“'Kune Holler, Juli 8.“'Miss Spillman's compliments “'To Sam Crowder, Esq.; thefust pledge of his affections is a little too yaller, andthe textur of its har is too tight a curl, and, more'n that,she aint ambitious to hev any of his pledges ef tha wur allwhite.“'Sally Spillman.'
“I nigh onto bust with madness!—I could feel every har on my head kindlin' at the eend, 'cause I knew sum cussed lie had been told her, and I blamed Jess fur doin' it. I jest swar a bible oath, I'd spile his pictur' so he couldn't enjoy campmeetin' much; so next mornin,' bright and airly, Iaccidentallyfell in with Jess, goin' arter Sally, with all his Sunday kiverin' on, lookin' as nice as a 'stall fed two year old.' I rite up and asked him what he meant by tellin' lies to the galls about me; that I'd hearn on 'em all over the settlement.
“'I haint told no lie on you,' ses Jess, 'fur what's told, you told yourself—ef you hevnigger babiesin the south, you needn't insult decent white gals by offerin' to let 'emnuss'em—'
“I didn't wait till he finished afore I hit him,biff, alongside of his smeller, and went into himall-fours, catamount fashion. The thing had now cum to a windin' up pint—this fight war to eend the matter about Sally, and as I didn't want to gin her up easy, I laid myself out fur a purty long spell. I could soon see by the way Jess went to work that he'd kalculated upon a pretty bigchunkof a fight, too, so we both began to save ourselves. I had a leetle the advantage of Jess, for he didn't want to spile his Sunday fix-ups, while I didn't care a cuss fur my old boat suit. When I'd grab his trowsers and gin 'em a hitch, he'd ease off, and then I'd lend him a staggerer, which was generally follered by his makin' me fly round like a weazel—cre-a-tion, how tough he war!
“While we wur havin' a rite smart time together, nary one of us seed Sally ridin' along down the wagin track, lookin' out fur Jess, but she seed us, hitched her horse, and climbed onto a stump to see the fight out. As I war carfully reachin' fur Jess' ear with my grinders, I heerd her sing out—
“'Tech it ef youdar!—you nigger cannibal!'
“Her hollerin' gin Jess an advantage and helped his strength powerfully, fur the next minit I war on my back and him right astraddle on me.
“'Sockyour teeth into him, Jess!' screamed Sally, and about then,je-e-e-minyfellars, I leaped as ef lightnin' had hit me, fur his grinders had met through the flesh she called his attention to. I squirmed, and struggled, and chawed meat, but he held on—I grabbed his new trowsers, and tore them like paper—he was agoin to let go to kiver his coat tails over the torn place, but Sally hollered out agin—
“'Whip the varmint fust and then I'll mend 'em up!'” I squealed enough! rite out—it warn't no use a fightin' agin such odds. Arter Jess let me up, Sally looked at me, and puckered up her mouth as ef she had been eatin' unripe persimmons—
“'Enough!' ses she, 'well, may I git ager fits, ef you're fit fur anythin' but to be the father ofyaller pledges!”
0359m
This odd character has lately favored the west with a visit, and during two successive evenings he edified audiences, numbering about a thousand persons, in the rotunda of the St. Louis court-house. Some took him for theWandering Jew, and as he inveighed against the evils of these modern days, they looked at him with a feeling of awe. One day opposite the Planter's house, during a military parade, George was engaged selling his edition of the “Advocate of Truth,” when a tall hoosier, who had been gazing at him with astonishment for some time, roared out in an immoderate fit of laughter.
“What do you see so funny in me, to laugh at?” inquired George.
“Why, hoss,” said the hoosier, “I wur jest a thinkin' ef I'd seed you out in the woods, with all that har on, they would a been the d—dest runnin' done by this coon ever seen in them diggins—you're ekill to theelephant!and a leetle thehar-yest small man I've seenscartup lately.”
A sight at George, on his western tour, has brought to my recollection an anecdote, which entitles him to a place in our collection of odd characters;—it occurred several years since, in Philadelphia, and the writer was an eye witness of the occurrence.
George's favorite neighborhood for “holding forth,” was in and about the famous old “State House,” where, bare-headed—with unshorn beard, and adorned with a simple wooden cross, he, in a few moments, would collect a crowd. At length the police arrested him, for obstructing the passage, and George was sent to the Alms-House. In a few days, he escaped from the institution, and, boiling with indignation, hastened back to his old haunt, to lay his grievances before the people. Having provided himself with a couple of gimlets, he entered the building, raised the large window above the back entrance, and, placing himself on the old-fashioned entablature over the door-way, (the same spot where the Declaration of Independence was read from,) he shut down the window behind him, securing himself from interruption by boring his gimlets through the sash, into the frame. Then, with much solemnity, he proceeded to paraphrase the “Declaration,” applying it to his own particular case. The scene was truly ludicrous. Below, was one of the high constables and an assistant policeman, together with a numerous crowd of curious hearers.
“When, in the course of human events”—began George.
“Will you come down from there?” demanded the constable.
“A long train of abuses and takings up without authority,—”
“Aint you a comin'; now?—if you don't I'll bring you,” threatened authority.
