The Cruise of a Schooner

by Albert W. Harris

From here on we had two days without rain, and, with fairly good roads, we drove through Colfax, Newton, Kellogg, Grinnell, Brooklyn, and to Victor before it began again. From Victor into Ladora it rained hard and continued raining all night and all the next day. We had made very good progress, however, averaging about thirty miles per day for four days and not driving very hard either. Mr. Lingle would ride the lead horse several miles each day and, just as I was beginning to get used to good roads, and he to a prairie schooner, it had to begin raining again and Mr. Lingle had to return to “store clothes” and the city. He left me at Ladora, where I remained all day, while the rain played havoc with the roads.

Leaving here and going on through Marengo I arrived at Cedar Rapids, Monday, September 26, having driven through three towns of the Amana Colony along Bear Creek and the Iowa River, and through another rain storm or two. By way of diversion I stopped long enough in Cedar Rapids to call on some friends, who had compassion enough on me to take me out for dinner.

I had another amusing experience at Marion, just after leaving Cedar Rapids. I had left my wagon at the livery stable that night and concluded to stay at the hotel. I was sorry afterward, but I concluded to add this to my experience and stayed. The hotel was evidently full. Court must have been in session by the conversation I overheard at the table and in the office afterward. Wishing to retire, I had to hunt up the landlady and find where I was to sleep. It seemed to be quite a problem, but I was finally ushered into a closet off the main hall, that contained two cots, a small table with a lamp on it, and nothing else--not even a chair. I was told to leave the door open for fresh air, and not to blow out the light as another man would occupy the second cot.

My first thought was to go back to the schooner, but I had never slept in a closet before and I might never get another chance; besides, I wondered who else would be fool enough to sleep there, so I said nothing and turned in. Before I went to sleep the other man came in. He turned out to be a Dago junk dealer. We got quite well acquainted. At least, I did with him. He told me where he lived, and all about his business and family, and when he finally thought to ask me a question, it was this: “What are you peddling?” He had blown out the lamp and turned in, so he could not see the contortions I went through before I could answer. When I thought it was safe to talk, I told him I was not peddling anything, just taking some horses to Chicago. This seemed to satisfy him and we let it go at that.

THE LAST ANCHORAGE OF THE PRAIRIE SCHOONER

The next morning we left the stable about the same time. Starting out in his express wagon, with a poor decrepit old horse hauling some old iron, he took off his hat, and wished me good luck. I found him very human; in fact, I think I should have liked that Dago. He seemed very much like a white man. He didn’t grumble about sleeping in the closet, or about the weather, so I followed his example the best I could and have simply remembered that I made his acquaintance there.

Leaving Marion I drove through Springville, Martelle, and Brockton; then to Anamosa and from there to Amber. At Amber I bought a black-and-tan foxhound of a Mr. Weiss. I had Cress for a watch dog, but things were so quiet about the wagon that I wanted a dog that would make a noise, and also chase rabbits along the road, so as to make a bit of a diversion. This dog’s name was Joe, and from here to Williams Bay he and Cress made it very interesting for all the rabbits that came in their way.

We now made quite a presentable appearance and Joe lent quite the necessary touch to the outfit. A prairie schooner should have some sort of a hound following it. Cress had ridden in the wagon and I had overlooked the necessity of having a thin hound-like dog, trotting along behind, to complete the outfit. Now, however, we were strictly in style.

We go on through Monmouth and Maquoketa, and I made my last camp in Iowa about two miles from Preston Junction, after passing through the only real good piece of timber since leaving Denver. Just before going into camp the road followed a long ridge from which I had a fine view of the surrounding country, which is still rolling.