In the year 1798, 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 heareof, is heareof
“notyfide that edwd. Prator will giv a gander pullin, jis
“this side of harisburg, on Satterday of thes pressents
“munth to All woo mout wish to partak tharof.”
“e Prator, thos wishin to purtak
“will cum yearly, as the pullin will begin soon.”
“e. p.”

If I am asked, why “jis the 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
Campbellton—Not that each was the rival of all the others;
but, that the first and the last were competitors, and
each of the others backed the pretensions of its nearest
neighbor. Harrisburg sided with Campbellton, not be

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cause 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; but 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 always had lived, right amidst gullies, vapours,
fogs, creeks, and lagoon's, 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 neighbors and
friends.—Until therefore, she should 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,
tho Springfield doctrines prevailed—Campbellton
was literally nullified; in so much, that ten years ago,
there was not a house left to mark the spot where once
flourished this active, busy little village. Those who

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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 Marbury Streets, in the
city of Augusta, and they will be in the very heart of
old Springfield. Sixty steps West, and as many East
of this position, will measure the whole length of this
Jeffersonian Republican village, which never boasted of
more than four dwelling-houses; and Broad-street, measures
its width, if we exclude kitchens and stables.
And, while upon this subject, since it has been predicted
by a man, for whose opinions I entertain the profoundest
respect,[6] (especially since the prediction,) that my writings
will be read, with increased interest, a hundred
years to come; and as I can see no good reason, if this
be true, why they should not be read a thousand years
hence, with more interest; I will take the liberty of
dropping a word here, to the curious reader, of the year
1933. He will certainly wish to know the site of Harrisburg,
(seeing it is doomed, at no distant period, to
share the fate of Springfield,) and of Campbellton.

Supposing then, that if the great fire in Augusta, on
the 3d of April, 1829, did not destroy that city, nothing
will; I select this as a permanent object.

In 1798, Campbell street was the western verge of
Augusta, a limit to which it had advanced but a few
years before, from Jackson street. Thence to Springfield,
led a large road,—now built up on either side, and
forming a continuation of Broad-street—This road was
cut across obliquely, by a deep gully, the bed of which
was an almost impassable bog, which entered the road,
about one hundred yards below Collock street, on the
South, and left it, about thirty yards below Collock street,
on the North side of now Broad street. It was called
Campbell's-Gully, from the name of the gentleman,

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through whose possessions, and near whose dwelling, it
wound its way to the river. Following the direction of
Broad-street, from Springfield, westward, 1347 yards,
will bring you to Harrisburg; which had nothing to boast
of over Springfield, but a Warehouse, for the storage
of Tobacco, then the staple of Georgia.—Continue the
same direction, 700 yards, then face to your right hand,
and follow your nose directly across Savannah river,
and upon ascending the opposite bank, you will be in
the busiest part of Campbellton, in 1798. Between Harrisburg
and Springfield, and 1143 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.”[7]

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, to
the south of the road, and embraced part of the road,
but within 100 yards of Harrisburg.

When “Satterday of thes presents 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 diameter, had
already been laid out; over which, from two posts about

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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
list; 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 first 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 the grease, 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 greasee.—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 to the recreations of the pool. And now
alas! an extract from the smoking sacrifice of his bosom
friend, was disecrated 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

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reflections, the voice of James Prator thundered on mine
ear, “Durn his old dodging soul; 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 on the ring. Eight appeared—
Tall Zubley Zin, mounted upon Sally Spitfire; Arch
Odum, mounted on Bull-and-Ingons, (onions.) Nathan
Perdew, on Hell-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 git 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 every where, and
therefore took fright at every thing.

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
better not go fooling with him,” as his owner sometimes
used to say. He took a sober, but rather intense view of
things; in so much, that in his contemplations, he passed
over the track three times, before he could be prevailed
upon to stop in it. He stopt, at last, however, and when

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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 prevailed
upon 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 ahead of Gridiron.

“Now gentlemen,” said the Master of Ceremonies,
“no man's to make a grab till all's been once round—
and when the first man are got round, then the whole
twist and tucking of you grab away, as you come under,
(“Look here Jim Fulger! you 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 she now
thought the whole parade would end in nothing more nor
less, than her favorite 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 reached forth his long
arm, grabbed the gander by the neck, with a firmness,
which seemed likely to defy goose-grease, and at the

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same instant, he involuntarily gave Sally a sudden
check. She raised her head, which before 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 nothing 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 distances 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 trapball,
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 stopt 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 stopt 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

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him no satisfaction, and his rider signified 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 oscilating 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 now 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 all this consumed 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,

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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 had n't o' been for his great fat greasy paw,” to
use their own language, Odum would have gained the
victory. Others cursed, “that long-legged Zube Zin,
who was so high, he did' n't know when his feet were
cold, for bringing such a nag as Sal' Spitfire, to a gander
pullen, for if he'd o'been in his place, it would o' flung
Bostwick right where that gourd o' hog's 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 sons o'
bitches! walk into your Mas' Johny's pocket, and gingle,
so as Arch Odum and Gory Bostwick may hear you!”
You hear 'em Gory? Boys, don't pull with men any
more. I've jist got my hand in; I wish I had a pond
full o' ganders here now, jist to show 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 all 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 it had—
it reconciled all to their disappointment, save one. I
except little Billy Mixen, of Spirit Creek; who had

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staked the net proceeds of six quarts of huckle-berries[8]
upon Odom; which he had been long keeping for a safe
bet. He could not be 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;† after which all parted
good friends.

HALL.

eaf262.n6

[6] The Editor of the “Hickory Nut.”

eaf262.n7

[7] It took its name from an old man, by the name of Hawk, who lived
in a log hut, on a small knoll, on the Eastern side of the gully, and
about 100 yards South of the Harrisburg road.

eaf262.n8

[8] I give them their Georgia name. I should hardly be understood, if
I called them whortleberries.

eaf262.dag1

† I borrowed this term from Jim Inman, at the time.—“Why, Jim,”
said I to him, just as he rose from a fight, “what have you been doing?”
“Oh,” said he, “nothing but taking a little rotation with Bob McManus.”