BIG KENNEDY'S success at the election served to tighten the rivets of
his rule. It was now I looked to see him ferret forth and punish those
renegades who had wrought against him in the dark. To my amazement he
engaged himself in no such retaliatory labor. On the contrary he smiled
on all about him like the sun at noon. Was it folly or want of heart
that tied his hands? Assuredly it was error, and this I submitted to Old
Mike. That veteran of policy disagreed with this, meanwhile beaming upon
me in a way of fatherly cunning.
“Jawn knows his business,” said Old Mike. “Thim people didn't rebel,
they sold out. That's over with an' gone by. Everybody'll sell ye out
if he gets enough; that's a rishk ye have to take. There's that Limerick
man, Gaffney, however; ye'll see something happen to Gaffney. He's one
of thim patent-leather Micks an' puts on airs. He's schemin' to tur-rn
Jawn down an' take th' wa-ard. Ye'll see something happen to that
Limerick man, Gaffney.”
Gaffney made his money with flour and horse feed and hay and similar
goods. Also, as Old Mike said, Gaffney was ambitious. It was within the
week, when a midnight shower of stones smashed sash and glass and laid
waste that offensive merchant's place of business. Gaffney restored his
sash and glass only to invite a second midnight storm of stones. Three
times were Gaffney's windows smashed by hands unknown; and no police
officer would go within two blocks of Gaffney's. In the end, Gaffney
came to Big Kennedy. The latter met him with a hectoring laugh.
“Why do you come to me?” asked Big Kennedy. “Somebody's been trying to
smash the windows of my leadership for over a year, but I never went
howling about it to you.”
Gaffney showed not a little shaken. He asked, in a manner sullen yet
beaten, what he should do.
“I'd get out of th' ward,” replied Big Kennedy as cool as ice.
“Somebody's got it in for you. Now a man that'll throw a brick will
light a match, d'ye see, an' a feed store would burn like a tar barrel.”
“If I could sell out, I'd quit,” said Gaffney.
“Well,” responded Big Kennedy, “I always like to help a friend.”
Grocer Fogel bought Gaffney's store, making a bargain.
This iron-bound lesson in practical politics I dwell on in full. I drew
from it some notion of the stern character of that science. Old Mike,
from the pinnacles of his hard experience, looked down to justify it.
“Gaffney would do th' same,” said Old Mike, “if his ar-rm was long
enough. Politics is a game where losers lose all; it's like war, shure,
only no one's kilt--at any rate, not so many.”
As the days drew on, I grew in favor with Big Kennedy, and the blossom
thereof took this color.
“Why don't you start a club?” he asked one afternoon, as we sat in his
sanctum. “You could bring two hundred young fellows together, couldn't
you?”
“Yes,” I replied. I spoke doubtfully; the suggestion was of the
sharpest, and gave me no space to think. It was one, too, which asked
questions of the kind that don't answer themselves. “But where would
they meet?” I put this after a pause.
“There's the big lodgeroom over my saloon,” and Big Kennedy tossed his
stubby thumb towards the ceiling. “You could meet there. There's a dumb
waiter from the bar to send up beer and smokes.”
“How about the Tin Whistles?” I hinted. “Would they do to build on?”
“Leave the Tin Whistles out. They're all right as shoulder-hitters,
an' a swifter gang to help at the polls, or break up the opposition's
meetin's, never walked the streets. But for a play of this kind, they're
a little off color. Your Tin Whistles can join, man by man, but if they
do they must sing low. They mustn't try to give the show; it's the
back seat for them. What you're out for now is the respectable young
workin'-man racket; that's the lay.”
“But where's the money?” said I. “These people I have in mind haven't
much money.”
“Of course not,” retorted Big Kennedy confidently, “an' what little they
have they want for beer. But listen: You get the room free. Then once
a year your club gives an excursion on the river; it ought to sell
hundreds of tickets because there'll be hundreds of officeholders, an'
breweries, an' saloon keepers, an' that sort who'll be crazy to buy'em.
If they aint crazy to start with, you ought to be able to make'em crazy
th' first election that comes 'round. The excursion should bring three
thousand dollars over an' above expenses, d'ye see. Then you can give
balls in the winter an' sell tickets. Then there's subscriptions an'
hon'ry memberships. You'll ketch on; there's lots of ways to skin th'
cat. You can keep th' club in clover an' have some of the long green
left. That's settled then; you organize a young men's club. You be
president an' treasurer; see to that. An' now,” here Big Kennedy took me
by the shoulder and looked me instructively in the eye, “it's time for
you to be clinchin' onto some stuff for yourself. This club's goin' to
take a lot of your time. It'll make you do plenty of work. You're
no treetoad; you can't live on air an' scenery.” Big Kennedy's look
deepened, and he shook me as one who demands attention. “You'll be
president and treasurer, particularly treasurer; and I'll chip you in
this piece of advice. A good cook always licks his fingers.” Here he
winked deeply.
