In referring to the nights of that period, O. H. Browning in his journal of May 2d, wrote that they were “cold and tempestuous;” so that choice camping grounds, affording wood and water, were eagerly sought and when found, the scramble for their possession was spirited.
At, or just out of Beardstown, the companies of Captain Lincoln and Captain William Moore from St. Clair County, came upon just such a camping ground simultaneously and for its occupation a strife arose of course. With the propensity for free fights, usual to those days, it may appear miraculous at this day that such an affray was avoided; but as Captain Lincoln felt his official oats at the time and may have desired to reap a little personal advantage from the collision, he proposed to Captain Moore that “‘captain for captain,’ the matter should be settled by a match.”
But as every rule of wrestling forbade a contest so unequal, Captain Moore, who declined, suggested as a substitute the selection of a man from each company. That appeared fair enough and with a metaphorical chip on his shoulder Captain Lincoln selected himself to represent his company, while Captain Moore who was not an authority on “wrestling form,” turned over the function of selection to his brother, Jonathan Moore, Orderly Sergeant.
The latter knew his business even though a shout of derision went up from Lincoln’s men when the champion was produced. When led up for slaughter, the victim was found to be just above medium height and weight and so unobtrusive and guileless that I had almost forgotten to mention his name:—Lorenzo Dow Thompson of St. Clair County.
Captain Lincoln chortled and gave the upstart a look of such fine scorn that the poor fellow should have been sorry for living and had the affair been one of to-day we surely could have heard the captain shout “what a cinch!” when the books were opened for bets.
Jonathan Moore was called to referee the match which was to consist of “best two in three” falls. He tossed up a coin, winning choice of “holts” for Thompson, who chose “side holt.” Lincoln’s was “Indian holt,” and generally speaking it was a scrappy sort of a “holt” too. At once a great scramble followed among Lincoln’s men to lay their bets before Captain Moore’s men got “scart.” But Captain Moore’s men refused to get “scart.” In fact there was a very suspicious degree of firmness and unanimity in their opinion of “Dow” Thompson’s ability to take care of himself and any loose change his friends might put up on him; so up went powder-horns, guns, watches, coats, horses, pay-rolls and reputations until there remained not one solitary article of property in possession or expectancy thereof which had not been put into the pot on that match.
To increase the zest of his men for gaming, Captain Lincoln who was cock-sure of victory, had urged them to offer odds and discount the future all they could, and the men did it. Then the combatants grappled—side holt,—Thompson’s choice.
They see-sawed. The spectators shouted. Momentarily Lincoln’s men bantered Thompson with words of encouragement, “just to drag the sport out and get their money’s worth,” but when they discovered their error there appeared a temporary inspiration by the Clary boys to meddle. The Armstrong boys wanted to get busy as the contest proceeded, but before any of these meddlers could devise a plan, the long legs of the captain cleft the air and in the very next instant Thompson had him fairly upon the ground. The din which followed would have silenced a thunderstorm.
As said of the boy who fell down cellar:—he did not hurt himself, but did hurt his new pants, so it might be said of the chagrined captain after that first fall. His person had not been harmed but the disaster to his feelings was something dreadful. Particularly harmful because the crowd to witness it had quadrupled several times, each installment adding a few words of humiliation. Defeat in the presence of a few friends would have been dreadful, but surrounded by an army and he a captain, it was a catastrophe. Even the swagger back to the center did not square it. His friends shouted: “That’s only one fall, while two more are due.” That encouragement did not place his confidence in statu quo. But he made his bluff by stating icily when he had secured his “holt:” “Now Mr. Thompson, it’s your turn to go down.”
The Indian hug or “holt” did not work at all however. In fact the patronizing captain was kept busy trying to keep his feet solid against the multitude of tricks which Thompson had up his sleeve to thwart the captain’s favorite “holt.” At last it was abandoned as altogether useless.