Watch Yourself Go By

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

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38

The report had spread that Alfred was in a serious condition. Many were
the callers and many the comments on the accident. Mrs. Todd said:
"Well, I can't understand why it was that the Livingston boy, who was
the higher up and fell the farthest, escaped injury, and Alfred was hurt
so badly. They say Livingston could have saved himself the fall. They
say he risked his life to save Alfred. I can't just understand how
Alfred got hurt so badly; it seems like a visitation of Providence; you
know Alfred has been so forward in his devilment with other folks."

Lin flared up as she answered: "An' I kan't fur the life uf me figger
out how Bindley fell so much higher down then Alfurd an' didn't break
his back. But judgin' by the terbakker juce he spilled on Alfurd afore
he fell he mus' dropped his quid an' then fell on hit an' thet broke his
fall."

There is no denying the fact that the accident made Bindley the hero and
Alfred the goat. Peter Hunt said: "Bindley was prompted by that sense of
duty one boy feels toward another. He held Alfred until he could hold no
longer, and when strength gave out, he fell with Alfred. It was an act
of heroism."

Peter said there were two bodies falling with equal velocity; if one had
fallen on top of the other the concussion would not have been great.

Johnny Tunstall said of Alfred: "Huh! The munkey devil; ye kudn't kill
him with a hax."

George Fee expressed his sorrow thusly: "It's a great pity they fell; I
tole Susan so, for when they wus up in them swings they wus nearer
Heavun un they'll ever git again."

Aaron Todd pushed his whiskers over the garden fence, inquiring of Lin
as to Alfred's condition: "He's purty badly hurt I fear," he began, and,
with a tone that betokened anything but sympathy: "Hurt internally I
reckon. He'll hardly pull through ef he hes blood pizening; I never
knowed anybody thet hed hit internally thet evur got up again."

"Oh, my!" and Lin pretended to be greatly surprised, "Oh, my, Alfurd's
all right. Why he's up an' about. Ef you're goin' out on a torch-lite
percession soon ye'll hear from him." Todd's face clouded, pulling his
whiskers over the fence into his own yard, muttered: "The luck of sum
peepul beats hell."

The doctor and Jack arrived. "What kind of liniment did you apply to
Alfred's bruises?" sternly demanded the doctor.

"I dunno," quietly answered Jack, "your liniment I reckon."

[Illustration: "And Thar's the Very Bottle"]

"Was there turpentine in the liniment you used?" continued the doctor,
not regarding Jack's reply.

"Well I should say; hit nearly burnt my han' off, hit tuk all the skin
off twixt the fingers; my han' wus jus' like when I hed the itch. I've
been greasin' hit with hog's lard an' elder bark ever since," and Jack
pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it up to the doctor's view.

The doctor bent over the hand; it was discolored with small blackish
spots. "Where did you get the liniment; did you bring it with you?" more
sternly demanded the doctor.

"No, sir, I didn't bring hit with me," somewhat impudently answered
Jack, "I'm no hopathekary; I got the liniment right thar," pointing to
the closet door, "an' thar's the very bottle," continued Jack as he
opened the closet door.

Taking the large bottle off the shelf with both hands he passed it to
the doctor who shook and uncorked it. As he was in the act of smelling
it the father entered the room. Turning toward him the doctor, with his
nose still at the neck of the bottle, inquired: "John, where did you get
this stuff, this liniment?"

"Liniment?" the father repeated, as he reached for the bottle.
"Liniment? Why, doc, that's not liniment. Who said it was? Why, I've
been experimenting with that stuff nearly a year. That's not liniment,
thet's walnut stain; I can stain anything to resemble walnut. We--"

The remainder of the father's recommendation was lost in the laugh.
Alfred kicked the bedclothes over the headboard; the women-folks ran,
the doctor did not remain to see Jack remove the mortification from
Alfred's body.

When Jack had scrubbed, rinsed and dried the supposedly affected portion
of Alfred's anatomy, he assured him the black and blue color had been
supplanted by a redness of the skin that was remarkable. "Hit's es red
es scarlet," was Jack's comparison.

"Well for Heavens' sake, Jack, keep it quiet or they'll be doctoring me
for scarlet fever," cautioned Alfred.

As the doctor walked up the path toward the front gate Lin shouted after
him: "Doctur, ye kin tell ole Jeffres thet John uses turpentine in his
liniment ef he don't in his paints."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Thank God for the man who is cheerful,
In spite of life's troubles, I say;
Who sings of a brighter tomorrow
Because of the clouds today.

