THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
Near its door a man was lounging on a wooden bench, whittling a stick. I asked him whether we were on the right road to the City of Lexington and what the distance might be. “Why,” said he, with a contemptuous drawl, “this is the City of Lexington. Be you one of the chaps that's to lecture here this afternoon?” I confessed that I was, and at the same moment another buggy drove up, from which a traveler alighted, in whom, from some picture I had seen, I recognized the Hon. Galusha Grow from Pennsylvania, the speaker of the National House of Representatives that was to be. I found in him an exceedingly jovial gentleman, in the prime of life, and inclined to look at the bright or humorous side of everything. His search for the City of Lexington had been no less arduous than mine, and we had a hearty laugh at our discovery.
The “City” consisted of the tavern, a small country store, a blacksmith's shop, a school-house, and perhaps an additional cabin or two, all built of logs. But the landlord—the man I had seen lounging on the bench—assured us that a great many blocks of city lots had been laid out which were for sale cheap, and that this was sure to become a “big business center.” We asked for a room where we might “clean up.” He pointed to the pump in the yard, and gave us a tolerably clean towel. As to our dinner, the landlord told us that he was a little short of provisions just then, but would give us the “best he had.” The “best he had” consisted of salt pork, somewhat rancid, boiled onions, very sour bread, and a greenish fluid of indescribable taste, called coffee. I never liked rancid pork and boiled onions; neither did Mr. Grow. So we feasted upon sour bread and horrible coffee, which would have had a depressing effect had we not been manfully determined to keep up our spirits.
As to the meeting we were to address, we learned that it was to be held at half-past two in the school-house. We looked
[ 149 ]
