Life in the Clearings versus the Bush Part 14

This song is so well known to most of my readers, that I can describe his manner of singing it without repeating the whole of the words. He struck the instrument in playing with such violence that it shook his whole body, and produced the following ludicrous effect:

"Some love to ro-o-o-a-me O'er the dark sea fo-o-ome, Where the shrill winds whistle fre-e-e; But a cho-o-sen ba-a-and in a mountain la-a-a-and, And life in the woo-o-ds for me-e-e."

This performance was drowned in an uproar of laughter, which brought our vocalist to a sudden stop.

"I won't sing another line if you keep up that infernal noise," he roared at the top of his voice. "When a fellow does his best, he expects his audience to appreciate his performance; but I allers he'rd as how the folks at W--- knew nothing about music."

"Oh, do stop," exclaimed an old woman, rising from her seat, and shaking her fist at the unruly company,--"can't yee's; he do sing _butiful_; and his voice in the winds do sound so _natural_, I could almost hear them an 'owling. It minds me of old times, it dew."

This voluntary tribute to his genius seemed to console and rea.s.sure the singing master, and, stemming with his stentorian voice the torrent of mistimed mirth, he sang his song triumphantly to the end; and the clapping of hands, stamping of feet, and knocking of benches, were truly deafening.

"What will you have now?" cried he. "I thought you would comprehend good singing at last."

"Give them a comic song," said I, in a whisper.

"A comic song! (aloud) Do you think that I would waste my talents in singing trash that any jacka.s.s could bray? No, sirra, my style is purely _sentimental_. I will give the ladies and gentlemen the 'Ivy Green.'"

He sang this beautiful original song, which is decidedly Russell's best, much in the same style as the former one, but, getting a little used to his eccentricities, we contrived to keep our gravity until he came to the chorus, "Creeping, creeping, creeping," for which he subst.i.tuted, "crawling, crawling, crawling," when he was again interrupted by such a burst of merriment that he was unable to crawl any further.

"Well," said he, rising; "if you won't behave, I will leave the instrument to Mr. H---, and make one of the audience."

He had scarcely taken his seat, when the farmer from whom I had bought the b.u.t.ter forced his way up to the piano. Says he, "There's that pail; it is worth ten cents and a half. You must either pay the money, or give me back the pail.--(Hitching up his nether garments)--I s'pose you'll do the thing that's right."

"Oh, certainly, there are twelve and a half cents."

"I hav'nt change," said he, with a knowing look.

"So much the better; keep the difference."

"Then we're square, mister," and he sank back into his place.

"Did he pay you the money?" I heard the wife ask in an anxious tone.

"Yes, yes; more than the old pail was worth by a long chalk. I'd like to deal with that chap allers."

I now proceeded with the concert. The song of the drowning child saved by the Newfoundland dog drew down thunders of applause. When the clamour had a little subsided, a tall man rose from his seat at the upper end of the room, and, after clearing his throat with several loud hems, he thus addressed me,--"How do you do, Mr. H---? I am glad, sir, to make your acquaintance. This is my friend, Mr. Derby," drawing another tall man conspicuously forward before all the spectators. "He, tew, is very happy to make your acquaintance. We both want to know if that dog you have been singing about belongs to you. If so, we should be glad to buy a pup." He gravely took his seat, amid perfect yells of applause. It was impossible to be heard in such a riot, and I closed the adventures of the evening by giving out "'Hail, Columbia,' to be sung by all present." This _finale_ gave universal satisfaction, and the voice of my friend the singing master might be heard far above the rest.

I was forced, in common politeness, to invite Mr. Browne to partake of the oyster supper I had provided for my friends from W---. "Will you join our party this evening, Mr. Browne?"

"Oh, by all manner of means," said he, rubbing his hands together in a sort of ecstasy of antic.i.p.ation; "I knew that you would do the thing handsome at last. I have not tasted an i'ster since I sang at Niblo's in New York. But did we not come on famously at the _con-sort?_ Confess, now, that I beat you holler. You sing _pretty_ well, but you want confidence. You don't give expression enough to your voice.

The applause which followed my first song was tremendous."

"I never heard anything like it, Mr. Browne. I never expect to merit such marks of public approbation."

"All in good time, my _leetle_ friend," returned he, clapping me familiarly on the shoulder. "Rome was not built in a day, and you are a young man--a very young man--and very _small_ for your age. Your voice will never have the volume and compa.s.s of mine. But I smell the i'sters: let's in, for I'm tarnation hungry."

Gentle reader! you would have thought so to have seen him eat. My companions looked rather disconcerted at the rapidity with which they disappeared within his capacious jaws. After satisfying his enormous appet.i.te, he washed down the oysters with long draughts of porter, until his brain becoming affected, he swung his huge body back in his chair, and, placing his feet on the supper-table, began singing in good earnest,--not one song in particular, but a mixture of all that had appeared in the most popular Yankee song books for the last ten years.

