The Valdosta Times
November 19, 1885
Reminiscences of Old Times
Theophalus Zipperer, as his name implies, was a descendant of the Saltzburgers --- a genial gentleman, and once fond of his dram, but later he abstained from strong drink, joined the church and lived a quiet useful life. My father had a fine rifle. “Uncle Toaf came and wanted to shoot, Said he, “py Cot Bob, I can beat you shootin’ wid your own gun.” But Toaf, “ said my father, “you are too drunk to shoot.” “Well, I’m sober enough to beat you anyhow.” So the spot was put up and distance measured. He took the gun and wabbled up and down, round and round. After a time “bang.” We went to the tree and strange enough he had drove the cross. Father said, “Toaf, you might shoot all day and not make another such shot.” He only replied, “beat it, and py Cot I will do it again nine times in ten.”
Mr. Billy Prosser was clever little man with a big heart and in some respects I think the “noblest Roman of them all. He perhaps is still living in Madison county, Fla. The others are all dead.
Deer were abundant, wolves plentiful, with now and then a bear or panther in those days. I remember once the wolves caught a calf at the cowpen in about one hundred yards of the house.
But times moves on and where a short time since we saw a group of innocent children we now see one of merry fun-loving school boys. Yes we are assembled for the chase. David Ziterower proudly called himself the “ole fife snag buck.” Among our best and fleetest dogs was Leighton Sewell, and exact match for Dave. Then driver fills the various stands, puts out the dogs. For a time all is still, but hark they have struck a trail. See they enter that saw palmetto flat. A sudden rattling of palmetto fans, and opening of gallberry bushes, and the trim form of the “ole fife snag buck” is seen bounding through the pine forest with the dogs close behind, in full cry, Leighton ahead. In passing a stand he is fired upon and wounded, but passes on. Soon he is taken over by that foremost dog when a regular rough and tumble: struggle ensues. The dog’s teeth are keen and he is using them with a will. He has suddenly shed his horns and is using his hard head as though it was a battering ram in sundry telling licks. Hunters approach, the combatants are separated, and we are all ordered into the august presence of old St. Andrew to give an account of that days hunt. Poor Leighton died gallantly fighting in the late war. Dave still lives and is hugging to his bosom a lonely case of old bachelorhood.
About this time we moved east of the Alapahoochee creek, some distance above its confluence with the Alapaha river. Our neighbors here were few and far between. I can count them on the fingers of one hand viz., Mr. Reason Swilley, Amos Thomas, Benjamin Miller and little Geo. Driver. The latter boasts he had tipped the beam at 70 lbs., and could whip any man in the state of his weight and size. I think however, at this time, he only weighed some sixty pounds. He had a fine looking wife of some three times his own weight.
Mr. Moses Prescott, father of the Hon. J. P. Prescott of Statenville had lived here prior to the time of which I write.
Here father kept a pack of well-trained hounds and our humble home became headquarters for such noble spirits as Capt. John R. Stapler, Wm and Jake Zeigler, the Polhills, Postel, Farnel and others, who would come over from their oaky woods home, camp and hunt for a week at a time, and never fail to take back as much fine fat venison as they wanted—having had what would now be: called a good time generally. About this time father was elected captain of Company of Georgia Malitia with John G. Howell and Vincent Sauls as Lieutants. They would have barbeque and muster once a year, viz. on the fourth of July. I would like to tell you of one of these photographed on my memory but words would fail and I should spoil the picture. Later at this same old muster ground I cast my first vote for Col. West, father of the West brothers, for the Senate, and Judge Jim Carter, for the House from Lowndes county. They were elected. Brooks and Echols counties did not exist at the time.
I then drifted out, and for years was a prodigal in various parts. Years in which the Confederacy rose and fell, in which service I was from before the firing of the first gun at Fort Sumpter, until after the closing scenes at Appomattox. I could tell you something of those hard days but not now. It is not a pleasant theme to me, but I am back near my childhood home, and here I desire to breathe my last, and be buried in South Georgia soil. No Texas or the West in mine.
IN IRP.