This long speech was not thrown away. Big Kennedy, having delivered
himself, lapsed into silence, while I sat ruminating ways and means and
what initiatory steps I should take.
“What shall we call it?” I asked, as I arose to go.
“Give it an Indian name,” said Big Kennedy. “S'p-pose you call it the
Red Jacket Association.”
Within the fortnight the Red Jackets held their maiden meeting. It was
an hour rife of jubilation, fellowship, and cheer. While abstinence from
drink was my guiding phrase, I made no point of that kind in the conduct
of others, and a nearby brewery having contributed unlimited beer those
whom it pleased lacked no reason for a light heart.
As Big Kennedy had advised, I was chosen for the double responsibilities
of president and treasurer. I may say in my own compliment, however,
that these honors came drifting to my feet. There were reasons for this
aside from any stiffness of heart or fist-virtues which might be mine.
I have said that I was by disposition as taciturn as a tree, and this
wondrous gift of silence earned me the name of wisdom, I was looked
upon as one whose depth was rival to the ocean's. Stronger still, as
the argument by which I rose, was my sobriety. The man who drinks, and
whether it be little or much, never fails to save his great respect for
him who sets whisky aside.
“An' now,” remarked Big Kennedy, when the club had found fortunate
birth, “with these Red Jackets to make the decent front, th' Tin
Whistles to fall back on for the rough work, and Gaffney out of th' way,
I call th' ward cleaned up. I'll tell you this, my son: after th' next
election you shall have an office, or there's no such man as Big John
Kennedy.” He smote the table with his heavy hand until the glasses
danced.
“But I won't be of age,” I suggested.
“What's the difference?” said Big Kennedy. “We'll play that you are,
d'ye see. There'll be no one fool enough to talk about your age if I'm
at your side. We'll make it a place in the dock department; that'll be
about your size. S'ppose we say a perch where there's twelve hundred
dollars a year, an' nothin' to do but draw th' scads an' help your
friends.”
Jimmy the Blacksmith was an under-captain of Big Kennedy's and prevailed
as vote-master in the northern end of the ward. Within certain fixed
frontiers, which ran on one side within a block of my home, it was the
business of Jimmy the Blacksmith to have watch and ward. He had charge
of what meetings were held, and under the thumb of Big Kennedy carried
forward the campaign, and on election day got out the vote.
Having given the question its share of thought, I determined for myself
on a forward, upward step. My determination--heart and soul--became
agate-hard to drive Jimmy the Blacksmith from his place, and set up my
own rule over that slender kingdom.
Nor would I say aught to Big Kennedy of this private war which I
meditated. Not that he would have interfered either to thwart or aid me,
but by the ethics of the situation, to give him such notice was neither
proper nor expected. To fight Jimmy the Blacksmith for his crown was
not only right by every rule of ward justice, but it was the thing
encouraged as a plan best likely to bring the strongest to the fore.
Take what you may, keep what you can! was a Tammany statute; I would be
right enough in that overthrow of Jimmy the Blacksmith, I was bent upon,
if only I proved strong enough to bring it about. No, I was not to give
word of my campaign to Big Kennedy, it was none of his affair, and he
would prefer to be ignorant since he was bound to stand neutral. It is
policy thus to let the younger cocks try beak and spur among themselves;
it develops leadership, and is the one sure way of safety in picking out
your captains.
There was one drawback; I didn't live within the region of which I would
make prize. However, ambition edged my wits and I bethought me of a plan
whereby I might plow around that stump.
It was my own good fortune that I had no love, but only hate, for Jimmy
the Blacksmith. I was yet so softened of a want of years, that had we
been friends I would have withheld myself from attacking him. Youth is
generous, wherefore youth is weak. It is not until age has stopped these
leaks in one's nature, and one ceases to give and only lives to take and
keep, that one's estate begins to take on fat. Have the word, therefore,
of him whose scars speak for his experience: that one will be wise who
regards generosity as a malady, a mere disease, and sets to cure it with
every sullen, cruel drug the case demands. I say it was my good luck to
hate Jimmy the Blacksmith. He had never condoned that election-day blow,
and I must confess there was reason for this hardness. His jaw had been
broken, and, though mended, it was still all of one side and made of him
a most forbidding spectacle. And he nursed a thought of revenge in his
breast; there came a light to his eye when we met that belongs with none
save him whose merest wish is murder. I would have had more than black
looks, but his heart was of a pale and treacherous family that can
strike no blow in front, and thus far the pathway of chance had not
opened for him to come upon me unaware. For all of which, not alone my
ambition, but my safety and my pleasure urged me about the destruction
of Jimmy the Blacksmith.
