DIFFICULTY WITH THE OWNER OF PITTSBURG.
I ARRIVED in the “Iron City,” one morning, and having registered my name
at an hotel on Grant street, I went down to the “Diamond,” to see a
friend of mine in a wholesale grocery there. Having had a talk with him
and promised to call again before leaving the city, I bade him good
morning; and, in a quiet, modest, unassuming manner, took my way up
Diamond alley, toward Grant street, intending to return to my hotel. As
I crossed Wood street, I observed a considerable crowd collected about
the corner of that street and Diamond alley, and discovered that there
was a fire in the vicinity, and that the house and goods of Openheimer &
Co., were feeding the flames. A steamer was puffing away as usual, to
try which could damage and destroy the most goods, water or fire. [This
is a question which has never been satisfactorily decided.]
Feeling no curiosity to see the fire, I crossed Wood street, passed
through the crowd, and continued up Diamond alley. I had not walked far,
and was about clear of the crowd, when an insolent voice called out near
me:
“Get out of the way, you! Do you hear? I’m Chief of Police, and am here
to keep the crowd away!” And immediately, before I had time to look up,
a hand was laid violently on my shoulder, and I was nearly snatched from
my foot.
Now, fancying that I was a “free white male” citizen of the United
States, “of the age of twenty-one years and upwards,” I was quite
otherwise than delighted with this extraordinary treatment at the hands
of the arrogant chief of villains; and turning upon him, and verbally
apprising him of the fact that he was a “scoundrel,” I was about to
“belt” him “over the ear” with my cane, when a quiet gentleman of
prepossessing appearance, walked up to me, restrained me in a friendly
manner, and said:
“Come, my friend, I will see you righted for this. He has treated you
shamefully. I suppose you have been a soldier; I have, too. I am General
P * * * * * *, I am also a lawyer. Come with me.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“It was an unprovoked assault,” he pursued, as we walked up Diamond
alley. “That man is Bob. H * * * *, Chief of the Police. He is a coarse,
ignorant, insolent, overbearing man. He insults every one that comes in
his way, if he happens to be a little out of humor. You do not live
here?”
“No, I live in Philadelphia. I thank you for your kindness. If you will
tell me where to find an alderman, I will have this fellow’s case
attended to.”
“Go to Alderman B * * * * *,” said he; and he directed me where to find
it. “I will be a witness, if necessary. Prefer a charge of assault and
battery against Robert H * * * *, Chief of Police, and you will find Mr.
B * * * * * a man who will do you justice.”
“Thank you; I will go at once.”
And I went to the office of Alderman B * * * * *, who did not chance to
be any bosom friend of the Chief.
“Alderman,” said I, “my name is John Smith, and I reside in
Philadelphia. I come before you to prefer against one Robert
H * * * *,—a fellow calling himself Chief of Police—a charge of assault
and battery.”
“What! Not assault and battery on you—a cripple!”
“Yes, sir, sad as the case is, it is true. I charge him with assault and
battery. Please take my deposition. I have other witnesses. General
P * * * * * * is one of them. He saw it.”
“Ah! He was present?”
“Yes, sir.”
I was then sworn to tell “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth;” and I then made my statement—“in accordance with the
_facts_.”
“Come to-morrow afternoon at four o’clock,” said the Alderman. “I will
have him here to answer at that time.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Next day I was at the Alderman’s “on time.” I had not been there long
before Robert H * * * * stepped in. The Alderman had just finished
making out a commitment for a lady, who had struck another in the face
eight times with a broomstick for doubting her word, and saying so,
pointedly; and he was now ready to attend to our case.
“Alderman,” said Chief Robert, with his usual arrogant air, “I want to
get this trifling affair delayed for a week, as all my witnesses are out
of town. I can’t attend to it before next Friday. That will be just a
week from to-day.”
“Alderman,” I put in, rising from my chair, “I respectfully object to
any such delay. I am traveling, and it is not consistent with my
interests to remain in the city beyond a day or two: and the _prisoner_
knows it.”
