The Bark MillThe Bark MillActive as a squirrel the boy scampered over the bark pile picking up the bits of unground bark. The work was but play.The noon hour found him on the tan bark pile practicing. As the bell rang calling the men to work he was at his place with the most industrious of them.During the many years that have begun and ended since he worked in Sammy Steele's tannery, Alfred has received some pretty fair weeks' salaries, but no pay ever brought the happiness the one dollar and fifty cents he received for that week's work in the old bark mill when he presented it to his mother.Not many days elapsed before his industry was rewarded by an increase of wages to three times the amount he had previously received. His work took wider range, upstairs to the big finishing room and the office where he came in constant contact with the owner of the tannery. He made himself more useful to the man higher up, and when his pay was increased to one dollar a day, it seemed a fortune was in sight.The illusion still clung. The present was but the means to an end and beyond lay his hopes. To become a great clown in the circus was the goal. Nor were the little band of minstrels, whose rehearsals had been checked by the fire and the loss of the melodeon, lost sight of. The big finishing room found the little band of amateur minstrels rehearsing almost every night, strange to say, the straight laced old tanner did not object. When several of the nearby neighbors complained of the noise and din, he simply gave orders to limit the rehearsals to 10 p. m.Lin said: "Huh! ef enybody but Alfurd was at the head of it, Sammy Steele would a histed every one on 'em long ago."Lin was peeved. She could not imagine how the singing could be anything without her voice and the melodeon. A tan-yard hand who played the violin by ear had supplanted Lin. She declared he could only "fiddle fer dancin', hecouldn't foller singin'. Ye can't foller a fiddle an' sing, ye got to hev a melodeon or accordion. A fiddle wus never made to sing with, hit's all right fer dancin'. Lor', ye never hear any real music less ye got a lead. That's the reason ye never hear any good singin' in Baptus meetin'. They're agin manufactured music, they haven't got enythin' to go by."Lin had joined the Campbellite Church for the reason that it was the furthest from the Baptist belief, so she claimed. Alfred always believed down deep in his heart that Lin had allied herself with that particular denomination for the reason that her vocal abilities were appreciated in the little congregation and for the further reason that the church had an organ.Lin felt her exclusion from the minstrel rehearsals more than she cared to reveal. Alfred did all he could to comfort her. He assured her that Charley Wagner, the violin player, was not nearly so satisfactory as she."But s'pose I had saved the melodeon"—(Lin always attributed her rejection by the minstrel band to the loss of the melodeon)—"you couldn't a-used it in the tan-yard, it's too damp there and it would spoil the tune of it. Why, it's most ruined my tambourine. Beside," concluded Alfred, "regular minstrels are all men, they don't have any women folks in 'em."His explanation was plausible but it did not satisfy Lin. "Huh! I wasn't good enuf fur yer ole tan-yard pack. I s'pose when ye got a lot of patchin' and sewin' to do, ye'll be callin' on me but ye won't fin' me in. Good bye, Mr. Clown, minstrel. Next time ye try to ak out afore folks I hope ye'll do better en ye did the nite uv the big party."This was a home thrust, it pierced to the quick. Alfred was over sensitive. Often, when the remembrance of the failure alluded to by Lin troubled his mind, he had soothed himself with the hope that few had noticed his failure. But Lin's remark forced the awful feeling upon him that, likeCousin Charley's potato deal, it was known and talked of by the whole town.Unexpected happenings brought the rehearsals of the minstrels in the old tan-yard to an abrupt ending.It was during the dark days of the reconstruction period, immediately following the war. Only those of the south can fully realize what those days meant to a people already impoverished by themost gigantic war of Christendom.Colonel Charlotte, once wealthy, now reduced to almost want, (we will place his residence, oh anywhere, in Virginia, Georgia or Alabama); his once productive plantation neglected for want of tenants and help to cultivate it, stock and products confiscated. Many and earnest were the conferences held by the Colonel and his unfortunate neighbors, to devise ways and means to recuperate their lost fortunes. After each conference with his friends the Colonel would wend his way homeward to confer with his good wife, who was a most sensible and therefore a lovable woman.When the Colonel was most despondent the wife was most buoyant, cheering him as best she could. After the Colonel had given vent to his feelings, recounting for the hundredth time his helplessness in the face of the oppressive laws rigidly enforced by the carpet-bag officers; after he had delivered himself of a tirade against those who were responsible for the condition of affairs, the good wife said: "Colonel, I know if the Christian people of the North were aware of the sufferings of our people, we would get relief. I pity you in your troubles and do hope we may see a way to help ourselves. We are out of corn, the meal is almost gone and we have very little bacon left. Our children should be in school but I cannot bear to send them with the toes out of their shoes and their shabby clothes."The Colonel would compress his lips, cussing every Yankee on earth. He would find his way to the country store to while away another day in useless conference with his neighbors. The same persons met daily and dispersed nightly to carry their woes to their homes. Time and again Colonel Charlotte informed the patient little wife that he was without hope."Don't give up," encouraged the wife, "I know it looks dark but it is always darkest before dawn; let us look toward the east and pray for light. I know something will come to us, but for my part, I would not care. I can stand it, but the children, poor innocents, should not be made to suffer; no shoes or clothes fit to go to school or church in. The winter is coming on and our provisions are scant. I worry only on account of the children. Colonel, do the best you can; that is all mortal can do, the Lord will do the rest."The Colonel left his fireside early the next morning resolved to find something to relieve the wants of his family. Returning home later than usual he was in a towering rage. The good wife was alarmed."Why, Colonel, what has disturbed you so?""Wife, I'm mad clar through and if Captain Barbour warn't an old friend of the family, I declar' to God I'd assaulted him today.""Heaven forbid," pleaded the wife, "I know Captain Barbour surely would not wound your feelings intentionally."The Colonel explained that they were talking over their troubles, bewailing their helplessness, when Captain Barbour said: "Why Colonel Charlotte, you're better off than any of us, you have the means at your command to not only make a living but to lay a little money by.""And wife, when I asked him how, what do you think he said? That I had a carriage and horses and I could open a livery stable. Open a livery stable!" And the hot blood of the Charlottes' reddened his temples again as he clinched his fists and walked up and down in his anger. "Me, a Charlotte, engage in the livery business. Why, wife, I could scarcely keep my hands off him. Me, a Charlotte, in thelivery business. Pollute that old family carriage that bears on its panels the crest of the Charlotte family, whose blood runs back to the men of Cromwell."The facts are the old family carriage was about the only relic of the Charlotte family's former greatness; imported from England years before, held as almost sacred by succeeding generations of the Charlotte family. To have one intimate that the sacred old vehicle should be used to convey the common herd was a heavy blow to the pride of the Colonel."Well, Colonel," soothingly spoke the wife, "I know your pride has been hurt, I know just how badly you feel. I know you are proud and I really fear that Captain Barbour in his zeal to assist you was indiscreet. He should not have spoken so abruptly but should have given you time to consider the motive that prompted him. I know—he—he—meant—well—and—and—perhaps—you—should—consider his advice. Can't we talk it over?" As she approached him, looking up into his face with a half smile and a half cry, she pleaded: "I would hate to say one word that would humble your pride, but—but those children—you know they ought to have schooling. And I declare, Colonel—I do not know—what we're going to do for something to—to—eat." And here the wife broke down.The Colonel folded her in his arms as he soothed her, stroking her hair. He declared he would sacrifice all the pride of the Charlottes that she and his did not suffer.The negroes were sent to the corn patch to fetch the old horses, pluck the burrs out of manes and tails, smooth them up by currying the long hair off their shaggy coats. The old family carriage was hauled out of the shed, washed, the brass mountings brightened, the coat of arms, the panels scoured until they shone again.The sting was somewhat removed from the Colonel's feelings by the painter making the sign read "LibertyStable." The word "Livery" was not in the painter's vocabulary. When he assured the Colonel that the sign was proper the Colonel was more satisfied.Four or five days wore away. The Colonel, from his seat in front of the store, like Enoch Arden patiently watching for a sail, grew more despondent each day.One November evening, the rain gently falling from the weeping clouds seemingly in sympathy with the Colonel's dismal feelings, a young negro was seen coming towards him. Colonel Charlotte recognized Sam, a former slave, the son of an old house servant.The Colonel returning the salutation in a manner none the less cheery said: "Why, Sam, how you all has growed up. I declare I wouldn't knowed you only your voice is so much like your father's. How's all? Whar you livin' and what you a-doin' for yourself? Come on boy, tell me about you eh?"Sam explained to the Colonel that "he was working on de new