“Our mayor, like the kings of old, set upon us swarms of corrupt and drunken officers to put the prophets of truth into pestilential abodes.”
“Now, do, George, stop your lingo—that's a good fellow,” said the officer, coaxingly, seeing that the usual means of reaching the offender were cut off; “and come down without bother.”
“Look up!” shouted the indignant advocate of truth, “lookup, you stiff-necked, corrupt son of Belial!—you dog in office!—you, that belch forth the corrupt effluvium of liquid death, commonly styled rum!—you are the chief of a band of authorised knaves, composed of evil expounders of the law, otherwise called pettifoggers, and certain other rogues in office, who are styled 'the police.'—You lead captive the senses of the mayor, who is as much bridled by your wickedness as the beast of the same name!—you cause him by your false tongues to do evil, but, there is a day coming—there is! when, at a bar where your credit has long since been chalked out, I'll make an ajffidavy will knock you so far into the regions of darkness, that the final trump will sound like a penny whistle to your ear!—do you hear that!”
The policeman did hear that, but his amiability could stand it no longer; so, procuring a watchman's ladder, he commenced climbing to the prophet, who coolly unscrewed his gimblets, hoisted the window, lifted up his robes, and, shouting “woe to the wicked,” beat a successful retreat.
Courtin' is all slick enough when every body's agreed, and the gal aint got no mischief in her, but when an extensive family, old maids, cross daddy, and a romantic old mommy, all want to put thur fingers into the young uns dish of sweet doin's, and the gal's fractious besides, why a fellar that's yearnin' arter matrimony is mity likely to git his fires dampened, or bust his biler.”
Thus reasoned Tom Bent to a select party of river cronies, who were seated around him upon the boiler deck of a Mississippi steamer, as she sped along one bright night in June, somewhere in the neighborhood of Bayou Teche. The subject was courting, and on that particular question Tom was considered an oracle, for, besides having a strong penchant for the fair sex, he had run many risks to ingratiate himself in their affections. Tom was now fast falling into the sear and yellow leaf of bachelorism, and although he had vowed unalterable affection to at least one fair one in each town between the mouth and the rapids, he still remained in unblessed singleness.
“How about that afarr of your'n with old Fecho's gal, in St. Louis, Tom?” inquired one of the circle.
“What, that little French gal?” inquired Tom, with a grin; “well, that thar was a salty scrape, boys, and though the laugh is agin me thar, I'm blessed if I don't gin you the sarcumstince.” So Tom squared himself for a yarn, wet his lips with a little corn juice, took a small strip of Missouri weed, and “let out.”
“That gal of old Fecho's wur about the pootyest creatur, fur a foreigner, I ever took ashutearter; her eyes jest floated about in her head like a star's shadow on a Massissippi wave, and her model was as trim as the steamer Eagle, 'sides, her paddles wur the cleanest shaped fixins that ever propelled anythin' human, and her laugh rung like a challenge bell on a 'fast trip'—it couldn't be beat. She run into my affecshuns, and I couldn't help it. I danced with her at some on the balls in Frenchtown, and thar I gin to edge up and talk tender at her, but she ony laughed at my sweet'nin'. Arter a spell, when I cum it strong about affecshun, and the needcessity of towin' side and side together, she told me that her old daddy wouldn't let her marry an American! Ef I warn't snagged at this, I wouldn't say so. The old fellar wur a sittin' on a bench smokin' and lookin' on at the dance, and I jest wished him a hot berth for a short spell. 'Well, Marie,' said I, c ef I melt the old man down will you gin in?'
“'Oh,' says she, 'you so vair strong at de vat you callcoax, I shall not know how to say von leetel no.' So havin' fixed it all with her smooth as a full freight and a June rise, I drew up alongside of the old fellar, jest as he had cleared his chimley for a fresh draw of his pipe. Old Fecho had been a mountain trader, was strong timbered, not much the worse fur wear, and looked wicked as a tree'd bear. I fired up and generated an inch or two more steam, and then blew off at him. 'That's an onconscionable slick gal of your'n, Mounseer,' says I, to begin with, and it did tickle his fancy to have her cracked up, 'cause he thought her creation's finishin' touch,—so did I! 'Oui, sair,' says old Fecho, 'she vair fine leetel gal, von angel wizout de ving, she is, sair, mine only vonfille.'
“'Well, she is ascrouger,' answered I, 'a parfect high pressure, and no dispute!'
“'Vat you mean by him, eh? vat you call s-c-r-r-r-ouge, eh? vat is he, sair, my leetel gal no vat you call von s-c-r-r-r-ouge, sair!' and here old Fecho went off into a mad fit, jest as ef I'd called her bad names. I tried to put down his 'safety valve,' but he would blow off his wrath, and workin' himself into a parfect freshet of rage, he swore he would take the little gal off home; and I'm blessed ef he didn't. As soon as I eyed the old fellar startin' I got in his wake and follered him, detarmined to find out whar he located, and arter an eternal long windin' through one street arter another, down he dived into French Hollow. Jest as he wur about to enter a house built agin the side of the hill, the old fellar heered my footsteps, and turnin' round in the darkness, he shouted—
“'Ah, ha! von sneak Yankee doodel, vat call my leetel gall von s-c-r-r-r-ouger, I shall cut you all up into von leetel piece vidout von whole.'
