University of Virginia Library

56. CHAPTER LVI.

By a recent charter of our college, it was appointed that
the Faculty should oversee the Students; the Trustees,
oversee the Faculty; the Board of Visitors, the Trustees;
and the Legislature the Visitors;—the people in general
engaging to oversee the Legislature, and the people of
Woodville, the entire whole! The cause of education was,
then, well overseen! And yet our circle was as vicious as
that of the Church Militant and Insultant; which keeps its
antagonist foundations in perpetual somerset—top and bottom
being always at bottom and top—and yet so circumferential
as to be alike destitute of top or bottom, or bottom
or top—and bound by its infallibility to roll on for ever in its
absurdities!

And now was to be found the rara avis—the white crow
—a good President. Distant and learned gentlemen had
answered our first inquiries, by an earnest recommendation
of Mr. Clarence; but so widely did that personage differ in
opinion, that he suppressed a letter written to himself urging
him by all means to be a candidate. He plead his
youth; and his wish to remain in a subordinate post to
perfect himself in his favourite studies,—languages, history,

and mathematics. He insisted, also that good professors
were as important as a good president; and with a little allowable
vanity, he added, if he should make so good a president,
as his friends' partiality led them to suppose, it
would be quite a loss to deprive the college of so good a
professor! He, therefore, did,—(unwisely as Mr. Carlton
thinks)—decline a nomination, and earnestly entreat the
Board to look out for “an older man!”

Professor Harwood then suggested the Reverend Constant
Bloduplex, D. D., of Wheelabout; and a committee
was appointed to open a correspondence with that gentleman.
But as his reply was not received till after my return
from collecting certain debts, &c., we shall for the present,
take our reader on an excursion.

Fortunately, for the last forty-eight hours were collecting
reverend gentlemen at Woodville to form a travelling
party towards the south to a famous council, of which
Clarence was also a member; and I was furnished with
the most agreeable associates. Regalists may sneer at
dissenting and republican clergy; but I repeat, what can
never be repeated too often, that such clergy, when evangelical
and intelligent, aside from a spice of sectarianism—
(and a man without a spice is no man, but a sneaking time-server)—are
the most benevolent, instructive, entertaining,
cheerful, and liberal of men. They condense and concentrate
most qualities, too, essential to good fellowship. Ay!
they are usually men of the greatest courage. And when
and where duty calls, whether into jeopardy of property,
or character, or ease, or limb, or life itself, no men more
fearlessly or resolutely encounter it. A good man fears
God—and that absorbs or counteracts all other fears.

Exceptions occur; yet of intelligent and learned folks
the true clergy can and do, most easily and naturally, accommodate
themselves to opposite lives; and, not to acquire
fame or money or power, or do penance—but to do
good. Influence is, indeed, thus acquired, yet not more

than is right and desirable. Far from my beloved land be
that hour, when her own republican ministers shall have no
literary, moral and spiritual influence! God shield her
from the Egyptian darkness threatening from yonder
ominous cloud rising above the distant horizon—shaped not
like a man's hand, and pregnant with refreshing rains, but
like a man's toe portending contempt, spurning, overthrow
and subjugation. But I smell faggots!—and I court not
martyrdom—and none can tell what Hugheous attempts may
next be made nor when! Sneer on! antipuritan! if you
fear not for us, it is high time, as Cato told Cæsar in the
Roman Senate, we should fear for ourselves! Bow your
own base neck—we will never bow ours!

Our party was increased at every ferry and cross path
till it numbered twenty-two; enough to hold meeting on
horseback. The time was mid Spring; and the old woods
were glorying in the sylvan splendours of new dresses and
decorations. The sun was, indeed, ardent, and rejoicing
like one to run a race; but then the dense foliage spread a
screen over the pathway, while the balmy breath of
zephyrs, rich with perfume of wild flower and blossom,
fanned our faces and sported with the forest leaf and spray.
Beauteous birds and tribes of unseen animals and insects
from every branch, and every bushy lair or cavern, were
pouring forth choral symphonies of praise.

