Little drops of water,
Little grains of dirt,
Make the roads so muddy
Donk won't take a spurt.
--_Dogeared Doggerels--Pod._
Never before had I encountered such a disagreeable road. While I
tramped over the highlands from Peekskill to Fishkill Landing,
Macaroni barely crawled. He kept me constantly in the fear that he
would lie down and roll, and finally he did so, selecting a mud
puddle. I was told donkeys fairly dote on dust, and that a roll
will invigorate them more than will a measure of grain. But mine
was different to other donkeys.
Before leaving Peekskill, Dr. Shook said Mac showed symptoms of
mud fever, although the tendency lay strongly toward phlebitus,
farcy, and poll-evil. He even warned me that I might expect
epizootic to set in any day.
To urge Mac on to Newburgh in one day necessitated my start, at
day-break. We reached the Fishkill ferry at half-past eight,
covering the twenty-mile journey in fifteen hours. The highland
road was rough where the mud had dried. Steep and rocky summits
stood out, bold and barren, save where occasional bunches of young
cedars huddled among the denuded trees.
Finally I saw a small structure, through whose open windows
could be heard a chorus of youthful voices intoning.
"The--dog--caught--the--pig--by--the--yer." It was a school house. I
remembered that song of my boyhood; I thought it would be interesting
to drop in, and forthwith rapped on the door. Meanwhile, Mac stuck his
head in the window, causing a deafening chime of cries within. A painful
silence followed. I waited patiently for admittance; then I opened the
door. The room was deserted, the exit at the opposite end wide open, I
crossed the floor and looked out to discover the teacher and two dozen
young ones scurrying up the mountain through the scant woods. I called
to them, but they ran the faster. Wonder what they thought they saw?
With every mile's advance we penetrated more deeply the mountain
wilderness. Before long Macaroni began to slow up. Again I had
recourse to the scheme of suspending an apple over his head. The
beast increased his speed at once, making a lunge at the
unobtainable, and chasing it with rapid stride. He evidently had
never read the story about the boy who pursued a rainbow, and
unlike that boy, was stupid enough to be fooled twice. A few miles
beyond I answered some inquiries of a woman out driving, and sold
her a photo. I had no sooner stopped with the article in hand than
I was startled with the sound of gagging behind, and turning, I
beheld the donkey wrenching in the throes of strangulation. Having
lowered the apple to the ground, he had swallowed it, together
with the string and half the bough. I withdrew the "intrusions"
with difficulty, and returned to the woman who had fainted. I had
no restoratives; but I had once resuscitated a Jew with a novel
expedient, and determined to try the same plan in this case.
"These pictures are fifteen cents each, although I sometimes get
twenty-five for one," I said somewhat forcibly; "don't trouble
yourself, madam, trust me with your pocket-book, I will--." At
once the woman awoke, and counting out the lesser amount
mentioned, pulled on the reins and drove away. Let me grasp the
hand of that man who can beat a woman at a bargain!
When passing through Cold Spring, I was startled by the booming of
cannon at West Point, just across the river. I had not expected
such honors. So overawed was I by the salute that I forgot to
count the guns, but presume there were twenty-one. Far above and
behind the group of academic buildings still frowned old Fort
Putnam, deploring its shameful neglect, and casting envious
glances at the modern Observatory below and the newer buildings
lower down. Every mile of the beautiful Hudson recalled to mind
happy memories of my own school days, which made my present ordeal
doubly distressing.
When night lowered her sombre shades, my thoughts took flight to
more distant scenes. My heart and brain grew weary, and I forgot
for a time that my bones were lame and my feet sore from walking,
walking, walking on an endless journey, with no perceptible
evidence of approaching nearer to the goal. At length, the Albany
night boat steamed past us, its myriad lights dancing on the
ruffled waters, or revealing a jolly group of passengers on deck.
The air was painfully quiet; and when the song, "Oh, Where is My
Wandering Boy To-night," floated over to me in answer to
Macaroni's bray, I found consolation in the thought that perhaps
some of the tourists recognized my outfit in the dark, and pitied
me.