railroad buildin' down Raleigh way an' wus doin' tolerable well. A dollar a day, not countin' Sundays an' I gits my fodder.""Well, Sam, if you can stow vittles away like you all done when I fed you, you're gettin' well paid."The Colonel laughed at his own joke, the first laugh he had indulged in for days. Sam was encouraged by the Colonel's good humor. Doffing his hat, he addressed the Colonel in a sort of patronizing manner:"Cunnel, I dun heard you all gone into the liberty business."This flattered the Colonel slightly and he straightened up, replying:"Yes, Sam, I just got tired of seeing my horses and vehicles around doing nothing and I wanted something to occupy my time. I don't count much on what I'll make but it will keep me from rusting out.""Well, Cunnel, I'se jus come all de way down yar to see you. Dar's gwine to be a dance down to Townsley's tonight an' me an' my company an' my friend an' his gal wants to go, an' I kum to ask you all how much you gwine fur to ax us to carry us all to de dance an'——"Like a flash the Colonel jumped to his feet, the old rickety, split-bottom chair was hurled after Sam with the words:"You dam black scoundrel, I'll break every bone in your black body if I get hold of you."This speech was hurled after the thoroughly frightened Sam as the Colonel pursued him. Giving up the chase the Colonel stalked home. His wife observed his anger as he entered."Wife, I've never in my life sustained a worse shock than today. To think of it after all these days of waitin', after I have been in the liberty business all these days, the first human being to come to me"—and the Colonel choked with rage—"the first human being to come to me to hire that old family carriage, was a dam nigger."Then the Colonel in more moderate language described the scene between himself and Sam. The good wife listened to the Colonel until he concluded. Then in a conciliatory tone, she said: "Well, Colonel, it does seem as though fate is cruel to you. I do hope you will bear up bravely. I think it just awful that the first customer should have been a nigger. I do hope we will have others soon."Then after a pause, she resumed, "Insofar as I am concerned I would willingly die before I'd ask you, a Charlotte, to sacrifice your pride further. But when I think of our children I don't know what to say. Colonel," and she trembled as she spoke, "do you—do—you think—Sam had money to pay for the hire of the carriage?""I done heard the money jingle in his pocket when he run.""Well, Colonel, I wouldn't even suggest that—that—you carry those niggers to the ball, but if—if we only had the money—it would do us so much good. Those children—."The Colonel waited to hear no more. Out into the chilly autumn evening, more briskly than he had moved in weeks, stalked the Colonel. Reaching the Liberty Stable, he ordered one of the boys to locate Sam. "Make haste," was his parting order.The boy soon returned escorting Sam who seemed somewhat afraid to get too near the livery stable proprietor. The Colonel assured Sam that he desired to talk with him. Leading the way he walked until well out of hearing of his stable boy.He began inquiringly, "So there's a big ball at Townsley's tonight. It's the fust I've heard of it, an' you an' your company wants to go. Well Sam, you work hard fur your money an' you ought not to spend it too freely because winter's coming on and these reconstruction laws the Yankees have put on us will make it hard on all of us.""About how much do you reckon it will cost you all to go to the ball in a first class livery turn out?""I dunno sah," meekly answered Sam."How much you got?" was the Colonel's next question."Five dollars," and Sam jingled the coin in his pocket, showing a set of ivories that would have been the envy of any society belle in the land."Give it to me," and the Colonel reached his long arm out towards Sam, the palm of his hand up. Sam placed the five dollars in it."Sam, I want to see you have your pleasure. Five dollars is less than I ever charged for a carriage to a ball before. Being's it's you I'll let it go fer that figure providin' you never mention to any person on earth that you hired a conveyance from Colonel Charlotte.""Yes, sah. I'll promise an' I'll neber tell airy livin' soul 'bout it," answered Sam, showing signs of fright.The Colonel looked about to assure himself that there were no witnesses and commanded Sam to raise his right hand and kneel on the ground. Sam hesitated, the ground was wet and he had on his new store pants, but down he knelt."Now swear by all the laws of reconstruction that if you ever tell you rid in Colonel Charlotte's kerrige, you will be whipped by the Ku-Klux, haunted by ghosts and burned by witches until you are dead and buried in a grave as deep as hell."The thoroughly frightened boy assented to the oath. The Colonel ordered him to arise, get his company together, "mosey" down to where the big road crossed the branch and wait until the carriage arrived.The Colonel never entered the livery stable, content to leave the conducting of the same to his help. However, he was not content to trust the old family carriage to them. Ordering the horses hitched to the sacred vehicle, the Colonel hastened to the house, "to plant the tin, afore some dam Yankee carpet-bagger grabbed it," as he expressed it.He returned to find the carriage ready for him. Two tallow dips burning dimly in the big, old-fashioned lamps on either side of the driver's seat were the admiration of the boys who lighted them. The Colonel ordered them to "blow them thar candles out," saying that they only blinded him. The real reason was that the Colonel did not desire any light shed on the transaction that would disclose his part in it.Once down the hill he halted the team under the big oak tree where four dusky figures, two males and two females, stood. In a voice he intended to sound other than his own, the Colonel ordered the waiting group to "git in quick, pull down the curtains and don't airy dam niggers poke your heads out till we git to Townsley's."The horses moved off, the Colonel soliloquizing as they trotted along the sandy road: "S'pose I meet a white man an' he asks me where I'm goin', what will I tell him? Was there ever a white man, was there ever a Charlotte put to this test before. If ever a Charlotte knew that I engaged in this business what would I say to him? Did I ever think I'd come to this? Me, Colonel Charlotte, hauling niggers to a ball." And he again cussed the reconstruction laws.Arriving at the country store the dance was already under full headway. The fiddles and scraping of feet could be plainly heard.The voice of the caller, "Swing your partners; all hands around; first gent lead off to the right," floated out on the damp air."Git out," was the Colonel's orders to his fares. "Now, don't stay all night or you'll walk back," were his last words to Sam and his company as they ran upstairs to the ball room.Tying the horses to the fence, the Colonel lighted his pipe, walking to and fro to warm his chilled blood, he gave way to his gloomy thoughts again. "What would Captain Barbour, Colonel Woodburn and Major Hinkle say if they found out that he, Colonel Charlotte, was engaged in carrying niggers to a ball. Ef I was to be ketched yar by a white man, what explanation could I make that would protect the honor of my family?"For himself the Colonel felt that he was eternally disgraced and had reached the point where he was willing to be ostracized but hoped to protect the family name.Sam returned to the carriage to find a wrap or other article the women had forgotten. The air was very chilly. "Sam, have you all got any fire upstairs," asked the Colonel."Yes, sah, dars a roarin' fire up yander Colonel. Jus walk up sah an' warm yoself."Pulling his hat down over his eyes, turning his coat collar up to disguise himself, the Colonel climbed the narrow stairs.Peeping through the door at the whisking dancers he skulked along the side of the room until he reached the big, open wood fireplace. The warmth was very grateful to his benumbed frame. He had not the assurance to look around at the dancers; while his front side was thoroughly warmed, the rear of his anatomy was still numb. About the time he had determined to about face, the dance ceased. He heard several remarks not intended for his ears:"Who is dat ole white man 'trudin' yar? Whar did dat ole white man kum frum? Who fetched him up yar?"The Colonel couldn't bear it longer. Stalking out, he descended the stairs, asking himself if he could sink lower. In the depths of degradation, what could happen that would sink him lower. A Charlotte ordered out of a nigger ballroom.The cold air pierced him more quickly since leaving the ballroom. The big wood fire influenced him to return to its comforting warmth. By this time the fire had heated up the room. The heat from the over-heated revellers, the aroma permeating the atmosphere, was not unfamiliar to the Colonel's sense of smell yet none the less unpleasant.It impelled the Colonel to seek fresh air more quickly than the side remarks had previously. Out in the chilly air he gave way to his thoughts as before, thoughts tinged with even more bitterness.The fire had made him more and more susceptible to the cold and it was not long ere the Colonel started on his way to warm himself again. Sam met him at the foot of the stairs. Bowing and scraping, he began by apologizing profusely:"Cunnel, I declars I hates to tell you all but the gemmen dat runs de frolik jus tol' me I has to. I'se been pinted a committee to tell you dey hes made a good hot fire in de back room down stairs fer you. You kin go in an' warm yerself. Dey all doan wants you to kum in de big room up stairs eny more. De fak is, de ladies up dar objecks to de oder ob de stable on yer clothes."The facts are that a tannery is not as pleasant to the olfactory senses as Pinaud's perfumes, but Alfred, unlike Col. Charlotte, had exposed himself to objectionable odors by working over the vats and leather by day, and thumping the tambourine by night in the big finishing room. But no complaints ever came to his ears of the unpleasant odor of the tannery he carried home with him until Lin was discarded by the minstrel band. Therefore, when the mother, backed by Lin, informed him that he would have to give up his tan-yard affiliations, the boy