(copied verbatim, grammar and spelling errors NOT corrected)
November 19, 1885
Reminiscences of Old Times
Theophalus Zipperer, as his name implies, was a descendant of the Saltzburgers --- a genial gentleman, and once fond of his dram, but later he abstained from strong drink, joined the church and lived a quiet useful life. My father had a fine rifle. “Uncle Toaf came and wanted to shoot, Said he, “py Cot Bob, I can beat you shootin’ wid your own gun.” But Toaf, “ said my father, “you are too drunk to shoot.” “Well, I’m sober enough to beat you anyhow.” So the spot was put up and distance measured. He took the gun and wabbled up and down, round and round. After a time “bang.” We went to the tree and strange enough he had drove the cross. Father said, “Toaf, you might shoot all day and not make another such shot.” He only replied, “beat it, and py Cot I will do it again nine times in ten.”
Mr. Billy Prosser was clever little man with a big heart and in some respects I think the “noblest Roman of them all. He perhaps is still living in Madison county, Fla. The others are all dead.
Deer were abundant, wolves plentiful, with now and then a bear or panther in those days. I remember once the wolves caught a calf at the cowpen in about one hundred yards of the house.
But times moves on and where a short time since we saw a group of innocent children we now see one of merry fun-loving school boys. Yes we are assembled for the chase. David Ziterower proudly called himself the “ole fife snag buck.” Among our best and fleetest dogs was Leighton Sewell, and exact match for Dave. Then driver fills the various stands, puts out the dogs. For a time all is still, but hark they have struck a trail. See they enter that saw palmetto flat. A sudden rattling of palmetto fans, and opening of gallberry bushes, and the trim form of the “ole fife snag buck” is seen bounding through the pine forest with the dogs close behind, in full cry, Leighton ahead. In passing a stand he is fired upon and wounded, but passes on. Soon he is taken over by that foremost dog when a regular rough and tumble: struggle ensues. The dog’s teeth are keen and he is using them with a will. He has suddenly shed his horns and is using his hard head as though it was a battering ram in sundry telling licks. Hunters approach, the combatants are separated, and we are all ordered into the august presence of old St. Andrew to give an account of that days hunt. Poor Leighton died gallantly fighting in the late war. Dave still lives and is hugging to his bosom a lonely case of old bachelorhood.
About this time we moved east of the Alapahoochee creek, some distance above its confluence with the Alapaha river. Our neighbors here were few and far between. I can count them on the fingers of one hand viz., Mr. Reason Swilley, Amos Thomas, Benjamin Miller and little Geo. Driver. The latter boasts he had tipped the beam at 70 lbs., and could whip any man in the state of his weight and size. I think however, at this time, he only weighed some sixty pounds. He had a fine looking wife of some three times his own weight.
Mr. Moses Prescott, father of the Hon. J. P. Prescott of Statenville had lived here prior to the time of which I write.
Here father kept a pack of well-trained hounds and our humble home became headquarters for such noble spirits as Capt. John R. Stapler, Wm and Jake Zeigler, the Polhills, Postel, Farnel and others, who would come over from their oaky woods home, camp and hunt for a week at a time, and never fail to take back as much fine fat venison as they wanted—having had what would now be: called a good time generally. About this time father was elected captain of Company of Georgia Malitia with John G. Howell and Vincent Sauls as Lieutants. They would have barbeque and muster once a year, viz. on the fourth of July. I would like to tell you of one of these photographed on my memory but words would fail and I should spoil the picture. Later at this same old muster ground I cast my first vote for Col. West, father of the West brothers, for the Senate, and Judge Jim Carter, for the House from Lowndes county. They were elected. Brooks and Echols counties did not exist at the time.
I then drifted out, and for years was a prodigal in various parts. Years in which the Confederacy rose and fell, in which service I was from before the firing of the first gun at Fort Sumpter, until after the closing scenes at Appomattox. I could tell you something of those hard days but not now. It is not a pleasant theme to me, but I am back near my childhood home, and here I desire to breathe my last, and be buried in South Georgia soil. No Texas or the West in mine.
IN IRP.
