NATURAL ACTING! DAN MARBLE'S FIRST APPEARANCE AT GRAND RIVER, MICHIGAN.
Several years since our friend Dan Marble, the celebrated representative of Yankee characters, was performing an engagement at Detroit, and was persuaded by some friends to take a trip to Chicago, and give them a taste of his quality in the lake city. Dan consented, and on board of the good steamer Constitution, commanded by a skilful captain, under the care of Doty, one of the best lake engineers, and piloted by Gus. McKinstry, they set out in the fall of the year for their northern destination. All went “merry as a marriage bell;” they had a successful trip up,—Dan had a successful engagement—and back they started for Detroit. But now the elements became rebellious; whether rude Boreas resolved to keep this favorite son of Momus up there in his northern home, we know not, but when the vessel that bore his fortunes—his own comical self—had nearly reached the head of the lake, against a head wind that would almost tear off a shirt collar, they run out of wood, and was forced to scud back to Milwaukee a “leetle dust faster than they wanted tu.” They loaded up with the fuel again, and shutting their teeth with determination, they fastened tight the safety valve, and tried it again right in the teeth of the hurricane. After puffing, and blowing, and wheezing, and coughing, the old boat had to give in, and hunt a harbor. Fate drove them into Grand River—we say, Fate did it, in order, as we think, to keep up the character of a grand stream by opening a dramatic temple on its banks, with an exhibition of the budding greatness of a genius. Fate, you know, has the ordering of such things.
The noble steamer came to anchor in the quiet river, between its towering sand banks, and old “blow hard” tossed the lake wave on the outside, top-mast high, with glee, at having penned Dan. Down came an inhabitant of the town of Grand River, who had seen Dan perform at Buffalo, and recognising him, up he posted to spread the news. In the meantime, those on board were wondering how they should pass the weary hours, if the fierce wind continued its fury. Presently, down comes another resident to the boat, a small cat-skin cap on his head, a Canada-mixed coat on, and dressed in deer-skin breeches.
“Whar is he?—which is him?—consarn his comic pictur, show him out—ha-ha-ha!”
“Who are you lookin' after, Mister?” inquired the pilot.
“Why Dan—corn twist him—Dan Marble, to be sure.”
“Well, here I am, old fellar,” answered the pilot, “take a look at me!” The pilot weighed about two hundred and twenty-two pounds, and had on an old sou-wester tarpaulin. Back stepped the inhabitant of Grand River, as if to get a good look, and take in all his dimensions at one stare. Gus, the pilot, made a wry face at his cat-skin observer, and out he burst:
“Ha-ha-ha!—ho-ho-ho!—he-he-he!—cuss me ef you ain't jest as I heerd on you—we've got you, have we? ha-ha-ha!—stop till I go and get the fellars, and by grist mills you'll have to gin us a playin'!” and forthwith off started the cat-skin cap and deer-skin breeches, their owner pausing every hundred yards to ejaculate—
“Ha-ha!—we've got him!”
In a short time he returned, sure enough, and half the town with him. A number of the business men of the place waited upon Dan, proper, and requested that he would amuse them, and pass away his own time, by relating some of his Yankee stories, singing songs, &c., tendering him, at the same time, the second story of a storehouse for his theatre. Dan consented, and all hands on board entering into the spirit of the thing, they soon constructed a temporary stage, with a sail for a back scene and the American flag for a curtain.
Night came, and with its shadows came the inhabitants of the town of Grand River—the owner of the cat-skin cap and his party, among the number.'
In order to make his performance varied, Dan made arrangements to produce the skunk scene, from the “Water Witch;” and drilled Doty, the engineer, Gus, the pilot, the clerk of the boat, and the mate, to perform the English sailors in the scene. It will be remembered by those who have witnessed it, that they catch the Yankee just as he has killed a skunk, and are about to press him as a sailor; he persuades them to see a specimen of his shooting—they stick up the dead animal as a mark, and while he gets their attention upon the object in one direction, he retreats in the other, showing off in his exit a specimen of “tall walking.” After considerable drilling his assistants were pronounced perfect; but the pilot swore that, to play an English sailor, he must get disguised, so accordingly he primed with a double quantity of grog. His associates, jealous of his natural acting, say he had to get drunk before he could look at the audience. Up went the curtain, and on went Dan; of course the audience were amused—they couldn't help it; but cat-skin looked in vain for his Dan. At length the skunk scene opened, and on came the pilot at the head of his party. The deer-skin breeches could hardly hold their owner; he ha-ha'd and ho-ho'd as if he would go into fits. Gus clapped his eye upon him, and screwed up his face into as many lines as a map, which finished the effect with cat-skin—he rolled off his seat, almost convulsed. Now commenced the scene with Yankee Dan, and when he told Gus to stoop down and watch his shot, it was with considerable difficulty that the pilot balanced himself in any such position. While they were stooping, off started Dan in their rear, and, to keep up the scene, off they started in pursuit; Dan, according to plot, hid behind the r. h. wing, front—his pursuers should here pass him and cross the stage, allowing him, by a Yankee trick, to escape; but that portion of the plot Gus, the pilot, had forgotten; he, therefore, came to a dead halt and looked round for Dan; there he was, and out shouted Gus: “Come out, old fellar—I see you!”
