On A Donkey's Hurricane Deck Part 2

"Then come in and have a meal on me," said he. "A man who has worked as you have to square with his landlord shan't leave my hotel hungry." I yielded.

My trip to Tarrytown was accomplished on my own legs. Macaroni refused to budge unless somebody led him. The whole town turned out to see us; it was an event for the hotel. That evening I was asked to McCarty's Show, at the Theatre, paying thirty-five cents admission; I learned that the "Dutch treat" was in vogue when too late for my pride to let me decline the invitation. Next day, at noon, I set out for Sing Sing, now called Ossining, about seven miles away.

My steed, that was really not half a steed, seemed to be gradually recovering from the doubt that an endless journey had been mapped out for him, and kept me watching and prodding him constantly. On one occasion he drove through a gap in a fence; on another, he sc.r.a.ped through a hedge and relieved himself of my Winchester, coat and saddle-bags, for which he immediately expressed regret.

At length, he balked; and I sat down by the road-side a half hour before he showed readiness to go.

While there meditating upon my trials, a pedestrian stopped and listened to my sixteen complaints. He seemed much amused, and suggested that if I would hang a penny before the donkey's nose he might follow the cent. A practical idea at once came to mind, and when, soon afterward, we reached a farm house, I put my idea to the test. I purchased some apples, and suspended one from a bough secured to the saddle and reaching over the donkey's head. The scheme worked admirably. Mac pursued the bobbing, swinging fruit at such a speed that he was nearly winded when we reached town, having manipulated his short legs to the velocity of two and one-third miles an hour.

We reached town shortly after five. The village is nicely situated high on the banks of the Hudson, and some of its residents have a beautiful view of the river, while others see nothing more picturesque than a stone wall. Sing Sing, to use the more familiar name, is the seat of an extensive prison, patronized by sojourners from all parts of the world and heavily endowed, being backed by the wealth of the State.

A local organization, the Sing Sing Steamer Company, invited me to its monthly dinner that evening, and, to my surprise and grat.i.tude, purchased with a sealed envelope one of "our" pictures for the club rooms. I don't think it a good custom to buy a pig in a poke, but this time the pig was fat and healthy, and I found myself several dollars richer.

Next morning I bought a revolver, for, as I had to employ the larger part of the day in making sales and working my wits in a mult.i.tude of ways to keep my s.h.i.+p from stranding and the crew from starving, I was often compelled to travel long into the night and required some more handy weapon than a rifle for defence against pirates.

The newspapers generally heralded my coming, often greatly magnifying my successes, and I felt that the hard times, which the country at large was suffering, made such a thing as a hold-up not only possible but imminent any night.

Having received an invitation to visit the State Prison, I set out in the forenoon to find it, and a policeman (a very proper person, by the way), guided me to that famous hostelry. Macaroni also was invited, but the affrighted animal declined to enter the prison gates. Whether he thought he saw a drove of zebras, or was repelled by a guilty conscience, I know not, but, falling back in a sitting posture, he threw his ears forward and brayed loudly.

On entering the office, the secretary rose from his chair and seized me. "Professor," he said, "you are my prisoner for an hour; come this way and I will present you to the warden."

We left the room and walked over to that official's desk.

"Mr. Warden," said the secretary, "Allow me to introduce Professor Pythagoras Pod, the ill.u.s.trious donkey-traveler, who is eating his way across the continent."

"Show the gentleman to the dining-room, and give him a plate of soup," said the warden hospitably; then, squeezing my fingers, he waived me to the chief keeper of the prison. The warden noted my hesitancy in leaving, and asked if there was anything in particular he could do for me.

"Will you allow me to sit in the electric chair?" I asked.

"Ye-e-es," he replied politely, but apparently startled, "although I consider you are already having capital punishment for your asinine undertaking;" and turning to the keeper, he said, "Give him fifty thousand volts; nothing less will phase a man of his nerve." I thanked him.

With faltering step I entered the solemncholy chamber. A colored prisoner was to follow me a day later. Little he knew that he would sit in the same chair Pod sat in the previous day. The keeper said everything was in readiness for turning on the current that has the power to drift a soul from this world to another in the twinkling of an eye. The battery had been thoroughly tested,--and detested, too. In less than thirty seconds from the time an ordinary prisoner enters a door of this world he enters the door of another; but, Pod, being a man of extraordinary nerve, walked out the door he entered. When I climbed into that terrible chair, I held my breath. The keeper said it required only a certain number of volts to kill a man; that fifty thousand, such as the warden had suggested for my pleasure, would not so much as singe a hair of my head. If I survived the first shock, I would have something to boast; as it would be abusing a confidence to describe the sensations of electrocution, I must not do so.

