Part 12 (1/2)
Our ”music” consisted of a ba.s.s-drum, which was tortured by the clown; a fish-horn beautifully played upon by Sam Palmer; a dinner-bell whose din was extracted by Jack Adams. Having formed the procession on the side-walk, the music struck up, and we marched.
Our first halting-place was at the saloon of Peter Brigham, at the head of Hanover street. Here we filed in, and great excitement did our extraordinary appearance create. A mob soon collected before the door, attracted by our grotesque costumes as well as by the infernal noise of our ”musical” instruments, upon which we continued to perform with undiminished vigor. Peter Brigham was in agonies, and rushed about the saloon like an insane fly in a tar barrel. The frightened waiters abandoned their posts and fled. The mob outside cheered vociferously; and Harlequin began to belabor poor Pantaloon with his gilded lath to the immense amus.e.m.e.nt of the spectators.
Peter Brigham at length mounted a chair, and said--
”Gentlemen, will you hear me? (Hoa.r.s.e growl from the ba.s.s-drum.) I cannot suffer this noise and racket to go on in my house. (Blast of defiance from the fish-horn.) You know I have always tried to keep a decent and respectable place. (Peal of sarcastic laughter from the dinner bell.) I have a proposition to make.--(Hear! hear!) If you will promise to leave the house quietly, I will treat you all to as much champagne as you can drink.” (Yell of acceptance from the ba.s.s-drum, fish-horn and dinner-bell! Great excitement generally.)
The wine was produced, and the facility with which it was disposed of, caused Mr. Brigham to stare. He endured its consumption, however, with the most philosophical fort.i.tude, until we began to drink toasts, make speeches, and exhibit other indications of a design on our part to ”tarry yet awhile.” Peter then reminded us of our promise; and, as gentlemen of honor, we fulfilled the same by immediately falling into procession and marching out of the saloon. Away we went down Hanover street, followed by the admiring and hooting crowd. We entered the establishment of Theodore Johnson, and were hospitably received by the prince of good fellows, who, a.s.sisted by Chris Anderson, ”did the honors” with the utmost liberality. Sam Palmer and P. Jones, here favored the company with a broad-sword combat; after which I, as Falstaff, gave a few recitations--the performances concluded with Abbott as _Jocks_, the Brazilian ape. Our next visit was to the Pemberton House, then under the control of Uriah W. Carr, a very small man, both physically and morally. Uriah received us very churlishly, and peremptorily refused to ”come down” with the hospitality of the season.
He was particularly down on me for having once written and published some verses concerning him. The following is all that I can recollect of that interesting production:--
”Tis comical, indeed it is To see him mix a punch-- He puts two drops of liquor in, And then he eyes the _lunch_; He struts about most pompously, Then stands before the fire, Just like a little bantam-c.o.c.k, This comical Uriah!”
Inasmuch as Uriah refused to bring on the ”bush” for either love or money, we determined to help ourselves. Therefore, every man appointed himself a bar-keeper _pro tem_. Wines, liquors and cigars were disposed of with marvelous celerity, and poor little Uriah danced about and tore his hair in the agony of his spirits. Meanwhile, a large number of actors and others, boarding at the Pemberton, joined us, being ushered in by Charles Dibden Pitt, a performer of great elegance and power, then playing a brilliant star engagement--at the Museum. This gentleman is decidedly ”one of the boys,” and goes in for a ”good time.” At his suggestion, a committee was appointed to descend to the kitchen and bring up provisions. Ned Abbot and Bill Ball performed this duty in the most admirable and satisfactory manner. They departed for the lower regions, and soon returned laden both with substantials and delicacies.
Then, such a feast!--or, rather, such a banquet! Champagne flowed like water, for we had discovered a closet filled with baskets of the foaming beverage. The whole company was of course soon in a state of glorious elevation. The song and jest went round unceasingly, and peals of jovial laughter trooped away like merry elves upon the midnight air. We were in excellent humor to adopt the prayer of the following who said--
”Oh, let us linger late to-night, Nor part while wit and song are bright; And, Joshua, make the sun stand still, That we of joy may have our fill!”
There was one gentleman who refused to partic.i.p.ate in the festivities of the occasion. This was little Uriah, the landlord, who gazed upon the progress of the banquet with a troubled brow; yet he did not dare to openly remonstrate, through fear of offending Mr. Pitt, and other valuable boarders.
