[Dan De Quille, Die Gruene Ganse No. 1, Salt Lake Tribune, April 5, 1885]

 

"DIE GRUENE GANSE."

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A Few Notes of What I Heard Among Its Customers.

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The Story of the Forty-Niner—Captain Jim in India.

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The Captain's Laughing Sow—Hans Tuegendspiegel and the Tramp.

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BY DAN DE QUILLE.

            One of our most popular places of resort for beer drinkers is the Gruene Ganse [Green Goose] saloon, kept by that mirror of virtue, Hans Tuegendspiegel. In the comfortable quarters of Herr Tuegendspiegel are to be found assembled persons of all classes and nationalities. Hans keeps all the best brews of beer, both foreign and domestic; sets forth a good free lunch, and to order furnishes such a spread as would tempt a man dying of a surfeit to rise and eat.

            The description Gil Blas gives of his uncle Gil Peres—"a little man, three feet and a half high, excessive fat, with his head sunk between his shoulders"—would answer very well for Hans Tuegendspiegel, except that he is about a foot taller and has an "excessive" red face. Hans is very good natured when the lion within him is asleep. He is very obliging, as a rule, but likes not to be too much governed. Most times he breasts (and widely spreads along) his bar a very Kaiser William. He is then in a state of repose—is neutral as to either good nature or ferocity of temper. A word turns the scale and he either gushes goodness or explodes in wrath—in rotundity of person looking not unlike a bomb just turned out for one of Herr Krupp's biggest guns.

            In the snug saloon of Herr Hans I frequently sit and take note of the talk of customers. This saves me much trouble when my invention is at ebb tide. It would be still better had I but some apparatus by means of which I might photograph all conversation as it flows along. Then, instead of being obliged to use my pen, I need only sit and turn a crank, fast or slow, as the conversation I had focused might run. Can not some Edison invent a "ticker" that will catch talk, and reel it off on long strips of prepared paper?

            Last evening I was on duty at the Green Goose. As usual, nearly every table was occupied. Herr Hans was kept rattling to and fro like a lone pumpkin in a farmer's cart. At first I found nothing on which to focus my apparatus. Presently, however, I heard two or three venerable Argonauts talking of the golden days of California, and one of them—"a man oppressed, despondent, yet a man"—was moved to tell the following little story, which may be headed—

"WHEN WATER COMES."

            Said my Argonaut:

            Old timers of the Pacific Coast cannot but heave a sigh of regret as they recall the day when hydraulic mining flourished in all the mountain towns of California—those happy days before the sirocco blast of the Sawyer decision had swept the slopes of the Sierras and left the great industry of placer mining shriveled and dead in the dust of the gulches. Before was felt this blighting blast from the Lybian desert of the legal brain, the men of the mountain looked upon the gold lying in the gravel of their placers being about the same as so much coin on deposit at the best bank in the land. Although there was in almost every camp a season when there was no water for washing out the auriferous deposits, yet business of all kinds went on just the same. Every one expected and obtained credit until water came.

            "It will be all right when water comes," said the dealer in provisions, the dealer in clothing and the dry goods man; so said the saloon keeper, the barber, "the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker"—and it was all right.

            In the early days, "Martin the Wizard," ventriloquist, practitioner of legerdemain, prestidigitation, conjuration and hocus-pocus generally, arrived at the little mining town of Omega, Nevada county, California and "painted the town red," blue and green with his bills.

            In the town the Wizard found in Jim Fletcher, a leading miner, an old acquaintance. Being alone, the Wizard insisted that Fletcher should act for him as door-keeper on the occasion of the entertainment he was about to give in the town. Fletcher demurred. He was one of the best natured men in the world, and a man who could never say no to man, woman or child—dog or Digger Indian.

            Said Fletcher; "It is now the dry season and there is very little money in the camp.   Now I know every miner, far and near, and if I am at the door all will expect to go in, money or no money."

            "Well," said Martin, "if it should appear that some of your friends want to see the show and have no money, just let them pass in." 

            "But they are all my friends," said Fletcher.

            "Very well," replied the Wizard, "go ahead and do the best you can."

            On the night of the show Jim Fletcher was at the door. The "boys" came tolling up from Washington and other places on the South Yuba, crossed the great chasm of Scotchman's Creek from Alpha, came in on the trails Indian [style?] from Fall Creek and Diamond Creek, and not a few found their way across the forest from far-off Steep Hollow. The majority had no money, but as they had heard that Jim Fletcher would be at the door, they were sure it would be all right. "If not," all said, "we'll make right when water comes."

