"To-night," said he. "I will leave them here and walk home. It is only
six miles!"
The wagon-body was weak, and he requested that I procure another. I
obtained one at last; an unwieldy affair, so heavy that three of us
found it something of a task to adjust it to the wheels—a veritable
Pennsylvanian—long enough, as they of the Quaker State say, "to reach
from one mud-hole to the next."
The next morning I had mounted to the board seat, with my long
teamster's whip, when a gentle voice called from the door,—
"Bring the wagon back safely if you can!"
The musical little laugh that accompanied this sally had something of
foreboding in it.
For a while the path lay across prairie solitudes, unrelieved, save by
a lively divergence now and then by the cattle, made in the spirit of
mischief. Often, too, a "prairie hen" would run on before the team,
keeping a few feet ahead, then fly off, with a whirring sound, into the
long grass.
Seven miles, and "Slough Creek" was reached—a willow-fringed,
bridgeless stream. Alighting, I was calculating, by the aid of a long
pole, the depth of water and mud, and the steepness of the banks, when
I was forced to run for the wagon, and managed to jump in behind, just
as it was going into the gulf, for the brindles had concluded to wait
no longer. Down we went, with a plunge and a shock, and up the other
side at a round trot, the freakish creatures keeping on, in spite of
me, across a level meadow, through a bristling array of blackberry and
other bushes, to a log-house. There they stopped.
I got out to turn them into the path again, but they ran round and
round the cabin. In a few moments a woman came out, and comprehending
my trouble, seized the whip, and laying the lash on with her brawny
arm, soon brought the cattle into subjection. They suffered her
to guide them into the road. She disappeared, as I thanked her in
pantomime—for she was a Norwegian, as unable to speak my language as
I hers, and the brindles would not act as interpreters, yet that they
understood her perfectly, and my English somewhat, I could not doubt.
It was once more "smooth sailing," and as the beasts behaved for a time
with exemplary steadiness, for want of something else to do I fell
to reconsidering the figure I had just cut, and trying to comprehend
the character and qualities of my horned steeds. What sagacity they
showed in choice of opportunity when about to execute a wild prank!
How ungovernable they became toward me, yet obedient to a woman's
voice and hand! I at once recalled a humorous description I had read
of pig-driving in Ireland. The writer says, wittily, there was in
Ireland an old breed of swine, which is now nearly extinct, except in
some remote parts of the country, where they are still useful in the
hunting season, particularly if dogs happen to be scarce. (He assures
John Bull, on the authority of Phil Purcel, pig-driver, that this is a
fact.) They were a tall, loose species, with legs of an unusual length,
with no flesh, short ears, as if they had been cropped for sedition,
and with long faces of a highly intellectual cast. They were also of
such activity that few greyhounds could clear a ditch or cross a field
with more agility. Their backs formed a rainbow arch, capable of being
contracted or extended to an inconceivable degree; and their usual rate
of travelling in droves was at mail-coach speed, or six Irish miles an
hour, preceded by an outrider to clear the way, whilst their rear was
brought up by another horseman, going at a three-quarter gallop!
In the middle of summer, when all Nature reposed under the united
influence of heat and dust, it was an interesting sight to witness a
drove of them sweeping past, like a whirlwind, in a cloud of their own
raising; their sharp and lengthy outlines dimly visible through the
shining haze, like a flock of antelopes crossing the deserts of the
East. Their patriotism, also, as evinced in an attachment to the land
of their birth and Irish habits, was scarcely more remarkable than
their sagacity. There was not, the distinguished author assures us,
an antiquarian among that learned and useful body, the Irish Academy,
who could boast such an intimate knowledge of the Irish language,
in all its shades of meaning and idiomatic beauty, as did this once
flourishing class of animals. Not that they were confined to the Irish
tongue, many of them understood English too; and it was said of those
that belonged to a convent, the members of which, in their intercourse
with each other, spoke only in Latin, that they were tolerable masters
of that language, and refused to leave a potato field, or plot of
cabbages, except when addressed in it. To the English tongue, however,
they had a deep-rooted antipathy; whether proceeding from the national
feeling, or the fact of its not being sufficiently guttural, is not
affirmed; be this as it may, says the writer referred to, it must be
admitted that they were excellent Irish scholars, and paid a surprising
degree of deference and obedience to whatever was addressed to them in
their own language. For a critical knowledge of their native tongue
they were unrivalled by the most learned pigs or antiquarians of their
day; none of either class possessing, at that period, such a knowledge
of Irish manners, nor so keen a sagacity in tracing out Irish "roots."
