They have been havin’ pleasure exertions all summer here to Jonesville.
Every week a most they would go off on a exertion after pleasure, and
Josiah was all up in end to go too.
That man is a well principled man, as I ever see, but if he had his head
he would be worse than any young man I ever see to foller up picnics, and
4th of Julys, and camp meetings, and all pleasure exertions. But I don’t
encourage him in it. I have said to him time and agin, “There is a time
for everything, Josiah Allen, and afer any body has lost all their teeth,
and every might of hair, on the top of their head, it is time for ’em to
stop goin’ to pleasure exertions.”
But good land! I might jest as well talk to the wind! if that man should
get to be as old as Mr. Methusler, and be a goin’ a thousand years old,
he would prick up his ears if he should hear of an exertion. All summer
long that man has beset me to go to ’em, for he wouldn’t go without me.
Old Bunker Hill himself, haint any sounder in principle than Josiah
Allen, and I have had to work head-work to make excuses, and quell him
down. But last week the old folks was goin’ to have one out on the lake,
on an island, and that man sot his foot down that go he would.
We was to the breakfast-table a talkin’ it over, and says I, “I shan’t
go, for I am afraid of big water anyway.”
Says Josiah, “You are jest as liable to be killed in one place as
another.”
Says I, with a almost frigid air, as I passed him his coffee, “Mebby I
shall be drownded on dry land, Josiah Allen; but I don’t believe it.”
Says he in a complainin’ tone, “I can’t get you started onto a exertion
for pleasure any way.”
Says I, in a almost eloquent way, “I don’t believe in makin’ such
exertions after pleasure. I don’t believe in chasin’ of her up.” Says
I, “Let her come of her own free will.” Says I, “You can’t catch her by
chasin’ of her up, no more than you can fetch a shower up in a drewth,
by goin’ out doors, and running after a cloud up in the heavens above
you. Sit down, and be patient, and when it gets ready the refreshin’ rain
drops will begin to fall without any of your help. And it is jest so with
Pleasure, Josiah Allen; you may chase her up over all the ocians, and big
mountains of the earth, and she will keep ahead of you all the time; but
set down, and not fatigue yourself a thinkin’ about her, and like as not
she will come right into your house unbeknown to you.”
“Wall,” says he, “I guess I’ll have another griddle cake, Samantha.” And
as he took it, and poured the maple syrup over it, he added gently, but
firmly, “I shall go, Samantha, to this exertion, and I should be glad to
have you present at it, because it seems jest to me, as if I should fall
overboard durin’ the day.”
Men are deep. Now that man knew that no amount of religious preachin’
could stir me up like that one speech. For though I haint no hand to
coo, and don’t encourage him in bein’ spooney at all, he knows that I am
wrapped almost completely up in him. I went.
We had got to start about the middle of the night, for the lake was 15
miles from Jonesville, and the old mare bein’ so slow, we had got to
start a hour or 2 ahead of the rest. I told Josiah in the first ont, that
I had jest as lives set up all night, as to be routed out at 2 o’clock.
But he was so animated and happy at the idee of goin’, that he looked on
the bright side of everything, and he said that he would go to bed before
dark, and get as much sleep as we commonly did! So we went to bed the
sun an hour high. But we hadn’t more’n settled down into the bed, when
we heard a buggy and a single wagon stop to the gate, and I got up and
peeked through the window, and I see, it was visitors come to spend the
evenin’. Elder Wesley Minkly and his family, and Deacon Dobbins’ folks.
Josiah vowed that he wouldn’t stir one step out of that bed that night.
But I argued with him pretty sharp, while I was throwin’ on my clothes,
and I finally got him started up. I haint deceitful, but I thought if I
got my clothes all on, before they came in I wouldn’t tell ’em that I had
been to bed that time of day. And I did get all dressed up, even to my
handkerchief pin. And I guess they had been there as much as ten minutes
before I thought that I hadn’t took my night-cap off. They looked dretful
curious at me, and I felt awful meachin. But I jest ketched it off, and
never said nothin’. But when Josiah came out of the bedroom, with what
little hair he has got standin’ out in every direction, no 2 hairs a
layin’ the same way, and one of his galluses a hangin’ ’most to the floor
under his best coat, I up and told ’em. I thought mebby they wouldn’t
stay long. But Deacon Dobbins’ folks seemed to be all waked up on the
subject of religion, and they proposed we should turn it into a kind of a
conference meetin’, so they never went home till after 10 o’clock.