Dan shook his head and signed for them to go on. “No you don't,” says the pilot; “we caught you fair, and I'm be d—d if you shan't treat!”
The effect was irresistible; Dan had to give in, and the curtain dropped before a delighted audience—a-collapsed pair of deer-skin breeches, and upon the first night of the drama in Grand River. The owner of the cat-skin cap and deer-skin breeches maintains, to this day, that the pilot was Dan Marble.
“Them other fellars,” says he, “done pooty well, but any 'coon, with half an eye, could see that that fat fellar did the naturalest acting!”
A CANAL ADVENTURE.
“Oh hapless our fate was, each one and all,
For we were wreck-ed on the Erie Canal,”
Old Ballad.
On an evening in the month of July, 1836, I embarked at Lockport, in company with some fourteen passengers, on board an Erie Canal packet, destined for Rochester. It will be remembered that this was during the great migrating period in the United States, when all nations and pursuits had representatives on our principal travelling routes. Our party was no sooner aboard than the “bold captain” gave the word, the horses were got “under weigh,” the feathers set, and all hands called to pick out their shelf—a six foot-by-one convenience, suspended by cords—upon which they stowed away passengers for the night. Babel never heard a greater confusion of tongues than this call set wagging. But above them all was heard the silver tone of a travelling exquisite, piping out:—
“I-aw am first, cap'en, really,—I claim pwior choice, I do, dem if I don't.”
Happening to be first on the register, it was accorded, and the captain suggested a locker berth, as the most comfortable.
“No! no!—dem,—beg you-a pawden, cap'en,” shouted the exquisite, “some gwos, fat individual, might get on the upa shelf and bweak down,—I should be mangled howibly.”
“Be jabers, I'd like to hev the squazin of him, me-silf,” said a burly Irishman.
“They'd better spill a leettle smellin' stuff on the pesky animal, or he'll spile before mornin',” chimed in a Yankee.
After sundry remarks, at the exquisite's expense, and considerable confusion, all were duly ticketed for the night, and commenced piling themselves away like pledges in a pawnbroker's shop. Jonathan and the Irishman carelessly spread themselves upon a couple of long cane-bottomed settees, which occupied the centre of the cabin, and, in a very brief space of time, the company hushed into silence, save an occasional short blessing bestowed upon the short berths. When all appeared to have dropped into forgetfulness, the head of a way-passenger was thrust into the cabin entrance, with the inquiry—
“Is there any berths here?”
“Sure, this is the gintlemen's cabin,” answered the Irishman.
“Well, I want to know if there's any berths here?” reiterated the inquirer.
“Divil a chance for wan here,” was the response; “don't I tell ye this is the gintlemen's cabin?”
This conversation partially aroused the sleepers, who inquired of the Emeralder what was the row?
“Some botherin' docthur,” was the sleepily muttered reply.
All soon again relapsed into quiet;—snore began to answer snore, in “high and boastful blowing,” and I turned my back to the lamp for the purpose of making a somnolent effort, individually. After tossing and turning for some time, I found that the plentiful supper taken at Lockport had entered a veto against sleep for me, and every effort failed to accomplish more than a drowsy lethargy, which still left the senses partially awake. A strange bumping noise aided to keep me in this state, and I was labouring to assign a cause for the sound, when a voice distinctly cried out—
“It's no use a pumpin', captin', and I won't! She may sink and be dern'd!”
The concluding part of this remark started my senses into activity, and, after an effort, I turned round on my foot-wide couch, and took a survey of my “sleeping partners,” to observe how the voice had affected them; but not a muscle moved—all were chorussing beautifully the lays of dream-land. The certainty' of our “sinking and be dern'd,” was soon apparent, for the light of the lamp, suspended from the ceiling of the cabin, soon began to be reflected from the floor—the waters were quietly stealing upon the unconscious sleepers. My first impulse was to sound the alarm, but, fortunately, possessing a “top shelf,” and conscious that we could sink but a few feet, I held my peace until the water should increase its depth, being sure of fun when I gave the signal.
A pair of boots now commenced a very fair forward-two to a boot-jack which was busily engaged in executing a chassez before a nodding hat,—stockings were wriggling about, as if pleased with the fun, and, in a few minutes more, all was a scene of life among the sleepers' “unconsidered trifles” of wardrobe carelessly cast upon the floor. The water having reached within a few inches of the slumbering pair upon the cane-bottomed settees, I sounded the alarm, by shouting—“Murder! boat's sinking! hurrah! help!” Off tumbled the Irishman and Yankee—splash—dash—flounder and exclamation!
“Holy Virgin! what's this?” inquired Pat.
“Cre-a-tion and the deluge!” shouted Jonathan “Good gwacious!” piped in the dandy.
Down hopped the tenants of the shelves, like bodies in a family vault at the general rising—up again they hopped, light as spirits and twice as natural, the instant their pedal extremities touched the water.
“Take it cool, gentlemen,” shouted a westerner, from a top berth, “these are the canal extras.”
A lady, at this moment, parted the curtains of their cabin—the Emeralder, with true gallantry, seized her in his arms, with a shout of “Riscue the ladies!” and bore her out on deck. Jonathan, not to be outdone by a foreigner, stood ready for the second, but her weight (only two hundred pounds) put a stumper on his gallantry. Yankee ingenuity, however, overcame the difficulty,—by making a bridge of the cane settees, the ladies were safely conducted from their watery quarters.
