Watch Yourself Go By

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

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It was not many days before Alfred's duties would take him away from
home and he began a round of visits to bid all good-bye.

[Illustration: The Taffy Pulling]

Cousin Mary Craft gave a cotillion party in the country. Cousins Hester
and Martha gave a party in town. Frank Long gave a taffy pulling. The
hot plates of taffy were placed outside the kitchen door on the brick
walk to cool before the taffy was pulled. Archibald Long, Frank's
father, not knowing of the taffy's location, walked out of the house in
his stocking feet, as was his custom ere he retired. In the darkness he
planted one foot, then the other, in a plate of the hot taffy. This
caused him to jump several feet in the air. He started to run. At each
step his feet found another taffy plate. Gobs of the hot stuff sticking
to his feet, pressing up between his toes, the old man introduced a
dance--a high kicking dance that would have won him fame and fortune on
the stage. The hot gobs of taffy clinging to his expansive, woolen
sock-encased feet caused him such intense pain, the old man endeavored
to introduce a new stunt, namely, to throw both feet in the air at the
same time.

All the boys and girls ran from the dining room at the first sound of
the yells of the old man. The lamps within enlightened the weird scene
without.

When both feet were flung in the air simultaneously the old man sat down
suddenly. He sat on the largest plate, with the hottest gob of taffy in
the collection. His seat had barely touched the plate, the taffy had
scarcely squashed through his jeans pants, until he made an effort to
rise again. Failing in this he flopped on his stomach, clutching and
tearing at his seat of latest misery, taffy stringing from his fingers.

Rearing his rear end high in the taffy laden air he planted his head in
another plate of taffy which, was still tenderly clinging to the few
straggling hairs on the old man's pate, as they carried him into the
house, the taffy plate on his head like the crown of the old king.
Gradually dangling, it descended to the floor, only to be trampled in
the dust by the rabble.

The old man was put to bed. Poultices of apple butter, sweet-oil and a
whitish-bluish clay dug from the bottom of the spring were applied to
his blistered parts.

The taffy pulling party, the scene of gayety so suddenly transformed to
one of suffering, lives in the memory of Alfred by the recollection of
long threads of amber colored taffy shimmering in the soft moonlight as
they clung to the plum tree branches where the old man's vigorous kicks
had landed them.

It was maple sugar making time. Uncle Jacob Irons, who lived near
Masontown fifteen miles away, had a large sugar grove. A visit to Uncle
Jake's was always one continued round of pleasure. The staid uncle,
jolly Aunt Bettie, Kate and Tillie, Joe and George, John and Wilson,
were always delighted to have Alfred visit them.

It was a day that marked the passing of winter and the coming of spring,
after a night of light freezing with a white frost, the morning sun
shining all the brighter that he had been hazed so long by winter's
shadows. The earth, the trees, appeared even more brown and barren by
contrast with the splendors of the sky. Here and there a patch of snow,
left sheltered by tree or fence, seemingly endeavoring to hide from the
sunbeams that came out of the south, to pour its flood of warmth on it
until it melted and mouldered away.

It was springtime, the boyhood of the year, when half the world is rhyme
and music is the other. It was springtime in the country, far from the
city and the ways of men. The mountains in the distance, brown colored
in spots, the peaks, like winter kings with beards of snow, seemed to
say: "'Tis time for me to go northward o'er the icy rocks, northward
o'er the sea. Come the spring with all its splendor, all its buds and
all its blossoms, all its flowers and all its grasses."

It was a day that awakened feelings that seemed sacred. Have you ever
lived in the country? Have you ever visited in the country in
springtime? Have you ever asked yourself: "I wonder if the sap in the
sugar trees is stirring yet? Is the sugar water dripping?" Have you ever
worked in a sugar camp, such as there were in old Fayette County in
those days?

Nearer the south than bleak New England, the trees more full of sap, the
sap sweeter than it flows anywhere on earth. The trees in the camp
tapped, the spiles driven, the sweet water dropping; the boys and girls,
the men, yes, the women too, gathering the sap. The day is warm, the run
a big one; to save it, all must hustle the big barrels loaded on the
sleds as the horses move from one tree to another, turning over the
mosses and dried leaves, exposing the Johnny-jump-ups and violets as if
they were just peeping up through the ground at the busy scene.

The redbird is singing in the tree, his plumage all the brighter for the
winter's bleaching. The day is not long enough, the night is consumed.
The boys from all the country about gather at the camp. The moon was a
book and every star a word that read fun and frolic to the jolly crowd
at the camp at Uncle Jake's that night.

