As soon as the laugh at their expense had subsided, Isaac again sang out:  “Squar your hosses’ heads thar—­get ready, boys—­now clippet, and don’t keep us long waiting the bottle! for I reckon as how some on us is gitting dry.  Yehep! yahoa!” and ere the sound of his voice had died away, down came the switches, accompanied by a terrible yell, and off went horses and bottle-riders—­over stumps, logs and rocks—­past trees and brush, and whatever obstacle might lie in their course—­with a speed that threatened them with death at every moment; while the others remained quietly seated on their ponies, enjoying the sport, and sometimes shouting after them such words of encouragement as, “Go it, Seth!” “Up to him, Sammy!” “Pull up, legs!” “Jump it, fatty!” so long as the racers were in sight.

This race for the bottle, as it was called, was a peculiar feature for displaying the horsemanship and hardy recklessness of the early settlers; as a more dangerous one, to both horse and rider, could not well be imagined.  That the reader may form a clear conception of what it was in reality—­and also to destroy the idea if any such may have been formed, that it existed only in our imagination—­we shall take the liberty of giving a short extract from the author already quoted.  In speaking of the foregoing, he says: 

“The worse the path—­the more logs, brush, and deep hollows, the better—­as these obstacles afforded an opportunity for the greater display of intrepidity and horsemanship.  The English fox-chase, in point of danger to the riders and their horses, is nothing to this race for the bottle.  The start was announced by an Indian yell; when logs, brush, muddy hollows, hill and glen, were speedily passed by the rival ponies.  The bottle was always filled for the occasion, so that there was no use for judges; for the first who reached the door was presented with the prize, with which he returned in triumph to the company.  On approaching them, he announced his victory over his rival by a shrill whoop.  At the head of the troop he gave the bottle first to the groom and his attendants, and then to each pair in succession to the rear of the line, giving each a drachm; and then putting the bottle in the bosom of his hunting shirt, took his station in the company.”

In something like a quarter of an hour, the clatter of horses’ feet was heard by the company, the rival-racers presently appeared in sight, and all became anxious to learn who was the successful runner.  They were not long kept in suspense; for advancing at a fast gallop, the riders were, soon within speaking distance; when a loud, shrill whoop from Seth Stokes, announced that in this case success had at least been with the long, if not with the strong.

“How’s this, Sammy?” cried a dozen voices, as the rivals rode up to the party.

“I don’t exactly know,” answered the individual addressed, shaking his head with a serio-comical expression; “but stifle me with the night-mar, if ever I’m cotched riding a race with death on horseback agin.”