Part 10
It is somewhat curious that more embarrassments, and queer _contre temps_ do not take place in the routine of human affairs, when we find so _many_ persons floating about of one and the same name. It must be shocking to be named John Brown, troublesome to be called John Thompson, but who can begin to conceive the horrors of that man's situation, who has at the baptismal font received the title of _John Smith_?
Now it only wants a slight accident, the most trivial occurrence of fate--the meeting of two or three persons of the same name, or of great similarity of name, to create the most singular and even ludicrous circumstances and tableaux. One of these affairs came off at the Tremont House, some time since. One Thomas Johns, a blue-nose Nova-Scotian--a man of "some pumpkins" and "persimmons" at home, doubtless, put up for a few days at the Tremont, and about the same time one John Thomas, a genuine son of John Bull, just over in one of the steamers, took up his quarters at the same respectable and worthy establishment.
Thomas Johns was a linen draper, sold silks, satinets, linen, and dimities, at his establishment in the Provinces, and was also a politician, and "went on" for the part of magistrate, occasionally. John Thomas was a retired wine-merchant, and, having netted a bulky fortune, he took it into his head to _travel_, and as naturally as he despised, and as contemptuously as he looked upon this poor, wild, unsophisticated country of ours, he nevertheless condescended to come and look at us.
Well, there they were, Thomas Johns, and John Thomas; one was "roomed" in the north wing, the other in the south wing. Thomas Johns went out and began reconnoitering among the Yankee shop-keepers. John Thomas, having a fortnight's pair of sea legs on, and full of bile and beer, laid up at his lodgings, and passed the first three days in "hazing around" the servants, and blaspheming American manners and customs.
Old John was quietly snoring off his bottle after a sumptuous Tremont dinner, when a repeated rap, rap, rap at his door aroused him.
"What are you--at?" growls John.
"It's ma, zur?" says one of the Milesian servants.
"Blast yer hies, what want yer?" again growls John.
"If ye plaze, zur, there's a young man below wishes to see you," says the servant.
"Ha, tell 'im to clear out!" John having predestinated the "young man," he gave an apoplectic snort, relapsed into his lethargy, and the servant whirled down into the rotunda, and informed the "young man" what the gentleman desired.
"He did, eh?" says the young man, who looked as if he might be a clerk in an importing house. The young man left, in something of a high dudgeon.
"What'r yer at now?" roared John Thomas, a second time, roused by the servant's rat-tat-too.
"It's a gentleman wants to see yez's, zur."
"Tell him to go to the d--!" and John snored again.
"Is John in?" asks the gentleman, as the servant returns.
"Mister _Thomas_ did yez mane, zur?"
"No, yes, it is (looking at his tablets) same thing, I suppose; Thomas Johns," says the gentleman.
"I belave it's right, zur," says the servant.
"Well, what did he say?"
"Faith, I think he's not in a good humor, betwane us, zur; he says yez may go to the divil!"
"Did he? Well, that's polite, any how--invite a gentleman to dine with him, and then meet him with such language as that. The infernal 'blue nose,' I'll pull it, I'll tweak it until he'll roar like a calf!" and off went "the gentleman," hot as No. 6.
"I belave he's not in, zur," says the same servant, answering another inquiry for John Thomas, or Thomas Johns, the carriage driver was not certain which.
"Oh, ho!" says the servant, "it's a ride ould John's going fur to take till himself, and didn't want any callers." Reaching John's door, he began his tattoo.
"Be hang'd to ye, what'r ye at now?" growls John, partly up and dressed.
"The carriage is here, zur."
"What carriage is that?" growls John, continuing his toilet.
"I don't know, zur; I'll go down and sae the _number_, if ye plaze."
"Thunder and tommy! What do I care for the number? Go tell the carriage----"
"To go to the divil, zur?" says the servant, in anticipation of the command.
"No, you bog-trotter, go tell the carriage to wait."
The servant went down, and John continued his toilet, muttering--
"Ah, some of their _haccommodations_, I expect; these American landlords, as they style 'em in these infernal wild woods 'ere, do manage to give a body tolerable sort of haccommodations; ha, but they'll take care to look hout for the dollars. I don't know, tho', these fellers 'ere appear tolerably clever; want me to ride hout, I suppose, and see some of their Yankee lions. Haw! haw! _Lions!_ I wonder what they'd say hif they saw Lun'un, and looked at St. Paul's once!"
