The Puddleford Papers Part 32

Aunt Sonora inquired of Squire Longbow, "where lions came from, and how they got 'em here, and if they were _dang_-rous animals, and would bite people."

The Squire drew a long a-hem! stretched out his legs, and looked very wise, for he thought if there was anything that he _did_ know about, it was about lions. He recollected just how that lion looked that he saw down on the Susquehannas. He knew, too, that there was no other person in Puddleford that could throw any light upon the subject of lions. So the Squire began in the most profound manner to answer Aunt Sonora. "The lion," said the Squire, "the great African lion--jist sich a lion as you see on that 'ere bill--inasmuch as you have axed me, I tell you, comes from the jungles of the torrid zone."

Mr. Bates wanted to know what "a jungle was, while he was about his lion story?"

"A jungle--a jungle," continued the Squire, coughing in his embarra.s.sment; "a jungle--is--a--place--a kind-er cave, where the lions go, deep inter the airth, and where they can growl and roar, without disturbin' anybody."

"Inter the _airth_?" exclaimed Turtle; "how do they catch 'em, then?"

"How do they ketch 'em?--how do they ketch 'em?" exclaimed the Squire; "how do _I_ know?--how can _I_ tell?--_I've_ never been in Africa--I was only tellin' how the lions liv'd."

Mrs. Bird asked the Squire what the lions ate?

"Anything they can get," answered the Squire, very philosophically; "they ain't 'tall particular."

"Don't eat gra.s.s, do they?"

The Squire said he "shouldn't be s'prised if they did."

"Do they eat up men and women?"

"_Wal_," answered the Squire, "to tell you the plain truth, I s'pose they do."

"O Lordy!" exclaimed Mrs. Bird. "Ugh! how he looks!"

During all this time the young Puddlefordians, dirty and barefooted, who had crowded themselves into a corner in a distant part of the room, were filled with terror during the Squire's sage remarks, and fairly trembled for their safety.

Jim Buzzard took occasion to say that "he s'posed the an-_er_-mals _would_ bite, but he warn't goin' to be scart, if they had 'em fasten'd in cages--but if they were goin' ter run loose, he'd be gaul-blasted if they seed him round thar when they com'd--he'd jest let 'em know he warn't a-goin' to be eat up by their lions and elephuntses--he didn't care nothin'

'bout their monkeys--he warn't 'fraid of them, nohow--but them 'are lions--what _teeth_ they have got--O! mighty!--guess'd they wouldn't ketch him round them grinders."

The bill, among other startling announcements, declared that "the celebrated animal mentioned in Holy Writ, and now known as the Ichneumon,"

would be exhibited--that it was the first time any company had ever succeeded in carrying him so far into the interior, as he was very partial to salt water, and suffered very much, and grew very faint and weak, when removed any distance away from it.

The showman had been very careful not to furnish a picture of the Ichneumon, whose peculiarities had been so vividly portrayed in print, and the Puddlefordians were in great doubt about his real appearance. There were many curious speculations, and sage reflections indulged in by the more learned portion of the crowd, about his origin and history. It was very difficult, in the first place, to p.r.o.nounce his name.

Bigelow Van Slyck, who was a host at Puddleford in philology, attempted to give the most correct p.r.o.nunciation of the word. It was "_Ich_, something,"

he said--"probably the whole word was taken from Ich--and that was an animal that scratched himself--and yet he didn't believe this animal had any hair--and it was only hairy animals that _did_ scratch themselves--and the reason why he thought the animal hadn't any hair, was, that he must be a salt-water animal--for the bill said he was mentioned in Holy Writ--and also, that he couldn't live away from salt-water. He thought he knew _sun_-thin' 'bout Holy Writ--he _thought_ he did--and sunthin' 'bout animals, too--and if _he_ was to give his opinion, he should say the Ichneumon was the great Le-_vi_-a-_thern_, that went into the mighty deep!"

(Here Bigelow raised upon his toes, and spread out his arms, as if to show the crowd how big the great Le-_vi_-a-_thern_ was.)

Bigelow's oration produced a very solemn effect on the Puddlefordians. The idea that the great Leviathan, of Holy Writ, was really coming into their midst, was a most astounding thought to every man, woman, and child present.

Mrs. Longbow, who was a member of Bigelow's church, as has been seen, wanted to know "in what part of Holy Writ that 'are Ich-what-do-ye-call-it was found?"

Bigelow said it was somewhere--he couldn't 'zactly tell--it was either in the _Old_ or _New_ Testament, he was very--"_sar_tin."

Mrs. Longbow said "she'd never see'd it."

Bigelow said "he'd never seen him nuther."

Mrs. Longbow explained--"she'd never seen the animal in the _Holy Writ_."