It was a funny scene on deck, that night, and little ceremony was observed in making a toilet. None, however, seemed to take the matter seriously but the dandy—he had lost all his beautifying essentials, in the confusion, and was almost frightened to death at his hair-breadth 'scape. Jonathan was offering him some crumbs of comfort, to induce him to make a purchase for his future safety.
“I'll tell you what, Mister,” says Jonathan, “jest buy one of my everlastin'-no-drownin'-dry-and-water-tight-life-presarvers, and when you git it fixed right, it'll keep you so dry you'll have to sprinkle yourself to stick together.”
THE STANDING CANDIDATE. HIS EXCUSE FOR BEING A BACHELOR.
At Buffalo Head, Nianga county, state of Missouri, during the canvass of 1844, there was held an extensive political Barbecue, and the several candidates for congress, legislature, county offices, &c., were all congregated at this southern point for the purpose of making an immense demonstration. Hards, softs, whigs and Tylerites were represented, and to hear their several expositions of state and general policy, a vast gathering of the Missouri sovereigns had also assembled. While the impatient candidates were awaiting the signal to mount the “stump,” an odd-looking old man made his appearance at the brow of a small hill bounding the place of meeting.
“Hurrah for old Sugar!” shouted an hundred voices, while on, steadily, progressed the object of the cheer.
Original
Sugar, as he was familiarly styled, was an old man, apparently about fifty years of age, and was clad in a coarse suit of brown linsey-woolsey. His pants were patched at each knee, and around the ankles they had worn off into picturesque points—his coat was not of the modern close-fitting cut, but hung in loose and easy folds upon his broad shoulders, while the total absence of buttons upon this garment, exhibited the owner's contempt for the storm and the tempest. A coarse shirt, tied at the neck with a piece of twine, completed his body covering. His head was ornamented with an old woollen cap, of divers colors, below which beamed a broad, humorous countenance, flanked by a pair of short, funny little grey whiskers. A few wrinkles marked his brow, but time could not count them as sure chronicles of his progress, for Sugar's hearty, sonorous laugh oft drove them from their hiding place. Across his shoulder was thrown a sack, in each end of which he was bearing to the scene of political action, a keg of bran new whiskey, of his own manufacture, and he strode forward on his moccason covered feet, encumbered as he was, with all the agility of youth. Sugar had long been the standing candidate of Nianga county, for the legislature, and founded his claim to the office upon the fact of his being the first “squatter” in that county—his having killed the first bar there, ever killed by a white man, and, to place his right beyond cavil, he had 'stilled the first keg of whiskey! These were strong claims, which urged in his comic rhyming manner would have swept the “diggins,” but Sugar, when the canvass opened, always yielded his claim to some liberal purchaser of his fluid, and duly announced himself a candidate for the next term.
“Here you air, old fellar!” shouted an acquaintance, “allays on hand 'bout 'lection.”
“Well, Nat.,” said Sugar, “you've jest told the truth as easy as ef you'd taken sum of my mixtur—
'Whar politicians congregate,
I'm allays thar, at any rate!'”
“Set him up!—set the old fellar up somewhar, and let us take a univarsal liquor!” was the general shout.
“Hold on, boys,—keep cool and shady,” said old Sugar, “whar's the candidates?—none of your splurgin round till I git an appropriation fur the sperits. Send em along and we'll negotiate fur the fluid, arter which I shall gin 'em my instructions, and they may then per-cede to
'Talk away like all cre-a-tion,
What they knows about the nation.'”
The candidates were accordingly summoned up to pay for Sugar's portable grocery, and to please the crowd and gain the good opinion of the owner, they made up a purse and gathered round him. Sugar had placed his two kegs upon a broad stump and seated himself astride of them, with a small tin cup in his hand and a paper containing brown sugar lying before him—each of his kegs was furnished with a spiggot, and as soon as the money for the whole contents was paid in, Sugar commenced addressing the crowd as follows:
“Boys, fellars, and candidates,” said he, “I, Sugar, am the furst white man ever seed in these yeur diggins—I killed the furst bar ever a white skinned in this county, and I kalkilate I hev hurt the feelings of his relations sum sence, as the bar-skin linin' of my cabin will testify;—'sides that, I'm the furst manufacturer of whiskey in the range of this district, and powerful mixtur' it is, too, as the hull bilin' of fellars in this crowd will declar';—more'n that, I'm a candidate for the legislator', and intend to gin up my claim, this term, to the fellar who kin talk the pootyest;—now, finally at the eend, boys, this mixtur' of mine will make a fellar talk as iley as goose-grease,—as sharp as lightnin', and as per-suadin' as a young gal at a quiltin', so don't spar it while it lasts, and the candidates kin drink furst, 'cause they've got to do the talkin'!”