Alfred sang songs, and told jokes.

They had sugared off, made a big kettle of sugar. Some dipped big
spoonfuls of the thickened syrup from the kettle, and poured it slowly
into tin cups filled with ice cold water. As it cooled the large lump of
wax was pulled out of the water with the fingers. Some, with buttered
hands, worked the wax until they had whitish taffy, others filled their
mouths with the wax as it came from the water.

The writer will engage to cure any case of stomach trouble that ever
worried man or woman with this maple wax.

The night wore on, the fun flagged. Ben Paul, a husky country boy,
proposed that two or three go to Nick Yonse's still house and procure a
little "licker." Cousin Wilson frowned upon this proposal but as the
boys were his guests he did not further protest. It was impossible to
awaken anyone to get the matured article from the distillery; therefore,
with the aid of a clothesline fastened to a jug which Ben lowered into a
vat filled with corn juice distilled the day previous, a supply was
secured. Ben returned to the camp. He was truthful when he explained
that the offering he brought was no old stale stuff such as they were
accustomed to, but something new and fresh.

Its newness did not deter the boys from helping themselves to big swigs
from the jug, smoothing out their wry faces with draughts of sugar
water. Cousin Wilson refused to participate as he busied himself with
his work. The sight of a tin cup made Alfred fearful that he would spill
his sugar. He also declined. After the custom that had prevailed in the
tavern cellar, the tin cup went round and round, the result was the same
or nearly so as at the tavern. Some sang, others danced, one or two
slept, some wanted to fight. Alfred attempted to pour melody on the
troubled revellers but the only effect of his song was to encourage Ben
Paul to knock the bottom out of a new tin pail endeavoring to keep time
to the song as he had seen Alfred do with the tambourine.

Cousin John, unnoticed by Cousin Wilson, was chief among those who
passed the tin cup around. John was of a friendly disposition and, not
to be rude to his guests, sent the cup around often. Several of the boys
retired into the shadows of the trees just beyond the glare of the
furnace fire to regret their mixing corn and sugar.

[Illustration: The Night at the Sugar Camp]

Wilson plainly informed John that this thing had gone far enough. It was
John's idea of courtesy, or rather his confused notion, that a host's
guests should be permitted to conduct themselves as best suited their
pleasure. Several of them wanted to fight. John said, "All right, let
them fight." Wilson interfered.

John stepped out of the circle and invited any one or all present to
come out. "Any of you excepting Alfred, he's all right. I can lick any
of you with one hand tied behind my back," and John spat on both hands.
"Come out yer," he pleadingly invited Wilson, "or anyone excepting
Alfred."

John, when he invited any or all of the others out, had evidently
forgotten his courtesy to his guests or probably he desired to further
increase their pleasure. Perhaps that was the way he reasoned it, as
several had declared they would rather fight than eat. John did not wish
them to go home feeling they had missed anything.

As a last request, John just pleaded with Wilson to step out. He seemed
more anxious to have Wilson tackle him than any other. As a last
declaration of what he wouldn't sacrifice to have Wilson step out, he
concluded as he slapped his hands together: "Step out, ole feller, just
step out yer. Will you? I'll fight you anyway, I'll fight you now. Come
on; I don't care a dam if I have my Sunday pants on, I'll fight you
anyhow."

The shouts of the boys could be heard re-echoing up and down the hollows
as they wended their ways homeward. The moon had gone down, the night
was darkened; it was nearly dawn. The fire had gone down in the furnace,
the steam ceased to rise from the kettles, the hoot of the old night
owl, after the scenes of the night, made it seem even more quiet.

How to get John into the house that Uncle Jake and the family, might not
be awakened, concerned both Alfred and Wilson. To Alfred was delegated
the task of conducting John home. John led quietly until a shout of
laughter from those bringing up the rear was heard which he chose to
construe as derision directed at him, and then he balked. Alfred would
get him quieted and thus they finally reached the house.

Here John balked again. Alfred and Wilson were both over sensitive. If
the folks discovered John's condition it would reflect upon them. Alfred
greatly feared that Mrs. Young and Uncle Jake would blame him for John's
downfall. They had about made up their minds to carry John to the barn
and stow him away in the hay mow but it had turned uncomfortably cool
and this plan was abandoned. Alfred opened the door leading to the
stairs, partly pulling and pushing him upstairs. He landed John in the
room, where he fell over on the bed.