I was adjusting this description, hyperbole and all, to my case,
substituting cattle for swine, and Norwegian for Irish, when my
comparisons were brought to a pause. We had entered primitive forests,
belting a river which flowed through loftily rounded bluffs. From the
edge of the woods I could see that the road wound down among the trees
by a long, yet rapid descent, often making a curve to avoid a stump,
rock, or tree. So I took my place by the cattle, resting my whip across
their faces, to check undue speed; but soon, with an impetuous charge,
away they went, the axles frequently grazing the oaks, the heavy
vehicle imparting dangerous momentum, till, dashing through the shallow
stream, as they could not fly up the opposite bluff, I overtook them.
My attention was now called to a peculiarity in the road. We had
ascended gradually, till we were crossing bare rock at a suspicious
angle, and still the way grew steep. Thinking I must have missed
the path, and that a track I saw a few moments before might be the
true one, I stopped the cattle and hastened to examine it, with a
frequent "whoa!" The result showed that we were on the right road.
Returning, I found that the cattle, with a quick movement, had gained
the apex of the bill, and there they stood, ranged along the verge
of a precipice of at least one hundred and fifty feet! The slightest
false movement might send them over. As carefully as possible, I
turned them down to the road again,—and they were models of docility
the while,—but the instant it was done, they wheeled about, throwing
the vehicle completely over, and steamed toward home, leaving the
wagon-body on the side of the rock, and further down the hind wheels;
and recrossing the river, they sped up the other declivity, while I
shouted most despairingly after them. By taking a bee line, however, I
succeeded in coming out in front of them before they emerged upon the
smooth prairie. Then, there was the righting of the front wheels, the
attaching of the others, the guiding of the perverse animals up the
bluff to the ponderous wagon-body. Where "should" I get help to replace
it, in that lonely place, seldom trodden by human foot? I felt that
this was an extremity, and for a moment could do nothing but pray. Then
I looked up the winding path I had come, hoping to see some friendly
face. None appeared. Meanwhile the cattle were restless. So, summoning
all my energy,—the energy of desperation,—to my own wonder, I raised
the huge wreck from its resting-place and adjusted it to the wheels,
and in due time reached the mill village.
"Have you any lumber?" I asked of the mill owner.
"No; I let the last go this morning," he replied. "A man was here from
L—, and said he must have some for his own house and some for his
minister's. I let him have a few boards to keep him from suffering,
though I needed them myself. Perhaps you are the minister from L—?
Well, I thought likely. But I haven't a chip left. Which way did you
come?"
"Across R— River, through the woods."
"No wonder you've been cast-away; it's a terrible road. Let me advise
you to take the other route going back; it will be prairie mostly, and
though further, will be easier."
"I shall do so. But what is that?" I asked, as my eyes rested on the
end of a board protruding from a mass of timber.
"Well, that 'does' look like a board," said the easy proprietor, "but
it would be a job to get it out."
And he turned away, while I turned over the oak timber till I had
obtained more of a supply than the neighbor that preceded me.
"Six miles to the Norwegian," said the mill man, as I was starting off.
"You had better inquire the way of him, as the road is a blind one, and
he knows all about it."
The afternoon was half gone, but I hoped to reach a settlement on R—
River, and spend the night there. But the chapter of accidents was not
full. As I was ascending from the low village plot, the pins that held
the bows in the yokes dropped out in concert, as if in memory of past
joltings, letting the cattle free; of which casualty, they were not
slow to take advantage, scampering off like wild buffaloes. In vain I
used all the arts of which I was master, seeking to coax, surprise, or
drive them into the bows again, which I bore with me for the purpose.
If for a moment they stopped to graze, it was with one eye on me, ready
to spring away at my approach. Help appeared, however, in the person
of a map agent, just from New England, having left college, and come
West for his health. He recognized me at a distance, and filled with
compassion, hastened to the rescue as fast as his lame leg, made stiff
by a rheumatic affection, would permit. The scene now became ludicrous
in the extreme, and I laughed till the tears came, at my own plight and
the figure my earnest friend cut, dragging his troublesome limb after
him, as he tried to head the cattle. Farm bred, the crook of his arm
and his intonations were rural, to perfection, but, as if aware of his
infirmity, the wily brutes would wait his coming, and then, just in the
nick of time, shake their heads and dart by.
More effective aid was rendered when an emigrant wagon appeared. Its
inmates, scattering over the plain, proved too much for brindles, and
they were captured, and the wooden pins that, with a borrowed axe, I
had made meantime, were driven into the bows with an emphasis, that
said, "Stay there!"
Twilight overtook me crossing a succession of sharply-defined ridges,
black as Erebus, for the prairie fires had just swept over them.
Wagon-tracks diverged on either hand, and when darkness fell,—and it
was "pitchy dark,"—I soon lost my way, and there seemed before me the
only alternative of passing the night where I was. The tent-like clouds
lifted slightly, and stopping the team, I was considering what to do,
when I saw something white moving along. It proved to be a man in shirt
sleeves.
