Democratic Sentinel, Volume 2, Number 38, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 November 1878 — THE PARSON'S HORSE-RACE. [ARTICLE]

THE PARSON'S HORSE-RACE.

BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

“Wnl! now this’ere does ben.tall! I wouldn’t V thought it o’ the deacon.” So spoke Sam Lawson, dropping in a discouraged, contemplative attitude in front of an equally discouraged-looking horse, that had just been brought to him by tho Widow Simpkins for medical treatment. Among Sam’s many accomplishments he was reckoned, in the neighborhood, an oracle in all matters of this kind, especially by women [whose helplessness in meeting such emergencies found unfailing , solace under his com pas ionate willingness to attend to any business that did not strictly belong to him, and from which no pecuniary return was to be expected. The Widow Simpkins had bought this horse of Deacon Atkins, apparently a fairly well-appointed brute, and as capable as lie was good-looking. A short, easy drive, when the deacon held the reins, had shown off his point® to advantage, and the widow’s small stock of ready savings had come forth freely in payment for what she thought was a bargain. When, soon after coming into possession, she discovered that her horse, if driven with any haste, panted in a fearful manner, and that he appeared to be growing lame, she waxed wroth, and went to the Deacon in anger, to lie met only with the smooth reminder that the animal was all right when she took him—that she had seen him tried herself. The widow was of a nature somewhat spicy, and expressed herself warmly: “It’s a cheat and a shame, and I’ll take the law on ye.” “What law will you take?” said the unmoved deacon. “Wasn’tit a fair bargain?” “I’ll take the law of Clod,” said the widow, with impotent indignation, and she departed to pour her cares and trials into the ever-ready ear of Sam. Having assumed the care of the animal, he now sat contemplating it in a sort of trance of melancholy reflection. “ Why, boys,” lie broke out, “ why didn’t she come to me afore she bought this critter? That ’ere crittur was jest ruined a year ago last summer, when Tom, the deacon's boy there, come home from college. Tom driv him over to Sherburn and back that ’ere hot Fourth of July. ’Member it, ’cause I saw the crittur when he come home; I sot up with Tom takin’ care of him all night; that ’ere crittur had tho thumps all night, and he liain’t. never been good for nothin’ since. I telled the deacon he was a gone lioss then, and wouldn’t never be good for nothin’. The deacon he took off his’ shoes, and let him run to pastin'’ all summer, and lie’s been a feedin’ and nussin’.on him up; and now lie’s, put him oft' on the widder. I wouldn’t ’a’ thought it o’ the deacon. Why, this boss’ll never be no good to her; that ’ere’s a used-up crittur, any fool may sec! He’ll mebbe do for about a quarter of an hour on a smooth road, but come to drive him as a body wants to drive, why, lie blows like my bellowsis; and the deacon knew it—must ’a’ known it!”

“Why, Sam,” we exclaimed, “ain’t the deacon a good man ?” “ Wal, now, there’s where the shoe pinches. In a gin’al way the deacon is a good man—lie’s consid’able more than middlin’ good—gin’ally he adorns his perfession. On most p’ints I don’t liev nothin’ agin the deacon, and this ’ere ain’t a hit like him—but there ’tis! Come to bosses, there’s where the unsanctified natur’ comes out. Folks will cheat about bosses when they won’t about ’most nothin’ else.” And Sam leaned back on his cold forge, now empty of coal, and seemed to deliver himself to a mournful train of general reflection. “ Yes, bosses does seem to be sort of unregenerate critturs,” he broke out. “There’s sutliin’ about hosses that deceives the very elect; the best of folks get tripped up when they come to deal in hosses.” “ Why, Sam, is there anything bad in horses?” we interjected, timidly. “ ’Tain’t the hosses, boys,” said Sam, with solemnity. “Lordy-massy, the hosses is scriptural animals. Elijah went up to heaven in a cliari’t with hosses; and then all them lots o’ hosses in the Revelations, black and white and red and all sorts o’ colors. That ’ere shows hosses goes to heaven; but it’s rnoro’n the folks that hev ’em is likely to, es they don’t look out.” “Ministers, now,” continued Sam, in a soliloquizing vein; “folks allers think it’s suthin’ sort o’ shaky in a minister to hev much to do with hosses—sure to get ’em into trouble. There was old Parson Williams, of North Billriky, got into a drefful mess about a boss. Lordymassy, he wan’t to blame, neither, but he got into the drefifulest scrape you

