Lettin' on—Making a pretense of; feigning; hoaxing.
H-yah, H-yah, H-yah—Ha, ha, ha.
U-gooh—An unspellable interjection pronounced, or rather produced, by closing the lips and sending the sound through the nose, either forcibly and suddenly with a quick taper, or the reverse with a quick, short swell; or beginning gently, no bigger than a knitting-needle, and slowly swelling to a certain degree, then suddenly flaring, like the mouth of a dinner-horn. In short, varying according to the feeling or thought to be expressed. Perhaps in the ebony lingo there is no word so frequently used, and in senses so various, as U-gooh. Rendered into English, some of the sentiments expressed thereby are the following: "Admirable!" "Wonderful!" "O how nice!" "O how good!" "You astonish me!" "I admire you!" "I highly commend you!" "I applaud you!" "I am listening—pray proceed!" "What you tell me is very strange, nevertheless I believe you!" "I have no words to express what I feel, therefore can only say, 'U-gooh!'"
What our black Munchausen told the ebony wonder-mongers of his great adventure before and after the fight was such a jumble of marvels and horrors as were hardly fitting to appear in a sober book like ours, pledged to confine itself to possibilities, if not to facts. Where the narrative should have been truest, if truly told, there the narrator was wildest, drawing freely upon his imagination to fill up the wide gaps between the few conspicuous incidents marking its setting out and winding up. Gap number one was made interesting with bears; gap number two, lively with panthers; gap number three, thrilling with wolves; and where the war-path led into the shades of night, there the woods were alive with ghosts. We shall, therefore, make our dip into the medley just at that point where the narrator, having brought his listeners all agape to the hazardous edge of ambush and battle subsides into the possible; the story now rising of itself into the wonderful, and having no great need of exaggeration or embellishment to make it spicy.
"Betsy Grumbo," ses I to my gun, "you mus' put lead through two ob de varmints on de log, ef you cain't through all four." Bang barks Betsy; up jumps all de Injuns, two falls back dead behin' de log, two goes runnin' down de hill a-yellin' as ef de Ol' Scratch wus arter 'em wid a sharp stick. ["H-yah, h-yah, h-yah!" Audience.] "I yi, you dogs!" says I, lungin' out uf de bushes. "Whoo-oop!" yells big Injun, a-jerkin' his tommyhawk out uf de tree and flingin' it whizz at my head. I knocks it away wid my ax an' drives on. Here comes anudder a-whizzin'. Knocks dat off, too, still a-drivin' on at 'im. "I yi, you dogs!" Anudder tommyhawk ready to fly. I knocks dat out de big Injun's han'. Big Injun jumps back'ards, I jumps for'ards, my ax high up an' ready fur a cleaver. No chance fur big Injun; ef he starts to run, it's a split in de back; ef he jumps to one side, it's a gash in de neck. De cleaver's a-comin' down, when here, wid a duck uf de head, comes Injun right at me, his shoulder under my arm. Down draps de ax, a-stickin' in de groun' atwixt his heels. Bes' thing he could a-done fur hisse'f—cunnin' as a fox.
Den, ladies an' gen'lemen, we clinches, an' away we goes a-plungin' an' a-whirlin'; through de bushes an' through de fire, roun' an' roun' de logs, roun' an' roun' de trees, roun' an' roun' de hill. Now I tosses 'im up tel his heels kicked de lim's uf de trees, he's so long; but eb'ry time I thinks I's gwine to bring him down kerwollop, down he comes wid all his feet under him, like a cat. Activest thing I eber seed—he's so long. Den he picks me up an' shakes me, dang-a-lang-a-downy-yo, as ef I's nothin' but a string-j'inted limber-jack. But when I at's him ag'in, to lock legs or kick ankles, dar he's 'way off yander, a-tippin' it on his toes, like a killdee. No gittin' a-nigh him, he's so active, he's so long.
By an' by I happens to look 'roun'. Dar's de dead varmint in de blue coat an' ruffled shirt up ag'in, wid his gun on de log, an' p'intin' right at my ribs. "Ouch!" ses I, an' flings Black Thunder atwix. Black Thunder flings me back fur de pop. Back I flings him ag'in atwix. Den him me ag'in, me him ag'in, an' all de time de dead varmint a-follerin' us wid his gun, waitin' to pop my flanks. So, de dead varmint kep' me watchin' so close, an' de live varmint kep' me movin' so fas', I didn't know what I's doin', couldn't tell whar I's gwine. Dar I was, rammed close up in a corner atwix a tree an' a log; no gittin' out, no flingin' big Injun atwix. Dead varmint takin' his aim—finger on trigger, ready to pull. "Burlman Rennuls," ses I to myse'f, "you's a goner," when dar comes Grumbo a-pitchin'—no stoppin' to smell noses. One long lunge he makes, one long, stretchin' lunge—sich a lunge I neber seed a dog make befo'. 'Peared as ef he'd lef' his hin' parts way back yander, to git de quicker at de varmint's throat wid his fo'parts. Back falls Injun, wid a kick an' a yell; off goes gun, wid a kick an' a bang, the bullet a-whizzin' right 'twix' our noses. "Ouch!" ses I. "Ugh!" says Black Thunder. [Audience: "I yi!" "Oho!" "U-gooh!" See Glossary. It may have been a coincidence, but just here Grumbo fetched the stump a ratifying rap of the tail.]
Ah! ladies an' gen'lemen [patting his comrade-in-arms on the head], you don't know how glad I wus to see dat dog. An' white folks say dat Grumbo's got no humin feelin's. Git out! Den I takes a long bref, Grumbo still a-holdin' fas' to de dead varmint. "Burlman Rennuls," says I to myse'f, "de big Injun's too active fur you—too much like a cat fur you. You cain't throw him down, but you kin let him throw you down; an' once a-flat uf yo' back on de groun' you kin wollop him ober as easy as turnin' a pancake, den chaw him up any way you please." So, I pushes him hard—he pushes me back still harder—when down we comes, kerwollop, chug—nigger below, Injun on top. But, in de shake uf a sheep's tail, nigger comes up, Injun goes down. I grabs fur my knife. It's gone—slipped out in de scuffle. Big Injun grabs fur his knife; dat's gone, too. He jerks out his pipe an' breaks it in flinders ober my head. "Ouch!" says I. I looks roun' fur somethin' good fur beatin' out brains, an' dar lays my ax. I grabs it up, now ready fur a cleaver, an' no mistake. Big Injun ain't, though; he ain't ready fur any sich a thing. Up he comes wid a whirl, an' down I goes wid a fling, my ax a-flyin' way out yander. But in de wriggle uf a buck's tail comes up nigger ag'in; goes down Injun ag'in. Yes, an' a leetle mo' dan dat: nigger an' Injun clean ober de turn uf de hill, an' now a-slidin', slidin' down whar it wus steep as a house-ruff.
"Burlman Rennuls," ses I to myself, "whar you gwine? Dis ain't de sort uf groun' fur you. You cain't manage de Injun here on de steep hill-side—he's too active fur you; he's too long fur you; he's too much like a painter fur you. Git to a lebel country, Burlman Rennuls; git to a lebel country quick as you kin." Den I hugs him up tight in my arms, an' locks him up tight in my legs, an' 'way down de steep hill, rollin', rumblin', an' tumblin' we go—fus' nigger on top, den Injun'—ober an' ober, fas'er an' fas'er. [The orator revolving his fists one round the other with increasing rapidity.]