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Last night while a party of us were sitting around the table in the cabin of the New World, talking about the “Avitor” and aerial sailing generally, our conversation was interrupted by a dark, raw-boned Hoosier who had entered the cabin shortly after the steamer left her wharf. He kept squirming on his chair for some time, and was evidently anxious to take part in the conversation. “I say, boys, I’m Sam Patterson,” he commenced at last, “and if this yer dish is free and no one han’t no objections, I’d like mi’ty well to dip my spoon in.”

SAM PATTERSON.

All turned to look at the speaker. Even the fat old gentleman who during our conversation had not taken his eyes from the Christian Guardian he was reading, stretched up and peered over the top of the paper at Sam. Before any one could reply the Hoosier gave his chair a hitch nigher the table and went on:

“I say, boss,” he continued, addressing his conversation to me, perhaps because I had just been expressing my opinion, “I don’t go a picayune on navigatin’ the air. They ain’t no need of talkin’ and gassin’ about crossin’ the ’tlantic or any of them foolish ventur’s. I happen to know somethin’ about balloonin’, and understand pooty near what you can do and what you can’t do with one of them fellers. I’d a plag’y sight ruther undertake to cross the ocean in a dug-out, than ventur’ in one of them tricky cobwebs; you can’t depend on ’em. Thar like a flea—when a man thinks he’s got ’em he hain’t.”

“Perhaps you are misled by prejudice?” I ventured to remark.

“No, I ain’t nuther,” answered the Hoosier, “I speak from experience. I’ve bin thar.”

“Oh! you have given the aeronautic science some attention then?” I said. “An inventor, I presume?”

“Wal, no. I don’t exactly claim to be an inventor,” he replied; “I reckon I foller’d on the old plan, exceptin’ in the material used in constructin’.”

“Did you ever make an ascension?” I asked.

“Wal, yes, I’ve bin up some,” he answered dryly.

“Have you ever been very high?” inquired the fat old gentleman, who seemed to grow interested.

“Perhaps not so high as eagles or turkey-buzzards fly, but a mi’ty sight higher than barn-yard fowls ventur’,” answered the Hoosier. “You see,” he continued, “I was stayin’ down to Orleans once for about a week, and thar was a professor had a balloon in the park hitched to a stake, and he was histin’ people up the length of the rope for two bits a head. I stepped into the cradle that was a hangin’ to it, and went up the length of the rope, and liked it pooty well. I went up three or four times and made considerable inquiries about the manner of constructin’ and inflatin’, as I was cal’latin to rig up one when I got hum to Tuckersville.

“When I got back I telled Sal what I was bent on doin’. She tried pooty hard to git the notion out of my head, but t’was stuck thar, like a bur to a cow’s tail. I telled her it mout be the makin’ of us, so arter a while she gin in, and as silk was too alfired expensive Sal gin me a lot of bed sheets and helped me sew ’em together down in the cellar. We put it together down thar ’cause I didn’t want any of the neighbors to know what was up, until I could astonish ’em some fine mornin’ by risin’ above the hull caboodle, and for wunst lookin’ down on some on ’em that was snuffin’ around and tryin’ to look down on me mi’ty bad.

“I used a rousin’ great corn basket for the cradle, and arter she was all ready for inflatin’ I had my life insured, ’cause I didn’t want Sal to suffer by any of my ventur’s. Then I went to Sol Spence, the lawyer, and had him draw up the writin’s of a will, and while he was doin’ it he worked the balloon secret out of me, and wanted me to take him along. I telled him ’twas pooty risky business, and that he’d hev to run some chances, as I was cal’latin’ on seein’ what clouds war made of before I came down. He said them war his sentiments exactly; that he allers had a great hankerin’ to git up thar and see what sort of a spongy thing they war, anyhow.

“I didn’t object much; I reckoned the sheets war good for it, though he went over two hundred, but I cal’lated he’d do instead of ballast, and be company besides. So I took some bed cord and slung another corn basket below the one I was gwine in, and after dark we hauled the great floppy thing out into the back yard, and arter we got it histed up on stakes we commenced buildin’ fires under her to git the gas up and gittin’ things ready ginnerally. About sun-up we had her all ready to step into. Spence had his sketch book along, cal’latin’ on taking some bird’s-eye views, and I had a bottle of tea, cal’latin’ to empty it gwine up, and fill it with rain water while up thar. The thing was a-wallopin’ and rollin’ around the yard mi’ty impatient to git off. I hitched her first to the grindstone frame, but she was snakin’ that around the yard, and the dogs commenced sech an all-fired yelpin’ and scuddin’ round and watchin’ of it through the fence, that we were obliged to put ’em in the cellar, ’cause we didn’t want the hull neighborhood attractid by ther barkin’. Then we fastened the balloon to the shed post, and left Sal to watch her while we war eatin’ a snack of breakfast. Pooty soon arter we heard Sal a-shoutin’ that she was a-gwine off with the wood-shed. So we ran out mi’ty lively, and had no time to spare, nuther. I jumped up and caught one rope, and Spence got hold of another. We couldn’t fetch it down till Sal caught hold of my leg, and between us three we pulled it back agin.

