On A Donkey's Hurricane Deck Part 6

A number of commercial men had prophesied I would not make my expenses in Rome, but I did. It was an all-day job, however, and another night was fairly upon me before I started for Oneida, sixteen miles away.

We had not gone far, when we came to an old-fashioned toll-gate, where I expected to be made to contribute to the county's good-road fund. I felt loath to do so, for nowhere else on my journey had we found the highway in such a disreputable condition. I told Mac to keep his mouth shut, and we stealthily walked through the gate, hoping not to be observed; but no sooner done than the keeper issued from his shanty and welcomed me back.

He wished to talk with me, he said. His boy had preceded me from town and given his father glowing accounts of the donkey traveler. So interested were the toll-gate keeper and his family in the welfare of Pod and Mac that they not only waived the toll, but gave us a pressing invitation to remain with them over night. The generosity of that man's big, honest heart stood out in such happy contrast with the miserly county administration and my own penury that I gratified the man's desire, in a measure, and hitching Mac A'Rony, followed my host into his dwelling, where I allowed myself to share his frugal board. It was certainly such a home where either a Don Quixote or a Pythagoras Pod might feel himself a distinguished guest. The wife brewed tea, and spread the table with black bread and doubtfully wholesome cakes, while the children climbed on my knees and heard with rapture my tales of adventure.

When it was time to go the keeper, having learned from his son that I sold the pictures "to live on," begged me with tears to accept a quarter for the one I gave him, saying that he had a fair-sized garden besides the pittance he received for performing the duties of his humble office, whereas I had to depend on Providence for the keeping of myself and comrade on our long trip "round the world."

So Mac and I, thanking the good people for their kindnesses--for Mac's ever-acute appet.i.te had not been overlooked by the thoughtful hostess--strode on in mud and darkness, slipping, spattering, and mumbling unintelligible and impolite words, and hoping against hope soon to arrive at some comfortable haven of rest.

A mile beyond we were greeted with loud applause issuing from a huge building to our left, which I took to be a girl's seminary, but which Mac insisted was a slaughter house. To be distinguished in the dark and tendered such an ovation quite tickled my vanity; but my less-conceited partner only brayed and trembled in the fear of being chased by a mad pig with its throat cut. When we had pa.s.sed to a safe distance, I met a farmer in a wagon, and asked him the name of the illuminated building.

"The Rome State Insane Asylum," said the man.

At length, a dense mist gathered; then it began to sprinkle. I could scarcely distinguish Mac in the darkness. The road was tortuous, one vast river bed of mud, as untenable as quicksand. We first ran against a barbed-wire fence on one side, and a rail fence on the other, and finally, I plunged over boot-tops in a sluice, and might have drowned had I not held the reins and been pulled out by my unintentionally heroic comrade. My boots were new and didn't leak, and the mud and water remained in them.

If ever there was a moment on that overland "voyage" when I felt in prime condition to give it up, it was there and then. Still we struggled onward, and a few hundred yards ahead I discovered the faint light of a farm house, where I stopped to ask the distance to the next place we could secure shelter.

"'Bout four mile, I should jedge," said the farmer. I guessed as much, but it gave me a chance to sigh.

"Mercy! None nearer?" Just then Mac coughed, and approached.

"Nope. But wait! Be you the gentleman bound fer 'Frisco with a mule?"

"Verily so," I returned, while my partner brayed indignantly at being called a mule.

"Wall, what's it wuth to take you both in fer the night and feed ye?" the man asked, avariciously.

"Oh, about seventy-five cents."

"Come back," said he; "I just walked from the railroad station a mile and a half in the mud, and lost my overshoes, and kin sympathize with ye."

My donkey was comfortably stabled, watered and fed, and I ushered into a cozy room, where my host brought me dry garments and slippers, and gave me a hot supper. Truly, I thought, the darkest hour is just before dawn.

CHAPTER VII.

I pa.s.s like night from land to land, I have strange power of speech; So soon as e'er his face I see, I know the man that must hear me, To him my tale I teach.