Then came a letter--whatever you may be, your parents were probably more
so about the same age; but the world is wiser now than then, the boy
world at least. The writer had heard of Alfred and his wonderful
talents; he was organizing a minstrel show and would like to negotiate
with him. The new organization would be one of the most complete in the
country; it would be an honor to anyone to be connected with it.
Benedict would head the company.

Duprez and Benedict's was one of the leading minstrel companies of the
period. How was Alfred to know the Benedict who was to head the new show
was not Lew Benedict?

Alfred engaged with the Great Benedict Minstrels. Rehearsals were called
for 10 a. m. daily, but were generally called off until 3 p. m., by
which time the principals were in such a jolly mood they did not require
rehearsals; they felt funny enough to entertain royalty.

The manager, or more properly, the angel, for angel he was, seemed more
desirous of making a reputation in bar rooms than with his show.

Alfred learned the minstrels were being organized to invade the oil
regions where money grew on derricks. After subduing the oil territory
the angel was supposed to become so favorably impressed with the
possibilities of the enterprise, augmenting the company, he would treat
the larger cities to a sight of the mighty monarch of the minstrel
world.

Doctor McClintock and wife lived near Rouseville, Pa. Childless, they
adopted a boy, John W. Steele. Prior to the discovery of coal oil, the
worn out fields of that locality were valueless. Now broad acres were as
valuable as the diamond fields of South Africa. Never in the wildest
days of the gold excitement in California was money more rapidly
accumulated or squandered than in the oil regions of Pennsylvania.

Johnny Steele fell heir to all the lands of Dr. McClintock. Wealth
rolled in upon him; he entered upon a career of extravagance. He spent
thousands of dollars daily, he literally cast money to the winds. His
notoriety spread to the furthermost limits of the country; the daily
papers, the weeklies, the monthlies printed exaggerated accounts of his
profligacy.

Skiff and Gaylord's Minstrels crossed the path of "Coal Oil Johnny," as
Steele had been dubbed. Lew Gaylord made a great ado over the
spendthrift. Steele accompanied the minstrels for a few days; their
pathway was one wide streak of hilarity. When hotel men complained of
the boisterous behavior of Steele the coal oil spendthrift bought the
hotel for their stay.

"Coal Oil Johnny" was the sensation of the day. He bought the minstrel
boys hats, coats, shoes, trunks and that most coveted minstrel
decoration, a diamond.

The minstrels flourished for a few months. The public rebuked the
unenviable notoriety of "Coal Oil Johnny." The minstrels steadily
declined. "Coal Oil Johnny" went down with them. His money gone, he was
made treasurer of the troupe his prodigality had ruined. When the ending
came there was none so poor as he. Hotels where he had spent thousands,
refused him even a night's lodging. He went back to the farm; the acres
he had cultivated were covered with oil derricks; the friends he knew
had departed; he was almost a stranger save for the notoriety he had
acquired. Unabashed he seemed to take a pride in the spendthrift race he
had run. He drove a baggage wagon; afterwards he became the baggage
master at the depot in Rouseville.

* * * * *

There never was a full rehearsal of the minstrels ere they embarked for
Parker's Landing on the good boat "Jim Rees." There was no railroad to
the oil regions from Pittsburgh in those days. The Allegheny River was
navigable to Venango, opposite the present Oil City.

Two members of the minstrels, song and dance men, took a dislike to
Alfred. Others soon became intimate with him, they enjoyed his humorous
narratives, particularly his experiences with Node Beckley and the
panorama. The two members mentioned exhausted the new boy's patience and
he invited both to fistic combat. His challenges were laughed at; the
jibes and jokes became more and more insulting.

Jealousy, that canker that eats and festers at the hearts of actors as
it does at those of no other humans, was the motive for their actions.

Alfred had introduced a bit of acrobatic comedy in the closing farce
that was the laughing hit of the minstrels. Owing to the lack of acts,
the stage manager ordered Alfred to put on a single turn. This act
preceded the turn of the song and dance men. The singing of Alfred took
with the oil men greatly. The two who followed were not even fair
singers, their efforts fell flat; they had the stage manager change them
on the bill. The change put them just before Alfred. When advised of the
change he reminded the stage manager that he went on only for
accommodation in the olio and flatly refused to follow the song and
dance men. The angel ordered the two song and dance men on in their
usual position, following Alfred. Alfred rehearsed a dance secretly. He
finished his singing turn with this dance, introducing all his known
acrobatic stunts. This rough dance simply set the oil men wild and the
two worthies fell flatter at every performance.

