Part 5

Fastening his powerful talons in the strong material of her loose-fitting garments, he spread abroad his mighty wings and began to haul her heavenward. The astonishment, anxiety and indescribable antics of the poor old lady when she found herself slowly but surely leaving _terra firma_ by an unknown agency were indeed terrible to witness.

She knew not whether it was a gold-tinseled angel, or an iron-rusted demon, that was thus, in open day, and while she was yet in the flesh, unceremoniously translating her to some remote planet; she had no means of discovering; she was only certain she was going—that her direction was onward and upward. Her favorite hollyhock tickled her nose as she swept over her little garden, and the clothes-line, that for a moment seemed to baffle the vulture’s flight, was now stretching beneath.

She deployed her feet, regardless of appearances, first to the right, then to the left, above and below, vainly endeavoring to come in contact with something that would give her an inkling of what was responsible for this mysterious movement. There was a vague uncertainty about the whole proceeding well calculated to alarm her. Even though she succeeded in shaking herself loose, her fall would now be fearful, and each moment was adding to the danger. What could I do? I was powerless to save. I had no gun, and even if I had there would have been some grave doubts in my mind as to the propriety of firing, as I generally shoot low, and such an error in my aim could hardly have proved otherwise than disastrous.

There was no use striving to make the bird loosen his hold by hooting. If there had been any virtue in that sort of demonstration the old woman would hardly have been raised above the eaves of her shanty, for she was screaming in a manner that would have made a Modoc blush. The only thing that suggested itself, and that rather hurriedly, was to get out my pencil and paper and take a sketch as she appeared passing over her cottage in the vulture’s talons.

The blood, which at first forsook her cheeks through fear, was almost instantly forced back into her visage again by the pendant position of her head.

She beat the empty tin pan which she still retained in her hand, but the voracious and hunger-pinched vulture had no notion of relinquishing his hold on account of noise. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy it, and with many a sturdy twitch and flap, and many an airy wheel, he still held his way toward a rugged promontory situated at the head of the valley. Fortunately, when he was twenty feet from the ground and about eighty rods from the cottage, the calico dress and undergarments in which mainly his talons were fastened, gave out, and the liberated woman dropped on hands and knees in the muddy bed of the creek, over which the bird was passing at the time.

While hovering over her, about to pounce down upon her and try the elevating business again, a sheep-herder who had seen the bird approaching the cottage, gave him a dose of buckshot, which broke one wing and left him at the mercy of his captor.

FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE.

_Jonathan_.—“I hain’t got no tongue for soapin’ of ye, Susan Jane. I mean _business_, I do. Will ye hev me?”

_Susan Jane_.—“I don’t know much about ye, Jonathan Junkit, but I’m willin’ to risk it, anyhow. Yer’s my hand. I’m yourn.”

_Old Volume._

This afternoon I attended a private wedding on Howard Street. I may safely term it “marriage in high life,” as the combined height of the couple was something over twelve feet.

The groom was a bachelor, who for many a year had stood around the fire like the half of a tongs, very good as a poker, but not worth standing room as a picker up.

He looked as though it wouldn’t require much advice to make him—even at the eleventh hour—prove recreant to his vows, and back out from under the yoke the reverend gentleman was about to place upon his neck.

His companion, however, was no novice in the business in which she was engaged. She was fearlessly putting forth upon that sea on which she had twice been wrecked, but she was nothing loth to try it again. Were she only skilled in navigation as well as in embarkation, she would have been the one to send on expeditions to either the North or South Pole, as the case might be.

It was truly encouraging to the timorous and uninitiated, to see with what a broad smile she regarded her husband that was to be; and with what a readiness she responded to the momentous question propounded by the minister. And when they stood as husband and wife, her Milesian face lighted up with irrepressible joy, until it beamed like a Chinese lantern.

Her emotions went far to convince me that there is in those matrimonial fields a balm for every ill; a perfect bliss worthy the seeking, even at the risk of receiving the bruised spirit, if not the bruised head.

ODE ON A BUMBLE-BEE.