ever heard on—come nigh to unsettlin’ him.” “Oh, Sam, tell us all about it,” we boys shouted, delighted with the prospect of a story. “ Wal, wait now till I get off this crittur’s shoes, and we'll take him up to pastur’, and then we can kind o’ set by the river and fish. Hepsey wanted a mess o’ fish for supper, and I was cal’latin’ to git some for her. You boys go and be digging bait and git yer lines.” And so as we were sitting tranquilly beside the Charles river, watching our lines, Sam’s narrative began: “Ye see, boys, Parson Williams—he’s dead now—but when I was a boy he was one of the great men ’round here. He writ books. He writ a track agin the Arminians, and put ’em down, and he writ a big book on the millennium (I’ve got that ’ere book now), and he was a smart preacher. Folks said he had invitations to settle in Boston, and there ain’t no doubt he might ’a’ hed a Boston parish es he’d ’a’ been a mind ter take it, and he’d got a good settlement and a handsome farm in North Billriky, and didn’t care to move; thought, I s’pose, that ’twas better to be number ; one in a little place than number two 'in a big un; anyway, he earned all before him where he was. “Parson Williams was a tall, straight, personable man, come of good familyfather and grand’ther before him all ministers; he was putty up and down, and commandin’ in his ways, and things had to go putty much as he said. He was a good deal sot by, Parson Williams was, and his wife was a Derby, one o’ them rich Salem Derbys, and brought him a lot o’ money, and so they lived putty easy and comfortable so far as this world’s goods goes. Well, now, the parson wan’t reely what you call worldly-minded, but then lie was one of them folks that knows what’s good in ! temporals as well as sperituals, and al- ! lers liked to hev the best that there was goin’; and he allers had an eye to a good lioss. “ Now there was Parson Adams and Parson Scranton, and most of the other i ministers, they didn’t know and didn’t | care what lioss they hed; jest jogged round with these ’ere poundin’, potbellied, sleepy critturs that ministers mostly lies, good enough to crawl ’round to funerals and ministers’ meetin’s and associations and sich; but Parson Williams he always would liev a lioss as was a lioss; iie looked for blood, and when these ’ere Vermont fellers would come down with a drove, the parson lie lied his eyes open and he knew what was what. Couldn’t none of ’em cheat him on lioss flesh; and so, one time when Zack Buel was down with a drove, the doctor he bought the best lioss in the lot. Zack said he never see a parson that he couldn’t cheat, but he said the doctor reely knew as much as he did, and got the very one he’d meant to a’ kept for, himself. “ This ’ere lioss was a peeler, I’ll tell you. They called him Tamerlane, from some heathen feller or other; the boys called him Tam, for short. Tam was a great character. All the fellers for miles ’round know the doctor’s Tam, and used to come clear over from the other parishes to see him. “Wal, this ’ere sot up Cuff’s back high, I tell you. Cuff was the doctor’s nigger man, and he was.nat’llya drefful proud crittur! The way he would swell and strut, and brag about the doctor and his folks and his tilings! The doctor used to give Cuff his cast-off clothes, and Cuff would prance round in ’em and seem to think he was a Doctor of Divinity himself, and had the charge of all natur’. “ Wal, Cuff he reelv made an idol o’ that ’ere lioss, a reg’lar graven image, and bowed down and worshiped him; he didn’t think nothin’ was too good for him; he washed and brushed and curried him, and rubbed him down till he shone like a lady’s satin dress; .and he took pride in ridin’ and drivin’ him ’cause it was what the doctor wouldn’t let nobody else do but himself. You see, Tam warn’t no lady’s lioss. Miss Williams was ’fraid as death of him, and the parson he had to git her a sort of low-sperited crittur that she could drive herself, but he liked to drive Tam; and he liked to go around the country on his back, and a tine figure of a man he was on him, too. “He didn’t let nobody else back him or handle the reins but Cuff, and Cuff was drefful set up about it, and lie swelled and bragged about that ar hoss all round the country. Nobody couldn’t put in a word ’bout any other hoss without Cuff's feathers would be all up—stiff as a tom turkey’s tail—and that’s how Cuff got the doctor into trouble.

