Whenever the stage stopped to change horses, we would wake up, and try to recollect8 where we were—and succeed—and in a minute or two the stage would be off again, and we likewise. We began to get into country, now, threaded here and there with little streams. These had high, steep banks on each side, and every time we flew down one bank and scrambled9 up the other, our party inside got mixed somewhat. First we would all be down in a pile at the forward end of the stage, nearly in a sitting posture11, and in a second we would shoot to the other end, and stand on our heads. And we would sprawl12 and kick, too, and ward10 off ends and corners of mail- bags that came lumbering13 over us and about us; and as the dust rose from the tumult14, we would all sneeze in chorus, and the majority of us would grumble15, and probably say some hasty thing, like: “Take your elbow out of my ribs16!—can’t you quit crowding?”
Every time we avalanched from one end of the stage to the other, the Unabridged Dictionary would come too; and every time it came it damaged somebody. One trip it “barked” the Secretary’s elbow; the next trip it hurt me in the stomach, and the third it tilted17 Bemis’s nose up till he could look down his nostrils—he said. The pistols and coin soon settled to the bottom, but the pipes, pipe-stems, tobacco and canteens clattered18 and floundered after the Dictionary every time it made an assault on us, and aided and abetted20 the book by spilling tobacco in our eyes, and water down our backs.
Still, all things considered, it was a very comfortable night. It wore gradually away, and when at last a cold gray light was visible through the puckers21 and chinks in the curtains, we yawned and stretched with satisfaction, shed our cocoons22, and felt that we had slept as much as was necessary. By and by, as the sun rose up and warmed the world, we pulled off our clothes and got ready for breakfast. We were just pleasantly in time, for five minutes afterward23 the driver sent the weird24 music of his bugle25 winding26 over the grassy27 solitudes28, and presently we detected a low hut or two in the distance. Then the rattling29 of the coach, the clatter19 of our six horses’ hoofs30, and the driver’s crisp commands, awoke to a louder and stronger emphasis, and we went sweeping31 down on the station at our smartest speed. It was fascinating—that old overland stagecoaching.
We jumped out in undress uniform. The driver tossed his gathered reins32 out on the ground, gaped33 and stretched complacently34, drew off his heavy buckskin gloves with great deliberation and insufferable dignity—taking not the slightest notice of a dozen solicitous35 inquires after his health, and humbly36 facetious37 and flattering accostings, and obsequious38 tenders of service, from five or six hairy and half-civilized station-keepers and hostlers who were nimbly unhitching our steeds and bringing the fresh team out of the stables—for in the eyes of the stage-driver of that day, station-keepers and hostlers were a sort of good enough low creatures, useful in their place, and helping39 to make up a world, but not the kind of beings which a person of distinction could afford to concern himself with; while, on the contrary, in the eyes of the station-keeper and the hostler, the stage-driver was a hero—a great and shining dignitary, the world’s favorite son, the envy of the people, the observed of the nations. When they spoke40 to him they received his insolent41 silence meekly42, and as being the natural and proper conduct of so great a man; when he opened his lips they all hung on his words with admiration43 (he never honored a particular individual with a remark, but addressed it with a broad generality to the horses, the stables, the surrounding country and the human underlings); when he discharged a facetious insulting personality at a hostler, that hostler was happy for the day; when he uttered his one jest—old as the hills, coarse, profane44, witless, and inflicted45 on the same audience, in the same language, every time his coach drove up there—the varlets roared, and slapped their thighs46, and swore it was the best thing they’d ever heard in all their lives. And how they would fly around when he wanted a basin of water, a gourd47 of the same, or a light for his pipe!—but they would instantly insult a passenger if he so far forgot himself as to crave48 a favor at their hands. They could do that sort of insolence49 as well as the driver they copied it from—for, let it be borne in mind, the overland driver had but little less contempt for his passengers than he had for his hostlers.
