On A Donkey's Hurricane Deck Part 8

I was afraid she'd catch cold in the opened window, if she was in her nightdress, but I replied in a voice of a siren, "A jacka.s.s."

"Can't let ye in--no room for shows here--next town," fell the frozen words on my benumbed ears.

Then the woman sneezed, and closed the window. Mac A'Rony seemed to comprehend the situation, but offered no remedy. I would have covered the three miles to Pittsford, but the donkey was f.a.gged out, and could barely drag his legs. Where were we to find shelter at such a time and place?

Retracing our steps a short distance, I caught the sound of pounding, as of a hammer. Soon I heard the sawing of a board, and the saw's enraged voice when it struck a knot. Saved! I thought, as I walked in the direction whence the sound emanated. The snow lay ten inches deep; old Boreas shook the trees, and whistled round the quivering hovels; and I was so chilled and vexed that, if another person had dared to ask me what kind of a man I was, I would have measured somebody for a coffin.

Finally, I came to the house, through whose window I discerned a lighted candle in a back room. I rapped on the door. The sawing continued; so did my rapping. Then the sawing ceased, and the door was opened by a swarthy, heavy bearded man who extended me a kindly "Good evenin'." I introduced myself, and pleaded my case.

"Come in where it's warm," he said; and following him to the stove, I explained my situation.

"We ain't got much accommodation for ye," he apologized, "but I can't leave ye and yer pet out in the cold. This is my wife," and the man introduced me. Then he censured the landlady of the tavern for not admitting me, saying she ought to have her license revoked, "If you'd been a loafing vagabond and drunkard, she'd taken ye in quick enough," said my sympathetic host; "but as ye was a gentleman she was embarra.s.sed to know how to treat ye." From which I gathered that he did know how, and would prove it. He explained that the front part of the building was a store; the rear portion was divided into two small rooms,--a kitchen and a sleeping room. The second floor was utilized as a hay-loft, wherein was stored Hungarian hay for his horse, which he said he kept "in a shed 'cross the road yonder."

"Now, if ye'll lend me a hand," he suggested, "we'll make room for yer mule in the shed, and my wife'll get ye something to eat. Then we'll see where we kin tuck ye comfortable till mornin'."

I pulled on my mittens and followed the man into the biting wind with a warmer and cheerier heart, and, acquainting Mac with the good news, proceeded to a.s.sist my host to transfer a huge woodpile in order to obtain the side of a hen roost lying underneath it, with which to construct a part.i.tion in the shed to preserve peace between horse and donkey.

By one o'clock Mac was stabled and I in prime condition to enjoy any kind of a meal. The good wife had fried me three eggs, and brewed me a pot of tea, and sawed off several slices of home-made bread, for which I blessed her in my heart and paid her a compliment by eating it all.

The repast over, I chatted a while with my friends and smoked; then said if they were ready to retire, I was. A roughly made staircase reached from the kitchen floor over the cook-stove to a trap-door in the ceiling, and up those stairs I followed my host, he with candle in hand, I with a quilt which I feared the kind people had robbed from their own bed. Great gaps yawned in the roof and sides of the loft, through which the wind whistled coldly. The hay was covered with snow in places and the thermometer must have been far below zero. But I stuck my legs in the hay, and pulled a woolen nightshirt over my traveling clothes, and tucked the quilt round my body, and put on my hat and earlaps, and soon was as snug as a bug in a rug, and slept soundly.

I arose early with the family, joined them at breakfast, paid my host liberally, and started with Mac for Pittsford. There we were welcomed by a party of young men who had expected to give us a fitting reception the evening before. They claimed that, had they known where we were, they would have rescued us with a bob-sleigh.

I did not tarry with them, but tramped on to Rochester, and arrived there at 3:30 P. M., having covered thirty-five miles since the previous morning.

We spent two days in the Flour City. An old business acquaintance arranged for Mac A'Rony to pose in the show window of a clothing store, for which I received five dollars. Although it was dreadfully cold and the wind blew a gale, Mac attracted every pedestrian on the street.

I called on "Rattlesnake Pete," the proprietor of a well-known curiosity shop, who wanted to buy my bullet-riddled hat, but I declined to part with it at any reasonable price; then I called on the Mayor. He received me cordially, laughed when I related my adventures, and subscribed to my book.

Rochester is the seat of a Theological Seminary, and several breweries. Near by is the celebrated Genesee Falls, where Sam Patch leaped to his death. Many old friends called on me during my sojourn, among them a physician, who gave me a neat little case of medicines, such as he believed would be most needed in emergency on such a journey; and while being entertained at a club, I was presented with a fine sombrero.