“You know, boys, I aint easy skeer'd, but I own up that old fellar did kind a make me skeery; they told sich stories about the way he used to skin Ingins, that I gin to think it was about best to let him have both sides of the channel ef he wanted it, so I didn't darr go to see Marie fur a long spell. One day I felt a strong hankerin', and jest strolled along the holler to git a glimpse on her, and sure enough thar she wur, a leanin' out the winder, smilin' like the mornin' sun on a sleepin' bayou. I sidled up to the house, and asked her ef I darr cum and sit up with her that evenin'. I told her I was jest fritterin' away all to nothin' thinkin' on her, and a small mite of courtin' would spur me up amazin', and then I gin her sich a look, that she fluttered into consent as easy as a mockin' bird whistles.
“'Oh, oui, you shall come sometime dis night, whenmon pereis gone to decabaret; but you must be vair quiet as von leetel rat, vat dey call de mouse, and go vay before he come back to demaison.'
“In course I promised to do jest as she said. I kissed my hand to her, and saidaur ravoir, as the French say for good by, and then paddled off to wait for night. I felt wuss than oneasy until the time arriv, and when it did git round I gin to crawl all over—I swar I was a leetle skeered. Hows'ever, it warn't manly to back out now when the gal was expectin' me, so I started for the Hollow. I think a darker night was never mixed up and spread over this yearth—you remember, Bill, the night you steered the old Eagle square into the bank at Milliken's bend? well, it wur jest a mite darker than that! A muddy run winds along through the ravine whar the house stands, and I wur particularly near flop-pin' into it several times. A piece of candle in the winder lighted me to whar the little gall was a waitin', and when I tapped at the door below, she pattered down and piloted me up to the sittin' room, whar we sot down and took a good look at each other. She looked pooty enough to tempt a fellar to bite a piece out on her. I had all sorts of good things made up to say when a chance offered, and here the chance wur, but cuss me ef I could get out the fust mutter. Whether it wur skeer at the idee of the old Frenchman, or a bilin' up of affecshun fur his darter that stuck my throat so tight, I'm unable to swar, but thar I wur, like a boat fast on a sand-bar, blowin' some, but makin' mity little headway.
“'Vat is de mattair wiz you, Mounseer?' said Marie, 'you look vair much like de leaf in von grand storm, all ovair wiz de shake!'
“'Well,' says I, 'I do feel as ef I wur about to collapse a flue, or bust my biler, for the fact of the marter is, Marie, they say your old daddy's a tiger, and ef I git caught here thar'll be suthin' broke—a buryin' instead of a weddin';—not that I'm the least mite skeered fur myself, but the old man might git hurt, and I should be fretted to do any sech a thing.'
“'Oh, mon amie, nevair be fear fur him, he is von great, strong as vat you call de gentleman cow?—von bull,—but, mon Dieu! what shall I do wiz you, suppose he come, eh? He vill cut you into bits all ovair!' “'But, my angel,' ses I, 'he shant ketch me, fur I'll streak it like a fast boat, the moment I hear steam from his scape-pipe—the old man might as well try to catch a Massissippicattywith a thread line, as git his fingers on me.' I had no sooner said so, thanbang!went the door below, and old Fecho, juicy as a melon, came feelin' his way up stairs, mutterin' like a small piece of fat thunder, and swarin' in French, orfully. I know'd thar warn't much time to spare, so I histed the winder and backed out. Jest as I was about to drop, Marie says to me—'Oh, mon Dieu! don't drop into devell!' and instanter shut the winder. My har riz on eend in a moment—'don't drop into the well!' I'll tell you what, boys, a souse into the Massissippi in ice time warn't half as cold as her last warnin' made me. It was so etarnal dark that I couldn't begin to tell which side of the buildin' I wur on, and that wur an all important perticuler, fur it wur jestthreestories high on one side, towards the Hollow, and it warn't onlyoneon the side next the hill—in course, all the chances wur in favor of thewellbein' on the low side. I'd gin all I had then to know which side was waitin' below fur me. I looked up, as I hung on, to see ef thar warn't a star shinin' somewhare, jest to give a hint of what was below, but they'd all put on thar night caps, and wouldn't be coaxed from under the kiver; then I'd look below, and listen, until I made sartin in my mind that I could hear the droppin' of water, somewhare aboutfifty feetbelow me! Old Fecho was a tearin' through the room, and a rippin' out French oaths, in an oncommon rapid manner, and declarin' that he knew some one had bin thar, fur he'd bin told so. Two or three times he appeared to be a rushin' for the winder, and the little gal would coax him back agin, and then he'd cuss de Yankee doodels, and grit his teeth most owdaciously. Well, ef I warn't in an oneasy situation all this time, then I'm more than human—my arms jest stretched out to about a yard and a half in length, and gin to cramp and git orful weak. I couldn't fur the life of me think on any prayer I'd ever heerd—at last, jest as one hand was givin' way its hold, I thort of a short one I used to say when I was a younker, and mutterin'—'Here I drop me down deep, I pray the Lord my bones to keep!' I sot my teeth together, drew a long breath, shut my eyes, and let go!—whiz!—r-r-r-ip!—bang! I went—as I supposed—about fifty feet; and didn't I holler, when I lit and rolled over, and the water soused all round me! 'Murder! oh, git me out, oh-o-o-o, murder! The people came a rushin' out of their houses, with lights, and sich another jargon of questions as they showered at me—askin', all together, who'd bin a stabbin' me? what wur the marter? and who'd hit me? I opened my eyes to tell 'em I'd fell from the third story, and broke every bone in my body, when, on lookin' up, thar wur the old Frenchman and his darter, grinnin' out of the top winder, aboutten feetabove me! The fact wur, boys, I'd dropped out on thehill sideof the house, and jumped down jestfour feetfrom whar my toes reached,—I had lit on the edge of a water pail, and it flowed about me when I fell over! Arter old Fecho told them the joke, they pretty nigh busted a larfin' at me. I crawled off, arter firin' a volly at old Mounseer, of the hardest kind of cusses, and from that day to this I han't gone a courtin' in French Hollow!
