Watch Yourself Go By

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

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All this was great amusement for the natives. "Let 'em go," one shouted,
"Let 'em fight; we'd ruther see the fight then yer show."

The large room of the tavern was filled with minstrels and town folks.
"Purty long ride ye hed fur such a big load," remarked one towner. Ere
Alfred could reply, a big gawk chimed in with: "By the dust on their
britches laigs I callerate they didn't ride much." Then all the crowd
laughed.

The pike was very dusty and the minstrels showed the effects of their
contact with it. "Well, ef they haint got a good show we'll gin 'em a
ride they won't furgit. Yes, an' the rail'll be three cornered. How many
monkeys has they?" yelled another. Then came quickly, "I dunno, I haint
counted 'em yit." This sally brought the biggest laugh yet heard.

Alfred's blood was boiling; he could stand it no longer. His fist shot
out and immediately there were legs and arms sprawling all over the
floor; the crowd trampled each other as they stampeded, all endeavoring
to exit through the one door at the same time. Once outside, several of
them, more bold than the others, began making threats and movements to
re-enter and bring Alfred out. At this juncture the old stage driver and
Eli waded into them and soon there was not one of the rowdies to be
seen.

Alfred was hustled upstairs and into a room and ordered to remain quiet
until further developments. The constable was soon on the scene with
warrants for Eli and the old driver. They were taken before a justice of
the peace and, by the advice of Mr. Guttery, they requested a
continuance of the case until the following morning. This was granted.

A few moments later, three or four of the minstrels were arrested. Not
one of them had engaged in the disturbance; they demanded an immediate
trial, feeling certain of acquittal. No evidence was offered as to their
participation in the fight. Several residents of the town swore
positively that none of the accused had engaged in the row in any way.
One witness testified that they had just stood around doing nothing.
This he emphasized by repeating at intervals in his testimony, "They
just stood around doing nothing."

The evidence all in, the justice of the peace addressed them somewhat as
follows: "You have been arrested charged with disturbing the peace. The
evidence goes to show that you are not guilty of that crime; therefore,
on that count I will discharge you, the borough to pay the costs. But it
appears by the testimony of one of your own witnesses, one of our most
reliable citizens that you were standing around doing nothing.
Therefore, I will fine you two dollars each and costs for loitering."

By the advice of the landlord the costs were paid by Mr. Eli and the
fines were to be paid the next morning when the other cases were called.

The minstrels that night were slimly attended.

In the middle of the night Alfred was rudely disturbed by someone
awakening him. "Git up, git up, quick! We've got to git out of this town
or it'll take all the money I've got to square the fight you started
yesterday. Git up quick!"

It was Eli's voice and he was very thick tongued; he had been up all
night. The team was harnessed and hitched to the wagon. The landlord was
there to see the sleepy minstrels off. The last good-byes were scarcely
spoken ere the door of the big room was closed by the landlord and the
lights put out. It was inky dark to Alfred as he sat on the high seat by
the driver and heartily wished himself home.

It came out later that the landlord and one or two others advised Eli to
get the minstrels into Greene County ere the eyes of the law opened the
next morning. Hence the 3 a. m. exodus.

Arriving at Carmichael's Town after a long and tiresome ride, the
minstrels found Tom Kerr, the jolly landlord of the tavern, with a
dinner ready that changed their minds from gloom to gayety.

The minstrels were well advertised. Winn Kerr, Lias and Dee Flannigan
had witnessed their entertainment previously, hence the town turned out
to welcome them. Wealth flowed in upon Eli and all went merry as a
dinner bell. But Eli had great difficulty in tearing himself away from
old and new found friends.

The regular minstrel wagon was not large enough to carry Eli the next
morning, consequently Jim Kerr carried Alfred and Eli to Waynesburg in a
private rig. Again the crowd was too large for the courthouse; again
Eli made friends who detained him after the departure of the troupe.
Alfred refused to remain behind with Eli but left with the minstrel
boys.

Eli failed to arrive in the next town in time to open the doors. The
crowd was more than ample to fill the hall. Alfred took the door and
made settlement of bills. Eli arrived during the night. The next morning
Alfred and two others advised Mr. Eli that they had received word from
home that their engagement with the minstrels must end.

When Eli came to his senses he appealed to Alfred to explain why they
had decided to quit. Alfred said: "Because you have been drunk ever
since the show left Brownsville and the boys are afraid you will not pay
them."