Getting through his toilet--and it takes an Englishman as long to fix his stiff cravat and that _stiffer_ and stauncher shirt-collar, and rub his hat, than a Frenchman to rig out _tout ensemble_, to say nothing of the gallons of water and dozens of towels he uses up in the operation--John found the carriage waiting; he asked no questions, but jumped in.
"Isn't there some others beside yourself going out, sir?" says the driver, supposing he had the right man, or one of them.
"No; drive off--where are you going to drive me?"
"Mount Auburn, sir, the carriage was ordered for."
"Humph! Some of the _battle-grounds_, I suppose," John grunts to himself, falls into a fit of English doggedness, and the coach drives off.
Thomas Johns made little or no noise or confusion in the house, consequently he was not known to the servants, and very little known to the clerks. John Thomas was another person--he was all fuss and feathers. He kept his bell ringing, and the servants rushing for towels and water, water and towels, boots and beer, beer and boots, the English papers, maps of America, &c., without cessation. He was John Thomas and Thomas Johns, one and indivisible.
John got his ride, and returned to the hotel sulkier than ever; and by the time he got unrobed of his pea-jackets and huge shawls about his burly neck, he was telegraphed by a servant to come down; there was a gentleman below on business with him. John foreswore business, but the gentleman must see him, and up he came for that purpose. His unmistakable _mug_ told he was "an officer."
"I've a bill against you, sir, $368,20. Must be paid immediately!" said the presenter, peremptorily.
John was thunderstruck.
"Me, and be hanged to ye!" says John, getting his breath.
"Yes, sir, for goods packed at Smith & Brown's, for Nova Scotia. The bill was to be paid this morning, as you agreed, but you told the clerk to go to the d--l! Won't do, that sort of work, here. Pay the bill, or you must go with me!"
John, when he found himself in custody, swore it was some infernal Yankee scheme to gouge him, and he started for the clerk's office, below, to have some explanation. As John and the officer reached the rotunda, a gentleman steps up behind John, and gives his nose a first-rate _lug_. They clinched, the bystanders and servants interposed, and John and his assailant were parted, and by this time the nose puller discovered he had the wrong man by the nose!
"Is your name Thomas Johns?" says the nose puller.
"Blast you, no!"
"Who pays this bill for the carriage, if your name ain't Johns?" says a man with a bill for the carriage hire.
"I allers heard as ow you Yan-gees were inquisitive, and sharp after the dollars, and I'm 'anged if you ain't awful. My name's John Thomas, from Lun'un, bound back again in the next steamer. Now who's got any thing against _me_?"
Thomas Johns came in at this climax, an explanation ensued, John was relieved of his embarrassment, and all were finally satisfied, except John Thomas, who, venting a few bottles of his spleen on every body and all things--Americans especially--took to his bed and beer, and snorted for a week.
The Yankee in a Boarding School.
"Well, squire, as I wer' tellin' on ye, when I went around pedlin' notions, I met many queer folks; some on 'em so darn'd preoud and sassy, they wouldn't let a feller look at 'em; a-n-d 'd shut their doors and gates, _bang_ into a feller's face, jest as ef a Yankee pedler was a pizen sarpint! Then there waa-s t'other kind o' human critters, so pesky poor, or 'nation stingy, they'd pinch a fourpence till it'd squeal like a stuck pig. Ye-e-s, I do _swow_, I've met some critters so dog-ratted mean, that ef you had sot a steel trap onder their beds, a-n-d baited it with three cents, yeou'd a cotch ther con-feoun-ded souls afore mornin'!"
"Massy sakes!" responded the squire.
"Fact! by ginger!" echoed the ex-pedler.
"Well, go on, Ab," said the squire, giving his pipe another 'charge,' and lighting up for the yarn Absalom Slamm had promised the gals, soon as the quilt was out and refreshments were handed around.
"Go on, Ab--let's hear abeout that scrape yeou had with the school marm and her gals."