The hostlers and station-keepers treated the really powerful conductor of the coach merely with the best of what was their idea of civility, but the driver was the only being they bowed down to and worshipped. How admiringly they would gaze up at him in his high seat as he gloved himself with lingering deliberation, while some happy hostler held the bunch of reins aloft, and waited patiently for him to take it! And how they would bombard him with glorifying50 ejaculations as he cracked his long whip and went careering away.
The station buildings were long, low huts, made of sundried, mud-colored bricks, laid up without mortar51 (adobes, the Spaniards call these bricks, and Americans shorten it to ’dobies). The roofs, which had no slant52 to them worth speaking of, were thatched and then sodded or covered with a thick layer of earth, and from this sprung a pretty rank growth of weeds and grass. It was the first time we had ever seen a man’s front yard on top of his house. The building consisted of barns, stable-room for twelve or fifteen horses, and a hut for an eating-room for passengers. This latter had bunks53 in it for the station-keeper and a hostler or two. You could rest your elbow on its eaves, and you had to bend in order to get in at the door. In place of a window there was a square hole about large enough for a man to crawl through, but this had no glass in it. There was no flooring, but the ground was packed hard. There was no stove, but the fire-place served all needful purposes. There were no shelves, no cupboards, no closets. In a corner stood an open sack of flour, and nestling against its base were a couple of black and venerable tin coffee-pots, a tin teapot, a little bag of salt, and a side of bacon.
By the door of the station-keeper’s den54, outside, was a tin wash-basin, on the ground. Near it was a pail of water and a piece of yellow bar soap, and from the eaves hung a hoary55 blue woolen shirt, significantly—but this latter was the station-keeper’s private towel, and only two persons in all the party might venture to use it—the stage-driver and the conductor. The latter would not, from a sense of decency56; the former would not, because did not choose to encourage the advances of a station- keeper. We had towels—in the valise; they might as well have been in Sodom and Gomorrah. We (and the conductor) used our handkerchiefs, and the driver his pantaloons and sleeves. By the door, inside, was fastened a small old-fashioned looking-glass frame, with two little fragments of the original mirror lodged57 down in one corner of it. This arrangement afforded a pleasant double-barreled portrait of you when you looked into it, with one half of your head set up a couple of inches above the other half. From the glass frame hung the half of a comb by a string—but if I had to describe that patriarch or die, I believe I would order some sample coffins58.
It had come down from Esau and Samson, and had been accumulating hair ever since—along with certain impurities59. In one corner of the room stood three or four rifles and muskets60, together with horns and pouches61 of ammunition62. The station-men wore pantaloons of coarse, country-woven stuff, and into the seat and the inside of the legs were sewed ample additions of buckskin, to do duty in place of leggings, when the man rode horseback—so the pants were half dull blue and half yellow, and unspeakably picturesque. The pants were stuffed into the tops of high boots, the heels whereof were armed with great Spanish spurs, whose little iron clogs63 and chains jingled64 with every step. The man wore a huge beard and mustachios, an old slouch hat, a blue woolen shirt, no suspenders, no vest, no coat—in a leathern sheath in his belt, a great long “navy” revolver (slung on right side, hammer to the front), and projecting from his boot a horn-handled bowie-knife.
The furniture of the hut was neither gorgeous nor much in the way. The rocking-chairs and sofas were not present, and never had been, but they were represented by two three-legged stools, a pine-board bench four feet long, and two empty candle-boxes. The table was a greasy65 board on stilts66, and the table- cloth and napkins had not come—and they were not looking for them, either. A battered67 tin platter, a knife and fork, and a tin pint68 cup, were at each man’s place, and the driver had a queens-ware saucer that had seen better days. Of course this duke sat at the head of the table. There was one isolated69 piece of table furniture that bore about it a touching70 air of grandeur71 in misfortune. This was the caster. It was German silver, and crippled and rusty72, but it was so preposterously73 out of place there that it was suggestive of a tattered74 exiled king among barbarians75, and the majesty76 of its native position compelled respect even in its degradation77.
There was only one cruet left, and that was a stopperless, fly-specked, broken-necked thing, with two inches of vinegar in it, and a dozen preserved flies with their heels up and looking sorry they had invested there.