Bigelow thought, "if she'd look, she'd find it."

Mrs. Longbow said "she'd look now."

Bigelow said "he hadn't time _now_, but he'd look it up by next Sunday, and preach on't."

Turtle, who had been carefully watching Bigelow in his attempt to identify the Ichneumon, and who had great respect for his opinion in all matters connected with Holy Writ, thought he discovered a flaw in the argument. He would "jest like to know how they could carry around a salt-water animal on land?"

Bigelow said "he warn't alive--he was stuff'd. It didn't say the celebrated _live_ animal called the Ichneumen."

"But it did say," replied Turtle, "that it was the first time they had succeeded in carrying the animal so far in the interior."

Bigelow was a little puzzled at this--but said, "he s'posed it was in great danger of being stolen--but at any rate, the Ichneumen was the great Levia_thern_, or some other--very--strange--animal,--_that_ he was sure of."

Squire Longbow, who had listened in the most dignified manner to all that Bigelow had said, heaved a long sigh at his last remark, and declared that Bigelow had, in his opinion, "s'plained the whole thing--and 'twas clear 'nough to him that the Ich-nu-men was the Viathen--'tany rate, he know'd the Viathen was the Ich-nu-men."

The excitement was very great from the time the bill was posted until the grand caravan actually arrived. Very little else was talked about, or thought of in Puddleford, and the region round about. Every business, and every domestic and social arrangement had reference to the coming event.

Squire Longbow had declared, two weeks before the day fixed for the performance, that no law business would be done in his office on show-day.

Turtle had issued a similar proclamation. Important financial arrangements were everywhere matured to enable the Puddlefordians to "raise the wind,"

so they might procure an entrance behind the canvas. The draft of ready money upon the people threatened to be very disastrous, for the admission was two shillings per head, children half price--cash down.

The caravan was expected to arrive at about ten o'clock in the forenoon.

But the mighty mult.i.tude, who had some distance to travel, packed and provisioned, and started on their way the day previous. Everybody was determined to be on the ground when the first blow was struck. The morning of the long-looked for period presented a spectacle more stirring and sublime than anything which had ever been before known. Every man, woman, and child was dressed in his or her best. Many had strained a point, and appeared in a style so rich that they were scarcely known by their best friends. And then, too, every person appeared to be so full of good humor and smiles, that it really seemed to be the only desire of all to make each other happy. Squire Longbow shone like a dollar. The old homespun coat and beaver hat wore a new brightness about them; and, what was very unusual for the Squire, he had procured a new hickory cane, and had cut "Longbow" upon it, which very much added to his dignity. Turtle had actually mounted a clean collar, which was one of the most remarkable occurrences of the season. Jim Buzzard, however, had not met with any change, outwardly or inwardly. He wore the same hat, coat, and boots that were found with him when he was first seen sunning himself on a dry-goods box, one morning, in the streets of Puddleford. The hat was a little more jammed up, and the boots gaped a little wider--but he was still the same Jim Buzzard, and they were still the same hat and boots. They bade fair to last as long as he did. His garments seemed to have grown _to_ him, and to have become a part _of_ him--to have formed a sort of attachment for him, and he really looked as if he had been born with these very clothes on.

Jim sauntered around and said nothing. Sometimes he might be seen perched away off by himself upon a post, overlooking the crowd--sometimes stretched out on a box in the sun, snoring, and making ready for the coming occasion.

He knew he would get in. He had no money, but he was a philosopher. He let matters take care of themselves, and as he had always been provided for, he felt perfectly satisfied that he always would be.

Everybody inquired very particularly about everybody's family on that day; and why shouldn't everybody inquire about everybody's family, for it was the day of the great caravan, and everybody was of course overflowing with joy. Mrs. Longbow a.s.sured Aunt Sonora, that "she would sartinly call on her the very next afternoon;" and Aunt Sonora apologized for not having dropp'd in to take tea with Mrs. Longbow, long afore. Mrs. Bird went so far as to inquire of Mr. Longbow, "how his cousins," which she said she had heer'd on, were gettin' along down on the Susquehannas--the only time before or since that the old lady ever alluded to the Squire's cousins, down on the Susquehannas, or anywhere else.

The grand caravan at last appeared in the distance, preceded by a cloud of dust, and heralded by distant strains of music. The shock was electrical--the rush was immense. The boys ran, and turned somersets--the men ran after the boys, and the women ran after the men. Jim Buzzard, disturbed by the "noise and confusion," actually rolled off a box, where he was dozing; crawled to his feet, and rubbed his eyes open with his fist.