No philanthropist of the "Coal Oil Johnny" sort had discovered the
minstrels as yet, but the path of their travels was one of nightly
carousals. The two dancers were assisting the manager-angel in
scattering the money that came in. The people were hungry for
amusements; hence the tour thus far had been one of profit.

The manager and his companions never went to bed when there was another
place to go. It was one of the pass-times of the two dancers to enter
Alfred's room noiselessly, pull him violently out of bed and steal out
in the darkness. In one of their playful moods they carried Alfred's
wearing apparel to another part of the hotel.

Alfred warned the stage manager that he intended to resent this
treatment. However, there was no cessation to the indignities the two
put upon the young minstrel.

But like all so-called ladders, they could not stand the gaff. After a
particularly keen onslaught upon Alfred with their tongues, in which
several of his weaknesses were commented upon, Alfred got back at them:
"I don't have to cater to the manager to hold my job; I'm drawing my
wages on my work, not on my cheek," was Alfred's retort.

* * * * *

At Titusville, a banquet was tendered the minstrels by the landlord of
the hotel.

Many speeches were delivered, good, bad and very bad--all predicting the
perpetual success of the minstrel enterprise. There was a lull in the
gaiety. The toastmaster announced as there was no prepared program all
would be expected to say something. He thereupon introduced one of
Alfred's tormentors.

The fellow arose, cleared his throat and made a laborious attempt to
speak a few intelligible words, concluding with an indelicate story.
The landlord tiptoed across the room closing the door that none might
overhear. With a maudlin leer he followed the landlord with his eyes, as
he shouted: "Thanks, Landy, this ain't a ladies' story." As he sat down
there was neither laughter nor applause.

The toastmaster called upon Alfred. He was overcome with bashfulness and
did not arise until several urged him to say something. "Get up, get
up," urged the two men opposite. Alfred arose, so confused he could not
articulate. A voice shouted: "Tell them about the panorama."

Alfred began Palmer's lecture. It had no application to the occasion,
but few understood it, there was an oppressive silence. Alfred had no
idea of when to cease talking, and would probably have given the whole
lecture, had not Bill Young, a musician, one who took a very great
interest in him, seized him by the arm, shaking him forcibly: "Here,
here; you forgot the song, you promised to sing for us." Bill continued:
"Gentlemen: Alfred will now give you a correct imitation of an old maid
singing 'Barbara Allen.'"

He gave the imitation so cleverly that the guests applauded again and
again. As he ended the song, his eyes closed, imitating the old maid,
something soft and mushy struck him on the breast of his white shirt.
The juice spattered into his face and over those near him.

A glance at the mushy mess, Alfred's eyes fell on the two men opposite
him. One was looking apologetically at the gentleman next Alfred who was
wiping his face with his napkin; the other laughing tantalizingly.

Retaliation was speedy. It was not two seconds after the decayed tomato
landed on Alfred until a large platter of soft salad of some sort, a
sugar bowl and several smaller dishes were landing just where aimed.

One of Alfred's tormentors lay upon the floor, his face and vest
literally covered with salad and other cold lunch. The other was making
for the door, dodging plates and cups that flew perilously near his
head.

Alfred, being the swifter, soon overtook the fleeing man. There was a
short struggle, and Alfred's well directed blows took all the fight out
of him; he begged for mercy.

The landlord led Alfred to the parlor, commanding him to keep quiet and
not cause further disturbance.

Alfred remained in the parlor for what seemed to him a long time.
Finally, the landlord returned to advise the man struck with the salad
plate was pretty badly cut and they thought best to get a doctor. He
further stated the other one had complained to the police.

"The coward," sneered the landlord, "I wish we had let you give it to
him; he would have had something to complain of. However, the chief is a
good friend of mine and I think I can fix it so you will not be locked
up."

Alfred's first thought was, what will the folks at home say should he be
thrown into jail?

The chief of police and members of the company and others crowded into
the parlor. The chief, one of those officials who felt his importance
greatly, assumed to try the case then and there.

"Have you had any fights before?"

"Yes, sir, thousands of them," answered Alfred. He was under the
impression the question covered his entire life. Everybody in the room
laughed.

"No, I had reference to a fight with the parties whom you assaulted here
tonight," continued the officer.

Alfred was just a little ashamed of the admission and entered into an
explanation: "I never tried to fight them before, though they have done
everything they could to worry me. Ever since I joined the show it has
been one insult after another. I could scarcely keep my hands off them
only I was afeared they would double team on me. I'd had it out long ago
but for that," and as Alfred talked he warmed up.