“She gin a sort of puff and come down pooty sudden when near the ground, and one of the posts of the shed came fair onto the back of a leetle pet hog that was rootin’ round the yard, and knuckled his back down into the chips, leavin’ his head and hinder parts stickin’ up. He commenced sich an uproarious squealin’ you could hear him more’n two miles. While Spence and I were fussin’ at the ropes to unloose her from the shed, she took another sudden start up agin and shot away from us quicker than scat. Sal happened to have hold of a rope at the time, and up she went into the air, scootin’ like a rocket. Sal was a plucky critter. Shoot me, if she wasn’t as full of grit as a sandstone. She could have let go that rope, but she wouldn’t; she wanted to fetch the consarn down agin, and was bound to cling to her until she did. Blow me, if I didn’t think for a while I was goin’ to lose the old woman. Thar she was a-hangin’ on to the end of the rope, hollerin’ like a hull regiment chargin’ a battery, and trailin’ and swingin’ about without any notion of lettin’ go.

ATTEMPTED ABDUCTION OF SAM’S WIFE.

“We had a lively time of it gettin’ her down agin too, now I can tell you. I jumped over a fence into the garden, and snatchin’ up a rake commenced to scrape at her, and finally the teeth caught in her dress, and then I had a pooty good hold so long as Sal was good for it. Spence got hold of another rope that was danglin’ around, so between us we got her down the second time. Then I sung out to Spence, ‘Spence,’ ses I, ‘climb into yer basket and let’s be off, or the hull town will be here and stop us gwine.’ So we clim’ into our baskets and flung out Sal’s flatirons, that we had for ballast, and up we shot like a spark up a chimney. I hollered back to Sal to put the hog out of pain and stop the squeakin’, and the last I seed of her as we went round the gable, she was a whackin’ him over the head with the back of an ax, and he was a hollerin’ wuss and wuss.

“The wind took the balloon over a swamp back of the village, where no person seemed to see us, and then the world began to drop away pooty nicely. ’Twant long till I heered Spence callin’ out, mi’ty skeered like:—

“LET ME GIT OUT!”

“‘I guess, Sam, you mout as well land her and let me git out.’

“‘Are you afeered, Spence?’ ses I, jest that way.

“‘No,’ he answered. ‘I arn’t afeered, but I reckon my fam’ly would be mi’ty uneasy about this time if they knowed whar I was, and I begin to feel pooty sowlicitous about ’em.’

“‘This yer thing is somethin’ like law,’ I ses, ‘when yer’ into her you’ve got to keep goin’ till somethin’ gins out. She hasn’t got a rope a holdin’ of her down now, Spence, and as for yer’ fam’ly, I reckon the’re a mi’ty sight safer than you be, so if you have any spare sowlicitude, you had better be a tuckin’ it onto yourself. ‘Sides,’ I contin’ed, ‘I hain’t studied into the lettin’ down part of it half so much as into the rizin’.’

“‘Jerusalem!’ he shouted. ‘I thought you war famil’ar with the hull thing or I’d have as soon thought of gwine up in a whirlwind.’

“‘I fancy I do know considerable about it,’ I ses.

“‘Then why can’t you stop her right here?’ he hollered, lookin’ up, pooty pale.

“‘I cal’late we’ve got to keep ascendin’ while the gas holds out,’ I answered.

“‘Thunder and lightnin’!’ he hollered, jest that way, ‘and what are you agwine to do arter the gas gins out?’

“‘I reckon,’ ses I, ‘we’ll come down agin.’

“‘A flukin’?’ he asked.

“‘Perhaps so,’ ses I. ‘I cal’late we’ll come down faster than we’re gwine up, but I’m hopin’ to catch an undercurrent of a’r that will sweep us along, and let us down sort of gently.’

“Just as we war talkin’ somethin’ gin a whoppin’ crack overhead, and she began to drop down by the run pooty lively.

