On A Donkey's Hurricane Deck

<h3><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</SPAN> <br/>At a country dance</h3> <p class="toclink"><SPAN href="#CONTENTS">TOC</SPAN></p> <div class="poembox"> <div class="stanzaleft"> <div class="verse2"> I do love these ancient ruins.</div> <div class="verse0">We never tread upon them but we set</div> <div class="verse0">Our foot upon some reverend history.</div> </div> <cite class="citeright">—Duchess of Malfy.</cite></div> <p>I did not tarry long in Girard, but spent the night in West Springfield. Thursday morning I escaped from the Keystone into the Buckeye State, eating dinner in Conneaut. As the sleighing had disappeared, I shipped my little sled home, as a relic of the trip, and packed my grip in the saddle, as of old.</p> <p>After a short rest in Ashtabula, we climbed a hill by the South Ridge road, where I got a fine view of the city, and soon lost ourselves in the darkness.</p> <p>Presently a farmer drove up in a rickety wagon and began to coax me to accept of his hospitality for the night. He deftly explained that he would care for me and my animals until after breakfast for fifty cents.</p> <p>I decided to avail myself of the invitation, and Mac congratulated me on my display of good sense. I, too, slapped myself on the shoulder; I was ready to sup and go right to bed. In a short time both donk and dog were comfortably stabled, and I was introduced to the family. The noises from the lighted kitchen had faintly intimated to me the sort of den into which I was allured. It contained the noisiest lot of children that ever blessed a household.</p> <p>"Are these all yours?" I inquired, politely.</p> <p>"Nope," answered Mr. Cornbin. "Ye see, this 'ere's sort of a half-way house;" the man smiled, and poked some cheap tobacco into his corn-cob pipe. "There's goin' to be a dance down to Plimton's to-night and all our friends from around 've fetched in their babies for George Buck—he's our hired man—to take care of. Like to dance, eh? Better go 'long—fine women going ter be there—here's plug, if ye want a chew—no? That's smokin' terbaccer on the table by yer. We're plain folks, but you're welcome to the best we've got."</p> <p>Mrs. C. prepared me a supper which went right to the spot. She advised me to go to the dance, by all means. I had made up my mind to that as soon as the word "dance" was mentioned; the "kids" would have driven me crazy in short order, had I remained with Buck.</p> <p>One by one the mothers of the hilarious "brats" came in; then we all got our wraps on. I expected, of course, we were going to ride, but no, the whole party walked. My hostess took her own babe with her. She would leave the hired man in charge of her neighbors' children, but was too wise to entrust her own child with him and the lamp.</p> <p>When we reached our destination I was introduced to four grangers playing "seven up," and told to make myself comfortable. "Choose your woman, Professor," said Mr. Cornbin, "an' show 'em how you kin manage yer feet on a waxed floor."</p> <p>Sure enough, the floor was waxed. The garret was converted into a veritable ball-room. Two rows of upright scantling crossed in the center of the room and propped the snow-laden roof, and through these uprights, some twenty inches apart, glided the blue jeans and overalls, calico and cambric skirts, with as much energy and pride as might be squeezed out of a city cotillion. The fiddlers and caller were mounted on a board platform at one end of the "hall." They sawed away and shouted, and wore out more enthusiasm, catgut and shoe-leather than I ever saw wasted in the same length of time.</p> <p>There were all sorts of dances and dancers. I myself tackled the Virginia reel, Lancers, Quadrille, Caledonia, Polka, Hornpipe, Mazourka, a Spanish dance, the Irish Washwoman, and several others. The favorite music was "Pussy in the Rainbarrel;" it served for a half dozen different dances. I never liked the music—a sort of windpipe or bagpipe which allowed no breathing-spell from start to finish. In my second dance I went off my feet, my head caught under the sloping roof, and the floor master had to knock my "pins" from under me to get me loose.</p> <p>There was one pretty girl there, and I tried to engage her for a dance, but every time I approached her she shied away; at last, she got used to my odd appearance, and allowed me to clasp her to my bosom in a waltz. Just as we got started, the dance closed, and the caller shouted to choose partners for a square dance. My pretty partner agreed to dance it with me; I could see several of her admirers looking "daggers" at me.</p> <p>"Forward; right and left!" sounded the call. "Lead yer partners round the outside!"</p> <p>I thought the caller meant the outside of the house, and started down stairs, but was soon stopped, and the call explained to me.</p> <p>"Alaman left!—grand right and left!—half way and back—change partners, and four ladies salute!—balance again and swing the opposite lady!"</p> <p>That succession of calls completely demoralized me. I got all mixed up, and soon found myself clasping an upright instead of somebody's partner, and concluded my part by violently sitting on the floor. After that I contented myself with looking on.</p> <p>Although the two prettiest features of the ball—the Minuette and the St. Vitus Dance—had not yet taken place, I felt more than satisfied, and bidding my friends good morning, set out for the Cornbin domicile.</p> <p>After a late breakfast of tea, bread, salt pork and fried potatoes, I started for Geneva.</p> <p>All through New York State people had supposed on seeing me that "Uncle Tom's Cabin" had "busted," and that Marks, the lawyer, was homeward bound with his mule. In Ohio, the curious countrymen inquired if I was on my way to join Maine's Circus, at its winter quarters, Geneva. Mac, as well as I, was quite sensitive over these inquiries. Through the driving snow-storm we managed to reach a hotel where, after a noon meal, I led my animals on to Madison.