On my styling the defendant the _prisoner_, he scowled on me like a very
demon, and I felt that it wouldn’t have been pleasant to have had my
life in his exclusive keeping, just then.
“Alderman,” he said, fairly choking with malignant anger, “it will be
impossible to get my witnesses soon, and you must give me a show.”
“It is singular,” I urged, addressing the Alderman, “that I, who am a
comparative stranger here, can find and produce my witnesses so much
sooner than the defendant, who is an official here, and ought to be well
acquainted. I most earnestly object to any such delay, as it would be
scarcely just to detain me here, on expense, especially when business
calls me away soon.”
“Probably,” insinuated the Chief, “the gentleman’s _business_ is not so
urgent—if he _is_ a gentleman.”
“Mr. H * * * *,” said the Alderman, who was too honest to allow any one
to be insulted in his office, “the plaintiff _appears_ to be a
gentleman. However, it is not to be discussed here whether he is or not.
That is not to the point.”
“Mr. Alderman,” I remarked, calmly, “if our respective behavior here
were taken as evidence, I think I could be proved quite as much of a
gentleman as the defendant.”
“We’ll see about that by the time I get my witnesses,” said Chief
Robert. “_I’ve_ been keeping an eye on him since he came to the city,
_I_ know——”
“Mr. H * * * *,” interrupted the Alderman, “I cannot, and _will not_,
allow any such talk in my office! For you, Chief of Police, to speak
thus, is to insinuate that Mr. Smith is a suspicious character. There is
nothing in his appearance to warrant such an insinuation. But let me not
talk of that. Let us proceed with the case. This is Friday: I will
postpone the hearing only till Monday. I think that will be dealing
fairly by both.”
“It will be no such thing!” vociferated the irate official. “You are not
giving me a fair show! You are showing partiality toward——”
“Mr. H * * * *!” interrupted the Alderman, peremptorily; “not another
such word in my office! I shall——”
“But I’ll be——”
“Do you hear? Not another word! I shall send the case right down to
court! You must go there and answer to the charge.”
“Send it! and be——”
Boiling over with rage, the Chief had seized his hat, bolted from the
office, banged the door after him, and thus prevented me from hearing
the conclusion of his invective.
“The case will be tried in court,” said the Alderman, to me. “Be at the
court-house on Monday, and give your evidence before the Grand Jury. By
Tuesday, then, it may be tried.”
“I will; thank you.”
Monday came, and I gave my evidence before the Grand Jury, making the
case against H * * * * as strong as I could, without swerving from “the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth: s’help—” _etc._
A “bill” was “found” against him, in the brief space of sixty seconds;
and early next morning the case came up before the “Criminal Court.” It
was such a plain case against the poor cuss, that his counsel advised
him to plead guilty; which he did. He was then severely reprimanded by
the Judge, in a long speech, in which he urged upon him the importance
of being careful about laying hands on an inoffensive person, without a
warrant, and mildly sentenced him to pay a fine of twenty-five dollars,
and the costs; making in all, the handsome little sum of seventy-three
dollars and eighty-two cents: and what was still more aggravating and
humiliating to the dread (?) Chief, he was immediately taken into
custody, by two tipstaves, and escorted into the sheriff’s office, where
he had to pay the fine and costs, “on sight.”
The affair cost me nothing. In fact, I gained by it; for I was about
that time commencing to write a work of fiction, (since published), and
I had been for several days at a loss for some one to represent the
villainous character. This let me out, nicely. I named my “villain”
Robert H * * * *, gave an exact description of him, went on swimmingly
with my novel, and, at the conclusion, brought him to a terrible and
tragic death.[2]
Footnote 2:
THE WHITE ROCKS; Or, the Robbers of the Monongahela. A thrilling story
of Outlaw Life in Western Pennsylvania. By A. F. Hill, author of “OUR
BOYS,” etc., etc. 12mo. Cloth, price $1.75.