CHAPTER XVII.
A DISMAL SORT OF DAY--A FEW ABLE REMARKS ABOUT UMBRELLAS--THE UMBRELLA IN A HUMOROUS ASPECT--THE CALAMITY THAT BEFEL COLONEL COOMBS--AN AMBITIOUS BUT MISERABLE MONARCH-INFLUENCE OF UMBRELLAS ON THE WEATHER--AN IMPROVED WEATHER SYSTEM--A LITTLE NONSENSE--JUDGE PITMAN'S VIEWS OF WEATHER OF VARIOUS KINDS.
It is difficult to imagine anything more dismal than a rainy day at NewCastle, particularly at this late period in the year. The riverespecially is robbed of much of its attractiveness. The falling dropsobscure the view, so that the other shore is not visible through thegray curtain of mist, and the few vessels that can be seen out in thechannel struggling upward with the tide or beating slowly downward tothe bay look so drenched and cold and utterly forlorn that one shiversas he watches them, with their black sails and their dripping cordage,and sees the moist sailors in tarpaulins and sea-boots hurrying over theslippery decks. The grain schooner lying at the wharf has all herhatches down, and there is about her no other sign of life than onesoaked vagabond, who sits upon the bowsprit angling in a mostmelancholy fashion for fish which will not bite. He may be seeking forhis supper, poor, damp sinner! or he may be an infatuated being whodeceives himself with the notion that he is having sport. There is apeculiar feeling of comfort on such a day to stand in a room where abright fire blazes in the grate, and from the window to watch thissolitary fisherman as the fitful gusts now and then blow the rain downupon his head in sheets, and to observe the few people who remain uponthe streets hurrying by under their umbrellas, each anxious to reach aplace of shelter. The water pours in yellow torrents through thegutter-ways, the carriages which go swiftly past have their leathernaprons drawn high up in front of the drivers, the stripped branches ofthe trees are black with moisture, and from each twig the drops trickleto the earth; the water-spout upon the side of the house continues itsmonotonous song all day long, drip, drip, drip, until the very soundcontributes to the gloominess of the time; there is desolation in theyard and in the garden, where a few yellow corn-stalks and headlesstrunks of cabbage remain from the summer's harvest to face the wintrystorms, and where the chickens gathered under the woodshed are standingwith ruffled feathers, hungry, damp and miserable, some on one leg andsome on two, and with an expression upon their faces that tells plainlythe story of their dejection at the poor prospect of having any dinner.
It is a good time, Mrs. Adeler, to offer a few remarks upon that subjectof perennial interest, the weather, and especially to refer to somefacts in reference to that useful but uncertain implement, the umbrella.I do not know why it is so, but by common agreement the umbrella hasbeen permitted to assume a comic aspect. No man, particularly nojournalist, can be considered as having wholly discharged his duty tohis fellow-creatures unless he has permitted himself to make somejocular remarks concerning the exception of umbrellas from the lawswhich govern other kinds of property. The amount of facetiousness thathas attended the presentation of that theory is already incalculablygreat, and there is no reason for believing that it will not beincreased to an infinite extent throughout the coming ages. It isperhaps a feeble idea upon which to erect so vast a structure; but if itmakes even a dismal sort of merriment, we should not complain. And thenreflect with what humorous effect the comic artists introduce theexcessive and corpulent umbrella to their pictures of nervous oremphatic old ladies, and how much more convulsive the laughter becomesat the theatre when the low-comedy man carries with him an umbrella ofthat unwieldy description! It is universally admitted that an umbrellawith distended sides is funny; and if general consent is given to such aproposition, the consequences are quite as satisfactory as if thearticle in question was really plethoric with humor.