About the period fixed upon by Father Miller, for the general blowing up of the world, some of the engineers upon our western waters, who had been used to blowing up its inhabitants, became a little frightened at the prospect of having to encounter, in another world, the victims of steamboat disaster. Among these was Tom Bangall, the engineer of the Arkansas Thunder. Tom was a rearing, tearing,barstate scrouger—could chaw up any single specimen of the human race—any quantity of tobacco, and drink steam without flinching!—A collapsed flue had blown him once somewhere in the altitude of an Alpine height, but dropped him unharmed into the Arkansas, and he used to swear that after the steam tried to jerk him apart and found it couldn't do it, why, it just dropped the subject, as the stump speakers say, by dropping him into the “drink”—he therefore incontinently set water, hot or cold, at defiance. Tom was, withal, a generous, open-hearted, whole-souled fellow, and his cheering words to the emigrants on the boiler deck, and many a kind act to a suffering passenger, proved that beneath his rough exterior he had a heart open to gentle influences. As a further proof of this, Tom had a wife, a good wife, too, and what's more he tenderly loved her; but she in vain tried to cure him of drinking and swearing. Tom swore that he would swear, that a steamboat wouldn't work without some swearing, and if a fellar didn't drink he'd bust, and, therefore, it was necessary to take a bust now and then to keep out of danger. “There is no use,” he would say, “in blowing off steam from your 'scape-pipe agin it, for it has to bedid!”
One day on Tom's return home, he found Mrs. Mary Bangall weeping bitterly, and Tom became, instantly, correspondingly distressed.
“Why, Polly,” inquired he, “what's the matter, gal?—what's hurt you?—is anythin' broke loose that can't be mended?—what the thunder makes you take on so?—Come, out with the cause, or I shall git a blubberin' too.”
“Only look here, Tom,” said Mary, “here's a whole account of how the world is going to be destroyed this April.—Every thing has been counted up by Father Miller, and the sum total's a generalburn!Now, Tom, don't swear, nor drink any more or you won't be able to stand the fire no more than gunpowder!”
Tom indulged in a regular guffaw at her distress, and told her she was a fool to be frightened at that—it was all moonshine, humbug—smoke,— that Father Miller was an old granny, and it warn't possible—anyhow he warn't afraid of fire, “so it mightfire away!”
“But, Tom,” continued Mary, “let me read to you the proof—it's irresistible, Tom,—thetimesand thehalf times, are so correctly added up that there can be no mistake, and if you don't make some preparation we will be separated for ever.”
The idea of a separation from Mary troubled Tom, but full of incredulity he sat down to listen, more to please her, and find something in the adding up of the catastrophe that would upset it. Mary commenced reading, and Tom quietly listening, but as she read the awful evidences of a general conflagration, the signs of the times, the adding up of the times, the proof of their meaning, and the dreadful consequences of being unprepared—with ascension robes, Tom grew serious, and at length looked a little frightened. He didn't want Mary to see its effect upon him, and so assumed an over quantity of indifference, but it was useless for him to attempt hiding his feelings from her prying eyes—she saw Miller's doctrine was grinding a hopper of fear in Tom's heart, and felt glad to see its effect. When she ceased he remarked, with a half-frightened laugh, that Father Miller ought to be burnt for thus trying to frighten people, and, “as for them eastern fellars, they are half their life crazy any how!”
Having tried thus to whisper unconcern to his troubled spirit, Tom set out for the boat, with the firm resolve, if he caught a Millerite to save him from the threatened burning by drowning him, for disseminating any such fiery doctrines. When he got on board he told the captain what had transpired at home,—how his wife had got hold of a Miller document from a travelling disciple, and, as well as he could, rehearsed the awful contents which she had read to him. The captain, observing the effect they had produced on Tom, seriously answered that the matter looked squally, and he was afraid them documents were all too true.
“True!” shouted Tom, “why, you aint green enough to swallow any such yarn—its parfectly rediculous to talk about burnin' every thing up. I'd like to see old Miller set fire to the Massissippi!”