That epithet of the Blacksmith was born of no labors of the forge. Jimmy
the Blacksmith was no more a blacksmith than a bishop. If he ever did
a day's work, then the fact was already so far astern upon the tides
of time that no eye of memory might discern it. The title was won in a
brawl wherein he slew a man. True to his nature, Jimmy slunk away
from his adversary and would not face him. He returned, carrying a
blacksmith's fore-hammer. Creeping behind the other, Jimmy suddenly
cried, with an oath:
“I'll clink your anvil for you!”
With that word, the hammer descended and the victim fell, skull crushed
like an eggshell. It required a deal of perjury to save the murderer
from noose and trap. I should not say he was set backward by this
bloodshed, since most men feared him for it and stepped out of his way,
giving him what he asked for in the name of their own safety. It was
for this work he was called the Blacksmith, and he carried the word as
though it were a decoration.
Such was the man on whose downfall I stood resolved and whose place I
meant to make my own. The thing was simple of performance too; all it
asked were secrecy and a little wit. There was a Tammany club, one of
regular sort and not like my Red Jacket Association, which was volunteer
in its character. It met in that kingdom of the Blacksmith's as a little
parliament of politics. This club was privileged each year to name for
Big Kennedy's approval a man for that post of undercaptain. The annual
selection was at hand. For four years the club had named Jimmy the
Blacksmith; there came never the hint for believing he would not be
pitched upon again.
Now be it known that scores of my Red Jackets were residents of the
district over which Jimmy the Blacksmith held sway. Some there were who
already belonged to his club. I gave those others word to join at once.
Also I told them, as they regarded their standing as Red Jackets, to be
present at that annual meeting.
The night arrived; the room was small and the attendance--except for my
Red Jackets--being sparse, my people counted for three-quarters of those
present. With the earliest move I took possession of the meeting, and
selected its chairman. Then, by resolution, I added the block in which
I resided to the public domain of the club. That question of residence
replied to, instead of Jimmy the Blacksmith, I was named ballot-captain
for the year. It was no more complex as a transaction than counting ten.
The fact was accomplished like scratching a match; I had set the foot of
my climbing on Jimmy the Blacksmith's neck.
That unworthy was present; and to say he was made mad with the fury of
it would be to write with snow the color of his feelings.
“It's a steal!” he cried, springing to his feet. The little bandbox of
a hall rang with his roarings. Then, to me: “I'll fight you for it! You
don't dare meet me in the Peach Orchard to-morrow at three!”
“Bring your sledge, Jimmy,” shouted some humorist; “you'll need it.”
The Peach Orchard might have been a peach orchard in the days of
Peter Stuyvesant. All formal battles took place in the Peach Orchard.
Wherefore, and because the challenge for its propriety was not without
precedent, to the Peach Orchard at the hour named I repaired.
Jimmy the Blacksmith, however, came not. Someone brought the word
that he was sick; whereat those present, being fifty gentlemen with a
curiosity to look on carnage, and ones whose own robust health led them
to regard the term “sickness” as a synonym for the preposterous, jeered
the name of Jimmy the Blacksmith from their hearts.
“Jimmy the Cur! it ought to be,” growled one, whose disappointment over
a fight deferred was sore in the extreme.
Perhaps you will argue that it smacked of the underhand to thus steal
upon Jimmy the Blacksmith and take his place from him without due
warning given. I confess it would have been more like chivalry if I had
sent him, so to say, a glove and told my intentions against him. Also
it would have augmented labor and multiplied risk. The great thing is
to win and win cheaply; a victory that costs more than it comes to is
nothing but a mask for defeat.
“You're down and out,” said Big Kennedy, when Jimmy the Blacksmith
brought his injuries to that chieftain. “Your reputation is gone too;
you were a fool to say 'Peach Orchard' when you lacked the nerve to make
it good. You'll never hold up your head ag'in in th' ward, an' if I was
you I'd line out after Gaffney. This is a bad ward for a mongrel, Jimmy,
an' I'd skin out.”
Jimmy the Blacksmith followed Gaffney and disappeared from the country
of Big Kennedy. He was to occur again in my career, however, as he who
reads on shall see, and under conditions which struck the color from
my cheek and set my heart to a trot with the terrors they loosed at its
heels.