Thus spake Judge Lynch, as there he sat in Alabama’s forum,
Around he gazed, with legs upraised upon the bench before him;
And, as he gave this sentence stern to him who stood beneath,
Still with his gleaming bowie-knife he slowly picked his teeth.
It was high noon, the month was June, and sultry was the air,
A cool gin-sling stood by his hand, his coat hung o’er his chair;
All naked were his manly arms, and shaded by his hat,
Like an old senator of Rome that simple Archon sat.
“A bloody cheat?—Oh, legs and feet!” in wrath young Silas cried;
And springing high into the air, he jerked his quid aside.
“No man shall put my dander up, or with my feelings trifle,
As long as Silas Fixings wears a bowie-knife and rifle.”
“If your shoes pinch,” replied Judge Lynch, “you’ll very soon have ease;
I’ll give you satisfaction, squire, in any way you please;
What are your weapons?—knife or gun?—at both I’m pretty spry!”;
“Oh! ’tarnal death, you’re spry, you are?” quoth Silas; “so am I!”
Hard by the town a forest stands, dark with the shades of time,
And they have sought that forest dark at morning’s early prime;
Lynch, backed by Nehemiah Dodge, and Silas with a friend,
And half the town in glee came down to see that contest’s end.
They led their men two miles apart, they measured out the ground;
A belt of that vast wood it was, they notched the trees around;
Into the tangled brake they turned them off, and neither knew
Where he should seek his wagered foe, how get him into view.
With stealthy tread, and stooping head, from tree to tree they passed,
They crept beneath the crackling furze, they held their rifles fast:
Hour passed on hour, the noonday sun smote fiercely down, but yet
No sound to the expectant crowd proclaimed that they had met.
