Watch Yourself Go By

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

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There may have been factions and social distinctions as between the
inhabitants of the little town when garbed and groomed, but in the
nudity of the old swimming place there was a common level, and all met
on an equal footing.

James G. Blaine, Philander C. Knox, Professor John Brashear and many
others, who have climbed the ladder of Fame, were boys among boys in
this old swimming hole. It was here they were given their first lessons
in courage and self-reliance.

A balmy afternoon in late June the boys of the town were in swimming;
"Al-f-u-r-d" could plainly hear their shouts of glee as he sat in the
front yard at home. How he longed to participate in their sports. What
wouldn't he give to be free like other boys? Was there ever a boy who
did not feel that he was imposed upon, who did not imagine he was abused
above all others? Such was the feeling of "Al-f-u-r-d".

He had been subjected to a scrubbing. Lin had unmercifully bored into
his ears with a towel shaped like a gimlet at one corner, assuring his
mother he was "dirtier 'an the dirtiest coal digger in town." He was
arrayed in a clean gingham suit, topped with an emaculate white shirt,
flowing collar and straw hat. Lin spent a long time in curling his hair
despite protests. Those curls were "Al-f-u-r-d's" abomination. The more
he abominated them the longer they grew. They reached down to the middle
of his back. Arranged in a semi-circle, extending from temple to temple,
they made his head appear so abnormally large his slender body seemed
scarcely able to support it. He seemed top-heavy with his long curls.

[Illustration]

"Al-f-u-r-d" was to go alone to grandfather's and escort him home to
dinner. There was to be company, and Lin was determined that
"Al-f-u-r-d" and his curls should appear at their best.

The road of life starts the same for all of God's children. The innocent
babe, fresh fallen from heaven to blossom on earth, sees nothing but the
beautiful at the beginning of the journey. The road is strewn with
flowers and it is only when the prick of the thorn is felt that one
realizes one is on the wrong road.

For just one short block "Al-f-u-r-d," on the occasion referred to,
traversed the right road. There the right road turned abruptly to the
left. There was no road "straight ahead," but the river was there. The
sound of boys' voices shouting in high glee came floating up from the
old swimming place. School had let out and every boy in town was in
swimming. "Al-f-u-r-d" blazed a new trail to the river. Climbing over
the paling fence surrounding the burying ground, through back yards,
descending the steep hill, he found himself standing on the bank of the
river gazing at a spectacle that stirred his young blood--half a hundred
nude boys diving, splashing, swimming and shouting were in the river
below.

[Illustration: The New Boy in Town]

His appearance was greeted with yells and laughter. He was a "new boy"
in town. "Al-f-u-r-d" was abashed by the reception accorded him. Of all
the howling horde in the water below there was but one familiar face,
that of Cousin Charley.

"Take off your curls and come on in, Sissy," shouted one of the
swimmers. A dozen of them assured "Al-f-u-r-d" the water was "jest
bully." Entreaties of "Come on in," came from dozens of boys. Advice of
all kinds came from others.

The reference to the curls made "Al-f-u-r-d" wince. He had long felt
that those curls were the one great impediment in his life--the one
something that made him the butt of the jokes and gibes of other boys.
He hated those curls. His first swimming experience doubly intensified
his hatred for curls.

Evening was drawing near. The big yellow sun had dropped behind Krepp's
Knob, the shadows of the hills almost reached across the ruffled surface
of the river. The river bottoms at the base of the hills, with their
waving grasses and tassled corn, extending beyond the bend in the river
opposite Albany, the old wooden bridge farther up the river, the high
hills behind him, presented a scene of beauty all of which was lost upon
"Al-f-u-r-d." The boys in the river held him entranced. He was absorbed
in the scene, and, for the moment, he even forgot his curls.

Writers frequently refer to the Monongahela River as "murky"--but
where's the boy who ever basked in its cooling waves who will not
qualify the statement that its waters are the clearest, its depths the
most delightful, its ripples the softest and its shores the smoothest?

Jimmy Edmiston intimated to the writer that the Monongahela was only
clear during a "Cheat River Rise." (Cheat is the name of a small stream
of Virginia emptying into the Monongahela above Brownsville. Its waters
are never muddy, no matter how heavy or protracted the rains along its
course. When the Cheat River pours its transparent flood into the
Monongahela the latter rises without riling. Hence the expression:
"Cheat River rise.")

Jimmy has so long lived away from Brownsville that his memory is
defective. Associated with the muddy Missouri he labors under the
delusion that all rivers are muddy--even the Monongahela.

