Well, the old man he liked that speech,and he mighty soon got it so he could do it first rate.It seemed like he was just born for it;and when he had his hand in and was excited,it was perfectly lovely the way he would rip and tear and rair up behind when he was getting it off.
The first chance we got,the duke he had some show bills printed;and after that, for two or three days as we floated along,the raft was a most uncommon lively place,for there warn’t nothing but sword-fighting and rehearsing—as the duke called it—going on all the time. One morning, when we was pretty well down the State of Arkansaw, we come in sight of a little one-horse town in a big bend; so we tied up about three-quarters of a mile above it, in the mouth of a crick which was shut in like a tunnel by the cypress trees, and all of us but Jim took the canoe and went down there to see if there was any chance in that place for our show.
We struck it mighty lucky;there was going to be a circus there that afternoon,and the country people was already beginning to come in,in all kinds of old shackly wagons, and on horses.The circus would leave before night,so our show would have a pretty good chance.The duke he hired the court house,and we went around and stuck up our bills.They read like this:
Shaksperean Revival!!!Wonderful Attraction!For One Night Only!The world renowned tragedians,David Garrick the younger, of Drury Lane Theatre,London, and Edmund Kean the elder,of the Royal Haymarket Theatre, Whitechapel,Pudding Lane, Piccadilly, London,and the Royal Continental Theatres,in their sublime Shaksperean Spectacle entitled The Balcony Scene in Romeo and Juliet!!!
Romeo...................................... Mr. Garrick.Juliet..................................... Mr. Kean.
Assisted by the whole strength of the company!New costumes, new scenery, new appointments!
Also: The thrilling, masterly,and blood-curdling Broad-sword conflict In Richard III.!!!
Richard III................................ Mr. Garrick.Richmond................................... Mr. Kean.
also: (by special request,) Hamlet’s Immortal Soliloquy!!By the Illustrious Kean!Done by him 300 consecutive nights in Paris!For One Night Only, On account of imperative European engagements!Admission 25 cents; children and servants, 10 cents.
Then we went loafing around the town.The stores and houses was most all old shackly dried-up frame concerns that hadn’t ever been painted; they was set up three or four foot above ground on stilts, so as to be out of reach of the water when the river was overflowed. The houses had little gardens around them, but they didn’t seem to raise hardly anything in them but jimpson weeds, and sunflowers, and ash-piles, and old curled-up boots and shoes, and pieces of bottles, and rags, and played-out tin-ware. The fences was made of different kinds of boards, nailed on at different times; and they leaned every which-way, and had gates that didn’t generly have but one hinge—a leather one. Some of the fences had been whitewashed, some time or another, but the duke said it was in Clumbus’s time, like enough. There was generly hogs in the garden, and people driving them out.
All the stores was along one street.They had white domestic awnings in front,and the country people hitched their horses to the awning-posts.There was empty drygoods boxes under the awnings,and loafers roosting on them all day long,whittling them with their Barlow knives;and chawing tobacco,and gaping and yawning and stretching—a mighty ornery lot.They generly had on yellow straw hats most as wide as an umbrella,but didn’t wear no coats nor waistcoats,they called one another Bill, and Buck, and Hank,and Joe, and Andy, and talked lazy and drawly,and used considerable many cuss words.There was as many as one loafer leaning up against every awning-post,and he most always had his hands in his britches-pockets,except when he fetched them out to lend a chaw of tobacco or scratch.What a body was hearing amongst them all the time was:
“Gimme a chaw ’v tobacker, Hank.”
“Cain’t; I hain’t got but one chaw left. Ask Bill.”
Maybe Bill he gives him a chaw;maybe he lies and says he ain’t got none.Some of them kinds of loafers never has a cent in the world,nor a chaw of tobacco of their own.They get all their chawing by borrowing;they say to a fellow, “I wisht you’d len’ me a chaw,Jack, I jist this minute give Ben Thompson the last chaw I had”—which is a lie pretty much everytime; it don’t fool nobody but a stranger; but Jack ain’t no stranger, so he says:
“_You_ give him a chaw, did you?So did your sister’s cat’s grandmother.You pay me back the chaws you’ve awready borry’d off’n me,Lafe Buckner, then I’ll loan you one or two ton of it,and won’t charge you no back intrust, nuther.”
“Well, I _did_ pay you back some of it wunst.”
“Yes, you did—’bout six chaws.You borry’d store tobacker and paid back nigger-head.”
Store tobacco is flat black plug,but these fellows mostly chaws the natural leaf twisted.When they borrow a chaw they don’t generly cut it off with a knife,but set the plug in between their teeth,and gnaw with their teeth and tug at the plug with their hands till they get it in two; then sometimes the one that owns the tobacco looks mournful at it when it’s handed back, and says, sarcastic:
“Here, gimme the _chaw_, and you take the _plug_.”
All the streets and lanes was just mud;they warn’t nothing else _but_ mud—mud as black as tar and nigh about a foot deep in some places, and two or three inches deep in _all_ the places. The hogs loafed and grunted around everywheres. You’d see a muddy sow and a litter of pigs come lazying along the street and whollop herself right down in the way, where folks had to walk around her, and she’d stretch out and shut her eyes and wave her ears whilst the pigs was milking her, and look as happy as if she was on salary. And pretty soon you’d hear a loafer sing out, “Hi!_so_ boy!sick him, Tige!” and away the sow would go, squealing most horrible,with a dog or two swinging to each ear,and three or four dozen more a-coming;and then you would see all the loafers get up and watch the thing out of sight,and laugh at the fun and look grateful for the noise.Then they’d settle back again till there was a dog fight.There couldn’t anything wake them up all over,and make them happy all over,like a dog fight—unless it might be putting turpentine on a stray dog and setting fire to him, or tying a tin pan to his tail and see him run himself to death.
On the river front some of the houses was sticking out over the bank,and they was bowed and bent,and about ready to tumble in.The people had moved out of them.The bank was caved away under one corner of some others,and that corner was hanging over.People lived in them yet, but it was dangersome,because sometimes a strip of land as wide as a house caves in at a time.Sometimes a belt of land a quarter of a mile deep will start in and cave along and cave along till it all caves into the river in one summer. Such a town as that has to be always moving back, and back, and back, because the river’s always gnawing at it.
The nearer it got to noon that day the thicker and thicker was the wagons and horses in the streets, and more coming all the time. Families fetched their dinners with them from the country, and eat them in the wagons. There was considerable whisky drinking going on, and I seen three fights. By-and-by somebody sings out:
“Here comes old Boggs!—in from the country for his little old monthly drunk;here he comes, boys!”
All the loafers looked glad;I reckoned they was used to having fun out of Boggs. One of them says:
“Wonder who he’s a-gwyne to chaw up this time.If he’d a-chawed up all the men he’s ben a-gwyne to chaw up in the last twenty year he’d have considerable ruputation now.”