It was most 11 o’clock when Josiah and me got to bed agin. And then jest
as I was gettin’ into a drowse, I heard the cat in the buttery, and I got
up to let her out. And that roused Josiah up, and he thought he heard
the cattle in the garden, and he got up and went out. And there we was
a marchin’ round most all night. And if we would get into a nap, Josiah
would think it was mornin’, and he would start up and go out to look at
the clock. He seemed so afraid we would be belated, and not get to that
exertion in time. And there we was on our feet most all night. I lost
myself once, for I dreamt that Josiah was a droundin’, and Deacon Dobbins
was on the shore a prayin’ for him. It started me so, that I jest ketched
hold of Josiah and hollered. It skairt him awfully, and says he, “What
does ail you, Samantha? I haint been asleep before, to-night, and now you
have rousted me up for good. I wonder what time it is.” And then he got
out of bed again, and went out and looked at the clock. It was half-past
one, and he said, “he didn’t believe we had better go to sleep again, for
fear we would be too late for the exertion, and he wouldn’t miss that for
nothin’.”
“Exertion,” says I, in a awful cold tone. “I should think we had had
exertion enough for one spell.”
But I got up at 2 o’clock, and made a cup of tea, as strong as I could,
for we both felt beat out, worse than if we had watched in sickness.
But as bad, and wore out as Josiah felt bodily, he was all animated in
his mind about what a good time he was a goin’ to have. He acted foolish,
and I told him so. I wanted to wear my brown and black gingham, and a
shaker, but Josiah insisted that I should wear a new lawn dress that he
had brought me home as a present, and I had jest made up. So jest to
please him I put it on, and my best bonnet. And that man, all I could do
and say, would wear a pair of pantaloons I had been a makin’ for Thomas
Jefferson. They was gettin’ up a military company to Thomas J’s school,
and these pantaloons was white with a blue stripe down the sides, a kind
of uniform. Josiah took a awful fancy to ’em. And says he:
“I will wear ’em Samantha, they look so dressy.”
Says I, “They hain’t hardly done. I was goin’ to stitch that blue stripe
on the left leg on again. They haint finished as they ought to be, and I
would not wear ’em. It looks vain in you.”
Says he, “I will wear ’em, Samantha. I will be dressed up, for once.”
I didn’t contend with him. Thinks I, we are makin’ fools of ourselves, by
goin’ at all, and if he wants to make a little bigger fool of himself by
wearin’ them white pantaloons, I won’t stand in his light. And then I had
got some machine oil onto ’em, so I felt that I had got to wash ’em any
way, before Thomas J. took ’em to school. So he put ’em on.
I had good vittles, and a sight of ’em. The basket wouldn’t hold ’em.
So Josiah had to put a bottle of raspberry jell into the pocket of his
dress coat, and lots of other little things, such as spoons, and knives,
and forks, in his pantaloons, and breast pockets. He looked like Captain
Kidd, armed up to the teeth, and I told him so. But good land! he would
have carried a knife in his mouth, if I had asked him to, he felt so neat
about goin’, and boasted so, on what a splendid exertion it was goin’ to
be.
We got to the lake about eight o’clock, for the old mare went slow. We
was about the first ones there, but they kep’ a comin’, and before 10
o’clock we all got there. There was about 20 old fools of us, when we all
got collected together. And about 10 o’clock we set sail for the island.
I had made up my mind from the first on’t to face trouble, and so it
didn’t put me out so much when Deacon Dobbins in getting into the boat
stept onto my new lawn dress, and tore a hole in it as big as my two
hands, and ripped it half offen the waist. But Josiah havin’ felt so
animated and tickled about the exertion, it worked him up awfully when,
jest after we had got well out onto the lake, the wind took his hat off
and blew it away out onto the lake. He had made up his mind to look so
pretty that day, and be so dressed up, that it worked him up awfully.
And then the sun beat down onto him; and if he had had any hair onto his
head it would have seemed more shady. But I did the best I could by him,
I stood by him, and pinned on his red bandanna handkerchief onto his
head. But as I was a fixin’ it on, I see there was something more than
mortification that ailed him. The lake was rough, and the boat rocked,
and I see he was beginning to be awful sick. He looked deathly. Pretty
soon I felt bad too. Oh! the wretchedness of that time. I have enjoyed
poor health considerable in my life, but never did I enjoy so much
sickness, in so short a time, as I did on that pleasure exertion to the
island. I suppose our bein’ up all night a most, made it worse. When we
reached the island we was both weak as cats.
I set right down on a stun, and held my head for a spell, for it did seem
as if it would split open. After a while I staggered up onto my feet,
and finally I got so I could walk straight, and sense things a little.
