I SEE THE WORLD, AND SUFFER A GREAT LOSS
The strange thing to me about my fight with Ace was that nobody thought
of such a thing as punishing me for it. I was free to fight or not as I
pleased. I needed to be free more than anything else, and I wanted
plenty of good food and fresh air. All these I got, for Captain Sproule,
while stern and strict with us, enforced only those rules which were for
the good of the boat, and these seemed like perfect liberty to me--after
I whipped Ace. As for my old tyrant, he recovered his spirits very soon,
and took the place of an underling quite contentedly. I suppose he had
been used to it. I ruled in a manner much milder than his. I had never
learned to swear--or to use harder words than gosh, and blast, and dang
where the others swore the most fearful oaths as a matter of ordinary
talk. I made a rule that Ace must quit swearing; and slapped him up to a
peak a few times for not obeying--which was really a hard thing for him
to do while driving; and when he was in a quarrel I always overlooked
his cursing, because he could not fight successfully unless he had the
right to work himself up into a passion by calling names and swearing.
As for myself I walked and rode erect and felt my limbs as light as
feathers, as compared with their leaden weight when I lived at Tempe and
worked in the factory. Soon I took on my share of the fighting as a
matter of course. I did it as a rule without anger and found that beyond
a bloody nose or a scratched face, these fights did not amount to much.
I was small for my age, and like most runts I was stronger than I
looked, and gave many a driver boy a bad surprise. I never was whipped,
though I was pummeled severely at times. When the fight grew warm enough
I began to see red, and to cry like a baby, boring in and clinching in a
mad sort of way; and these young roughs knew that a boy who fought and
cried at the same time had to be killed before he would say enough. So I
never said enough; and in my second year I found I had quite a
reputation as a fighter--but I never got any joy out of it.
If I could have forgotten my wish to see my mother it would have been in
many ways a pleasant life to me. I was never tired of the new and
strange things I saw--new regions, new countries. I was amazed at the
Montezuma Marsh, with its queer trade of selling flags for chair seats
and the like--and I was almost eaten alive by the mosquitoes while
passing through it. Our boat floated along through the flags, the horses
on a tow-path just wide enough to enable the teams to pass, with bog on
one side and canal on the other, water birds whistling and calling,
frogs croaking, and water-lilies dotting every open pool. My spirits
soared as I passed spots where the view was not shut off by the reeds,
and I could look out over the great expanse of flags, just as my heart
rose when I first looked upon the Iowa prairies. The Fairport level gave
me another thrill--an embankment a hundred feet high with the canal on
the top of it, a part of a seventeen-mile level, like a river on
a hilltop.
We were a happy crew, here. Ace was quite recovered from our temporary
difference of opinion--for I was treating him better than he expected.
He used to sing merrily a song which was a real canal-chantey, one of
the several I heard, the words of which ran like this:
"Come, sailors, landsmen, one and all,
And I'll sing you the dangers of the raging canawl;
For I've been at the mercy of the winds and the waves,
And I'm one of the merry fellows what expects a
watery grave.
"We left Albiany about the break of day;
As near as I can remember, 'twas the second day of May;
We depended on our driver, though he was very small,
Although we knew the dangers of the raging canawl."
The rest of it I forget; but I remember that after Bill had sung one of
his chanties, like "Messmates hear a brother sailor sing the dangers of
the seas," or, "We sailed from the Downs and fair Plymouth town,"
telling how
"To our surprise,
The storms did arise,
Attended by winds and loud thunder;
Our mainmast being tall
Overboard she did fall,
And five of our best men fell under,"
Ace would pipe up about the dangers of the raging canal; and finally
this encouraged Paddy to fill in with some song like this:
"In Dublin City, where I was born,
On Stephen's Green, where I die forlorn;
'Twas there I learnèd the baking trade,
And 'twas there they called me the Roving Blade."
All the rest of the story was of a hanging. No wonder it was hard
sometimes for an Irishman to reverence the law. They sang of hanging and
things leading up to it from their childhood. I remember, too, how the
boys of Iowa used to sing a song celebrating the deeds of the James boys
of Missouri--and about the same time we had troubles with horse-thieves.
There is a good deal of power in songs and verses, whether there's much
truth in poetry or not.
