Watch Yourself Go By

A >> Al. G. Field >> Watch Yourself Go By

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"Who is dat ole white man 'trudin' yar? Whar did dat ole white man kum
frum? Who fetched him up yar?"

The Colonel couldn't bear it longer. Stalking out, he descended the
stairs, asking himself if he could sink lower. In the depths of
degradation, what could happen that would sink him lower. A Charlotte
ordered out of a nigger ballroom.

The cold air pierced him more quickly since leaving the ballroom. The
big wood fire influenced him to return to its comforting warmth. By this
time the fire had heated up the room. The heat from the over-heated
revellers, the aroma permeating the atmosphere, was not unfamiliar to
the Colonel's sense of smell yet none the less unpleasant.

It impelled the Colonel to seek fresh air more quickly than the side
remarks had previously. Out in the chilly air he gave way to his
thoughts as before, thoughts tinged with even more bitterness.

The fire had made him more and more susceptible to the cold and it was
not long ere the Colonel started on his way to warm himself again. Sam
met him at the foot of the stairs. Bowing and scraping, he began by
apologizing profusely:

"Cunnel, I declars I hates to tell you all but the gemmen dat runs de
frolik jus tol' me I has to. I'se been pinted a committee to tell you
dey hes made a good hot fire in de back room down stairs fer you. You
kin go in an' warm yerself. Dey all doan wants you to kum in de big room
up stairs eny more. De fak is, de ladies up dar objecks to de oder ob de
stable on yer clothes."

The facts are that a tannery is not as pleasant to the olfactory senses
as Pinaud's perfumes, but Alfred, unlike Col. Charlotte, had exposed
himself to objectionable odors by working over the vats and leather by
day, and thumping the tambourine by night in the big finishing room. But
no complaints ever came to his ears of the unpleasant odor of the
tannery he carried home with him until Lin was discarded by the minstrel
band. Therefore, when the mother, backed by Lin, informed him that he
would have to give up his tan-yard affiliations, the boy felt in his
heart that as in the Colonel's case, it was not the odor but prejudice.

He almost wished he had arranged that Lin might have retained her place
as leader of the singing. But there were other reasons why he was
ordered to leave the tanning business.

The Workman Hotel was but a few steps from the old tannery. The new
landlord was giving the place a cleaning up. Cal Wyatt, the son of the
hotel man, came over to the tannery and requested Alfred, John Caldman,
Vince Carpenter and several others to go over during the noon hour to
the cellar and give them a hand in stacking up sundry barrels and kegs.

All complied. The barrels were quickly lifted on top of each other. A
tin cup full of some sort of fluid was passed around several times. All
sipped from the cup, much as folks do from a loving cup nowadays. As the
barrels were piled higher, the tin cup went around again and again.

Alfred had sipped from a large spoon a little of the same sort of
tasting stuff when Grandpap Irons made a little toddy before breakfast.
But never had his lips sunk into a tin cup filled with the stuff
previously. A feeling came over him such as he had never experienced,
and it seemed as if all in the cellar were similarly affected. Those of
the tan-yard hands who had never been known to raise their voices in
song, essayed to sing the minstrel songs. Those so awkward that they
could not walk naturally endeavored to dance.

Ordinarily Alfred would have laughed himself weak at the hilarious
attempts of the tan-yard hands, and their imitations. Under the
influence of the tin cup's magic fluid he held them in that contempt
that only the professional can feel for the jay who endeavors to imitate
him.

[Illustration: The Tin Cup Went Round Again and Again]

Alfred stood motionless, or as near motionless as he possibly could.
John Caldman, who was known and respected as the one quiet and
unobtrusive person in the tannery, and from whose lips a loud word never
escaped, stood erect and immovable as the singing, dancing tan-yard
hands whirled about him. With compressed lips and haughty mien he seemed
not to notice them.

Suddenly he spoke and in a voice so loud and unnatural that all were
awed into silence. The quiet man had changed so completely he seemed
another person. Alfred gazed at him in astonishment. He hurled epithets
and denunciations at those whose names he had never before mentioned
aloud. He recalled insults and abuse heaped upon him by all connected
with the tannery; he invited, he insisted that the biggest and
strongest of those about him come out and fight. He dared the whole
crowd to jump on him.

None accepting his dare he declared his intention to go to the tan-yard
and clean out the old shebang, following his threat with a movement
towards the tannery followed by the wobbling crowd.

Entering the big finishing room Alfred saw the infuriated John standing
in the middle of the room, an iron hook in one hand, a lump of coal in
the other, while the workmen were flying upstairs and down stairs.
Alfred endeavored to follow those who went down stairs. He remembered
starting from the first step at the top. Vince Carpenter afterwards
informed him he never hit another step in his descent.