--_Rime of the Ancient Mariner._

Having the funds to tide over a couple of days, I set out early next morning for Syracuse. At 11:00 P. M. we tramped tired and foot-sore into the village of Fayetteville, having traveled twenty miles, the longest day's journey yet made.

My donkey was f.a.gged out. The stable men could hardly get him into his stall; but Mac had great recuperative power, and was so frisky in the morning that we resumed the march to the Salt City. It was still some distance to the city when an incident happened to mar the pleasure of our peaceful walk. In pa.s.sing a large dairy farm, Mac's grotesque figure excited either the admiration or the contempt of an ugly-looking bull, which left a small bunch of cattle in the field and trotted along the dilapidated fence. His actions were frightfully menacing, and I urged Mac to a faster gait. Suddenly the bull broke through the fence, bellowing, and made for us, head down.

My first thought was to save Mac's life. The leather-rimmed goggles he wore placed him at a disadvantage, aside from the fact that the road was icy and denied us a secure footing. Then, too, Mac carried seventy-five pounds burden, including my grip, the saddle and rifle. I was wholly unprepared for the bull; my revolver was unloaded, I having made it a rule to withdraw the cartridges every morning. As the brute lunged at my donkey, I struck Mac with my whip and wheeled him about with the reins in time to dodge the enemy. Recovering himself, the enraged bull made another lunge at my spry partner, and still another, the third time sc.r.a.ping off a tuft of hair with one of his horns. I could only a.s.sist Mac with the reins while striking the bull over the face with the cutting rawhide. I yelled for help. A quarter mile away stood a farm house, and in front of it two men gawking at our "circus," indifferent to our peril.

I never was more active than during those awful moments; Mac afterward said he never was so busy in all his life. So rapidly did we three pirouette, the bull after Mac, the donkey after me, and I after the bull, that the two human statues in the distance must have taxed their optics to distinguish which was which. So dizzy did I become that I wheeled Mac round and started in the opposite direction, the enemy bellowing, I calling, and the donkey braying to beat a fire-boat whistle. Finally, I heard the glad sound of approaching wheels from up the road, and at a glance saw a horse and buggy. As it came nearer, I distinguished a woman driving, and my heart sank. Surely she would not have the courage to venture into our very midst; she must soon turn round. A man might drive to our aid.

Still we three kept busy, until the rig wheeled down upon us, the prancing horse so distracting the bull that he shied to the opposite side, and, forgetting us, set out on a trot after the receding vehicle, lowing vexatiously. I held my breath. Soon we collected our senses and hustled on until the enemy was lost to view. There are many who would call our rescue a marvel; Mac said it was just our "luck;" but I thought it miraculous.

A prominent hotel in Syracuse welcomed me as its honored guest, and crowds cheered us to the door. I had consumed six weeks traveling from New York, a distance of 340 miles, although by rail the mileage shrinks to 303.

It was Friday, January 8. I was tendered a private box at the theatre that evening, and the following day Mac and I appeared on the stage between acts, at both the matinee and evening performances, I receiving five dollars for each appearance.

Sat.u.r.day I devoted to business; and was invited to the Elks'

entertainment in the evening. At noon on Monday we headed for Auburn.

A heavy snow accompanied a fall of the mercury. Great drifts had formed during the night, reaching anywhere from inches to feet, and from yard to yard. My spirits were low. The first eight miles to Camillus were covered in four hours. After a good rest and poor fodder, we strode on over the white and solitary road seven more miles to Elbridge, where, at eight o'clock, I registered at a cozy hostelry, and ordered that Mac be cared for and my supper at once be prepared. Then I hastened to canva.s.s the stores, disposing of three photos at fifteen cents apiece. My over-night expenses would be a dollar and a half; I lacked forty-five cents of the amount.

But that did not disconcert me. The hotel was composed of bricks, and its proprietor was one of them: a jovial Grand Army man who wore a big soft hat, and a blue coat with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons. His cranium was chock full of entertaining reminiscence, too.

