Watch Yourself Go By Part 17

The proud, strong-minded mother guided the destinies of the family through the troublesome times that followed. The strictest economy was practiced in all things. Brownsville has ever been noted for the hospitality of its people and the plenteous supplies found on the tables of all. Therefore, when the usual good things were missing from the table and the mother explained that it would not be for long but for the time being it was imperative to live sparingly, Alfred put all in a good humor by calling on Muz, (the children's favorite name for the mother), "Muz, cook it all up at once and let's have one good, big meal like we used to have, then starve right."

Uncle Jake and Aunt Betty and all their family were steadfast friends during all the days of distress, as were Uncle William and grandfather and his family. Even Cousin Charley exerted himself to be of a.s.sistance.

Lin afterwards declared that the Biblical prophecy, "Meny shall be called an' only a few k.u.m," had found verification in Charley's changed conduct. Since Lin "jined" church, she often attempted to quote scripture.

Among other offerings that Cousin Charley bestowed upon Alfred were two hounds with a colony of lively fleas. This gift was greatly appreciated by Alfred as the dogs were good c.o.o.n hunters. It was not long ere the news came to Alfred's folks that Cousin Charley had stolen the hounds from Turner Simpson, a colored man who lived near the town, and noted for his superior hounds and numerous children. When the mother firmly commanded that the dogs be returned to their owner Alfred was greatly disappointed. Lin informed the boys that the dogs had to eat and that the mother had enough mouths to feed "without runnin' a dog's boardin'

house. Why ye durned little fool ye, don't ye know Charley's jus put them dogs yar to git 'em kept. They'll jus keep 'em yar till they want to hunt c.o.o.n an' then they'll take 'em. Ef it wur a hoss or hippotumas es was in thet sorry animile show, an' Charley 'ud gin it to ye, I'd feel ye could call it yer own. But a houn' dog, never. He'd never part with a houn'. Some fine mornin' the houn's'll turn up missin' an' ye'll find Dr. Playford hes bought 'em fur about five dollars."

Lin's reference to Dr. Playford gave Alfred an inspiration. He was on his way to Dr. Bob Playford's with the hounds chained together and nearly pulling him off his feet, so eager were they for exercise. The sporting doctor's eyes glistened as he looked the dogs over and noted their good points. Alfred explained that they were a present from Cousin Charley, that he prized them greatly but his mother would not permit him to retain them.

The doctor purchased and paid for the dogs, handing the boy a crisp five dollar greenback bill. Although greenbacks were greatly depreciated in value at that time, no bill of like denomination has ever before or since had the purchasing power that that five dollars had for Alfred. He could scarcely contain himself until he arrived at home, that he might hand the money to his mother. The doctor informed Alfred that he would give him an additional dollar if he would deliver the dogs to Turner Simpson, adding: "Simpson keeps all my hounds; he has a pack of them there now and these two will be all I'll need for a while. Be careful of the dogs, almost anybody will steal a hound dog and brag about it afterwards."

When requested to deliver the dogs to Simpson, Alfred was dumbfounded.

He was soon on his way with the dogs. They did not have to drag the boy as on the way to the doctor's house. When they struck the old road above the tannery, Alfred gave the hounds a run, until Turner Simpson's house came into view.

Their arrival brought hounds from under the old log house, the porch and the stable. Kinky, woolly-headed, barefooted pickanninnies peeked through broken window panes and out of half-opened doors. The baying of the hounds brought old Simpson out to the road.

Alfred advised him that Dr. Playford had paid him one dollar to deliver the hounds and sent instructions that they be properly cared for.

"Oh, shucks. You jes tell Bob I allus takes good keer ob his dawgs,"

spoke the old negro in a half joking way. "An' you say to de Doctor, dat when he wants to take a pair ob houns away from yar agin he better jes tell me. I done sarch four days fuh dem houns. I neber dream de Doctor hed 'em. I nearly hed a fite wid John McCune's boys kase I cused dem ob kidnapin' de houns. Now I mus' go ober an' tell John de Doctor hed de dawgs all de time."

The six dollars were given to the mother. Lin declared Alfred the best boy in the world and one who, "ef he had the chance, could take keer of himself."