Oh, busy, breezy bumble-bee, A fitting theme in you I see! At once you backward turn my gaze To orchard, mead, and pasture days, To watch your movements to and fro With wondering eyes, as years ago. Come, let me set my mark on thee, As thou hast oft remembered me, When with a seeming special zeal You hastened to affix your seal. I’ve heard your gruff good-morrow ring When meeting kinsfolk on the wing; Now coming zig-zag, light and airy, Now going laden, straight and wary; Still mindful of the spider’s snare And kingbird, pirate of the air.

I’ve seen you upward turn your eye, When clouds began to fleck the sky, The winds to chafe the village pond, And thunder rumble far beyond And threaten storm, ere you could fill Your honey sack, so empty still. I’ve heard you whining forth your grief When rain commenced to pelt the leaf, And made you take the shortest road That brought you to your dark abode. I’ve marked your grumbling when you found The working bee had been around; Had left his bed and waxen door And reached the field an hour before; For still, with early bird, or bee, Or man, the maxim does agree They all must be content to find What early risers leave behind. Against the bell I’ve heard you storm, Because it kept your burly form From passing in the honeyed way, That open to the emmet lay. Thus human folk are oft denied What, in their judgment, or their pride, They should enjoy, though kept instead For meaner things that creep ahead. I know how apt you are to cling To locks of hair, to hide and sing, And keep the victim still in doubt Just where the mischief will break out; I know full well your angry tone, And how you stab to find the bone; With what a brave, heroic breast Ye strike for queen and treasure chest, Like Sparta’s sons, at duty’s call, Compelled to win, or fighting fall; Not fearing odds, nor counting twice, Ye fix your bayonet in a trice, And charge upon the nearest foe, And break the ranks where’er you go. For not the stroke of halberdier Nor thrust of Macedonian spear Can check your onset when you fly With full intent to do or die! Beneath your straight and rapid dart The foe will tumble, turn, depart, And leave you victor, to report Your doings at the Queen Bee’s court. And proudly may you bare your brow, In presence of your sovereign bow, And tell her why you came so late, Thus panting, to the palace gate; And show your limbs of wax bereft, Your right arm crushed, and sprained the left, Your twisted horn, exhausted sting, Your wounded scalp and tattered wing, But how, in spite of every ill, You struck for independence still, Until the acre lot was free Of all that would molest the bee.

’Tis said that youngsters have a knack To take you prisoner by the back; To catch you by the wings, in haste, A piece above the belted waist, And hold you thus, to struggle there, And use your sting on empty air. But once I tried, and once I missed, For you’re a great contortionist, And somehow turn, and manage still To plant your poison where you will. Ah, they are wise, who meddling cease, And let you go your way in peace!

Though many things may slip my mind Before the narrow bed I find, In fancy’s field I’d often see The busy, burly bumble-bee.

DUDLEY AND THE GREASED PIG.

Boil-stricken Job had his comforters, who, despite his timely injunction, “Oh, lay your hands upon your mouths, and thereby show your wisdom,” would still drum in his ear, “Hear us, for we will speak.” Poor old Falstaff had his evil genius in Bardolph, his impecunious follower, with his “Lend me a shilling.” And I have my burdensome “Jim Dudley,” with his “Let me tell you a story.” I was kept awake last night listening to his crazy yarn about the “greased pig,” as if I cared anything about his villainous adventures.

“Oh, yes, that scrape with the greased pig? I never told you about it, eh? It’s worth heerin’, for that was a tearin’ old race, and I came mi’ty nigh gettin’ shoved out of the village on account of it, too, now, I can tell ye. Down on me? Wall, I reckon you’d think so if you heered the hollerin’ that was gwine on for awhile arter that race, some cryin’ one thin’ and some another. ‘Tar and feather the cheat,’ one would holler.

“‘Lynch the blamed humbug!’ another would shout.

“‘Put him in a sack and h’ist him over the bridge!’ would come from another quarter.

“A doctor was never so down on a patent medicine as they were on me arter that race, especially Parson Coolridge, who was one of the principal sufferers, yer see.

“It was May Day amongst ’em, and the hull village seemed to be out thar enjoyin’ ’emselves. They had sack races and wheelbarrow races. That was the day blindfold Tom Moody ran the wheelbarrow through the grocer’s window, and Old Shulkin knocked him down with a ham, and a dog ran away with it. He charged Tom with the ham in the bill, along with the broken winder.

