Part 2 (1/2)
We took adjoining rooms, and resignedly went down to tea.
I noticed that my cup had evidently sustained a compound comminuted fracture, and been patched up with putty (which came off in my tea)--that the bread was scant--the b.u.t.ter powerful--the tea, ”on the contrary, quite the reverse,”--however, although matters looked somewhat discouraging--”hoping against hope”--we retired to our respective rooms.
Horror of horror!! O! most horrible!!! I was besieged--had I been Sebastopol itself I could not have been attacked with more vigor, or by more determined and bloodthirsty enemies.
For two hours I maintained a sanguinary combat with an odoriferous band of determined cannibal insects--armed only with a fire-shovel, I gallantly kept up the unequal conflict--but the treacherous implement broke at the critical moment; I thought I should be compelled to yield--despair filled all my senses--my heart failed me--my brain grew dizzy with horror--hurried thoughts of enemies unpardoned--of duties neglected--and of errors committed, rushed across my mind--a last thought of cherished home and absent friends was in my heart, and with a hasty prayer for mercy and forgiveness, was at the point of yielding, when my frantic eye caught sight of my cast-iron boot-jack. With an exclamation of pious grat.i.tude to heaven, (Bull Dogge says it did not sound so to him), I seized it, and with the desperate strength of a dying man I renewed the battle, and eventually came off victorious and triumphant. Weary with slaughter, I fell exhausted on the bed, and slept till morning; Bull Dogge, who had been engaged in the same delightful occupation, appeared at the breakfast table with one eye black, and his face spotted like a he-tiger. We held a council of war, and resolved instantly to quit the premises of the Emerald Islander, who had agreed to ”lodge and eat” us (the she-Cyclops), and who had so nearly fulfilled the latter clause by proxy.
Another search and another home. Here for a week things went on tolerably well; the steak was sometimes capable of mastication, the coffee wasn't _always_ weak, nor the b.u.t.ter always strong; but one day there appeared at breakfast a dish of beef, (Bull Dogge a.s.serts that it was the fossil remains of an omnibus horse)--it was not molested; at dinner it made its appearance again, still it was not disturbed; at tea fragments of it were visible, but it yet remained untouched; in the morning a tempting looking stew made its appearance, but, alas! it was only a weak invention of the enemy to conceal the ubiquitous beef; at dinner a meat-pie enshrined a portion of the aforesaid beef; it went away unharmed.
For a week, every day, at every meal, in every subtle form, in some ingenious disguise, still was forced upon our notice this omnipresent beef; it went through more changes than Harlequin in the Pantomime, and like that nimble individual came always out uninjured.
At the end of the second day Bull Dogge grumbled to himself; the third he spoke ”out in meeting;” the fourth he growled audibly; the fifth he had an hour's swear to himself in his own room; the sixth, seventh, and eighth, he preserved a dignified silence; but his silence was ominous, on the ninth day we both left.
Our next landlady had a gigantic mouth, but her nose was a magnificent failure. We stayed with her a week, and left because she seemed to be possessed of the idea that one sausage was enough for two men. For a month longer we ran the gauntlet of all the model boarding-houses. We were entrapped by all kinds of alluring promises, and perpetually swindled without any regard to decency; we had a taste of Yankee, French, Dutch, and, I have mentioned it before, (ye G.o.ds!), _Irish_; and we lived four days in an establishment presided over by a red-eyed darkey, with a wife the color of a new saddle.
At last one day in an agony of despair I exclaimed, ”Where, O where can humbugged humanity find a decent place to feed?” Echo answered, ”In the eating-houses.” We resolved to try it, and the result is glorious. We have achieved a victory, sir, an heroic, unexpected victory.
And now farewell, all scrawny landladies, ye snuffy beldames, with your wooden smiles; farewell, ye viviparous bedsteads, ye emaciated feather beds, and ye attenuated bolsters; a long good-bye to scant blankets and mattresses stuffed with shavings; farewell to hirsute b.u.t.ter and to ancient bread; good-bye (I say it with a tear,) ye immortal, everlasting beef; farewell to sloppy coffee and to azure milk (Damphool says, not yet); farewell ye antediluvian pies, and you lilliputian puddings; farewell you two-inch napkins, and ye _holy_ table-cloths; farewell ye empty grates and rusty coal-scuttles; farewell ye cracked mirrors which make a man look like a drunken Satyr; farewell ye respectable chairs with dislocated limbs; farewell ye fractured teacups, ye broken forks, and knives with handsaw edges; farewell, in fact, all ye lodging houses, where you _can't_ have a latch-key, and where you _can_ tell when they get a new hired girl by the color of the hairs in the biscuit.
(I noticed this last remarkable fact a long time since.)
Give us joy, for we have found a place where things are done up right, where we can choose our own viands, where the beef is positively tender, where there are no little red ants in the sugar, where the potatoes are not waxy, and where, if anything goes wrong, we can inflate the waiter.
In fact, we are suited; if anything runs short, ”John gets particular _fits_” and ”nuthin' shorter;” where we can eat _when_ we please, and call for _what_ we please; where charges are moderate, and it is permitted to grumble at the waiter for nothing.
And here, in this Elysian spot, have Bull Dogge and I taken our daily bread (beans and b.u.t.ter included) for the past month, ”without fear and without reproach.”
As our poetical friend, Thomas Plus, has remarked,
”Joy, joy, forever, our task is done, Our trials are past, and our Restaurant is _some_.”
Damphool says my concluding quotation is not strictly correct, but what does he know about it?
VIII.
The Potency of Croton Water, or an aqueous quality hitherto unknown.
It has been a cherished superst.i.tion of our ancestors that water as a beverage is innocuous; I myself was laboring under this infatuated delusion when I left the shades of private life, and the sweet retiracy of the swamps of Michigan, to become a denizen of the Island City.
Believing that my previous experience in the article justified me in drinking freely of the treacherous liquid, I did not hesitate on my arrival here to imbibe on various occasions as much of the undiluted Croton as my thirsty body seemed to need.
How I was deceived in the potency of the fluid a single night's experience will show; I am confident that on this particular occasion I was bewitched by the mischievous G.o.d of the stream called the Croton, and that, if I had given him any further opportunities to exercise his craft, my name would positively have appeared in the Police Reports some morning, and Doesticks would have been therein stigmatized as ”_Drunk and Disorderly_.”
But the imputation would be slanderous,--I will lay before the public the events of a single night, and its verdict shall be a triumphant vindication of my character,--shall exculpate the Deity Bacchus (now resident in Ohio,) from the grave charge of leading me astray,--and lay the entire blame of the transaction upon the rascal River G.o.d.
Only once in my life have I been drunk. It was a youthful inebriation, caused by partaking too freely of cider made from apples with worms in them. At present I am sober. If, since my sojourn in this city, I have been intoxicated, then the time has arrived when any person who wishes to have a regular ”drunk” need only apply to the nearest hydrant.
Heretofore I have supposed water to be a beverage innocent and harmless; but now--well; no matter--I will not antic.i.p.ate. Listen while I relate a ”plain, unvarnished tale.”