[Illustration: Sammy Steele's Mule Kicked the Boy]

Gathering himself up in time to hear Vince shout: "Here comes Mr.
Steele," as badly scared as his dazed senses would permit him to be,
Alfred fumbled and scrambled about for a moment. He spied a large
wheel-barrow overloaded with cows' ears and other by-products of green
hides that go into the refuse and find their way to the glue factory.
This slimy mess was just out of the lime vat.

Alfred grabbed the handles and started with the wheel-barrow he did not
know where, his sole object being to stall and make the boss believe he
was at work. Along a narrow plank walk he pushed the gruesome load,
weaving, wobbling at every step, threatening to go off one side or the
other at any moment, headed for the dump where all the water-soaked,
discarded tan bark was deposited.

Reaching the dumping ground, standing between the handles of the
wheel-barrow, Alfred attempted to overturn it. The handles overturned
Alfred. Down the steep incline, rolled Alfred, wheel-barrow and contents
in one conglomerate mass, Alfred under the avalanche of cows' ears,
tails, etc.

Mrs. Hampton witnessed from her back porch the race down the dump pile.
Calling a couple of boys the lady led the way to where Alfred lay,
digging him from under the slimy mess. The boys loaded the soaking
figure into the wheel-barrow and carried him home.

Sammy Steele used as motive power in his bark mill a fine white mare and
an iron grey mule. When Alfred could not get the use of the white mare
he rode or drove the mule. Alfred's parents and others continually
cautioned him to beware of the mule, that it was vicious and would
surely kick him.

When the boys arrived at Alfred's home and Lin saw them assisting the
almost senseless boy into the house, she began: "Well, fur the luv of
all thet's holy, what's the rumpus now? I'll bet a fip Sammy Steele's
mewel's kicked thet boy."

The boys did not reply, depositing their burden on the floor, hastily
departed. To Lin's persistent inquiries, Alfred admitted that the mule
had kicked him. In a maudlin way he stuttered: "L-o-o-k-o-u-t, Lin,
she'll k-k-i-c-k you." Then he laughed a silly laugh.

Lin was convinced that the boy was out of his head, delirious from the
mule's kick, sent for the doctor who came in haste. Lin explained that
she was "skeered nearly to death. I wus yar all alone an' they kum
draggin' him in. I tried to talk with him but he's plum out of his head.
His mother an' his pap an' me an' all of us hes warned him time an'
'gain that that mewel would be his death, but he jus kept a-devilin'
aroun' hit; now ye see what kum of hit. He's jus like he had a stroke of
palsy, hit's a wonder the mewel hedn't killed him stun dead. Ef hits
palsied him he mought jus es well be dead."

Thus Lin ran on as the old doctor carefully looked the patient over. The
doctor had long practiced in Brownsville. Tomato vine poisoning cases
were rare. Alfred's ailment on this occasion was common. He made no
mistake in diagnosing the case although he did not inform the family of
his conclusions. However, he assured them that "the boy would be all
right in a day or two. His appetite might not come to him at once but he
would be all right in the morning. Just let him sleep, don't wake him,
and when he gets out caution him to--keep away from the mule," added the
doctor dryly.

Lin said: "Be durned ef hit ain't the queerest case I ever seed.
Alfurd's jus es sick es he kin be an' the old doctur didn't gin him
nothin'."

A few days later it was whispered among the neighbors that Alfred and a
number of the tan-yard hands broke into Bill Wyatt's cellar and drank up
all his liquor and Alfred, "little as he wus, drinked more'n eny of em."
George Washington Antonio Frazier 'lowed that Alfred "drinked so much he
wouldn't want another drink fer a month. I wouldn't ef I'd hed his
cargo," he concluded.

Lin threw her head up in disgust as she denied this rumor: "Huh, all ole
Frazier is peeved 'bout is bekase he didn't git his ole hog belly filled
up fur nuthin'."

Alfred slept he knew not how long. It was night when he awoke. Half
awake, he would doze and dream--now he was carrying gourds of water to
Uncle Joe, hastening back to get a gourdful for his own parched lips. He
would invariably drop the gourd or have some other mishap--he never got
the water to his lips.

He realized that there were others in the room, the lamp was too low to
distinguish them. He listened endeavoring to hear what they were talking
of. The old clock down-stairs struck two, then the little clock on the
mantelpiece chimed twice.

A figure arose, softly crossing the room and a hand was laid softly on
the boy's forehead. His eyes were closed but he knew it was his mother's
hand.