The jam was really terrific--women lost portions of their dresses, men's hats flew off, and somehow, in the hurly-burly and jam, Squire Longbow missed his beaver hat, cane, and eye-shade. The Squire was in great mental excitement, as well as in bodily danger. He panted for breath, and plodded on the best way he could. Even a man of his distinction was not regarded on that day. Among other trials and reverses, he found himself separated from Mrs. Longbow, who, for anything he knew, was "trampled to death,"

somewhere; and with one eye on the grand caravan, and the other (the blind one) looking after his second wife, he hurried along, muttering to himself like some mad animal. He was dashed on to Mr. Turtle in his progress, and nearly upset that respectable legal gentleman. Mr. Turtle rose, filled with wrath, and with drawn fist, and just saw his mistake in time before the blow descended. "O, it's _you_, Squire!" said Mr. Turtle. Squire Longbow asked Mr. Turtle where his wife was? Mr. Turtle, very much excited, said something which the Squire did not understand, and pointed nowhere in particular, and then bounded on after the grand caravan. The Squire, after twisting and turning, and panting and blowing, and after having overturned three or four innocent women, who happened to be in his way, found himself at last out of the rush, in the corner of a rail fence, blowing his flushed face with his best cotton handkerchief. When he came to himself, he began to think. He recollected that he was a magistrate yet, and if anybody _should_ steal his hat, cane, or his eye-shade, he muttered, "he'd bring 'em afore him by daylight next morning, he would--he'd have some kinder la'

in town, if _'twas_ caravan day."

The fate of Aunt Sonora was about as melancholy as that of the Squire. She was somehow drawn into the tide, and as the good old lady could not move fast, the current that pa.s.sed her on each side rolled her round and round, as she stood, first one way and then the other, until she became completely peeled of her outer clothes. Cries were jerked out of her in a spasmodic way, as she could catch her breath. "Ma.s.sy--ma.s.sy! O, ma.s.sy--me!

I'm--k-i-l-l-'d!" and many more heart-rending exclamations she uttered; but it was the great caravan that was coming, and she was neither heard nor heeded. When she escaped, she looked as if she had been plucked of all her feathers; she, however, quietly slid into the house of Mrs. Longbow, which was near by, for repairs. When she found herself able to speak, she declared, "if _that_ was the _way_ the caravan was a-goin' to use folks, she hop'd _lite_-ning would strike 'em 'fore they got out-er the settlement--they'd sp'ilt her shillin' caliker dress, and she wouldn't gin it for all the monkeys the confounded consarn had."

But the caravan moved on regardless of accidents, and the music grew stronger and stronger, as it approached nearer and nearer; and as the breeze cast aside the dust, men, and horses, and wagons were seen moving forward, solemnly preceded by an elephant, which carried a stately looking gentleman upon his tusks, according to the representation on the bill. As the procession approached the village, its extent and magnificence began to dwindle. Alas! three wagons and one sickly-looking elephant comprised the whole affair. The people were evidently very much disappointed. The bill was a very large bill, and they did not see how it was possible for the few vehicles that came into town, to hold all the live stock which had been promised.

Squire Longbow still stood in the corner of the rail fence, looking out for the lion, for he had pledged his reputation to the Puddlefordians that the lion should be all that he had promised. He didn't know whether he would come on foot or not, housed or open; but the Squire saw no lion, nor any place for one.

Bigelow was busy sharply scenting out the "_Ich_-nu-men, celebrated in Holy Writ," as the bill declared. He felt it to be his duty to take a kind of guardianship over the Ich-nu-men, while he might favor Puddleford with his presence, because he _was_ a.s.sociated with Holy Writ; but Bigelow could not find him anywhere, living or dead, kicking or stuffed. He was much disappointed, but took courage from the hope that he was shut up from vulgar gaze in one of the strong cages.

The musicians still blowed their blast, as the cavalcade wound its way through the princ.i.p.al streets. The bill declared that the band was the celebrated "Boston Band," led by Monsieur Huzzleguget, and, according to _that_, it was composed of some twenty-four performers, drawn by six fiery steeds, attached to a Grecian chariot, driven by one elegant-looking gentleman, heavily whiskered, who must have been some six feet high; but, alas! the band itself that led on the animals through the streets of Puddleford consisted of only four seedy-looking performers, who carried three rusty copper horns and a ba.s.s drum, which was beat by a melancholy-looking boy. The three horn-men had blown their faces as round as pumpkins, and as red, too; or something besides wind, perhaps, had blown the color into their faces, for they occasionally took something to drink, during the heat of the exercises, from a bottle which they kept under the seat of the chariot.

The chariot was a large high-boarded wagon, and painted red, and was drawn by a couple of jaded "tugs," who showed plainly enough that their days were fast drawing to a close. But the music still blowed, and the procession moved on, and the Puddlefordians were as much delighted as if the proclamation had been fully realized.