[Illustration: The Old Swimming Hole]

"Al-f-u-r-d" was rudely caught from behind by several boys, undressed in
less time than it took Lin to hang the hat on his curls. Nor had he
barely been reduced to a state of nudity when some unregenerate in the
river below let fly a lump of soft, mushy mud, large as a gourd. The mud
landed squarely on the broader part of his slight anatomy. With a yelp
he wiggled loose from his captors and bounded up the hill. His slender
legs and body, topped with the large crop of atmospherically agitated
curls, made him a figure so ludicrous that the boys yelled in ecstacy at
the sight.

"Al-f-u-r-d" was recaptured by two stout-armed boys, one on either side.
They carried him to the top of the "mudslide." "Slick 'er up," came the
cry from all sides. This had reference to the slide upon which fell a
veritable cloudburst of water splashed up from the river by the hands of
a dozen devilish youngsters.

"Al-f-u-r-d" was elevated to the height of the heads of his tormentors.
In chorus from the mob at the words, "One, two, three," he was dropped
to the slide, striking its soft, slick surface in an angular attitude,
with feet and legs waving a strenuous protest above his head. The fall
gave him a momentum that sent him over the slippery surface at a speed
that rushed him into the river with eyes and mouth wide open. With a
splash, under he went, forcing great gulps of water down his throat.
Strangling and choking, he came to the surface, spouting like a whale
calf.

[Illustration: The Slippery Slide]

What a shout of merriment went up from his tormentors. Barely had he
taken in a full breath than a bad boy--they were all bad, at least
"Al-f-u-r-d" so informed Lin afterwards--again forced his head under
water.

"Duck 'im agin!" someone shouted as his curls floated on the surface of
the water above his hidden body.

For the third time "Al-f-u-r-d" ducked--or rather, was ducked,
swallowing another quart or two of Monongahela. Coming up cork-like, he
tried to make his escape. Up the bank he ran choking and crying.
Unfortunately, he took the track of the slide. Half way up his feet flew
from under him, landing him upon his stomach. Back he slid, feet first,
his nose plowing up the soft mud, his mouth filling with the same
substance. Terrified beyond expression, under the water he went,
choking, strangling, struggling. He felt that his time had come.

Popping to the surface, one of the older boys stood him upon his feet,
washed the mud from his mouth and nose and, by sundry "shakes,"
partially emptied him.

Fearing they had gone too far with their hazing, some of the larger boys
led him further into the stream, handling him as tenderly as they had
roughly, assuring him of perfect safety. He was caused to lie on his
stomach and, with Cousin Charley holding his broad, calloused palm
against his chest, "Al-f-u-r-d" was given his first lesson in swimming.
One boy declared, even before "Al-f-u-r-d" had moved a muscle, that he
had already learned to swim.

It was the consensus of opinion that the only thing that prevented his
swimming was his curls. To overcome this handicap his hair was braided,
tied and cross-tied and his top-heaviness reduced to a dozen scattered
knobs and knots--knots pulled so tight they glaringly exposed the white
scalp between, and the tying of which brought tears to his eyes.

Even this rearrangement did not prevent his sinking time and again as
the lesson progressed and finally, the mischievousness of his
instructors appeased, he was led, half-dead, out of the water, up the
steep bank to where he had been disrobed. As he stooped to gather up his
rumpled garments a most welcome sound came to his ears:

"Al-f-u-r-d!" "Al-f-u-r-d!"

Contrary to his usual custom, the second syllable was not off the lips
of Lin until, in his loudest tone, he shouted: "Yes,'m!"

When he called for Lin to "come and get me," all the boys took a header
into the river, only their faces and hair-covered heads appearing above
the surface; they treaded water, or swayed around on the bottom. As
"Al-f-u-r-d" looked back on them they seemed like so many decapitated
heads floating in space, a sight that dwelt in his memory long
afterwards.

When "Al-f-u-r-d" gathered his garments into his arms, endeavoring to
hide his nudity, and started toward the voice, a laugh went up that made
the valley echo. Lin declared: "If the tarnel critters had been dressed,
she'd have thrown every last devil of 'em off the raft into the river."

Owing to conditions she hid behind Mrs. Hubbard's house and not until
"Al-f-u-r-d," in his unrecognizable appearance rounded it, did he come
face to face with his rescuer. Crying and sobbing he fell into Lin's
arms. Firing a volley of imprecations upon the horde that had wrought
the wreck before her, Lin kept up a continuous tirade against the boys
in the river; and addressing herself to "Al-f-u-r-d" between speeches,
she said:

"Fur gracious, goodness sake, ef you don't look like Granny Gadd with
yer hair braided over yer head like this; hyar ye air trapesin' through
town agin, mos' naked like ye did las' week. The hull town'll be talkin'
about ye. Ye'll give us all a bad name. Why didn't ye put on yer
clothes?"

