CHAPTER IX. THE GREAT CAMP MEETING.
Towards evening of the next day the broken wagon wheel was replaced.By that time the children were not more anxious to move forward thanwas Grandma Padgett. So just before sunset they broke up camp andmoved along the country road until the constellations were swingingoverhead. Zene took the first good crossway that led to the 'pike,and after waiting to be sure that the noses of Old Hickory and OldHenry were following, he jogged between dewy fence rows, and theycame to the broad white ribbon of high road, and in time to thevillage of Somerford, having progressed only ten miles that day.
Bobaday and Corinne were so sleepy, and their departure fromSomerford next morning was taken at such an early hour, that theyremembered it only as a smell of tallow candles in the night,accompanied by a landlady's head in a ruffled nightcap.
Very different was Springfield, the county seat of Clark County.That was a town with people moving briskly about it, and long streetscould be seen, where pleasant houses were shaded with trees.
Zene inquired the names of all small places as soon as they enteredthe main street, and then, obligingly halting the wagon at one side,he waited until Grandma Padgett came up, and told her. He learned andannounced the cities long before any of them came into view. It was apleasure to Bobaday and aunt Corinne to ride into a town repeatingits name to themselves and trying to fasten its identity on theirminds. First they would pass a gang of laborers working on the road,or perhaps a man walking up and down telegraph poles with sharp-shodheels; then appeared humble houses with children playing thicklyaround them. Finer buildings crowded on the sight, and where thesigns of business flaunted, were women and little children in prettyclothes, always going somewhere to buy something nice. Once they meta long procession of carriages, and in the first carriage auntCorinne beheld and showed to her nephew a child's coffin made ofmetal. It glittered in the sun. Grandma Padgett said it was zinc. Butaunt Corinne secretly suspected it was made of gold, to enclose somedear little baby whose mother would not put it into anything else.
At New Carlisle, a sleepy little village where the dogfennel waswonderfully advanced for June, Zene took the gray from the wagon andhitched him to the carriage, substituting Old Hickory. The gray'sshoulder was rubbed by his collar, and Zene reasoned that the lighterweight of the carriage would give him a better chance of healing hisbruise. Thus paired the horses looked comical. Hickory and Henryevidently considered the change a disgrace to them. But they made thebest of it and uttered no protest, except keeping as wide a space aspossible between themselves and their new mates. But the gray andwhite, old yoke fellows at the plough, who knew nothing of thedignity of carriage drawing, and cared less, who had rubbed noses andshared feed-boxes ever since they were colts, both lifted up theirvoices in mournful whinneys and refused comfort and correction. Thewhite turned his head back over his shoulder and would have haltedanywhere until his mate came up; while the gray strained forward,shaking his head, and neighing as if his throat were full of tearsevery time a tree or a turn in the road hid the wagon.
The caravan moving to this irregular and doleful music, passedthrough another little town which Zene said was named Boston, late ona rainy afternoon. Here they crossed the Miami River in a bridgethrough the cracks of which Robert Day and Corinne looked at the fullbut not very wide stream. It flowed beneath them in comparativesilence. The rain pricked the water's surface into innumerablepuckers.
"Little boys dancing up," said aunt Corinne, in time-honored phrase.
"No; it's bees stingin' the water," said her nephew, "with longstingers that reach clear out of the clouds."
These sky-bees stung the dusty road until it lay first in darkdimples and last in swollen mud rows and shallow pools. The 'pikekept its dignity under the heaviest rains. Its very mud was light andplaster-like, scarcely clinging to the wheels or soiling the horses'legs. Its flint ribs rung more sharply under the horses' shoes.Through the damp dusk aunt Corinne took pleasure in watching the firestruck by old Henry and the gray, against the trickling stones. Theypulled the carriage curtains down, and Grandma Padgett had theoilcloth apron drawn up to her chin, while she continued to drive thehorses through a slit. The rear of the wagon made a blur ahead ofthem. Now the 'pike sides faded from fresh green to a generaldulness, and trees whispering to the rain lost their vistas andindentations of shade, and became a solid wall down which a steadypour hissed with settled monotony. Boswell and Johnson no longerforaged at the 'pike sides, or lagged behind or scampered ahead. Theyknew it was a rainy October night without lightning and thunder,slipped by mistake into the packet of June weather; and they trottedinvisibly under the carriage, carrying their tails down, and theirlolling tongues close to the puddles they were obliged to scamperthrough or skip. Boswell and Johnson remembered their experiences atthe lonesome Susan house, where they lay in the deep weeds and wereforgotten until morning by the harassed family; and they rolled theireyes occasionally, with apprehension lest the grinding of the wheelsshould cease, and some ghostly wall loom up at one side of their way,unlighted by a single glimmer and unperfumed by any whiff of supper.It was a fine thing to be movers' dogs when the movers went into campor put up in state at a tavern. Around a camp were all sorts ofwoodsy creatures to be scratched out of holes or chased up trees, orto be nosed and chewed at. There were stray and half-wild pigs thathad tails to be bitten, and what could be more exhilarating thanmaking a drove of grunting pigs canter like a hailstorm away intodeep woods! And in the towns and villages all resident dogs came tocall on Boswell and Johnson. At every tavern Boswell picked a fightand Johnson fought it out; sometimes retiring with his tail to theearth and a sad expression of being outnumbered, but oftener a victorto have his wounds dressed and bandaged by Boswell's tongue. Therewas plenty to eat at taverns and camps, and good hunting in thewoods; but who could tell what hungry milestone might stand at theend of this day's journey?
Grandma Padgett herself was beginning to feel anxious on thissubject. She drove faster in order to overtake Zene and consult withhim, but before his attention could be attracted, both carriage andwagon reached a broad belt of shine stretching across the 'pike, andmaking trees in the meadow opposite stand out as distinct individuals.
