"HOG'S BACK."—THE SOLITARY HORSEMAN.
THE capacious immigrant wagon was packed over night, Mrs. Willard's,
aunt Esther's, and the boys' trunks put in first, side by side, back of
the second seat; for there were two seats—the driver's, then one behind
that. On the trunks, mattresses were laid to recline on, if necessary,
while riding, and to sleep on at night.
Against the side of the canvas-top, hung in straps, handy for service,
was Ferdinand's gun,—a Christmas present,—his name engraved on a brass
plate screwed into the breech. Then came two sharp axes, a hammer,
hatchet, and a small handsaw, a knife in a leather sheath, and a
leather bag containing an assortment of nails of different sizes. These
articles last enumerated were part of the original outfit of the wagon.
Packed under the seats were cooking utensils, bags of grain for the
horses, a sack of flour, and "bix box, little box, bandbox and bundle,"
belonging to the women. Suspended at the back of the vehicle were two
water-pails.
The humble hamlet at which the Willards were tarrying, called a landing
because steamers on their trips up and down the river touched there,
was located in a gap in the limestone bluffs rising from the river's
bank. Like a mighty wall, these huge bluffs extended along the shore,
with here and there an opening, as if a giant hand had cut through to
facilitate communication between the commerce of the Mississippi and
the inland region.
Rising on either hand, from the little port towered precipitous ledges,
the opening narrowing as you left the water,—something as if you had
started from the base of an irregularly acute angle,—and lessened in
depth till, continuing to ascend, you emerge from the ravine, and stand
on a level with the heights of the bluffs.
It was morning twilight when the Willards were going up the ravine.
Ferdinand, by right of seniority, elected himself driver, and holding
the reins in his left hand,—he said that was the way "experienced"
horsemen did,—and a massive whip in his right, walked with an
authoritative air beside the team, to favor the horses. Frankie and
the feminines rode, and Georgie ran eagerly on before, turning every
few minutes to tell Ferdinand which was the way,—wholly "a work of
supererogation," as the theologians crack their jawing jaws to say.
The sun showed his round, red face—blushing to find himself so
late—just as the white-topped wagon gained the summit.
"Hurrah!" cried Georgie, tossing his cap high up in the air. "Why,
mother, did you ever see anything so splendid!"
Ferdinand bellowed "whoa," in a gruff commanding tone to the horses.
And his mother and aunt, accepting his invitation, got out to survey
the scene.
What a sight met their gaze! For miles and miles the great river wound
along—a stream of molten gold, dotted with green islets, and spotted by
steamers looking like monster water-birds.
"Wonderful! Wonderful!" exclaimed Mrs. Willard. But soon she began to
weep.
"Hurrah!" cheered Georgie again. "How cool and beautiful it is here!"
But Frankie, who had been viewing the river from the driver's seat,
his large, old-young face peering solemnly around the wagon side,
displeased at George's boisterousness, frowningly piped,—
"Stop your noise, George!" Adding, authoritatively, "Ferdinand, it's
time we were starting."
At which the latter, as if accustomed to obey the dwarf, politely
assisting his mother and aunt into the wagon, he and Georgie got in
too, and the steeds were once more in motion.
"I am sure I don't know which way to go," said Ferdinand, suddenly
reining in the horses, and looking around in dismay. "I expected it
would be smooth prairie. I am afraid we shall tip over."
"The prospect is not very encouraging," replied Mrs. Willard, leaning
on his shoulder the better to see. "We must have mistaken the path."
The ground was broken into sharp ridges, extending outwards in
irregularly parallel lines, the ridge they were upon being much the
highest, and apparently too narrow to pass along in safety.
"Why don't you examine the paper Mr. Jones gave you for a guide?" asked
Frankie, impatiently.
Ferdinand fumbled first in one pocket, then in another, for the chart.
It was not there!
"What 'shall' we do?" exclaimed his mother. "We cannot get on without
that chart."
Ferdinand took everything from his pockets, and turned the latter
inside out. An amusing medley of articles of all colors, kinds, shape,
and uses came to light, but not Tom's sketch for their route.
The little Hunchback's great sharp eyes were fixed reprovingly on his
older brother's face during the fruitless search.
"I knew you'd lose the paper!" he piped. "You'd lose your head if it
wasn't fastened on!"
"Ill run back to the tavern, and see if it's there," said Georgie.
"You keep still!" commanded the Hunchback. "Drive on, Ferdinand."
"Drive where?" retorted the latter.
"I knew you'd forget," said the dwarf. "Didn't Mr. Jones say that the
land would be in ridges up here, and that in leaving the ravine by the
main—the travelled path—we would find ourselves on the highest ridge,
called, from its shape and position, 'Hog's Back'? And that we must
ride straight ahead two miles on it? Go 'long now—not keep us waiting
all day!"
Ferdinand had fallen into the habit of generally minding the dwarf, he
had such a manner, and was so knowing. So he doubtingly chirruped to
the horses.
"Steady! Steady!" said the dwarf. "'Twon't answer to be careless."
The caution was timely; for the ridge, rising in somewhat like the
spine of the animal for it was named, was scarcely wider than the
wagon, and steep and sloping.