2
I am spending too much time on this part of my life, if it were my life
only which were concerned; but the Erie Canal, and the gaps through the
Alleghany Mountains, are a part of the history of Vandemark Township.
The west was on the road, then, floating down the Ohio, wagoning or
riding on horseback through mountain passes, boating it up the
Mississippi and Missouri, sailing up the Lakes, swarming along the Erie
Canal. Not only was Iowa on the road, spending a year, two years, a
generation, two generations on the way and getting a sort of wandering
and gipsy strain in her blood, but all the West, and even a part of
Canada was moving. We once had on board from Lockport west, a party of
emigrants from England to Ontario. They had come by ship from England to
New York, by steamboat to Albany and canal to Lockport; and for some
reason had to take a deck trip from Lockport to Buffalo, paying Captain
Sproule a good price for passage. Their English dialect was so broad
that I could not understand it; and I abandoned to Ace the company of
their little girl who was one of a family of five--father, mother, and
two boys, besides the daughter. I suppose that their descendants are in
Ontario yet, or scattered out on the prairies of Western Canada. Just so
the people of the canals and roads are in Iowa, and in
Vandemark Township.
Buffalo was a marvel to me. It was the biggest town I had ever seen, and
was full of sailors, emigrants, ships, waterside characters and trade;
and I could see, feel, taste, smell, and hear the West everywhere. I was
by this time on the canal almost at my ease as a driver; but here I
flocked by myself like Cunningham's bull, instead of mingling with the
crowds of boys whom I found here passing a day or so in idleness, while
the captains and hands amused themselves as sailors do in port, and the
boats made contracts for east-bound freight, and took it on. Whenever I
could I attached myself to Captain Sproule like a lost dog, not thinking
that perhaps he would not care to be tagged around by a child like me;
and thus I saw things that should not have been seen by a boy, or by any
one else--things that I never forgot, and that afterward had an
influence on me at a critical time in my life. There were days spent in
grog-shops, there were quarrels and brawls, and some fights, drunken men
calling themselves and one another horrible names and bragging of their
vices, women and men living in a terrible imitation of pleasure. I have
often wondered as I have seen my boys brought up cleanly and taught
steady and industrious lives in a settled community, how they would look
upon the things I saw and lived through, and how well they could have
stood the things that were ready to drag me down to the worst vices and
crimes. I moved through all this in a sort of daze, as if it did not
concern me, not even thinking much less of Captain Sproule for his
doings, some of which I did not even understand: for remember I was a
very backward boy for my age. This was probably a good thing for me--a
very good thing. There are things in the Bible which children read
without knowing their meaning, and are not harmed by them. I was harmed
by what I saw in the book of life now opened to me, but not so much as
one might think.
3
One evening, in a water-front saloon, Captain Sproule and another man--a
fellow who was a shipper of freight, as I remember--spent an hour or so
with two women whose bad language and painted faces would have told
their story to any older person; but to me they were just acquaintances
of the captain, and that was all. After a while the four left the saloon
together, and I followed, as I followed the captain everywhere.
"That young one had better be sent to bed," said the captain's friend,
pointing to me.
"Better go back to the boat, Jake," said the captain, laughing in a
tipsy sort of way.
"I don't know where it is," said I; "it's been towed off somewhere."
"That's so," said the captain, "I've got to hunt it up myself--or stay
all night in a tavern. Wal, come along. I'll be going home early."
The other man gave a sort of sarcastic laugh. "Bring up your boys as you
like, Cap'n," said he. "He'll come to it anyhow in a year or so by
himself, I guess."
"I'm going home early," said the captain.
"Course you be," said the woman, seizing the captain's arm. "Come on,
Bubby!"
There were more drinks where we went, and other women like those in our
party. I could not understand why they behaved in so wild and immodest a
manner, but thought dimly that it was the liquor. In the meantime I grew
very sleepy, being worn out by a day of excitement and wonder; and
sitting down in a corner of the room, I lopped over on the soft carpet
and went to sleep. The last I heard was the sound of an accordion played
by a negro who had been invited in, and the scuff of feet as they
danced, with loud and broken speech, much of which was quite blind to
me. Anyhow, I lost myself for a long time, as I felt, when some one
shook me gently by the shoulder and woke me up. I thought I was at home,
in my attic bed, and that it was my mother awakening me to go to work in
the factory.