There are occasions when the simple elevation of an umbrella isgrotesquely absurd, as when a group of British guardsmen shelteredthemselves in this fashion from the rain during a certain battle, to theinfinite disgust of Wellington, who ordered the tender warriors to puttheir umbrellas down lest the service should be made ridiculous. It wasa Frenchman, Emile Girardin, I think, who brought an umbrella with himto the dueling-ground, and insisted upon holding it over his head duringthe combat. "I do not mind being killed," he said, "but I objectdecidedly to getting wet." They gave him much credit for admirablecoolness; but I cherish a private opinion that he was scared, and hoped,by making the affair ridiculous, to bring it to a conclusion withoutburning powder; and he succeeded, for the combatants shook hands andwent away friends.
And there was the case of Colonel Coombs--Coombs of Colorado. He hadheard that the most ferocious wild beast could be frightened and put toflight if an umbrella should suddenly be opened in its face, and hedetermined to test the matter at the earliest opportunity. One day,while walking in the woods, Coombs perceived a panther crouching,preparatory to making a spring at him. Coombs held his umbrella firmlyin his hand, and presenting it at the panther, unfurled it. The resultwas not wholly satisfactory, for the next moment the animal leaped uponthe umbrella, flattened it out and began to lunch upon Coombs. Not onlydid the beast eat that anxious inquirer after truth, but it swallowedthe hooked handle of the umbrella, which was held tightly in Coombs'sgrasp, and for two or three weeks it wandered about with its nose buriedamong the ribs of the umbrella. It was very handy when there was rain,but it obstructed the animal's vision, and consequently it walked intotown and was killed.
In some countries the umbrella is the symbol of dignity and power. Oneof the magnates of Siam is proud to begin his list of titles with "Lordof Thirty-seven Umbrellas." Conceive, if you can, the envy and hatredwith which that bloated aristocrat must be regarded by a man who is lordof only fifteen umbrellas! Among certain African tribes the grandeur ofthe individual increases with the size, and not with the number, of theumbrellas. Did I ever tell you the story of the African chieftain whodetermined to surpass all his rivals in this respect?
He made up his mind to procure the largest umbrella in the world, and heinduced a trader to send his order to London for the article. Its ribswere forty feet in length, and its handle was like a telegraph pole.When it was distended, the effect was sublime. The machine resembled agreen gingham circus tent, and it was crowned with a ferule as large asa barrel. When the umbrella arrived, there was great rejoicing in thedomestic circle of that dusky sovereign, and so impatient was the ownerto test its qualities that he fairly yearned for the arrival of a rainyday. At last, one morning, he awoke to find that his opportunity hadcome. The rain was pouring in torrents. Exultingly he called forth hisvassals, and the work of opening the umbrella began in the presence ofan awestricken multitude. Two entire days were consumed by the effort toelevate the monster, and at the end of the second day, as the task wasdone, the storm ceased, and there was a general clearing up. Thedisappointed chieftain waited a day or two in vain for another shower,and finally, sick at heart, he commanded the umbrella to be closed. Thework occupied precisely forty-eight hours, and just as the catch snappedupon the handle a thunder-gust came up, and it rained furiously all day.The frenzied monarch then consulted with his medicine man, and wasassured that there would certainly be rain on the following Wednesday.The king therefore ordered the gingham giant up again. While the swarthymyrmidons were struggling with it there were at least sixty or seventyviolent showers, but just as it was fairly open the clouds drifted away,and the sun came out with terrific force. And it remained out. There wasnot a drop of rain or so much as a fragment of cloud in the sky for twohundred and seventy-three days, and the umbrella remained open duringall the time, while the potentate who owned it went dancing about dailyin an ecstasy of rage. At the end of the period he sought the medicineman and slew him upon the spot. Then he ordered the umbrella down. Thevery next morning after it was closed the rain began, and it has beenraining ever since.
Mrs. Adeler, that unfortunate savage thus became intimately familiarwith one of the most striking of meteorological phenomena.