At that time, men were engaged with mule-teams hauling stone for repairing the ca.n.a.l, and the hotel was filled with an incongruous lot of teamsters and laborers. Judging by their roguish remarks, it would be wise of me to place my donkey under lock and key; but when I hinted it to my host, he a.s.sured me my fears were unwarranted.

I was a.s.signed a large chamber on the main floor, next to the dining room. There was no lock to the door; I complained about it.

"n.o.body will molest you," said my host. I soon fell to sleep. Long before daylight I was awakened by the juggling of plates and cutlery, and the racking of a stove. It was impossible to sleep during such a hubub, so I proposed to smoke. Rising from bed and groping in darkness, I hunted for the electric light b.u.t.ton hanging from the ceiling, but had proceeded only a few steps when, suddenly, I fell headlong over a huge, hairy substance, which moved and yawned.

Hamlet's ghost! Was this really midwinter's night dream? I sat on the floor for a moment to set my dislocated big toe on the off foot, then staggered timorously to my feet, found the cord, and turned on the light. Could I believe my eyes? There lay Mac A'Rony. He gazed at me in mute bewilderment and blinked like an owl, then presently rose to the occasion, brayed, and charged at the donkey in the mirror. It was enough to awaken the whole village when the excited animal rushed around the room with the mirror frame for a collar, vaulting chairs, bed, and table, and exerting his best efforts to kick holes in the walls and ceiling.

"What in d.a.m.nation is the racket!" yelled the proprietor, as he came running to my room. I thought to disarm him by being the first to complain, for I expected some harsh invectives to be hurled my way.

"You said I should not be molested!" I said indignantly, standing on a mantle shelf in my night shirt.

"Well! It's the first time my house was ever turned into a stable," retorted the erstwhile jovial Grand Army man.

"And it's the first time I ever was made to room with a jacka.s.s,"

I returned, in a rage.

By this time Mac had stuck a foot in the frame-collar in trying to clear the stove, and had fallen. I quickly leaped from my perch, and my now more conciliating host helped to disengage the beast from his wooden harness, and give him a forcible exit. Then we dressed, and set to work clearing the room. Of course, the cook rushed in to have her say; otherwise, that hotel was suspiciously quiet, considering what had happened.

When I went to breakfast the landlord met me with a smile; it surprised and pleased me. I concluded that the practical jokers had settled everything to his satisfaction. My table mates were unusually uncommunicative; their conversation hung mournfully on the weather. My breakfast finished, I went to my host and informed him of the state of my finances.

"Two mule-drivers were discharged last night," he observed. "I could have got you a job if you had told me in time."

Right here an aged townsman came in, stamping the snow off his boots, unwound a great tippet from his neck, and regarding the clay-besmeared floor, delivered his opinion to the landlord.

"Gol blast me! If I run a house a lookin' like this, I'd close up and go out of the business," the granger remarked, with a critical eye to the floor and a wink at me.

"I agree with you," said I; "Price ought to pay a quarter to have the floor cleaned.

"It would be worth twice that sum to me to see you clean it," he returned, humorously.

"It's a bargain!" so saying, I pulled off my coat, and called for a mop and a pail of hot water.

The landlord seemed to regard the incident as a good joke; so did Pye Pod. Rolling up my trousers and shirt sleeves, I fell to work.

The old man fled to spread the news, as soon as he saw I was in earnest. My first sweep with the old mop shattered it; the landlord lost no time procuring a new one. Then I went at it as though it were my special line of trade, and so deeply absorbed was I in the novel undertaking that less than half of the population of the village filed into the room without my comment.

There were men and women, young and old and middling, and children bound for school; all around, backing against the walls and windows, commenting, laughing, and joking; while I just mopped, and with new jokes helped make merry, for I felt that was an experience of a lifetime for all of us.

A pretty girl snapped a kodak at me; she took fifteen orders for pictures within a minute. I was gratified to see all enjoy themselves. Still I kept mopping, and watched the clock to see how much time was left before school. MY time was coming; I wanted everybody to hear my story. They didn't know a thing about me or Mac A'Rony, except through newspaper reports, which are not always reliable. Finally, I dropped my mop and straightened up to rest my lame back.