"Ma," I said. "Is that you, ma!"
A woman was bending over me, her breasts almost falling from the low-cut
red dress she wore. She was painted and powdered like the rest, and her
face looked drawn and pale over her scarlet gown. As I pronounced the
name I always called my mother, I seem to remember that her expression
changed from the wild and reckless look I was becoming used to, to
something like what I had always seen in my mother's eyes.
"Who you driving for, Johnny?" she asked.
"Captain Sproule," said I. "Where is he?" For on looking about I saw
that there was no one there but this woman and myself.
"He'll be back after a while," said she. "Poor young one! Come with me
and get a good sleep."
I was numb with sleep, and staggered when I stood up; and she put her
arm around me as we moved toward the door, where we were met by two
men, canallers or sailors, by their looks, who stopped her with drunken
greetings.
"Ketchin' em young, Sally," said one of them. "Wot will the world come
to, Jack, when younkers like this get a-goin'? Drop the baby, Sally, and
come along o' me!"
The woman looked at him a moment steadily.
"Let me go," said she; "I don't want anything to do with you."
"Don't, eh?" said he. "Git away, Bub, an' let your betters have way."
I clung closer to her side, and looked at him rather defiantly. He drew
back his flat hand to slap me over; but the woman pulled me behind her,
and faced him, with a drawn knife in her hand. He made as if to take it
from her; but his companion held him back.
"Do you want six inches o' cold steel in your liver?" he asked. "Let her
be. There's plenty o' others."
"My money is jest as good's any one else's," said the first. "Jest as
good's any one else's;" and began wrangling with his friend.
The woman pushed me before her and we went up-stairs to a bedroom, the
door of which she closed and locked. She said nothing about what had
taken place below, and I at once made up my mind that it had been some
sort of joke.
"You oughtn't to sleep on that floor," said she, "You'll take your death
o' cold. Lay down here, and have a good comfortable nap. I'll see that
Captain Sproule finds you."
I started to lie down in my clothes. "Take off them clothes," said she,
as if astonished. "Do you think I want my bed all dirtied up with 'em?"
And she began undressing me as if I had been a baby. She was so tender
and motherly about it that I permitted her to strip me to my shirt, and
then turned in. The bed was soft, and sleep began to come back to me. I
saw my new friend preparing for bed, and presently I awoke to find her
lying by me, and holding me in her arms: I heard her sitheing[2], and I
was sure she was crying. This woke me up, and I lay wondering if there
was anything I could do for her, but I said nothing. Pretty soon there
came a loud rap at the door, and a woman asked to be let in.
[2] The writer insists that "sitheing" is quite a different thing from
sighing, being a long-drawn, quivering sigh. In this I think he is
correct.--G.v.d.M.
"What do you want?" asked my friend, getting out of bed as if scared,
and beginning to put on her clothes, I hustled out and began dressing--a
very short job with me. In the meantime the woman at the door grew
louder and more commanding in her demand, so much so, that before she
was fully dressed, my strange friend opened the door, and there stood a
great fleshy woman, wearing a lot of jewelry; red-faced, and very angry.
I can't remember much that was said; but I remember that the fat woman
kept saying, "What do you mean? What do you mean? I want you to
understand that my guests have their rights. One man's money is as good
as another's," and the like. "Whose brat is this?" she finally asked,
pointing at me.
"He's driving for a man with money," said my friend sarcastically.
"Who you driving for, Johnny?" she asked; and I told her.
"Captain Sproule is down-stairs," said she. "He's looking for you. Go
on down! And as for you, Madam, you get out of my house, and don't come
back until you can please my visitors--you knife-drawin' hussy!"
I went down to the room where the captain had left me; and just as he
had begun making some sly blind jokes at my expense, the woman who had
befriended me came down, followed by the fat virago, cursing her and
ordering her out.
"Don't let 'em hurt her!" said I. "She's a good woman. She put me to
bed, and was good to me. Don't let 'em hurt her!"