felt in his heart that as in the Colonel's case, it was not the odor but prejudice.He almost wished he had arranged that Lin might have retained her place as leader of the singing. But there were other reasons why he was ordered to leave the tanning business.The Workman Hotel was but a few steps from the old tannery. The new landlord was giving the place a cleaning up. Cal Wyatt, the son of the hotel man, came over to the tannery and requested Alfred, John Caldman, Vince Carpenter and several others to go over during the noon hour to the cellar and give them a hand in stacking up sundry barrels and kegs.All complied. The barrels were quickly lifted on top of each other. A tin cup full of some sort of fluid was passed around several times. All sipped from the cup, much as folks do from a loving cup nowadays. As the barrels were piled higher, the tin cup went around again and again.Alfred had sipped from a large spoon a little of the same sort of tasting stuff when Grandpap Irons made a little toddy before breakfast. But never had his lips sunk into a tin cup filled with the stuff previously. A feeling came over him such as he had never experienced, and it seemed as if all in the cellar were similarly affected. Those of the tan-yard hands who had never been known to raise their voices insong, essayed to sing the minstrel songs. Those so awkward that they could not walk naturally endeavored to dance.Ordinarily Alfred would have laughed himself weak at the hilarious attempts of the tan-yard hands, and their imitations. Under the influence of the tin cup's magic fluid he held them in that contempt that only the professional can feel for the jay who endeavors to imitate him.The Tin Cup Went Round Again and AgainThe Tin Cup Went Round Again and AgainAlfred stood motionless, or as near motionless as he possibly could. John Caldman, who was known and respected as the one quiet and unobtrusive person in the tannery, and from whose lips a loud word never escaped, stood erect and immovable as the singing, dancing tan-yard hands whirled about him. With compressed lips and haughty mien he seemed not to notice them.Suddenly he spoke and in a voice so loud and unnatural that all were awed into silence. The quiet man had changed so completely he seemed another person. Alfred gazed at him in astonishment. He hurled epithets and denunciations at those whose names he had never before mentioned aloud. He recalled insults and abuse heaped upon him by all connected with the tannery; he invited, he insisted thatthe biggest and strongest of those about him come out and fight. He dared the whole crowd to jump on him.None accepting his dare he declared his intention to go to the tan-yard and clean out the old shebang, following his threat with a movement towards the tannery followed by the wobbling crowd.Entering the big finishing room Alfred saw the infuriated John standing in the middle of the room, an iron hook in one hand, a lump of coal in the other, while the workmen were flying upstairs and down stairs. Alfred endeavored to follow those who went down stairs. He remembered starting from the first step at the top. Vince Carpenter afterwards informed him he never hit another step in his descent.Sammy Steele's Mule Kicked the BoySammy Steele's Mule Kicked the BoyGathering himself up in time to hear Vince shout: "Here comes Mr. Steele," as badly scared as his dazed senses would permit him to be, Alfred fumbled and scrambled about for a moment. He spied a large wheel-barrow overloaded with cows' ears and other by-products of green hides that go into the refuse and find their way to the glue factory. This slimy mess was just out of the lime vat.Alfred grabbed the handles and started with the wheel-barrow he did not know where, his sole object being to stalland make the boss believe he was at work. Along a narrow plank walk he pushed the gruesome load, weaving, wobbling at every step, threatening to go off one side or the other at any moment, headed for the dump where all the water-soaked, discarded tan bark was deposited.Reaching the dumping ground, standing between the handles of the wheel-barrow, Alfred attempted to overturn it. The handles overturned Alfred. Down the steep incline, rolled Alfred, wheel-barrow and contents in one conglomerate mass, Alfred under the avalanche of cows' ears, tails, etc.Mrs. Hampton witnessed from her back porch the race down the dump pile. Calling a couple of boys the lady led the way to where Alfred lay, digging him from under the slimy mess. The boys loaded the soaking figure into the wheel-barrow and carried him home.Sammy Steele used as motive power in his bark mill a fine white mare and an iron grey mule. When Alfred could not get the use of the white mare he rode or drove the mule. Alfred's parents and others continually cautioned him to beware of the mule, that it was vicious and would surely kick him.When the boys arrived at Alfred's home and Lin saw them assisting the almost senseless boy into the house, she began: "Well, fur the luv of all thet's holy, what's the rumpus now? I'll bet a fip Sammy Steele's mewel's kicked thet boy."The boys did not reply, depositing their burden on the floor, hastily departed. To Lin's persistent inquiries, Alfred admitted that the mule had kicked him. In a maudlin way he stuttered: "L-o-o-k-o-u-t, Lin, she'll k-k-i-c-k you." Then he laughed a silly laugh.Lin was convinced that the boy was out of his head, delirious from the mule's kick, sent for the doctor who came in haste. Lin explained that she was "skeered nearly to death. I wus yar all alone an' they kum draggin' him in. I tried to talk with him but he's plum out of his head. Hismother an' his pap an' me an' all of us hes warned him time an' 'gain that that mewel would be his death, but he jus kept a-devilin' aroun' hit; now ye see what kum of hit. He's jus like he had a stroke of palsy, hit's a wonder the mewel hedn't killed him stun dead. Ef hits palsied him he mought jus es well be dead."Thus Lin ran on as the old doctor carefully looked the patient over. The doctor had long practiced in Brownsville. Tomato vine poisoning cases were rare. Alfred's ailment on this occasion was common. He made no mistake in diagnosing the case although he did not inform the family of his conclusions. However, he assured them that "the boy would be all right in a day or two. His appetite might not come to him at once but he would be all right in the morning. Just let him sleep, don't wake him, and when he gets out caution him to—keep away from the mule," added the doctor dryly.Lin said: "Be durned ef hit ain't the queerest case I ever seed. Alfurd's jus es sick es he kin be an' the old doctur didn't gin him nothin'."A few days later it was whispered among the neighbors that Alfred and a number of the tan-yard hands broke into Bill Wyatt's cellar and drank up all his liquor and Alfred, "little as he wus, drinked more'n eny of em." George Washington Antonio Frazier 'lowed that Alfred "drinked so much he wouldn't want another drink fer a month. I wouldn't ef I'd hed his cargo," he concluded.Lin threw her head up in disgust as she denied this rumor: "Huh, all ole Frazier is peeved 'bout is bekase he didn't git his ole hog belly filled up fur nuthin'."Alfred slept he knew not how long. It was night when he awoke. Half awake, he would doze and dream—now he was carrying gourds of water to Uncle Joe, hastening back to get a gourdful for his own parched lips. He would invariablydrop the gourd or have some other mishap—he never got the water to his lips.He realized that there were others in the room, the lamp was too low to distinguish them. He listened endeavoring to hear what they were talking of. The old clock down-stairs struck two, then the little clock on the mantelpiece chimed twice.A figure arose, softly crossing the room and a hand was laid softly on the boy's forehead. His eyes were closed but he knew it was his mother's hand."He is a little less feverish, Pap, you had best go to bed. I'll call Lin early and lie down. Now go on, you have to work and you won't feel like it, if you don't get your sleep. Go on now, if he gets worse, I'll call.""Gets worse I'll call you." Alfred repeated the words over and over in his mind. He imagined at first that he had been sick a long time. He gathered his thoughts—the old tavern cellar came into his mind, the antics of the tan-yard hands after they had quaffed from the tin cup. Alfred got no further in his ramblings than the tin cup; only a ray of thought, yet it was of sufficient power to cause the boy to retch and strain as though he would heave his stomach up.The mother was holding a vessel in one hand and supporting the very sick boy with the other arm."Muz, Muz, what's the matter with me—how long have I been sick—d-do you th-i-n-k I'm goin' to die?"The mother soothed him and persuaded him to go to sleep. Alfred closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. He heard footsteps and, peering out of the corner of his eye, he perceived the form of his father bending over him.Softly walking over to where the mother sat with bowed head, the father began: "I thought I heard him talking. Was he awake?""Yes," answered the mother."What did he say?" eagerly inquired the father.The mother informed him.The father, looking toward the bed, remarked half to himself:"I hope he will be sober enough to talk to me before I leave the house.""Why, John," hastily began the mother, "you speak as if he were an old toper.""Well, Mary. I did not mean it that way. But I have been worried ever since that minstrel crowd has been gathering at the tan-yard. Of course, I never knew Alfred to drink whiskey but they all drink more or less and Alfred is not the boy to pass anything by there's any fun in.""But they had no business to give a boy whiskey," argued the wife, "and I would see about it and I would make an example of them if I were you.""I will do all of that and more," warmly answered the father. After a pause, he resumed: "They tell me they were all in Wyatt's cellar and Cal Wyatt drew a tin cup of high proof whiskey. Alfred put the cup—"Alfred was following the father's words. At the mention of the word "cup," his stomach rebelled again. His father was holding a vessel, his mother supporting the boy's head.Turning his head, the father ejaculated: "Phew! If that isn't rot-gut I never smelt it."Alfred