That night Eli invited all the company to meet him in his room at the
tavern. By the time the boys arrived Eli was so saturated he forgot that
which he desired to say to them. Instead he insisted on drinking with
each one individually, he scorned to drink with the company as a whole.

"I want you all to know me. If you want money, I've got slathers of it."

All wanted money and they got it. And they spent it. Gaudy bows and
ties, striped shirts, congress shoes and other dependables never
possessed by the wearers previously, began to make their appearance. Eli
was voted the best ever. Those who had threatened to leave because Eli
imbibed too freely were termed Methodists and back-biters.

Fairmount reached, the old stage driver and his team left for home. From
this point the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad was to be the mode of travel, a
change hailed with delight. Some began figuring on how many days it
would be until the minstrels invaded Baltimore.

Two nights were played at Fairmount; the first night a large, well
pleased audience attended. More invitations to Eli's room, more liquor
ladled out and more money handed around to the company. On the second
night there was a very light attendance; a long hunt to find Eli ere
bills could be paid and the company could move on to Grafton. Eli had
decided to remain in Fairmount until the next train.

Morgan, the advance agent, accompanied the minstrels to Grafton. Morgan
took the night's receipts. The next morning he could not be located nor
did Eli make his appearance. The minstrels watched and waited; the day
wore along. Finally, it was decided that the performance would be
repeated that night.

A man walked over the town, ringing a bell as he went. Halting at short
intervals he loudly announced the second exhibition of the minstrels at
early candle light. The landlord of the tavern volunteered to look after
the financial end of the enterprise. After the exhibition he called the
boys together and advised that after his bill and other expenses were
deducted, there would be enough left to pay their railroad fare to
Fairmount and that they would probably find Eli there.

Arriving at Fairmount it was learned that Eli had left for Baltimore the
night before. It came to light that Morgan had left on the same train,
boarding it as it passed through Grafton. Some members of the company
contended that Eli had gone on to Baltimore to arrange for their coming
and that they would hear from him or see him soon. Others, that he had
left for good.

The four musicians, men who had seen more of the world than the
ambitious amateurs, boarded a train for Wheeling. Alfred decided that he
and his followers would make their way to New Geneva and there board the
boat for home. Loading their few belongings, including Alfred's hair
trunk with the brass tack ornaments, into a farm wagon drawn by two big
bay mules, the homeward journey was begun. Not in dejection, as one
might imagine, the boys were too full of spirit to be cast down greatly.
One or two began to fret but the jibes of the others soon had all in
good humor.

The roads through the hilly, muddy country were not as firm as those
previously traversed, a contingency the boys had not taken into
consideration. At times the mules were unable to move the wagon, even
though all the minstrels were pushing or prying to the extent of their
muscular power. Instead of dust, as on the first day out, the minstrels
were covered with mud, from shoes to hats.

Arriving at New Geneva, mud bespattered, tired and hungry, they
congregated on the old wharf boat until the steamer was heard coming
below the bend. When the boat hove in sight, her prow cutting the water,
it was the most welcome sight Alfred ever remembered witnessing. Safely
aboard, it was found that not in the whole party was there enough money
to pay the fares to Brownsville. Therefore deck passage had to be taken
and without meals.

George Warner, the colored steward, knew every one of the boys. One by
one they were smuggled into the pantry and a meal that was never
excelled given each one.

It was two o'clock in the morning when the boat touched at Brownsville.
Alfred determined to carry his trunk home with him. Hoisting it on his
broad shoulders he began the walk up the hill homewards; every little
ways lowering the burden to the ground, he would seat himself upon it
pondering as to the tale to tell of the ignominious ending of his dream
of prosperity. He thought of Lin's parting words: "I hope ye bring the
koon skin hum," and he could not suppress his laughter.

He brought the big iron knocker down rather lightly, hoping only Lin
would hear it. He did not care to face his father or mother until he got
a little more courage. Again the knocker was raised and lowered, a
little louder than before. The window sash above was raised and the
father's voice, gruffer than Alfred had heard it in a long time,
demanded, "Who's there?"

Alfred hesitated to give his name.

"Who's there?" louder and more gruffly than before, impelled the boy to
answer: "It's me."

"Who's me?" came from the window quickly.

"Oh, come on down, Pap, let me in. It's me, Pap, don't you know me?"

