Dec. 24, 2904-1 11 
FOREST AND STREAM 
B27 
"I was too skeered to move, but I sho' did holler. De 
fus yell I fetch snatch Marse Bicknell out dat watah like 
a snaik bit him. He stan' up to git a good look, an' den 
give his o'dahs : 
" 'Git off dat mewl,' he holler, 'git on my horse, jump 
de fence an' come yo' level bes,' den he lit out runnin' 
hisself. . t 
"Did'n look to me like it was any time to be swoppin 
hosses, if I goin' to git away fom dem Yankees; but I 
mo' 'fraid of Marse Bicknell dan I was of dem, so I tu'n 
my mewl roun' right sudden an' grab at Black Jack's 
bridle, wheah I don' tied him to a bush so' I be ready to 
go quick when my tu'n com' §0' de watah. I des grab de 
bridle an' giv' one juck, w'en bang! went a gun an' a 
bullet — look like it big as a watah bucket — wen' singin' 
by my head so clos' 'pear like I smell de powdah. 
"Dat settle it; I des made up my min' I was wuth mo' 
den a hoss, an' slappin' wid my hat, poundin' wid my 
heels, an' hollen at my mewl loud as I kin, I put him at 
de fence hopin' he would jump it so I kin f oiler Marse 
Bicknell and git away. 
"But co'se he wouldn't j ump de fence — mewl nevah will 
jump w'en you want him to. He dis run 'gin de fence, 
bim! wid his fo' feet slidin' undah de bottom rail. He 
stop so sudden dat I keep goin' on, an' light 'bout twenty 
feet ovah in de woods on my haid. Any othah time I 
would a bin mos' killed, but des as I lit, look like all 
dem Yankees 'gin shootin' at me at once, an' de bullits 
fahly buzz 'roun' me lik' bees 'round a hon'ysuckle, so 
I don' stop to fin' out I hu't, but scramble up an' light ' 
out down thru de woods aftah Marse Bicknell, ha'd as 
I kin run. Des long as I was in sight dem Yankees keep 
shootin' at me, an' I don' know why dey ain' kill me, 
less I run so fas' de bullits couldn' ketch up wid me. 
W'en I out of bref an' don' heah de Yankees no mo', I 
crawl unda a big log an' lay still lis'nin. Putty soon I 
heah Marse Bicknell call'n' me, an' crope out an' go run- 
nin' to wheah he is. ( 
"He sho' cuss me scanlus w'en I tell him why I ain' 
min' him 'bout de hoss, an' say he been back to de road 
watchin' de Yankees, an' see dem take ouh hosses an' 
go wid um, an' how we got to git his hoss back som' 
way, caus' he don' 'low to leave Black Jack wid no 
Yankees, less dey got him, too. Den we wen' back up 
to de road, an' dey wan' noboddy in sight up nerdown. 
"Marse Bicknell show me w'ich way dey gone wid ouh 
hosses, an' he say he goin' sen' me aftah dem, soon as 
he study out de bes' plan, to see if de Yankee camp is 
anywheah clost by. Did'n 'pear to me lik' it de bes' way 
foh me to go foll'n dem shootin' Yankees, by myse'f, but 
he ain' ask my 'vice, an' I ain' sayin' nothin'. He stan' 
roun' studyin' a little w'ile, den he walk away right fas' 
up th'ough de trees to wheah dey was a ol' stable, an' 
in a minit com' back wid somfin in his hat. 
" 'Heah,' he says, 'is som' aigs. Han'le dem kerful, 
'cause I ain' know how long dey is been sit on. I took 
dem fom a ol' hen w'at bin ovahlooked settin' in de lof. 
Git out'n yo' coat, an' put de aigs in yo J hat, den go down 
de road foh a mil' or two, an' see if you kin git any news 
of my hoss. 'Ten' like yo' wan' sell de aigs to any 
sojers you see in blue uniforms, an' if you see any of ouh 
men tell dem whah I is, an' w'at trouble we is in. Don't 
talk much if you fin's de Yankees, an' if you heah news 
of my hoss git back as quick as you kin, widout makin' 
dem 'spicious. I wait right heah foh you, in 'mongst de 
trees.' 
"I ain' honin' after dat walk, but I 'low I going' do my 
bes', 'caus' Marse Bicknell sho' suffer in his min' an' body 
if he los' dat hoss. Dey was a little rise in de road, 'bout 
half mile away, den a deep holler wheah it cross a dry 
crik bed, den it tu'n sha'p to de lef. I got 'long all right 
'til I come to de tu'n, an' ain' see noboddy, but des as I 
com' tippin' 'roun' de ben' a big Yankee, w'at was standin' 
'hin' a tree wid a long gun on his sholdah, stepped out, 
an' p'intin' de gun straight at me, hollered : 'Halt ! Who 
is you, an' wha' you goin' to?' 