John muttered and mumbled, flapping and flinging his arms wildly about
his head--he arose to a sitting posture. Alfred endeavored to lay him
down. His face and head were covered with cold perspiration. Alfred knew
the symptoms of the distressing effects that follow the circulation of a
tin cup. He hustled John out of bed. John floundered away from him in
the darkness, and found his way into an unused room. Alfred could hear
him but could not locate him. Groping his way in the darkness Alfred
kept calling in a muffled voice: "John, John, John, where are you? Come
to me."

Just then the house seemed to shake from roof to cellar as John and his
two hundred pounds fell over Uncle Jake's home-made sausage stuffer. The
stuffer was ten feet long. Stuffer and John carried a big rocking chair,
a tin boiler and several other reverberating pieces of household junk
with them.

Ere Alfred could rescue John from the mass of ruins under and on which
he was piled, John began to realize how difficult it is to retain what
you have no matter how strongly you desire to do so. Alfred had to get
out of hearing of John's sufferings to suppress his feeling. He felt
very deeply for John from the very bottom of his stomach; in fact, the
bottom of his stomach seemed disposed to come up. He endeavored to
divert his thoughts but they went back to a tin cup, a wheel-barrow,
cow's ears and other things.

Uncle Jake came out of his room. "What's the matter, what's up? You boys
trying to tear down the house? What's the trouble anyway?"

"Oh, John's drunk too much syrup and it's made him deathly sick," Alfred
began to explain. Uncle Jake interrupted him, saying, as he backed into
the room and closed the door: "Oh, I thought Sammy Steele's mule had
kicked some of you."

The wings of fame fly slowly, reputation travels faster. It is said that
remorse is the echo of a lost virtue. Alfred felt that remorse of
conscience that can come only to one who has fallen and lived on in the
happy illusions that no one heard him drop.

Governor Tener, Doctor Van Voorhis, Mr. Daly and others of John's
friends will no doubt be surprised at this leaf in his life. In all the
years that John and Alfred have lived since, neither has ever forgotten
his first experience with a tin cup that was loaded.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] The flags referred to were painted on the upper doors of James
Fouts's barn, situated on the old pike three miles east of Brownsville.
The flags were very brilliantly colored and naturally draped. They were
the admiration of all travelers over the great thoroughfare. As the war
progressed the Confederates raided near that section several times. The
owner feared that the flags might imperil the safety of the barn and
other buildings on his farm. He therefore sent an order to Alfred's
father to paint the flags over, who desiring to cover their brilliant
colors with one coat selected dark Prussian blue. Very soon after the
flags were painted over, their colors began to appear through the blue.
Not many hot summer days had gone by until the flags were almost as
distinct as when first painted on the big doors of the barn. The
reappearance of the flags was regarded as a phenomenon or a miracle by
the country folk. The "Brownsville Clipper," in commenting upon the
miracle, declared: "It is an omen of victory for the Federal armies; you
cannot efface the Star Spangled Banner, it still waves on Fouts's barn."
The paper criticized the owner for having the flags daubed over and
intimated that Fouts was lacking in loyalty. (Fouts was a Democrat.
Three weeks later the owner of the paper ordered Danny Stentz to pull in
the big flag that hung out of the third story window of the "Clipper"
building; the Confederates were reported as but fourteen miles away. The
chemical properties of the coloring matter in the paints was the cause
of the reappearance of the red bars of the flags through the blue paint
that was spread over them.)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The man who borrows trouble
Is always on the rack,
For there's no way, by night or day,
That he can pay it back.

MT. PLEASANT, PA.

DEAR MUZ:

We got here safe and sound. This is a pretty place. Palmer lives
on the edge of the town; it's an old house; one end of it is all
taken up with his "art studio," he calls it. He biles glue and
the smell goes through the whole house. You and Lin thought I
stunk when I worked in the tannery, you ought to smell Palmer
and his art studio.

He has another preacher helping him. His wife is very quiet; she
is making the clothes for the panorama; they have a pile of
clothes to make. He asked me if I had read "Pilgrim's Progress."
He knows the book backwards, so I have to read it and learn it
too.

The way he talks this is a regular show, but he won't let you
call it a show. The painting looks awful to me but Palmer says
it looks all right under the lights. He is about done and wants
Pap to come over to see it. If he comes don't let him bring any
money.