This illumination came from many camp-fires extending so far intothe woods that the last one showed like a spark. A great collectionof moving wagons were ranged in line along the extent of these fires,and tents pitched under the dripping foliage revealed childrenplaying within their snug cover, or women spreading the evening meal.Kettles were hung above the fires, and skillets hissed on the coals.The horses, tied to their feed-boxes, were stamping and grindingtheir feed in content, and the gray lifted up his voice to neigh atthe whole collection as Grandma Padgett stopped just behind Zene. Allthe camp dogs leaped up the 'pike together, and Boswell and Johnsonmet them in a neutral way while showing the teeth of defence. To Boswelland Johnson as well as to their betters, this big and well-protectedencampment had an inviting look, provided the campers were not to beshunned.
A man came up the 'pike side through the rain and kicked some of thedogs aside.
"Hullo," said he most cheerfully. "Want to put up?"
"What is it?" inquired Zene cautiously. He then craned his neckaround to look at Grandma Padgett, whose spectacles glared seriouslyat the man.
This hospitable traveller wore a red shirt and a slouched hat, andhad his trousers tucked in his boots. He pulled off his hat to shakethe rain away, and showed bushy hair and a smiling bearded face. Noweather could hurt him. He was ready for anything.
"Light down," he exclaimed. "Plenty of room over there if you wantit."
"Who's over there?" inquired Zene.
"Oh, it's a big camp-meeting," replied the man. "There's twenty orthirty families, and lots of fun."
"Do you mean," inquired Grandma Padgett, "a camp-meeting forreligious purposes?"
"You can have that if you want it," responded the man, "and haveyour exhorters along. It's a family camp. Most of us going out toCali
forny. Goin' to cross the plains. Some up in the woods theregoin' to Missoury. Don't care where they're goin' if they want tostop and camp with us. _We're_ from the Pan Handle of Virginia.There's a dozen families or more of us goin' out to Californytogether. The rest just happened along."
"I'm a Virginian myself," said Grandma Padgett, warming, "thoughOhio's been my State for many years."
"Well, now," exclaimed the mover, "if you want to light right down,we'll be all the gladder for that. I saw you stoppin' here uncertain;and there's the ford over Little Miami ahead of you. I thought you'dnot like to try it in the dark."
"You're not like a landlord back on the road that let us risk ournecks!" said Grandma Padgett with appreciation. "But if you takeeverybody into camp ain't you afraid of getting the wrong sort?"
"Oh, no," replied the Virginian. "There's enough of _us_ tooverpower _them_."
"Well, Zene," said Grandma Padgett, "I guess we'd better stop here.We've provisions in our wagon."
"How far you goin'?" inquired the hospitable mover.
"Into Illinois," replied the head of the small caravan.
"Your trip'll soon be done, then. Come on, now, and go to Californy,why don't you! _That's_ the country to get rich in! You'll seesights the other side of the Mississippi!"
"I'm too old for such undertakings," said Grandma Padgett, passingover the mover's exuberance with a smile.
"Why, we have a granny over ninety with us!" he declared. "Now's thetime to start if you want to see the great western country."
Zene drove off the 'pike on the temporary track made by so manyvehicles, and Grandma Padgett followed, the Virginian showing them agood spot near the liveliest part of the camp, upon which they mightpitch.
The family sat in the-carriage while Zene took out the horses,sheltered the wagon under thick foliage where rain scarcelypenetrated, and stretched the canvas for a tent. Then Grandma Padgettput on her rubber overshoes, pinned a shawl about her and descended;and their fire was soon burning, their kettle was soon boiling, indefiance of water streams which frequently trickled from the leavesand fell on the coals with a hiss. The firelight shone through slicesof clear pink ham put down to broil. Aunt Corinne laid the cloth on abox which Zene took out of the wagon for her, and set the cups andsaucers, the sugar and preserves, and little seed cakes which grewtenderer the longer you kept them, all in tempting order. They hadbaker's bread and gingercakes in the carriage. Since her adventure atthe Susan house, Grandma Padgett had taken care to put provisions inthe carriage pockets. Then aunt Corinne, assisted by her nephew, gotpotatoes from the sack, wrapped them in wet wads of paper, androasted them in the ashes. A potato so roasted may be served up witha scorched and hardened shell, but its heart is perfumed by all theodors of the woods. It tastes better than any other potato, and whilethe butter melts through it you wonder that people do not fire wholefields and bake the crop in hot earth before digging it, to store forwinter.
BOBADAY'S CANOPIED THRONE.]
Zene had frequently assured Robert Day that an egg served this waywas better still. He said he used to roast eggs in the ashes whenburning stumps, and you only needed a little salt with them, to makethem fit for a king. But Robert Day scorned the egg and remained trueto the potato.
While they were at supper the Virginian's wife came to see them,carrying in her hand an offering of bird-pie. Grandma Padgettresponded with a dish of preserves. And they then talked about theold State, trying to discover mutual interests there.
The Virginian's wife was a strong, handsome, cordial woman. Herfamily came from the Pan Handle, but from the neighborhood ofWheeling, They were not mountaineers. She had six children. They weregoing to California because her husband had the mining fever. Hewanted to go years before, but she held out against it until she sawhe would do no good unless he went. So they sold their land, andstarted with a colony of neighbors.
The names of all her relatives were sifted, and Grandma Padgett madea like search among her own kindred, and they discovered that anuncle of one, and a grandfather of the other, had been acquainted,and served together in the War of '12. This established a bond.Grandma Padgett was gently excited, and told Bobaday and Corinneafter the Virginia woman's departure to her own wagons, that sheshould feel safe on account of being an old neighbor in the camp.