“Its 110 funny matter, Tom,” replied the captain, “and if you keep going on this way you will find it so.”
“Here, give us somethin' to drink!” shouted Tom to the bar-keeper, (he began to get terrified at the serious manner with which the captain treated Millerism) “come, Bill,” said he, addressing the clerk, “let's take a drink.”
The clerk, who was a wag, saw through the captain's joke in a minute and when he winked at him, refused to taste, adding as an apology that “on the eve of so awful an event as the destruction of the world, he couldn't daringly indulge as he formerly did, so he must excuse him.”
“Well, go to h—ll, then,” says Tom, half mad.
The captain sighed, and the clerk put his hand upon his heart, and turned his eyes upward, as if engaged in inward prayer for his wicked friend. Tom swallowed his glass, and bestowing a fierce look upon the pair remarked, that “they couldn't come any of them thar shines over him, he wasn't any of thatchicken breed!”
“Poor fellow,” muttered the captain.
“Alas! Thomas,” chimed in the clerk.
Tom slammed the cabin door after him as he went out to descend below, swearing at the same time that all the rest of the world were turning damned fools as well as old Miller.
Steam was raised and the Thunder started. For a time Tom forgot the predicted advent, but every time he came up to the bar to get a drink, the serious look of the captain and the solemn phiz of the clerk, threw a cold chill over him, and made him savage with excitement. Every passenger appeared to be talking about Millerism, besides, a waggish friend of the captain's, a passenger on board, having been informed of the engineer's state of mind, passed himself off as a preacher of the doctrine, and talked learnedly on the prophecies whenever the engineer was nigh. It was comic to see the fierce expression of their victim's countenance, and how, in spite of himself, he would creep up to the circles where they were discussing the Second Advent, and listen with all ears to the rehearsal of its terrible certainty, then making for the bar, take another drink, and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets start down to the engine, with a scowl upon his swart countenance that would almost start a flue head from its fastenings.
“I'd quit this boat,” said Tom to his assistant, “if it warn't so near 'the 25th of April,'—cuss me if I'd stay aboard another minit, fur captain and all hands are a set of cowardlypukes!”
“Why, what's the 25th of April got to do with your leavin', Tom?” inquired his partner.
“Nothin' particular, but if this confounded blow up or burn up should come off on that day, I wan't to be on the river—its safer; but if I should leave now I couldn't get on another boat by that time, and then I'd be in ahotfix.”
Here was a tacit confession by Tom, that he thought there was danger, and that there might be some truth in old Miller's prediction. The fact of his fears was forthwith communicated to the captain and clerk by Tom's partner, and his sufferings became increased—he could hear no sounds but—advent—Miller—bloe-up—dreadful destruction!—until his suspense became so horrible, that he wished for any termination so it would put an end to his dread. His partner ventured to increase his uneasiness by talking to him on the subject, but Tom threatened to brain him if he said anything about it in his presence—he remarked that “the noise of the engine was his only peace, and no frightened, lubberly sucker should disturb it by talking Millerism—if Miller was a goin' to burn the world, why, let him burn and be-(here, Tom for the first time checked an oath, and finished the sentence with) never mind, just let himburn, that's all.”
Starting up to the bar, without looking to right or left, he presented a bottle, had it filled with liquor and retreated, resolved to go as little as possible near either captain or clerk, for their solemn looking faces were contagious—they looked disaster.
At length the 25th of April dawned, and with its advancing hours Tom gottight, that is to say, so near intoxicated that he could only move around with extreme difficulty—he knew what he was about, but very little more. Sundry mutterings which he gave voice to, now and then, proclaimed the spirit at work within, and it would say:—
“Burn, ha!—burn up, will it?—goin' to take a regular bust and blow itself out! Great world, this!—g-r-e-a-t world, and a nice little fire it will be!” Then, thinking of Mary, he would continue—“Poor Mary—what a shock it will be to her, but she's on the safe side, for she belongs to meetin,”—and then he would get wrathy—“Let the old world burn, and go to splintered lightnin'—who cares?—The captain and clerk's got on the safe side, too,—they're afraid of the fire, eh?” Then he would cautiously emerge from his place by the engine, and peep out upon the sky, to see if the work of destruction was about to commence, and then returning, take another pull at the whiskey, until, by his frequent libations, he not only gotblue, but every thing he looked at was multiplying—he was surrounded by a duplicate set of machinery—even his fist, that he shook at the intruding cylinder and piston rod, became doubled before his eyes, and all assumed the color of a brimstone blue! Tom became convinced, in his own mind, that the first stage of the general convulsion had commenced!
“Hello!—back her!” shouted the captain, “give her a lick back!—starboard wheel, there!”