Tell Lin to get my shotgun from under the feed trough in the cow
stable. She'd better get it quick. Turkey Evans knows where it
is and he'll steal it. Answer and let me know if he has stole it
yet.

Tom White is too short. If Cousin Charley was a few inches
taller I could get him this job. It takes tall people to be
characters in Pilgrim's Progress, especially "Christian," "Help"
and the "Evangelist." Jake's goin' to be somethin' in the
panorama.

They don't live very well; maybe Mrs. Palmer didn't know we were
coming and didn't fix for us. They have had no meat any meal
yet, only flitch.[B] Palmer works all night and sleeps all day.
He talks the rest of the time. His wife don't say nothin'; just
wears a sun bonnet. Maybe she has the newralgy.

Give my love to all. Your affectionate son,

ALFRED GRIFFITH HATFIELD.

P. N. B. Don't forgit the gun. Turner Simpson promised me when
Queen had pups to give me one. If he brings it you'll keep it,
won't you Muz?

MT. PLEASANT, PA.

DEAR MUZ:

The livin's no better, it's flitch every meal; they haven't had
pie or cake since we came. Palmer says when they get the thing
going we'll live on the fat on the land. His wife don't say
nothin', just sews and cooks and wears a sun-bonnet. They've got
two children somewhere. I heard Palmer say they'd have to stay,
that they'd be too much trouble on the road. This seemed to make
Mrs. Palmer more quiet, I reckon you'd call it sad. She ought to
say somethin', then a body would know what ails her. I don't
think it's newralgy. I told her mustard plasters always helped
Aunt Susan and she just looked at me.

I hope he gets her goin' soon, I'm hungry. If this show is good,
as he says she is, he ought to make enough to buy something to
eat besides flitch, corn meal and potatoes. He's got two more
scenes to paint, then we're ready to show her up.

Tom tried to help Mrs. Palmer wash the dishes, he broke two
plates. Palmer says he's all thumbs and mouth.

Your affectionate son,
ALFRED GRIFFITH HATFIELD.

P. S. Was the gun gone? The pup's a hound but it's bound to be
pretty, the children will like it. You keep it till I get home.

MT. PLEASANT, PA.

MY DEAR MUZ:

Palmer's the awfulest worker I ever saw. He knows his business
but he ain't got any money. We're waitin' on Jake to come.
Palmer owes everybody in town, they won't let him have anything
until he pays. The flitch gave out last night, and we had
nothin' but corn pone, buttermilk and potatoes. Palmer said he
ketched the gout once from high livin', and he did not want to
see another human suffer like he did. I guess his wife's dietin'
too, as she don't set down to eat with us.

Palmer is a wonderful man. He's got his lecture all wrote out
and all the characters and all the costumes for them. He's going
to begin the rehearsals tomorrow. Practicin' we called it. I
looked in the dictionary, rehearsing is to recite, to recount,
to relate, to repeat what has already been said, to recite in
private for experiment and improvement before a public
representation.

I have learned more from Palmer than anybody I was ever with.
The old preacher, Reverend Gideon, writes letters all day; he
has the names of all the churches and preachers and we know
where we are to be weeks before hand.

Jake came today and brought his two horses. They're nice horses
but he won't let you drive them, he wants to drive himself.
Palmer went to the stable while Jake was unhitchin' and I seen
him get money from Jake. We had beefstake for supper, fried, but
it was too dry. She did not make any sop.[C] We had hot biscuits
and good butter, but no pie and cake.

I got acquainted with a boy, Will Peters. He invited me over to
his house several times. I want to go but am ashamed to; they
have pie and cake three times a day just like we all do at home.

Mrs. Palmer talks a little to me now. She still wears the
sun-bonnet but I don't believe it's newralgy that ails her. She
asked me if your name warn't Mary Irons before you married Pap.

I finished the Pilgrim's Progress last night. It's a great book,
you ought to read it. The one we got at home is not complete,
borrow Uncle Tom's.

I'm glad Turkey Evans did not get hold of my shotgun. Palmer's
done all his "work of art," as he calls it. Tonight he reads the
whole thing over to us and then we got to learn our parts. Jake
is going to be "Christian;" that's what I wanted to be but
"Christian" carries a heavy load on his back and Palmer says I'm
not strong enough. Me and Tom must double a dozen different
characters. Mrs. Palmer tried all the clothes for everybody on
me. One of the suits I do not like; it's just like you had
nothin' on but a shirt; it's for "Faith" to wear. I told Palmer
it would not look right before women and children and he said
the costume was patterned after the original plates. I don't
know what he meant but he'll not put "Faith's" clothes on me,
plates or no plates.