We all went out together, the captain asking me what I meant; and then
went on walking beside the woman, whom he called Sally, and trying to
understand the case. I heard her say, "Mine would be about that size if
he had lived. I s'pose every woman must be a darned fool once in a
while!" The rest of the case I did not understand very well; but I knew
that she went to a tavern where we all spent the night, and that the
captain seemed very thoughtful when we went to bed at last--the second
time for me. When we finally pulled out of Buffalo for the East, Sally
was on the boat--not a very uncommon thing in those days; but the
captain was very good and respectful to her until we reached a little
village two or three days' journey eastward, when Sally got off the boat
after kissing me good-by and telling me to be good, and try to grow up
and be a good man; and went off on a country road as if she knew where
she was going.
"Where did Sally go?" I asked of Captain Sproule.
"Home," said he; "and may God have mercy on her soul!"
4
I looked forward more longingly than ever to the time when I should be
able to drop off the boat at Tempe, and run up to see my mother; and I
fixed it up with Captain Sproule so that when we made our return trip I
was to be allowed to stop over a day with her, and taking a fast boat
catch up with our own craft farther east. I was proud of the fact that I
had two good suits of clothes, a good hat and boots, and money in my
pocket. I expected to turn my money out on the table and leave it with
her. I thought a good deal of my meeting with John Rucker, and hoped
fervently that I should find him absent on one of his peddling trips, in
which case I meant to stay over night with my mother; and I seriously
pondered the matter as to whether or not I should fight Rucker if he
attacked me, as I expected he might; and Ace and I had many talks as to
the best way for me to fight him, if I should decide on such a course.
Ace was quite sure I could best Rucker; but I did not share this
confidence. A fight with a boy was quite a different thing from a battle
with a man, even though he might be a coward as I was sure Rucker was.
This proposed visit became the greatest thing in my life, a great
adventure, as we glided back from Buffalo, past the locks at Lockport,
where there was much fighting; past lock after lock, where the
lock-tenders tried to sell magic oils, balsams and liniments for man and
beast and once in a while did so; and to whom Ace became a customer for
hair-oil; after using which he sought the attention of girls by the
canal side, and also those who might be passengers on our boat, or
members of the emigrant families which crowded the boats going west;
past the hill at Palmyra, from which Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet,
claimed to have dug the gold plates of the Book of Mormon; past the
Fairport level and embankment; for three days floating so untroubled
along the Rochester level without a single lock; through the Montezuma
Marsh again; and then in a short time would come Tempe, and maybe my
great meeting with Rucker, my longed-for visit to my mother. And then
Captain Sproule got a contract for a cargo of salt to Buffalo, and we
turned westward again! It would be late in the fall before we returned;
but I should have more money then, and should be stronger and a
better fighter.
Canal-boating was fast becoming a routine thing with me; and I must
leave out all my adventures on that voyage to Buffalo, and back to
Tempe. I do not remember them very clearly anyhow.
One thing happened which I must describe, because it is important. We
were somewhere west of Jordan, when we met a packet boat going west. It
was filled with passengers, and drew near to us with the sound of
singing and musical instruments. It was crowded with emigrants always
hopeful and merry, bound westward. Evidently the hold had not been able
to take in all the household goods of the passengers, for there was a
deck-load of these things, covered with tarpaulins.
I was sitting on the deck of our boat, wondering when I should join the
western movement. When I got old enough, and had money enough, I was
determined to go west and seek my fortune; for I always felt that
canalling was, somehow, beneath what I wanted to do and become. The
packet swept past us, giving me a good deal the same glimpse into a
different sort of life that a deckhand on a freighter has when he gazes
at a liner ablaze with lights and echoing with music.
On the deck of the packet sat a group of people who were listening to a
tall stooped man, who seemed to be addressing them on some matter of
interest. There was something familiar in his appearance; and I kept my
eye on him as we went by.
As the boat passed swiftly astern, I saw that it was John Rucker.
He was better dressed than I had ever seen him; his beard was trimmed,
and he was the center of his group. He was talking to a hunchback--a
strange-looking person with a black beard. I wondered what had made such
a change in Rucker; but I was overjoyed at the thought that he was off
on a peddling trip, and that I should not meet him at home.
We floated along toward Tempe in a brighter world than I had known since
the time when I felt my bosom swell at the wearing of the new cap my
mother had made for me, the day when I, too young to be sad, had thrown
the clod over the stone fence as we went down to the great river to meet
John Rucker.
5
We tied up for the night some seven miles west of Tempe, but I could not
sleep. I felt that I must see my mother that night, and so I trudged
along the tow-path in the light of a young moon, which as I plodded on
threw my shadow along the road before me. I walked treading on my own
shadow, a very different boy from the one who had come over this same
route sobbing himself almost into convulsions not many months before.