"Wall, I _will_, squire; gals, spread yeourselves areound and squat; take care o' yeour corset strings, and keep deth-ly still. Wall; neow, yeou all sot? Hain't none o' ye been in the pedlin' business, I guess; wall, no matter, tho' it's dread-ful pleasant sometimes: then again at others, 'taint."
"Go on, Ab, go on," said the squire.
"Ye-e-s; wall, as I was saying, 'beout tradin', none o' yeou ever been in the tradin' way? Wall, it deon't matter a cent; as I was agoin' to say, I had hard, hard luck one season--got clean busted all tew smash! O-o-o! it was _dre-a-a-dful times_; jest abeout the time Gineral Jackson clapped his _we-toe_ on the hull o' the banks, kersock. Wall, yeou see, I got broke all tew flinders. My ole hoss died, the sun and rain beat up my wagon, I sold eout my notions tew a feller that paid me all in ceounter-fit money, and then he dug eout, as Parson Dodge says, to undiskivered kedn'try.
"There was only one way abeout it; I was beound to dew somethin', instead o' goin' to set deown and blubber; and as I layed stretched eout in bed one Sunday morning, in Marm Smith's tavern, in the cockloft among the old stuff, I spies a darn'd ole consarn that took my fancy immazin'! As Deb Brown said, when she 'sperienced rele-gen, I felt my sperrets raisin' me clean eout o' bed, and eout I beounced, like a pea in a hot skillet. Deown I goes to Marm Smith; the ole lady was dressed up to death in her Sunday-go-to-meetin's, and jest as preoud and sassy as her darn'd ole skin ceould heould in.
"'Marm Smith,' sez I, 'yeou hain't got no ole stuff yeou deon't want tew sell nor nuthin', dew ye?'
"'_Ab Slamm_,' sez she, plantin' her thumbs on her hip joints, and as the milishey officer ses on trainin' day, comin' at me, 'right face,' she spread herself like a clapboard. 'Ab Slamm,' sez she, 'what on airth possesses yeou to talk o' tradin' on the Sabbath?'
"'Wall,' sez I, 'Marm Smith, yeou needn't take on so 'beout it; I guess a feller kin ax a question witheout tradin' or breakin' the Sabbath all tew smash, either! Neow,' says I, 'yeou got some ole plunder up ther in the cockloft, where yeou stuck me to sleep; 'tain't much use to yeou, and one article I see I want to trade fur.'
"Wall, we didn't trade _'zactly_. Marm Smith, yeou see, got dre-e-e-adful relejus 'beout that time--wouldn't let her gals draw ther breth scacely, and shot her roosters all up in the cellar every Sunday. Fact, by ginger! Wall, yeou see, Marm Smith were agin tradin' on Sunday, but she sed I might arrange it with Ben, her barkeeper, and so I got the instrument, _any heow_."
"What was it, Ab?" inquired the squire.
"Massy sakes, tell us!" says the gals.
"I sha'n't dew it, till I tell the hull abeout it," Ab replied, rather choosing, like Captain Cuttle, to break the gist of his information into small chunks, and so make it the more _telling_ and comparatively interesting.
"When I got the _instrument_, and paid Marm Smith my board bill, I wer in possession of a cash capital of jest three fo'pences. I took my jack-knife, and unjinted the instrument, cleaned it off, then wrapped the different sections up in a paper, put the hull in my little yaller trunk, and dug eout. When I got clean eout o' sight and hearin' of everybody I'd ever hear'n tell on, I stopped r-i-g-h-t in my track. My cash capital wer gone, my mortal remains were holler as a flute, and my old trunk had worn a hole clean through the shoulder o' my best Sunday coat. I put up, and sez I tew the landlord:
"'Squire, what sort o' place is this for a sheow?'
"'For a sh-e-ow?' sez he.
"'Ye-e-e-s,' sez I.
"'What a' yeou got to sh-e-o-w?' sez he.
"'The most wonderful instrument ever inwent-'d,' sez I.
"'What's 't fur?' sez he.
"'For the wimen,' sez I.
"'O! sez he, lookin' alfired peart and smeart, as tho' he'd seen a flock o' l'fants; 'quack doctor, I s'pose, eh?'
"'No, I ben't a quack doctor, nuther,' sez I, priming up at the insin-i-wa-tion.