But our immigrants soon mastered their apprehensions, and journeyed
over the queer road, pleasantly chatting.
"Only think," said Georgie, "two women, three boys, two horses, and a
big wagon, all on a hog's back. I should think he'd squeal!"
"And the hog two miles long from snout to stern," added Ferdinand.
"He hasn't a bristle, though!"
"The grass is his bristles."
"Steady, I tell you!" interrupted the dwarf.
Silence fell on the family, for the hog had his back pretty well up
at this point—in resentment, perchance, to the lads' personalities.
Shortly, however, the ridge slightly widened,—more pork, and less
bone,—then they began to descend. And quickly there lay, outspread
before their eyes, an immense expanse of land, as even to the sight as
if art had made it so.
"Hurrah!" burst from Georgie's lips.
And Ferdinand stopped the span, and the women bent forward to feast on
the sight.
"Beautiful! Charming!" ejaculated Mrs. Willard, enthusiastically.
"'Sweet fields arrayed in living green,'" quoted entranced aunt Esther,
with an accent that carried the listener to a landscape eye of mortal
had not seen.
"What course shall I take now?" asked Ferdinand—an inquiry that
transferred our travellers from realms of reverie back to matters of a
practical nature.
But who was to decide? Before them stretched an illimitable meadow,
destitute of house, human resident, or road. Is it strange that,
bewildered, there was no reply?
The dwarf, however, was cool.
"I thought you'd forget," he reiterated, in thin, querulous tones.
"At the termination of Hog Back Ridge lies Looking Glass Prairie," he
repeated, word for word from Tom's directions.
"Wonder why it's called so?" asked Georgie, looking relieved.
"Because," explained the dwarf, testily, "a looking-glass is smooth.
Now hold your tongue!"
Then he continued,—
"Three wagon tracks; take the middle one. Here it is," pointing with
his shrivelled fore finger. "Start on!"
"Isn't it jolly!" cried irrepressible Georgie. "From off a hog's
back, two miles long, we go down smash—horses, wagon, and all—on a
looking-glass large enough to hang up on the sky. The hog didn't move
nor grunt, and the mirror don't crack. I guess the glass must be thick."
And now that it was level, Ferdinand treated the travellers to a trot.
This suited Georgie. He boiled over with mirth and fun. Ferdinand, the
driver, behaved with the dignity befitting his responsible trust. At
his side was the dwarfed Hunchback, grave, reflective, curt.
But Georgie was nowhere long at a time. Boy-like, he tried all
attitudes, places, posts, and positions—racing by the horses, hanging
on with the buckets, scrambling over aunt Esther to lie upon the beds,
jerking the lines when Ferdinand was off his guard, starting up the
steeds, abstracting goodies from his mother's reticule.
Indeed, the novelty of their situation wrought wonders in withdrawing
the thoughts of the family—as Tom had foreseen—from their great sorrow.
Tom was a "practical" philanthropist. Doubtless he had read in a
certain old Book these words:
"Love not in word, neither in tongue, but in deed and in truth."
Many devout persons never saw that passage. Such impart excellent
counsel to the starving, and recite Scripture to them, and then leave
them to their fate—like a wealthy lady I knew who seeing a barefooted
child of poverty bitterly weeping over a pitcher she had broken, for
which accident she expected a beating on reaching her miserable home,
the lady, in the excess of her goodness, stopped, and using the child's
misfortune for an illustration, addressed her on the uncertainties and
disappointments of earth, and then presented the expectant girl with—a
few pennies to buy a new pitcher? No; a tract.
When the saint in silks and diamonds glanced back at the recipient of
her charity, what was her pious horror to see that printed page in the
mud!
We commend to these cheap philanthropists the story of the kind-hearted
old gentleman in Maine, who, riding along in his carriage one hot day
in July, saw a toad lying in the road, gasping with the heat. In the
kindness of his soul, the elderly man (who was very fleshy) climbed
down, moved the poor melting toad "into the shade of his carriage,"
then complacently climbed up again, and "drove on."
"Mother," sputtered the Hunchback, "hadn't George better wait till the
rest eat? He's helping himself to the doughnuts."
"When are we going to eat?" asked Georgie, the words working their way
out with much difficulty, because of the cramming.
"We shall reach the halting-place pretty soon," answered the dwarf,
"and then mother will get breakfast."
"There's the spring," said little Hunchback, breaking a marvellously
long interval of silence. "We'll stop there."
It was in a gentle ravine; for level as the prairie appeared at the
outset, it had its depressions, as is the case with many persons who
seem outwardly to be perfectly happy. This, however, was the first
notable irregularity of the ground with which they had met since
bidding adieu to the Hog's Back.
And when Georgie saw it, he clapped his hands, saying,—
"Mother, the 'looking-glass' 'is' cracked, after all!" A misfortune
that did not seem to lessen its value to the hungry immigrants, if
we may judge by the interest they took in its utility on the present
occasion.
Ferdinand, with George's lively aid, unhitched the horses, as Tom had
advised, to rest them, and permit them to graze.
"They are accustomed to it," said Tom, "and will not stray away."
