Watch Yourself Go By

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

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The red flowered belt and a sort of collar around the neck remained. Joe
had on very white stockings; however, they only reached below the knee.
As he had lost his hat at the beginning of his stunt he was almost
devoid of clothes. The vast audience giggled and shouted "accordin' to
their raisin'" as Lin expressed it afterwards.

Joe, through shame or stage fright, made no effort to release himself.
The situation became embarrassing to the few grown ones present. Mothers
took occasion to look down at their children, smoothing their hair or
straightening their clothing. The big girls looked another way but the
greater part of the audience yelled with delight.

Lin "jus' couldn't stan' it any longer." Dropping the children, she
rushed to poor Joe's rescue. She was compelled to unclasp Joe's hands
from the bar. In his fright and confusion he had a vise-like grasp on
it. In the position in which he hung his face was hidden. Lin said that
"his old wall-paper duds was all off him" and she reckoned "long as his
face was kivered he'd hung thar 'til he fainted or fell."

When Lin stood the poor fellow on his feet after relieving him from his
perch, he was confused. Instead of going into the dressing room where
all the boys were yelling with laughter, poor Joe ran out of the tent
across the commons and crawled into Jeffries' coal house.

The door-keeper, Win Scott, hurried his regular clothes to him, but Joe
left for home and never thereafter did he essay to become an actor.
Every child carried home as a souvenir a remnant of Joe's wall-paper
show suit.

Meanwhile, Alfred was changing the clown suit for Lacy Hare's military
uniform in which he always appeared as Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone.

Someone called to him: "Alf, here comes all yer grandpap's family."

Alfred peered through a hole in Mrs. Evans' rag carpet and his blood
froze in his veins. Heading the procession was grandpap, wide flowing,
white collar, hat in hand. He appeared to Alfred an avenging nemesis.
Following closely, came Uncle Ned, stern, and solemn Aunt Sarah. Cousin
Charley and old Tommy Moorehouse brought up the rear of the advancing
column.

Alfred felt the tent swaying as if in a gale. The tent swayed again. Lin
sat the children down quickly, "thinkin' it was some of the tarnel brats
that had pestered the show tent ever since Alfred started it." At the
door she came face to face with the angry grandfather.

"You're more to blame than the boy" was all Alfred remained to hear.
Half naked, half dazed--for Alfred feared his grandfather's wrath
greatly--down the big hill the boy fairly flew, through the Jimson
weeds, their prickly pods stinging his bare breast and arms until the
blood flowed. Nor did he slacken his pace until the old coal road was
reached. Then along the dusty road to Krepp's coal bank; into the dark
tunnel penetrating the hill, nor did he stop until so far under ground
that the opening to the coal mine, although large enough to admit a
horse and cart, appeared to the sight as a ring of daylight no larger
than an eye.

Realizing that the white and red clown paint Lin had smeared on his face
would be difficult to explain to the miners should he encounter them,
Alfred endeavored to remove it by washing it with the yellow sulphur
water standing in the cart tracks where it had dropped from the damp
sides of the old mine. He only spread it with the yellow water; his face
presented a sight similar to an Indian's in full war paint.

His fears subsiding, he retraced his steps towards the entrance. The
opening darkened and he could discern a figure standing out against the
sky beyond.

Hastening on he whistled shrilly. The answering whistle he recognized as
that of his treasurer, Win Scott. When they met, Win gave Alfred the
particulars of the wrecking of the tent by Uncle Ned and imparted the
information that all Grandpap's family, with the linen sheets, had gone
home excepting the grandmother, and he had a message requesting that
Alfred come to her at once, with the assurance that he would not be
punished.

The grandmother had frequently interceded in Alfred's behalf and he was
greatly pleased to receive her message. He felt so good over the turn of
affairs that he could scarcely walk up the long hill so weak was he with
laughter over Joe's wall-paper circus clothes, nor did his good humor
forsake him until they approached the spot where the tent, the work of
many weeks, lay on the ground teetotally wrecked.

Win gave Alfred a graphic description of Uncle Ned's wrecking of the
tent, the escape of the audience, of Lin's offering to pay for the
sheets and her subsequent anger. Lin endeavored to appease Uncle Ned's
wrath. "But the more she talked the wuss he raved."

When Alfred entered the kitchen, Lin's face was still red from anger and
weeping. Looking angrily at Alfred, she began:

"Why did ye run? By golly, I'd stood my ground ef they'd all piled on
me. Ef it hadn't been fur grandmother, I'd licked Ned myself."