"'Wall, what on airth hev yeou got, _any heow_?' sez he.
"When he 'poligized in that sort o' way, in course I up and told him the full perticklers 'beout a wonderful _instrument_ I had for the ladies and wimen folks. A-n-d heow I wanted to sheow it before some o' the female sim-i-nar-ries, and give a lectoor on't.
"'By bunker!' sez he, 'then yeou've cum jest teou the spot; three miles up the road is the great _Jargon Institoot_, 'spressly for young ladies, wher they teach 'em the 'rethmetic, French scollopin', and High-tall-ion curlycues; dancin', tight-lacin', hair-dressin', and so forth, with the use of curlin' irons, forty pinanners, and parfumeries chuck'd in.'
"'Yeou deon't _say_ so?' sez I.
"'Yes, I doos,' sez he; and then yeou had orter seen me make streaks fur the Jargon Institoot.
"I feound the place, knocked on the door, and a feller all starch'd up, lookin' cruel nice, kem and opened the door. I axed if the marm were in. Then he wanted tew kneow which of 'em I wanted tew see. 'The head marm of the Institoot,' sez I. 'Please to give me yeour keard,' sez he. 'You be darn'd,' sez I; 'I'd have yeou know, mister,' sez I, 'I don't deal in _keards_--never did, nuther!'
"The feller show'd a heap o' ivory, and brought deown the head marm. It weould a' dun Marm Smith's ole heart good to seen this dre-e-a-d-ful pius critter. She looked mighty nice, a-n-d she scolloped reound, and beow'd and cut an orful quantity o' capers, when I ondid my business to her. I went on and told her heow in course o' travel--
"'In furrin pearts?' sez she.
"'Yes,' sez I--'I kim across a great instrument,' sez I. 'It was well known to the wimen and ladies o' the past gin-i-rations,' sez I.
"'The an-shants?' sez she.
"'Yes, marm,' sez I. Then she axed me wether it wer a wind instrer-ment or a stringed instrer-ment. A-n-d I told her it wer a stringed instrer-ment, but went on the hurdy-gurdy pren-cipl', with a crank or treddle. But what I moost dwelt on, as the ox-ion-eer sez, were the great combinations of the instrer-ment, a-n-d I piled it up dre-e-e-adful! I told the marm I wanted to git the thing patented, and put before the people--the wimen and ladies in per-tick'ler--so that every gal in the univarsal world could play upon it--exercise her hands, strengthen her arms and chist, give her form a nater-al de-welop-ment, and so make the hull grist o' wimen critters useful, as well as or-namental, as my instrer-ment was a useful necessity; for while it lent grace and beauty to the female form, and gin forth fust rate music, it was par-fect-ly scriptooral; it ceould be made to clothe the naked and feed the hon-gry. My il-o-quince had the marm. She 'greed to buy one of my machines _straight_ fur use of her _Institoot_--each school-gal to 'put in' by next day, when I wer to bring the instrer-ment, get my $40, and deliver a lectoor on it. Next mornin', bright and early, I wer there; the _puss_ wer made up, and the gals nigh abeout bilin' over with curiosity to see my wonderful _hand-limberer, arm-strengthener, chist-expander, female-beautifier, and univarsal musical machine!_ When they all got assembled, I ondid the machine; they wer still as death! When I sot it up, they wer breathless with wonderment; when I started it, they gin a gineral screech of delight. Then I sot deown and played 'em _old hund'erd_, and every gal in the room vowed right eout she'd have one made _straight!_ O-o-o! yeou'd a died to seen the excitement that instrer-ment made in Jargon Institoot. The head marm wanted my ortergraff, and each o' the gals a lock o' my hair. But just then, a confeounded ole woolly-headed Virginny nigger wench, cook o' the Jargon Institoot, kem in, and the moment she clapped her ole eyes on my inwention, she roared reight eout, 'O! de _Lud_, ef dar ain't one de ole Virginny _spinnin' wheels!_' I kinder had bus'ness somewheres else 'beout that time! I took with a leaving!"
A Dreadful State of Excitement.