"He is a little less feverish, Pap, you had best go to bed. I'll call
Lin early and lie down. Now go on, you have to work and you won't feel
like it, if you don't get your sleep. Go on now, if he gets worse, I'll
call."

"Gets worse I'll call you." Alfred repeated the words over and over in
his mind. He imagined at first that he had been sick a long time. He
gathered his thoughts--the old tavern cellar came into his mind, the
antics of the tan-yard hands after they had quaffed from the tin cup.
Alfred got no further in his ramblings than the tin cup; only a ray of
thought, yet it was of sufficient power to cause the boy to retch and
strain as though he would heave his stomach up.

The mother was holding a vessel in one hand and supporting the very sick
boy with the other arm.

"Muz, Muz, what's the matter with me--how long have I been sick--d-do
you th-i-n-k I'm goin' to die?"

The mother soothed him and persuaded him to go to sleep. Alfred closed
his eyes and pretended to sleep. He heard footsteps and, peering out of
the corner of his eye, he perceived the form of his father bending over
him.

Softly walking over to where the mother sat with bowed head, the father
began: "I thought I heard him talking. Was he awake?"

"Yes," answered the mother.

"What did he say?" eagerly inquired the father.

The mother informed him.

The father, looking toward the bed, remarked half to himself:

"I hope he will be sober enough to talk to me before I leave the house."

"Why, John," hastily began the mother, "you speak as if he were an old
toper."

"Well, Mary. I did not mean it that way. But I have been worried ever
since that minstrel crowd has been gathering at the tan-yard. Of course,
I never knew Alfred to drink whiskey but they all drink more or less and
Alfred is not the boy to pass anything by there's any fun in."

"But they had no business to give a boy whiskey," argued the wife, "and
I would see about it and I would make an example of them if I were
you."

"I will do all of that and more," warmly answered the father. After a
pause, he resumed: "They tell me they were all in Wyatt's cellar and Cal
Wyatt drew a tin cup of high proof whiskey. Alfred put the cup--"

Alfred was following the father's words. At the mention of the word
"cup," his stomach rebelled again. His father was holding a vessel, his
mother supporting the boy's head.

Turning his head, the father ejaculated: "Phew! If that isn't rot-gut I
never smelt it."

Alfred pretended to go to sleep and the father and mother talked long
and earnestly. Their solicitude for the erring boy, touched Alfred to
the heart. He had not realized until this moment the meanness of his
actions. When Alfred fully realized the misery and suffering he had
caused his parents, he was impelled to crawl to them and kiss the hem of
their garments, promising never to cause them pain from the same cause
again.

Let it be recorded he did not realize immediately when he drank from the
cup, that it was whiskey. After the first swallow or two he became
oblivious to his danger. He felt that he was forever disgraced. He
thought of getting out of bed and fleeing, he cared not whither, only to
get far away from the scene of his disgrace.

We do not know that the boy resolved that he would never touch, taste or
handle whiskey again. We do not know what resolutions he made to
himself, but we do know that whisky never passed his lips again until he
was more than a man grown and then rarely and in very small quantities.

Alfred slept. When he awoke it was daylight. The sun was shining
brightly. His first thought was that he would be late for work. Then he
heard the voice of a neighbor woman, one whom the mother disliked, one
who was noted for her tatling propensities. As an excuse to call she had
brought fruit for Alfred. The boy overheard her inquiries as to his
condition. She whispered long and earnestly with Lin. The latter,
looking down at the pale face of Alfred began questioning him:

"Well, I see ye're alive yit, I gess ye'll kum out of hit. I s'pose the
hull durn town'll be laffin' at me. I never dreamed ye wus jus corned.
Ef I'd knowed, I'd brot ye out uf it quicker; I'd jus made a hull tin
cup uf hot mustard--"

Alfred heard no further than "tin cup." Flopping over on his stomach,
endeavoring to hold down the last remnants of his innards, he begged to
be left alone. But Lin kept on:

"An' yere I sends fur the doctor es innercent es a baby an' up an' tole
him Sammy Steele's mewel hed histed ye. An' when he was feelin' roun' ye
I thot he was feelin' fur busted bones, an' durned ef I ever knowed even
when ye begun throwin' up on the carpit thet ye wus jus drunk."

Lin continued: "Ef I hadn't sent fur the doctor it wouldn't be so blamed
green lookin' in me. I'll never hear the las' uf hit. I'll bet Sammy
Steele's mewel's ears will burn, the hull town'll be talkin' 'bout thet
mewel. They'll say he's a powerful kicker," and Lin laughed despite
herself.