Alfred explained that if he'd been dressed he'd stayed, but being "mos'
naked he jus' knowed Uncle Ned would pull the tent down caus' he always
wants to tear things up by the roots. I didn't want to be ketched naked
like Joe."

At the thought of Joe's mishap his laughter broke out again. Lin's good
nature began to assert itself. Suppressing her smiles she placed her
fingers on her lips which implied silence. Jerking her head toward the
sitting room door she informed the boy his grandmother was "thar waitin'
fer ye," adding: "Ye needn't be skeered, she's got more religion and
more sense than the whole caboodle of 'em put together. Go on in."

Softly approaching the door leading to the room he heard voices, his
father's among them. He was half inclined to flee again. Timidly rapping
on the door he heard footsteps leaving the room. Lin took him by the arm
and led the boy into the large room.

It was growing dark. His grandmother sat alone. They halted in front of
the gentle lady, Lin addressing Alfred in an encouraging manner, said:
"'Al-f-u-r-d,' tell grandmother the truth. Don't stan' up and lie like
Cousin Charley does, caus' he allus gits ketched up in it."

The boy looking into the kindly face of the quiet old lady felt no fear;
however, his shame was most intense. Drawing the abashed boy nearer to
her, she put her arm about him, softly saying: "I greatly fear you have
been led by those older than yourself to do things you would not have
done had you had proper advisors. I fear you will get into serious
trouble if you do not follow your father's and mother's advice. Now,
Alfred, listen to every word grandmother says to you. You will not be
punished for taking the sheets more than your conscience reproves you.
You are a good boy and everyone loves you. It is only your father's love
for you that influences him to be severe with you at times. Your playful
spirit, your mischievousness leads you into many actions that pain us
all greatly but I am sure you do not intend to be bad. You are not
vicious, only mischievous. Now tell me, Alfred, who prompted you to take
the linen out of the chest?"

"No one. I was all to blame. Lin has sixty-eight cents and I have nearly
three dollars Uncle Joe gave me and I'm going to give it all to Uncle
Ned to pay for any tearing of the sheets and Lin will wash and starch
them. They'll be as good as new."

With this speech the boy broke down completely. Kneeling, he buried his
face in the old lady's lap. She stroked his head gently, and in a tone
more soft and quiet than heretofore, she asked the contrite boy if he
was aware of the reverence in which the family held the linen contained
in the old chest.

The boy assured her that he supposed the old chest and its contents were
cast off or unused articles the same as other goods stored away in the
garret.

When the grandmother informed the boy the family held the contents of
the old chest as almost sacred, that the linen was the last winding
sheets of those of his family who had gone to the great beyond, his
shame brought a flood of tears that nothing the grandmother could say
would stop.

It was the custom that persons who died in those days were covered with
whitest linen and this linen was ever afterwards preserved by the family
as sacred.

The grandmother in gentle tones reminded the boy of loved ones whom he
held in sweetest remembrance, and when he fully realized that the linen
in the old chest had been their last covering the tears of the boy and
the aged woman mingled as he solemnly promised to so conduct himself in
the future that his behavior would never wound her feelings more.
Thereafter the boy always found a loyal defender in the grandmother when
troubles came to him.

"I'll jes be durned ef ol' gran'muther ain't got more sense in a minute
than her son Ned will have ef he lives twict es old es Jehu Adams," said
Lin, referring to the oldest man in the neighborhood. "Why, jes' see
what she hes dun fer that boy. He's a perfec' little angel since she
hauled him over the coals. Bet he'd never teched them sheets ef he'd
knowed they wus fer layin' out dead peepul in. He'd got others somehow,
an' I'd been sort a lazy like 'bout sewin' 'em on the tent ef I'd knowed
what they'd bin used fur. It's no wonder Baggy Allison and Hughey Boggs
got skeered. Durned ef they warn't purty near ghosts, enny how."

"Ef it had been left to gran'muther she'd let the show go on es long es
we had the sheets hung up. They warn't hurtin' nobody. No, by golly,
it's jes' like Ned; he's jes' like his daddy an' the other Baptusses.
They don't hev any fun and they hate to hear a body laugh. Huh, ef it
had been a prayer meetin' or somethin' mournful for the Baptusses'
meetin' house to git money fur, Ned ud never tore down the tent. Durn
him! His heart ain't bigger'n a rat pellet and it's twict es hard. He
don't know nuthin' but to eat an' pray. Let him kum yere fer another
meal of vittles and I'll not cook it fur him; I'll jes' tell Mary and
John so. Why, grandmother's talkin' to him done Alfurd more good than
all the whippin's he ever got in his born life."