            Man after man presented himself for admission who said ho had no money, but would make it all right when water came.

            Jim had not the heart to turn anyone back. He wanted all the boys to see what his friend, the Wizard, could do. With beaming face and cheery voice he waved the applicants to the door, crying; "Go in, go in, you'll see a good show. I know Martin of old; he'll give you a show that will make your hair stand on end."

            A few men offered money at the door, but Fletcher said: "Never mind paying now; it will only bother me in making up my accounts. It will be easier to remember that nobody paid than to keep in mind who paid up and who didn't. You can make it all right when water comes."

            Seeing the house packed in every part the Wizard did his very best, and the applause was continuous and hearty, for in those days shows of any kind were few and far between in the camp.

            After the performance was over, Wizard Martin called up his door-keeper, "Well Jim, how did it pan out? How much money did you take in?"

            "Money!" cried Jim—"How much money? Why, not a cent—nary red ! But never mind that; it's all good—it'll be all right when water comes."

            "When water comes!" cried the Wizard aghast. "When water comes! But my dear boy, I'm here without a cent, and here is the hall rent to be paid."

            "The hall? Oh, never mind the hall; we'll make that all right when water comes. Don't let that fret you; I'll see the owner about that."

            "Well, but just see what a fix I am in," said Martin; "here is my bill at the hotel."

            "Bother the hotel bill! Why will you hunt up things to worry about? But here comes Van Vrankin, your landlord," and facing about, Jim called out: "I say, Van, we've had a devil of a big house—the show has been a grand success, but we haven't taken in any money. As for the Wizard's bill at your house, we'll settle that when water comes."

            "All right," cried Van, "come over now and get a dram; lunch is about ready."

            Next morning the Wizard wanted to take the stage to Nevada city, but his pockets were empty. "It's all right," said Fletcher, I'll see the driver and tell him he'll get his money as soon as water comes." And so it was arranged. Martin had seen no money, but in every other respect the entertainment he had given had been a great success.  It was some comfort to the showman to reflect that he left behind him no debts that were not satisfactorily settled for. The magic words: "Will pay when water comes," had been as good as gold, yet the Wizard would doubtless have felt more at ease could he have jingled a few dollars in his pockets.

            Some weeks later while he was performing in some of the valley towns of the state, Martin the Wizard received a letter from Jim Fletcher in which was enclosed a check for $75. Jim explained that the amount sent was the profit on the performance given at Omega, after paying for the use of the hall, settling the hotel bill, stage fare and the like.

            Said Jim, in his letter: "I knew every person that was in the show and not one has failed to pay. You see that I know what I was about when I said to you: "It will be all right when water comes."

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            Presently arrived that wanderer of the world and hero "of moving incidents by flood and field," Captain Jim. The Captain is a cosmopolitan. It is also said of him that from time to time he renews his youth, like the fabled Arabian bird. Some assert he began life with that world-walker the Wondering Jew. In all lands he is equally at home. At one time he feasts on blubber in the huts of the Koniagas, Aleutian Thilakeets and other Esquimeautistic nations of hyperborean regions; at another he thinly fares on the sucked juice of an orange on islands under a tropical sun; anon he is in Tartary devouring a beef steak "readied" for the table by being placed under a saddle and ridden on; then again he is off and away, eating peacocks of the Island of Samos. His dress, too, is that of the land he invades. Now he is in fur boots with a stick in his nose, again he is attired in a line of tattoo marks and a string of shells, soon to sport a Chinese tail and blouse.

CAPTAIN JIM ROUTS A WHOLE ARMY.

            As Captain Jim seated himself at his favorite corner table in the Gruenen Ganse, alongside Professor Holzkopf, and called for a glass of his favorite beverage, he cast his eye upon a map of the world, hanging upon the wall near at hand, and said: "If I couldn't wipe out old Osman Digna, the Mahdi and their rabble of greasy Arabs down there in the Soudan, in less than one week after I struck the country, I'd never again clap sword to my thigh. General Wolseley, General Graham and all the British within a thousand miles of Suakim and Korti ought to be ashamed of themselves—ought to bag their heads!"

            "Dat is so!" cried the Professor, "dem need some Uhlans —"

            "Blow your Uhlans! All they want is a few brave men, and men with brains!"