“They had a greased pole standin’ thar with a ten-dollar greenback tacked on top of it, but no person could get within ten feet of the bill. The hungry crowds were standin’ around all day gazin’ longin’ly up at the flutterin’ greenback, like dogs at a coon in a tree-top.

“I didn’t try the pole, but when they brought out the greased pig—a great, slab-sided critter, jest in good condition for racin’,—I got sort o’ interested in the performance. His tail was more’n a foot long, and it was greased until it would slip through a feller’s fingers like a newly caught eel.

“Several of the boys started arter him, but they’d jest make one catch, and before they were certain whether they had hold of it, they would go one way and the hog would go another. And then the crowd would holler.

“I was standin’ thar a leanin’ over the fence watchin’ of ’em for some time, and I see the pig was in the habit of formin’ a sort of ring with his tail; leastwise he’d lap it over so that it e’enmost formed a knot—all it lacked was the end wanted drawin’ through. I cal’lated that a feller with pooty nimble fingers could make a tie by jest slippin’ his fingers through the ring and haulin’ the end of the tail through. That would make a plaguey good knot, and prevent his hand from slippin’ off. Arter thinkin’ over it for some time I concluded if I could git up a bet that would pay for the hardships that a feller would be likely to experience, I would try a catch anyhow.

“So I ses to Jake Swasey, who stood alongside of me, ‘Jake, I believe that I kin hold that pig until he gins out.’

“‘Hold?’ he ses, surprised like and raisin’ his eyebrows just that way; ‘what’s the matter of ye? hain’t ye slept well? Ye mout as well try to hold old Nick by the tail as that big, slab-sided critter.’

“‘Wal, now, jest wait a bit,’ ses I; so I went on and told him what I cal’lated to do, and arter he looked awhile, he ses, ‘Wal, go ahead, Jim, I’ll back ye. I reckon we can git any amount of odds so long as we keep the knot bus’ness to ourselves.’

“So pullin’ off my coat I gin it to Jake to hold, and jumpin’ on the fence, I hollered, ‘I’ll bet ten to twenty that I kin freeze to the pig’s tail till he gins out!’

“Great fish-hooks! you ought to have seen ’em a-rustlin’ towards me. I couldn’t see anythin’ but hands for five minutes, as they were holdin’ of ’em up, and signalin’, an’ a-hollerin’, ‘I’ll take that bet, Dudley, I’ll take that bet!’ I got rid of what money I had about me pooty soon, and Jake Swasey was jest a-spreadin’ out his greenbacks like a paymaster, and arter he exhausted his treasury he started arter his sister to git what money she had. I hollered to him to come back—I was fearin’ he’d tell her about the knot bus’ness; but he wasn’t no fool and knowed too well what gals are to trust her with any payin’ secret.

“Old Judge Perkins was thar, jolly as a boy on the last day of school. Wal, he was holdin’ of the stakes, and his pockets were crammed chockfull of greenbacks. He was a pooty good friend of mine, and couldn’t conceive how in thunder I was a-gwine to get my money back.

“Beckonin’ of me one side—‘Dudley,’ ses he, kind of low that way, and confidentially like, ‘I know you’re as hard to catch as an old trout with three broken hooks in its gill; but I can’t help thinkin’ a greased pig’s tail is a mi’ty slippery foundation to build hopes on.’

“‘Never mind, Judge,’ ses I, winkin’, ‘I can see my way through.’

“‘Yes, Dudley,’ he ses, a-shakin’ of his head dubious like, ‘that’s what the fly ses when he’s a-buttin’ his head against the winder.’

“‘Wal,’ ses I, ‘without the tail pulls out, I cal’late to travel mi’ty close in the wake of that swine for the next half hour;’ and with that I moved off to where the pig was standin’ and listenin’ to all that was gwine on.