The station-keeper upended a disk of last week’s bread, of the shape and size of an old-time cheese, and carved some slabs78 from it which were as good as Nicholson pavement, and tenderer.
He sliced off a piece of bacon for each man, but only the experienced old hands made out to eat it, for it was condemned79 army bacon which the United States would not feed to its soldiers in the forts, and the stage company had bought it cheap for the sustenance80 of their passengers and employees. We may have found this condemned army bacon further out on the plains than the section I am locating it in, but we found it—there is no gainsaying81 that.
Then he poured for us a beverage82 which he called “Slum gullion,” and it is hard to think he was not inspired when he named it. It really pretended to be tea, but there was too much dish-rag, and sand, and old bacon-rind in it to deceive the intelligent traveler.
He had no sugar and no milk—not even a spoon to stir the ingredients with.
We could not eat the bread or the meat, nor drink the “slumgullion.” And when I looked at that melancholy83 vinegar-cruet, I thought of the anecdote84 (a very, very old one, even at that day) of the traveler who sat down to a table which had nothing on it but a mackerel and a pot of mustard. He asked the landlord if this was all. The landlord said:
“All! Why, thunder and lightning, I should think there was mackerel enough there for six.”
“But I don’t like mackerel.”
“Oh—then help yourself to the mustard.”
In other days I had considered it a good, a very good, anecdote, but there was a dismal85 plausibility86 about it, here, that took all the humor out of it.
Our breakfast was before us, but our teeth were idle.
I tasted and smelt87, and said I would take coffee, I believed. The station-boss stopped dead still, and glared at me speechless. At last, when he came to, he turned away and said, as one who communes with himself upon a matter too vast to grasp:
“Coffee! Well, if that don’t go clean ahead of me, I’m d—-d!”
We could not eat, and there was no conversation among the hostlers and herdsmen—we all sat at the same board. At least there was no conversation further than a single hurried request, now and then, from one employee to another. It was always in the same form, and always gruffly friendly. Its western freshness and novelty startled me, at first, and interested me; but it presently grew monotonous88, and lost its charm. It was:
“Pass the bread, you son of a skunk89!” No, I forget—skunk was not the word; it seems to me it was still stronger than that; I know it was, in fact, but it is gone from my memory, apparently90. However, it is no matter—probably it was too strong for print, anyway. It is the landmark91 in my memory which tells me where I first encountered the vigorous new vernacular92 of the occidental plains and mountains.
We gave up the breakfast, and paid our dollar apiece and went back to our mail-bag bed in the coach, and found comfort in our pipes. Right here we suffered the first diminution93 of our princely state. We left our six fine horses and took six mules94 in their place. But they were wild Mexican fellows, and a man had to stand at the head of each of them and hold him fast while the driver gloved and got himself ready. And when at last he grasped the reins and gave the word, the men sprung suddenly away from the mules’ heads and the coach shot from the station as if it had issued from a cannon95. How the frantic96 animals did scamper97! It was a fierce and furious gallop—and the gait never altered for a moment till we reeled off ten or twelve miles and swept up to the next collection of little station-huts and stables.
So we flew along all day. At 2 P.M. the belt of timber that fringes the North Platte and marks its windings98 through the vast level floor of the Plains came in sight. At 4 P.M. we crossed a branch of the river, and at 5 P.M. we crossed the Platte itself, and landed at Fort Kearney, fifty-six hours out from St. Joe—THREE HUNDRED MILES!
Now that was stage-coaching on the great overland, ten or twelve years ago, when perhaps not more than ten men in America, all told, expected to live to see a railroad follow that route to the Pacific. But the railroad is there, now, and it pictures a thousand odd comparisons and contrasts in my mind to read the following sketch99, in the New York Times, of a recent trip over almost the very ground I have been describing. I can scarcely comprehend the new state of things:
“ACROSS THE CONTINENT.