A retrospective view of some ten or fifteen years, brings up a wonderful "heap of notions," which at their birth made quite a different sensation from that which their "bare remembrance" would seem to sanction now. The statement made in a "morning paper" before us, of a fine horse being actually scared stone and instantaneously dead, by a roaring and hissing locomotive, brings to mind "a circumstance," which though it did not exactly _do our knitting_, it came precious near the climax!
Some years ago, upon what was then considered the "frontier" of Missouri, we chanced to be laid up with a "game leg," in consequence of a performance of a bullet-headed mule that we were endeavoring to coerce at the end of a corn stalk, for his "intervention" in a fodder stack to which he could lay no legitimate claim. About two miles from our "lodgings" was a store, a "grocery," shotecary pop, boots, hats, gridirons, whiskey, powder and shot, &c., &c., and the post office. About three times a week, we used to hobble down to this modern ark, to read the news, see what was going on down in the world, and--pass a few hours with the proprietor of the store, who chanced to be a man with whom we had had a former acquaintance "in other climes." Well, one day, we dropped down to the store, and found pretty much all the men folks--and they were not numerous around there, the houses or cabins being rather scattering--getting ready to go down the river (Missouri) some ten miles, to see a notorious desperado "stretch hemp." My friend Captain V----, the storekeeper, was about to go along too, and proposed that we should mount and accompany him, or--stay and tend store. We accepted the latter proposition, as we were in no travelling kelter, and had no taste for performances on the tight rope. Having officiated for Captain V---- on several former occasions, we had the run of his "grocery" and _postal_ arrangements quite fluent enough to take charge of all the trade likely to turn up that day; so the captain and his friends started, promising a return before sunset.
One individual, living some seven miles up the road, called for his newspaper, and got his jug filled, spent a couple of hours with us--put out, and was succeeded by two squalid Indians, with some skins to trade for corn juice and tobacco; they cleared out, and about two or three P. M., some _movers_ came along; we had a little dicker with them, and that closed up the business accounts of the day.
Having discussed all the availables, from the contents of the post office--seven newspapers and four letters per quarter!--to the crackers and cheese, and business being essentially stagnated, we ups and lies down upon the top of the counter, to take a nap. Captain V----'s store was a log building, about 15 by 30, and stood near the edge of the woods, and at least half a mile from any habitation, except the schoolhouse and blacksmith's shop, two small huts, and at that time--"in coventry." Captain V---- was a bachelor; he boarded--that is, he took his meals at the nearest house--half a mile back from the wood, and slept in his store. We soon fell into the soft soothing arms of Morpheus, and--slept. It was fine mild weather--September, and, of course, the door was wide open. How long we slept we were not at all conscious, but were aroused by a heavy hand that gave us a hearty shake by the shoulder, and in a rather sepulchral voice says--
"How are you?"
Gods! we were up quick, for our sleep had been visited by dreams of southwest tragedies, hanging scrapes, and other nightmare affairs, and as we opened our eyes and caught a glimpse of the double-fisted, cadaverous fellow standing over us, a strong inclination to go off into a cold sweat seized us! Lo! it was after sunset! Almost dark in the store, the stars had already began to twinkle in the sky.
Captain V---- did a considerable trade at his store, and at times had considerable sums of money laying around. Upon leaving in the morning, he notified us, in case we should require _change_, to look into the desk, where he kept a shot bag of silver coin, and--his pistols.
"How are you?" the words and manner and looks of the man gave us a cold chill.
"How do you do?" we managed to respond, at the same time sliding down behind the counter. The stranger had a heavy walking stick in his hand, and a knapsack looking bundle swung to his shoulder. He looked like the rough remnants of an ill-spent life; had evidently travelled somewhere where barbers, washer-women and such like civilian delicacies, were more matters of tradition than fact.
"Been asleep, eh?" he carelessly continued.
"It appears so," said we, feeling no better or more satisfactory in our mind, and no reason to, for night was now closing in, and we were going through our performances by the slight illumination of the stars, without any positive certainty as to where the Captain kept his tinder box and candle, that we might furnish some sort of light upon the lugubrious state of affairs.
"Do you keep this store?"
"No, we do not," we answered, watching the man as he put his bundle down upon the counter.
"Who does?" was the next question.
"The gentleman who keeps it," we replied, "is away to-day."
"Ah, gone to see a poor human being put out of the world, eh?"