"It jes' worries Ned to deth to see a boy, a boy. He gets a heap of
pleasure out of not havin' any fun in life."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Though the road be long and dreary,
And the end be out of sight,
Foot it bravely, strong or weary,
Trust in God and do the right.

The realities of life are continually changing. Persons can retain a
hobby or an illusion for a time or for all time. An illusion may live in
our minds, even become a part of our lives. Life is but thought.
Pleasant illusions are, as a rule, weapons against meanness and
littleness. Illusions, when based upon the sensible and material things
of this life, are uplifting.

It is said genius and common sense never dwell in the same mortal. The
lives of all of those of genius of whom the world has been informed have
been governed to a very great extent by illusions not fanatical fads,
not an illusion that impels one to endeavor to solve improbable
problems.

The centralization of ideas on some particular project or profession
that appeared impracticable at first, often leads to an inspiration, the
enthusiasm created by the illusions leading to success. Illusions have
side-tracked many life-failures.

You may endeavor to persuade yourself that you have no illusions. Search
your mind. Is there not a recollection of something you have worked and
hoped for? You may not have attained that which you aimed at, yet the
illusion enriched your imagination. Is there not something that you
dreamed of in youth, forgotten for years, that has come to you later on?

Hug your illusions if they are pleasant. Treasure them, they make you
cheerful, they sun your soul.

The father and mother of Alfred had different ideas of the boy's future.
The father was wedded to his calling and fondly hoped the boy would
follow in his footsteps in mechanical pursuits. It was the mother's hope
that the son would become a medical practitioner. The grandfather prayed
that the boy would embrace the ministry as had two of his sons.

Consequently, when Alfred seriously announced that he had determined to
become a clown in the circus, the family were greatly shocked, but the
boy's declaration was regarded as a harmless illusion. This idea had
taken complete control of his boyish imagination. Urged on by illusory
hopes he was constantly practicing tricks and antics that led him into
many heartbreaking escapades that made the cellar sessions more
frequent. But nothing could suppress his good nature and innate love of
fun.

There was but one human being in the world thoroughly in sympathy with
the boy's ambitions. She it was who bought the rouge and red that
painted his face in his first attempts to become a clown. She it was who
cut up one of her best red skirts to complete the costume of which Mrs.
Young furnished the foundation in the garments Alfred was sent home in
the day of the rescue from the raft. And it is a fact that to this day
the costumes of clowns and near-clowns have been patterned after those
self-same garments and they are as strikingly funny to spectators today
as they were in the days Alfred first wore them, a tribute to Lin's
ingenuity.

Lin often remarked: "Alfurd will come to town some day a real clown in a
circus and the whole country will turn out to see him, and Litt Dawson
(the Congressman) won't be so much when Alfurd gits a-goin'. Why, he kin
sing eny song and do ent cut-up antik eny of 'em kin. He's the cutest
boy I ever seed. They'll never whup his devilishness out of him."

Lin was always an appreciative audience for Alfred. When he learned to
do head-sets, hand-springs and the like she urged him on to greater
acrobatic achievements. When he attempted to walk on his hands she
followed his zig-zag course, steadying him when he threatened to topple
over.

When Bent Wilgus, a Bridgeport boy, came up to Jeffries' Commons and
entered the ring that was once enclosed by Alfred's tent, and performed
a dozen feats that Alfred had never even witnessed, thereby winning the
applause of the crowd of boys, both Lin and Alfred remained silent. When
he did a round off a flip-flap and a high back somersault, a row of
head-sets across the ring, finishing by doing heels in the mud, Alfred
turned green with envy. He felt his reputation slipping away from him
and realized he was deposed as the boys' and girls' idol, as an actor.

Lin felt like driving the usurper off the commons. Later, she consoled
Alfred with the statement that Bent Wilgus had gum in his shoes that
made him bounce so. "His daddy keeps a shoe store an' thet's where he
gits bouncin' shoes from. I'll git ye a pair ef I hev to send to
Filadelphy fur 'em."

The Quaker City was the metropolis of the world to the good people of
the town in those days. New York City was never considered in the same
breath with old Philly.

Brownsville had but one representative in the show profession so far as
any one knew. He had left the town many years before and it was reported
had become a great actor. Alfred had never heard the word actor save in
connection with a circus performer. He had never witnessed or even heard
of a dramatic actor. He had gotten his idea for his impersonation from a
rider, who, standing on a broad pad on a horse's back in the circus
ring, impersonated noted characters such as Richard III, Daniel Boone,
Davy Crockett and a shepherd boy.