“It's all up, now,” muttered Tom, “let's see youlickher back out of this scrape,” and staggering towards the steam valves, to try the amount of water in the boilers, he fell sprawling; at that moment the boat struck the bank with a bang that shook every timber in her; the concussion, also, injured a conducting steam-pipe just enough to scald Tom's face and hands severely, without endangering his life. As the stream of hot vapour hit him, he rolled over, exclaiming:—
“Good God!—it's all up, now!” and soon became utterly insensible
Tom was picked up and carried into the Social Hall, where restoratives were administered to recall him to consciousness, and remedies applied to heal his burns. All gathered in silence and anxiety around his pallet, watching for returning sensibility, the captain and clerk among the number, really grieved at the mishap, which they had no doubt was caused by their jest. While all breathlessly looked on, Tom gave manifestations of returning consciousness: of course, with sensibility returned feeling, and his burns appealed, most touchingly, to that sense. Twisting himself up, and drawing his breath through his teeth, he slowly remarked:—
“Jest as I thought—the d———l's got me, s-l-i-c-k enough, and I'm burnt already to a cinder!”
There was no resisting this—all hands burst into a roar of laughter. Tom couldn't open his eyes, but he could hear, and after they had done laughing, he quietly remarked:—
“These imps are mightily glad because they've gotme!Here followed another roar, and when it subsided, the captain approached him, and called his name—
“Tom, old fellow,” said he, “you're safe!”
“What, you here, too, captain? I thought you had jined meetin' and saved your bacon.—So they've got you, too,—well, a fellar aint alone then.”
Here the clerk spoke to him.
“What, you, too, Bill?—well, 'there's a party of us,' any how, but it's so confounded dark I can't see you, and its hotter than-(here he checked himself with a shudder, and added,) Yes, I'm certain we'rethar!” sighing heavily, he murmured—“Poor Mary—Oh, my Mary.”
By the efforts of the captain and clerk Tom was made to understand the true state of the case, and through their kindness and attention, was soon able to return to duty, and though he would after laugh at a jest about old Father Miller, yet he was never again known to drink whiskey. When irritated now, Tom always shuts his lips tight, and chokes down the rising oath. Mary is gratified with the change, although she wept at the severity of the means by which he was converted.
Cousin Jim, tha aint nuthin' occurred wuth ritin' about in our settlement fur a long spell, but about the beginnin' of last week, thur war a rumor sot afloat in town, which kept the wimen for two or three days in a continooal snigger, and it war half a day afore the men could find out the rights of the marter—sech anuther fease as all the gals got inter, war delightful to contemplate. The boys kept a askin' one anuther, what in the yearth wur the marter, that the gals kept a whisperin' and laffin' round town so—at last it cum out! and what do you think, Jim, wur the marter?—You couldn't guess in a week. It aint no common occurrence, and yet it's mighty natral. Little Jo Allen, the shoemaker, had an addition to his family, amountin' to jest three babbys—one boy and two gals! His wife is a leetle creatur', but I reckon she's “some” in countin' the census, and sech anuther excitement as her little brood of pretty babbys has kicked up among the wimen, is perfectly inticin' to bachelors. When the interestin' marter war furst noised about, the wimen wouldn't believe it, but to know the rights of it tha put on thur bonnets and poured down to see little Mrs. Allen, in a parfect stream of curiosity; and, sure enough, thar tha wur, three raal peert lookin' children, all jest alike. Bein' an acquaintance of Jo's he tuck me in to see his family, and it wur raaly an interestin' sight to see the little creaturs. Thar tha wur, with thur tiny faces aside each other, hevin on the prettiest caps,—all made and fixed by the young wimen, as a present to the mother,—and then thur infantile lips jest openin', like so many rose buds poutin', while thur bits of hands, transparent as sparmacity, wur a curtin' about and pushin', all doubled up, agin thur little noses, and thur mother all the time lookin' at 'em so peert and pleased, jest as ef she war feelin' in her own mind tha war hard to beat—addid to which, thar stood thur daddy, contemplating with a glow of parentil feelin', the whole unanimous pic-tur! It aint in me, Jim, to fully describe the univarsel merits of sech a scene, and I guess it couldn't receive raal jestis from any man's pen, 'cept he'd ben the father of twins at least.
“Gracious me,” sed Mrs. Sutton, a very literary worain, who allays talks history on extra occasions, “ef that little Mrs. Allen aint ekill to the mother of the Grashi!”
She looked at little Jo, the daddy, fur a spell, and tuk to admirin' him so that she could scacely keep her hands off on him—she hadn't no babbys, poor womin!
“Ah, Mister Allen,” ses she, “you are suthin' like a husbind—you're detarmin'd to descend a name down to your ancesters!”
I raaly believe she'd a kissed him ef thur hadn't ben so many wimen thar. The father of the babbys wur mitely tickled at furst, 'cause all the wimen wur a praisin' him, but arter a spell he gin to look skary, for go whar he would, he found some wimen tryin' to git a look at him—tha jest besieged his shop winder, all the time, and kept peepin' in, and lookin' at him, and askin' his age, and whar he cum from? At last sum of the gals got so curious tha asked him whar he did cum from, any how, and as soon as he sed Indianee, Dick Mason becum one of the popularest young men in the settlement, among the wimen, jest 'cause he war from the same state.
