The Bennington banner. [volume] (Bennington, Vt.) 1858-1894, 1888-03-01
"AT THE PATGO."

(tnen capt OF 'OOOn Ihnle, Vi WHOM
so many anecdotes are told. 1t will be
remembered that he was Bennington
bov, was killed in the ldexican war and
that his ashes peacefully repose in the
old cemetery at the Cen er.-E ED
There is a very peculiar custom which
prevails in the rural parishes OF Louis
ianna, of which the oldest inhabitant
cannot tell you the origin. In some
points it resembles the old Scottish game
of the Wappenshaw. but it has local and
special features of its own, which only
some dead and gone Acadian ancestor
could explain.
As for the singular name, it is simply
corruption of Pdpe gale, or Pop, as it
is called in English, being bright little
bird.
The Patgo is wooden rooster, gaily
decorated with snowy ribbons, and
mounted on pole as mark or target
Prizes are offered. so many dollars for
each wing, 80 much for the head but
the grand prize falls to lucky marksman
who brings down the bird.
A horseman dismuunting before the
gate of one of the small cottages in
Prairie Manon, in Southwestern Louis
lana, noticed a great excitement in and
about the house, Men were collected in
group, guns were being cleaned and
fired, and that deafening Euhbud pre-
VARIED which the soul Of the excitabe
Acadian delights in.
T gentleman fastened his horse to
post. and approached a venerable look
ing old man who sat on the steps Uf the
house, VINO was gesticulating and shout
ing with the most Obstrenerous of the
noisy crowd.
Can you give me lodging tonight, sir?
he said, taking { # his hat with a cOur-
teous inclination of his fine head. The
old man took his pipe from his mouth
and stared at the SPEAKER, who was
magnificent looking young man in the
undress uniform of the United States
army.
Over six feet in stature, he was finely
proportinned, and had a face of singular
and marked brau'y. There was a game
bag slurg over his shoulder, and he held
a fle.
Je cOmprends pas monsieur the old
m n answered. sp'k not le language
'meriCain
And not one word of French, laugh
ed the strang r. But lock here, old fel-
. low. L HUNt Ildht y 'h D'N''
hunting, printing to the full game bag
and gun. Lost my way. walking about
and turning from right to left in con
fused manner. Want some supper,
chewing vigorously, and above all, want
"A bed, laying his head on his hand and
shutting his eyes. If the old coon don't
understand that speaking pantomine, he
is an idiot.
The old man Ger ainly understood all
that was ridiculous in ii, for he laughed
aloud, but courteously repressed his
merrlment. and answered gravely NY
gdrcOH, my son, Jean Baptiste, he spk
de 'mercain good, Jean Baptiste, UienS
ici.
Jean Baptiste came up. A good look
ing lad about eighteen, but with q
gloomy and despondent face. In fact.
Jean had the air of "A person crushed by
some misfortune, tor whom life had no
charm. He listened to the officer and
transla' ed his 7, quest to his father, who
answered him in an excited speech.
My papa he say re house is full, full
People come feefly mile to shoot at "
Patgo tomorrow; but If monsieur can
sleep in " loft, bon! he can stay Ze
first come, he get re best bed
And as | am the last conner, | get the
loft, and Thankful am Tor it, said the
officer, with gay laugh. 1t isn't pleas
ant to be lost in your pairies at night,
But, my boy, what In the world IS
Patgo?
Monsieur does not know re Patgo! In
a tone of astonishment. Mon Dieu, that
is strange 1t is bird made out the
wood. Yon pay twenty-five cents Tor
shot Ze man what brings it down gets
re big prize Bon Dieu, such pony all
black, no white spot, and he run like
deer
suppose you are going to try for the
wonderful pony?
The boy threw up his arms with ges
ture of dspair.
All, mon D.eu. but no! | have broke
my gun, and zey will not lend me one.
And why? shoots best and zey Is jdlour
Zey wants me not try. All, and zey Is
glad my gun is broke! Cdndille! he NUT.
tel ed between his set teeth, as he glared
savagely at the marksmen.
The stranger looked around, and
thought to himself that even in this
beautiful, isolated region, so remote
from the struggling ambitions OF the
world, envy and hatred flourished. The
boy has actually a murderous look, he
thought, and those fellows must be q
mean set of beggars to treat him so.
Look here, Jean Baptiste! he said
aloud. You shan't be baked of your
shot. You shall take my rifle; it's a frs
rate one. You'd better try it now, with
the other marksmen, till you get accrs-
toned TO its weight.
If he had rescued Jean Baptiste from
terrible fate, the Acadian could no
have been more vehement in his expires
sions of gratitude. In queer patols o
French and English, mixed with hyster
ical sobs, he poured forth his thanks
The stranger sauntered leisurely ate
him. and watched with keen eyes thu
Workmanship of the Acadian.
Jean Baptiste isn't half bad shot, HI
said to himself but the boys too ner'
; vous. Dare say he'd have done better i
he hadn't been tearing his nerves to fid
die strings this evening" Funny people
these Acadians! Too excitable and noisl
eyer to make good marksmen.
That night in the loft which Jean Bap
tiste shared with him, the boy confidet
to him his reasons for wishing to viii
the great prza. He sat on his mattress
his great brown eyes luminous with ex
citement, and his expressive gesture
piercing out his imperfect speech.
You see, monsieur, vas born here
and nevaire haf been feefty mile from
ze praire. You see a tall tree far off il
ze mdrdis? | haf nevaire been more far
| climb it. look far out. l say, Jea
Bapitste Avran, if you had a pony TO
your own, you could run away. Yo
\ could gallop into re big world, and, VIII
! knows, make heap of money. All gran
. Dieu, is so tired ! throwing out hi
arms with tragic gesture. l is not
horse, to be glad and satisfy because z
grass is fine, want to go far off to sc
people, to learn to read. Monsieur ,whe
strangers come here, not good, not kin
= like you, zey laugh at us. Zey say, 'YO
: canr OF read or write, you know notin
you are no more Zan your beast. No
non, striking bis breast, will go avay
will not stay here
You would leave your father, you
friends? the officer saidgently. My poe
boy the world isn't quite heaven.
1t may be bad yes. 1t may hurt mi
but II will not be re prairie. All, chol
here!
In plain words you want change, an
the officer laughed. You want the pom
to galIop off into pitfalls, and stumb
against walls, and to get so many knocl
and tumbles that all the kings hors,
and all the kings men couldn't pieC
you into the old Jean Baptiste agail
You don't understand word | sayl
was just talking to myself you see, an
you needn't understand. Go to slee
- nlnnr. nn,nrIl.r 10 .-L..n ,rrn Il 81.