[Illustration: "He'll Not Put Faith's Clothes On Me"]

Is Pap coming over before we start? If he is, you have Lin bake
a peck of doughnuts, put them in the big carpet-sack. I'm glad
you got the gun. I wrote Turner Simpson to send you the pup when
it was old enough to wean. Your affectionate son,

ALFRED GRIFFITH HATFIELD

P. S. Don't forget the doughnuts.

SOMERSET, PA.

DEAR MUZ:

It will be my luck to have Pap come to Mt. Pleasant with the
doughnuts and find us all gone. We left last night. I wrote you
we was going but I didn't know it until Palmer woke me up in the
middle of the night. Reverend Gideon left two days before.
Someone pulled me out of bed. I hollered, "Here, here, hold on!"
Then I knew it was Palmer. I jumped up. He ordered me to dress
quickly.

I dressed and looked for Tom. I asked Palmer where he was. He
said: "I've called him as often as I'm going to." I called Tom
and had to wait so long for him to dress that when I got out
doors there was Jake sitting up in the front seat of the wagon,
and Mrs. Palmer beside him. She looked to me as if she was
cryin'. Jake told us to "get in, she's going to go."

Palmer was locking the doors. I heard something splash down in
the well. His wife asked for the keys. "They're down in the
well; old Lane, the landlord, can look for them." Mrs. Palmer
looked very much worried. They left all their things excepting a
few bedclothes and the sewing machine.

Palmer spread the bedclothes on the panorama in the bottom of
the wagon; Tom, me and him slept all the way here. Poor Mrs.
Palmer set up all night beside Jake on the seat. If she ain't
got the newralgy she'll katch it sure. Mrs. Palmer wouldn't get
out of the wagon to eat breakfast when we stopped on the road at
a country house, and Palmer spoke real cross to her and she
cried. It's the only time I've seen Jake's face without a smile
and he looks a different man when he ain't smiling. I like Jake
and he likes me. He wants to see Pap.

Reverend Gideon met us here. Palmer forgot his clothes and I
heard him tell Gideon they'd have to go, he had flung the keys
in the well and if Gideon went back after his clothes they was
liable to fling him in jail.

I believe Palmer's run off owing everybody. This thing's bound
to make money. I'm sorry I came for twenty a month. If he does
well he'll have to raise me.

Your affectionate son,
ALFRED GRIFFITH HATFIELD.

P. S. The hound was to be a dog, not another kind.

Palmer, the wife and Gideon, were a source of much speculation to
Alfred; he could not fix their standing in his mind. The facts were that
Palmer was one of those soldiers of fortune who had experimented with
many things and failed in everything. He fitted Dryden's description of:

"A man so various, that he seemed to be
Not one, but all mankind's epitome;
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong
Was everything by starts, and nothing long;
But, in the course of one revolving moon,
Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon."

The only aim Palmer seemed to have in life was to create the impression
that he might have been worse. Store clerk, school teacher, politician,
preacher, scene painter, amateur showman; such were the pursuits he had
been engaged in, not successful in any of them. Abusive of all, save
that one he was engaged in, blaming the world for his failures. He
respected no man or woman. He approached no man save with a selfish
motive; could he but injure those with whom he dealt he was happy,
though he did not profit thereby. Yet he did not so speak, but all his
actions conveyed this impression of the man to Alfred. And thus his
character was impressed on the boy's intuitive mind as strongly as were
the scenes on the canvas of the panorama.

[Illustration: Palmer]

The wife was only another of that type of woman who has blasted a life,
one full of hope, by clinging to a man who was unworthy of one day of
her life. It was a pathetic spectacle to see the faded wife standing
helpless in the shadow of her husband's selfishness, having sacrificed
youth, beauty and everything that woman holds dear. It did not matter
to Palmer that she was once a school teacher, more than a fair musician,
courted by numbers who could have made her useful to society and happy
in her life. It did not matter to Palmer that she had burned up much of
her attractiveness over the cooking stove; that she lost more of it at
the washtub; in caring for and rearing the children that had
unfortunately come to them. The slaving she had gone through in all
their married life to help her husband to get on in the world was all
lost upon the selfish man who never gave a thought to her sufferings. He
actually treated her if as she had been the cause of his failures, and
seemed ashamed of her when younger and more attractive women were near.

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