In spite of the frigid gale which had been raging three days, and of the dire predictions of the Western Union bulletins, I started with Mac for Spencerport at 12:30, right after lunch. The village lay twelve miles distant. The biting wind swept across the level meadows, laden with icy dust from the frozen crust of the snow, and cut into our faces. Five times were Mac and I welcomed into houses to warm, but we reached the village an hour and a half after dark with only my ears frost-bitten, and soon were comfortably quartered for the night. Next morning we started for Brockport, eight miles further on, by the tow-path, which we followed.

The wind was blowing forty miles an hour, and the mercury fell below zero. Every now and then we had to turn our backs to the gale to catch our breath. Mac's face was literally encased in ice; I rubbed my ears and cheeks constantly to prevent their freezing.

Only two or three sleighs were out, and the drivers of these were wrapped so thoroughly in robes and m.u.f.flers that I could not distinguish male from female. Still determined not to retreat to town, I urged my little thoroughbred on, and soon we were called into a house and permitted to thaw out.

On this occasion Mac, to his own astonishment, as well as that of the kind lady of the house, stuck his frosted snoot into a pot of boiling beans on the stove, for which unprecedented behavior I duly apologized.

Eight more times both of us were taken into hospitable homes and inns to warm before reaching Brockport at eight in the evening, more dead than alive. My nose and ears were now frost-bitten. The towns-people, hearing of our arrival, flocked into the hotel to chat with me, or went to the stable to see Mac A'Rony.

Wednesday I resumed the journey, resolved that nothing save physical incapacity should deter me; now was the time to harden myself to exposure, and prepare me for greater trials later on.

But before leaving, I purchased a small hand-sled, and improvised rope-traces by which Mac could draw my luggage instead of carrying it. Besides, this novel sort of vehicle would attract attention; I realized that we must depend for a living more upon sensation than upon our virtues. The next thing essential was a collar for the donkey, and I had to make it. But to make the stubborn beast understand I wished him to draw the sled, that he wasn't hitched to stand, was the greatest difficulty I had. Finally, he caught on, and marched along through the streets quite respectably.

Beyond the town we met with some deep snowdrifts lying across the road, and Mac's little legs would get stuck, or he would pretend they were, and I would have to dig the fellow out with my rifle.

Again, while leading the stubborn animal in order to make better time in the opposing wind, I would suddenly hear a grating, sc.r.a.ping sound to the rear, and looking around would find the sled overturned with its burden. After several such upsets, I cut a bough from a tree, whittled a toothpick point to it, and prodded Mac to proper speed, while I walked behind and with a string steadied the top-heavy load of freight. Then, this difficulty remedied, Mac, with seeming rascality, would cross and recross the ridge of ice and snow in the center of the road, as if he couldn't make up his mind which of the beaten tracks to follow, or disliked the monotony of a single trail, every time upsetting the sled.

During that long and frigid day's tramp but one human being pa.s.sed me, and he was in a sleigh. He recognized my outfit, for he called to me encouragingly, "Stick to it, Pod; you'll win yet!"

Late in the afternoon a man hailed me from the door of a farm-house, "Come in and warm, and have a drink of cider." Now, if there was one thing in the world that tickled my palate, it was sweet cider, and I accepted a gla.s.s.

"Wouldn't your pard have a drink?" asked the generous man.

"Presume he would, if you offered it," I replied. "I never knew him to refuse any kind of a beverage, though this cider is pretty hard."

The farmer brought out a milk-pan; and that donkey drained the pan.

"Shall I give him some more?" asked the big-hearted soul. Mac stuck out his nose in mute response, so I said yes, provided he would not be robbing himself; it would probably put new vigor in the fatigued animal, and super-induce more speed.

"Got barrels of it, friend, barrels of it," said the Good Samaritan, who refilled the pan which Mac again drained. Then thanking the farmer, I steered my donkey on over the ice-bound highway.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_Mac could draw my luggage instead of carrying it._"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_Mac's little legs would get stuck._"]

We had not proceeded a mile when I observed that Mac did not walk as firmly as he had; his course was decidedly zig-zag. Finally I left my station at the sled and guided him by the bit. Now he staggered more than ever; then it dawned on me that the cider had gone to his head. In less than five minutes more I regretted having met that liberal-hearted farmer, possessing barrels of hard cider. Suddenly the drunken donkey fell down in the snow, and, instead of attempting to rise, he tried to stand on his head. Not succeeding in that, he made an effort to sit up, and toppled over backwards. All this time he brayed ecstatically, as if in the seventh heaven. Next he began to roll, and tangled himself in the rope traces, and tumbled the sled and gladstone bag about the snow as though it were rubbish. Fearing lest he would break my rifle and cameras, I tried to unbuckle them from the saddle while the scapegrace was in the throes of delirium tremens, and got tangled up with him in the ropes. In trying to free myself, I was accidentally kicked over in the snow. And in that ridiculous and awkward fix I was found by a jovial farmer, who drove up in a sleigh. He soon helped me out of my sc.r.a.pe, and laughed me into good humor, kindly consenting to take charge of my luggage and send a bob-sleigh after the drunkard as soon as he reached his house, a mile beyond.