Then I began to take the things out of my dinner-basket. The butter had
all melted, so we had to dip it out with a spoon. And a lot of water had
swashed over the side of the boat, so my pies, and tarts, and delicate
cake, and cookies, looked awful mixed up. But no worse than the rest
of the companies did. But we did the best we could, and begun to make
preparations to eat, for the man that owned the boat said he knew it
would rain before night, by the way the sun scalded. There wasn’t a man
or a woman there but what the perspiration jest poured down their faces.
We was a haggard and melancholy lookin’ set. There was a piece of woods
a little ways off, but it was up quite a rise of ground, and there wasn’t
one of us but what had the rheumatiz, more or less. We made up a fire on
the sand, though it seemed as if it was hot enough to steep the tea and
coffee as it was.
After we got the fire started, I histed a umbrell, and sat down under it,
and fanned myself hard, for I was afraid of a sunstroke.
Wall, I guess I had set there ten minutes or more, when all of a sudden
I thought, where is Josiah! I hadn’t seen him since we had got there. I
riz right up and asked the company, almost wildly, “if they had seen my
companion Josiah?” They said “No, they hadn’t.” But Celestine Wilkins’
little girl, who had come with her grandpa and grandma Gowdey, spoke
up, and says she, “I seen him a goin’ off toward the woods; he acted
dreadfully strange, too, he seemed to be a-walkin’ off side-ways.”
“Had the sufferins’ we had undergone made him delirious?” says I to
myself, and then I started off on the run toward the woods, and old
Miss Bobbet, and Miss Gowdey, and Sister Minkley, and Deacon Dobbins’
wife, all rushed after me. Oh, the agony of them 2 or 3 minutes, my mind
so distracted with forebodins, and the perspiration a pourin’ down.
But all of a sudden on the edge of the woods we found him. Miss Gowdey
weighed 100 pounds less than me. He sat backed up against a tree, in a
awful cramped position, with his left leg under him. He looked dretful
uncomfortable, but when Miss Gowdey hollered out “Oh, here you be; we
have been skairt about you. What is the matter?” he smiled a dretful sick
smile, and says he, “Oh, I thought I would come out here, and meditate a
spell. It was always a real treat to me to meditate.”
Jest then I came up a pantin’ for breath, and as the women all turned
to face Josiah he scowled at me, and shook his fist at them 4 wimmen,
and made the most mysterious motions with his hands toward ’em. But the
minute they turned round he smiled in a sickish way, and pretended to go
to whistlin’.
Says I, “What is the matter, Josiah Allen? What are you here for?”
“I am a meditatin’, Samantha.”
Says I, “Do you come down, and jine the company this minute, Josiah
Allen. You was in a awful taken’ to come with ’em, and what will they
think to see you act so?”
The wemmin happened to be lookin’ the other way for a minute, and he
looked at me as if he would take my head off, and made the strangest
motions toward ’em, but the minute they looked at him, he would pretend
to smile that deathly smile.
Says I, “Come, Josiah Allen, we’re goin’ to get dinner right away, for we
are afraid it will rain.”
“Oh, wall,” says he, “a little rain, more or less, haint a goin’ to
hinder a man from meditatin!”
I was wore out, and says I, “Do you stop meditatin’ this minute, Josiah
Allen.”
Says he, “I won’t stop, Samantha. I let you have your way a good deal of
the time; but when I take it into my head to meditate, you hain’t a goin’
to break it up.”
Just at that minute they called to me from the shore, to come that minute
to find some of my dishes. And we had to start off. But, oh, the gloom of
my mind that was added to the lameness of my body. Them strange motions,
and looks of Josiah, were on me. Had the sufferins’ of the night added
to the trials of the day made him crazy. I thought more’n as likely as
not I had got a luny on my hands for the rest of my days. And then,
oh, how the sun did scald down onto me, and the wind took the smoke so
into my face, that there wasn’t hardly a dry eye in my head. And then a
perfect swarm of yeller wasps lit down onto our vittles as quick as we
laid ’em down, so you couldn’t touch a thing without running a chance to
be stung. Oh, the agony of that time. But I kep’ to work, and when we had
got dinner most ready, I went back to call Josiah again. Old Miss Bobbet
said she would go with me, for she thought she see a wild turnip in the
woods there, and her boy Shakespeare had a awful cold, and she would dig
one to give him. So we started up the hill again. He set jest in the
same position, all huddled up, with his leg under him, as uncomfortable
lookin’ a creeter as I ever see. But when we both stood in front of him,
he pretended to look careless and happy, and smiled that sickish smile.
Says I, “Come, Josiah Allen, dinner is ready.”
“O, I hain’t hungry,” says he. “The table will probably be full. I had
just as leves wait.”
“Table full!” says I. “You know just as well as I do that we are eatin’
on the ground. Do you come and eat your dinner this minute.”