“Ye see, there nat’lly was others that thought they’d got hosses, and didn’t want to be crowed over. There was Bill Atkins, out to the west parish, and Ike Sanders, that kep’ a stable up to Pequot Holler; they was dow n a-lookin’ at the parson’s boss, and a-bettin’ on their’n, and a-darin’ 01111 to race with ’em. “Wal, Cuff he couldn’t stan’ it, and when the doctor’s back was turned he’d be oft' on the sly and they’d hev their race; and Tam he beat ’em all. Tam, ye see, boys, was a boss that couldn’t and wouldn’t hev a boss ahead of him—he jest wouldn't! Es he dropped down dead in his tracks the next minit, he would be ahead, and he allers got ahead, and so his name got up; and fellers kep’ cornin’ to try their hosses, and Cuff’d take Tam out to race with fust one and then another till this ’ere got to be a reg’lar thing, and begun to be talked about. “Folks sort o’ wondered if the doctor knew, but Cuff was sly as a weasel and allers had a story ready for every turn; Cuff was one of them fellers that could take a bird off a bush—master hand he was to slick things over! “There w r as folks as said they believed the doctor was knowin’ to it, and that lie felt a sort o’ carnal pride, sech as a minister oughtn’t fer to hev, and so sliet his eyes to what was a-goin’ on. Aunt Bally Nickersen said she was sure on’t; ’twas all talked over down to old Miss Bummiger’s funeral, and Aunt Sally she said the church ought to look into it. But everybody knew Aunt Sally; she wos allers watchin’ for folks’ haltin’, and settin’ on herself up to jedge her neighbors. “Wal, I never believed nothin’ agin Parson Williams; it was all Cuff’s contrivances ; but the fact was the fellers all got their blood up, and there was hoss-racin’ in all the parishes; and it got so they’d even race hosses a Sunday. “ Wal, of course they never got the doctor’s hoss out a Sunday. Cuff wouldn’t ’a’ durst to do that, Lordymassy, no! He was allers there in church, settin’up in the doctor’s clothes, rollin’ up his eyes and lookin’ as pious as es he never thought o’ racin’ hosses; he was an awful solemn-lookin’ nigger in church, Cuff was. “ But there was a lot o’ them fellers up to Pequot Holler—Bill Atkins, and Ike Sanders, and Tom Peters and them Hokum boys—used to go out arter meetin’ Sunday afternoon and race hosses. Ye see, it was just close to the State Hue, and, if the s’lectman was to come down on ’em, they could jest whip over the line and they couldn’t take ’em. “ Wal, it got to be a great scandal; the fellers talked about it up to the tavern, and the deacons and the tithingman they took it up and went to Parson Williams about it; and the parson he, told ’em jest to keep still, not let the fellows know that they was bein’ watched, and next Sunday he and the tithingman and the constable they’d ride over and catch ’em in the very act. ii“So, next Sunday afternoon Parson

