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When we arrived at Crookstown it was eleven o'clock, and we found no trace of the messengers. Nothing remained but to try and get on to Cork. I proposed the journey to the boy; but he resolutely refused. I affected to acquiesce, and asked him to drink something in a publichouse, which was kept open for the accommodation of carriers, of whom there are large numbers at that season of the year.
We then directed our footsteps to a small village called Crookstown, situated in a romantic spot on a branch of the Lee. We experienced much difficulty, and narrowly escaped detection, in entering this village, which is surrounded by beautiful country seats, through the grounds of some of which we were obliged to grope our way.
A room opening from the recess had a table set like the one at Crookstown, apparently for breakfast; the floors were literally covered with mud. What, we surmised, can the bedrooms be like in such a place? Our question was only too soon answered. Presently a shaggy-headed, untidy woman made her appearance, hastily fastening her clothes.
Query, what is a town? Crookstown could not boast of half a dozen houses besides the station. Another hour's journey brought us to Fisher's Landing, on Red Lake River, where we were to remain until next morning. Although the boat was at the landing, we were not allowed to go on board until all the freight was shipped.
The Mississippi The Rapids Aerial Railway Bridges Breakfast at Braynor Lynch Law Card-sharpers Crowding in the Cars Woman's Rights! The Prairie "A Sea of Fire" Crookstown Fisher's Landing Strange Quarters "The Express-man's Bed" Herding like Sheep On board the Minnesota. After leaving Duluth at four o'clock on Tuesday morning by rail, the country through which we passed was very beautiful.
I accordingly communicated to my man of confidence the difficulty I found myself in, and requested he would procure a horse and car which I could drive along the high road, hoping to reach Crookstown before the promised guide would have left. He suggested the man at whose house I stopped on a former evening.
Thither both of us repaired, after having completed my costume, such as is generally worn by the lowest Cork peasants literally rags. We got the horse and car, but before the arrangements for our departure were made it was past the hour when I should be at Crookstown. A servant boy who led the horse was my companion.
Breakfast was a repetition of the supper at Crookstown, and although blessed with excellent appetites generally, we lost them completely at Fisher's Landing. About noon, we smuggled ourselves on board the Minnesota, and a few judicious tips enabled us to take up our quarters there at once. How we did enjoy our dinner!
When I received this information, it was four o'clock, and the distance to Crookstown was at least seventeen miles. The plan was one of which I could not approve; but it would be invaluable to me to have a safe asylum in Cork, for any project I might finally decide on.
During a short lull in the storm, we stopped at a place called Crookstown for tea, following a touter for the "Ho-tel" there or rather a railway lantern, as the darkness completely hid the man through mud and water up to our ankles; over stumps and sticks; through a dilapidated gateway, stoup, and wash-house, to a long, low room, where the table was laid for tea.
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