I had by this time discovered mountain climbing to be a donkey's
leading card. He may loiter on the flat, but he will make you hump
when it comes to steep ascents. The night was mild for that season
of the year, and becoming considerably heated, I doffed my
overcoat and spread it over the saddle on my mackintosh. When we
were descending the hill on the other side, I dismounted and led
Mac with the bridle reins, but kept a good watch on the coats.
After a while, however, I became so absorbed in thought that I
neglected my duty, and, finally, when I did turn to inspect them
they were missing. It gave me the worst fright I had experienced
since leaving New York.
Staking Mac to a gooseberry bush, I immediately retraced my steps
a mile or more through an Egyptian darkness before I found the
garments lying securely in the mud. On my return to the bush I was
alarmed not to find the donkey. That "phenomenon" had eaten that
prickly shrub to the roots and fled either down the road to
Fishkill or through the woods. I started out for town on a run.
Imagine my astonishment to find Mac patiently standing in front of
the ferry. The boat had landed her passengers; and had the donkey
not taken the precaution to anticipate me, we should have had to
remain on that side of the river for the night. As it was, the
ferry waited for Mac's rider--thanks to the considerate pilot.
Newburgh! I recognized her by her streets at an angle of 45
degrees. Mac took to the place hugely. I stopped at a small
combination hotel and restaurant, where roast turkey and pumpkin
pie decorated the windows, and made arrangements for the night.
When about to leave, I was visited by a delegation from the local
militia who, for a fair consideration, induced us both to remain
over and referee a game of basket ball that evening at the armory.
Mac did not accept very gracefully, and had to be coerced. What I
knew about the game wouldn't tax a baby's mind, but that didn't
matter. It proved to be an event for the regiment, for Pod, and
for Macaroni.
Next day I found my donkey's maladies increasing. They had already
tripled in number since leaving Peekskill; and, to think, I had
arrived at Newburg just two days too late to secure a sound
animal.
I pushed on to Poughkeepsie.
Upon arriving at that university city I was pleased to find the
inhabitants not quite so slow as the appearance of the place would
indicate. The city has of late years become the Henley of America.
It is the seat of Eastman's business college, as well as a very
progressive college for girls--Vassar. The residents generally drop
three letters in spelling the name of their proud city, and make it
Po'keepsie. There were four good points I liked about the place,
and that was one of them; the other three were, the Mayor, the
Vassar girls, and a newspaper reporter who, for a consideration,
engaged Mac and me to appear at the theatre in an amateur play.
It was to be a new stage in our travels. The urchin who led the
donkey about the streets proudly bore in one hand a standard
inscribed: "KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE DONKEY;" and those who obeyed
saw printed on a canvas blanket gracefully draped over Mac's back
the startling announcement: "WILL APPEAR TO-NIGHT IN HOGAN'S
ALLEY, AT KIRCHNER'S HALL." I believe Mac paraded the city utterly
oblivious of the interest he created.
I had promised to have my donkey at the Hall at five sharp. There
were two staircases for him to climb, and I had not contemplated
the enormity of the task before me. We tugged on his halter; we
set three dogs barking at his heels; but the only time he stirred
was when he removed the dogs. He just braced himself well against
the curb, and brayed until he had called the audience to the show
two hours ahead of time. After a while two strong policemen took a
hand with me in a three-handed game, and turned over a jack.
Finally, four more men assisting, the beast was carried upstairs
and into the theatre, where he was forced to walk a plank on to
the stage. Then I fed and watered him, and combing his fur the
right way, left him to the melancholy contemplation of his
position.
When we returned an hour later, he was still as immovable as a
statue. The stage manager directed me to ride the donkey out from
behind the scenery at a given signal; so I began to practice with
him. I cannot describe all that happened the next hour. By seven
o'clock Mac was fairly broken, and everything looked promising.
The house was crowded; only a portion of the attendance of the
fair held in connection with the play, down stairs, could find
seats; and the performance was to be repeated. One part of the
play, however, not on the program, could not be reproduced.