pretended to go to sleep and the father and mother talked long and earnestly. Their solicitude for the erring boy, touched Alfred to the heart. He had not realized until this moment the meanness of his actions. When Alfred fully realized the misery and suffering he had caused his parents, he was impelled to crawl to them and kiss the hem of their garments, promising never to cause them pain from the same cause again.Let it be recorded he did not realize immediately when he drank from the cup, that it was whiskey. After the first swallow or two he became oblivious to his danger. He feltthat he was forever disgraced. He thought of getting out of bed and fleeing, he cared not whither, only to get far away from the scene of his disgrace.We do not know that the boy resolved that he would never touch, taste or handle whiskey again. We do not know what resolutions he made to himself, but we do know that whisky never passed his lips again until he was more than a man grown and then rarely and in very small quantities.Alfred slept. When he awoke it was daylight. The sun was shining brightly. His first thought was that he would be late for work. Then he heard the voice of a neighbor woman, one whom the mother disliked, one who was noted for her tatling propensities. As an excuse to call she had brought fruit for Alfred. The boy overheard her inquiries as to his condition. She whispered long and earnestly with Lin. The latter, looking down at the pale face of Alfred began questioning him:"Well, I see ye're alive yit, I gess ye'll kum out of hit. I s'pose the hull durn town'll be laffin' at me. I never dreamed ye wus jus corned. Ef I'd knowed, I'd brot ye out uf it quicker; I'd jus made a hull tin cup uf hot mustard—"Alfred heard no further than "tin cup." Flopping over on his stomach, endeavoring to hold down the last remnants of his innards, he begged to be left alone. But Lin kept on:"An' yere I sends fur the doctor es innercent es a baby an' up an' tole him Sammy Steele's mewel hed histed ye. An' when he was feelin' roun' ye I thot he was feelin' fur busted bones, an' durned ef I ever knowed even when ye begun throwin' up on the carpit thet ye wus jus drunk."Lin continued: "Ef I hadn't sent fur the doctor it wouldn't be so blamed green lookin' in me. I'll never hear the las' uf hit. I'll bet Sammy Steele's mewel's ears will burn, the hull town'll be talkin' 'bout thet mewel. They'll say he's a powerful kicker," and Lin laughed despite herself."Why, fur weeks after Joe Sandford got into thet fix with his wall-paper show clothes folks would laff when I went into meetin'. I could tell what they wus thinkin' uf the minnit they'd smile. Un the wust part uf hit is I went over to Mrs. Todd's an' we cried fur two hours. Mrs. Todd's brother got kicked in the spinel string (cord) with a mewel an' he died the same nite. He never moved after he wus kicked. He wus ossified from head to fut."Alfred laughed. Lin corrected herself by saying: "Thet's what Mrs. Todd sed ailed him, but I knowed she meant 'palsified'."Alfred again laughed. Lin knew she had made a mistake; she was sensitive and it nettled her to notice the smile on Alfred's face. In tones quite testy she advised him to "hold his laff 'til he could feel hit. Ye needn't git so peart, ye hain't out of danger yit, ye're liable to have anuther collapse or sumthin' else. Ye'll never look as white aroun' the gills when ye're laid out in them linen sheets ye stole fur yer show."Lin "wondered what gran'muther would say when she heard of his 'sickness'." At the word "sickness" Lin winked with both eyes."I'll bet a fip Uncle Ned will say: 'Well, he's another notch nearer hell.'"Alfred did not consider the reference to Uncle Ned, but grandmother came up in his mind and he determined to go to the old lady and tell her the whole truth. And this he did and, instead of condemnation, he received advice that strengthened him in avoiding many of the same sort of pitfalls thereafter.The tin cup incident ended Alfred's connection with the tan-yard but Alfred never regretted his experience. The work was most health-giving and muscle developing. The examples of industry and integrity learned from Sammy Steele have been a guiding post in the life of the boy. Alfredhad not been in his employ long until he was permitted to conduct small trades with the customers who visited the tannery.One day a highly respected farmer brought in a hide. Alfred weighed the hide and figured up the amount due the farmer when Mr. Steele entered the room, passing the compliments of the day with the farmer. The hide was spread out on the table. The tanner folded it over as if to ascertain if it had been damaged in the skinning process. At the first touch of the hide he looked into the farmer's face, and in a careless tone, asked:"Been killing a beef?""Yes," drawled the farmer."Eh, huh, eh, huh," nodded the tanner, "what did you do with the carcass?""Oh, we found a market at home for it. We got a big family," replied the farmer."Eh, huh" assented the tanner. Reaching over, he took up the slate, rubbed out Alfred's figures, figured the hide at about two-thirds the amount Alfred was about to pay the farmer.To Alfred's surprise the farmer accepted the cut in price and hastily took his leave. The tanner looked after him in a contemptuous manner, turned to Alfred and inquired if he knew the farmer.Alfred answered: "Yes, he's a neighbor of my uncle. He belongs to the Baptus Church and I heard the preacher say if God ever made an upright man, he was one.""Yes, yes," answered the tanner, "God made all men upright but a murn hide will warp most of them."A murn hide is one taken from an animal that dies of a disease. The sensitive touch of the old tanner detected the diseased hide immediately.Alfred has applied this incident to many deals in his life and a murn hide became one of his pet references to a crookedtransaction. The tie of friendship between Alfred and Sammy Steele lasted while the tanner lived.Sammy Steele had not acquired a fortune in all the years of his hard labor. A skilled workman, he respected labor. No employe of his was ever tricked out of his wages. He was as fair to the poor as to the rich and both trusted him. In an uncouth world he was a gentleman; he bowed as courteously to a wash-woman as to an heiress.An honest man, he was Alfred's boyhood friend, his friend in manhood. Alfred loved him while he lived and respected his memory after he was gone.If there were more like Sammy Steele in this world there would be better boys and better men.CHAPTER TENIf every man's eternal careWere written on his brow,How many would our pity shareWho raise our envy now?Lest those who read these pages through feelings of sympathy for the author, or influenced by curiosity, may gain the impression that the people of Brownsville were not as staid as the exacting proprieties of society demanded, it must be pointed out that there was not a bar-room in the town. The two bakeries, William Chatland and Josie Lawton, sold ale by the glass. Every tavern sold whisky by the drink from a demi-john, jug or bottle that was kept locked up. The landlord carried the key and served his customers from a glass or tin-cup. He poured out the drink, limiting the amount to the condition of the one served.Alfred would never admit Pittsburg in advance of Brownsville except in one thing—the mirrored palaces where only cut glass was used in serving the thirsty.Bill BrownBill BrownIt is peculiar how one's environments will influence his actions in after years. Bill Brown continues to send cut glass goblets to his friends. He boasts thathisfriends drink only out of cut glass. This boast does not arouse Alfred's envy as he has friends in Brownsville who can drink out of the bung hole of a barrel.With going to school five days in a week and hunting Saturday, Alfred was kept within bounds.Kate Abrams—everybody who knew him addressed him as "Kate" (none ever called him Decatur)—Captain Kate Abrams was the beau ideal of a man in Alfred's estimation. Brave, gay and companionable, a man who loved boys and hated hypocrites, a riverman, one who had plyed the southern rivers from mouth to headwaters, as well known in St. Louis or Natchez as in his home town, high strung and generous, he was just the kind of man that boys love and respect.To go hunting with Kate was a pleasure Alfred esteemed above all others. He was the first wing shot Alfred ever hunted with. It was the custom of the hunters of that section to kill all their game sitting.When Alfred was permitted to handle and shoot the double-barreled gun Captain Abrams had purchased in St. Louis, he experienced thrills known only to an ardent hunter when a gun, the like of which he had never seen before, comes into his hands."You can't miss shootin' that gun", was Alfred's comment.Captain Abrams generally killed all the game, furnished all the ammunition and divided even with the boys.The Captain, Daniel Livingston and Alfred had been out one Saturday but bagged only two rabbits; the boys were figuring in their minds how two rabbits could be divided among three persons. When they arrived at the parting point, the Captain remarked, "I know you boys would rather have a half dollar each than a rabbit." With this he handed each a bright half dollar.Alfred had gone but a few steps toward home when a stranger halted him, inquiring as to the location of the office of theClipper, the weekly newspaper. Alfred obligingly directed the man to the office.The stranger had Alfred greatly interested. He was a journeyman printer. Harrison was his name. Harrison was only one of the many who roamed over the country in those days. They roamed from one spree to another, sometimes looking for work and never keeping it long if found.Harrison was an editorial writer. There were many of them in those days; their enunciation of their political faith was abuse of all who dared dispute them. They wrote for many years and not one line of their output serves as a true mark of the times or people of the days in which they lived.
The Bark MillThe Bark Mill
The Bark Mill
Active as a squirrel the boy scampered over the bark pile picking up the bits of unground bark. The work was but play.
The noon hour found him on the tan bark pile practicing. As the bell rang calling the men to work he was at his place with the most industrious of them.