But one of the steeds made preparations to roll in the grass.
"He'll break his harness all in pieces," cried aunt Esther.
And Georgie, glad of an excuse for "driving" the horse in some way,
started him up, and began to remove the harness. Both horses were then
relieved of the hard, heavy leather—their working dress; and much did
they seem to appreciate their freedom. And they rolled and kicked to
their hearts' content.
Meanwhile, the immigrants had seated themselves on the soft turf,
convenient to the spring. Mrs. Willard having spread a clean white
cloth, on which were deposited sandwiches made of two slices of bread
with ham between, a paper of cakes, and another of doughnuts. Then, on
a piece of newspaper, she put some slices of cheese.
"There are no plates, knives and forks, or spoons on our table," said
she to the group. "But it is an old saying, and I dare say a true one,
that fingers were made before forks."
"I declare," said Georgie, "I never ate anything so nice before. Did
you fry these doughnuts, auntie?"
"They are from the same cooking that you disliked at the landing. It's
the good air that makes the difference."
Yes, the pure, bracing, prairie air, how appetizing!
"I'm fairly ashamed of myself," remarked Ferdinand, who prided himself
on gentility in eating. "I'm getting to be a regular glutton."
And if certain young ladies east,—don't be alarmed; we shall not
mention names,—who went into ecstasies over his foppish airs, had seen
him suck the grease from his finger-tips, using his "handsome lips"
for a napkin, after finishing his fifth sandwich, they would have
exclaimed, horror-struck, "How vulgar!" And straightway composed their
shattered nerves by a delicate lunch of pickled limes, slate pencils,
"terra alba" candy, mince pie, and ice-cream.
[Illustration: INTRODUCTION OF SIMMONS.]
An hour fled swift-winged.
"Come," said little Hunchy, "it's time to be stirring."
Ferdinand and Georgie went to catch the horses. But the animals, having
little wish to forsake the grass and freedom for fasting and toil,
refused to be captured.
"Don't those boys know anything?" muttered the Hunchback. "Mother, call
Georgie!"
"G-e-o-r-g-i-e! G-e-o-r-g-i-e!" screamed Mrs. Willard, in ear-piercing
treble.
"You needn't call so loud," said Hunchback; "you could be heard for
miles in this clear prairie air. Don't you see? That man heard you!"
A long distance off, distinctly outlined against the sky, was a
horseman. At Mrs. Willard's call, he turned his horse about, and was
now coming towards them.
"Make haste," said little Hunchback to Georgie. "Take one of the pails
from the back of the wagon, put a few oats in it, and tell Ferdinand to
toll the horses here as fast as he can."
Ferdinand coaxingly approached the refractory steeds, shaking the pail
so that they might hear the grain rattle. Often had they been fed from
that vessel, and, with a neigh, they came trotting after Ferdinand, as
he retreated towards the vehicle.
"Take off the other pail now," said little Hunchy, "and put oats in
that, and let both horses have some; for if you deceive them, they
won't come next time."
And while the horses were eating, and the boys were harnessing them,
the horseman drew slowly near. The beast he rode was an unusually
fine one, but the man rode as if unaccustomed to the saddle. He was a
heavily-built man, with a dark, bad eye, but an insinuating manner.
"Anything to pay? Thought I heard a woman scream?" said he, reining up
near the boys.
"Nothing," replied Ferdinand, frankly, "mother was calling Georgie."
"Ah," he ejaculated, coolly surveying party; "yer ain't journeying
alone with these youngsters, marm?" addressing Mrs. Willard. "Where
your man?"
"Father, and the other gentlemen, are just behind," interposed little
Hunchback, his great, grave eyes fixed ominously on the comer. "We
don't need your help."
The stranger looked the dwarf curiously over, the latter returning
the scrutiny with a boldness and audacity oddly comporting with his
diminutive stature. But the long, black eyebrows seemed to deepen
in color, the forehead grew dark and threatening, his whole bearing
hostile and defiant.
"What are you? A human porcupine?" asked the traveller, riding
contemptuously round little Hunchy.
The dwarf made no reply, but kept his magnetic eyes fastened on the man.
"I can't make out what you are, man or boy," said the horseman,
repeating his circuit; "but you don't fancy my company any more than I
do yours. Well, good-by to ye all!" And off he paced.
"O, how glad I am that he's gone!" gasped Mrs. Willard. "He's a
monster, I know. I was frightened 'most to death."
"Lucky he didn't touch little Hunchy," said a boyish voice from the
wagon.
They looked up. There was Georgie, on the driver's seat, with
Ferdinand's gun.
"I would have shot him dead, had he laid a finger on one of you," added
he, waxing heroic, as he perceived himself now "the observed of all
observers."
"How would you have done it?" inquired Ferdinand.
"With your gun," replied Georgie.
"But you couldn't; there is no cap on it!"
"O, I didn't think of that," said Georgie, crestfallen.
At noon, they camped again for dinner and to bait the horses, reaching
at twilight, "Sun Prairie,"—a vast stretch of land, different from
"Looking Glass Prairie," the surface being more undulating. Just over
the line separating the two were a shallow stream and a clump of trees.
Here it was decided to spend the night.