BY PYE POD.
"By my faith, Signor Don Quixote," quoth the duchess, "that
must not be; you shall be served by four of my damsels, all
beautiful as roses." "To me," answered Don Quixote, "they will
not be as roses, but even as thorns pricking me to the very
soul; they must in nowise enter my chamber."--_Don Quixote._
From Rochelle to the Mississippi I found the people more
conservative, but interesting subjects for character study. The
topography of the country varied but little. Snipe, quail, doves
and meadow larks were prevalent. The pesty pocket-gophers were as
shy of my fire-arms as of the farmers' dogs; one might shoot a
dozen of them only to see the spry little fellows drop dead into
their "home-made" graves. I have seen hundreds of them sitting
upright on as many mounds, immovable as sticks, but pop! and they
vanished.
Crossing this one-time prairie state, I recalled pictures of
prairie fires in my school-books, and easily imagined the terror
of the droves of wild horses and buffalo, fleeing before the
leaping flames.
This seemed to be a contented section, and contentment is a great
thing. Although no woodland was visible, I saw occasional clusters
of "pussy willows," and groups of shade-trees embowering a house,
above which the shaft of an aeromotor towered like a sentinel,
asserting the homestead rights. When the windwheels were in
motion, they created a noise which only an expert linguist could
distinguish from the vernacular of a guinea hen.
Here and there bunches of cattle browsed in the meadows behind
barbed-wire fences and thorn hedges; and long corn-cribs, often
full to overflowing, had rewarded most every farmer.
About dark, May first, my small caravan ambled into the village of
Ashton, and my bugle blasts aroused the nodding inhabitants
sufficiently to give me a fair audience for a lecture. The Germans
predominated, and to them May-day festivals are indispensable.
Boys and girls celebrate by hanging May-baskets on door knobs, and
a few wags, who resemble frogs, in that a half dozen make you
think they are a million, shower corn, sand and bird shot at
windows equal to a Kansas hail-storm.
The celebration that night seemed to be directed at my particular
window. The racket had almost soothed me to sleep, when suddenly a
rag doll loaded with shot came smashing through the blinds and
landed on my bed. My patience overtaxed, I arose and resorted to
free trade by exporting to the street a piece of crockery, and a
chair, not to mention a few roasted invectives. I would have
folded my bedstead and sent it sailing after them, but the
disturbance of the peace and the pieces ceased together.
While at breakfast I wondered if any tricks had been played on my
animals. I was quite sure of it before reaching the stable. The
livery keeper came hobbling up on one foot and a crutch, with his
face done up in fly-paper, and a bandage around his head.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Jacks got the spasms."
"You mean spavins," I corrected, innocently enough.
"Guess I ought to know the difference 'tween spasms and spavins,"
he returned, sourly. "Those d---- mules o' yourn kicked out
petitions, hollared, and had such fits last night that they
scared all the mice and rats outen the haymow."
"What kind of petitions?" I asked, remembering I had been tempted
to issue a petition on my own account.
"What kind d'y, 'spose? Wooden petitions," said he. "And when I
crawled out o' bed and went to the stalls to see what ailed
'em----"
"Ailed the petitions?" I interrupted, excitedly.
"Naw, the mules,--something like a thousand rats and mice ran over
my bare feet. I thought the barn must be afire, and I jumped so
the lantern fell outen my hand and broke, and I had to feel my way
in the dark."
"You ought to know better than to feel around strange donkeys,
night or day," said I, reprovingly.
"It wasn't th' feelin' of 'em what broke me up so," said he.
"'Twas the kindlin' wood they piled up again me."
I did not discuss further the circumstances; I was quite
satisfied, since we had grievances in common. While settling my
bill, I noticed Mac gaze at the ceiling, so I glanced upward, too,
and at once saw hanging to a nail on a cross-beam a circular
rat-trap, bent almost flat, and containing two dead rodents. That
solved the mystery. On recovering the trap, we found it sprinkled
with donkey hair, and sheep twine, which was proof enough that
some young villain had fastened a cage full of rats to Mac
A'Rony's tail, he being the most amiable of the donkeys. There is
nothing like the mysterious to frighten a dumb brute, and when
that donkey heard strange noises and felt mysterious movements
about his hind legs, he didn't wait for an explanation. Good-bye,
rats!
Although the day dawned clear, dark clouds began early to bank in
the Southwest, and before I could reach the next town I was
drenched by a heavy shower. But I was fortunate in selling Cheese
II, my weak-footed jack, for seven dollars to the village
butcher, who, while in Ashton, had generously fed my dog.
Wet to my skin, I took refuge in a German tavern managed by a
widow with five comely daughters. All were kind and responsive to
my wants, and brought to my room a varied assortment of house
pets, literature, and cheese, not omitting a bottle of beer, for
my entertainment and refreshment, while I remained in bed
enveloped in comforters, waiting for my only suit of clothes to
dry by the kitchen fire. Meanwhile I became almost asphyxiated
from the gas generated by the Limburger cheese which had already
smothered two hearty slices of bread. The next day I spent in
Dixon, and the following day in Sterling, situated on Rock River.
From my bedroom window I had a charming view of the dam falls and
the iron bridge which spans the stream. My sojourn in both these
towns was profitable.
It was a hot and dusty ride to Morrison, where I found a brass
band serenading a leading citizen. "This won't do," said I; and
making Mac bray, I blew my bugle, and at once turned the tide of
popularity in our favor. The fickle crowd soon gathered and
cheered me to the hotel, while the jilted band had the brass to
march down the street past me, blowing itself with might and main
until lost to view, not once thinking that distance lent
enchantment to my ear. Next day we made slow headway to the
Mississippi.
As I approached the "Father of Waters" the land, as well as my
donkeys, were more rolling. Several times when wading through a
pool of dust, Cheese III, alias Poodle, would suddenly stop,
circle about, kneel and roll with all the paraphernalia he was
carrying. Then my steed would follow suit, before I could get out
of the saddle.
Thirteen miles from Morrison lay the village of Fulton, on the
banks of the Mississippi, and it was 4:30 P. M. before we arrived
at the big high bridge. The bridge approach on each side of the
river crosses a broad stretch of lowlands which at certain seasons
is inundated. My donkeys refused to pass the toll-gate, although I
had paid the toll. I demanded of Mac an explanation. He maintained
silence, as did Cheese, and neither of them would budge. A squad
of laborers, amused at my plight, asserted their donkey nature by
imitating an ass's bray, and so perfect was the imitation that my
animals took them for donkeys disguised in human apparel, and
joined in the awful chorus. Presently a timid woman following us
with a terpsichorean horse called to me and gesticulated wildly. I
feared a runaway and was at a loss to know how to urge my contrary
animals on, but before long a double dray team came to my
assistance. The teamster roped Mac to the rear axle of his wagon,
cracked his whip, and drove on, dragging the obdurate donkey on
his haunches across the bridge, while Cheese crept closely behind
in fear and trembling.
When I had crossed the Mississippi it was exactly seventeen
minutes past five.
As we wended our way into Clinton, Ia., cheers greeted us from
every quarter. "The streets were rife with people pacing restless
up and down;" but soon all footsteps followed in one direction, to
the Reviere House, where I took advantage of the favorable
circumstances to make a speech, and to dispose of a host of my
chromos.
I had traveled thirteen hundred and sixty miles, about one-third
of the distance by trail from New York to San Francisco, and had
consumed one hundred and sixty days; and there was left me only
one hundred and eighty-one days in which to accomplish the
remaining two-thirds of my journey.