Apparently no attempts had ever been made to convert Mac to
religion, for when the Salvation Army entered the scene, banging
drums and clashing cymbals, the terrified jack began to back
toward the footlights. The stage manager, fearing lest the beast
might back off the stage, dropped the curtain. But that didn't
check Mac; he backed against the curtain and under it, and dropped
plumb into the audience, making five "laps" in a second, his best
time to date. One fat man, over-burdened, crashed through his
chair. Fortunately nobody was seriously injured, but several had
spasms, and more than one girl crawled over the backs of the seats
in terror. "Such doings," as a paper stated next day, "were never
known before in this town in the annals of donkeys--four-legged or
two-legged either."
As soon as the excitement was over, Mac was assisted on to the
stage, and the play was twice repeated, all three performances
before crowded houses.
While returning Mac to his stable I heard the bray of a donkey,
and resolved next day to look him up. Then I sent a message to a
young lady friend at Vassar, and wrote my weekly story for the
papers.
I frequently refer to my Vassar friends, but I doubt if they ever
mention me. I had written one that I would polish two dozen pairs
of Vassar shoes at the rate of fifty cents a pair, either on, or
off. Allowing me two minutes for each pair and half a minute for
making change, I believed I could polish to the queen's taste some
forty-eight pairs in two hours. My proposal was accepted. The hour
set was 5:00 A. M., while the teachers would be dreaming about the
binomial formula, blue light, and turnips. And I was expected to
polish the shoes on the foot.
Accordingly, I was aroused from slumber at four, and practiced on
the stove legs for a full half-hour, to get polishing down to a
science. Then I took the trolley car to the hedge fence, stole in
through the stately gate, and took the time of the huge clock
above the entrance. Then I took my own time. I had four minutes to
spare, and knew Vassar girls were anything but slow.
"The days of chivalry are not gone," says George Eliot,
"notwithstanding Burke's grand dirge over them; they live still in
that far-off worship paid by many a youth and man to the woman of
whom he never dreams that he shall touch so much as her little
finger or the hem of her robe." I had no sooner placed my chair at
the right marble staircase than I heard the rustle of skirts,
immediately followed by a bevy of charming girls stealing down the
steps on tip-toe, all a-giggle and a-smile, balancing their supple
forms with outstretched arms, and enlivening the early dawn with
the mischief beaming from their eyes. "Good morning," they said,
as each in turn shook hands with me. I was inspired to hug every
one of them, but dared not show the lack of polish.
Raising my hat, I said softly, "Shine," and number one mounted the
throne, soon to be "daubed" a queen. Bless me! wasn't she pretty!
As she gaily lifted her skirts to give my brushes a free swing, a
perfect pair of ankles burst into view, daintily imprisoned in
black silk hose, and--well, I naturally was excited. Blacking flew
like the mud did when the beer wagon bumped against Mac, and a
brush flopped out of my hand through a colored window, letting in
more light, for it was still quite dusky. It seemed to be
impossible for the young lady to keep her feet in place on the
block, and not until she suggested I should hold her boot in place
did I begin to polish to my credit. After that no girl could keep
her feet stationary unless I held her foot with one hand and
polished with the other. "Next," and another winsome creature took
the chair, and poured fifty pennies into my hand. I took it for
granted that she was some copper king's daughter.
I worked so hard that I was soon perspiring. After finishing a
dozen pair, when about to polish the second shoe on number
thirteen, someone claimed she heard a professor reading Volapuk.
At once there was a scurry, and a rustle of skirts. Number
thirteen kicked over the blacking accidental, and fled with one
shoe unpolished; but that odd shoe did just as good service as any
of the rest. The whole bevy of girls vanished before I had time to
collect my senses, my chair, and my brushes, and chase myself
away. When once started, I ran to beat the cars, and reached the
hotel in time for breakfast, the richer by six dollars and a lace
handkerchief.
Come to think of it, what an extr'ordinary adventure that was for
a modest and dignified traveler with a donkey! I wondered, as I
sipped my coffee, what the Principal said when she discovered so
many neat-looking shoes.