"Hold on," the chief interrupted, "do not incriminate yourself. Did
either of these men ever offer you violence?"

"No, they was afraid to, they're both cowards. I will fight it out with
either of them right now." Alfred was angry; the old Brownsville way of
settling such disputes was all he thought of.

The chief remarked to those near him: "I feel sorry for this boy, owing
to the fact that they have tormented him;" he turned to Alfred, "I do
not feel sorry for them nor wish to protect them, yet that is no legal
excuse for your assault upon them."

Someone came forward with this proposition, that inasmuch as they all
belonged to one family, that they shake hands all around, call
everything square and go on about their business.

"Well, if the party will withdraw the charge of felonious assault it's
all right with me. I don't get nothing out of it nohow," was the police
officer's reply.

"Get them together," was the suggestion made by several. Alfred
interfered by saying: "I'm willing to get together or do anything that's
fair but I'm not going to travel with this gang of rowdies another day."

The chief nudged him to cease and whispered: "Then they'll put you in
jail."

"Well, I'll put them in jail, too," retorted Alfred.

"What charges will you prefer against them; you stated you had never had
trouble with them before?"

"But look what they have done to me," persisted Alfred. "They have
plagued me until I couldn't have a minute's peace of mind, and then they
hit me with a rotten tomattus as big as a gourd, why--?"

The chief here interrupted Alfred to inform him that in law a rotten
tomato was not considered a dangerous weapon.

"Well, if anybody would hit you with a rotten tomattus, I know what
you'd do; you'd shoot 'em, that's what you'd do."

"Why, there was no tomattuses on the table; I can prove it by the
landlord."

"Them fellers went to the slop barrel and fished it out; didn't I smell
old sour swill on it. Why the smell of that tomattus would made a dog
sick."

Whether it was Alfred's anger, emphasized by his smacking his hands
together, his hurried speech, or the description of the condition of the
tomato, the laughter that convulsed all seemed to make him more
indignant.

With heightened voice and more forcible gestures he continued: "If I do
live in a little town, I've been away from home before, and I won't let
no son-of-a-gun ride over me even if he is as big as the side of a
house. I've got a home; I've got good people; I can go to them and I
won't travel another day with a pack of drunken rowdies. You can do with
me as you please. You say there's no law agin heavin' rotten tomattuses
at a person in a banquet. What kind of law have you got in Titusville?
If anybody would hit another with a tomattus at the dinner table in
Brownsville they'd beat hell out of him quicker'n you could say 'Jack
Robinson.'"

The remainder of Alfred's forcible, if not eloquent, speech was drowned
by laughter. Half a dozen present volunteered to go his bail.

Numerous attempts were made in the early Sunday morning to influence
Alfred to continue his travels with the troupe. To all arguments he gave
the same answer: "No; I'll not travel further with a lot of drunken
rowdies."

With all sorts of promises, a raise of salary, promotion, and other
alluring inducements, they failed to move Alfred. Finally as do all
cajolers, the manager endeavored to threaten the boy into following his
wishes. But with no better results.

"I would walk home before I would travel another day with you," was the
parting shot as the manager left the room, swearing he would have Alfred
in jail and keep him there.

The injured man swore out a warrant for Alfred. Captain Ham came forward
promptly and signed the bail bond.

The Captain was to open a summer garden or park a few days later. As
Alfred had no previous acquaintance with the gentleman, he has often
thought the deep interest evinced by the genial Captain was influenced
by the two weeks' engagement offered and accepted by Alfred to appear in
the park.

In so far as the writer's knowledge goes, this summer park in Titusville
was the first of it's kind in this country. Titusville is renowned.
Rockefeller's career began there. Titusville was the birthplace of the
summer park and the Standard Oil Company.

The minstrels left Titusville with diminished forces; four remained
behind. After a few nights more of feverish hilarity the company
disbanded without money or friends.

Thus early in life the fact was impressed upon Alfred that the drunkard
is an annoyance to sociability; without judgment, without civility, the
drunkard is an object to be avoided in every walk of life. The drunkard
is a detriment in business; a disgrace to his friends; the shame and
sorrow of his wife and children. He is shunned by even those who profit
by his excesses.

At a banquet in Chicago last year Alfred was confused by someone
shouting: "Al, tell them about your panorama experience; there won't be
any tomatoes thrown."