Was it wonderful, then, that Christians going to a spiritual
congress, should be unable to restrain hymns of praise?
Out upon rationalism, or any pseudo-ism that makes men
dumb like—like—“beasts?” No; “insects?” No;—
these in the woods God planted and nurtured for ages are
vocal. “Like what then?” Like a German or a French
Atheist.

Hymns then, as we rode, were sung; and, with heart
and voice, in the solemn and joyous words of king David.
God was felt to be there! His grand temple was around

us! How like sons and daughters going home rejoicing!
How like the Church in the wilderness! We have before
said, what in religion begins in poetry often ends in prose;
—and so would be the result now, if fanaticism should get
up a system of protracted and locomotive meetings on horse-back!
The poetry belongs only to the accidental occurrence.

Arrived in due time at the place of the council, I was induced
to remain a day and witness its proceedings. The
weather being favourable, and no cabin being large enough
to accommodate the hundreds of spectators, many of whom
had come more than a hundred miles, it was arranged to
hold the sessions in the woods. Among the accommodations
was a large wagon body placed on suitable timbers, to serve
for a pulpit; and here, during the religious exercises, were
seated all the clerical members—making with their aggregate
weight a half a ton of theologians, if not of divinity. Here,
also, during the secular business, was seated the President,
—and supported by his scribes on the right and left.

But I was soon hurried from this Nice council, by the
stress of worldly business; and that accomplished, it was
necessary for me to return alone to Woodville, and by a
route then very rarely taken by any person, and never before
nor since by myself.

On my first day, I was fortunately overtaken by a large
company, unlike my religious friends, and yet by no means
unacceptable comrades in the vast wilderness I had just
entered. It was a Surveyor and his assistants, going to
run some line, or lay out some road. In genuine Western
style they welcomed me not only to ride with them, but to
participate their dough-biscuits and jerked venison. We
beguiled the way, of course, with anecdote and story of
adventures and mishaps till tired of telling and hearing;
and then, recreation came on wings, in the shape of horse-flies!

The tame or civilized horse-fly of the Atlantic States, is

well enough as to size; and, when half starved, can bite
reasonably well;—but the ill-bred, barbarian horse-fly, or
rather flies, for the sorts are countless,—can't they bite!
Like all hoosiery and woolverine things, they are regardless
of dignities; and hence suck blood from the rider as
well as the horse! They even make no distinction between
merchants[1] and men! or between the “brethren” and
“the misters!!” Very probably they would suck blood
from the President of the United States!—the greatest of
all earthly potentates—(in breeches, of course!) Ay!
from Uncle Sam, and Brother Jonathan:—although their
blood so much excels that of the Russian Bear, or John
Bull! Nothing like the Great-Grand-North-American-Re-publican
Horse-Fly![2] —ten of them can kill a dandy!

Now, a man can endure a single fly: but a cloud
pitching at once on him and his horse, requires some patience
and no small activity and diligence. The best antidote
is a duck's bill. This, however, is inconvenient to
administer, as it requires a cessation of motion and a recumbent
posture. Indeed, to be fully benefitted, one must lie
down, as we saw a cow to-day at a squatter's cabin, and
permit, as she did, six active ducks and one drake, to
traverse the whole body, and gobble up and down the flies
at the instant of alighting, and make repeated successful
snaps at them on the wing!

The best defensive armour would doubtless be to have
one's whole skin tanned—(leatherwise):—and next, are
boots and leggins, as far as they go: but summer coat and
inexpressibles are as good as—nothing. Some advantage
is found by inserting tops of broken bushes into every crevice
of the horse-trappings; into the hat-band and button

holes; and at the tops of boots and leggins: yet, with all
these, will be lots of work both for the man's hands and
the horse's tail.

