Part 10 (1/2)
The stranger left me, and I saw no more of him, until I spied him in the concert-room, with a small family of ten or twelve. Presently, another man and a dog arrived. Says he to the doorkeeper, ”What's a-goin on here?”
”It's a concert--admission, half-a-dollar.”
”I'm not a-goin' to give half-a-dollar to go in here. I hire a pew in this here church by the year, and I've a right to go in whenever the door's open.” So in he went with his dog.
The evening turned out very wet, and these people happened to form all my audience; and as I did not feel at all inclined to sing for their especial benefit, I returned to my lodgings. I learned from my doorkeeper the next morning, that my friends waited for an hour and a half for my reappearance, which could not reasonably have been expected under existing circ.u.mstances.
I thought I had got rid of the musical shoemaker for ever, but no such good luck. Before I was out of my bed, he paid me a visit.
”You will excuse my calling so early,” says he, ”but I was anxious to see you before you left the town.”
Wis.h.i.+ng him at the bottom of the Mississippi, I put on my dressing gown, and slipped from my bed, whilst he continued his introductory address.
”I was very sorry that you had not a better attendance last night; and I s'pose that accounted for your leaving us as you did. We were all kinder disappointed. You'd have had a better house, only the people thought there was a _leetle_ humbug about this,” and he handed me one of my programmes.
It is well known to most of my readers, that in writing these bills the name of the composer generally follows the song, particularly in any very popular compositions, such as
Grand Introduction to Pianoforte .............. HENRY HERTZ.
Life on the Ocean Wave ........................ HENRY RUSSELL.
Old English Gentleman ......................... Melody by MART. LUTHER.
”Humbug!” said I, attempting to take the bill, in order to see that no mistake had originated in the printing, but my tormentor held it fast.
”Look,” said he; ”Now where is Henry Hertz; and Henry Russell, where is he? And the Old English Gentleman, Martin Luther, what has become of him? The folks said that he was dead, but I didn't believe that, for I didn't think that you would have had the face to put his name in your bill if he was.”
Thus ended my acquaintance with the enlightened shoemaker of the Mississippi. I was travelling in one of the western ca.n.a.l boats the same summer, and was sauntering to and fro upon the deck, admiring the beauty of the country through which we were pa.s.sing, when I observed a very tall, thin-laced, sharp looking man, regarding me with very fixed attention. Not knowing who or what he was, I was at last a little annoyed by the pertinacity of this steady stare. It was evident that he meditated an attack upon me in some shape or other. Suddenly he came up to me, and extending his hand, exclaimed,--
”Why, Mister H---, is this you? I have not seen you since you gave your _consort_ at N---; it seems a tarnation long while ago. I thought, perhaps, you had got blowed up in one of those exploded steam-boats.
But here you are as large as life--and that's not over large neither, (glancing at the slight dimensions of my figure,) and as ready to raise the wind as ever. I am highly gratified to meet with you, as I have one of the greatest songs you ever he'rd to show you. If you can but set it to music, and sing it in New York city, it will immortalize you, and immortalize me tew.”
Amused at the earnestness with which the fellow spoke, I inquired the subject of his song.
”Oh, 'tis des-crip-tive; 'tis tre-men-dous. It will make a sensation all over the Union.”
”But what is it about?--Have you got it with you?”
”No--no, mister; I never puts these things down on paper, lest other folk should find them and steal them. But I'll give you some _idee_ of what it is. Look you, mister. I was going from Syracuse to Rochester, on the ca.n.a.l-boat. We met on our way a tre-men-dous storm. The wind blew, and the rain came down like old sixty, and everything looked as black as my hat; and the pa.s.sengers got scared and wanted to get off, but the captain sung out, 'Whew--let 'em go, Jem!' and away we went at the rate of tew miles an hour, and they could not stop. By and by we struck a rock, and down we went.”
”Indeed!” said I, ”that's very unusual in a ca.n.a.l-boat; were any lives lost?”
”No, but we were all dreadfully sceared and covered with mud. I sat down by the _en-gine_ till I got dry, and then I wrote my pome. I will repeat what I can to you, and what I can't I will write right off when I gets hum.--Hold on--hold on--” he continued, beating his forehead with the back of his hand, as if to awaken the powers of memory--”I have it now--I have it now,--'tis tre-men-dous--”
”Oh Lord, who know'st the wants of men, Guide my hand, and guide my pen, And help me bring the truth to light, Of that dread scene and awful night, Ri, tu, ri, tu, ri, tu.
There was Mister Cadoga in years a-bud, Was found next morning in tew feet mud; He strove--he strove--but all in vain, The more he got up, he fell down again.
Ri, tu, ri, tu, ri, tu.”
The poet paused for a moment to gain breath, evidently overcome by the recollection of the awful scene. ”Is not that bee-u-tiful?” he exclaimed. ”What a fine effect you could give to that on the pee-a-ne, humouring the keys to imitate his squabbling about in the mud. Let me tell you, mister, it would beat Russell's 's.h.i.+p on Fire' all hollow.”
Wiping the perspiration from his face, he recommenced--
”The pa.s.sengers rushed unto the spot, Together with the crew; We got him safe out of the mud, But he had lost his shoe.