"Al-f-u-r-d" sobbingly informed Lin of the cruelties heaped upon him in
which Cousin Charley had taken part. Lin's anger increased as the boy
talked. When he told of them throwing him down in the water times
without number, Lin's indignation burst all bonds. Shaking "Al-f-u-r-d"
violently she fairly yelled as she demanded to know what he was doing
while they were throwing him down. "Al-f-u-r-d" between sobs, answered:

"I wasn't doin' nuthin'; I was gettin' up all the time."

Lin's answer was a jerk that lifted the boy off the earth. As she
smacked her palms together, she defiantly hissed:

"Ef ye had my spunk, ye'd hev knocked hell's delight out of some of
'em."

The defiance of Lin, the thoughts of the cruelties practiced upon him,
or some other force, changed the boy's manner instantly from sobbing and
supplicating. He became screamingly aggressive. Flying to the roadbed,
which had a plentiful supply of loose stone on it, he began a fusillade
on the enemy below that drove the whole horde from the raft into the
river.

"Al-f-u-r-d" had practiced stone throwing since he wore clothes and,
like all boys of that period, his aim was most accurate, as several of
those in the old swimming hole on that eventful day will testify. A rain
of stones fell on the raft; one boy, more venturesome than the others,
started up the hill but "Al-f-u-r-d's" fire repulsed him.

Lin, hidden behind the house, had changed her manner and was now
pleading with "Al-f-u-r-d" to desist.

"Ye might crack some of their skulls and then they'd git out a warrant
and Rease Lynch (referring to the town constable), would be after ye."

"Al-f-u-r-d" left the line of battle only when exhausted. That first
swimming lesson and the fusillade of rocks that followed engendered
animosities that involved "Al-f-u-r-d" in many rough and tumble
encounters afterwards.

Lin, catching up the clothes the boy had dropped upon the ground, soon
discovered why he had not put them on. The sleeves of the waist were
dripping wet and tied in knots as tight as two big, strong boys could
pull them. The pantalets were first unraveled, reversed, pulled over the
sand-covered limbs of the boy, the waist wrapped about his shoulders,
(the knots in the sleeves could not be untied), his hat pushed down on
his head owing to the arrangement of his hair until it rested on his
ears.

The procession started homeward, up alleys, through back yards to
prevent being seen by the neighbors, until Lin hoisted the boy over the
fence at the lower end of the garden. The whole family had congregated
in the back yard, all greatly disturbed over "Al-f-u-r-d's" absence. As
he dropped into the garden from the top of the fence he began crying, as
was his wont, to create sympathy.

[Illustration: Lin and "Al-f-u-r-d"]

As he wended his way up the garden walk, the mother shouted:

"Lin, where on earth has he been?"

"In the river over his head. It's a wonder he wern't drowned to death."

The mother breathed a silent prayer that he had been preserved to them.
Father deftly slid his hand into his left side trouser's pocket and,
pulling forth a keen-bladed knife, cut a slender, but tough, sprout from
the black-heart cherry tree. Tenderly taking the boy by the arm, he
slowly led him to the cellar and introduced another innovation into the
fast unfolding life of the First Born.

The pilgrimages of father and son to the recesses of that dark, damp
cellar became frequent. The innovations of town life were so many,
"Al-f-u-r-d's" unknowing feet fell into so many pitfalls, the father,
affectionate, even indulgent, felt he was in duty bound to use the rod.

In fact, the old cellar, the rod, the boy and the father, were a cause
of comment among those familiar with the family. Uncle Jake said:

"John never asked what 'Al-f-u-r-d' had done when he returned home, but
simply asked, 'Where is he?' escorting him to the cellar and chastizing
him on general principles."

Lin said: "Habits will grow on peepul, and even when 'Al-f-u-r-d' does
nothin', he jes' goes to the cellar and waits to be whipped."

CHAPTER FOUR

From the sweet-smelling Maryland meadows it crawled,
Through the forest primeval, o'er hills granite-walled;
On and up, up and on, till it conquered the crest
Of the mountains--and wound away into the West.
'Twas the Highway of Hope! And the pilgrims who trod
It were Lords of the Woodland and Sons of the Sod;
And the hope of their hearts was to win an abode
At the end--the far end of the National Road.

Brownsville.

