Gentlemen, down in the southern part of the state, not wishing to mention the place, our family lived neighbors to our present employers. Our homes were about two miles apart, so we grew up like brothers, and that friendship continues the same to-day as it did when we traded bows and arrows during our school days.
    Showing the turns that the fates decree, or in other words, to illustrate what a small accident it takes to change the destiny of people, I am telling this story. At this early date, our country was infested with snakes of every description, pine snakes, copper heads, blue snake, grass snake, water adder, black snake, striped and green snake. We also had the rattler and the hoop snake, the latter greatly feared, because its bite meant almost instant death to man or beast.
    Its mode of locomotion was to catch its tail in its mouth and roll like a hoop, letting go of its tail and striking its victim with its poisonous fangs, with force enough to kill a deer. If by chance, it should miss and strike a tree or sapling, which ever was struck would swell up and die.
    I shall never forget one occasion, when I was a lad about ten years old. I had driven an ox team attached to a lumber wagon, minus a seat, to the grist mill some thirty miles distant from my home. I was on my homeward journey and had reached a point about five miles from our farm, when my attention was suddenly aroused by a moving object in the center of the road, directly in my path. My sense of danger was aroused, for the oxen had become restless and frightened and were plunging awkwardly about. I suddenly realized that a hoop snake was approaching almost with lightning speed. The snake let go of his tail and struck, hitting the tongue of the wagon, where the former enters the ring of the yoke, thereby missing the oxen. The impact against the hard tongue killed the snake instantly. I thanked a divine Providence for our deliverance and drove on, little realizing the calamity I was soon to face. Suddenly, I looked down and saw that the tongue had swollen to an enormous size. Before I could scarcely realize what was happening, there was a terrific crash. Following the crash, the oxen dropped in their tracks, dead. The tongue had swollen to such an enormous size that it caused the great ring in the yoke to burst, striking both oxen, simultaneously.” Chaos reigned for a few minutes as Patrick reached this point in his story. There was a general desire by all present to find something to throw at the occupant of the “deacon’s seat.” Order was finally restored by the court and Patrick Sheeron was allowed to proceed once more:
    My father had a small saw mill, where he did custom sawing, bringing in but a small pittance, as all of our neighbors were so poor. The poorest of these neighbors was the family of Bill Peachy. Bill Peachy had a great weakness for collecting curios and among other things, he managed to get a stick of black mahogany, which he had shaved down to the proper size for a hoe handle. Woe unto him who borrowed that hoe, for it was the pride of Bill’s heart. He had considerable ground to be hoed in his potato field, for being Irish, his family used potatoes for their principal food and required a large patch.
    Though we lived two miles apart, my chum and I were constantly together. On this particular afternoon, some weeks after our oxen had been killed, we were chasing butterflies close to where my chum’s father was hoeing. The sun had tipped behind a grove of tall, black oaks, and filmy cobwebs were stretched from the numerous weeds and grasses that grew around the tilled fields.
    Suddenly, our attention was arrested by a sharp command from Mr. Peachy to, “look out”. To our great amazement, we saw a large hoop snake rolling along with its tail in its mouth, between the hills of potatoes, heading straight for Mr. Peachy. From his position in the opposite row, he aimed a terrific blow at the snake, the reptile retaliated by releasing his tail and dashing his poisonous fangs into the hoe handle. But in doing this, his force, combined with that exerted by Mr. Peachy, put an end to the snake and he lay dead between the rows of potatoes.
    At the command of Mr. Peachy, his son and I rushed to the stables and hitched the oxen to the wagon. As we were familiar with this work, we soon drove up alongside Mr. Peachy, and saw to our surprise, a log probably two feet thick, lying on the ground. “Where did this come from?”, we thought. Then, we suddenly realized that it was the hoe handle, swollen to this great size and still swelling.
    A neighbor, by the name of Cock Robin, a large man of huge dimensions and great strength stepped up and with the help of Mr. Peachy, managed, with much straining, to load one end of the handle onto the wagon. Then with our combined help, we labored mightily as we hoisted the other end on the wagon. As Cock Robin lifted, using every ounce of his strength, his feet sank knee deep into the ground. The hoe handle, now become a huge log, finally loaded, Mr. Peachy cracked the whip and the powerful oxen strained and struggled, their bows sunk deep into their shoulders as they started the wagon slowly toward the mill.
    On, the oxen surged, toward the mill, Mr. Peachy urging the oxen with both whip and goad stick. He sent Cock Robin on ahead to have everything in readiness at the mill to saw the hoe handle before the swelling went down. And gentlemen, that hoe handle cut seven thousand feet of the finest black mahogany lumber you ever saw, giving this family, the company for which we work, their start in the lumber business.”
    Again there was turmoil in the bunkhouse and a shower of boot pacs and other belongings was hurled at the speaker. His brother Owen arose and with an Irish twinkle in his eyes, said, “faith, if you are so familiar with hoop snakes, it is a wonder that you could not induce one of them to sting your pocket book and pay me that little bill ye have been owing me this many a day.”
        A general laugh went around and then every man went off to his bunk.     After the toil of another day was over, supper was cleared away and the almanacs all in their right places, the Apollo of the camp took his place on the “deacon’s seat.” It might be well to give a brief description of this man. He had an air about him, out of keeping with a lumber camp, his pleasing manners speaking of better days. He was six feet in height and had clear, blue eyes. He appeared to be about thirty-five years of age. He wore a deerskin hunting shirt, dyed black, and his head was covered with a coonskin cap, from which a tail dangled. He had given his name as Pat Schneider, when he had arrived in camp, although most of the boys who had known him longest, doubted that the name given was his proper one.
    Having been ordered to the “deacon’s seat”, he proceeded to tell the following story :