(copied verbatim, grammar and spelling errors NOT corrected)
The Valdosta Times
November 19, 1885
Reminiscences of Old Times
Theophalus Zipperer, as his name implies, was a descendant of the Saltzburgers --- a genial gentleman, and once fond of his dram, but later he abstained from strong drink, joined the church and lived a quiet useful life. My father had a fine rifle. “Uncle Toaf came and wanted to shoot, Said he, “py Cot Bob, I can beat you shootin’ wid your own gun.” But Toaf, “ said my father, “you are too drunk to shoot.” “Well, I’m sober enough to beat you anyhow.” So the spot was put up and distance measured. He took the gun and wabbled up and down, round and round. After a time “bang.” We went to the tree and strange enough he had drove the cross. Father said, “Toaf, you might shoot all day and not make another such shot.” He only replied, “beat it, and py Cot I will do it again nine times in ten.”
Mr. Billy Prosser was clever little man with a big heart and in some respects I think the “noblest Roman of them all. He perhaps is still living in Madison county, Fla. The others are all dead.
Deer were abundant, wolves plentiful, with now and then a bear or panther in those days. I remember once the wolves caught a calf at the cowpen in about one hundred yards of the house.
But times moves on and where a short time since we saw a group of innocent children we now see one of merry fun-loving school boys. Yes we are assembled for the chase. David Ziterower proudly called himself the “ole fife snag buck.” Among our best and fleetest dogs was Leighton Sewell, and exact match for Dave. Then driver fills the various stands, puts out the dogs. For a time all is still, but hark they have struck a trail. See they enter that saw palmetto flat. A sudden rattling of palmetto fans, and opening of gallberry bushes, and the trim form of the “ole fife snag buck” is seen bounding through the pine forest with the dogs close behind, in full cry, Leighton ahead. In passing a stand he is fired upon and wounded, but passes on. Soon he is taken over by that foremost dog when a regular rough and tumble: struggle ensues. The dog’s teeth are keen and he is using them with a will. He has suddenly shed his horns and is using his hard head as though it was a battering ram in sundry telling licks. Hunters approach, the combatants are separated, and we are all ordered into the august presence of old St. Andrew to give an account of that days hunt. Poor Leighton died gallantly fighting in the late war. Dave still lives and is hugging to his bosom a lonely case of old bachelorhood.
About this time we moved east of the Alapahoochee creek, some distance above its confluence with the Alapaha river. Our neighbors here were few and far between. I can count them on the fingers of one hand viz., Mr. Reason Swilley, Amos Thomas, Benjamin Miller and little Geo. Driver. The latter boasts he had tipped the beam at 70 lbs., and could whip any man in the state of his weight and size. I think however, at this time, he only weighed some sixty pounds. He had a fine looking wife of some three times his own weight.
Mr. Moses Prescott, father of the Hon. J. P. Prescott of Statenville had lived here prior to the time of which I write.
Here father kept a pack of well-trained hounds and our humble home became headquarters for such noble spirits as Capt. John R. Stapler, Wm and Jake Zeigler, the Polhills, Postel, Farnel and others, who would come over from their oaky woods home, camp and hunt for a week at a time, and never fail to take back as much fine fat venison as they wanted—having had what would now be: called a good time generally. About this time father was elected captain of Company of Georgia Malitia with John G. Howell and Vincent Sauls as Lieutants. They would have barbeque and muster once a year, viz. on the fourth of July. I would like to tell you of one of these photographed on my memory but words would fail and I should spoil the picture. Later at this same old muster ground I cast my first vote for Col. West, father of the West brothers, for the Senate, and Judge Jim Carter, for the House from Lowndes county. They were elected. Brooks and Echols counties did not exist at the time.
I then drifted out, and for years was a prodigal in various parts. Years in which the Confederacy rose and fell, in which service I was from before the firing of the first gun at Fort Sumpter, until after the closing scenes at Appomattox. I could tell you something of those hard days but not now. It is not a pleasant theme to me, but I am back near my childhood home, and here I desire to breathe my last, and be buried in South Georgia soil. No Texas or the West in mine.
IN IRP.
