Tar Heel Tales

by H. E. C. Bryant

This announcement took the breath from the crowd. The money was put up and the day fixed.

The acceptance of Black John’s challenge by Paddy Roark was the sensation of the month. The countryside was surprised and delighted. Everybody was asking, “And where did Paddy get a chicken that can stand up against Jay Bird, the wonder?”

All the answer that Paddy gave was, “Never you moind, I’ll be there at the roight toime, and I will have a foighting cock that will swape the daeck.”

The word was “put out” and traveled with the wind, crossing out of Providence into Pineville, Morning Star, Sharon and Steele Creek townships, and into Union county and South Carolina. The coming contest was all the talk, and Paddy Roark the hero of the hour. If he brought a fowl that could whip Jay Bird the people of the community stood ready to give him a vote of thanks. The older persons of the neighborhood believed that if Smith could be outdone he might turn from his evil ways and discontinue the parties at his place. All minds were on Paddy, who was admired, for his consummate nerve, by men, women and children. The small boy longed to be a man so that he could model after Paddy Roark, the Irishman. When Paddy attended church on Sunday, which he usually did, the pious communicants turned to look at him. He who dared accept Black John Smith’s challenge was a mighty man.

The last Saturday in October was the day, and Bald Knob, near McAlpine’s creek, the place for the meet.

Long before the appointed hour a crowd began to gather from three counties. Men came twenty miles to witness the fight.

The woods that surrounded the open field in which the main was to take place were alive with horses and mules, and while the beasts of burden whinnied and brayed their owners discussed the approaching event. The mystery that surrounded Paddy Roark and his fowl had excited the quiet citizens of Providence as they had not been excited since the days of the Ku Klux Klan. John Smith, himself, looked pale and confused. Could he have done so gracefully, he would have crawfished, but it was too late to think of such a thing. He had to stand to the rack. Bright and early he was at the right place. Jay Bird had crowed until he was hoarse. He knew that something was in the wind and, from the attention he received, that he was to play a part. Hundreds of people called at his cage to see him. He was in fine form and looked every inch a fighter.

Paddy Roark, who had not been in his usual haunts for several days, had not shown up. The friends of Smith were saying that the Irishman had fluked, but Paddy had backers aplenty, who assured one and all that he would be on time. Fifteen minutes before the hour arrived Paddy was not in sight. At ten of ten a shout broke on the eastern outskirts of the mob. Paddy, riding a gray mule, came galloping over the hill, from towards Matthews, carrying a sack over his shoulder. As he dismounted from his nag an outburst of applause greeted him.

It was, “Hurrah, for Paddy Roark, and his bird!”