"If i had been 'spectin' him it would n' a skeered me so 
bad, but bein' so onexpected it sho' made me turn sick, 
an' I come nigh drappin' all de aigs right dah. I try my 
bes' to say w'at my name is, an' w'at I doin,' but it seem 
like I can' think 'bout nothin' wid dat gun p'intin' at me, 
so I holler out, 'Stop p'intin' dat gun at me, Mistah, an' 
I tell you anything you wan' know.' 
"De man bus' out laffin, an' drap de muzzle of de gun 
so it p'int at de groun'. Den I sortah git my bref, an' say : 
'My name Eph, an' I des com' ovah to see if I cain' sell 
you all som' aigs.' 
"Wha' you live?' he say, right quick an' sho't. 
"I tell him dat I live back off de big road 'bout a mile, 
an' w'ich I did down home in old Miss'i'pi. 
"He ask me how many aigs I got, an' is dey fresh ; an' 
I tell him I got nine, an' dey boun' to be fresh, caus' de 
sojers com' roun' so frequent dat don' nothin' w'at kin 
be eat git a chanst to git old. 
"He say how much do I want foh de aigs, an' den I 
hatter stop an' studdy a minit. I don' wanter sell de aigs 
to him, 'cause I had seen de camp on down de road, an' 
I had to have de aigs foh a 'scuse to go dah. 'You don' 
wan' buy no aigs duz you?' I say. 
" 'It 'pends on yo' price,' he say. 
" 'Aigs is mighty sca'ce an' high,' I says, an' dese is 
pow'ful nice. I reckon de is wuth 'bout a dollah an' six 
bits." 
" 'Dollar an' w'at ?' he rip out. 'W'at you reckon I 
goin' do wid aigs w'at I pay dat much for? Dey ain' 
no good foh jewl'ry, an' ain' noboddy goin' eat um w'en 
dey cos' dat, erless dey stahvin'. W'at is bits, ennyhow?' 
"Now w'at you think of dat? A grow'd up w'ite man 
an' didn't know w'at bits was ! I didn't wan' to' splain 
it to him, but he look like a man w'at would'n be ha'd to 
mak' mad, an' I ain' wan' stop foh no fuss, so I tell him 
bits is money. Two bits, a quatah ; foah bits, a half dol- 
lah; an' six bits, seventy-five cents. An' he say: 'Oh, 
yas ! Why ain' you call 'em shillin's if you mean 
shillin's?' An' I say, 'Ya-as, suh,' like I ain' know des 
w'at he talkin' 'bout, an' I didn't needah, fo' I ain' nevah 
heah noboddy call money shillin's befo'. 
" 'You kin go on down to de camp, if you wanter,' he 
say den, 'an' I spect you kin git shet of dem aigs. 
Wouldn't hu't you none if you lef one or two of dem 
heah wid me to pay me if I git put in gyard hous' foh 
lettin' you go down dah pestahin' de orsifers.' 
"I was so glad he goin' let me go dat I come nigh 
givin' him all de aigs, but des in time I 'membered w'at 
a fool trick dat would be, leavin' me nothin' 't all to go to 
de camp wid, so I reach in de hat, an' right slow— like 
I hate pow'ful bad to do it— I pull out one aig an' han' 
it to him. He wait a minnit, an' look hawd at de hat, but 
w'en he see I ain' gitten out no moah, he say : 
" 'Go on, now, if you goin', but w'en you com' 'long 
back you bettah be reddy to giv' me som' of dem bits 
you goin' git foh de res' dem aigs ; caus' my gun mighty 
easy on trigga w'en I git mad, an' it always mak' me 
mad to see a nigger wid mo' money den I got.' 
"I try to look sca'ed an' went steppin' light down de 
road towa'ds de camp, slippin' long 'mongst de trees on 
side of de road, an' w'en I peep back de man was laffin' 
like he bus' hisself at de way he skeer me. 
"W'en I got clost to de camp, an' dey ain' see me yit, 
I stop behin' a big tree to see how many dey is, an' look 
roun' a little. I was hopin' dat dey was'n none of dem 
dah w'at had been shootin' at me, an' would know me 
ergin w'en dey see me. Didn' seem to be moh den 'bout 
twenty of um, an' dey was layin' 'roun' takin' it mighty 
easy, an' look like dey des done eatin'. De hosses was 
tied 'mong de trees little way beyon', an' I 'eluded to spy 
'roun' des long as I kin, to see if T fin' Black Jack, an' 
w'en dey see me, go to sellin' aigs. 