The reputation of Tony Bailles, the only actor Brownsville ever
produced, was folklore in his native place. Tony had never appeared in
his home town. And that which greatly enhanced the reputation of the
great actor in the minds of the people in his home was the oft repeated
stories of his prowess as a fighter.

In those days every man and boy was judged by his personal courage.
Courage was the supreme test by which all males were gauged. The man or
boy who did not have the bravery to uphold his dignity with his fists
was not worthy.

In the tales told of Tony Bailles' great prowess with his fists and
feet, it was asserted that he more often used his feet than his fists
and that his adversary rarely got near him. As they advanced upon him
Tony kicked them under the chin just once. One kick and all the fight
was out of them.

Tony was one of Alfred's illusions. He desired to imitate him, travel
all over the land and become a great actor, a greater actor than even
his heroic model, as Alfred had never heard Tony's great feats
described. The kick under the chin was Tony's only feat impressed
strongly enough on Alfred's mind to have him imitate.

Tommy White, Lash Hyatt and Jim Campbell were either housed up or
walking about with stiff necks and swollen jaws ere it was discovered
that Alfred was imitating Tony Bailles. Lash Hyatt's folks, feeling sure
the boy had the mumps, sent for the doctor. It was then revealed that
Alfred did not fight fair but "kicked you under the chin before you
could raise a hand," as the boys described it.

Alfred tried the Tony Bailles' high kick on big, husky George
Herbertson. The kick started as it had with the other boys but instead
of reaching the chin at which it was aimed, a big, husky blacksmith's
helper checked it. Alfred sat down so suddenly he imagined the earth had
"flew" up and hit him. While the blacksmith helper held his leg aloft
Alfred, as he lay on his back, saw a big fist coming straight for his
face. He has no distinct recollection of when it reached its landing
place.

Uncle Ned Snowden assisted Alfred home, where he remained in doors
several days with two parti-hued eyes.

While housed up, Alfred promised Lin he would always thereafter fight
fair. Consequently, he thereafter carried two big limestones, one in
each coat pocket for George Herbertson. Somehow the blacksmith boy was
always too quick for Alfred and the next time they met, which was on the
Bridgeport wharf, the blacksmith boy trimmed Alfred again. And thus it
was that the old iron bridge, the first of its kind constructed in the
United States and built by John Herbertson, the father of George, became
the dead line between the boys of the two towns.

If a boy from one town was found in the other he was compelled to fight
or flee.

[Illustration: The First Iron Bridge Built in the U. S.]

The word "actor" to the good people of those days always referred to a
circus performer as mentioned previously. It is related of Joseph
Jefferson, the dean of the dramatic profession, that while visiting his
plantation near New Iberia, Louisiana, he walked over the grounds
accompanied by an old, colored field hand. He talked in his usual manner
with the old negro telling him of the many cities in which his contracts
compelled him to act ere he would again visit his beautiful southern
home.

The old negro said he was sorry "kase all de folks, white uns an' black
uns, was jes mos' crazy for to see massa Joe ak." As they walked and
talked the old negro informed Mr. Jefferson that Dan Rice's circus was
"dere a while back, jes on the aidge ob kane cuttin' time, an' dey had
some mighty fine actuhs but nuthin' like de actin' ob Massah Joe."

The old fellow, growing more confidential at the pleased manner in which
Mr. Jefferson received his compliments, added that he would gladly walk
to New Orleans to see him act. When the great actor advised the old
fellow that he would not appear in New Orleans that year, the old fellow
said: "Now des look at dat. I'll nevah git to see you ak, Massa Joe."

The actor assured him that at some time in the future he would have that
pleasure. The old negro said: "No, no, I'm an ole man. I ain't got much
futhah to go, an' I des doan wan' to die fo' I see you ak."

Mr. Jefferson assured the earnest old negro that he would be glad to
arrange some plan whereby not only he but all of his friends in the
parish might witness him act.

The old negro began in an entreating tone: "Massa Joe, I knows you'd
like to ak fer all ob us but Lor' only knows when it'll be. I'se mos'
f'raid to ax ye but de grass out yar is so sof' an 'nice I jes' thought
maybe ye'd ak out a little fer me. Jes' twist about an' turn a couple of
summah-saults fer dis pooh ol' nigger."

This was the only idea Alfred had of acting. He longed to see Tony
Bailles act, that he might catch an idea. He felt it would be so much
easier for him to learn to act by seeing Bailles than it would be to see
others, that Bailles was more like himself, not a superior being, as
other actors were regarded.

