Part 11 (1/2)
”Yes, Lort, ich hash.”
”Well, Shake Fulwiler hasn't you never taken too much toll?”
”Yes Lort, ich hash; when der water wash low, and mein stones wash dull, ich take leetle too much toll.”
”Well, den, Shake Fuhviler, you must go to der left mid der goats.”
”Now ich try menself. Henry Snyder, Henry Snyder, stand up. What hash you bin dain in die lower world?”
”Ah, Lort, ich does not know.”
”Well, Henry Snyder, hasn't you got a mill?”
”Yes, Lort, ich hash.”
”Well, Henry Snyder, didn't you never take too much toll?”
”Yes, Lort, ich hash; when der water wash low, and mein stones wash dull, ich hash taken leetle too much toll.”
”But, Henry Snyder, vat did you do mid der toll?”
”Ah, Lort, ich gives it to der poor.”
The judge paused for a moment, and then said, ”Well, Henry Snyder, you must go to der right mid der sheep. But it is a tight squeeze.”
Another specimen of his more sober forensic eloquence is to be found in the following speech. There was a bill before the house for the creation of a new county, and there was a dispute about the boundary-line. The author of the bill wished to run the line in a direction which would manifestly promote his own interest. Crockett arose and said:
”Mr. Speaker: Do you know what that man's bill reminds me of? Well, I s'pose you don't, so I'll tell you. Well, Mr. Speaker, when I first came to this country a blacksmith was a rare thing. But there happened to be one in my neighborhood. He had no striker; and whenever one of the neighbors wanted any work done, he had to go over and strike until his work was finished. These were hard times, Mr. Speaker, but we had to do the best we could.
”It happened that one of my neighbors wanted an axe. So he took along with him a piece of iron, and went over to the blacksmith's to strike till his axe was done. The iron was heated, and my neighbor fell to work, and was striking there nearly all day; when the blacksmith concluded that the iron wouldn't make an axe, but 'twould make a fine mattock.
”So my neighbor, wanting a mattock, concluded that he would go over and strike till the mattock was done. Accordingly he went over the next day, and worked faithfully. But toward night the blacksmith concluded his iron wouldn't make a mattock but 'twould make a fine ploughshare.
”So my neighbor, wanting a ploughshare, agreed that he would go over the next day and strike till that was done. Accordingly he went over, and fell hard at work. But toward night the blacksmith concluded his iron wouldn't make a ploughshare, but 'twould make a fine skow. So my neighbor, tired of working, cried, 'A skow let it be;' and the blacksmith, taking up the red-hot iron, threw it into a trough of hot water near him, and as it fell in, it sung out skow. And this, Mr.
Speaker, will be the way of that man's bill for a county. He'll keep you all here, doing nothing, and finally his bill will turn up a skow; now mind if it don't.”
At this time, Crockett, by way of courtesy, was usually called colonel, as with us almost every respectable man takes the t.i.tle of esquire. One of the members offended Colonel Crockett by speaking disrespectfully of him as from the back woods, or, as he expressed it, the gentleman from the cane. Crockett made a very bungling answer, which did not satisfy himself. After the house adjourned, he very pleasantly invited the gentleman to take a walk with him. They chatted very sociably by the way, till, at the distance of about a mile, they reached a very secluded spot, when the Colonel, turning to his opponent, said:
”Do you know what I brought you here for?”
”No,” was the reply.
”Well,” added the Colonel, ”I brought you here for the express purpose of whipping you; and now I mean to do it.”
”But,” says the Colonel, in recording the event, ”the fellow said he didn't mean anything, and kept 'pologizing till I got into good humor.”
They walked back as good friends as ever, and no one but themselves knew of the affair.
After the adjournment of the Legislature, Crockett returned to his impoverished home. The pecuniary losses he had encountered, induced him to make another move, and one for which it is difficult to conceive of any adequate motive. He took his eldest son, a boy about eight years of age, and a young man by the name of Abram Henry, and with one pack-horse to carry their blankets and provisions, plunged into the vast wilderness west of them, on an exploring tour, in search of a new home.
Crockett and the young man shouldered their rifles. Day after day the three trudged along, fording streams, clambering hills, wading mora.s.ses, and threading ravines, each night constructing a frail shelter, and cooking by their camp-fire such game as they had taken by the way.
After traversing these almost pathless wilds a hundred and fifty miles, and having advanced nearly fifty miles beyond any white settlement, they reached the banks of a lonely stream, called Obion River, on the extreme western frontier of Tennessee. This river emptied into the Mississippi but a few miles from the spot where Crockett decided to rear his cabin. His nearest neighbor was seven miles distant, his next fifteen, his next twenty.