Do you not know where it is located? Do not ask any human being who ever
lived in Brownsville as to its location on the map--that is, if you
value his friendship. Your ignorance of geography will be exposed and
you will be plainly informed: "We do not want anything to do with a
person who does not know where Brownsville is located."

[Illustration: Market Street, Brownsville]

Strange as it may seem, though many excellent histories have been
written, there is none extant that has given any full and adequate
description of Brownsville's early days and people--quaint, curious,
serious, humorous, wise and otherwise--good people all.

Brownsville was the most important town on that "Modern Appian Way," the
National Road, or pike, extending from Baltimore, Maryland, to the Ohio
River, and lengthened beyond, in after years, to Cincinnati and
Richmond, Indiana.

Brownsville was founded soon after this country gained its independence,
although it had been an established frontier post long before known as
Red Stone Old Fort. It was the center of the Whiskey Insurrection,
during which George Washington gained his first military experience in
the West, experience that would have saved Braddock's defeat and death,
had he taken Washington's advice, and might have changed the entire
history of this nation. But that England should control the American
colonies is but repeating history.

England is the only country in the world that has successfully colonized
her foreign possessions. Therefore, Brownsville was founded, and mostly
settled, by the English, and to this day her foremost citizens are
Englishmen. This statement of facts does not detract from the estimable
qualities of the Low Dutch who have drifted in from Bedford and Somerset
Counties.

Brownsville outputs--"Monongahela Rye Whiskey" and Chattland's crackers
are world-famous food essentials.

Brownsville was at the head of navigation on the Monongahela River in
the palmy days of the old "pike."

Unlike the Appian Way, of which there is no connected history but only
glimpses of it in the Bible, the old "pike" is embalmed in history, in
poem and prose. It commemorates an epoch in history as fascinating as
any recorded. A highway so important, so largely instrumental in the
country's early greatness and development that it strengthened the ties
between the states and their peoples. Its legends so numerous, its
incidents so exciting that their chronicles read like fiction.

Brownsville grew and prospered while the old "pike" was at the height of
its greatness. It was here the travellers from the East or the West
either embarked or disembarked from the river steamers or the overland
stage coach.

In the year 1868 the writer spent four days and parts of as many nights
in a stage coach journey from Wheeling, West Virginia, to Baltimore,
Maryland, over the National Road. In August, 1910, the same distance was
covered in an automobile in a little over a day and a night, with many
stops and visits to historical spots marked by recollections of the old
days and nights of this King's Highway.

Brownsville, in the halcyon days of the National Pike, was of greater
commercial importance than Pittsburg, her banks ranking higher and her
manufactories more numerous. This supremacy was maintained from 1818 to
1852.

When the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad was opened to the West, the glories
of the old "pike" began to fade. The mechanical establishments,
especially the boat-building and marine engine shops, among the biggest
interests of Brownsville, kept in the lead until well into the days of
the Civil War.

Now, reader, will you not be a bit abashed to ask: "Where is
Brownsville?"

To Henry Clay belongs the credit of first urging Congress to appropriate
funds to build the National Road, but to Albert Gallatin, who was from
the Brownsville section and achieved great distinction while Treasurer
of the United States, belongs the honor of its conception. He was the
first to advocate the great benefits that would accrue to the country if
such a road were constructed.

Washington, when a mere youth, sent to England a report urging the
advisability of a military road from the coast to the Ohio River. He
suggested the Indian trail across the Allegheny Mountains. This trail
was afterwards named Braddock's Road. It should have been called
Washington's Road, as he, at the head of a detachment of Virginia
troops, traversed it one year before Braddock's disastrous invasion of
the West.

All roads led to Brownsville in those days.

Did you ever hear of Workman's Hotel in Brownsville? It stands today as
it did one hundred years ago, at the head of Market Street. It has
housed Jackson, Harrison, Clay, Sam Houston, Davy Crockett, James K.
Polk, Shelly, Lafayette, Winfield Scott, Pickens, John C. Calhoun, and
hundreds of others of less note.

James Workman, the landlord of this old house of entertainment, was
noted for his hospitality and punctuality. When "Old Hickory" Jackson,
on his way to Washington to be inaugurated President--for be it
remembered the old "pike" was the only highway between the East and
West--was Workman's guest, the citizens of Brownsville tendered the
newly elected President a public reception. The Presbyterian Church was
crowded, the exercises long drawn out. During their progress, Jimmy
Workman stalked down the middle aisle. Facing about, after passing the
pew in which General Jackson sat, he said, in a voice plainly heard all
over the church:

"General Jackson, dinner is ready and if you do not come soon it won't
be fit to eat."