"Why, fur weeks after Joe Sandford got into thet fix with his wall-paper
show clothes folks would laff when I went into meetin'. I could tell
what they wus thinkin' uf the minnit they'd smile. Un the wust part uf
hit is I went over to Mrs. Todd's an' we cried fur two hours. Mrs.
Todd's brother got kicked in the spinel string (cord) with a mewel an'
he died the same nite. He never moved after he wus kicked. He wus
ossified from head to fut."

Alfred laughed. Lin corrected herself by saying: "Thet's what Mrs. Todd
sed ailed him, but I knowed she meant 'palsified'."

Alfred again laughed. Lin knew she had made a mistake; she was sensitive
and it nettled her to notice the smile on Alfred's face. In tones quite
testy she advised him to "hold his laff 'til he could feel hit. Ye
needn't git so peart, ye hain't out of danger yit, ye're liable to have
anuther collapse or sumthin' else. Ye'll never look as white aroun' the
gills when ye're laid out in them linen sheets ye stole fur yer show."

Lin "wondered what gran'muther would say when she heard of his
'sickness'." At the word "sickness" Lin winked with both eyes.

"I'll bet a fip Uncle Ned will say: 'Well, he's another notch nearer
hell.'"

Alfred did not consider the reference to Uncle Ned, but grandmother came
up in his mind and he determined to go to the old lady and tell her the
whole truth. And this he did and, instead of condemnation, he received
advice that strengthened him in avoiding many of the same sort of
pitfalls thereafter.

The tin cup incident ended Alfred's connection with the tan-yard but
Alfred never regretted his experience. The work was most health-giving
and muscle developing. The examples of industry and integrity learned
from Sammy Steele have been a guiding post in the life of the boy.
Alfred had not been in his employ long until he was permitted to
conduct small trades with the customers who visited the tannery.

One day a highly respected farmer brought in a hide. Alfred weighed the
hide and figured up the amount due the farmer when Mr. Steele entered
the room, passing the compliments of the day with the farmer. The hide
was spread out on the table. The tanner folded it over as if to
ascertain if it had been damaged in the skinning process. At the first
touch of the hide he looked into the farmer's face, and in a careless
tone, asked:

"Been killing a beef?"

"Yes," drawled the farmer.

"Eh, huh, eh, huh," nodded the tanner, "what did you do with the
carcass?"

"Oh, we found a market at home for it. We got a big family," replied the
farmer.

"Eh, huh" assented the tanner. Reaching over, he took up the slate,
rubbed out Alfred's figures, figured the hide at about two-thirds the
amount Alfred was about to pay the farmer.

To Alfred's surprise the farmer accepted the cut in price and hastily
took his leave. The tanner looked after him in a contemptuous manner,
turned to Alfred and inquired if he knew the farmer.

Alfred answered: "Yes, he's a neighbor of my uncle. He belongs to the
Baptus Church and I heard the preacher say if God ever made an upright
man, he was one."

"Yes, yes," answered the tanner, "God made all men upright but a murn
hide will warp most of them."

A murn hide is one taken from an animal that dies of a disease. The
sensitive touch of the old tanner detected the diseased hide
immediately.

Alfred has applied this incident to many deals in his life and a murn
hide became one of his pet references to a crooked transaction. The tie
of friendship between Alfred and Sammy Steele lasted while the tanner
lived.

Sammy Steele had not acquired a fortune in all the years of his hard
labor. A skilled workman, he respected labor. No employe of his was ever
tricked out of his wages. He was as fair to the poor as to the rich and
both trusted him. In an uncouth world he was a gentleman; he bowed as
courteously to a wash-woman as to an heiress.

An honest man, he was Alfred's boyhood friend, his friend in manhood.
Alfred loved him while he lived and respected his memory after he was
gone.

If there were more like Sammy Steele in this world there would be better
boys and better men.

CHAPTER TEN

If every man's eternal care
Were written on his brow,
How many would our pity share
Who raise our envy now?

Lest those who read these pages through feelings of sympathy for the
author, or influenced by curiosity, may gain the impression that the
people of Brownsville were not as staid as the exacting proprieties of
society demanded, it must be pointed out that there was not a bar-room
in the town. The two bakeries, William Chatland and Josie Lawton, sold
ale by the glass. Every tavern sold whisky by the drink from a
demi-john, jug or bottle that was kept locked up. The landlord carried
the key and served his customers from a glass or tin-cup. He poured out
the drink, limiting the amount to the condition of the one served.

Alfred would never admit Pittsburg in advance of Brownsville except in
one thing--the mirrored palaces where only cut glass was used in serving
the thirsty.

