Nor was the smith, at the moment of our entrance, the only noisy member
of the little village. The more pretending establishment to which we are
rapidly approaching, threw out its clamors, and the din of many voices
gathered upon the breeze in wild and incoherent confusion. Deep bursts
of laughter, and the broken stanza of an occasional catch roared out at
intervals, promised something of relief to the dull mood; while, as the
sounds grew more distinct, the quick ear of Forrester was enabled to
distinguish the voices of the several revellers.

"There they are, in full blast," he muttered, "over a gallon of whiskey,
and gulping it down as if 'twas nothing better than common water. But,
what's the great fuss to-night? There's a crowd, I reckon, and they're a
running their rigs on somebody."

Even Forrester was at a loss to account for their excess of hilarity
to-night. Though fond of drink, and meeting often in a crowd, they were
few of them of a class--using his own phrase--"to give so much tongue
over their liquors." The old toper and vagabond is usually a silent
drinker. His amusements, when in a circle, and with a bottle before him,
are found in cards and dice. His cares, at such a period, are too
considerate to suffer him to be noisy. Here, in Chestatee, Forrester
well knew that a crowd implied little good-fellowship. The ties which
brought the gold-seekers and squatters together were not of a sort to
produce cheerfulness and merriment. Their very sports were savage, and
implied a sort of fun which commonly gave pain to somebody. He wondered,
accordingly, as he listened to yells of laughter, and discordant shouts
of hilarity; and he grew curious about the occasion of uproar.

"They're poking fun at some poor devil, that don't quite see what
they're after."