(copied verbatim, grammar and spelling errors NOT corrected)
November 19, 1885
Reminiscences of Old Times
Theophalus Zipperer, as his name implies, was a descendant of the Saltzburgers --- a genial gentleman, and once fond of his dram, but later he abstained from strong drink, joined the church and lived a quiet useful life. My father had a fine rifle. “Uncle Toaf came and wanted to shoot, Said he, “py Cot Bob, I can beat you shootin’ wid your own gun.” But Toaf, “ said my father, “you are too drunk to shoot.” “Well, I’m sober enough to beat you anyhow.” So the spot was put up and distance measured. He took the gun and wabbled up and down, round and round. After a time “bang.” We went to the tree and strange enough he had drove the cross. Father said, “Toaf, you might shoot all day and not make another such shot.” He only replied, “beat it, and py Cot I will do it again nine times in ten.”
Mr. Billy Prosser was clever little man with a big heart and in some respects I think the “noblest Roman of them all. He perhaps is still living in Madison county, Fla. The others are all dead.
Deer were abundant, wolves plentiful, with now and then a bear or panther in those days. I remember once the wolves caught a calf at the cowpen in about one hundred yards of the house.
But times moves on and where a short time since we saw a group of innocent children we now see one of merry fun-loving school boys. Yes we are assembled for the chase. David Ziterower proudly called himself the “ole fife snag buck.” Among our best and fleetest dogs was Leighton Sewell, and exact match for Dave. Then driver fills the various stands, puts out the dogs. For a time all is still, but hark they have struck a trail. See they enter that saw palmetto flat. A sudden rattling of palmetto fans, and opening of gallberry bushes, and the trim form of the “ole fife snag buck” is seen bounding through the pine forest with the dogs close behind, in full cry, Leighton ahead. In passing a stand he is fired upon and wounded, but passes on. Soon he is taken over by that foremost dog when a regular rough and tumble: struggle ensues. The dog’s teeth are keen and he is using them with a will. He has suddenly shed his horns and is using his hard head as though it was a battering ram in sundry telling licks. Hunters approach, the combatants are separated, and we are all ordered into the august presence of old St. Andrew to give an account of that days hunt. Poor Leighton died gallantly fighting in the late war. Dave still lives and is hugging to his bosom a lonely case of old bachelorhood.
About this time we moved east of the Alapahoochee creek, some distance above its confluence with the Alapaha river. Our neighbors here were few and far between. I can count them on the fingers of one hand viz., Mr. Reason Swilley, Amos Thomas, Benjamin Miller and little Geo. Driver. The latter boasts he had tipped the beam at 70 lbs., and could whip any man in the state of his weight and size. I think however, at this time, he only weighed some sixty pounds. He had a fine looking wife of some three times his own weight.
Mr. Moses Prescott, father of the Hon. J. P. Prescott of Statenville had lived here prior to the time of which I write.
Here father kept a pack of well-trained hounds and our humble home became headquarters for such noble spirits as Capt. John R. Stapler, Wm and Jake Zeigler, the Polhills, Postel, Farnel and others, who would come over from their oaky woods home, camp and hunt for a week at a time, and never fail to take back as much fine fat venison as they wanted—having had what would now be: called a good time generally. About this time father was elected captain of Company of Georgia Malitia with John G. Howell and Vincent Sauls as Lieutants. They would have barbeque and muster once a year, viz. on the fourth of July. I would like to tell you of one of these photographed on my memory but words would fail and I should spoil the picture. Later at this same old muster ground I cast my first vote for Col. West, father of the West brothers, for the Senate, and Judge Jim Carter, for the House from Lowndes county. They were elected. Brooks and Echols counties did not exist at the time.
I then drifted out, and for years was a prodigal in various parts. Years in which the Confederacy rose and fell, in which service I was from before the firing of the first gun at Fort Sumpter, until after the closing scenes at Appomattox. I could tell you something of those hard days but not now. It is not a pleasant theme to me, but I am back near my childhood home, and here I desire to breathe my last, and be buried in South Georgia soil. No Texas or the West in mine.
IN IRP.
(copied verbatim, grammar and spelling errors NOT corrected)
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