During the many years that have begun and ended since he worked in Sammy Steele's tannery, Alfred has received some pretty fair weeks' salaries, but no pay ever brought the happiness the one dollar and fifty cents he received for that week's work in the old bark mill when he presented it to his mother.
Not many days elapsed before his industry was rewarded by an increase of wages to three times the amount he had previously received. His work took wider range, upstairs to the big finishing room and the office where he came in constant contact with the owner of the tannery. He made himself more useful to the man higher up, and when his pay was increased to one dollar a day, it seemed a fortune was in sight.
The illusion still clung. The present was but the means to an end and beyond lay his hopes. To become a great clown in the circus was the goal. Nor were the little band of minstrels, whose rehearsals had been checked by the fire and the loss of the melodeon, lost sight of. The big finishing room found the little band of amateur minstrels rehearsing almost every night, strange to say, the straight laced old tanner did not object. When several of the nearby neighbors complained of the noise and din, he simply gave orders to limit the rehearsals to 10 p. m.
Lin said: "Huh! ef enybody but Alfurd was at the head of it, Sammy Steele would a histed every one on 'em long ago."
Lin was peeved. She could not imagine how the singing could be anything without her voice and the melodeon. A tan-yard hand who played the violin by ear had supplanted Lin. She declared he could only "fiddle fer dancin', hecouldn't foller singin'. Ye can't foller a fiddle an' sing, ye got to hev a melodeon or accordion. A fiddle wus never made to sing with, hit's all right fer dancin'. Lor', ye never hear any real music less ye got a lead. That's the reason ye never hear any good singin' in Baptus meetin'. They're agin manufactured music, they haven't got enythin' to go by."
Lin had joined the Campbellite Church for the reason that it was the furthest from the Baptist belief, so she claimed. Alfred always believed down deep in his heart that Lin had allied herself with that particular denomination for the reason that her vocal abilities were appreciated in the little congregation and for the further reason that the church had an organ.
Lin felt her exclusion from the minstrel rehearsals more than she cared to reveal. Alfred did all he could to comfort her. He assured her that Charley Wagner, the violin player, was not nearly so satisfactory as she.
"But s'pose I had saved the melodeon"—(Lin always attributed her rejection by the minstrel band to the loss of the melodeon)—"you couldn't a-used it in the tan-yard, it's too damp there and it would spoil the tune of it. Why, it's most ruined my tambourine. Beside," concluded Alfred, "regular minstrels are all men, they don't have any women folks in 'em."
His explanation was plausible but it did not satisfy Lin. "Huh! I wasn't good enuf fur yer ole tan-yard pack. I s'pose when ye got a lot of patchin' and sewin' to do, ye'll be callin' on me but ye won't fin' me in. Good bye, Mr. Clown, minstrel. Next time ye try to ak out afore folks I hope ye'll do better en ye did the nite uv the big party."
This was a home thrust, it pierced to the quick. Alfred was over sensitive. Often, when the remembrance of the failure alluded to by Lin troubled his mind, he had soothed himself with the hope that few had noticed his failure. But Lin's remark forced the awful feeling upon him that, likeCousin Charley's potato deal, it was known and talked of by the whole town.
Unexpected happenings brought the rehearsals of the minstrels in the old tan-yard to an abrupt ending.
It was during the dark days of the reconstruction period, immediately following the war. Only those of the south can fully realize what those days meant to a people already impoverished by themost gigantic war of Christendom.
Colonel Charlotte, once wealthy, now reduced to almost want, (we will place his residence, oh anywhere, in Virginia, Georgia or Alabama); his once productive plantation neglected for want of tenants and help to cultivate it, stock and products confiscated. Many and earnest were the conferences held by the Colonel and his unfortunate neighbors, to devise ways and means to recuperate their lost fortunes. After each conference with his friends the Colonel would wend his way homeward to confer with his good wife, who was a most sensible and therefore a lovable woman.
When the Colonel was most despondent the wife was most buoyant, cheering him as best she could. After the Colonel had given vent to his feelings, recounting for the hundredth time his helplessness in the face of the oppressive laws rigidly enforced by the carpet-bag officers; after he had delivered himself of a tirade against those who were responsible for the condition of affairs, the good wife said: "Colonel, I know if the Christian people of the North were aware of the sufferings of our people, we would get relief. I pity you in your troubles and do hope we may see a way to help ourselves. We are out of corn, the meal is almost gone and we have very little bacon left. Our children should be in school but I cannot bear to send them with the toes out of their shoes and their shabby clothes."
The Colonel would compress his lips, cussing every Yankee on earth. He would find his way to the country store to while away another day in useless conference with his neighbors. The same persons met daily and dispersed nightly to carry their woes to their homes. Time and again Colonel Charlotte informed the patient little wife that he was without hope.
"Don't give up," encouraged the wife, "I know it looks dark but it is always darkest before dawn; let us look toward the east and pray for light. I know something will come to us, but for my part, I would not care. I can stand it, but the children, poor innocents, should not be made to suffer; no shoes or clothes fit to go to school or church in. The winter is coming on and our provisions are scant. I worry only on account of the children. Colonel, do the best you can; that is all mortal can do, the Lord will do the rest."
The Colonel left his fireside early the next morning resolved to find something to relieve the wants of his family. Returning home later than usual he was in a towering rage. The good wife was alarmed.
"Why, Colonel, what has disturbed you so?"
"Wife, I'm mad clar through and if Captain Barbour warn't an old friend of the family, I declar' to God I'd assaulted him today."
"Heaven forbid," pleaded the wife, "I know Captain Barbour surely would not wound your feelings intentionally."
The Colonel explained that they were talking over their troubles, bewailing their helplessness, when Captain Barbour said: "Why Colonel Charlotte, you're better off than any of us, you have the means at your command to not only make a living but to lay a little money by."
"And wife, when I asked him how, what do you think he said? That I had a carriage and horses and I could open a livery stable. Open a livery stable!" And the hot blood of the Charlottes' reddened his temples again as he clinched his fists and walked up and down in his anger. "Me, a Charlotte, engage in the livery business. Why, wife, I could scarcely keep my hands off him. Me, a Charlotte, in thelivery business. Pollute that old family carriage that bears on its panels the crest of the Charlotte family, whose blood runs back to the men of Cromwell."
The facts are the old family carriage was about the only relic of the Charlotte family's former greatness; imported from England years before, held as almost sacred by succeeding generations of the Charlotte family. To have one intimate that the sacred old vehicle should be used to convey the common herd was a heavy blow to the pride of the Colonel.
"Well, Colonel," soothingly spoke the wife, "I know your pride has been hurt, I know just how badly you feel. I know you are proud and I really fear that Captain Barbour in his zeal to assist you was indiscreet. He should not have spoken so abruptly but should have given you time to consider the motive that prompted him. I know—he—he—meant—well—and—and—perhaps—you—should—consider his advice. Can't we talk it over?" As she approached him, looking up into his face with a half smile and a half cry, she pleaded: "I would hate to say one word that would humble your pride, but—but those children—you know they ought to have schooling. And I declare, Colonel—I do not know—what we're going to do for something to—to—eat." And here the wife broke down.
The Colonel folded her in his arms as he soothed her, stroking her hair. He declared he would sacrifice all the pride of the Charlottes that she and his did not suffer.
The negroes were sent to the corn patch to fetch the old horses, pluck the burrs out of manes and tails, smooth them up by currying the long hair off their shaggy coats. The old family carriage was hauled out of the shed, washed, the brass mountings brightened, the coat of arms, the panels scoured until they shone again.
The sting was somewhat removed from the Colonel's feelings by the painter making the sign read "LibertyStable." The word "Livery" was not in the painter's vocabulary. When he assured the Colonel that the sign was proper the Colonel was more satisfied.
Four or five days wore away. The Colonel, from his seat in front of the store, like Enoch Arden patiently watching for a sail, grew more despondent each day.
One November evening, the rain gently falling from the weeping clouds seemingly in sympathy with the Colonel's dismal feelings, a young negro was seen coming towards him. Colonel Charlotte recognized Sam, a former slave, the son of an old house servant.
The Colonel returning the salutation in a manner none the less cheery said: "Why, Sam, how you all has growed up. I declare I wouldn't knowed you only your voice is so much like your father's. How's all? Whar you livin' and what you a-doin' for yourself? Come on boy, tell me about you eh?"
Sam explained to the Colonel that "he was working on de new railroad buildin' down Raleigh way an' wus doin' tolerable well. A dollar a day, not countin' Sundays an' I gits my fodder."
"Well, Sam, if you can stow vittles away like you all done when I fed you, you're gettin' well paid."
The Colonel laughed at his own joke, the first laugh he had indulged in for days. Sam was encouraged by the Colonel's good humor. Doffing his hat, he addressed the Colonel in a sort of patronizing manner:
"Cunnel, I dun heard you all gone into the liberty business."