Original
Having finished his charge he filled the tin cup full of whiskey, put in a handful of brown sugar, and with his forefinger stirred up the sweetening, then surveying the canditates he pulled off his cap, remarking, as he did so:
“Old age, allays, afore beauty!—your daddy furst, in course,” then holding up the cup he offered a toast, as follows:
“Here is to the string that binds the states; may it never be bit apart by political rats!” Then holding up the cup to his head he took a hearty swig, and passed it to the next oldest looking candidate. While they were tasting it, Sugar kept up a fire of lingo at them:
“Pass it along lively, gentlemen, but don't spar the fluid. You can't help tellin' truth arter you've swaller'd enough of my mixtur', jest fur this reason, its ben 'stilled in honesty, rectified in truth, and poured out with wisdom! Take a leetle drop more,” said he to a fastidious candidate, whose stomach turned at thought of the way the “mixtur”' was mixed. “Why, Mister,” said Sugar, coaxingly.
'Ef you wur a babby, jest new born,
'Twould do you good, this juicy corn!' ”
“No more, I thank you,” said the candidate, drawing back from the proffer.
Sugar winked his eye at some of his cronies, and muttered—“He's got an a-ristocracy stomach, and can't go the native licker.” Then dismissing the candidates he shouted,—“crowd up, constitooents, into a circle, and let's begin fair—your daddy furst, allays; and mind, no changin' places in the circle to git the sugar in the bottom of the cup. I know you're arter it Tom Williams, but none on your yankeein' round to git the sweetnin'—it's all syrup, fellars, cause Sugar made and mixed it. The gals at the frolicks allays git me to pre-par' the cordials, 'cause they say I make it mity drinkable. Who next? What you, old Ben Dent!—Well, hold your hoss for a minit, and I'll strengthen the tin with a speck more, jest because you can kalkilate the valee of the licker, and do it jestiss!”
Thus chatted Sugar as he measured out and sweetened up the contents of his kegs, until all who would drink had taken their share, and then the crowd assembled around the speakers. We need not say that the virtues of each political party were duly set forth to the hearers—that follows as a matter of course, candidates dwell upon the strong points of their argument, always. One among them, however, more than his compeers, attracted the attention of our friend Sugar, not because he had highly commended the contents of his kegs, but because he painted with truth and feeling the claims of the western pioneers! Among these he ranked the veteran Col. Johnson and his compatriots, and as he rehearsed their struggles in defence of their firesides, how they had been trained to war by conflict with the ruthless savage, their homes oft desolated, and their children murdered,—yet still, ever foremost in the fight, and last to retreat, winning the heritage of these broad valleys for their children, against the opposing arm of the red man, though aided by the civilized power of mighty Britain, and her serried cohorts of trained soldiery! We say as he dwelt upon these themes Sugar's eye would fire up, and then, at some touching passage of distress dwelt upon by the speaker, tears would course down his rude cheek. When the speaker concluded he wiped his eyes with his hard hand, and said to those around him:—
“That arr true as the yearth!—thar's suthin' like talk in that fellar!—he's the right breed, and his old daddy has told him about them times. So did mine relate 'em to me, how the ony sister I ever had, when a babby had her brains dashed out by one of the red skinned devils! But didn't we pepper them fur it? Didn't I help the old man, afore he grew too weak to hold his shootin' iron, to send a few on 'em off to rub out the account? Well, I did!—Hey!” and shutting his teeth together he yelled through them the exultation of full vengeance.
The speaking being done, candidates and hearers gathered around old Sugar, to hear his comments upon the speeches, and to many inquiries of how he liked them, the old man answered:—
“They were all pooty good, but that tall fellar they call Tom, from St. Louis; you, I mean, stranger,” pointing at the same time to the candidate, “you jest scart up my feelin's to the right pint—you jest made me feel wolfish as when I and old dad war arter the red varmints; and now what'll you take? I'm goin' to publicly decline in your favor.”
Pouring out a tin full of the liquor, and stirring it as before, he stood upright upon the stump, with a foot on each side of his kegs, and drawing off his cap, toasted:—“The memory of the western pioneers!”
A shout responded to his toast, which echoed far away in the depths of the adjoining forest, and seemed to awaken a response from the spirits of those departed heroes.
“That's the way to sing it out, boys,” responded old Sugar, “sich a yell as that would scar an inimy into ager fits, and make the United States Eagle scream 'Hail Columby.'”
“While you're up, Sugar,” said one of the crowd, “give us a stump speech, yourself.”
“Bravo!” shouted an hundred voices, “a speech from Sugar.”
“Agreed, boys,” said the old man, “I'll jest gin you a few words to wind up with, so keep quiet while your daddy's talkin',
'Sum tell it out jest like a song,
I'll gin it to you sweet and strong.'”
