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Page 27
In those days a road--or at least such a highway as we of the present
so denominate--was a something unknown; a few horse-paths, so termed,
traversing the country in various directions--narrow, oftentimes
obstructed, and sometimes dangerous. Over one of this latter class, as
before said, our wedding party now wended their way, in high spirits;
sometimes riding at a brisk trot or gallop, where their course lay open
and clear, sometimes walking their horses very slow, in single file,
where the path, winding across craggy bluffs, among rocks and trees,
became very narrow and unsafe. Twice, on this latter account, did the
gentlemen of the company dismount and lead the horses of their partners
for some considerable distance past the stony and dangerous defile, by
which means all accidents were avoided. When they had reached within
a mile of their destination, Isaac drew rein and all came to a halt.
Turning upon his saddle, with the air of a commander of some important
expedition, he sang out in a loud, shrill voice;
"Well, boys and gals, here we ar--this here's the spot--who's agoing to
run for the bottle?"
"Whoop! yaho! give way thar!" was the answer from a couple of voices in
the rear; and at the same instant, two young men, separating from their
partners, came bounding forward, on two blood horses, at break-neck
speed.
"Stop!" thundered Isaac, as they came tearing up to where he was sitting
astride his beast; and obedient to his command, the two individuals in
question reined in their impatient steeds, hard abreast, close by his
side. "Well, ef you arn't a couple o' beauties, then jest put it down
that I don't know," continued Isaac, eying them coolly from head to
heel, with a quizzical, comical look. "You'd both on ye average two
decent looking fellars--for whar Seth Stokes is too long, Sam Switcher
arn't long enough; and whar Sam Switcher's got too much, Seth Stokes
han't got nothing."
A roar of laughter, in which both Seth and Sam joined, followed Isaac's
closing remarks; for besides partaking of the ludicrous, none could deny
that his description was correct. The two worthies in question were
certainly two very singular looking beings to be brought together for a
race, and presented a most laughable appearance. The one bearing the
poetical appellation of Seth Stokes, was long, thin and bony, with sharp
features, and legs that reminded one of a carpenter's compass; while his
companion, Sam Switcher, was round-favored, short in limbs and stature,
and fat almost to corpulency--thus forming a contrast to the other of
the most striking kind.
As soon as the laugh at their expense had subsided, Isaac again sang
out: "Squar your hosses' heads thar--get ready, boys--now clippet, and
don't keep us long waiting the bottle! for I reckon as how some on us
is gitting dry. Yehep! yahoa!" and ere the sound of his voice had died
away, down came the switches, accompanied by a terrible yell, and off
went horses and bottle-riders--over stumps, logs and rocks--past trees
and brush, and whatever obstacle might lie in their course--with a speed
that threatened them with death at every moment; while the others
remained quietly seated on their ponies, enjoying the sport, and
sometimes shouting after them such words of encouragement as, "Go it,
Seth!" "Up to him, Sammy!" "Pull up, legs!" "Jump it, fatty!" so long as
the racers were in sight.
This race for the bottle, as it was called, was a peculiar feature for
displaying the horsemanship and hardy recklessness of the early
settlers; as a more dangerous one, to both horse and rider, could not
well be imagined. That the reader may form a clear conception of what it
was in reality--and also to destroy the idea if any such may have been
formed, that it existed only in our imagination--we shall take the
liberty of giving a short extract from the author already quoted. In
speaking of the foregoing, he says:
"The worse the path--the more logs, brush, and deep hollows, the
better--as these obstacles afforded an opportunity for the greater
display of intrepidity and horsemanship. The English fox-chase, in point
of danger to the riders and their horses, is nothing to this race for
the bottle. The start was announced by an Indian yell; when logs, brush,
muddy hollows, hill and glen, were speedily passed by the rival ponies.
The bottle was always filled for the occasion, so that there was no use
for judges; for the first who reached the door was presented with the
prize, with which he returned in triumph to the company. On approaching
them, he announced his victory over his rival by a shrill whoop. At the
head of the troop he gave the bottle first to the groom and his
attendants, and then to each pair in succession to the rear of the line,
giving each a drachm; and then putting the bottle in the bosom of his
hunting shirt, took his station in the company."
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