostwick’s trembling. To the rope he comes—lifts his hand—when lo! Fat John Fulger had borne it away the second before. All were astonished—all disappointed, and some were vexed a little: for it was now clear, that, “if it hadn’t o’ been for his great fat paw,” to use their own language, Odum would have gained the victory. Others inveighed against “that long-legged Zube Zin, who was so high, he did not know when his feet were cold, for bringing such a nag as Sall Spitfire to a gander-pullin’; for if he’d o’ been in his place, it would have flung Bostwick right were that gourd o’ hogs’ lard (Fulger) was.”

Fulger’s conduct was little calculated to reconcile them to their disappointment.

“Come here, Neddy Prater,” said he, with a triumphant smile, “let your Uncle Johnny put his potato-stealer (hand) into that hat, and tickle the chins of them are shiners a little. Oh you little shining critters, walk into your Mas’ Johnny’s pocket, and jingle so as Arch Odum and Gory Bostwick may hear you! You hear ’em, Gory? Boys don’t pull with men. I’ve jist got my hand in; I wish I had a pond full of ganders here now, jist to show you how I could make their heads fly. Bet all I’ve won, you may hang three upon that rope, and I’ll set Slouch at full speed and take off the heads of all three, the first grab, two with my hands and one with my teeth.”

Thus he went on, but really there was no boasting in this; it was all fun, for John knew, and all were convinced that he knew, that his success was entirely the result of accident. John was really a “good-natured fellow,” and his cavorting had an effect directly opposite to that which the reader would suppose that it had—it reconciled all to their disappointment, save one. I except Billy Mixew of Spirit Creek, who had staked the net proceeds of six quarts of mukle-berries upon Odum, which he had been long keeping for a safe bet. He could not get reconciled, until he fretted himself into a pretty little piney-woods fight, in which he got whipt; and then he went home perfectly satisfied. Fulger spent all his winnings with Prater, in treats to the company—made most of them drunk, and thereby produced four Georgia rotations,^[8] after which all parted good friends.