The influence of the umbrella upon the weather is a subject that hasengaged the attention of millions
of mankind. The precise laws by whichthat influence is exerted and governed have not yet been defined, butthe fact of the existence of the influence is universally recognized. Ifthere seems to be a promise of rain in the morning when I leave home,and I carry my umbrella with me, the sky clears before noon; but if Ineglect to take my umbrella, I will certainly be drenched. If I carry anumbrella forty days in order to be prepared in case of sudden showers,there will be perfect dryness during that period; but if I forget theumbrella on the forty-first day, the floodgates of heaven will assuredlybe opened. Sometimes the conduct of the elements is peculiarlyaggravating. When I have been caught in town by a rain-storm and I hadno umbrella, I have sometimes darted through the shower to a store topurchase one, but always, just as the man has given me the change, therain has stopped. And when I have kept one umbrella at the house andanother at the office, in order to be prepared at both ends of the line,all the storms have begun and expended their fury while I was passingbetween the two points.
This experience is not peculiar. It is that of every man who uses anumbrella. I am persuaded, Mrs. Adeler, that the time will come whenscience, having detected the character of the mysterious sympathyexisting between umbrellas and the weather, will be able to give to asuffering world sunshine or rain as we want it. Whether we shall thenbe any better off is another matter.
In the mean time, while we are waiting for science to penetrate thehidden secrets of the umbrella, let me unfold to you a plan which I havedevised for the better management of the weather bureau at Washington. Iconfided the scheme, once upon a time, to Old Probabilities himself,through the medium of a newspaper at the capital, but he did not deignto express an opinion concerning it. Perhaps it contained too muchlevity to entitle it to the consideration of a man who meditates uponthe thunder and tries to trace the pathway of the cyclone. I have calledit
THE IMPROVED WEATHER SYSTEM.
The Probability man who meddles with our great American weather meanswell, and tries conscientiously to do his best, but his system isradically defective, and the consequence is that his conjectures aredespicably incorrect quite half the time. The inconvenience caused bythese mistakes, not only to the people generally, but to me personally,is inconceivably great, and it is not to be endured any longer.
For instance, if I read in the morning that this Probability personentertains a conviction that we shall have a clear day in myneighborhood, I place confidence in his assurance. I remove the rooffrom my house in order to dry the garret thoroughly, and I walk downtown with a new umbrella under my arm. Now, it is plainly evident thatif, after all, it does begin to rain, and I am obliged to unfurl thatumbrella and ruin it with the wet, and I am compelled, when I arrive athome, to witness my family floating around in the dining-room upon araft constructed out of the clothes-horse and a few bed-slats andpie-boards, the government for which Washington died is a failure.
Or suppose that our friend at the weather office asserts that athunder-storm is certain to strike my section of the country upon agiven day. I believe him. I bring out my lightning-rods and buckle themto the chimneys and set them around on the roof and plant them out inthe yard and rivet them upon my hired girl; and I place my family safelyin feather beds in the middle of the room, and drink all the milk in theneighborhood, and prevail upon the tax collector to go and stand an houror two under a tree where he will be almost certain to be struck bylightning. And when all these arrangements are completed, so that I feelequal to the promised emergency, suppose that thunder-storm does notcome? When I watch that tax collector sally out and begin to assess myproperty, counting in all those lightning-rods at double their cost, isthere any reason to wonder that I sit down and sigh for some responsibledespot who will give us a Probability man who grasps the subject of theweather, as it were, in a more comprehensive manner?
But I lost all faith in him after his ill-treatment of Cooley. He saidthat a cyclone would sweep over this district upon a certain morning,and Cooley was so much alarmed at the prospect that he made elaboratepreparations to receive the storm. He arose before daybreak and wentinto the middle of his garden, where he filled his pockets with piglead, fettered himself to the apple tree and fixed the preserving kettlesecurely upon his head with a dog chain in order to preserve his hair.Cooley stayed there until five o'clock in the afternoon waiting for thesimoom to swoop down upon him. But it was a failure--a disgracefulfailure. And when Cooley looked out from under the kettle in theafternoon, he was surprised to observe that the fence was filled withmen and boys who were watching him with intense interest. Then the boysbegan to whistle upon their fingers and to make unpleasant remarks, andfinally Cooley was obliged to cut loose and go into the house to avoidarrest by a policeman upon a charge of lunacy.