A few days later Cousin Charley brought Alfred a fine pair of white and blue pigeons in a nice little box. After talking on many subjects Charley came to the real object of his visit. He stated that he had bought the two hounds from a man whom he did not know. He paid the man the cash for the dogs. Now he had learned that the dogs had been stolen from Turner Simpson and he felt it his duty to restore them to their rightful owner.

Lin was washing dishes at the beginning of Charley's talk. She seated herself on the table--a favorite position of Lin's--and nodded approval at the end of every sentence Charley uttered. When _he_ concluded, Lin began:

"I'll be tee-to-tall-y dog-goned ef this haint the mos' curious sarc.u.mstance thet's ever k.u.m up. Now a man--and Lin emphasized each word with the laying of the forefinger of her right hand into the palm of her chubby left--stole Turner Simpson's houns. Ye say ye bought 'em--nodding at Charley--ye didn't know they wus stole. Ye gin the houns to Alfurd.

Now ye k.u.m after the dogs; ye has to gin the houns back to Turner Simpson. Ye furgit who ye got the houns from an' can't git yer money back, ye're out jus thet much. Now s'posin' Alfurd sole them air houns to Doctor Bob Playford--Charley crimsoned--an' the Doctor says 'Yere Alfurd, yers a dollar, carry the houns to Turner Simpson's' an' Alfurd 'ud do hit, then yer conscience 'ud be easy, wouldn't hit?'"

"Yes um," meekly answered Charley, "but I don't think Bob Playford wants to buy any houns, he has a plenty, 'bout twenty I reckon."

Lin smiled as she informed Cousin Charley that "he hed twenty-two by this time. An' let me tell ye sumthin' further: Ef ye're tradin' in birds or pigins or whatever ye call 'em, ye better fin' sum other feller to handle 'em kase Alfurd's got on a swappin' canter an' it'll be hard to head him." Lin laughed long and heartily. Cousin Charley mumbled something about the principle of the thing as he left the house.

It developed that Cousin Charley had been doing quite a business in hounds. The pair Alfred had, or a similar pair, had been sold to Doctor Playford, at least twice during the past six months. When Charley needed a little money, he just sold the Doctor a pair of his own hounds.

The Doctor took it all good naturedly as he remarked: "Charley has stolen more hounds for me than he has sold me, therefore, I still owe him."

The mother, when the facts came out, forthwith sent Alfred to the Doctor with the five dollars. The Doctor laughed and said: "Alfred, go home and tell Mary (his mother) that I gave you the five dollars for keeping the dogs. And say--If Charley steals them again you just grab them, come and tell me and I'll give you five dollars more."

Alfred played spy on Charley for some time but Charley seemed to have lost interest in the hound business.

After the old play-ground, Jeffries Commons was abandoned, Sammy Steele's tan-yard became the favorite practicing place of the athletically inclined boys of the town. The soft tan bark was even more suitable for tumbling, leaping and jumping than the old saw-dust ring on the commons.

The owner of the tan-yard, Sammy Steele--no one ever called him Samuel--was thought, by those who did not know him intimately, to be hard and severe. And so he was to those who fell under his displeasure.

Only a few of the boys of the town were permitted to enjoy the practicing place. Alfred was one of them. To Alfred, the dignified, hard working, honest tanner, was always kindly.

Alfred performed many errands and did many ch.o.r.es with quickness and willingness for the owner of the tan-yard. The willingness of the boy caught the fancy of the industrious man. One day he called Alfred up to his office.

The big, earnest man began by saying, (he always repeated his words)--: "Little Hatfield boy, little Hatfield boy, you are not big enough to do much work, much work, but you are willing, you are willing, to do all you can. You are here a greater part of your time, the greater part of your time. The bark is thrown down, thrown down, from the loft to the mill, to the mill, where they grind it; I say grind it, little bits of bark fly off, fly off on the ground bark. I want the ground bark kept clear of the unground, of the unground bark. You are spry, I say you are spry. It will take you but a little while morning and afternoon to clear the ground bark pile of the unground pieces, of the unground pieces. For this I will pay you twenty-five cents a day, twenty-five cents a day."

Alfred wended his way home in high glee. The prospect of earning money was pleasing to the boy. Long before the family arose in the morning he was up and waiting for his breakfast. Although it was but a few moment's walk to his place of employment, he insisted that he had best carry his noonday lunch. This the mother would not permit.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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', he couldn'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 a.s.sured 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, like Cousin 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 the _most 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?"