"Halloo!" I shouted, and he came nearer. "Can you tell me where the
Norwegian lives?"
"An' it's about a mile an' a quarter, kaping the ravine to the second
right hand road, thin kape to the lift apiece, an' ye'll come to it.
But do ye know the way at all, at all?"
"Never was here before."
"Thin ye can niver find it, sure!"
"Not unless you will show me the way."
"Indade an' I can't! Fur yer see I'm in me shirt sleeves, an' I've
been shakin' with the ager, an' the night air 'll bring it on agin. I
wouldn't have exposed meself, but me cattle have strayed off."
"Oh, they will be found, no doubt!"
"But the neighbors up here have their turnips out, and they swear
they'll shoot me cattle if they git at the turnips, an' as there's no
fence they'll be sure an' do it, an' me oxen will be kilt intirely!"
"But, friend, you see how it is. I'm lost, and you can help me. My
cattle are swift; it won't take long to drive to the Norwegian's, so
don't leave me here!"
"An' sure it's not Pat O'Connor that'll do the likes o' that!" said he,
touched by the urgency of my appeal. And springing to the seat, and
applying the whip, the heavy team rumbled along over the roughnesses,
now leaning to one side, now to the other, then ascending a rise of
ground, then diving down the other side. Soon it stopped, and the
driver jumped out, saying, cheerily,—
"Here's the place! Jist mind the cattle, an' I'll stip over and inquire
the way for yer—it's bad gittin' to the house for strangers."
After a few moments he returned, saying, angrily, "Bad luck to 'em! The
cabin is full of Norwegians, for they've had a raisin', an' they're
all drunk as bastes, an' fightin' like Injuns, an' niver a word can
I git out o' them. Sure, an' I don't know what I can do fur ye now.
'Twouldn't be safe for the likes o' ye to go with me, fur thim Irishmen
are bad enough for any thing, an' it wouldn't do fur the drunken bastes
in the house yonder to know ye're about. But good luck to ye, I must
go."
Some months before, I had come across an English family, living, I now
thought, in that vicinity, and I asked, "Is there an Englishman living
near here?"
"And is his cabin in a fine grove?"
"Yes."
"An' has he grass land on the south, an' jist before his door a dozen
acres of 'breakin'' that's not finced?"
"That's the man."
"Faith, an' he lives only a mile and a half from here!"
"Can you drive me there?"
"Sure, an' I wouldn't do it for all the goold in Californy; for it's
meself that isn't well, an' me cattle 'll be murthered before I can git
back!"
"But," said I, strongly, "you 'must' do it. I can't lie out on the
prairie. I don't think your cattle will be any safer for leaving me
here."
"Are you a minister?" he asked.
"Yes."
Instantly he was aboard again, and there was something of reverence in
his tone, as he said, "I wouldn't go with ye fur money; but—but—I'll
not lave ye now."
It was past ten o'clock when the grove-shaded cabin rose to view. My
guide hurried to arouse the occupants while I "minded" the cattle.
"Hilloo there! Wake up!" he shouted, as he thumped at the door. "An'
ould acquaintince has lost his way, an' wants a shilter. Wake up, I
say, and not be slapin' like heathin, when a frind is frazin' in the
cowld!"
A door swung cautiously ajar; there was a hum of voices, and the
Irishman returned, saying,—
"It's all right with ye, an' I'll bid ye good-bye!" extending his hand.
Then, as the well-earned guerdon touched the palm, "Sure an' ye don't
think I came for pay!" and warm-hearted Erin disappeared as mine host
came up.
But like the Dutchman, who, after a scene of pathos over his lost "poy"
restored, found that it was "not" his "poy," so this Englishman was not
"my" Englishman. On explaining the mistake, however, he said,—
"Never mind, I shan't fret if you don't."
The dwelling proved to be one of those wretched loggeries that,
happily, form an exception to the social habits of the region. The
inmates were as uncultured as their shanty was rude. The one room
contained five beds, one without a stead, while a dirty cooking-stove
stood in the center. The floor was "truncheon," roughly hewed. A hole
in the wall served for windows. Size should set off grace or goodness.
The huge wife could scarcely lay claim to an excess of the latter. Then
there was a grown-up daughter, whose chief accomplishment seemed to
be the incessant using of the floor for a pocket handkerchief. Having
dressed themselves, both dame and daughter sat down to ask questions,
and pare potatoes for the next meal.
"Can you give me some water?" I asked.
A rusty dipper, filled with a dubious imitation of that beverage, was
passed with this caution, "Look out for the wrigglers! I always blow
before drinking!"