Now, this is all wrong. The feelings of American citizens ought not tobe trifled with in such a manner, and I propose to arrange a plan bywhich meteorological facts and conditions can be observed with somethinglike certainty.
The basis of my system is Corns. The marvelous accuracy with whichchanges in the weather can be foretold by a man whose feet are decoratedwith those excrescences is so well known that it is hardly worth whileto consider at length, at this particular crisis, the human corn in itsmeteorological characteristics. It is quite certain, however, that itwill be impossible to expect the Probability being to walk around thecountry once or twice every day for the purpose of submitting his cornsto the diverse atmospheric influences which exist between the Atlanticand Pacific Oceans. It would wear out any man. It will be better,therefore, to have him kept stationary. I propose, in that event, thathe should buy up any available corn that is in the market in any givenState, and have it transplanted and grafted upon his own toe. Doubtlessthere are patriotic citizens in every portion of the land who would bewilling to lay upon the altar of their beloved country their mostcherished corns.
The Probability official then might obtain, let us assume, one corn fromeach State and a reliable bunion to represent each Territory. When thesewere engrafted upon his feet in a healthful condition, each one would,as a matter of course, be peculiarly susceptible to the atmosphericinfluences which prevail in its native clime. All we have to do, then,is to compel the weather man to wear exceptionally tight boots while heis not attending to business, so that his barometers will acquire therequisite amount of sensibility. Then I should have pipes laid from eachState to the office in Washington for the purpose of conveying thedifferent varieties of atmosphere to the foot of the Probability person.Suppose, then, he desired to make a guess in regard to the weather inLouisiana. I should have a man stationed at the end of the pipe in NewOrleans with a steam fan, and he could waft zephyrs, as it were, uponthe Louisiana corn, which would respond instantly, and we should havethe facts about the weather in that State with precision and accuracy.When we admitted a new State, our friend could weld on a new corn; or ifthe Mormons succeeded in procuring the admission of their Territory as aState, we could plough up the Utah bunion and plant a corn, so as topreserve the proprieties.
Of course this system of excrescences would be of no value as anindicator of the movements of thunder-storms and hurricanes. But inorder to acquire information concerning the former, how would it do tobuild up stacks of lightning-rods in every portion of every State, andto connect each State group, if I may be allowed the expression, with awire which shall be permanently fastened to the arm or leg of theProbability man in Washington? Because, in such a case, whenever athunder-gust appeared in any portion of the country, some one out of allthose bunches of lightning-rods would certainly be struck, and ourconjectural friend at the weather office would be likely to know aboutit right soon.
As for hurricanes, I am in favor of putting an end to them at once,instead of telegraphing around the country to warn people to look outfor them. When I reorganize the weather service, I shall have menstationed everywhere with machines fixed up like the wind sails that areused on shipboard for sending air into the hold. I should make the mouthof each one a mile wide, construct it of st
out canvas, and run the lowerend into a coal-mine, or a mammoth cave, or a volcano. Then, when atornado approached, I should place a man at each side of the sail, putthe men into balloons, send them up, and spread the sail directly acrossthe route of the approaching cyclone. When it arrived, it would strikethe sail, of course; there would be a momentary flapping and jerkingaround, and in a minute or two I should have that hurricane comfortablypacked away in the volcano, suppose we say. A man would then be upon thespot, of course, to drive a plug into the crater, so as to makeeverything tight and snug, and one more nuisance is taken off the faceof the earth.
* * * * *
"Is that the whole of the article?" inquired Mrs. Adeler.
"Yes, that is all of it."
"Well, I am not surprised that no notice was taken of it. It isperfectly nonsensical."