            "Dat is so, Captain. Prains —"

            "They want me there; that is what they want!"

            "Dat is so, Captain. You got prains like an oxen and you got pravary like ein — "

            "You are right, Professor, but don't be all the time interrupting me. Now I'll just give you a sample of what I am in war. When I was out in India, about twenty years ago, I performed a feat that is there remembered and spoken of to this day. I routed a whole army—a whole army, sir, and singlehanded!" (Drinks.)

            "Gott in Himmel!" (Drinks.)

            "You may well say so, Professor. Alongside of me General Wolseley is a fool twenty-four carats fine!"

            "Ein armer Teufel!—a poor deffil!"

            "I am the Little Grand Lama compared with him. But, as I was saying: I had joined the rebels against the English, and was given command of a regiment of natives. One day while marching across the country I came to a broad and deep river. The enemy appeared in strong force on the opposite bank. There were two or three companies of English and a regiment or two of loyal natives. I determined to cross the river and attack the opposing force. I made a speech to my soldiers, but I found them faint-hearted."

            "You speak dose languidge of de Hindoo, Captain?"

            "Like a native, Professor, like a native! I tried to arouse them to make a daring dash. In their native tongue I cried out to my men: 'Quarante siecles vous regardent au haut de ces Pyramides!' and so on; trying to inspire them, you see. In my speech I told my men that we would plunge into the river, swim across and annihilate the enemy. They showed no stomach for the fray. Those follows seldom thirst for honorable gore. To stab in the back is their trump card."

            "Der gottlos Hindoo!" (Drinks.)

            "Greatly irritated, I determined to try to shame my soldiers into following me. I had for my private use a white elephant of mammoth dimensions—a giant among elephants! Without waiting for either saddle or bridle, I grasped the regimental flag, bounded to the back of my elephant, struck my spurs into his flanks, plunged into the river and headed for the opposite shore. Waving my sword over my head and without looking back, I shouted: 'Soldiers, follow me! Quarente siecles vous regardent,' and so on, encouraging them in their native tongue."

            "Vos Napoleon, you dink, understand der Hindoo?"

            "Napoleon be blowed and the Duke of Wellington be d—d! They understood nothing— they were shrimps! As I was saying: I was about half way across the river when I turned and found that not one soldier of my whole command was following me, but three or four ravenous crocodiles were.

            "Mein Gott! Krokodill?"

            "Four of them forty feet long! The ugly brutes were coming for me open-mouthed—opening and shutting their mouths like so many flax-breaks!" (Drinks.)

            "Mein Gott!" (Drinks.)

            "As the back of my elephant was several inches under water, I saw at a glance that I would fall an easy prey to the ravenous creatures should I remain in my exposed position. The trunk of my elephant—the most docile creature in all the world—was elevated some twenty feet above the water—stood erect as a mast. I spoke a word to the animal, then with my sword in my teeth and the regimental flag in my left hand, mounted and climbed his trunk as one would climb a tree. Arrived at the top, I stuck my flag into the elephant's trunk and unfurled it to the breeze!"

            "Der Teufel ist los!" (Drinks.)

            "A very just remark, professor, That elephant would go through fire for me— would carry me through whole miles of burning jungle! Well, with my legs locked about the trunk of the elephant I approached the shore on which the enemy were drawn up in line of battle. Seeing only my figure, the trunk of the elephant and the flag above the water, the native allies of the British were astounded. They, the superstitious devils, concluded that I was their great war-god, old Rumbuddy himself, who had come to the assistance of their rebel brethren and was supernaturally gliding across the river to exterminate them. They became panic-stricken. To a man they wheeled their elephants about and charged against the English companies, who were forced to fly to prevent being trampled to death. It was a regular stampede—Helter skelter, pell mell they ran! Seeing the enemy flying, my soldiers swam across the stream and upon their arrival found me in full possession of the field. Single-handed I had routed a whole army!" (Drinks.)

            "Bei meiner soele! Captain, you should of der Orden den Strumpfband be made!"

            "'Tis nothing—'tis nothing! But were I down in the Soudan for a single week, you would see that I would win the Order of the garter, or strumpfband, as you call it. In a week—in one week I would win it!"

            "Ach, mein Trinkbruder! Heil dem koenig! you would be a king! Gott safe der king!" (Drinks.)