I do wish Mrs. Trollope had been with us to-day. If
she had seen nothing to amuse and interest her, I am certain
we should—although we had enough as it was. To a
student of nature, how interesting our appearance—all bestuck
with bushes—a grove on horse-back! whence issued
human hands slapping hard, as a Catholic self-inflicting
penance! Then the madness of a bushman missing a fly!
and his triumph and malicious joy in mashing one! The
horses, now stopping with one side to stamp and bite!
now springing away, to rub off the torment in the bushes!
and then their tails!—it did seem they would, sooner or
later, switch and swing loose, and fall off!

The grand exhibition, however, was by a poor brute of
a horse, with a short tail and a tipsy rider. As to the tail,
that had been partly amputated by some barbarian—(there
being a fashion in horse-tails as in whiskers)—and, added
to that inhumanity, was the inconsiderate behaviour of a
silly colt, into whose mouth the tail-stump had fallen—the
hair being all eaten away by the said colt, till the denuded
thing stuck out six inches only, like a wooden article of
the same name, glued to a toy-horse, to show which end
is not the head. Think!—to be with such a make-believe
tail, in a flock of horse-flies! And the drunken rider had
arranged no grove of bush-tops!!

Had the flies infested the human beast! but these sagacious
flocks knew what was for their health, and, therefore,
stuck to the horse; thus causing the animal to endure a
thousand fold for the sin of his master. In vain, then, did he
wag that stump of a naked tail! in vain halt to stamp, bite,
and kick! in vain vibrate his hide and the tip of the ears, till
he seemed all over like a church full of moving fans!—
there stuck the flies! At every halt, the rider kicked and

basted; but never moved the horse away till convinced
halting, and biting, and kicking could not dislodge his foes,
and then he moved to be sure—but not ahead. He did it
sideways, till he reached some tree or bush, along which
he rubbed, crushing and sweeping off the flies; and often,
very much to our inward delight, barking the skin from his
vile master's legs!

At last, the flies, understanding the brevity of the tail,
and the defenceless state of the nag, attacked his quarters,
head and rear, covering, but not protecting, his entire
flanks! What could he do? He reiterated his stamp—
bite—vibration; he sidled against trees, rubbing and kicking;
and then, under the combined attacks of whip, heels
and flies, seizing the bit between his teeth, he, on a sudden,
darted away as if borne on wings himself! Pencil of
Hogarth! paint that sight! Set forth the trembling spicebushes
divided, broken, crushed, by a tornado borne on
horse-heels! Draw that nag emerging, ever and anon,
from thickets of thorn and briar!—a human leg, despoiled
of leggin, rising horizontal, this side now, now that, and instinctively,
like the scales of justice, keeping the equilibrium
of a body recumbent, with head nodding and jerking,
amid the dishevelled and raggy mane of a horse-neck!—
hands therein clenched! Depict the flocks of surviving
flies hanging over in the air, and waiting for the race to
end! And, oh! last, yet not least, though so very little,
do that tail!

It had played its part before; now it was worked with
more than one-horse power! It spun round as on a patent
gudgeon! It multiplied itself—now, a dozen tails—now,
no tail at all!—nothing appearing, save a white circumference,
a streak made by the bone where the article had
been amputated! Its motion was no longer to switch
away flies; it was instinctive, and to steer by: yet whether
it failed as a helm, or steered as was designed, on

our galloping up, there was the fly-bitten pony, wallowing
pig-like in a delicious stream of spring water; and the
rider wading out about ankle deep, and dripping! And so
ends about the tail.

The tender-hearted will rejoice to know, however, that
upon this poetical justice administered by the horse, the
master, now a cold-water man and sobered, kept a whole
wilderness of bushes about both; and, that he abstained,
that day at least, from his whiskey bottle—partly, I believe
though, because it was broken in the fall.

Shortly after this, I left the Surveyor's company, and,
pursuing a solitary trace, reached, late in the evening, my
lodging place; where I learned I had yet forty miles to
travel to reach Woodville.

“Stranjer,”—said my host—“it's a most powerful woody
country, and without no road, nor even blind trace worth
naming—it being, a sort a kiver'd with ole leaves; and
thar's no cabin nearer nor King's—and that's more nor 15
miles. Howse'er, I'll set you over the river afore sun-up—
and if you don't miss the trace, then you kin git to King's
for breakfust.”

Almost devoured by flies, and then frightfully flea-bitten
in bed, my dreams were naturally fantastic; and I had
visions of howling wildernesses, tangled thickets, prowling
panthers, and great swollen fiery serpents. Woodsmen,
also, I knew had been lost in that unsettled region; and
even last summer two persons had wandered about three
days. Yet, I longed to be on my journey, and to know the
worst; and, with a hope my case would be different. Beside,
I had a secret ambition to appear well as a woodsman
in Domore's and Ned's eyes; and I was aware Sylvan
would even think better of me, if I crossed such a wilderness
alone. It was something of a task with such men.

Accordingly, by early dawn, I was ferried over, the
river, and sat in my saddle, while my host, standing in

his scow and ready to pole back, thus issued his final directions:

“Ride strate up-bank whare you be—then keep spang
a-head, across the bottim, without no turn at all, and, in a
short quarter, you'll strike the d'sarted cabin. It's burnt
now—but the logs are some on 'em a-layin' in a heap—
that's whare the poor squatter was murdered and skulp'd
in the war time, by the Injins. Well—arter you git thare,
ride round to the west ind of the ole clerein, and you'll
find the trace, sich as it is, if it ain't kivered—and, if you
get once fair on it—I sort a think you'll go safe enough to
King's.”

That said, good byes were shouted; while the scow
swung from the shore, and my noble creature ascended the
bank; and we began to go a-head for the burnt cabin.
Some declination was, indeed, necessary to get round unleapable
logs, impassable thickets, and the like; yet, prior
to such deviations, having placed myself in a line with several
objects before and behind, I easily regained my
course, and, in a short time, came to the cabin ruins.
Here we paused an instant, to contemplate the scene—so
like what I had pictured in reading border tales! But,
haste and anxiety allowed only short delay, and I rode
quickly round to the west of the clearing; where, after a
narrow search along the edge of the forest I discerned the
only semblance of a trace; and, into this, dashing with
trembling confidence, I was soon hid in the shades of a true
wilderness.

However romantic such a wild may be in print, my
thoughts in the wilderness itself, were all concentrated on
one object—the path. And long what seemed the path,
dim always and sometimes obliterated, as it led far away
into the gloom of impervious shades, now turning almost
back to skirt an impassable thicket, now tumbling almost
perpendicularly into a deep ravine, and now scaling its opposite

side, then mounting a ridge, then circling a pond o
dark and dangerous looking water, and then vanishing for
a few moments as of necessity it passed through patches of
weeds and briars—long time this trace occupied all my
meditations and excited my intensest watchings and kept
me asking in a mental and often an audible voice—“I do
wonder, if this is the way?” To which, as nobody else replied,
I would answer myself—“Well, I guess it must be
—if this is not, I'm sure I don't see any other!”

And then, as though poor Kate shared my anxiety, would
I say “Come! Kate!—cheer up, you shall soon have your
breakfast—let's hurry on to King's!” When gaily tossing
her fine head, and shaking her flowing mane, she would
with her hoofs redouble the echoes; and away, away, with
thrilling hearts, we ever bounded onward and onward and
farther and farther into the solemn grandeur of those primitive
wilds!

In some two hours the trace, owing to the nature of the
ground, became better defined and less interrupted; hence,
waxing confident we indulged in a colloquy, self-congratulatory
and maybe self-laudatory, thus:

“Well, we're safe after all, Kate, I do believe!—wonder
what Ned will say?—hey?”

To this Kate switched an answer with her magnificent
tail, and evinced increased eagerness to be going ahead;
and so with a real “hurraw' my noble Kate?—hurraw!”
on my part, and an additional snort on hers, we were
streaking on at the rate now of seven miles to the hour!
And then, in about four hours from the burnt cabin, we
caught sight of King's cabin, crowning a mound on the far
side of a small stream.

Advancing to bespeak refreshments, I was met at the
door by a portly lady, who proved to be that King's wife;
and though no queen, was large enough for two queen patterns
of the Victoria-Albert size.

“Is this Mr. King's, ma'am?”

“Well, I allow so; but my ole man's from home—he's
went to a rasin two miles off—”

“You keep public, don't you, Ma'am?”

“Well, I allow so; but King's tuk the bakun with him to
the rasin—”

“Ay?—can't I get something for my nag?”

“Well, I allow so; jist go round to yan crib, and git
what cawn you like.”

This done, and Kate left to enjoy as much corn as was
wholesome, I entered the cabin and our conversation was
renewed.

“Well, but Mrs. King, ain't you got nothing at all a
hungry fellow can eat?”

“Stranjur—I'm powerful sorry—but we're teetotally out
—he tuk every bit of food with him—”

“What's that—up there?”

“Law, bless you, stranjur! that's a piece of most powerful
rusty flitch—tain't fit for a dog to eat—”

“Oh! ma'am, let's have it—why I can eat your dog
himself—I'm so hungry.”

“He! ha!—well you ain't proud like the Fakilty big-bugs
across thar at Wood'ill, that's sarten. How I do wish
King hadn't a tuk the food! But you ain't in arnest about
the yaller flitch are you?”

“To be sure!—clap on your skillet, Mrs. King!”

“Well—I do sentimentally wish it was better like. Let's
see, here's a handful of meal in the bag arter all—and I'd
a got it afore, only I allowed you was proud like. But I
see you're none of that 'are sort—'spose I do the meal?”

“Thank you, ma'am! I know you would give me the
best if Mr. King hadn't gone to the raising.”

The skillet was soon hot; and then received as many
slices as could lie in comfort on the bottom. The colour of
the dainty had been originally amber, the fat being then

semi-transparent, as it was mast fed, i. e. fed on acorns
and beech nuts. Time, however, fatal to beauty, had incrusted
the flitch with an oxide of wonderful thickness and
peculiar dirt colour, and turned its lovely amber transparency
into a decided and opaque yellow. Something of the kind
I had often seen in cot-days; when, on being importunate
for buckwheat cakes in the kitchen, Betty often threatened
my face with “the griddle-greaser!”

Mrs. King had shaken her bag into a large wooden bowl;
and the deposit was, one pint of second chop meal, minus
half a gill something else, and a few horse hairs; for, bags
in attending mill are used as saddles, and pommelled between
inexpressibles and perspiring horsebacks. Water
then was poured into the compound; and the lady after
handling the mixture without gloves, produced a handful
of good chicken-feed. Then the hissing flitch being hastily
turned into a pewter plate with a damaged circumference,
the feed was splashed in, like mortar into chinking,
to be converted into corn bread. This transmigration over,
the bread was associated with the flitch on the cloudy pewter,
Mrs. King remarking that, “her man had tuk the crokry
to the rasin;” and then, after wiping each thumb on her
woollen petticoat, she invited me with the formula, “Well
—come! set up.”

I was soon seated on my rickety stool at the board, or
rather boards, (as the table was of two such and a piece,)
and began to flourish my blade,—the knife belonging to that
irascible class that had flown off the handle,—and, also, I
began to look for its partner, the fork. But that had flown
off with the handle, for, said she—“He tuk all thar knives
and forks but this poor bit of a thing, and that was left 'cos
it had no handle!”—“but, Stranjur,” continued she, “jeest
lend me that a minit, and I'll git you a fork.”

Out, then, darted Mrs. King; and soon returned manufacturing
as she came a fork, and saying thus: “Thar,

stranjur, this 'ere I split off a rail, and cut down a sort a so
to a pint, 'ill do for a fork better nor your fingers—albeit,
I'm powerful sorry for our poor fixins.”

“Thank you, ma'am! all the same—you've a kind
heart; and that's meat and drink in this world of ours,
sometimes.”

Yet these and other speeches were continually interrupted
by the rapid ingress of lumps of flitch and balls of bread.
I regret to record, however, that while I used my fork to
pin down the fat till its reduction to mouthfuls, I was compelled
to eat, like a democrat, with my knife! I made, indeed,
some amends to a violated good-breeding, by sopping
my gravy with bread in my left hand,—like a gentleman eating
fish and other things, with a leaky silver fork. Singular!
how the extremes of refinement and hoosierism do meet!

Dialogue Continued.

“Well, I'm powerful rite down glad you kin eat sich
like food! what mought your name be—if it's no offence!”

“Carlton, ma'am, I live in Woodville—”

“Well—that's what I suspish'nd. Ned Stanley was
out here last winter a huntin, and I heerd him tell on you—
as how you was a powerful clever feller—albeit a leetle of
a big-bug. But I'll take your part arter this—and King
shill too.”

“Oh! Mrs. King if we were all better acquainted with
one another, we'd all think better of our friends and neighbours.
But I must be off—what's the damage?”

“Bless me! Mr. Carltin, I don't take nuthin for sich a
meal! Put up that puss, if you want to be friends—I'm
powerful sorry King's away—call here next time, sir, and
I allow, you'll git somethin good enough for a white man.”

“Thank you! Mrs. King, thank you. Well—please
give me directions—I'm not much of a woodsman.”

“Well, you're comin on. Howsever you've kim the

wust ind of the trace, and wont find no diffikilty till about
fifteen miles on at the next settlement, Ike Chuff's—where
you mought foller a cow path—and so you'd better stop thar
and axe.”

In due time, and after a hard ride of thirty miles from the
burnt cabin, we came in sight of Ike Chuffs clearing. As
the trace ran plain and broad round the fence and across a
small ravine, I was unwilling to waste time with needless
inquiries, and, therefore, followed the line of path with undiminished
confidence.

The trace, indeed, narrowed—it once or twice vanished
—all that was no novelty; but at last we seemed to reach
the vanishing point, for now, after the last vanish, the path
never re-appeared! In place of the one, however, were
seen four! and those running in as many different directions
and evidently, like Gay's road—to no places at all! And so,
for the neglect of inquiring, Kate and I had been judiciously
following a cow-path!

“Why not steer by the sun?”

That is easy enough, my friend, in a country where
there is a sun. I had, indeed, seen little of that “Great
Shine” all day; and for the last two hours nothing, a rain
having then commenced which lasted till our reaching
Woodville.

“What did you do then?”

Trusted to Kate to find the way back to Chuff's;—as
we had hardly gone two miles astray—and that she did in
fifteen minutes.

“What then?”

You shall hear for yourself—“Hilloo! the house!”

“Well—hilloo! what's wantin!”

“The trace to Woodville—I missed it just now.”

“Sorter allowed so, when I seed you take the cow-path
to the licks—

“Well, my friend, why didn't you hollow to me?”

“'Cos I allowed you mought a ax'd if you ain't a wood a
man—and if you be, you know'd the way to the licks as
well as me.”

“Thank you, sir; will you show me now?”

“Take the path tother ind of the fence.”

Neighbour Chuff's settlement differs, you see, in suavity
from King's. Still, the Hoosier's direction was right; and
with nothing more romantic than our feed in the morning,
we arrived pretty much used up to a late dinner in the
evening at Woodville—having done more than forty wilderness
miles in about twelve hours! For the whole, however,
I was rewarded, when Dr. Sylvan that night called
at our house and said with an approving smile:

“Pretty well done! pretty well done! After this I
think we may dubb you a backwoodsman.”