"I admit the fact, but still I shall not smother the article. It willnot do to take all the nonsense out of the world. While thousands oflearned fools are hard at work trying to stupefy mankind, we must bepermitted sometimes to indulge in absurdities of a less weighty kind inorder to counteract them."
And while we are discussing the weather, let me not forget to allude tothe most remarkable of Judge Pitman's peculiarities. He is the only manin the world of whom I know anything who is always satisfied with theweather. No matter what the condition of the atmosphere, he is contentedand happy, and willing to affirm that the state of things at any givenmoment is the very best that could have been devised.
In summer, when the mercury bolted up among the nineties, the judgewould come to the front door with beads of perspiration standing out allover his red face, and would look at the sky and say, "Splendid!perfectly splendid! Noble weather for the poor and for the ice companiesand the washerwomen! I never saw sich magnificent weather for dryin'clothes. They don't shake up any such climate as this in Italy. Gimme memy umbreller, Harriet, while I sit out yer on the steps and enjoy it."
In winter, when the mercury would creep down fifteen degrees below zero,and the cold was nearly severe enough to freeze the inside of Vesuviussolid to the centre of the globe, Pitman would sit out on my fence andexclaim, "By gracious, Adeler! did you ever see sich weather as this? Ilike an atmosphere that freezes up yer very marrer. It helps the coaltrade an' gives us good skeetin'. Don't talk of summer-time to me. Gimmecold, and give it to me stiff."
When there was a drought, Pitman used to meet me in the street andremark, "No rain yet, I see! Magnificent, isn't it? I want my weatherdry, I want it with the dampness left out. Moisture breeds fevers andague, an' ruins yer boots. If there's anything I despise, it's to carryan umbreller. No rain for me, if you please."
When it rained for a week and flooded the country, the judge oftendropped in to see me and to observe, "I dunno how you feel about thisyer rain, Adeler, but it allers seems to me that the heavens never dropno blessin's but when we have a long wet spell. It makes the corn jumpan' cleans the sewers an' keeps the springs from gittin' too dry. Iwouldn't give a cent to live in a climate where there was no rain. Putme on the Nile, an' I'd die in a week. Soak me through an' through tothe inside of my bones, and I feel as if life was bright and beautiful,an' sorrer of no account."
On a showery day, when the sun shone brightly at one moment and at thenext the rain poured in torrents, the judge has been known to stand atthe window and exclaim, "Harriet, if you'd've asked me how I liked theweather, I'd've said, just as it is now. What I want is weather that isstreaked like a piece of fat an' lean bacon--a little shine an' a littlerain. Mix 'em up an' give us plenty of both, an' I'm yer man."
The judge is always happy in a thunder-storm, and one day, after thelightning had knocked down two of his best apple trees and splinteredthem into fragments, and the wind had torn his chimney to pieces, I wentover to see him. He was standing by the prostrate trees, and he at onceremarked, "Did you ever know of a man havin' sich luck as this? I wasgoin' to chop down them two trees to-morrer, an' as that chimney neverdraw'd well, I had concluded to have it rebuilt. An' that gorgeous oldstorm has fixed things just the way I want 'em. Put me in athunder-storm an' let the lightnin' play around me, an' I'm at home. I'drather have one storm that'd tear the bowels out of the Americancontinent than a dozen of yer little dribblin' waterin'-pot showers. IfI can't have a rippin' and roarin' storm, I don't want none."
They say here in the village, but I do not believe it, that one day thejudge was upon his roof fixing a shingle, when a tornado struck him,lifted him off, carried him a quarter of a mile, and dashed him withsuch terrible force against a fence that his leg was broken. As theycarried him home, he opened his eyes languidly and said, "ImmortalMoses! what a storm that was! When it does blow, it suits me if it blowshard. I'd give both legs if we could have a squall like that every day.I--I--" Then he fainted.
If contentment is happiness, then the life of Pitman is oneuninterrupted condition of bliss.