So great was Workman's devotion to his guests that he imagined the
dinner was more essential than speeches or prayers, and such was the
respect for the famous landlord that the services were curtailed.

Brownsville and Bridgeport were boroughs separated by Dunlap's Creek,
spanned by the first iron bridge built in America. It is standing today
as solid as the reputation of the old burgs it joins together.
Brownsville had the first bridge that spanned the Monongahela River. In
fact Brownsville had a bridge long before Pittsburgh. While Bill Brown
and his progenitors were ferrying Pittsburgh inhabitants across the
river in a skiff, Brownsville folks were crossing on a "kivered"
bridge. And were it not for further humiliating Bill Brown, the
discoverer of Pittsburgh, still greater glories could be recalled for
Brownsville.

James G. Blaine was born on the west bank of the Monongahela River. The
land on which the Blaine house stood was the property of an Indian,
Peter by name. He sold the land to Blaine's grandfather, Neil Gellispie,
the price agreed upon being forty shillings an acre, payable in
installments of money, iron and one negro man, a slave. Ye gods! How did
the "Plumed Knight's" detractors in the "Rum-Romanism-and-Rebellion"
campaign overlook the fact that the Blaines once bought and sold slaves?

[Illustration: James G. Blaine's Home]

Philander C. Knox was born on the hill on the east side of the river.
Professor John Brashear was born on the western edge of the town.

Elisha Gray, the original inventor of the telephone, was from
Brownsville; as were John Herbertson, builder of the first iron bridge
in the United States; John Snowden, builder of two iron gunboats for the
Civil War, and Bishop Arnett, of Ohio.

Brownsville first promulgated a word of slang that has greatly
beautified the English language.

But let it be recorded to the old town's credit, the evil was propagated
without malice aforethought. Brownsville's borough limits show its shape
to be somewhat like that of a hot-air balloon--a big body with a neck;
and the narrow strip of land between the river and Dunlap's Creek
stretching toward Bridgeport from time out of mind has been designated
by the inhabitants of either side of the creek as the "neck."

Brownsville had a temperance revival. Strict observance of the liquor
laws was being enforced. Jack Beckley was haled to court on a dray, too
oblivious of everything to answer any charge. The burgess, before
committing him to the lock-up, questioned the watchman, Jim Bench, as to
where Jack got his liquor.

"Did he get it on the hill?"

The officer truthfully answered:

"No, he got it in the neck."

The town took up the phrase and thereafter any person who met with any
sort of mishap "got it in the neck."

[Illustration: A National Pike Freighter]

CHAPTER FIVE

No wonder Cain went to the bad
And left no cause to praise him;
No neighbors, who had ever had
Boys of their own, came telling Ad
And Eve how they should raise him.

"Al-f-u-r-d" learned with his first swimming lesson that kinship does
not lend immunity; in fact, Lin asserted that Cousin Charley's kinship
was only a cloak of deception. However, the more Cousin Charley teased
the younger boy the greater "Al-f-u-r-d's" admiration and yearning for
his companionship.

Lin cautioned "Al-f-u-r-d" to shun Cousin Charley as he would a "wiper."
Lin could never pronounce her v's. When she went to the grocery and
asked for "winegar," the young clerk laughed outright. The next visit
Lin simply said:

"Smell the jug and gin me a quart."

When the mother admitted she feared Cousin Charley would ruin
"Al-f-u-r-d's" disposition, Lin followed with the declaration that
Cousin Charley "layed awake nights makin' up lies about "Al-f-u-r-d" to
git his pap to whup him."

Lin said: "Why, he don't do a thing all the live-long day but git
'Al-f-u-r-d' in scrapes and muss his curls."

After the swimming hole experience "Al-f-u-r-d's" parent forbade Cousin
Charley the house. Uncle Bill, who was responsible for Cousin Charley's
being, also ordered Cousin Charley to seek a home elsewhere, enforcing
the order by advising Cousin Charley that he had done all that he
intended to do for him.

In forceful words Cousin Charley was told that he must "dig for
himself," that "he could not stay anywhere no matter how good the job,
that he always got into some kind of a scrape and his father was tired
of it."

"Go out in the world and dig for yourself like I did. Then you'll hold a
job when you get one."

Cousin Charley took genuine delight in being thus exiled. He endeavored
to work on the sympathies of all with whom he conversed, reporting that
Uncle John and Aunt Mary had driven him from their house and that his
father had driven him from home, advising him to dig for himself.

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