Alfred was so crestfallen and ashamed that he could not bear to speak
his own name. "In a minute, Alfred," came in a more kindly tone as the
father's head was withdrawn from the window. Then the father's voice was
heard informing the mother, "The boy's back."

It flashed through the boy's mind that the conditions that brought him
home so unexpectedly were known only to himself and he could stave off
unpleasant explanations for a time at least.

The door opened, the father shook his hand heartily. "How are you? How
have you been? We've been expecting you. How did you get out of the
trouble in Bealsville? The _Clipper_ says you were all jerked up and
slid out between two days."

The mother and all the children were up. Lin insisted on setting out a
pie and making a hot cup of coffee. Alfred was highly complimented that
he had kept his promise to return. Alfred accepted the praises with a
conscience stricken feeling that kept him miserable under his assumed
gaiety.

The first time Lin and Alfred were alone in the kitchen, she turned full
on him as she asked in a deeply interested way: "How much did ye make
outen yere trip?"

The question was so direct and without warning that Alfred dropped his
gaze and began stammering. Lin continued: "There's somethin' ded about
yer; I smelled a mice the minnit I seen yer face. Jes let hit out, ye'll
feel better. I'll help ye. Where's Eli? Where's the other boys?"

Alfred gave Lin the whole miserable story, neither adding to it nor
concealing anything. Lin summed up the matter thus: "Ef ye're out
enything ye kin sue Eli. His muther'll settle."

They figured it up, Alfred was a little in Eli's debt. "Then what ye
palaverin' 'bout, ye've done all right?"

"But it's the disappointment of the thing, the way it wound up and it
looked so promising," whined Alfred.

"Well, ef ye never git hit harder then Eli hit ye, ye'll need no
poultices," consoled Lin. "Why don't ye gin Redstone Skule-house another
try? Charley Wagner an' everybody else sed ef ye'd go back that ye'd
make all back ye wus shy afore."

Alfred was on his way in less time than it takes to record it, notifying
the boys that they would go to Redstone School-house next Saturday
night. The school-house secured, the music was the next important
matter. Charley Wagner had a sore throat, so he informed Alfred. All
others approached were affected in the same way. It looked very much as
if the exhibition would have to be given up.

Cousin Charley suggested that Alfred go to Merrittstown and hire the
blind Hostetler family. All were blind excepting John, who had one eye.
There were three brothers and a sister--two violins, a double bass
violin, the girl sang and in time with the music manipulated two large
corn-cobs, much in the manner of a minstrel's cracking the bones. A
contract was entered into with the family whereby they were to receive
ten dollars for the night, and their suppers.

The school-house was packed, there was some thirty-seven dollars in all.
When the performance was nearing the end, Cousin Charley made his way
behind the curtain and in a whisper informed Alfred that the constable
had seized all the money and properties of the minstrels and that he,
Alfred, was to be arrested and put in jail. Alfred's acting was not so
spirited as in the opening. Those who were aware of the load that
oppressed him, sympathized and condoned with him until he was nearly
unmanned.

The suit came up before a justice of the peace. Eli's creditors had an
attorney, Alfred and the minstrels had none. The plea that Eli was not
interested in the venture, that it was Alfred's show, was offset by the
fact that Alfred, in his dealings, informed every one that the show
belonged to Eli. And there was the advertising matter. Did not all bear
the words, "Eli, Owner and Manager." Alfred had designedly and against
his pride ordered Eli's name placed on the bills to relieve himself of
all responsibility and worry.

The evidence was conclusive. At least that's what the lawyer, Isaac
Bailey, said. Lin said: "It was boun' to go agin Alfurd. Limpy Bailey
cud make black white an' Squire Wilkinson's agin' evurythin' but the
Methudis' Church."

There were numerous little bills unpaid, including five dollars to the
blind family. Chapters of truths and unfounded rumors, were in the
mouths of the gossips as to how the troupe stranded in West Virginia,
compelled to walk home, traveling as deck passengers on the steamboat.
It even went the rounds that they would have starved if George Warner
had not fed them surreptitiously on their way home.

Alfred was crestfallen. He was ashamed to visit his old haunts in the
town. He evolved plan after plan only to be persuaded by Lin to abandon
them as soon as they were broached to her. The father rubbed salt into
his wounded feelings at every reference he made to the minstrel business
and the lowness of those connected with it, holding Eli up as a terrible
example of what minstrel life would bring a man to.