“I fooled round him a little until I got betwixt him and the crowd, and when he flopped his tail over as I was tellin’ ye, I made one desperate lunge, and made a go of it the fust time. I jest hauled the end through while he was turnin’ round, and grabbin’ hold above my hand, rolled it down into the tightest knot you ever sot eyes on. It was about two inches from the end of the tail, and he scolloped around so amazin’ lively nobody could see it. The crowd allowed I was hangin’ on the straight tail, and they didn’t know what to make of the performance anyhow.

“‘Go it, piggy,’ I ses to myself, just that way, ‘I guess it’s only a question of endurance now, as the gal said when she had the flea under the hot flat-iron.’

“The gate was open, and arter a few circles around the lot, the hog p’inted for it, and away he went, pig fust and I arter. He ran helter-skelter under old Mother Sheehan, the fruit woman, jest as she was comin’ through the gateway with a big basket of apples on each arm. I did hate like snakes to hoist the old lady, bounce me if I didn’t! I would ruther have run around a mountain than do it, ’cause you see she had jest been gittin’ off a bed of sickness that came nigh shroudin’ her, and she wasn’t prepared for a panic, by any means. I did my best to swing the critter around and git him off the notion of goin’ through, but his mind was made up. Thar was plenty of room outside for him to pass along without disturbin’ the old lady, but a hog is a hog, you know—contrary the world over. Besides, he allowed he could brush me off by the operation, but I wasn’t so easily got rid of. The money was up, you see, and I had no choice but to follow where he led and stick to the rooter till he gin out. ‘Where thou goest, I will go,’ I ses to myself, rememberin’ the passage in the Scriptures, and duckin’ my head to follow him. I scrouched down as low as I could and keep on my feet; for I cal’lated, do my best, the old woman would git elevated pooty lively.

“She hollered as though a whole menagerie—elephants, kangaroos, snakes and all—had broke loose. Her sight wasn’t any too clear, and the whole proceedin’s had come upon her so sudden that she didn’t exactly know what sort of an animal was thar. She would have been satisfied it was a hog if it hadn’t taken so long to git through. I followed so close to his hams that she reckoned we both made one animal. The hog gin a snort when he started in to run the blockade, and she ses to herself, ‘Thar goes a big hog,’ but about the time she reckoned he had got out on the other side, I come a humpin’ and a boomin’ along in my shirt-sleeves, and gin her a second boost, throwin’ the old woman completely off her pins and out of her calculations at once.

“She did holler good, thar’s no mistake about that.

“The crowd hoorayed and applauded. The older ones of course sympathized with the poor old woman; but they could do nothin’ more, ’cause the whole catastrophe come as sudden as an earthquake and nobody seemed to be to blame. I wasn’t, and they all could see that plain enough. The young uns went for the scattered apples, but the pig and I kept right on attendin’ to business. Now and agin he’d double back towards the crowd, and they’d commence scatterin’ every which way, trampin’ on each other’s feet. Si Grope, the cashiered man-of-wars-man, stepped on Pat Cronin’s bunion, and he responded by fetchin’ the old salt a welt in the burr of the ear, and at it they went, tooth and nail, right thar. A few stopped to see fair play, but the heft of the crowd, about three hundred, kept right on arter me and the hog.

“Jake Swasey managed to git up pooty nigh to us once and hollered, ‘How are you makin’ it, Jim?’

“‘Fustrate,’ I answered; ‘I cal’late to stick to this swine through bush and bramble till I tire him out.’

“‘That’s the feelin’,’ he shouted, and with that we left him behind. The old judge was a puffin’ and a blowin’, strivin’ his best to keep up, and for some time he actewally led the crowd, but he didn’t hold out very long, but gradewelly sank to the rear.

“Rod Munnion, the tanner, stumbled and fell while crossin’ the street. His false teeth dropped out into the dirt, and while he was scramblin’ on all fours to git ’em ag’in, a feller named Welsh, who was clatterin’ past, slapped his foot down and bent the plate out of all shape. Munnion snatched ’em up ag’in as quick as the foot riz, and wipin’ ’em on his overalls as he ran, chucked ’em back into his mouth ag’in, all twisted as they were. They did look awful though, stickin’ straight out from his mouth, and pressin’ his lip chock up ag’inst his nose. You couldn’t understand what he was sayin’ any more than if he was Chinnook.