“The ony objection ever made to me in this arr county, as a legislatur', was made by the wimin, 'cause I war a bachelor, and I never told you afore why I re-mained in the state of number one—no fellar stays single pre-meditated; and, in course, a hansum fellar like me, who all the gals declar' to be as enticin' as a jay bird, warn't goin' to stay alone, ef he could help it. I did see a creatur' once, named Sofy Mason, up the Cumberland, nigh onto Nashville, Tennesee, that I tuk an orful hankerin' arter, and I sot in to lookin' anxious fur martrimony, and gin to go reglar to meetin', and tuk to dressin' tremengeous finified, jest to see ef I could win her good opinion. She did git to lookin' at me, and one day, cumin' from meetin', she was takin' a look at me a kind of shy, jest as a hoss does at suthin' he's scart at, when arter champin' at a distance fur awhile, I sidled up to her and blarted out a few words about the sarmin'—she said yes, but cuss me ef I know whether that wur the right answer or not, and I'm a thinkin' she didn't know then, nuther! Well, we larfed and talked a leetle all the way along to her daddy's, and thar I gin her the best bend I had in me, and raised my bran new hat as peert and perlite as a minister, lookin' all the time so enticin' that I sot the gal tremblin'. Her old daddy had a powerful numerous lot of healthy niggers, and lived right adjinin' my place, while on tother side lived Jake Simons—a sneakin', cute varmint, who war wusser than a miser fur stinginess, and no sooner did this cussed sarpint see me sidlin' up to Sofy, than he went to slickin' up, too, and sot himself to work to cut me out. That arr wur a struggle ekill to the battle of Orleans. Furst sum new fixup of Jake's would take her eye, and then I'd sport suthin' that would outshine him, until Jake at last gin in tryin' to outdress me, and sot to thinkin' of suthin' else. Our farms wur jest the same number of acres, and we both owned three niggers apiece. Jake knew that Sofy and her dad kept a sharp eye out fur the main chance, so he thort he'd clar me out by buyin' another nigger; but I jest follor'd suit, and bought one the day arter he got his, so he had no advantage thar; he then got a cow, and so did I, and jest about then both on our pusses gin out. This put Jake to his wits' eend, and I war a wunderin' what in the yearth he would try next. We stood so, hip and thigh, fur about two weeks, both on us talkin' sweet to Sofy, whenever we could git her alone. I thort I seed that Jake, the sneakin' cuss, wur gittin' a mite ahead of me, 'cause his tongue wur so iley; howsever, I didn't let on, but kep a top eye on him. One Sunday mornin' I wur a leetle mite late to meetin', and when I got thar the furst thing I seed war Jake Simons, sittin' close bang up agin Sofy, in the same pew with her daddy! I biled a spell with wrath, and then tarned sour; I could taste myself! Thar they wur, singin' himes out of the same book. Je-e-eminy, fellars, I war so enormous mad that the new silk handkercher round my neck lost its color! Arter meetin' out they walked, linked arms, a smilin' and lookin' as pleased as a young couple at thar furst christenin', and Sofy tarned her 'cold shoulder' at me so orful pinted, that I-wilted down, and gin up right straight—Jake had her, thar wur no disputin' it! I headed toward home, with my hands as fur in my trowsers pockets as I could push 'em, swarin' all the way that she wur the last one would ever git a chance to rile up my feelin's. Passin' by Jake's plantation I looked over the fence, and thar stood an explanation of the marter, right facin' the road, whar every one passin' could see it—his consarned cow was tied to a stake in the gar din', with a most promising calf alongside of her! That calf jest soured my milk, and made Sofy think, that a fellar who war allays gittin' ahead like Jake, wur a right smart chance for a lively husband!”
A shout of laughter here drowned Sugar's voice, and as soon as silence was restored he added, in a solemn tone, with one eye shut, and his forefinger pointing at his auditory:—
“What is a cussed sight wusser than his gittin' Sofy war the fact, that he borrowed that calf the night before from Dick Harkley! Arter the varmint got Sofy hitched, he told the joke all over the settlement, and the boys never seed me arterwards that they didn't b-a-h at me fur lettin' a calf cut me out of a gal's affections. I'd a shot Jake, but I thort it war a free coantry, and the gal had a right to her choice without bein' made a widder, so I jest sold out and travelled! I've allays thort sence then, boys, that wimin wur a good deal like licker, ef you love 'em too hard thar sure to throw you some way:
'Then here's to wimin, then to licker,
Thar's nuthin' swimmin' can be slicker!”
AN EMIGRANT'S PERILS; OR, A FLYING TICKET ON THE MISSISSIPPI.
The inexperienced dweller in a quiet home, who has never been tempted to wander from its peaceful precincts, has but a faint idea of the emigrant's troubles, and many may fail to deeply sympathise with Michael O'Reily, the subject of our sketch; but there are those who have mingled in the perilous tide, and can knowingly speak of its dangers. “Maybe,” as Michael would say, “it's mesilf that has had a full peck measure of thim, barrin' what I injayneously iscaped.”
Michael's brother, Patrick, had induced him to quit the little cottage and pratie patch on the green sod, for a home where “goold” flowed up the rivers. At the time we encountered him he had reached the spot where “a great man intirely,” had prophesied this shiny metal would flow to, and he but waited to reach Patrick's home on the Missouri river, to set a net in the stream and catch his share. As he and Mrs. O'R., who was well, but, naturally enough, “wakely,” were seated on the boat, considering how they could get further up stream, a steamboat runner came to their aid, and forthwith made every necessary arrangement for taking them safe. Michael's mind being at ease about that matter, he ventured to indulge in a whiff of the pipe, when he was accosted by another of the off-in-twenty-minutes agents.
“Passage up the Missouri, sir?” inquires the runner.
“Yis, I'm goin' wid ye's,” says Michael, “sure wan uv your boys ingaged me a minnit ago.”