This flattered the Colonel slightly and he straightened up, replying:
"Yes, Sam, I just got tired of seeing my horses and vehicles around doing nothing and I wanted something to occupy my time. I don't count much on what I'll make but it will keep me from rusting out."
"Well, Cunnel, I'se jus come all de way down yar to see you. Dar's gwine to be a dance down to Townsley's tonight an' me an' my company an' my friend an' his gal wants to go, an' I kum to ask you all how much you gwine fur to ax us to carry us all to de dance an'——"
Like a flash the Colonel jumped to his feet, the old rickety, split-bottom chair was hurled after Sam with the words:
"You dam black scoundrel, I'll break every bone in your black body if I get hold of you."
This speech was hurled after the thoroughly frightened Sam as the Colonel pursued him. Giving up the chase the Colonel stalked home. His wife observed his anger as he entered.
"Wife, I've never in my life sustained a worse shock than today. To think of it after all these days of waitin', after I have been in the liberty business all these days, the first human being to come to me"—and the Colonel choked with rage—"the first human being to come to me to hire that old family carriage, was a dam nigger."
Then the Colonel in more moderate language described the scene between himself and Sam. The good wife listened to the Colonel until he concluded. Then in a conciliatory tone, she said: "Well, Colonel, it does seem as though fate is cruel to you. I do hope you will bear up bravely. I think it just awful that the first customer should have been a nigger. I do hope we will have others soon."
Then after a pause, she resumed, "Insofar as I am concerned I would willingly die before I'd ask you, a Charlotte, to sacrifice your pride further. But when I think of our children I don't know what to say. Colonel," and she trembled as she spoke, "do you—do—you think—Sam had money to pay for the hire of the carriage?"
"I done heard the money jingle in his pocket when he run."
"Well, Colonel, I wouldn't even suggest that—that—you carry those niggers to the ball, but if—if we only had the money—it would do us so much good. Those children—."
The Colonel waited to hear no more. Out into the chilly autumn evening, more briskly than he had moved in weeks, stalked the Colonel. Reaching the Liberty Stable, he ordered one of the boys to locate Sam. "Make haste," was his parting order.
The boy soon returned escorting Sam who seemed somewhat afraid to get too near the livery stable proprietor. The Colonel assured Sam that he desired to talk with him. Leading the way he walked until well out of hearing of his stable boy.
He began inquiringly, "So there's a big ball at Townsley's tonight. It's the fust I've heard of it, an' you an' your company wants to go. Well Sam, you work hard fur your money an' you ought not to spend it too freely because winter's coming on and these reconstruction laws the Yankees have put on us will make it hard on all of us."
"About how much do you reckon it will cost you all to go to the ball in a first class livery turn out?"
"I dunno sah," meekly answered Sam.
"How much you got?" was the Colonel's next question.
"Five dollars," and Sam jingled the coin in his pocket, showing a set of ivories that would have been the envy of any society belle in the land.
"Give it to me," and the Colonel reached his long arm out towards Sam, the palm of his hand up. Sam placed the five dollars in it.
"Sam, I want to see you have your pleasure. Five dollars is less than I ever charged for a carriage to a ball before. Being's it's you I'll let it go fer that figure providin' you never mention to any person on earth that you hired a conveyance from Colonel Charlotte."
"Yes, sah. I'll promise an' I'll neber tell airy livin' soul 'bout it," answered Sam, showing signs of fright.
The Colonel looked about to assure himself that there were no witnesses and commanded Sam to raise his right hand and kneel on the ground. Sam hesitated, the ground was wet and he had on his new store pants, but down he knelt.
"Now swear by all the laws of reconstruction that if you ever tell you rid in Colonel Charlotte's kerrige, you will be whipped by the Ku-Klux, haunted by ghosts and burned by witches until you are dead and buried in a grave as deep as hell."
The thoroughly frightened boy assented to the oath. The Colonel ordered him to arise, get his company together, "mosey" down to where the big road crossed the branch and wait until the carriage arrived.
The Colonel never entered the livery stable, content to leave the conducting of the same to his help. However, he was not content to trust the old family carriage to them. Ordering the horses hitched to the sacred vehicle, the Colonel hastened to the house, "to plant the tin, afore some dam Yankee carpet-bagger grabbed it," as he expressed it.
He returned to find the carriage ready for him. Two tallow dips burning dimly in the big, old-fashioned lamps on either side of the driver's seat were the admiration of the boys who lighted them. The Colonel ordered them to "blow them thar candles out," saying that they only blinded him. The real reason was that the Colonel did not desire any light shed on the transaction that would disclose his part in it.
Once down the hill he halted the team under the big oak tree where four dusky figures, two males and two females, stood. In a voice he intended to sound other than his own, the Colonel ordered the waiting group to "git in quick, pull down the curtains and don't airy dam niggers poke your heads out till we git to Townsley's."
The horses moved off, the Colonel soliloquizing as they trotted along the sandy road: "S'pose I meet a white man an' he asks me where I'm goin', what will I tell him? Was there ever a white man, was there ever a Charlotte put to this test before. If ever a Charlotte knew that I engaged in this business what would I say to him? Did I ever think I'd come to this? Me, Colonel Charlotte, hauling niggers to a ball." And he again cussed the reconstruction laws.
Arriving at the country store the dance was already under full headway. The fiddles and scraping of feet could be plainly heard.
The voice of the caller, "Swing your partners; all hands around; first gent lead off to the right," floated out on the damp air.
"Git out," was the Colonel's orders to his fares. "Now, don't stay all night or you'll walk back," were his last words to Sam and his company as they ran upstairs to the ball room.
Tying the horses to the fence, the Colonel lighted his pipe, walking to and fro to warm his chilled blood, he gave way to his gloomy thoughts again. "What would Captain Barbour, Colonel Woodburn and Major Hinkle say if they found out that he, Colonel Charlotte, was engaged in carrying niggers to a ball. Ef I was to be ketched yar by a white man, what explanation could I make that would protect the honor of my family?"
For himself the Colonel felt that he was eternally disgraced and had reached the point where he was willing to be ostracized but hoped to protect the family name.
Sam returned to the carriage to find a wrap or other article the women had forgotten. The air was very chilly. "Sam, have you all got any fire upstairs," asked the Colonel.
"Yes, sah, dars a roarin' fire up yander Colonel. Jus walk up sah an' warm yoself."
Pulling his hat down over his eyes, turning his coat collar up to disguise himself, the Colonel climbed the narrow stairs.Peeping through the door at the whisking dancers he skulked along the side of the room until he reached the big, open wood fireplace. The warmth was very grateful to his benumbed frame. He had not the assurance to look around at the dancers; while his front side was thoroughly warmed, the rear of his anatomy was still numb. About the time he had determined to about face, the dance ceased. He heard several remarks not intended for his ears:
"Who is dat ole white man 'trudin' yar? Whar did dat ole white man kum frum? Who fetched him up yar?"
The Colonel couldn't bear it longer. Stalking out, he descended the stairs, asking himself if he could sink lower. In the depths of degradation, what could happen that would sink him lower. A Charlotte ordered out of a nigger ballroom.
The cold air pierced him more quickly since leaving the ballroom. The big wood fire influenced him to return to its comforting warmth. By this time the fire had heated up the room. The heat from the over-heated revellers, the aroma permeating the atmosphere, was not unfamiliar to the Colonel's sense of smell yet none the less unpleasant.
It impelled the Colonel to seek fresh air more quickly than the side remarks had previously. Out in the chilly air he gave way to his thoughts as before, thoughts tinged with even more bitterness.
The fire had made him more and more susceptible to the cold and it was not long ere the Colonel started on his way to warm himself again. Sam met him at the foot of the stairs. Bowing and scraping, he began by apologizing profusely:
"Cunnel, I declars I hates to tell you all but the gemmen dat runs de frolik jus tol' me I has to. I'se been pinted a committee to tell you dey hes made a good hot fire in de back room down stairs fer you. You kin go in an' warm yerself. Dey all doan wants you to kum in de big room up stairs eny more. De fak is, de ladies up dar objecks to de oder ob de stable on yer clothes."
The facts are that a tannery is not as pleasant to the olfactory senses as Pinaud's perfumes, but Alfred, unlike Col. Charlotte, had exposed himself to objectionable odors by working over the vats and leather by day, and thumping the tambourine by night in the big finishing room. But no complaints ever came to his ears of the unpleasant odor of the tannery he carried home with him until Lin was discarded by the minstrel band. Therefore, when the mother, backed by Lin, informed him that he would have to give up his tan-yard affiliations, the boy felt in his heart that as in the Colonel's case, it was not the odor but prejudice.
He almost wished he had arranged that Lin might have retained her place as leader of the singing. But there were other reasons why he was ordered to leave the tanning business.