Berated, brow-beaten, driven to the wall, Alfred answered his father in
kind following one of his most bitter arraignments of show people:
"Father, what are you talking about? Something you know nothing of. Eli
was not a showman, not a minstrel man. He was only with an amateur
minstrel show eight days. Nothing in his associations made him lower
than he was before he left."

"Then why did you go with him?" sternly demanded the parent.

"I wanted to make money."

"Yes, you wanted to make trouble and disgrace for your poor mother and
myself," was the father's rejoinder.

"How sorry I am I did not do differently. How sorry I am that this ever
happened and I planned it all so differently. I felt I was protecting
myself and I'm into it deeper than before." Thus would Alfred reason
with himself.

But the judgment of regret is a silent witness of the heart to the
conviction that some things are inevitable. With Alfred it was a
confession hard to make--another battle lost that seemed won. The words,
"disgrace to the family, to your mother and myself," kept ringing in his
ears and he resolved to leave the town, go to the oil regions, go west,
go anywhere, get rich, come back and make his people retract all their
cruel reflections.

Lin adjured him to "furgit the sore spot; es long es ye pick hit, it'll
never heal. Why, ye cud go to Capt. Abrams, Sammy Steele ur Joe Thornton
an' borry enuf to pay every durn cent ye owe; though ye don't owe
nuthin', everybody ses so thet knows enythin' bout hit. Thet Eli's in
fur hit all. He ought to pay hit. Thur's thet blin' family, he'll nefer
hev no luck ef he don't pay 'em."

This allusion to the blind family was the last stone. Alfred felt that
he and he alone was responsible for the amount due the blind family.
This obligation brought him more regrets than all his troubles. He crept
upstairs, he fell on his knees and prayed, yes, prayed fervently,
earnestly. No penitent, no prisoner, no saint, no sinner ever beseeched
guidance and assistance with a more contrite heart.

It was announced that Uncle Thomas was to preach to the young people of
his congregation. Alfred went early. He was ill at ease. He imagined all
the congregation gazing at him and when two or more bent their heads and
whispered, he imagined that it was he who was under discussion.

The song services ended, the minister arose, opened the Bible and very
slowly read the text selected--"Honor thy father and thy mother."
Raising his eyes from the book, looking over the congregation as if to
select some one to whom to direct his words, he repeated, "Honor thy
father and mother, which is the first commandment with promise. Honor
thy father and mother, that it may be well with thee, and that thou
mayest live long on earth."

Then followed a lengthy discourse as to the duties of children to their
parents.

As the sermon progressed, the preacher said: "Rebuke not an elder but
entreat him as a father. Rebuke not an elder but treat all your elders
with that respect you would others should exhibit toward your parents.
Show me the young man who is disrespectful to his parents or elders,
disregards their admonitions and I will show you a boy who is without
the pale of content."

Uncle Tom seemed to look straight at Alfred as he let fall the words.
Alfred felt sure that he referred to the quarrel between himself and
Uncle Ned.

In the next quotation Alfred was slightly reassured: "An angry man
stirreth up strife and aboundeth in transgressions, for he that is slow
to anger is better than the mighty and he that ruleth his spirit than he
that taketh a city."

Alfred said to himself, he is touching up Uncle Ned. He wanted to turn
his head around to see how the Uncle took his medicine, but the preacher
had his attention. Alfred was sitting erect, looking straight at the
speaker. His attitude seemed to say: "If you are going to hit them all I
can stand it but don't hold me up as a lone example of all that's sinful
in this congregation."

Then the speaker waded into the popular frivolities of the times; cards,
dice, gambling, drinking, dancing and other pastimes. As Alfred was
immune from all of the above sins he sat up still more straight and even
ventured to look around at some of the society young folks of the
congregation. He began to feel that Uncle Tom was a very good preacher.

After a moment's pause as if to pull himself together for the final
onslaught upon all that was sinful, the preacher resumed: "I do not
hesitate for a moment to condemn show life and all who are aware of its
iniquity that engage in it. The circus, the theatre, the actors therein,
the proprietors, those who, for sordid gain, place these terrible
temptations before our young people." Alfred felt himself sinking in the
pew. "I do not hesitate to condemn the theatre as one of the broadest
roads that leads to destruction. Fascinating no doubt to the young of
susceptible and impressionable feelings, on that account all the more
dangerous. Show life is a delusion. It holds out hopes never realized;
it poisons the mind and diseases the soul; it takes innocence and
happiness and repays with suffering and misery. It separates families;
it desolates homes; it makes wanderers on the face of the earth of those
who are allured to it. Once let a young man acquire a taste for show
life and yield himself up to its wicked gratifications; that young man
is in great danger of losing his reputation. He is rushing headlong to
certain ruin."