On returning to the office the warden congratulated me, and said I had earned my freedom. He even presented me a plaster of Paris ornament,--made by a prisoner who had never seen Paris,--and a package of prison-made tobacco, which I might chew, or eschew, as I liked. While I appreciated these gifts, how much more I should have valued a battery of electrical currents to administer to my donkey.

Crowds a.s.sembled to view our exit from town at two o'clock. We reached Croton, some six miles beyond, about dusk. As we approached the bridge crossing of the Croton River, I saw a duck and thought I would test my marksmans.h.i.+p with a revolver. My drowsy steed had nearly reached the center of the bridge when I banged at the innocent h.e.l.l-diver. A compound disaster followed the shot as the frightened jacka.s.s s.h.i.+ed to the left and dashed through the iron frame-work, tail over ears into the river, sc.r.a.ping me out of the saddle, but dropping me, fortunately, on the bridge. I managed, however, to get the duck; the donk got the ducking. It was a marvel that he didn't drown; from the way he brayed, I judged he was of the same opinion.

Long after dark we arrived in Peekskill. Throughout the day the weather was threatening, and I tramped the last three miles in the rain. I had donned my mackintosh and slung my overcoat across the saddle, and was pacing ahead of Mac, with reins in hand, coaxing the stubborn beast on, when suddenly he jumped. I turned just in time to discover in the darkness two men, one of whom was suspiciously near to the donkey. I told them civilly to walk ahead, as they excited my animal.

"That's none of our business," one of them remarked; "we'll walk where we d--d please."

"Not this time," I said, as I got the drop on them with my new shooting-iron; and I marched the ruffians into town. The sneaks probably wanted my overcoat. Before we were fairly in town I dismissed them, and advised them thereafter to cultivate civility toward travelers.

It was Friday night. I called upon the Mayor, and engaged the Town Hall for a lecture, resolved to try my luck again in that line.

Alas! my second reverse! This time it was a too impromptu affair.

Sunday I rested, but Monday, when everything augured bright for the week, I was shocked to find Macaroni ill. At once I summoned a doctor, a dentist, and a veterinary surgeon for a consultation, and breathlessly awaited the verdict.

"Your jacka.s.s has a complication of diseases," said the vet; "among them influenza, bots, and hives."

"He has the measles," p.r.o.nounced the doctor.

"He is teething," insisted the dentist.

This was too much; with a troubled brow and an empty stomach I went to breakfast, and left the doctors to fight it out.

CHAPTER III.

Little drops of water, Little grains of dirt, Make the roads so muddy Donk won't take a spurt.

--_Dogeared Doggerels--Pod._

Never before had I encountered such a disagreeable road. While I tramped over the highlands from Peekskill to Fishkill Landing, Macaroni barely crawled. He kept me constantly in the fear that he would lie down and roll, and finally he did so, selecting a mud puddle. I was told donkeys fairly dote on dust, and that a roll will invigorate them more than will a measure of grain. But mine was different to other donkeys.

Before leaving Peekskill, Dr. Shook said Mac showed symptoms of mud fever, although the tendency lay strongly toward phlebitus, farcy, and poll-evil. He even warned me that I might expect epizootic to set in any day.

To urge Mac on to Newburgh in one day necessitated my start, at day-break. We reached the Fishkill ferry at half-past eight, covering the twenty-mile journey in fifteen hours. The highland road was rough where the mud had dried. Steep and rocky summits stood out, bold and barren, save where occasional bunches of young cedars huddled among the denuded trees.

Finally I saw a small structure, through whose open windows could be heard a chorus of youthful voices intoning.

"The--dog--caught--the--pig--by--the--yer." It was a school house. I remembered that song of my boyhood; I thought it would be interesting to drop in, and forthwith rapped on the door. Meanwhile, Mac stuck his head in the window, causing a deafening chime of cries within. A painful silence followed. I waited patiently for admittance; then I opened the door. The room was deserted, the exit at the opposite end wide open, I crossed the floor and looked out to discover the teacher and two dozen young ones scurrying up the mountain through the scant woods. I called to them, but they ran the faster. Wonder what they thought they saw?