</p> <p>When a half mile yet to the village we passed the Old Woman's Home, which I visited the following morning, Sunday. The man who planned it was a genius. The rooms of the commodious building were fitted up to suit the whims of the most fastidious fossils of second childhood. Paintings and plaster bas-reliefs of old women knitting, washing false teeth, and sewing, decorated the walls. Sewing baskets, crazy quilts, dolls, and paper soldiers were strewn about the rooms. The most novel of all departments was the dental and hirsute Check Room, where the old ladies checked their false teeth, wigs, cork legs, etc., when they happened in disuse. A little brass ring containing a number is given the owner of the article to be checked, so that it may be preserved in good condition, and not get lost. Incidents are cited where very old women, during intervals of temporary aberration, have got their checks mixed and tried to wear an extra set of teeth, or an additional wig; and it is said that once a woman with two normal legs endeavored to hook on a cork leg. But when we consider the great age of the inmates, such cases are quite pardonable.</p> <p>From the next town, Painesville, we went to the home of President Garfield. Mr. R——, who had the care of the handsome residence, invited me in to rest, and sup. I was shown all of the beautiful and interesting rooms. In the spacious hall hung a large photograph of Milan Cathedral, and in the upstairs hall, a portrait of Washington and an engraving of Lincoln. In the General's favorite study, I was permitted to sit in the large easy chairs where he had found comfort after his mental labors and inspiration for his speeches and debates, and regarded the bric-a-brac and furniture with more awe and reverence than I had ever felt upon visiting the homes of the great.</p> <p>Two miles beyond Mentor is Kirtland, once a thriving Mormon camp. It is situated at considerable distance from the direct route to Cleveland, and it took us over a distressingly muddy road, and through such intense darkness that I soon lost my bearings. Seeing the gleam of a lamp in a window, I went up to the house to inquire the way to the tavern. The owner insisted on our being his guests, and I felt very grateful. My animals were assigned to a shed, and I was invited to a hot supper, which my good hostess hastily prepared.</p> <p>I soon discovered that I was among spiritualists, as well as Latter Day Saints. My Host, Mr. J——, was an elderly man, and well informed. He said much about Joseph Smith. He himself was born in Kirtland some eighty years back, and had often listened to the preachings of the founder of Mormonism. In those days Kirtland contained about 2,000 inhabitants; but all that remained of the town are two stores, a shop, and a dozen or so little houses, half of which I found to be occupied by itinerant preachers of the "Latter Day Saints."</p> <p>My host said he firmly believed in Spiritualism, and dwelt at length on communication between the material and spiritual world. Finally he strode to my chair and felt of my cranium.</p> <p>"Why Prof.," said he enthusiastically, "you are a medium yourself. All you require is a little study of the science. Spiritualism is merely the science of materialism." I shivered audibly.</p> <p>"And do you mean to tell me," I said, "that you believe honestly you can see the ghost, or the spirit of the departed?"</p> <p>"I know it," Mr. J—— returned, emphatically. "I have <em>felt</em> the spirit of the departed. One night at a seance I saw my little step-daughter who had been dead many years. I heard her call to me "papa." She put her arms round my neck, and kissed me on the lips. Then she disappeared. Of course, I know it! I saw her, I heard her, I felt her; isn't that proof enough?"</p> <p>I told my host that he was certainly convinced, but I wasn't. I then bade him and his wife good night, and was ushered to my chamber. There I pulled the clothes over my head, and tried to attribute my shivers to the cold.</p> <p>When I awoke next morning and searched in my grip for my razor and found in place of it a "Toledo Blade," I began to suspect some supernatural being had robbed me.</p> <p>Before leaving Kirtland my host persuaded me to be shown the famous Temple and the house in which the Prophet, Joseph Smith, lived. The Temple of the Latter Day Saints there standing, is probably the only church of three stories in the country. I climbed to the tower that surmounts it, and got a fine view of the spot where once stood the house of Brigham Young. The arrangement of the inner temple was quite novel. At both extremities of the main hall, or nave, was a series of four rows of white-painted seats, lettered in gilt to represent the several orders of the Priests of Melchizedek. Long rows of rings hung from the ceiling, crossing each other in places, from which were once suspended curtains to divide the nave into rooms for the sessions of the different orders, and in the white square pillars might still be seen the rollers and pulleys with which the curtains were drawn.</p> <p>Said Mr. J——, "I have heard Joseph Smith shout from that pulpit and tell how the Mormons would yet build a temple still larger, to answer their future needs, and some day in the future another one a mile square; that they were the chosen people, and would send missionaries to convert all Europe, after which they proposed to sweep in America to a man. Soon after that proclamation he moved West with a large following. There they reorganized, and the new order assumed the title of 'The Latter Day Saints.'"</p> <p>Traveling that day was most disheartening in more ways than one. The roads were awful, my exchequer extremely low. Fortunately, on the way to Willoughby a farmer offered to feed me and my partner, provided we would help him saw some wood.</p> <p>Mac supervised the work. After we sawed off a section of a log, the farmer handed me the axe, but soon took it from me, saying that I couldn't chop any better than I could saw. Then we ate.</p> <div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="Mac_supervised_the_work"></SPAN> <SPAN href="images/i104a-hd.jpg">larger <ANTIMG src="images/i104a.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="346" alt="" /></SPAN> <div class="caption">"Mac supervised the work."</div> </div> <div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="Only_time_I_got_ahead_of_him"></SPAN> <SPAN href="images/i104b-hd.jpg">larger <ANTIMG src="images/i104b.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="356" alt="" /></SPAN> <div class="caption">"Only time I got ahead of him."</div> </div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />