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2. THE NOTORIOUS JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS[1]
COUNTY.
In compliance with the request of a
friend of mine, who wrote me from the
East, I called on good-natured, garrulous
old Simon Wheeler, and inquired after my
friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as
requested to do, and I hereunto append
the result. I have a lurking suspicion that
Leonidas W. Smiley is a myth; that my
friend never knew such a personage; and
that he only conjectured that if I asked
old Wheeler about him it would remind
him of his infamous Jim Smiley, and he
would go to work and bore me to death
with some exasperating reminiscence of
him as long and tedious as it should be
useless to me. If that was the design, it
succeeded.
I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably
by the bar-room stove of the dilapidated
tavern in the decayed mining camp
of Angel's, and I noticed that he was fat
and bald-headed, and had an expression of
winning gentleness and simplicity upon his
tranquil countenance. He roused up, and
gave me good-day. I told him a friend of
mine had commissioned me to make some
inquiries about a cherished companion of
his boyhood named Leonidas W. Smiley—
Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, a young minister
of the Gospel, who he had heard was at
one time a resident of Angel's Camp. I
added that if Mr. Wheeler could tell me
anything about this Rev. Leonidas W.
Smiley, I would feel under many obligations
to him.
Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner
and blockaded me there with his chair, and
then sat down and reeled off the monotonous
narrative which follows this paragraph.
He never smiled, he never frowned, he
key to which he tuned his initial
sentence, he never betrayed the slightest
suspicion of enthusiasm; but all through
the interminable narrative there ran a vein
of impressive earnestness and sincerity,
which showed me plainly that, so far from
his imagining that there was anything
ridiculous or funny about his story, he
regarded it as a really important matter,
and admired its two heroes as men of
transcendent genius in finesse. I let him
go on in his own way, and never interrupted
him once.
There was a feller here once by the name
of Jim Smiley, in the winter of '49—or may
be it was the spring of '50—I don't recollect
exactly, somehow, though what makes me
think it was one or the other is because I
remember the big flume warn't finished
when he first come to the camp; but any
way, he was the curiosest man about always
betting on anything that turned up
you ever see, if he could get anybody to
bet on the other side; and if he couldn't
he'd change sides. Any way that suited
the other man would suit him—any way
just so's he got a bet, he was satisfied.
But still he was lucky, uncommon lucky;
he most always come out winner. He was
always ready and laying for a chance;
there couldn't be no solit'ry thing mentioned
but that feller'd offer to bet on it,
and take ary side you please, as I was just
telling you. If there was a horse-race,
you'd find him flush or you'd find him
busted at the end of it; if there was a
dog-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a
cat-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a
chicken-fight, he'd bet on it; why, if there
was two birds setting on a fence, he would
bet you which one would fly first; or if
there was a camp-meeting, he would be
there reg'lar to bet on Parson Walker,
which he judged to be the best exhorter
about here, and so he was too, and a good
man. If he even see a straddle-bug start
to go anywheres, he would bet you how
long it would take him to get to—to wherever
he was going to, and if you took him
up, he would follow that straddle-bug to
Mexico but what he would find out where
he was bound for and how long he was on
the road. Lots of the boys here has seen
that Smiley, and can tell you about him.
Why, it never made no difference to him
— he'd bet on any thing — the dangdest
feller. Parson Walker's wife laid very
sick once, for a good while, and it seemed
as if they warn't going to save her; but
one morning he come in, and Smiley up
and asked him how she was, and he said
she was considerable better — thank the
Lord for his inf'nit mercy — and coming
on so smart that with the blessing of
Prov'dence she'd get well yet; and Smiley,
before he thought, says, “Well, I'll
resk two-and-a-half she don't, anyway.”
Thish-yer Smiley had a mare — the
boys called her the fifteen-minute nag,
but that was only in fun, you know,
because of course she was faster than
that — and he used to win money on
that horse, for all she was so slow and
always had the asthma, or the distemper,
or the consumption, or something of that
kind. They used to give her two or three
hundred yards' start, and then pass her
under way; but always at the fag-end of
the race she'd get excited and desperate-like,
and come cavorting and straddling
up, and scattering her legs around limber,
sometimes in the air, and sometimes out
to one side amongst the fences, and kicking
up m-o-r-e dust and raising m-o-r-e
racket with her coughing and sneezing
and blowing her nose — and always fetch
up at the stand just about a neck ahead, as
near as you could cipher it down.
And he had a little small bull-pup, that
to look at him you'd think he warn't worth
a cent but to set around and look ornery
and lay for a chance to steal something.
But as soon as money was up on him, he
was a different dog; his under-jaw'd begin
to stick out like the fo'castle of a steamboat,
and his teeth would uncover and
shine wicked, you hear me. And a dog
might tackle him, and bullyrag him, and
bite him, and throw him over his shoulder
two or three times, and Andrew Jackson —
which was the name of the pup — Andrew
Jackson would never let on but what he
was satisfied, and hadn't expected nothing
else — and the bets being doubled and
doubled on the other side all the time,
of a sudden he would grab that other dog
jest by the j'int of his hind leg and freeze
to it — not chaw, you understand, but only
jest grip and hang on till they throwed up
the sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always
come out winner on that pup, till he harnessed
a dog once that didn't have no hind
legs, because they'd been sawed off in a
circular saw, and when the thing had gone
along far enough, and the money was all
up, and he come to make a snatch for his
pet holt, he see in a minute how he'd been
imposed on, and how the other dog had him
in the door, so to speak, and he 'peared surprised,
and then he looked sorter discouraged-like,
and didn't try no more to win the
fight, and so he got shucked out bad. He
give Smiley a look, as much as to say his
heart was broke, and it was his fault, for
putting up a dog that hadn't no hind legs
for him to take holt of, which was his main
dependence in a fight, and then he limped
off a piece and laid down and died. It was
a good pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and
would have made a name for hisself if he'd
lived, for the stuff was in him and he had
genius — I know it, because he hadn't had
no opportunities to speak of, and it don't
stand to reason that a dog could make
such a fight as he could under them circumstances
if he hadn't no talent. It
always makes me feel sorry when I think
of that last fight of his'n, and the way it
turned out.
Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers,
and chicken cocks, and tom-cats, and all
them kind of things, till you couldn't rest,
and you couldn't fetch nothing for him to
bet on but he'd match you. He ketched a
frog one day, and took him home, and said
he cal'lated to educate him; and so he
never done nothing for three months but
set in his back yard and learn that frog to
jump. And you bet you he did learn him,
too. He'd give him a little punch behind,
and the next minute you see that frog whirling
in the air like a doughnut — see him
turn one summerset, or may be a couple, if
he got a good start, and come down flatfooted
and all right, like a cat. He got
him up so in the matter of ketching flies,
and kep' him in practice so constant, that
he'd nail a fly every time as fur as he could
see him. Smiley said all a frog wanted was
education, and he could do 'most anything
— and I believe him. Why, I've seen him
set Dan'l Webster down here on this floor
— Dan'l Webster was the name of the frog
— and sing out, “Flies, Dan'l, flies!”
and quicker'n you could wink he'd spring
straight up and snake a fly off'n the counter
there, and flop down on the floor agin
as solid as a gob of mud, and fall to
scratching the side of his head with his
hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn't no
idea he'd been doin' any more'n any
frog might do. You never see a frog so
modest and straightfor'ard as he was, for
all he was so gifted. And when it come to
fair and square jumping on a dead level,
he could get over more ground at one
straddle than any animal of his breed you
ever see. Jumping on a dead level was
his strong suit, you understand; and when
it come to that, Smiley would ante up
money on him as long as he had a red.
Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog,
and well he might be, for fellers that had
traveled and been everywheres, all said he
laid over any frog that ever they see.
Well, Smiley kep' the beast in a little
lattice box, and he used to fetch him down
town sometimes and lay for a bet. One day
a feller — a stranger in the camp, he was —
come acrost him with his box, and says:
“What might it be that you've got in
the box?”
And Smiley says, sorter indifferent-like,
“It might be a parrot, or it might be a
canary, maybe, but it ain't — its only just
a frog.”
And the feller took it, and looked at it
careful, and turned it round this way and
that, and says, “H'm — so 'tis. Well,
what's he good for?”
“Well,” Smiley says, easy and careless,
“he's good enough for one thing, I should
judge — he can outjump any frog in Calaveras
county.'
The feller took the box again, and took
another long, particular look, and give it
back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate,
“Well,” he says, “I don't see no p'ints
about that frog that's any better'n any
other frog.”
“Maybe you don't,” Smiley says. “Maybe
you understand frogs, and maybe you
don't understand 'em; maybe you've had
experience, and maybe you ain't only a
amature, as it were. Anyways, I've got
my opinion, and I'll resk forty dollars
that he can outjump any frog in Calaveras
county.”
And the feller studied a minute, and
then says, kinder sad like, “Well, I'm
only a stranger here, and I ain't got no
frog; but if I had a frog, I'd bet you.”
And then Smiley says, “That's all right
—that's all right—if you'll hold my box
a minute, I'll go and get you a frog.” And
so the feller took the box, and put up his
forty dollars along with Smiley's, and set
down to wait.
So he set there a good while thinking
and thinking to hisself, and then he got
the frog out and prised his mouth open
and took a teaspoon and filled him full of
quail shot—filled him pretty near up to
his chin—and set him on the floor. Smiley
he went to the swamp and slopped
around in the mud for a long time, and
finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him
in, and give him to this feller, and says:
“Now, if you're ready, set him alongside
of Dan'l, with his fore-paws just even with
Dan'l's, and I'll give the word.” Then he
says, “One—two—three—git!” and him
and the feller touched up the frogs from
behind, and the new frog hopped off lively,
but Dan'l give a heave, and hysted up his
shoulders—so—like a Frenchman, but it
warn't no use—he couldn't budge; he
was planted as solid as a church, and he
couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored
out. Smiley was a good deal surprised,
and he was disgusted too, but he
didn't have no idea what the matter was,
of course.
The feller took the money and started
away; and when he was going out at the
door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his
shoulder—so—at Dan'l, and says again,
very deliberate, “Well,” he says, “I don't
see no p'ints about that frog that's any
better'n any other frog.”
Smiley he stood scratching his head and
looking down at Dan'l a long time, and at
last he says, “I do wonder what in the
nation that frog throw'd off for—I wonder
if there ain't something the matter with
him—he 'pears to look mighty baggy,
somehow.” And he ketched Dan'l by
the nap of the neck, and hefted him, and
says, “Why, blame my cats if he don't
weigh five pound!” and turned him upside
down, and he belched out a double handful
of shot. And then he see how it was, and
he was the maddest man—he set the frog
down and took out after that feller, but he
never ketched him. And—”
[Here Simon Wheeler heard his name
called from the front yard, and got up to
see what was wanted.] And turning to me
as he moved away, he said: “Just set
where you are, stranger, and rest easy—I
ain't going to be gone a second.”
But, by your leave, I did not think that
a continuation of the history of the enterprising
vagabond Jim Smiley would be
likely to afford me much information concerning
the Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and
so I started away.
At the door I met the sociable Wheeler
returning, and he button-holed me and recommenced:
“Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yaller
one-eyed cow that didn't have no tail, only
jest a short stump like a bannanner, and
—”
However, lacking both time and inclination,
I did not wait to hear about the
afflicted cow, but took my leave.
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