Alfred was sitting straight up. His cheeks burned like fire but there
was no shame in his face, he even looked about him; he met the gaze of
those who stared and held it until the eyes of the others dropped.

The preacher continued: "All the evils that can blight a young life,
waste his property, corrupt his morals, blast his hopes, impair his
health and wreck his soul, lurk in the purlieus of this abominated show
life that is threatening some of the best beloved and most talented of
our young people. Folly consists in drawing false conclusions from just
principles; and that is what the theatre does. Men may live fools but
fools they cannot die. The instruction of fools is folly; therefore, the
actor cannot teach wisdom or morality. He that refuseth instruction
despiseth his own soul; but he that heareth reproof getteth
understanding."

The parting admonition, delivered to the young people in general and,
Alfred felt, to himself in particular, was: "Choose a good name; a good
name is rather to be chosen than great riches and loving favor rather
than silver and gold."

Alfred felt that the latter part of the sermon was directed at his
ambitions to become a clown, get rich and buy a farm. He wondered who
had informed the preacher of his ambitions.

When the congregation stood up and sang, Alfred's voice could be heard
above those around him. When the plate was passed he placed his last
dollar on the coppers and dimes on it.

When the minister requested that all the young people who desired the
prayers of the congregation for their future guidance, stand up, Alfred
remained seated. There was no contriteness in his heart; no impression
had been made upon him. He forgot his surroundings; he felt no
embarrassment that all stared at him, their looks seeming to say: "Well,
how did you like it? Hit you pretty hard, did it not?"

Alfred forgot the sermon, forgot the surroundings; other thoughts swayed
his mind. "I'll make Uncle Tom, I'll make this congregation, I'll make
this whole town acknowledge my worth. I've not done anything I'm ashamed
of." Then the five dollars he owed the blind family flashed upon his
mind. "I'll pay them, I'll pay every cent I owe."

He passed out of the church unconscious of the gaze of a half hundred
young men lined up on either side of the door waiting for the girls to
run the gauntlet, each one offering an arm to the girl he fancied; if
rejected he was termed "sacked" and the rejected one felt the ridicule
of his fellows for many days thereafter. Lucy Fowler "sacked" John
Albright that night. Lin was so full of this affair that she seemed to
forget the sermon in her eagerness to recount the other incident. Alfred
interrupted her by sneakingly inquiring as to how she liked the sermon.

Lin forthwith straightened up: "Well, ef I wanted tu tell jes what I
thot, I'd say he gin ye particular fits, but preachin' is preachin',
nobody takes hit to tharselves, they jes think hit's fur everybody. Now
I reckon ye think the hull blast wus fer ye. S'posen he'd preached on
dram drinkin'. I reckon the fellur thet guzzles wud take hit all tu
hisself. No, sonny, religun's fur everybody an' ye kan't thro preachin'
bricks ye don't hit somebody. So don't take a foolish powder kase a
preacher workin' at his trade handed ye a few. Hit done ye good, ye
never looked so purty in yer life, yer cheeks wus red es cherries an' ye
sung like a exorter."

Alfred asked: "Didn't you think he took a shot at Uncle Ned?"

"Well, ef he did he never teched him fur Ned never winced. Ye know them
church members never take nuthin' to tharselves; no, they jes believe
when the preacher ladles out spiritual feed hits fur sinners on the
outside uf the church. They think they're above suspishun. Ye know the
Pharisee thanked Gawd he wus not like other peepul, 'an he was _jes
awful_. Of course a great many say thet the sermon fit yer kase. Hit's
the best praise ye ever got, hit's better'n a piece in the newspapers.
Thur's a heap uf peepul in this town never knowed ye amounted to enuf to
be preached about. Es long es ye hain't stole nuthin' er caused anybody
misery er shame, yer on the safe side. Yer troubles hain't nuthin', ye
jes think they are. Uncle Tom's got more trouble on his min' now en ye
ever had."

"I'll bet if I ever get out of this trouble, I'll steer clear of it
hereafter," mused Alfred.

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