Louisa May Alcott's Doll Itinerary
Created | Updated Aug 27, 2017
Louisa May Alcott's Doll Itinerary
Ed. Notes: You may sometimes be inclined to think that the 21st Century has cornered the market on ridiculous ideas. After all, there's whatever the politicians said on Twitter today. . . But the Past had its moments, folks: here's one of them.
People in the 18th and 19th centuries liked to read about journeys and adventures: not only of people, but of animals, such as dogs and horses. Tales like Black Beauty and A Dog of Flanders were very popular. Inanimate objects were not exempt from the journey genre treatment: there was even a book called Chrysal, or the Adventures of a Guinea in the 1760s. It ran to four volumes.
The short story excerpted here is 'The Dolls' Journey from Minnesota to Maine' by Louisa May Alcott, first published in 1873. You may know of Louisa May Alcott as the author of Little Women and Little Men. Louisa May is a much better wordsmith than Charlotte Yonge, at least in our humble opinion, and she is snarkier, though she's sneaky about it. But Ms Alcott's tales are as redolent of sentimentality as the rest of the popular literature of her time. Do not read the whole story without a box of tissue handy. You have been warned. You remember what happened when you read A Dog of Flanders. Just saying.
However, there's a happy ending to this tale, and we're sure Bronies everywhere will enjoy this doll story. We can't figure out who was supposed to read this, kids or adults. There's a death, and a mean little girl, and a romance, so it's all very confusing.
The Dolls' Journey from Minnesota to Chicago
As soon as Flora and Dora1 recovered from the bewilderment occasioned by the confusion of the post office, they found themselves in one of the many leathern mail bags rumbling Eastward. As
it was perfectly dark they could not see their companions, so listened to the whispering and
rustling that went on about them. The newspapers all talked politics, and some of them used
such bad language that the dolls would have covered their ears2, if their hands had not been tied down. The letters were better behaved and more interesting3, for they told one another the news they carried, because nothing is private in America4, and even gummed envelopes cannot keep gossip from leaking out.
"It is very interesting, but I should enjoy it more if I was not grinding my nose against the
rough side of this leather bag," whispered Dora, who lay undermost just then.
"So should I, if a heavy book was not pinching my toes. I 've tried to kick it away, but it won't stir, and keeps droning on about reports and tariffs and such dull things," answered Flora, with a groan.
"Do you like travelling?" asked Dora, presently, when the letters and papers fell asleep,
lulled by the motion of the cars.
"Not yet, but I shall when I can look about me. This bundle near by says the mails are often
sorted in the cars, and in that way we shall see something of the world, I hope," answered Flora,
cheering up, for, like her mamma, she was of an enquiring turn.
The dolls took a nap of some hours, and were roused by a general tumbling out on a long shelf, where many other parcels lay, and lively men sent letters and papers flying here and there as if a whirlwind was blowing. A long box lay beside the dolls who stood nearly erect leaning against a pile of papers. Several holes were cut in the lid, and out of one of them was thrust a little black nose, as if trying to get air.
"Dear me ! what can be in it?" said Flora, who was nearest.
"I 'm a poor little alligator, going to a boy in Chicago, if you please, and I want my mother,"
sobbed a voice from the box, and there was a rap on the lid as of an agitated tail.
"Mercy on us! I hope we shall not have to travel with the monster," whispered Dora, trying
to see over her shoulder.
"I 'm not afraid. He can't be very dreadful, for the box is not any longer than we are. Natural
history is very useful; I 've heard mamma5 say so, and I shall talk with him while we rest here," answered Flo, nodding toward the eye which now took the place of the nose.
So the little alligator told her something of his home on the banks of a great river, where he was just learning to play happily with his brothers and sisters, when he was caught and sent away
to pine in captivity6.
The dolls comforted him as well as they could, and a pair of baby's shoes travelling in an en-
velope sympathized with him, while a shabby bundle directed to "Michael Dolan, at Mrs. Judy
Quin's, next door to Mr. Pat Murphy, Boston, Korth Street," told them to "Whisht and slape
quite till they came forninst the place7."
" Such low people!" whispered Do to Flo8, and both stood primly silent till they were tumbled into another mail bag, and went rattling on again with a new set of companions.
"I hope that poor baby will go safely and the boy be good to him," said Flora, for the little
alligator went with the live stock in some other way.
"Thank goodness he didn't go with us! I shall dream about that black nose and winking eye, I 'm sure. The dangers of travelling are great, but we are safe and comfortable now, I think," and Dora settled down in a cosy corner of the bag, wondering when they should reach Chicago.
"I like adventures and hope we shall have some," answered Flora, briskly, little dreaming
how soon her wish was to be granted.
A few hours later there came a bump, a crash, a cry, and then all the mail bags rolled one over the other with the car down an embankment into a river.
"Now we are dead!" shrieked the poor dolls9, clinging together as they heard the splash of water, the shouting of men, the splintering of wood, and the hiss of steam.
"Don't be frightened, ladies, mail bags are always looked after," said a large envelope with
an official seal and the name of a Senator on it.
"Any bones broken, dear madam?" asked a jaunty pink letter, with a scent of musk about it,
evidently a love-letter.
"I think one foot is hurt, and my clothes are dripping," sighed Dora, faintly.
"Water won't hurt calico," called out a magazine full of fashion plates, adding dolefully, as its gay colors began to run, "I shall be in a nice mess if I ever get out of this. People will wear
odd fashions if they follow me this time."
"Hope they will telegraph news of this accident in time for the evening papers," said a dingy
sheet called the "Barahoo Thunderbolt," as it lay atop of the heap in its yellow wrapper.
"Be calm, my friends, and wait with fortitude for death or deliverance, as I do." With which
philosophic remark "The St. Louis Cosmos" folded the pages which for the first time since the paper was started, were not dry10.
Here the water rose over the topmost letter and a moist silence prevailed till a sudden jerk fished up the bag, and before the dolls could recover their wits they were spread out on the floor of a mail car to dry, while several busy men sorted and saved such papers and letters as still held
together.
"Now we shall see something," said Flora, feeling the warm air blow over her as they spun
along, for a slight accident like this did not delay the energetic Westerners a moment longer than
was absolutely necessary.
Ed. Note: Read on if you dare, and find out what else happens to the two dolls, and where that dog comes into the story. If you liked that one, read the next tale, 'The Shadow-Children'. This amazing piece of fiction reads as if Rod Serling had collaborated with Charlotte Yonge (and lost an argument). We can't make these things up.