Things went on this way fur a spell, till at last tha heerd of 'em in the country, and the wimen all about found some excuse to come to town to git store goods, jest a purpose to see the babbys and thur parents. The little daddy war wusser plagued now, and they starr'd at him so that he couldn't work—the fact wur his mind war gittin' troubled, and some of the wimen noticed the skary look he had out of his eyes, and kept a wonderin' what it meant. One mornin' it war noticed by some of the gals that his shop warn't open'd, so tha got in-quirin' about him, and arter a sarch he cum up missin'—well, I'm of the opinion thar wur an excitement in town then, fully ekill to the president's election. Every womin started her husbind out arter Jo, with orders not to cum back without him, and sech a scourin' as tha gin the country round would a caught anythin' human—it did ketch Jo—on his road to Texas! When tha got him back in the town agin, a committee of married men held a secret talk with him, to larn what the marter wur, that he wanted to clear out, and Jo told 'em that the wimen kept a starin' at him so he couldn't work, and ef he war kept from his bisness, and his family continooed to increase three at a time, he'd git so cussed poor he'd starve, and tharfore he knew it 'ud be better to clar out, for the wimen would be sure to take good care of his wife and the babbys.
Old Dr. Wilkins wur appinted by the men to wait on a meetin' of the wimen, and inform them of the fact, that tha wur annoyin' the father of the three babbys, and had amost driven him out'n the settlement The Doctor, accordin' to appintment, informed the wimen, and arter he had retired tha went into committee of the whole, upon the marter, and appinted three of thur number to report at a meetin', on the next evenin', a set of resolutions tellin' what tha'd do in the premises, and governin' female action in the partickler case of Jo Allen, his little wife, and three beautiful healthy babbys.
When the hour of meetin' had arriv, Mrs. Sutton's parlors wur crowded with the wimen of the settlement, and arter appinten Widder Dent to the cheer tha reported the committee on resolves reddy, and Mrs. Sutton bein' the head of the committee she sot to work and read the followin' drawn up paper:—
Whereas, It has ben sed by the wise Solomon of old that the world must be peopled, tharfore, we hold it to be the inviolate duty of every man to git married, and, moreover, rear up citizens and future mothers to our glorious republick; and,
Whereas, It is gratifyin' to human natur', the world in gineral, Missury at large, and Liberty in partickler, that this seltlement has set an example to the ancesters of future time; which will not only make the wimen of this enlightened state a pattern for thur children, but a envy to the royal wimen of Europe, not forgettin' the proud mother of the Lions of Ingland, but will elevate and place in and among the furst families, fur ever here-arter, the mother that has shed such lustre upon the sex in gineral; and
Whereas, It is the melancholy lot of some to be deprived of doin' thar duty in the great cause of human natur', because the young men is back'ard about speak-in' out, it is time that some measures be taken inimical to our general prosperity, and encouragin' to the risin' generation of young fellars round town; tharfore,
Resolved, That, as married wimen, our sympathies, like the heavin' of natur's bosom, yearns with admiration and respect fur that little womin, Mrs. Allen, and as we see her three dear little babbys, reclinin' upon thur mother's female maternal bosom, our beatin' hearts with one accord wish we could say ditto.
Resolved, That in the case of Mrs. Allen we see an illustrious example of the intarnal and extarnal progress of that spreadin' race, the Angel Saxons; and time will come when the mothers of the west will plant thar glorious shoots from one pinnacle of the Rocky Mountains to the tother, and until thar cry of liberti will be hollered from one pint to the next in a continooal skreech!
Resolved, That Mister Joseph Allen, the father of these three dear little babbys, shall receive a monument at his deth, and while he is livin', the wimen shall ony visit his shop once a week to look at him, 'cept the married wimen, who shall be permitted to see him twice a week and no offener, pervided and exceptin' tha want to git measured fur a par of shoes.
Resolved, Mister Joseph Allen shall hev the custom of the whole settlement, for he is a glorious livin' example of a dotin' husbind.
Arter these resolutions had ben unanimously passed, Mrs. Sutton addressed the meetin', in a stream of elegance, wharin she proved, clar as a whistle, that a family war the furst consideration fur a settler in a new country and town lots the arter question. “She acknowledged the corn,” she sed, “that it war soothin' to look often at thur neighbor Allen, but his peace of mind war the property of his family, and she hoped the ladies wouldn't disturb it, 'cause the loss of sech a husbind, would be a sufferin' calamity to the settlement.” The meetin' adjourned, and Jo went back to work, singin' and whistlin' as happy as usual, and ever sence he's had a parfect shower of work, for the gals all round the country keep goin' to him to git measured, tha say he desarves to be incouraged.
Your furst Cousin,
Bill Sapper.
Tom C. H————, Esq., a genius, whose ideas of life were on such a magnificent scale that they outran his interest, capital and all, was seated upon the porch of a fashionable hotel, in a large eastern village, one bright Monday morning, cogitating how, in the nature of things, it was possible for him to compass a dinner. The long score, unpaid, which stood recorded on the books within, precluded the idea of getting one there without thetin, and numerous searches through sundry pockets about his person were unrewarded by a single shiner. The case was desperate, but great minds are always equal to great emergencies, and Tom's was of that order. His coat had been renovated by a scourer, for whom he had written a love letter, his hat had been ironed by a good-natured hatter, who had enjoyed his custom in better days, a new coat of japan varnish had been lavished upon his cane, his dicky was passable, and no gentleman would think of examining the extremities of his covering, or pry into the shifts he had been put to for a shirt. Tom thought himself passable, and he resolved to pass off for a dinner, if possible. A stranger lolling easily on a settee near him looked vulnerable, and Tom, approaching him in a very bland and friendly manner, remarked:—
“Excuse me, sir, but you look so like an old friend of mine, J. B————, who has resided for years in the south, that I can't help addressing you.”