[Illustration: Bill Brown]

It is peculiar how one's environments will influence his actions in
after years. Bill Brown continues to send cut glass goblets to his
friends. He boasts that _his_ friends drink only out of cut glass. This
boast does not arouse Alfred's envy as he has friends in Brownsville who
can drink out of the bung hole of a barrel.

With going to school five days in a week and hunting Saturday, Alfred
was kept within bounds.

Kate Abrams--everybody who knew him addressed him as "Kate" (none ever
called him Decatur)--Captain Kate Abrams was the beau ideal of a man in
Alfred's estimation. Brave, gay and companionable, a man who loved boys
and hated hypocrites, a riverman, one who had plyed the southern rivers
from mouth to headwaters, as well known in St. Louis or Natchez as in
his home town, high strung and generous, he was just the kind of man
that boys love and respect.

To go hunting with Kate was a pleasure Alfred esteemed above all others.
He was the first wing shot Alfred ever hunted with. It was the custom of
the hunters of that section to kill all their game sitting.

When Alfred was permitted to handle and shoot the double-barreled gun
Captain Abrams had purchased in St. Louis, he experienced thrills known
only to an ardent hunter when a gun, the like of which he had never seen
before, comes into his hands.

"You can't miss shootin' that gun", was Alfred's comment.

Captain Abrams generally killed all the game, furnished all the
ammunition and divided even with the boys.

The Captain, Daniel Livingston and Alfred had been out one Saturday but
bagged only two rabbits; the boys were figuring in their minds how two
rabbits could be divided among three persons. When they arrived at the
parting point, the Captain remarked, "I know you boys would rather have
a half dollar each than a rabbit." With this he handed each a bright
half dollar.

Alfred had gone but a few steps toward home when a stranger halted him,
inquiring as to the location of the office of the _Clipper_, the weekly
newspaper. Alfred obligingly directed the man to the office.

The stranger had Alfred greatly interested. He was a journeyman printer.
Harrison was his name. Harrison was only one of the many who roamed over
the country in those days. They roamed from one spree to another,
sometimes looking for work and never keeping it long if found.

Harrison was an editorial writer. There were many of them in those days;
their enunciation of their political faith was abuse of all who dared
dispute them. They wrote for many years and not one line of their output
serves as a true mark of the times or people of the days in which they
lived.

[Illustration: Harrison and Alfred]

Harrison had walked from Uniontown. He had been working on the _Genius
of Liberty_, had left the paper before it ceased publication, as he put
it. He borrowed Alfred's half dollar. He promised he would meet Alfred
at the _Clipper_ office early next morning.

Alfred was there early but Harrison did not arrive until noon. Alfred
learned afterwards that high noon was early for Harrison, he always did
his work between twelve o'clock midnight and bed-time.

Alfred never liked the man from the time he failed to keep his
appointment and repay the half dollar, although for the next year he was
in closer touch with Harry Harrison than any human being on earth. But
he soon discovered that Harrison had knowledge of many things that he
wished to learn. Of course, he got a great deal of chaff with the grain,
but it was all enlightening.

Harrison had no difficulty in arranging with Mr. Hurd as editor,
foreman, pressman, reporter and general manager of the _Clipper_, issued
every Thursday. He had come from the _Genius of Liberty_ published in
Uniontown, a paper savagely opposed to the _Clipper_.

Alfred's father was a reader and an admirer of the _Genius of Liberty_,
a Democratic paper, a hater of the principles of the _Clipper_ and not
very friendly toward the owner thereof. When Harrison called at Alfred's
home to induce the parents to permit Alfred to ally himself with the
office force of the newspaper of which Harrison was the head, the father
bluntly told him that he did not have any faith in a Democrat who
espoused the principles continuously enunciated by that Abolitionist
sheet, the _Brownsville Clipper_, and he would not permit a child of his
to work for the paper.

Harrison advised the family that although he was a Democrat he was above
all a newspaper man, and newspaper men were compelled often times to
sacrifice principles to exigencies. That it was not a matter of the
present but of the future. Alfred should be fitted for a career that
would bring him honor and renown. Harrison declared the boy was
precocious beyond his years, all he required was training, and he,
Harrison, was in a position to offer the boy opportunities that might
never knock at his door again.

Notwithstanding the fact that the _Brownsville Clipper_ had on many
occasions praised the business competitor of Alfred's father and, while
Uncle Billy was a candidate for county judge, not only assailed his
loyalty but referred to all his family in uncomplimentary terms, Alfred
became an attache of the paper.

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