“Yes, do come,” says Miss Bobbet.
“Oh,” says he, with that ghastly smile, a pertendin’ to joke, “I have got
plenty to eat here; I can eat muskeeters.”
The air was black with ’em, I couldn’t deny it.
“The muskeeters will eat you, more likely,” says I. “Look at your face
and hands.”
“Yes, they have eat considerable of a dinner out of me, but I don’t
begrech ’em. I haint small enough, I hope, to begrech ’em one meal.”
Miss Bobbet went off in search of her wild turnip, and Josiah whispered
to me with a savage look, and a tone sharp as a sharp axe:
“Can’t you bring 40 or 50 more wimmin up here? You couldn’ come here a
minute, without a lot of other wimmin tied to your heels!”
I began to see daylight, and after Miss Bobbet got her wild turnip, I
made some excuse to send her on ahead, and then Josiah told me.
It seems he had set down on that bottle of raspberry jell. That blue
stripe on the side wasn’t hardly finished, as I said, and I hadn’t
fastened my thread properly, so when he got to pullin’ at ’em to try to
wipe off the jell, the thread started, and bein’ sewed on a machine, that
seam jest ripped right open from top to bottom. That was what he walked
off sideways toward the woods for. Josiah Allen’s wife haint one to
desert a companion in distress. I pinned ’em up as well as I could, and
I didn’t say a word to hurt his feelin’s, only I jest said this to him,
as I was a fixin’ ’em. I fastened my grey eye firmly and almost sternly
onto him, and says I, “Josiah Allen, is this pleasure?” Says I, “You was
determined to come.”
“Throw that in my face again, will you? What if I wuz? There goes a pin
into my leg. I should think I had suffered enough without your stabin’ of
me with pins.”
“Wall, then stand still, and not be a caperin’ round so. How do you
suppose I can do anything with you a tossin’ round so?”
“Wall, don’t be so aggravatin’ then.”
I fixed ’em as well as I could, but they looked pretty bad, and then
there they was all covered with jell too. What to do I didn’t know. But
finally I told him I would put my shawl onto him. So I doubled it up
corner ways, as big as I could, so it almost touched the ground behind,
and he walked back to the table with me. I told him it was best to tell
the company all about it, but he jest put his foot down that he wouldn’t,
and I told him if he wouldn’t that he must make his own excuses to the
company about wearin’ the shawl. So he told ’em that he always loved to
wear summer shawls, he thought it made a man look so dressy.
But he looked as if he would sink, all the time he was a sayin’ it. They
all looked dretful curious at him, and he looked as meachin’ as if he had
stole a sheep, and he never took a minute’s comfort nor I nuther. He was
sick all the way back to the shore and so was I. And jest as we got into
our wagons and started for home, the rain begun to pour down. The wind
turned our old umberell inside out in no time; my lawn dress was most
spilte before, and now I give up my bunnet. And I says to Josiah:
“This bunnet and dress are spilte, Josiah Allen, and I shall have to buy
some new ones.”
“Wall! wall! who said you wouldn’t!” he snapped out.
But it wore on him. Oh, how the rain poured down. Josiah havin’ nothin’
but his handkerchief on his head felt it more than I did. I had took a
apron to put on a gettin’ dinner, and I tried to make him let me pin it
on to his head. But, says he, firmly:
“I haint proud and haughty, Samantha, but I do feel above ridin’ out with
a pink apron on for a hat.”
“Wall, then,” says I, “get as wet as sop if you had rather.”
I didn’t say no more, but there we jest sot and suffered. The rain poured
down, the wind howled at us, the old mare went slow, the rheumatiz laid
hold of both of us, and the thought of the new bunnet and dress was a
wearin’ on Josiah, I knew.
There wasn’t a house for the first 7 miles, and after we had got there
I thought we wouldn’t go in, for we had to get home to milk, any way,
and we was both as wet as we could be. After I had beset him about the
apron, we didn’t say hardly a word for as much as 13 miles or so; but I
did speak once, as he leaned forward with the rain a-drippin’ offen his
bandanna handkerchief onto his white pantaloons. I says to him in stern
tones:
“Is this pleasure, Josiah Allen?”
He gave the old mare a awful cut, an says he, “I’d like to know what you
want to be so agrevatin’ for?”
I didn’t multiply any more words with him, only as we drove up to our
door-step, and he helped me out into a mud puddle, I says to him:
“Mebby you’ll hear to me another time, Josiah Allen.”
And I’ll bet he will. I haint afraid to bet a ten cent bill, that that
man won’t never open his mouth to me again about a PLEASURE EXERTION.