The runner perceiving in a moment that a rival had encountered Michael, resolved to do the aforesaid rival out of his passenger, and accordingly hurried him off to his own boat, by telling him that steam, was up!
The “done” runner, on returning and finding his passenger off, suspected that the rival boat had secured him, and ventured upon the “terror experiment” to win him back. Michael instantly recognised his first friend, and saluted him with—“I'm here, ye see!”
“Yes, but you've got yourself into a kingdom-come snarl, if you only know'd it, without half tryin'.”
Twist the snarl which way Michael would, it sounded unpleasantly, and he ventured to inquire—“Its what did ye say kind of snarl, I was in?”
“I only just want to open your peepers to the fact, of having been trapped on board an old boat, fully insured, with a desperate shaky 'scape-pipe, and engaged to be blow'd up this trip; so good by old fellow, you're ticketed.”
“Och! if she's fully insured, all's right,” says Michael, whispering safety to his heart, “and the boy that I came wid, says she can run up a tree if there's a dhrap of wather on it.”
“If she don't run up a tree,” was the reply, “she'll be sure to run agin a snaggy one, and then, I predicate, some of her passengers 'll be blow'd tree high, so you're in for it, old hoss! Good by,—I say, if you should see my old uncle down thar,” pointing at the same time significantly to the rushing river, “the one I mean who didn't leave me any money, tell him for me, as he's gone to the d———l, to shake himself—will you?” and after delivering himself of this soothing request, he vanished, leaving Michael fancying himself astride of a 'scape pipe riding over tree tops, rocket fashion.
“Och sorra the day I iver put fut among sich hay-thins!” soliloquised Michael, “to talk of a man's bein' blown to smithereens, as if it were but a gintle rap wid a shillaleh—faith its out uv this I'll be immigratin' quicker than you could peel a pratie,” and forthwith he proceeded to move, with all possible haste, his stock of worldly effects; observing which the runner, who had awoke his fears, shouted out as a quickener, “don't forget uncle, for he would think it dreadful mean, if I didn't send word by somebody I knew goin' direct.”
“Leave that luggage alone,” savagely shouted the mate, “you can't leave this boat—you're engaged.”
“Thrue for ye's,” says Michael in a doleful tone, “be dad I was omadhaun enough to do that same, and ye's can blow me up when iver you're a mind to.”
“We don't blow her up,” says the mate, “until the downward trip, unless some gentleman's requested it in his bargain; if you've got a flying ticket we are bound to accommodate you,” and just at that moment, whiz went a steam-cock.
“Be aisy for the Lord's sake,” shouted Michael, “blow her up for the gintleman comin' down; as I'm not used to it, I might fall awkwardly in some man's apple orchard and desthroy a peach tree—d'ye mind.” Having been assured that all was safe, and that by express desire the blowing up was deferred, he took his seat at the stern. As the shades of evening gathered around the boat and over the waters, the steamer pushed from her moorings,—the last we saw of Michael he was holding in one hand a small string of beads, with a rosary attached, while the other grasped the painter of the jolly-boat towing astern, and his eye with a doubtful, but resigned expression, was firmly fixed on the shaky 'scape-pipe-.
FUN WITH A “BAB.” A NIGHT ADVENTURE ON THE MISSOURI.
At the head of a ravine on the border of the river Platte, one bright night in June, was gathered a party of Missouri hunters, who were encamped after a day's chase for buffalo. The evening's repast was over, and as they stretched themselves in easy attitudes around their stack of rifles, each looked at the other with a kind of questioning expression, of whether it should be sleep or a yarn? The bright moon, with full round face, streamed down into their midst, and sprinkled her silvery sheen over shrub and flower, investing night in those vast solitudes with a strange charm which forbid sleep, and with common consent they raised themselves into a sitting posture and proposed a “talk,” as the red skins say. Dan Elkhorn was the leader of the party, and all knew his store of adventure inexhaustible, so a unanimous call was made upon Dan for a story. “Come, Dan,” cried a crony, “give us something to laugh at, and let us break this silence, which seems to breed a spirit of melancholy—stir us up, old fellow, do!” Dan pulled his long knife out of his belt, and laying it before him, smoothed back his long grey hair. He was a genuine specimen of the hardy American mountaineer,—like the Indian, he dressed in deer skins and wore the moccason, while every seam in his iron countenance told of 'scapes and peril. Seeing that all were attention he commenced—“Well, draw up closer, boys, so I shan't have to holler, 'cause breth is gittin' kind a short with me now, and I want to pacel it out to last pretty strong till the wind-up hunt. You, Mike, keep your eye skinned for Ingins, 'cause ef we git deep in a yarn here, without a top eye open, the cussed varmints 'll pop on us unawars, and be stickin' some of thur quills in us—nothin' like havin' your eye open and insterments ready. I've a big idea to gin you an account of some fun I had with an old bar, on the Missouri, when I was a younker, and considerably more spry than I am jest now. I want to tell you fust, boys, that bars are knowin' animals, and they kin jest tell a younker of the human kind as easily as they kin a small pig from the old sow;—they don't fool with me now, for they've got to know me!