"Stoopin' low, an' 'casionally gittin down an' crawlin', 
I wuk roun' to wheah I kin see de hosses, an' my mewl 
was de fus one I git my eyes on. 'Dat good,' I say to 
myself, 'I reckon I goin' see Marse Bicknell's hoss in a 
minnit,' an' w'en I go little furda, sho nuff, dah he was, 
wid eve'ything on des lik' w'en dey took him from we all 
little w'ile 'go; had'n so much as took de pistils out de 
holstahs, or Marse Bicknell's raincoat off de back of de 
saddle. W'en I see dat, an' de bridle des hooked ovah de 
eind of broken lim' of de tree, I say to myse'f dat if I kin 
make out to creep up clos' nuff to jump on Black Jack 
befo' dey kin shoot me, dat I des pintedly goin' out of de 
aig business, an' goin' tu'n race hoss ndah, like w'en I 
was a chap. Den I go to creepin' ergin, 'roun' to wheah 
de hosses is, but I ain' let go my aigs, 'caus' I didn't know 
but w'at I might need dem aigs any minnit. 
"I sho' had good luck 'bout not gittin' seen, an' in a 
little bit was so clos' to Black Jack dat I lay my aigs 
down an' git ready to run foh him. Dey was'n' no use to 
try to git plum to him, widout bein' seen, an' I made my 
min' up to try to git on de hoss, an git stahted befo' dey 
could git to shootin', an' den git away so fas' dey 
couldn't hit me ; but des as I rais' up to run to de hoss, 
heah come a man walkin' up to de tree wha' he tied, an' 
he reach up foh de bridle, like he goin' git on an' ride 
away, an' it sho' seem like I in a fix, caus' de road run 
right 'long wheah I at. 
"Des as de man put his foot in de sturp to git on de 
hoss, annuder man holler at him an' ast him wheah he 
goin'. He say he goin' to headquatahs, an' p'int wid his 
han' out de road towa'ds wheah I was ; an' de othah man 
say foh him to hoi' on a minnit, an' com' up an' go to 
talkin' wid him, an' I sneak 'way des fas' as I kin 'til I git 
wheah dey was a ben' in de road, an' den I up an' run my 
level bes'. I ain' know w'at I goin' to do, but de fus' 
thing was to git away fom de camp, an' long down de 
road, wheah de man comin' ridin' Black Jack, an' try to 
fin' som' 'scuse foh talkin' wid him, to fin' out wheah he 
goin' take de hoss. I run my bes' foh 'bout half mile, 
lis'nin' to see if I heah him comin' ; but I ain' heah 
nothin'. I stop wheah de trees mighty thick, an' de ondah- 
bresh growed to de aidge of de road like a cane brak'. 
'Dis look like old Mis'sippi country,' I say to myse'f, an' 
I got homesick in a minnit studyin' 'bout de old home an' 
de good times we all been havin' 'till de wah com'; but 
I drap dat mighty sudden' w'en I 'membered dat a man 
was comin' 'long in a minnit wid a gun an' pistils, w'at I 
des hatter think up sompin to say to fo' he upan' shoot me. 
"I had don' lef my aigs an' hat, too, w'en I run, an' 
had'n nothin' to fight wid 'cept a old broken blade bahlow 
knife; an' all my close was a shut — old an' dutty — pants, 
mos' woh out, an' brogan shoes. I kep' studyin' an' lis'nin' 
fo' de soun' of de hoss, an' des as I think I heah him 
comin', I 'elude to mak' out like I a run'way nigger, tryin' 
to git tu de Yankees, an' ax de man to tell me wha' dey is 
at, an' dat way fin' out wheah he goin' wid Black Jack. 
Soon as I come to dat 'elusion, I scromble back in 'mong 
de thick bresh on de side of de road an' set down to pull 
off my shoes, 'cause run'way niggers did'n gene'ly hav' 
shoes on dey feet in wah times. 