“I am from the south, sir,” answered the stranger, courteously, “but not the person you speak of—know him, however, and am pleased to encounter a friend of his.”
“That's it,” said Tom to himself, “got him as easy as rolling off a log!”
An animated conversation ensued, which ended by Tom being asked to dine, and when the gong proclaimed the table spread, in walked the stranger and Tom, arm-in-arm, large as life and twice as natural. He called the waiters with an air of ease, passed the stranger's wine with friendly freedom, laughed musically, jested with spirit, wiped his mouth with grace, and, in short, completely captivated the southerner. During the period of Tom's luxuriating, he was observed by the landlord, who, indignant, sent a servant to order him from the table. Tom had “come it” over him for so many odd dinners, without a shadow of prospect for pay, that he would stand it no longer. The servant approached, whispered in his ear, and stood off to give him room tomove. Tom clutched the wine bottle, with the intention of hurling it at his head, but altered his purpose, and poured out another glass, drank it off, looked daggers at the servant, and in a moment more smiled confidence upon his friend.
“Would you believe it,” said Tom, to the southerner, “that since my absence from the city for a few days past, a rival house of ourshipping firmhas whispered the possibility of our failure, and this rascally landlord, having heard the calumny, has insulted me here at table by sending a servant to demand the trifling sum I owe him.”
The southerner was burning with indignation.
“It is too humiliating;” added Tom, “not dreaming of such an outrage, I am entirely unprovided at the moment.”
“Here, my dear fellow,” promptly proffered his friend, “here is my pocket-book, make use of it without hesitation.”
“You're very kind,” said Tom, “very, I will but borrow this thousand dollar bill for a moment—I know the rascal can't change it!”
With an air of offended dignity, Tom approached the office of the hotel, the landlord, frowning with anger, stood at the desk, the offended “diner out,” put his hand to his eyes, as if hiding deep emotion, and then addressing the landlord in a grief-stricken voice, he said:
“I never dreamed of such an insult fromyou, sir, at such a time, too, just as my uncle in the south has expired,—and his agent with me to deliver up the portion bequeathed to me—it is—it—sir, I cannot express in language my feelings. Take out of that the paltry sum I owe you,”—throwing down the thousand dollar bill,—“and henceforth I never will enter your door. Just at a time too,” he further added, “when I had intended to make your house my home, and endeavor to make some return for your forbearance. It is too much—my feelings are lacerated,” and here he became almost overpowered by emotion.
The strip of crape around his hat—put there to hide the greasy band—the thousand dollar bill, and the renovated coat, which looked like new on the possessor of such a sum, all assured the landlord that he had beenhasty. He, therefore, denied the indignity, straight, said that it was an impertinence of his servant, who hadtwicebefore offended his best guests by his insolence, and assured Tom that he would discharge the fellow forthwith—pushed back to him the thousand dollar bill, and begged he would forget the circumstance—indeed, he felt shocked that such an outrage had been perpetrated upon hisoldestfriend and customer. These warm expressions mollified Tom's wrath, and folding up his bill he walked back, resumed his seat, returned the bill to the southerner, merely remarking he had “brought the landlord to his feelings,” and cheerfully sipped alittleiced champagne. As he left the table arm-in-arm with his friend, the landlord approached, bowing, and begged to know where he should send for his trunk, as No. 24, a fine airy room, which would suit him to a charm, was at present empty. Tom said he would send the baggage up, and after lighting a choice Havana, strolled out with an air aristocratic.
In good time, the trunk arrived—a rude one, butvery heavy. The landlord winked as the servant bent beneath its weight, and remarked, as he paid the porterage, that a large quantity of bullion was generally rather heavy. Tom was in clover—the thousand dollar bill got whispered about, and one of his creditors, a fashionable tailor, insisted on trusting him for another suit; he yielded after much persuasion, and it was astonishing how everything altered with Tom's appearance. His note was good for any small sum now, and it was a pleasure to make his acquaintance.
In the course of about six months the landlord thought he would just hint to Tom that a small check would be agreeable, as they were hard pushed. The hint was given, and he received acheck—anything but a cash one, though. Tom very coolly informed him that the agent who had raised his hopes was a rascally impostor.
“But the thousand dollar bill, Mr. H.?” said the landlord, inquiringly.
“Was handed to me, by the rogue, to keep up appearances,” coolly responded Tom.
“I shall seize your baggage, sir!” cried the enraged host.
“I can't help it, my dear fellow,” said Tom; “you know if I had a 'pocket full of rocks,' you should share them, for I like you, vastly—I do—cuss me if I don't; so keep cool, and keep the baggage until I make a draw and raise the little sum.”
The trunk was seized, and so roughly that it burst open, when the landlord discovered that if Tom had no pocket full of rocks, it was because he had stowed them all in his trunk, and that accounted very naturally for its being so heavy!