With every mile's advance we penetrated more deeply the mountain wilderness. Before long Macaroni began to slow up. Again I had recourse to the scheme of suspending an apple over his head. The beast increased his speed at once, making a lunge at the un.o.btainable, and chasing it with rapid stride. He evidently had never read the story about the boy who pursued a rainbow, and unlike that boy, was stupid enough to be fooled twice. A few miles beyond I answered some inquiries of a woman out driving, and sold her a photo. I had no sooner stopped with the article in hand than I was startled with the sound of gagging behind, and turning, I beheld the donkey wrenching in the throes of strangulation. Having lowered the apple to the ground, he had swallowed it, together with the string and half the bough. I withdrew the "intrusions"

with difficulty, and returned to the woman who had fainted. I had no restoratives; but I had once resuscitated a Jew with a novel expedient, and determined to try the same plan in this case.

"These pictures are fifteen cents each, although I sometimes get twenty-five for one," I said somewhat forcibly; "don't trouble yourself, madam, trust me with your pocket-book, I will--." At once the woman awoke, and counting out the lesser amount mentioned, pulled on the reins and drove away. Let me grasp the hand of that man who can beat a woman at a bargain!

When pa.s.sing through Cold Spring, I was startled by the booming of cannon at West Point, just across the river. I had not expected such honors. So overawed was I by the salute that I forgot to count the guns, but presume there were twenty-one. Far above and behind the group of academic buildings still frowned old Fort Putnam, deploring its shameful neglect, and casting envious glances at the modern Observatory below and the newer buildings lower down. Every mile of the beautiful Hudson recalled to mind happy memories of my own school days, which made my present ordeal doubly distressing.

When night lowered her sombre shades, my thoughts took flight to more distant scenes. My heart and brain grew weary, and I forgot for a time that my bones were lame and my feet sore from walking, walking, walking on an endless journey, with no perceptible evidence of approaching nearer to the goal. At length, the Albany night boat steamed past us, its myriad lights dancing on the ruffled waters, or revealing a jolly group of pa.s.sengers on deck.

The air was painfully quiet; and when the song, "Oh, Where is My Wandering Boy To-night," floated over to me in answer to Macaroni's bray, I found consolation in the thought that perhaps some of the tourists recognized my outfit in the dark, and pitied me.

I had by this time discovered mountain climbing to be a donkey's leading card. He may loiter on the flat, but he will make you hump when it comes to steep ascents. The night was mild for that season of the year, and becoming considerably heated, I doffed my overcoat and spread it over the saddle on my mackintosh. When we were descending the hill on the other side, I dismounted and led Mac with the bridle reins, but kept a good watch on the coats.

After a while, however, I became so absorbed in thought that I neglected my duty, and, finally, when I did turn to inspect them they were missing. It gave me the worst fright I had experienced since leaving New York.

Staking Mac to a gooseberry bush, I immediately retraced my steps a mile or more through an Egyptian darkness before I found the garments lying securely in the mud. On my return to the bush I was alarmed not to find the donkey. That "phenomenon" had eaten that p.r.i.c.kly shrub to the roots and fled either down the road to Fishkill or through the woods. I started out for town on a run.

Imagine my astonishment to find Mac patiently standing in front of the ferry. The boat had landed her pa.s.sengers; and had the donkey not taken the precaution to antic.i.p.ate me, we should have had to remain on that side of the river for the night. As it was, the ferry waited for Mac's rider--thanks to the considerate pilot.

Newburgh! I recognized her by her streets at an angle of 45 degrees. Mac took to the place hugely. I stopped at a small combination hotel and restaurant, where roast turkey and pumpkin pie decorated the windows, and made arrangements for the night.

When about to leave, I was visited by a delegation from the local militia who, for a fair consideration, induced us both to remain over and referee a game of basket ball that evening at the armory.

Mac did not accept very gracefully, and had to be coerced. What I knew about the game wouldn't tax a baby's mind, but that didn't matter. It proved to be an event for the regiment, for Pod, and for Macaroni.

Next day I found my donkey's maladies increasing. They had already tripled in number since leaving Peekskill; and, to think, I had arrived at Newburg just two days too late to secure a sound animal.

I pushed on to Poughkeepsie.