The Workman Hotel was but a few steps from the old tannery. The new landlord was giving the place a cleaning up. Cal Wyatt, the son of the hotel man, came over to the tannery and requested Alfred, John Caldman, Vince Carpenter and several others to go over during the noon hour to the cellar and give them a hand in stacking up sundry barrels and kegs.
All complied. The barrels were quickly lifted on top of each other. A tin cup full of some sort of fluid was passed around several times. All sipped from the cup, much as folks do from a loving cup nowadays. As the barrels were piled higher, the tin cup went around again and again.
Alfred had sipped from a large spoon a little of the same sort of tasting stuff when Grandpap Irons made a little toddy before breakfast. But never had his lips sunk into a tin cup filled with the stuff previously. A feeling came over him such as he had never experienced, and it seemed as if all in the cellar were similarly affected. Those of the tan-yard hands who had never been known to raise their voices insong, essayed to sing the minstrel songs. Those so awkward that they could not walk naturally endeavored to dance.
Ordinarily Alfred would have laughed himself weak at the hilarious attempts of the tan-yard hands, and their imitations. Under the influence of the tin cup's magic fluid he held them in that contempt that only the professional can feel for the jay who endeavors to imitate him.
The Tin Cup Went Round Again and AgainThe Tin Cup Went Round Again and Again
The Tin Cup Went Round Again and Again
Alfred stood motionless, or as near motionless as he possibly could. John Caldman, who was known and respected as the one quiet and unobtrusive person in the tannery, and from whose lips a loud word never escaped, stood erect and immovable as the singing, dancing tan-yard hands whirled about him. With compressed lips and haughty mien he seemed not to notice them.
Suddenly he spoke and in a voice so loud and unnatural that all were awed into silence. The quiet man had changed so completely he seemed another person. Alfred gazed at him in astonishment. He hurled epithets and denunciations at those whose names he had never before mentioned aloud. He recalled insults and abuse heaped upon him by all connected with the tannery; he invited, he insisted thatthe biggest and strongest of those about him come out and fight. He dared the whole crowd to jump on him.
None accepting his dare he declared his intention to go to the tan-yard and clean out the old shebang, following his threat with a movement towards the tannery followed by the wobbling crowd.
Entering the big finishing room Alfred saw the infuriated John standing in the middle of the room, an iron hook in one hand, a lump of coal in the other, while the workmen were flying upstairs and down stairs. Alfred endeavored to follow those who went down stairs. He remembered starting from the first step at the top. Vince Carpenter afterwards informed him he never hit another step in his descent.
Sammy Steele's Mule Kicked the BoySammy Steele's Mule Kicked the Boy
Sammy Steele's Mule Kicked the Boy
Gathering himself up in time to hear Vince shout: "Here comes Mr. Steele," as badly scared as his dazed senses would permit him to be, Alfred fumbled and scrambled about for a moment. He spied a large wheel-barrow overloaded with cows' ears and other by-products of green hides that go into the refuse and find their way to the glue factory. This slimy mess was just out of the lime vat.
Alfred grabbed the handles and started with the wheel-barrow he did not know where, his sole object being to stalland make the boss believe he was at work. Along a narrow plank walk he pushed the gruesome load, weaving, wobbling at every step, threatening to go off one side or the other at any moment, headed for the dump where all the water-soaked, discarded tan bark was deposited.
Reaching the dumping ground, standing between the handles of the wheel-barrow, Alfred attempted to overturn it. The handles overturned Alfred. Down the steep incline, rolled Alfred, wheel-barrow and contents in one conglomerate mass, Alfred under the avalanche of cows' ears, tails, etc.
Mrs. Hampton witnessed from her back porch the race down the dump pile. Calling a couple of boys the lady led the way to where Alfred lay, digging him from under the slimy mess. The boys loaded the soaking figure into the wheel-barrow and carried him home.
Sammy Steele used as motive power in his bark mill a fine white mare and an iron grey mule. When Alfred could not get the use of the white mare he rode or drove the mule. Alfred's parents and others continually cautioned him to beware of the mule, that it was vicious and would surely kick him.
When the boys arrived at Alfred's home and Lin saw them assisting the almost senseless boy into the house, she began: "Well, fur the luv of all thet's holy, what's the rumpus now? I'll bet a fip Sammy Steele's mewel's kicked thet boy."
The boys did not reply, depositing their burden on the floor, hastily departed. To Lin's persistent inquiries, Alfred admitted that the mule had kicked him. In a maudlin way he stuttered: "L-o-o-k-o-u-t, Lin, she'll k-k-i-c-k you." Then he laughed a silly laugh.
Lin was convinced that the boy was out of his head, delirious from the mule's kick, sent for the doctor who came in haste. Lin explained that she was "skeered nearly to death. I wus yar all alone an' they kum draggin' him in. I tried to talk with him but he's plum out of his head. Hismother an' his pap an' me an' all of us hes warned him time an' 'gain that that mewel would be his death, but he jus kept a-devilin' aroun' hit; now ye see what kum of hit. He's jus like he had a stroke of palsy, hit's a wonder the mewel hedn't killed him stun dead. Ef hits palsied him he mought jus es well be dead."
Thus Lin ran on as the old doctor carefully looked the patient over. The doctor had long practiced in Brownsville. Tomato vine poisoning cases were rare. Alfred's ailment on this occasion was common. He made no mistake in diagnosing the case although he did not inform the family of his conclusions. However, he assured them that "the boy would be all right in a day or two. His appetite might not come to him at once but he would be all right in the morning. Just let him sleep, don't wake him, and when he gets out caution him to—keep away from the mule," added the doctor dryly.
Lin said: "Be durned ef hit ain't the queerest case I ever seed. Alfurd's jus es sick es he kin be an' the old doctur didn't gin him nothin'."
A few days later it was whispered among the neighbors that Alfred and a number of the tan-yard hands broke into Bill Wyatt's cellar and drank up all his liquor and Alfred, "little as he wus, drinked more'n eny of em." George Washington Antonio Frazier 'lowed that Alfred "drinked so much he wouldn't want another drink fer a month. I wouldn't ef I'd hed his cargo," he concluded.
Lin threw her head up in disgust as she denied this rumor: "Huh, all ole Frazier is peeved 'bout is bekase he didn't git his ole hog belly filled up fur nuthin'."
Alfred slept he knew not how long. It was night when he awoke. Half awake, he would doze and dream—now he was carrying gourds of water to Uncle Joe, hastening back to get a gourdful for his own parched lips. He would invariablydrop the gourd or have some other mishap—he never got the water to his lips.
He realized that there were others in the room, the lamp was too low to distinguish them. He listened endeavoring to hear what they were talking of. The old clock down-stairs struck two, then the little clock on the mantelpiece chimed twice.
A figure arose, softly crossing the room and a hand was laid softly on the boy's forehead. His eyes were closed but he knew it was his mother's hand.
"He is a little less feverish, Pap, you had best go to bed. I'll call Lin early and lie down. Now go on, you have to work and you won't feel like it, if you don't get your sleep. Go on now, if he gets worse, I'll call."
"Gets worse I'll call you." Alfred repeated the words over and over in his mind. He imagined at first that he had been sick a long time. He gathered his thoughts—the old tavern cellar came into his mind, the antics of the tan-yard hands after they had quaffed from the tin cup. Alfred got no further in his ramblings than the tin cup; only a ray of thought, yet it was of sufficient power to cause the boy to retch and strain as though he would heave his stomach up.
The mother was holding a vessel in one hand and supporting the very sick boy with the other arm.
"Muz, Muz, what's the matter with me—how long have I been sick—d-do you th-i-n-k I'm goin' to die?"
The mother soothed him and persuaded him to go to sleep. Alfred closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. He heard footsteps and, peering out of the corner of his eye, he perceived the form of his father bending over him.
Softly walking over to where the mother sat with bowed head, the father began: "I thought I heard him talking. Was he awake?"
"Yes," answered the mother.
"What did he say?" eagerly inquired the father.
The mother informed him.
The father, looking toward the bed, remarked half to himself:
"I hope he will be sober enough to talk to me before I leave the house."
"Why, John," hastily began the mother, "you speak as if he were an old toper."
"Well, Mary. I did not mean it that way. But I have been worried ever since that minstrel crowd has been gathering at the tan-yard. Of course, I never knew Alfred to drink whiskey but they all drink more or less and Alfred is not the boy to pass anything by there's any fun in."
"But they had no business to give a boy whiskey," argued the wife, "and I would see about it and I would make an example of them if I were you."
"I will do all of that and more," warmly answered the father. After a pause, he resumed: "They tell me they were all in Wyatt's cellar and Cal Wyatt drew a tin cup of high proof whiskey. Alfred put the cup—"
Alfred was following the father's words. At the mention of the word "cup," his stomach rebelled again. His father was holding a vessel, his mother supporting the boy's head.
Turning his head, the father ejaculated: "Phew! If that isn't rot-gut I never smelt it."