“Well, old Alic Dennison, a neighbour of mine on the Missouri, had bin about two years up in the mountains, and when he came home he gin a treat to all the fellars within thirty miles of him—that was jest seven families—and among 'em, in course, I got an invite. Alic and I had sot our cabins on opposite sides of the drink, near enough to see each other, and a red skin, ef he'd come on a scalp visit, would a bin diskivered by either. When Alic's frolic was to cum off, I was on hand, sartain. About evenin' I got my small dug-out, and fixin' my rifle carefully in the fore eend, and stickin' my knife in the edge whar it would be handy, I jest paddled over the drink.
“A little above our location thar wur a bend in the stream which a kind a turned the drift tother eend up, and planted them about the spot between our cabins—. snags and sawyers, jest thar, wur dreadful plenty, and it took mity nice padlin' to git across without tiltin'; howsever, I slid atween 'em, sarpentine fashion, and got over clar as a pet coon. Thar wur considerable folks at Alic's, fur some of the families in them diggins had about twenty in number, and the gals among 'em warn't any on your pigeon creaturs, that a fellar dassent tech fur fear of spilin' 'em, but raal scrougers—any on 'em over fourteen could lick a bar, easy. My decided opinion jest now is, that thur never was a grittyer crowd congregated before on that stream, and sich other dancin' and drinkin' and eatin' bar steaks, and corn dodger, and huggin' the gals, don't happen bu: once in a fellar's lifetime, and scarcely that often.. Old Alic had a darter Molly, that war the most enticin', gizzard-ticklin', heart-distressin' feline creatur that ever made a fellar git owdacious, and I seed Tom Sellers cavortin' round her like a young buffalo—he was puttin' in the biggest kind a licks in the way of courtin', and between her eyes and the sweetened whiskey he'd drank, you'd a thought the fellar would a bursted. Jest to make matters lively, I headed up alongside of Molly, and shyed a few soft things at her, sech as askin' how she liked bar steaks cooked, and if Jim Tarrant warn't equal in the elbow to a mad panter's tail, when he war fiddlin' that last reel, and sech amusin' light conversation. Well, boys, Tom started swellin' instanter. He tried to draw her attention from me; but I got talkin' about some new improvements I war contemplatin' about my cabin, and the cow I expected up from St. Louis, 'sides lonely feelins I'd bin havin' lately, and Tom couldn't git in a show of talk, edgeways. Didn't he git mad?—wur you ever near enough to a panter when his har riz with wrath? Well, ef you have, you can create some idea of Tom's state of mind, and how electricity, from liquor and love, run out to the ends of his head kiverin'. It wur easy to see he wur a gittin' dangerous, so I slid off and left him alone with the gal. Arter I got a talkin' to another one of the settlers' young women, Molly kept lookin' at me, and every now and then sayin' somethin' pleasin' across to me, while she warn't payin' any attention to Tom at all. He spread himself into a stiff bow and left her; then movin' across the floor like a wounded deer, he steadied himself on the back of my seat, and lookin' me in the face, says: “'Mister Elkhorn, I shud be strenuously obleeged to you ef you'll step down thar with me by the old per-simmen tree.'
“I nodded my head, and told him to trot outside and wait till I got the docyments, and as soon as he moved I sent his old daddy to accompany him. I jest informed the old fellar that Tom wanted a fight, and as he was too full of corn juice to cut carefully, I didn't want to take advantage of him. The old man said he was obleeged to me, and moved out. Tom, thinkin' it wur me, staggered ahead of the old man, and I concluded, as it war near mornin', to leave; 'cause I knew when Tom found out his daddy was along with him instead of me, he'd have a fight any how. I acknowledge the corn, boys, that when I started my track warn't anythin' like a bee-line;—the sweeten'd whiskey had made me powerful thick-legged; but arter a fashion I got to my dug-out, with nothin' of weapon along in the world but the paddle. Thar war jest enough light to tell tha snags wur plenty, and jest enough corn juice inside to make a fellar not care a cuss fur 'em. I felt strong as a hoss, too, and the dug-out hadn't more'n leaped six lengths from the bank afore—zip—chug—co-souse I went—the front eend jest lifted itself agin a sawyer and emptied me into the element! In about a second I came up bang agin a snag, and I guess I grabbed it sudden, while old Missouri curl'd and purl'd around me as ef she was in a hurry to git to the mouth, so she might muddy the Massissippi. I warn't much skeer'd, but still I didn't jest like to hang on thar till daylight, and I didn't want to make a fuss fur fear they'd say I war skary. I had sot myself on the end of the snag, and was jest tryin' to cypher out some way of gittin' to shore, when I thought I diskiver'd a fellar sittin' on the bank. At fust, he looked so black in the coat I thought it war Tom Sellers, who'd sot himself down to wait fur a fight:—Tom had on at the frolic a black blanket coat with a velvet collar, and he thought it particularly nice. Arter lookin' at him move about and sit down on his hunkers once or twice, I thought I'd holler to him; but he appeared so dreadful drunk that I didn't expect much help from him.
“'Tom,' shouted I, 'come out here with a dug-out, and help a fellar off, will you?'