Williams and Deacon Popkins and Ben Bradley (he was constable that year) they got on their hosses and rode over to Pequot Holler. The doctor’s blood was up, and he meant to come down on ’em strong, for that was his way of doin’ in his parish; and they was in a sort o’ day-o’-judgment frame o’ mind, and jogged along solemn as a hearse, till they come to rise the hill above the holler they see three or four fellers with their hosses gettin’ ready to race; and the parson says he, ‘ Let’s come on quiet and get behind these bushes, and well see what they’re up to and catch ’em in the act.’ “ But the mischief on it was that Ike Sanders see ’em cornin’, and he knowed Tam in a min’t’—lke knowed Tam of old—and he jest tipped the wink to the rest. ‘ Wait, boys,’ says he; * let ’em git close up, and then I’ll give the word and the doctor’s hoss will be racin’ ahead like thunder.’ “ Wal, so the doctor and his folks they drew up behind the bushes, and stood there innocent as could be, and saw ’em gittin’ ready to start. Tam he begun to snuffle and paw, but the doctor never mistrusted what he was up to until Ike sung out ‘Go it, boys!’ and the horses all started, when r sure as you live, boys, Tam gave one fly and was over the bushes and in among ’em, goin’ it like chain lightnin’, ahead of ’em all. “Deacon Popkins and Ben Bradley jest stood and held their breath to see ’em all goin’ it so like thunder; and the doctor he was took so sudden it was all he could do to jest hold on any way, so away he went, and trees and bushes and fences streaked by him like ribbins, his hat flew off behind him, and his wig arter, and got catched in a barberry bush; but, Lordy-massy, he couldn’t stop to think o’ them. He just leaned down and oaught Tam round the neck and held on for dear life, till they come to the stopping place. “Wal, Tam was ahead of them all. sure enough, and was snorting an’ snuffling as if he’d got the very old boy in him, and was up to racing some more on the spot. “That ’ere Ike Sanders was the impuJentest feller that ever you see, and he roared and liawhawed at the doctor. ‘ Good for you, parson!’ says he. * You beat us all holler,’ says he; ‘ takes a parson for that, don’t it, boys?’ he said. And then he and Ike and Tom, and the two Hokum boys they jest roared and danced around like wild critters. Wal, now, only think on’t, boys; what a situation that ere was for a minister —a man that had come out with the best of motives to put a stop to Sabbath-breakin’! “There he was rumpled up and dusty, and his wig bangin’ in the bushes, and these ’ere ungodly fellows gettin’ the laugh on him, and all acausc o’ that ’ere hoss. There’s times, boys, when ministers must be tempted to swear if there ain’t preventin’ grace, and this was one o’ them times to Parson Williams. They say he got red in the face and looked as if he should burst, but he didn’t say nothin’; he scorned to answer—the sons o’ Zeruiah was too hard for him, and he let ’em hev their say. But when they’d got through, and Ben had brought him his hat and wig, and brushed and settled him ag’in, the parson he says, ‘ well, boys, ye’ve had your say and your laugh, but I warn you now I won’t have this thing going on here any more,’ says he, * so mind yourselves.’ “ Wal, the boys see that the doctor’s blood was up, and they rode off pretty quiet, and I believe they never raced no more in that spot.

“But there ain’t no tellin’ the talk this ’ere thing made. Folks will talk, you know, and there warn’t a house in all Billriky, nor in the north parish nor center, where it warn’t had over and discussed. There was the deacon, and Ben Bradley was there to witness and show just how the thing was, and that the doctor was just in the xvay of his duty; but folks said it made a great scandal; that a minister hadn’t no business to hev that kind o’ hoss, and then he’d give the enemy occasion to speak reproachfully. It reely did seem as if Tam’s sins were imputed to the doctor’s, and folks said lie ought to sell Tam right away and get a sober minister’s hoss. “But others said it was Cuff that had got Tam into bad ways, and they do say that Cuff had to catch it pretty lively when the doctor came to settle with him. Cuff thought his time had come sure enough, and was so scairt that he turned blacker ’n ever; he got enough to cure him o’ bossracin’ for one while. But Cuff got over it arter awhile, and so did the doctor. Lordy-massy, there ain’t nothin’ lasts forever. Wait long enough and ’most everything blows over. So it turned out about the doctor—there was a rumpus and a fuss, and folks talked and talked and advised; everybody had their say, but the doctor kept right straight on, and kep’ his hoss all the same. “The ministers they took it up in the association, but, come to tell the story, it sot ’em all a laughin’, so they couldn’t be very hard on the doctor. “The doctor felt sort o’ streaked at fust when they told the story on him; and, finally, when lie was twitted on’t he’d sort o : smile and say, * Any way, Tam beat ’em; that’s one comfort.’ ” Atlantic Monthly.