“At 4.20 P.M., Sunday, we rolled out of the station at Omaha, and started westward100 on our long jaunt101. A couple of hours out, dinner was announced—an “event” to those of us who had yet to experience what it is to eat in one of Pullman’s hotels on wheels; so, stepping into the car next forward of our sleeping palace, we found ourselves in the dining-car. It was a revelation to us, that first dinner on Sunday. And though we continued to dine for four days, and had as many breakfasts and suppers, our whole party never ceased to admire the perfection of the arrangements, and the marvelous results achieved. Upon tables covered with snowy linen102, and garnished103 with services of solid silver, Ethiop waiters, flitting about in spotless white, placed as by magic a repast at which Delmonico himself could have had no occasion to blush; and, indeed, in some respects it would be hard for that distinguished104 chef to match our menu; for, in addition to all that ordinarily makes up a first-chop dinner, had we not our antelope105 steak (the gormand who has not experienced this—bah! what does he know of the feast of fat things?) our delicious mountain-brook trout106, and choice fruits and berries, and (sauce piquant107 and unpurchasable!) our sweet-scented, appetite-compelling air of the prairies?
“You may depend upon it, we all did justice to the good things, and as we washed them down with bumpers108 of sparkling Krug, whilst we sped along at the rate of thirty miles an hour, agreed it was the fastest living we had ever experienced. (We beat that, however, two days afterward when we made twenty-seven miles in twenty-seven minutes, while our Champagne109 glasses filled to the brim spilled not a drop!) After dinner we repaired to our drawing-room car, and, as it was Sabbath eve, intoned some of the grand old hymns—“Praise God from whom,” etc.; “Shining Shore,” “Coronation,” etc.—the voices of the men singers and of the women singers blending sweetly in the evening air, while our train, with its great, glaring Polyphemus eye, lighting110 up long vistas111 of prairie, rushed into the night and the Wild. Then to bed in luxurious112 couches, where we slept the sleep of the just and only awoke the next morning (Monday) at eight o’clock, to find ourselves at the crossing of the North Platte, three hundred miles from Omaha—fifteen hours and forty minutes out.”
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1
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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swapped
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| 交换（工作）( swap的过去式和过去分词 )； 用…替换，把…换成，掉换（过来） | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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7
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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8
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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9
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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10
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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12
sprawl
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| vi.躺卧，扩张，蔓延；vt.使蔓延；n.躺卧，蔓延 | |
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13
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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14
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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abetted
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| v.教唆（犯罪）( abet的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；怂恿；支持 | |
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puckers
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的第三人称单数 ) | |
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cocoons
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| n.茧，蚕茧( cocoon的名词复数 )v.茧，蚕茧( cocoon的第三人称单数 ) | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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40
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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41
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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42
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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43
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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44
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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45
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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47
gourd
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| n.葫芦 | |
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48
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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49
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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50
glorifying
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| 赞美( glorify的现在分词 )； 颂扬； 美化； 使光荣 | |
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51
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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52
slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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53
bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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54
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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55
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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coffins
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| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
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impurities
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| 不纯( impurity的名词复数 )； 不洁； 淫秽； 杂质 | |
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muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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pouches
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| n.（放在衣袋里或连在腰带上的）小袋( pouch的名词复数 )；（袋鼠等的）育儿袋；邮袋；（某些动物贮存食物的）颊袋 | |
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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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clogs
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| 木屐； 木底鞋，木屐( clog的名词复数 ) | |
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jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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stilts
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| n.（支撑建筑物高出地面或水面的）桩子，支柱( stilt的名词复数 )；高跷 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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preposterously
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| adv.反常地；荒谬地；荒谬可笑地；不合理地 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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barbarians
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| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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gainsaying
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| v.否认，反驳( gainsay的现在分词 ) | |
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beverage
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| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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plausibility
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| n. 似有道理, 能言善辩 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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skunk
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| n.臭鼬，黄鼠狼；v.使惨败，使得零分；烂醉如泥 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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diminution
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| n.减少；变小 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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scamper
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| v.奔跑，快跑 | |
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windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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jaunt
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| v.短程旅游；n.游览 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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antelope
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| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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bumpers
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| （汽车上的）保险杠，缓冲器( bumper的名词复数 ) | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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