Unfortunately for the harmony of the festival, a party of drunken students from Cambridge dropped in, and I instantly saw that a row was inevitable. After unceremoniously helping themselves to drink, the students gazed at our strange-looking company superciliously, and one of them remarked with a sneer--
”What fools are these, dressed up in this absurd manner? Oh, they must be monkies, the property of some enterprising organ-grinder. Let them dance before me, for my soul is heavy, and I would be gay!”
Here little Billy Eaton, the writer, who was one of our party, fired up and obligingly offered to fight and whip the man with the heavy soul, for and in consideration of the trifling sum of one cent. This handsome offer was accepted; but, before the gentlemen could strip for the combat, a general collision took place between all the hostile parties.
Chairs were brandished, canes were flourished and decanters were hurled, to the great destruction of mirrors and other fragile property. The bar was overturned, and the din of battle was awful to hear. Notwithstanding the uproar and confusion that prevailed, I could not help noticing poor Uriah, who, in the dimly-lighted hall, was quietly dancing an insane polka, accompanying his movements by low howls of despair. The little man had temporarily lost his few wits, that was plain. The combat raged with undiminished fury. Our clown attacked a student with his ba.s.s-drum, one end of which burst in, imprisoning the representative of the seat of learning, who found it impossible to extricate himself from his musical predicament. Sam Palmer, with his fish-horn, did tremendous execution; while Jack Adams was equally effective with his dinner-bell which, at every blow, sounded forth a note of warning. The heroic P. Jones performed prodigies of valor, and covered himself with glory. This wonderful young man, having planted himself behind a rampart of chairs, placed himself in the position of a pugilistic frog, and boldly defied his enemies to ”come on and be punched.” At the commencement of the fight, Abbott coiled himself up under the table, and was seen no more; while Handiboe fled for safety to the cole-hole. The battle was at its height, and the bird of victory seemed about to perch upon the banner of the ”Uncles and Nephews,” when some reckless, hardened individual turned off the gas, thus producing total darkness. This made matters ten times worse than ever, for it was impossible to distinguish friends from foes.
Suddenly, in rushed a posse of watchmen, headed by the renowned Marshal Tukey, and bearing torches. Many of the combatants were arrested, and but few contrived to make their escape. I had the honor of figuring among the unlucky ones; and, with my companions pa.s.sed the night in durance vile. In the morning, when day light feebly penetrated our gloomy dungeon, what a strange-looking spectacle presented itself!
Stretched upon the floor in every imaginable picturesque att.i.tude, were about a score of men, the majority of them arrayed in the soiled and torn theatrical dresses. These unhappy individuals afforded a most melancholy sight, as many of them had black eyes, bruised noses and battered visages.
”D----d pretty fools we've made of ourselves,” said Macbeth, one of whose optics had been highly discolored.
”Yes,” groaned Oth.e.l.lo, whose black eyes were only partially concealed by the yellow color which he had smeared over his face--”and here we are in the jug, where we shall be compelled to remain all day, and lose all the fun of the Fourth of July.”
”That isn't the worst of it,” sighed Hamlet, whose royal frontispiece had received severe damage--”I am on the bills to play twice this afternoon and once this evening, and my being absent will cause me to be _forfeited_, if not discharged. D----n those college students! What the devil became of them? They all got clear, I suppose.”
”No,” said I--”they are in a separate apartment. Of course the officers would not put them in with us, for that would be encouraging a renewal of the fight.”
”My head aches horribly,” remarked Richard, Duke of Gloster--”I would give my kingdom for a drink!”
”And I,” observed Shylock--”would like a pound of flesh, providing it were beefsteak, for I am almost famished.”
”Hah! what a hog!” growled Cardinal Richelieu, one side of whose face had been ”cove in” most dreadfully--”to think of _eating_ at such a time as this!”
”Hark,” said Claude Melnott, whose handsome countenance had been knocked completely out of shape, and who looked as if he had just returned from the wars rather the worse for wear; ”hark! Don't you hear the sound of artillery, and of music? The ceremonies and festivities of the glorious day have commenced. Would to Heaven that I were with Pauline, in our palace on the lake of Como!”
”Dry up, you fool!” angrily exclaimed the aged and venerable King Lear, whose nasal organ exhibited signs of its having sustained a violent contusion--”I haven't closed an eye during the whole night, and now you keep me awake with your infernal jabbering. Shut up, I say!”