“‘What’s that?’ shouted Spence. ‘I think I hear a sort of tearin’ noise up thar; ain’t somethin’ ginnin’ out?’

“‘I reckon the old woman’s sheets have commenced to gin out,’ I said, kind of careless like, though beginnin’ to feel mi’ty narvous all to wunst. On lookin’ down, I seed Spence was a cranin’ out of the basket and lookin’ down, jest as pale as could be.

“‘Sufferin’ pilgrims!’ he shouted. ‘Can’t you throw out somethin’, Sam, and lighten her a leetle? She’s droppin’ straight down, like an aerolite.’

“‘I hain’t got anythin’ to throw out exceptin’ the tea bottle, and that ar’ is e’enmost empty,’ I ses. ‘I cal’late we’ve got to take our chances; if you hain’t forgot yer childhood prayers, you mout as well be a runnin’ of ’em over, for things are beginnin’ to look mi’ty skeery jest now, I can tell ye.’

“Pooty soon I heer’d him a mumblin’ to himself, and I allers allowed he was prayin.’

“We war now about steeple high, and as I had expected, the wind caught us and began to sweep us around pooty loose. As we went wallopin’ over St. Patrick’s church, Spence’s basket struck the spire and was a spillin’ of him out like a lobster out of a market basket. I peered over and seed he was e’enmost gone, so I hollered, ‘Go for the spire, Spence, it’s your only chance.’ He seemed to be of the same mind, for as I spoke he was a grabbin’ for it and managed to git hold of one end of the weather-vane. I reckon if he had got hold on both ends he’d ha’ bin all right; but things war gettin’ desperate and he had to take what come. The balloon riz some when he fell out, and as it was a movin’ off I looked back to see how he was a makin’ it. He was a hangin’ thar like a gymnast, a kickin’ and a wormin’ and the steeple a rockin’. But he was too awful heavy; he couldn’t draw himself up nohow. Pooty soon the tail of the fish gin out, and down he slid along the steeple like a shot coon down a ’simmon tree.

“Fortunately he struck the roof and over it he rolled, clawin’ and a scratchin’ the shingles as he went. But it was ‘all go and no whoa,’ as the boy said when he was a slidin’ the greased banister. Old Father McGillop was just comin’ out of the vestry door after matins as Spence come a scootin’ over the eaves and down kerflumix right on top of him. This, ye see, sort of broke the fall for Spence, but it spread the distress. He was so heavy and come with such force he disjinted the neck of his Riverence, and shoved it so far down into the body that his ears were restin’ on the shoulders. They had to git a shovel to dig him out of the ground, and Doc Willoughby was a fussin’ over him more than five hours, a yankin’ his neck out of his body, and pressin’ his ears into shape, and”——

“Stop now,” said the fat old chap, who was worked up to the top notch of attention, “do you mean to say he lived after his neck was dislocated?”

“Wal, I reckon, boss,” said the narrator, as he took a fresh quid of tobacco, “I hain’t made no sech unreasonable assertion. I was sayin’ they hauled his neck back, and put his ears in place agin (or ruther one of ’em, for the butcher’s dog eat t’other one before the old sexton could git to it), so that he mout make somethin’ like a decent appearance in the coffin.

“Soon as Spence went over the eave I lost sight of him, for I was drivin’ pooty briskly over Kent’s corn patch, and as I came sweepin’ down by the widder O’Donnell’s she was in the yard gittin’ an apron full of chips. I reckon she heer’d a burrin’ sound overhead, ’cause she looked up, and when she seed the balloon she gin a squall and cried out somethin’ about protection. I reckoned she was callin’ on the saints, but had no time just then to listen. Before she had gone many steps she dropped, and I allowed she had gone down in a faintin’ fit.

“I was a drivin’ and a driftin’ over the village like a thistle-down, for more than two hours, and the dogs war a barkin’ and the men and wimmin a hollerin’ and a runnin’ arter it wherever it drifted. The barn-yard fowls war a cacklin’ and a screamin’. Jewillikens! didn’t I make a rumption among them though! You’d think thar war forty thousand hawks and turkey-buzzards a hoverin’ over the village, by the way they scattered, aginst the winders, ahind stun walls, into the wells, under lumber piles and currint bushes; such a scrougin’ and squattin’ and scootin’ I never did see. Parson Jones had thirteen lights of glass smashed by fowls batterin’ aginst the winders tryin’ to git in, and Dud Davis, the blacksmith, fished seven dead hens, two turkeys, a guinea fowl, and two small pigs out of his well next day, whar they sought refuge and war drown’d. Dad Kent gin me six traces of good seed corn next fall. He said barrin’ the killin’ of Priest McGillop, it was the best thing that ever happened in Tuckersville. He said I did more for his crop than if he had a scarecrow standin’ astride every hill. Thar wasn’t a crow flew within two miles of the village for mor’n a fortnight, and by that time the corn was grown so they couldn’t pull it up.