" 'It look like beah country,' I say to myse'f, as I 
crawl undah de thick bushes, 'an' I wish it was, an' dat 
a dig beah would com' 'long an 'skeer Black Jack so he 
th'ow dat Yankee off, like he done Marse Bicknell dat time, 
so I git him an' go; an' dis den it 'cur to me, why cain' 
I be de beah an' jump out an' skeer de hoss. I 'membah 
how I done skeer Marse Bicknell an' de little boys w'at 
com' to play wid him, many time by gitten in de bushes 
an' growlin' like a beah, an' I dis 'lowed I sho' try it, an' 
if it did'n' wuk, I could run back in de woods, wheah 
de hoss could'n' foller me, if de man ain' shoot me. I 
reckon I'd change my min' 'bout doin' such a resky thing 
if I'd had mo' time to think 'bout it, but de plan was'n 
ha'dly made 'til long come de man settin' up straight, an' 
ridin' like he know he on de bes' hoss in de lan'. He was 
a big, good-lookin' man, an' had on a orsifer's nu-niform. 
"I was peepin' out watchin' him, an' des as he got 'long 
mos' to wheah I was, I git down on my han's an' knees, 
tuck my haid down, an' com' bustin' out thru de bushes 
growlin' an' sno'tin', des as much like a beah as I kin, an' 
lit fahly undah wheah de hoss was going' step nex' time, 
but bless goodness, he don' gone! 
"I sho' did fool him, an' sca'ed him putty nigh to deff, 
an' he do wus foh a minnit den he don' de time I was 
tellin' you 'bout, w'en he th'owed Marse Bicknell. Yas, 
suh, it a fac'. I sca'ed him wus den de sho' 'nuff beah did. 
"De fus jump did the business foh de Yankee orsifer, 
an' he lef de hoss an' wen' sailin' thu de aih like a bu'd, 
an' com' down tu'nin' ovah an' ovah. 
"I holler, Wo, Black Jack ! Wo, suh !' an' he know me, 
an' stop in a minnit. He sho' had sense, dat hoss did. 
"De man come down in de road an' lit on de back of 
his head, an' a good thing it was foh me, caus' it bus' him 
up so he was a little slow gittin' to his pistil, an' des 
as he re'eh it, I jump on him an' grab his th'oat wid one 
han' an' de wris' of de han' w'at reachin' foh de pistil 
wid de otha, an' I sho' did twis' an' choke him. 
" 'I ain' no beah,' I say to him, 'but I is a dange'ous 
man, an' I sho' will kill you if you holler or don' hoi' still.' 
"He look at me wicked as a rattlesnake, but he hoi' 
still like I tell him to, an' he can' holler caus' I don' choke 
him mos' black in de face. I make him leggo de pistil an' 
tu'n ovah, an' I take his belt off, an' tie his han's behin' 
his back; den I drag him out de road an' take his hank- 
chuff an' tie it tight ovah his mouf so he can' holler ner 
call noboddy to he'p him. Den I run to Black Jack, who 
has 'gun to pick grass on de roadside like nothin' de 
mattah, an' in 'bout a minnit moah, we was slippin' long 
out in de woods by de camp, on de way back to Marse 
Bicknell. 
"We sho' had good luck, an' didn't see noboddy nor 
nothin', an' got back in de big road pas' de feller w'at 
stop me fus, an' den we lit out. 
"Marse Bicknell heah us comin' an' run out in de road, 
an' suh, he sho' was pleased. He pull me off de hoss an' 
fahly hug me, an' den he grab de hoss 'roun' de neck an' 
look like he sho' goin' squeeze his head plum off. 
"I ain' mo' den tol' him how many Yankees dey was, an' 
wheah dey was at, w'en up de road com' ridin' de res' of 
de scoutin' pahty w'at we was wid. Dey was wil' when 
Marse Bicknell tol' de news, an' 'way dey all went to have 
a rippit wid de Yankess, Marse Bicknell tellin' me to stay 
dah till he come back. 
"I 'low dey was goin' to be a scatterin' of Yankees, an' 
some might come 'long de road, so I wen' down to de 
spring an' sat down 'hin' a big tree. In a little whil' I 
heah dem at it, shootin' an' holl'in', an' sho' did wish I 
was 'long wid um to take cah of Marse Bicknell. I sit 
an' lis'en foh a whil', an' den I git so oneasy I cain set 
still, so> I go up to de road to watch foh some signs of 
how de fight was goin'. Bimeby I see a hoss comin' fom 
de direcshun of de fightin', an' he sho' was bu'nin' de 
win'. Man on him did'n have no hat, nur no gun, an' he was 
beatin' de hoss scan'lus wid a big stick, w'en if he had'n 
been skeered mos' to def, he could have seen de hoss doin' 
his level bes'. I drap down an watch him thru de fence 
till he git clos' 'nough to see plain, w'en, lan' of goodness, 
if it ain' my mewl he runnin' an' beaten dat way, an' I 
was plum mad in a minnit. 