Alfred pretended to go to sleep and the father and mother talked long and earnestly. Their solicitude for the erring boy, touched Alfred to the heart. He had not realized until this moment the meanness of his actions. When Alfred fully realized the misery and suffering he had caused his parents, he was impelled to crawl to them and kiss the hem of their garments, promising never to cause them pain from the same cause again.
Let it be recorded he did not realize immediately when he drank from the cup, that it was whiskey. After the first swallow or two he became oblivious to his danger. He feltthat he was forever disgraced. He thought of getting out of bed and fleeing, he cared not whither, only to get far away from the scene of his disgrace.
We do not know that the boy resolved that he would never touch, taste or handle whiskey again. We do not know what resolutions he made to himself, but we do know that whisky never passed his lips again until he was more than a man grown and then rarely and in very small quantities.
Alfred slept. When he awoke it was daylight. The sun was shining brightly. His first thought was that he would be late for work. Then he heard the voice of a neighbor woman, one whom the mother disliked, one who was noted for her tatling propensities. As an excuse to call she had brought fruit for Alfred. The boy overheard her inquiries as to his condition. She whispered long and earnestly with Lin. The latter, looking down at the pale face of Alfred began questioning him:
"Well, I see ye're alive yit, I gess ye'll kum out of hit. I s'pose the hull durn town'll be laffin' at me. I never dreamed ye wus jus corned. Ef I'd knowed, I'd brot ye out uf it quicker; I'd jus made a hull tin cup uf hot mustard—"
Alfred heard no further than "tin cup." Flopping over on his stomach, endeavoring to hold down the last remnants of his innards, he begged to be left alone. But Lin kept on:
"An' yere I sends fur the doctor es innercent es a baby an' up an' tole him Sammy Steele's mewel hed histed ye. An' when he was feelin' roun' ye I thot he was feelin' fur busted bones, an' durned ef I ever knowed even when ye begun throwin' up on the carpit thet ye wus jus drunk."
Lin continued: "Ef I hadn't sent fur the doctor it wouldn't be so blamed green lookin' in me. I'll never hear the las' uf hit. I'll bet Sammy Steele's mewel's ears will burn, the hull town'll be talkin' 'bout thet mewel. They'll say he's a powerful kicker," and Lin laughed despite herself.
"Why, fur weeks after Joe Sandford got into thet fix with his wall-paper show clothes folks would laff when I went into meetin'. I could tell what they wus thinkin' uf the minnit they'd smile. Un the wust part uf hit is I went over to Mrs. Todd's an' we cried fur two hours. Mrs. Todd's brother got kicked in the spinel string (cord) with a mewel an' he died the same nite. He never moved after he wus kicked. He wus ossified from head to fut."
Alfred laughed. Lin corrected herself by saying: "Thet's what Mrs. Todd sed ailed him, but I knowed she meant 'palsified'."
Alfred again laughed. Lin knew she had made a mistake; she was sensitive and it nettled her to notice the smile on Alfred's face. In tones quite testy she advised him to "hold his laff 'til he could feel hit. Ye needn't git so peart, ye hain't out of danger yit, ye're liable to have anuther collapse or sumthin' else. Ye'll never look as white aroun' the gills when ye're laid out in them linen sheets ye stole fur yer show."
Lin "wondered what gran'muther would say when she heard of his 'sickness'." At the word "sickness" Lin winked with both eyes.
"I'll bet a fip Uncle Ned will say: 'Well, he's another notch nearer hell.'"
Alfred did not consider the reference to Uncle Ned, but grandmother came up in his mind and he determined to go to the old lady and tell her the whole truth. And this he did and, instead of condemnation, he received advice that strengthened him in avoiding many of the same sort of pitfalls thereafter.
The tin cup incident ended Alfred's connection with the tan-yard but Alfred never regretted his experience. The work was most health-giving and muscle developing. The examples of industry and integrity learned from Sammy Steele have been a guiding post in the life of the boy. Alfredhad not been in his employ long until he was permitted to conduct small trades with the customers who visited the tannery.
One day a highly respected farmer brought in a hide. Alfred weighed the hide and figured up the amount due the farmer when Mr. Steele entered the room, passing the compliments of the day with the farmer. The hide was spread out on the table. The tanner folded it over as if to ascertain if it had been damaged in the skinning process. At the first touch of the hide he looked into the farmer's face, and in a careless tone, asked:
"Been killing a beef?"
"Yes," drawled the farmer.
"Eh, huh, eh, huh," nodded the tanner, "what did you do with the carcass?"
"Oh, we found a market at home for it. We got a big family," replied the farmer.
"Eh, huh" assented the tanner. Reaching over, he took up the slate, rubbed out Alfred's figures, figured the hide at about two-thirds the amount Alfred was about to pay the farmer.
To Alfred's surprise the farmer accepted the cut in price and hastily took his leave. The tanner looked after him in a contemptuous manner, turned to Alfred and inquired if he knew the farmer.
Alfred answered: "Yes, he's a neighbor of my uncle. He belongs to the Baptus Church and I heard the preacher say if God ever made an upright man, he was one."
"Yes, yes," answered the tanner, "God made all men upright but a murn hide will warp most of them."
A murn hide is one taken from an animal that dies of a disease. The sensitive touch of the old tanner detected the diseased hide immediately.
Alfred has applied this incident to many deals in his life and a murn hide became one of his pet references to a crookedtransaction. The tie of friendship between Alfred and Sammy Steele lasted while the tanner lived.
Sammy Steele had not acquired a fortune in all the years of his hard labor. A skilled workman, he respected labor. No employe of his was ever tricked out of his wages. He was as fair to the poor as to the rich and both trusted him. In an uncouth world he was a gentleman; he bowed as courteously to a wash-woman as to an heiress.
An honest man, he was Alfred's boyhood friend, his friend in manhood. Alfred loved him while he lived and respected his memory after he was gone.
If there were more like Sammy Steele in this world there would be better boys and better men.
If every man's eternal careWere written on his brow,How many would our pity shareWho raise our envy now?
If every man's eternal careWere written on his brow,How many would our pity shareWho raise our envy now?
Lest those who read these pages through feelings of sympathy for the author, or influenced by curiosity, may gain the impression that the people of Brownsville were not as staid as the exacting proprieties of society demanded, it must be pointed out that there was not a bar-room in the town. The two bakeries, William Chatland and Josie Lawton, sold ale by the glass. Every tavern sold whisky by the drink from a demi-john, jug or bottle that was kept locked up. The landlord carried the key and served his customers from a glass or tin-cup. He poured out the drink, limiting the amount to the condition of the one served.
Alfred would never admit Pittsburg in advance of Brownsville except in one thing—the mirrored palaces where only cut glass was used in serving the thirsty.
Bill BrownBill Brown
Bill Brown
It is peculiar how one's environments will influence his actions in after years. Bill Brown continues to send cut glass goblets to his friends. He boasts thathisfriends drink only out of cut glass. This boast does not arouse Alfred's envy as he has friends in Brownsville who can drink out of the bung hole of a barrel.
With going to school five days in a week and hunting Saturday, Alfred was kept within bounds.
Kate Abrams—everybody who knew him addressed him as "Kate" (none ever called him Decatur)—Captain Kate Abrams was the beau ideal of a man in Alfred's estimation. Brave, gay and companionable, a man who loved boys and hated hypocrites, a riverman, one who had plyed the southern rivers from mouth to headwaters, as well known in St. Louis or Natchez as in his home town, high strung and generous, he was just the kind of man that boys love and respect.
To go hunting with Kate was a pleasure Alfred esteemed above all others. He was the first wing shot Alfred ever hunted with. It was the custom of the hunters of that section to kill all their game sitting.
When Alfred was permitted to handle and shoot the double-barreled gun Captain Abrams had purchased in St. Louis, he experienced thrills known only to an ardent hunter when a gun, the like of which he had never seen before, comes into his hands.
"You can't miss shootin' that gun", was Alfred's comment.
Captain Abrams generally killed all the game, furnished all the ammunition and divided even with the boys.
The Captain, Daniel Livingston and Alfred had been out one Saturday but bagged only two rabbits; the boys were figuring in their minds how two rabbits could be divided among three persons. When they arrived at the parting point, the Captain remarked, "I know you boys would rather have a half dollar each than a rabbit." With this he handed each a bright half dollar.
Alfred had gone but a few steps toward home when a stranger halted him, inquiring as to the location of the office of theClipper, the weekly newspaper. Alfred obligingly directed the man to the office.
The stranger had Alfred greatly interested. He was a journeyman printer. Harrison was his name. Harrison was only one of the many who roamed over the country in those days. They roamed from one spree to another, sometimes looking for work and never keeping it long if found.
Harrison was an editorial writer. There were many of them in those days; their enunciation of their political faith was abuse of all who dared dispute them. They wrote for many years and not one line of their output serves as a true mark of the times or people of the days in which they lived.