            With this Professor Holzkopf arose and took his departure, probably not feeling perfectly sweet toward the captain, because he would not hear to Uhlans being sent down into the Soudan.

            Upon the departure of the professor I removed and took the seat he had just vacated. Said the captain, facing about and pointing toward the door through which the German had just disappeared—

                        'From Gratz amid the Styrian hills he came,

                        And Dobinzhoffer was the good man's honest name—

            "D—n a Dutchman!"

            "Captain, the professor is a very good sort of man, in his way."

            "Yes, in his way, but a man can't grind with one millstone."

            "He is an enthusiastic listener."

            "Yes, when he says nothing he talks well."

            "When you have nothing to say, say nothing."

            "Just so."

            It is said that there was once silence in Heaven for half an hour. For five minutes there was silence in the Green Goose.

A LAUGHING SOW.

            Finally, raising his tenth glass of beer to a level with his eyes to see whether it "showed its color aright," then taking a sip and turning upon me his benevolent countenance, Captain Jim said: "When I was running my big ranch down in Tuolumne County, California, I had for a time a good deal of trouble with my nearest neighbor. We were fighting back and forth all the time. One evening my favorite cow came home with her tall cut short off—only a little stump left about as long as a cigar.

            "Your neighbor must have been a very cruel man, Captain?"

            'Cruel! I should say so! He was a fiend from the bottomless pit! Before I would mutilate a cow in such a manner, I would prod a donkey with pitch-fork until I had coaxed him to kick my brains out!"

            "Captain you are a second Bergh!''

            "You may well say so. But I got even on that neighbor. That very night I caught his old sow, and slit both sides of her mouth up to her ears."

            "Captain!, Captain!"

            "I did it! I did it, and don't deny it, but was under protest to my better nature."

            "Oh, it was under protest, Captain?"

            "Yes, under protest, and you might almost say in self-defense. Next morning my neighbor came after me red-hot. 'Did you,' cried he, 'did you slit up my old sow's mouth?'

            "Why, my dear fellow," said I, in my blandest manner, "I guess your old sow must have slit up her mouth laughing at my old cow trying to switch her little stump of a tail."

            "C'est bich comique," remarked a little Frenchman, seated at a near table, to his companion.

            "Pour l'amour de Dieu!" roared the Captain, "who asked your opinion?"

HANS AND THE TRAMP."

            "Der Teufel und sein Grossmutter!" (The devil and his dam) here thundered Hans Tuegendspiegel from behind his bar. This expression always showed that Hans's sleeping lion was aroused and had his tail in the air.

            Turning toward this new field of commotion, we—the Captain and myself—we saw in front of the bar, a fellow of the genus tramp. The thirteen hairs on the top of the pumpkin-like head of Hans were erect. Two beer bottles stood on the counter. In a few minutes we gathered what had occurred. The tramp had presented himself before Hans and asked for a bottle of beer.

            When he got it he deposited it in the tail pocket of his long, greasy coat and said: "I'll settle for this in the morning." Hans would not have it that way, and demanded the return of his beer.

            Assuming a sad and subjugated look, the tramp reached behind and producing a bottle placed it on the bar, then mournfully turned to depart. The quick eye of Hans, however, saw that although it was a facsimile of one of his bottles, something was wrong. Boiling round his bar, Hans took from the rear pocket of the tramp the genuine bottle of beer and handed back the bottle of tobacco juice or barnyard soakings the fellow had tried to substitute. It was at this moment that Hans had cried out; "Der Teufel und seine Grossmutter!"

            The lion in Hans roared till the Green Goose trembled and the forest was shaken, figuratively speaking.

            "Such a dings like dot," cried he, "haf pefore in dis house neffer happen!" and Hans stamped the floor, evidently feeling that it was an insult to his place.

            "Do you know why?" coolly asked the tramp, who had edged to the door.

            "Do I know vy?"

            "That's wat I said, Do you know why?"

            "Vell den, py Gott! vy?"

            "Well, because I have never before been in this house."

            Hans Tuegendspiegel stood astounded. His lower jaw drooped and for some moments he seemed to be studying the answer in all its bearings. Finally a faint twinkle came into his eye, and he cried out to the tramp: "Schere dich weg!—get you gone! aus mit you!" but his roar was more mellow than usual—almost musical— and he laughed until tears rolled down his fat cheeks as soon as the fellow's back was turned.