“Bow-legged Spinny, the cabbagin’ tailor, was thar. He met the crowd while carryin’ home Squire Lockwood’s new suit, and catchin’ the excitement of the moment, tossed the package into Slawson’s yard, and it bounded into the well quicker than ‘scat.’ He didn’t know it though, but hollered to the old woman, as he ran past the window, to look arter the package until he got back. Not seein’ any package she allowed he was crazy as a cow with her head stuck in a barrel, and flew to boltin’ of her doors pooty lively. He had been once to the Lunatic Asylum, you see, and they were still suspicious of him.

“The crowd thought to head us off by takin’ down a narrow lane, and it was while they were in that, that they began to surge ahead of Judge Perkins. He was awful quick tempered, and pooty conceited, and when bow-legged Spinny was elbowin’ past him he got mad. Catching the poor stitcher by the coat tail, he hollered: ‘What! a miserable thread-needle machine claimin’ precedence?’ and with that he slung him more’n ten feet, landin’ him on his back in a nook of the fence.

“That was the day they buried old Mrs. Redpath, that the doctors disagreed over. Dr. Looty had been doctorin’ her for some time for bone disease. He said her back-bone war decayin’. He didn’t make much out of it though, and they got another doctor. The new feller said he understood the case thoroughly; he ridiculed the idea of bone disease, and went to work doctorin’ for the liver complaint. He said it had stopped workin’ and he was agwine to git it started ag’in. I reckon he’d have accomplished somethin’ if she had lived long enough, but she died in the meantime. When they held a post-mortem, they found out the old woman, some time in her life, had swallered a fish-bone which never passed her stomach, and eventually it killed her.

“‘Thar,’ ses Dr. Looty, ‘what did I tell ye? You’ll admit, I reckon, my diagnosis of the disease was right arter all, only I made a slight error in locatin’ the bone!’

“‘Bone be splintered!’ ses the other feller, ‘hain’t I bin workin’ nigher the ailin’ part than you?’ So they went on quackin’ thar and disagreein’ over her until old Redpath got mad and hollered, ‘You old melonheads, isn’t it enough that I’m a widderer by your fumblin’ malpractice, without havin’ ye wranglin’ over the old woman!’ So he put ’em both out, and chucked their knives and saws arter ’em.

“But as I was sayin’, that was the day of the funeral, and while it was proceedin’ from the church to the buryin’ ground with Parson Coolridge at the head, with his long white gown on, we hove in sight comin’ tearin’ down to’ards the parsonage. The minister was a feller that actewelly doted on flowers. When he wasn’t copyin’ his sermons’ he was fussin’ around among the posies. He had his gardin chock full of all kinds of plants and shrubs. Thar you could see the snapdragon from Ireland, the fu-chu from China, the snow-ball from Canada, the bachelor’s button from Californy, and every kind you could mention.

“He had noticed the gardin gate was open when the funeral passed, and it worried him considerable. So when he heered the hootin’ and hollerin’, and got sight of the crowd surgin’ down the street, and see the pig and I pointin’ in the direction of the house, he couldn’t go ahead nohow.

“Turnin’ around to the pall bearers who were puffing along behind him, he ses, ‘Ease your hands a minit, boys, and let the old woman rest ’till I run back and see if that Dudley is agwine to drive that hog into my gardin. Confound him!’ he contin’ed, ‘he’s wuss to have around the neighborhood than the measles.’ With that he started back on the run, his long, white gown a-flyin’ away out behind, the most comical lookin’ thing you ever see. And he could run, that Parson Coolridge, in a way that was astonishin’. I reckon he hadn’t stirred out of a walk before for thirty years, and yit he streaked it over the ground as though it was an every-day occurrence.

“His j’ints cracked and snapped with the unusual motion, like an old stairs in frosty weather, but he didn’t mind that so long as he could git over the ground. He was thinkin’ of his favorite plants and the prospect of their gittin’ stirred up and transplanted in a manner he wasn’t prepared to approve. He did jerk back his elbows pooty spiteful, now I can tell you. He tried to make the gateway fust, and put in his best strides. But when he saw he couldn’t, he hollered, ‘Keep that hog out of my gardin, Dudley, or I’ll take the law of ye.’