He could not get his mind off the interruption. As the guests were
departing a gentleman passed his card; the name was not familiar. Alfred
was passing on when the gentleman said: "Al, don't you remember me? We
attended a banquet thirty-nine years ago. You were served with tomatoes;
I got a dose of salad or some such stuff. I didn't mind the salad but
the plate kind of jarred me."

Here he pushed back a lock of red hair streaked with gray, exhibiting a
small scar high up on the temple. Alfred recognized him. To relieve the
situation Alfred inquired as to the whereabouts of Dick, the other song
and dance man. "Oh, he is, or was, working in a saw-mill in
Williamsport. I haven't seen him in thirty years. Al, I didn't throw
that tomato. Come over to the store, I want to talk to you."

* * * * *

Fort Duquesne, afterward Pittsburgh, was builded at the confluence of
the Monongahela and Allegheny Rivers where they form the Ohio, called by
the villagers the "Point"--a natural site for a beautiful village such
as Fort Duquesne was at the time we write of. It was indeed a sight on
which the eye might gaze enraptured, with ever changing beauties to
charm it. The high hills on every side cast their shades over the
peaceful village for, notwithstanding the prefix "Fort", there was no
semblance of soldiery, cannon or war, about the peaceful place.

The hills of smiling green rising abruptly in places, gently at others,
towering above the rivers, seemed to look down upon the village and its
peoples. The hills crowned with lofty trees and climbing vines, the
trees swaying in the breezes seemed to be bowing approval at the
tranquil scene below.

The locust, the sumac, the oak, the walnut, the dogwood, the haw, the
red berries, glowing in the eyes of the boys of the village, and as
impelling to them as the red lights that later glowed on the Anheuser
Busch plants in the city that supplanted the village of Fort Duquesne.

Brownsville was one long symphony of content and happiness. The
prosperity of its people excited the envy of those of Fort Duquesne. It
was argued by the discontented of Fort Duquesne that the changing of the
name of "Red Stone Old Fort" to Brownsville was that which brought
Brownsville renown and riches.

Therefore, certain ones of Fort Duquesne called a public meeting to be
held at the "Point" where the matter of changing the name of Fort
Duquesne was discussed. Those who had emigrated from Washington County
insisted the name should be Brownstown, hoping thereby to profit from
the confusion that would arise as between that name and Brownsville.
They argued that when the traders from Shousetown, Sewickley and Smith's
Ferry, came up the river to barter they would be confused by the
similarity of the names and ascend the river no further, thus the trade
of Brownsville would be diverted.

Others argued that the name be changed to "Three Rivers;" still others
insisted if change there must be, it be to Fort Pitt. Others wanted a
burg made out of the old Fort. There was a compromise and the name
"Pittsburgh" adopted. Immediately there was an influx of settlers,
particularly from Somerset and Butler Counties. The town profited
greatly by the change of names; there were many who could neither spell
nor pronounce "Duquesne;" but now that it was made easier to explain
where you lived, the town thrived.

Pittsburgh, with an "h", became noted. In Fort Duquesne the people had
been content to live as they began; but the interlopers from Braddocks
Field, Greene County, and Holidaysburg changed conditions. The luxuriant
cabbage gardens gave way to boiler yards; the little brick houses were
supplanted by glass houses, still houses and other manufacturing
establishments, the mark of that van of commercial greatness that has
made Pittsburgh famous.

That part of the town formerly given over to agricultural pursuits,
namely the river banks, was now paved with cobble stones and termed
"wharves," thus providing a vantageous place for the citizens to
congregate when they had a boat race over the lower course. Occasionally
a raft from Salamanca would be moored on the Allegheny wharf and
shingles unloaded in piles for the children to play ketch around in the
twilight.

On the Monongahela side where the boats came from and departed for
Brownsville, there was always more activity.

Many of Fort Duquesne's best citizens seceded. The volunteer firemen
remained faithful to the old Fort. They went into business on Smithfield
Street and are known to this day as the Duquesne Fire Company. It was
through those who seceded that the outlying boroughs of Birmingham,
Brownstown, and Ormsby, were created on the south side, while those on
the north-west side christened their settlement "Allegheny," thus
destroying its future. As the river of that name that runs away from
itself when it rains and drys up when it is clear, is so uncertain, the
name Allegheny does not appeal to the masses. Had Allegheny taken the
name of "Pittsburgh," the courthouse and all other public buildings
would be located on the north side, a natural site for a populous city.
As it is, Pittsburghers are compelled to live in Irwin, Latrobe,
Cassopolis and Kittanning, to make room for their public buildings.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38