I wish I could give you a specimen of the sublime and the ridiculous, thus unceremoniously huddled together. The effect was so irresistible, when contrasted with the grave exterior of the man; that we laughed until our side ached at his absurdities. Exhausted by his constant vociferations, the musician at length dropped from his chair in a drunken sleep upon the floor, and we carried him into the next room and put him to bed; and, after talking over the events of the evening, we retired about midnight to our respective chambers, which all opened into the great room in which I held the concert.

About two o'clock in the morning my sleep was disturbed by the most dismal cries and groans, which appeared to issue from the adjoining apartment. I rubbed my eyes, and sat up in the bed and listened, when I recognized the well-known voice of the singing master, exclaiming in tones of agony and fear--"Landlord! landlord! c.u.m quick. Somebody c.u.m.

Landlord! landlord! there's a man under my bed. Oh, Lord! I shall be murdered! a man under my bed!"

As I am not fond of such nocturnal visitors myself, not being much gifted with physical strength or courage, I listened a moment to hear if any one was coming. The sound of approaching footsteps along the pa.s.sage greatly aided the desperate effort I made to leave my comfortable pillow, and proceed to the scene of action. At the chamber door I met the landlord, armed with the fire-tongs and a light.

"What's all this noise about?" he cried in an angry tone.

I a.s.sured him that I was as ignorant as himself of the cause of the disturbance. Here the singing master again sung out--

"Landlord! landlord! there's a _man_ under the _bed_. c.u.m! somebody c.u.m!"

We immediately entered his room, and were joined by two of my friends from W---. Seeing our party strengthened to four, our courage rose amazingly, and we talked loudly of making mincemeat of the intruder, kicking him down stairs, and torturing him in every way we could devise.

We found the singing master sitting bolt upright in his bed, his small-clothes gathered up under his arm ready for a start; his face as pale as a sheet, his teeth chattering, and his whole appearance indicative of the most abject fear. We certainly did hear very mysterious sounds issuing from beneath the bed, which caused the boldest of us to draw back.

"He is right," said Roberts; "there is some one under the bed."

"What a set of confounded cowards you are!" cried the landlord; "can't you lift the valance and see what it is?"

He made no effort himself to ascertain the cause of the alarm. Roberts, who, after all, was the boldest man of the party, seized the tongs from the landlord, and, kneeling cautiously down, slowly raised the drapery that surrounded the bed. "Hold the light here, landlord." He did so, but at arm's length. Roberts peeped timidly into the dark void beyond, dropped the valance, and looked up with a comical, quizzing expression, and began to laugh.

"What is it?" we all cried in a breath.

"Landlord! landlord!" he cried, imitating the voice of the singing master, "c.u.m quick! Somebody c.u.m! There's a dog under the bed! He will bite me! Oh, dear! oh, dear! I shall die of hydrophobia. I shall be smothered in a feather-bed!"

"A dog!" said the landlord.

"A dog!" cried we all.

"Aye, a black dog."

"You don't say!" cried the singing master, springing from his bed.

"Where is he? I'm able for _him_ any how." And seizing a corn broom that stood in a corner of the room, he began to poke at the poor animal, and belabour him in the most unmerciful manner.

The dog, who belonged to a drover who penned his cattle in the inn-yard for the night, wishing to find a comfortable domicile, had taken a private survey of the premises when the people were out of the way, and made his quarters under Mr. Browne's bed. When that worthy commenced snoring, the dog, to signify his approbation at finding himself in the company of some one, amused himself by hoisting his tail up and down; now striking the sacking of the bed, and now tapping audibly against the floor. These mysterious salutations became, at length, so frequent and vehement that they awoke the sleeper, who, not daring to ascertain the cause of the alarm, aroused the whole house with his clamours.

Mr. Browne finding himself unable to thrash the poor brute out of his retreat, and having become all of a sudden very brave, crawled under the bed and dragged the dog out by his hind legs.

"You see I'm enough for him; give me the poker, and I'll beat out his brains."

"You'll do no such thing, sir," said the landlord, turning the animal down the stairs. "The dog belongs to a quiet decent fellow, and a good customer, and he shall meet with no ill usage here. Your mountain, Mr.

Browne, has brought forth a mouse."

"A dog sir," quoth the singing master, not in the least abashed by the reproof. "If the brute had cut up such a dido under your bed, you would have been as 'turnal sceared as I was."

"Perhaps, Mr. Browne," said I, "you took it for the ghost of the old mare?"

"Ghost or no ghost," returned the landlord, "he has given us a great deal of trouble, and nearly frightened himself into fits."

"The fear was not all on my side," said the indignant vocalist; "and I look upon you as the cause of the whole trouble."