"He ain' got no gun, an' I ain' see no pistil on him, so 
1 grab up a long stick an' jump ovah de fence, an' p'intin' 
it at him like a gun, I holler out loud as I kin, 'Halt !' 
"De man look like he mos' sca'ed to def, w'en he see 
me, an ' he des let go all holts an' fell off de mewl like I 
don' shot him sho' 'nuff. W'en he stop bouncin' an' rollin' 
he lay still, an' I lef him w'ile I run ketch my mewl an' 
tie him to de fence. Den I wen' to see 'bout de man. He 
was layin' on his face, an' dey was blood on de back of 
his head, but he mo' skeered dan hu't, foh w'en I tu'n him 
ovah he soon come to, an' 'gin to beg me not to kill him, 
an' I say I won't if he behav' like I tell him. He say I 
kin take de foh dollahs he got in his pocket, 'sides his 
pistil, if I des spah his life, an' I sho' did hustle 'roun' 
aftah de pistil, foh I was needin' a weepin bad. 
"I mounted gyard ovah my prisnah wid de pistil he 
gimme, an' in little whil' Marse Bicknell an' de yuthers 
com' riding 'long back. 
"Dey had got close to de camp an' cha'ged in on de 
Yankees w'en dey wa'n spectin' it, killed some, run some 
'way, an' took some prisnahs; 'sides some hosses an' lot 
of grub. 'Mongst de prisnahs was de orsifer w'at I 
took Black Jack from, an' w'en Marse Bicknell make me 
tell all about it, he say it so, an' he cuss me, an' laff at me 
bofe at de same time. W'en dey see I got my mewl back, 
too, an' heah how dat was dey all tell Marse Bicknell dat 
he got de smahtest nigger in de ahmy, an he say, 'Dat 
right, boys, an' de best one, too.' 
"Marse Bicknell bring me back a fine coat from de 
fight, all trimmed in brass buttons, an' gol' braid, but w'en 
I foun' out dey had let de man w'at owned it out thu 
a little roun' hole in de lef side, I ain' like to weah it very 
much. But I sho' did feel fin' dressed up in his best 
pah of breeches w'at he giv' me w'en we got back to 
camp dat night. 
"An' now you know sompin 'bout Black Jack; but dat 
ain't all, an' I hope you come by ag'in an' heah som' moah 
'bout him, an' my young marster. We was togedda fom 
de beginnin' to de eind of de wah, an' all com' home 'cept 
a ahm an' piece of one foot, w'at Marse Bicknell lef at 
Get' is'bu'g." Lewis Hopkins. 
David S. Libby. 
Of fatalities resulting from the reckless use of firearms 
and shooting accidents during the past autumn, one of the 
saddest cases was that of David S. Libby, of Newport, 
Me., who was killed by a hunter who presumably mistook 
the man for a deer. Mr. Libby was camping with a son 
and grandson and others in a camp built by him about 
seven miles from Lincoln, a district in which he had 
hunted for many years. He left camp one morning to 
hunt, and did not return that night. The men in camp 
fired signal guns all night, and in the morning made a 
search for their missing companion. The lifeless body 
was found in some bushes just off from a woods road. 
A bullet hole through the breast showed that death must 
have been instantaneous. The story told by the snow 
showed that Mr. Libby had been about to step out into 
the road, and that two steps more would have taken 
him into plain view of the person who had fired the 
shot, and who at the time, as the snow also recorded, 
had stood not more than thirty feet away. After the 
firing the shooter had run to the spot where his victim 
had fallen, and then had taken flight. This heartless con- 
duct aroused the greatest indignation, and it is said that 
while a conviction for shooting a human being by mis- 
take for game has never yet been had in Maine, the 
public feeling in this case is so intense that it would go 
hard with the perpetrator of the deed could his identity 
be discovered. 
Mr. Libby, who had reached the age of 76, was one 
of the most experienced and most skillful hunters in 
Maine; and one whose vast information in the field of 
woodcraft was most highly respected by all who were 
conversant with it. As a writer over the signature of 
Penobscot, he was for many years a valued contributor 
to the columns of this journal. There was perhaps in the 
entire State of Maine no one who in the wilderness was 
more cautious than he, more circumspect to avoid danger, 
or better fitted to take care of himself in any ordinary 
emergency. It is the mockery of fate that such a man 
should fall victim to that criminal heedlessness against 
which no experience, no provident forethought, nothing 
can avail to secure protection. 