Cousin Charley was even more elated than Alfred when they read and
re-read the joyous announcement, to them, that Van Amburg's Great Golden
Menagerie and Zoological Institute was headed for Brownsville.

The startling news was spread that Tony Bailles was with the show.
Alfred scanned the bills, no names appearing on them or descriptions of
the great feats their owners performed, and his youthful mind could not
comprehend this omission in advertising. Animals of all species were
pictured but the graceful bare-back rider, high in the air above the
horse's back, throwing a back somersault through a paper balloon, was
not there. The lady rider on the back of a fast flying steed, one foot
pointing to six o'clock, the other to high noon, was searched for in
vain.

Alfred finally arrived at this explanation of the oversight in not
advertising the circus actors--that the menagerie was so immense the
circus was a secondary consideration. He argued that they never
advertised the side-show but it was always there.

Circus day dawned, the crowds came, the old town was a scene of bustle
and activity. The town people were all agog, all the older ones seemed
to be seeking Tony Bailles. Alfred and Charley followed his brother Joe
up through Bridgeport to the new show grounds. The advertisements gave
it that the old bottom, the usual show grounds, was too small for the
big show.

When the grounds were reached a large man with a very red nose announced
from the top of a wagon the program of the day:

First, Mlle. Carlotta De Berg would ascend a slender wire from the
ground to the apex of the grand pavilion. After this thrilling free
exhibition the Grand Annex containing one thousand animate and inanimate
wonders would throw open its doors. As this was a new name for the
side-show, Cousin Charley and Alfred began to get their money ready.
(Alfred carried his own money this show day).

But when the front of the tent was reached and the same old gaudily
painted pictures swayed in the breeze, both boys involuntarily halted as
they realized the Grand Annex was that deadfall known as the side show.
Cousin Charley swore he "seen the same feller standing in the door of
the tent that swindled him and so many others at the last show." Cousin
Charley said: "He dodged back when he seen me."

In the verdancy of his suckerdom, Charley imagined the fakir who had
done him had preserved as keen a recollection of the transaction as
himself. He learned afterwards that there is a sucker born every minute
and the crop of fakirs is nearly as great.

A tall, black-haired man, with rather a heavy face, black velvet vest,
stood at the door. A long gold watch chain was around his neck and
running across the velvet vest it made the chain appear the most
conspicuous thing about the man. Of course he wore other articles of
clothing but the above description stands out in Alfred's mind to the
exclusion of his other apparel unless it be the flat-top hat and the
white bow tie. The hat and tie gave the wearer a sort of clerical
appearance. He had the appearance of a respectable gambler, such as were
on river steamers in those days.

And this was Tony Bailles, the actor-athlete of Alfred's dreams and
talks. Alfred was simply bewildered. His hero stood aloft pacing to and
fro on an elevated platform, describing the wonders of the great moral
exhibition especially for ladies and children.

Alfred argued to Charley that this was Tony's home and his oratory would
appeal more strongly to the people than a stranger's and he was only of
the side show for the day. He disliked to have the hero of his dreams
discredited so prematurely and he still hoped to see his idol in
spangled tights in the big show performing all kinds of wonderful feats.

But the big show was an animal show, pure and simple, not an actor, not
a clown, not a rider, not a horse, not even a ring. Two ponies and a
little cart introduced in the show could not dispel the gloom that had
settled over the disappointed gathering in the big tent.

The only excitement of the day was when Bill Gaskill, Mart Claybaugh, Ab
Linn, and two or three Washington County men engaged in a fight. When
Tony Bailles rushed in to quell the disturbance and did not kick one or
more of the combatants under the chin, the boy's admiration gradually
turned to disgust and he was ready to leave the tent although all were
admonished that the most astounding and greatest treat in natural
history was about to be brought to their notice. The mammoth of
mammoths, the behemoth of Holy Writ was about to be exhibited, the only
one in captivity, something to tell your children and your children's
children of. The hippopotamus was brought from his cage and waddled into
the roped enclosure in the center of the tent. Bob Ellingham, the
lecturer, talked long and learnedly on the habits and capture of the
animal. The name hippopotamus was mentioned at least twenty times in the
lecture as a dramatic climax. Ellingham rubbed a piece of white paper
over the animal's back. Standing on a stool above the heads of the
multitude he held the once spotless sheet of paper in his left hand,
pointing his right forefinger at the paper, now discolored with the
matter that oozed from the animal's body, he dramatically exclaimed: "He
is truly the behemoth of Holy Writ. See, he sweateth blood!"

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