There I waited for the relief committee and the wrecking sleigh to arrive. To say I was the maddest of mortals doesn't half express it. At length two strong men with my help succeeded in depositing Mac on the bob; and he was conveyed to the barn and there placed behind the bars, bedded and fed, and left to sober up, while I, his outraged master, was hospitably entertained over night by my charitable benefactor.

We were now at Rich's Corners, some four miles from Albion. My good host provided me with such warm apparel as I hadn't with me, and when bed-time came, I was trundled into a downy bed where I dreamed all night about drunken jacka.s.ses.

By breakfast time I had recovered my good spirits. I insisted on baking the buckwheat cakes, and not until all the family were apparently filled with the flapjacks which I tossed in the air to their amus.e.m.e.nt did I sit down to the table to eat.

Breakfast over, I joined my host in a smoke, then donned my wraps for the day's journey. When we men returned from the barn with the reformed donkey, a number of the neighboring farmers had a.s.sembled with their families on the porch to see the overland pilgrims. I snapped my camera on the group, said "Go on, Mac," to my remorseful partner, and soon was plodding toward Albion.

CHAPTER X.

Strange to see what delight we married people have to see these poor fools decoyed into our condition, every man and woman gazing and smiling at them.

--_Samuel Pepys' Diary._

We did not reach Albion until noon. So numerous were the snow-drifts that we made only a mile an hour. Old Boreas might have been a little more considerate and brushed the snow along the fences instead of piling it across our path. That morning I dug Mac out of a dozen snow-drifts.

Albion looked to be a pretty place. Besides many attractive homes, it possesses the celebrated Pullman Memorial Church, a High School, and a woman's reformatory. But I did not visit those interesting places. Being a high churchman, the church was too low for me; not being up in the cla.s.sics, the high school was too high for me; and believing women to be terrestrial angels, I did not wish to be convinced that my judgment was wrong by investigating a female reformatory. I put up at a comfortable hotel, where I was told that the relentless storm would likely imprison me several days, and found cozy quarters for Mac A'Rony. The day after my arrival, a neighboring farmer took me sleigh-riding into the country to dine with him and his mother, his fleet horse having once conveyed him and his father from Dakota to Albion, 1,600 miles, in thirty-six days. When I told Mac about it, he turned a deaf ear, lay down, and groaned a groan of incredulity. Ex-Consul Dean Currie invited me to spend an evening with him and his family, and took me to call on the Mayor, who received me cordially and offered me the use of the Town Hall for a lecture. I accepted, and addressed a well-filled house; my receipts far exceeding my expenses in town.

The coziest place during these three stormy days, I found to be an easy chair by the great stove in the hotel office, where I whiled away most of my time. There, throughout the wintry days and evenings, a.s.sembled the guests of the house and many convivial spirits from town, to hear the biggest lie, or to relate the most ridiculous yarn.

At one of those gatherings, I met an interesting character Sylvenus Reynolds. Although he was eighty-four years old, he appeared as young and agile as most men of half his years. He attributed his longevity to active out-of-door life. Judging from his talk, one would have thought him to be the greatest traveler living; but, because he was denied the gift of a scribe, he would probably die like the heroes of the country churchyard, "unknown to fortune and to fame." He had tramped and lived by his rifle from Puget Sound to Terra Del Fuego, and was the first white man to cross the Andes from Chili to Brazil.

Once in the jungles of India he and a lion and a tiger all met unexpectedly, and, while the three were determining which two should become partners, the tiger made a spring at Sylvenus, and just when his gun missed fire and he thought it all up with him, the lion leaped in the air, caught the tiger by the neck, and killed it. He said after that he never could be induced to take the life of a lion, "the kindest and gentlest of wild beasts."

But I must tell about his famous jump across the Lock at Lockport, at that time 14-1/2 feet wide. The event was well advertised.

Temporary toll-gates were established, and ten cents levied on such individual pa.s.sing through to the "show." Over eight hundred and eighty-eight dollars were collected for the jumper. The jump was successful, and Syl got the pot. The narrative closed with a discussion--and another jump.

"That wasn't such a mighty big jump," remarked a listener. "I know several fellows who can jump to beat 14-1/2 feet."

"I'll bet a dollar with any or all the men present," said I, "that not one of you can stand still on this floor and jump 7 feet."

I had ten takers. The money was deposited with the proprietor; the house was thrown into great excitement. The ten jumps were made.