“He sot still, without sayin' a word. 'Well,' says I to him, 'you're meaner than an Ingin! and would bait a trap with your daddy's leggins.' He didn't move fur a spell; at last into the drink he popped, and now, thought I, he is mad and no dispute. I could see him paddlin' right fur me, and I holler'd to him that I had no insterments, but he didn't say a whisper, ony shoved along the faster. At last up he come agin my snag, and the next minit he reached fur me, and then he tried to fix his teeth into my moccason; so guessin' it war time to do somethin', I jest grabbed fur his muzzle, and I'm blessed, boys, ef it warn't a great he bar! The cussed varmint had watched me from the house and seed I had no weapons, and when I upsot he just counted me his'n, and was quietly calculatin' on the bank how he'd best git me out of the water. I had nothin' in the yearth but a small fancy pen knife, but I stuck that in him so quick that he let me go, and while he swam for one snag I reached for another. I never heerd a bar laugh out loud afore, but I'm a sucker ef he didn't snigger twice at the way he rolled me off my log.
“We sot lookin' at one another fur a spell, when I seed the varmint gittin' ready to call on me agin, and in about a second more off he dropped, and strait he took a shute for my location. As he came up close to me I slit his ear with the small blade, and he got mad; but jest as he was circling round me to git a good hold, I dropped on to his hinder eend and grabbed his har, and I guess I made, him move fur shore a leetle faster than a steam boat—my little blade kept him dreadful itchy. Well, the fun of the thing wur, boys, as soon as the varmint teched shore, he turned right round on me, and I'm cussed if I hadn't to turn round, too, and scratch for the snag agin! with that consarned bar feelin' my legs with his paw every stroke I war makin' to git away from him! I got a little skary, now, and a good deal mad, fur thar the varmint war a waitin' for me, and whinin' as ef he had been ill-treated, and thar I wur perched up on a sawyer, bobbin' up and down in the water. At last I sot a hollerin' and kept on at it, and hollered louder, until I seed some one cum from the house, and singin' out agin they answered me. I asked who it war, and found that it war Molly, old Alic's darter; so I gin her a description of my siteaytion, and she war into a dug-out in a minit, and paddlin' towards me. I believe I said wonce, boys, that bars wur knowin' critters, but ef thar's anythin' true on this yearth, it's the fact, that this consarned animal had made up his mind to upsot that gal, and I'm blessed ef he didn't jest as cute as ef he'd bin human! Startin' from his snag he swam to the dug-out, put up both paws, and over it went—over went Molly into the stream, and off slid Mister bar, laffin' out loud! as I'm a white man.
“I seized Molly as she came floatin' towards me, and stuck her upon my sawyer, while I started for an adjinin' snag. I could hear Molly grittin' her teeth, she war so bilin' mad, and jest as soon as she could git breath, she hollered to me to be sure I never rested till I killed that varmint. I swore on that snag that I'd grow thin chasin' the critter, and she seemed to git pacified. Well, thar we wur, in the stream, and it a leetle too rough to swim in easy, so we had to sing out for help, and I yelled till I war nigh onto hoarse, afore anythin' livin' stirred about the house; at last, nigger Jake came down to the edge of the river, jest as day was breakin', and puttin' his hand over his eyes, he hollers—“'Why, Massa Dan, is dat you wot's been hollowin' eber so long for somebody!'
“'You've jest took the notion to cum see, have you, you lazy nigger—now git a dug-out and come out here and git your missus and me off these snags, and do it quick, too, or I'll make you holler!'
“'What, Missus dar, too!' shouted the nigger, 'well, dat's funny—de Lor!' and off the cussed blueskin started fur the house, and in a few minits all that could gethered out to see us and laugh at our water locations.
“I had bin gittin' riled by degrees, and now was at a dangerous pint—the steam began to rise off on me till thar wur a small fog above my head, and as the half drunken varmints roared a laffin, and cracked their jokes about our courtin' in the middle of the drink, I got awful excited. 'I'll make ribbons of every man among you,' says I, 'when I git whar thar's a chance to fight.' And then the cussed crew roared the louder. Tom Sellers yelled out that we'd bin tryin' to elope, and this made Molly mad,—her daddy got a little mad, too, and I bein' already mad, thar wur a wrathy trio on us, and the old fellow said, ef he thought I'd been playin' a two-faced game, and bitin' his friendship like a pizen varmint, he'd drop me off the log I wur on with a ball from his rifle. I jest told him to fire away and be d———d, for I wur wore out a patience. Some of the boys held him, while others got the dug-out and came to our assistance. I jest got them to drop me on my side of the river, and to send over my rifle, and as soon as it war on hand I onloosed my dog Yelp, and started to wipe out my disgrace.
“That infernal bar, as soon as he'd tossed Molly in the stream, started for the woods; but, as ef he had reasoned on the chances, the varmint came to the conclusion that he couldn't git away, and so got up into a crotch of a low tree, about a quarter of a mile from my cabin. Old Yelp smelled him, and as soon as I clapped peeper on him I let sliver, when the varmint dropped like a log,—I went to him and found he'd bin dead for an nour. My little blade couldn't a killed him, so it's my opinion, clearly entertained, that the owdacious varmint, knowin' I'd kill him for his trick, jest climbed up thar whar I could easy find him, and died to spite me!
“His hide, and hard swearin', got me and Molly out of our elopin' scrape, and the lickin' I gin Tom Sellers that spring has made us good friends ever sence. He don't wonce ventur' to say anythin' about that bar scrape, without my permission!”