“Pooty soon the balloon come down about house high and druv over toward the dee-pot. I was a hopin’ she’d catch on the telegraph wire, but she skimm’d over, like a swallow over a fence, and immediately riz up tree high agin, where scrape, slap, slash, she went into an ole pine that stood out alone in the field. I was scratched pooty bad, but hung on to the limbs, and arter a while slid down the tree leavin’ the balloon hangin’ in the tree-top. Great turnips! if all Tuckersville wasn’t down thar in five minutes. Thar war young ‘uns runnin’ around half-dressed, with corn-dodgers in their hands, and wimmin with babies in their arms. It was like a dog fight, only, as the feller said when describin’ the nigger by the mulatter, it was more so.

“GO IN, CRIPPLE.”

“The train was delayed half an hour that mornin’, ’cause the engineer, conductor and all hands jumped off the cars and ran down to the balloon. Peg-leg Dibbly, the Mexican war veteran, was thar, hobblin’ around among the rest. He was in such a hurry to git down to the tree he wouldn’t go around by the road, but started in to take a short cut across the marsh with the crowd. And he had a sweet, sweatin’ time of it too, now I can assure you. First his cane would stick, and just about the time he would git that out, down would slide his iron-shod leg fully a foot into the mud, and stake him thar like a scarecrow. Then he would look down to where the people were standin’, and jerk and swear until the want of breath only would make him let up. He got down thar after a while though, but he had to crawl considerable before he could do it; and arter he got thar he was bobbin’ here and bobbin’ thar, tryin’ to git a better look up into the tree, until at last he stumbled and fell across one of Dud Davis’ young ‘uns, and gin her left leg a compound fractur’. She set up a screamin’, and he was so weak and frightened he couldn’t git up agin no how, but lay thar gruntin’, and sprawlin’, and kickin’ his one leg around. The blacksmith was thar himself, and when he seed his young ’un down in the mud with her leg broke, you never seed a man so mad in all your born days. He jest ran and grabbed the old pensioner by the coat collar, and slung him mor’n fifteen feet, landin’ him slidin’ on his back in the mud, like a crawfish.

A RIGHT ANGLED TRY-ANKLE.

“About the same time Tubbs, the cooper, was a lookin’ up, and he seed a bough springin’ up, and he allowed the balloon was comin’ down; so he started to run, and stepped on the foot of Kent’s snappin’ bull-dog, that was a settin’ thar lookin’ up the tree, thinkin’ thar must be a coon up it. The cur whirled round mad, and set his teeth into the nighest thing to him, which happened to be old Polly Alien’s ankle. But he got more than he bargained for, though, for she was so tuff that his teeth stuck thar, and she was a screamin’ and a runnin’ hum, draggin’ him arter her mor’n half the way. I never did see sich an excitin’ time. School was dismissed, and there wasn’t a lick of work done in Tuckersville the hul day. The hul talk was ‘Sam Patterson’s balloon, Sam Patterson’s balloon.’ I didn’t have to pay a picayune for anything for mor’n three weeks. Parson Jones preached a tellin’ sermon about the balloon, and thar wasn’t standin’ room in the church; they had to keep the windows open and let people standin’ on the outside stick their heads in and listen. He likened it first to youth, when it was a rollin’ around in the back yard, whar nobody seed it, impatient and ambitious to rise. Then like unto manhood, when it was up, a bustin’ and droppin’ down agin. Next he said it resembled old age, when it was in rags a floppin’ around in the tree, more for observation than use. Thar wasn’t hardly a dry eye in the hul meetin’ house. Hard-hearted old sinners cried like teethin’ babies.

“The balloon hung in the tree all summer, and every day thar’d be a crowd of people starin’ at it, like cats at a bird cage. A photographer came the hul way from town, and took lots of views of the remains; and one of Frank Leslie’s special artists come rattlin’ down thar, and sot on a stun wall for two days drawin’ sketches of it. He said it was the most spirited subject he had sot eyes on since he sketched the hoop-skirt Jeff Davis was captured in. But I’m gettin’ ruther dry. Ain’t some of you fellers agwine to call on the stimilints?”