I was ready to swap canal repartee with any of the canallers. It had
become my world. I felt myself a good deal of a man. I could see my
mother's astonished look as she opened the door, and heard me in the
gruffest voice I could command asking her if she could tell me where
Mrs. Rucker lived--and yet, I felt anxious. Somehow a fear that all was
not right grew in me; and when I reached the path leading up to the
house I turned pale, I feel sure, to see that there was no light.
I tapped at the door; but there was no response. I felt for the key in
the place where we used to leave it, but no key was there.
There were no curtains, and as I looked into a room with windows at the
opposite side, I saw no furniture. The house was vacant. I went to the
little leanto which was used as a summer kitchen, and tried a window
which I knew how to open. It yielded to my old trick, and I crawled in.
As I had guessed, the place was empty. I called to my mother, and was
scared, I can't tell how much, at the echo of my voice in the deserted
cabin. I ventured up the stairs, though I was mortally afraid, and found
nothing save the litter of removal. I felt about the closet in my
mother's bedroom, to find out if any of her clothes were there, half
expecting that she would be where I wanted to find her even in the
vacant house. Down in a corner I felt some small article, which I soon
found was a worn-out shoe. With this, the only thing left to remember
her by, I crawled out of the window, shut it carefully behind me--for I
had been brought up to leave things as I found them--and stood alone,
the most forlorn and deserted boy in America, as I truly believe.
The moon had gone down, and it was dark. There was frost on the dead
grass, and I went out under the old apple-tree and sat down. What should
I do? Where was my mother? She was the only one in the world whom I
cared for or who loved me. She was gone, it was night, I was alone and
hungry and cold and lost. Perhaps some of the neighbors might know where
John Rucker had taken my mother--this thought came to me only after I
had sat there until every house was dark. The people had all gone to
bed. I tried to think of some neighbor to whom my mother might have told
her destination when she moved; but I could recall none of that sort.
She had been too unhappy, here in Tempe, to make friends. So I sat there
shivering until morning, unwilling to go away, altogether bewildered,
quite at my wits' end, steeped in despair. The world seemed too hard and
tough for me.
In the morning I asked at every house if the people knew Mrs. Rucker,
and where she had gone, but got no help. One woman knew her, and had
employed her as a seamstress; but had found the house vacant the last
time she had sent her work.
"Is she a relative of yours?" she asked.
"She is my--" I remember I stopped here and looked away a long time
before I could finish the reply, "She is my mother."
"And where were you, my poor boy," said she, "when she moved?"
"I was away at work," I replied.
"Well," said she, "she left word for you somewhere, you may be sure of
that. Where did you stay last night?"
"I sat under a tree," said I, "in the yard--up where we used to live."
"And where did you get breakfast?" she asked.
"I wasn't hungry," I answered. "I've been hunting for my mother since
daylight."
"You poor child!" said she. "Come right into the kitchen and I'll get
you some breakfast. Come in, and we'll find out how you can find
your mother!"
While she got me the breakfast which I needed as badly as any meal I
ever ate, she questioned me as to relatives, friends, habits, and
everything which a good detective would want to know in forming a theory
as to how a clue might be obtained. She suggested that I find every man
in the village who had a team and did hauling, and ask each one if he
had moved Mr. Rucker's family.
"Why didn't she write to you?" she finally queried.
"She didn't know where I was," I replied.
"Did she ever leave word for you anywhere," asked the woman, "before you
ran away?"
"We had a place we called our post-office," I answered. "An old hollow
apple-tree. We used to leave letters for each other in that. It is the
tree I sat under all night."
"Look there," said the woman. "You'll find her! She wouldn't have gone
without leaving a trace."
Without stopping to thank her for her breakfast and her sympathy, I ran
at the top of my speed for the old apple-tree. I felt in the hollow--it
seemed to be filled with nothing but leaves. Just as I was giving up, I
touched something stiffer than an autumn leaf, and pulling it out found
a letter, all discolored by wet and mold, but addressed to me in my
mother's handwriting. I tore it open and read:
"My poor, wandering boy: We are going away--I don't know where. This
only I know, we are going west to settle somewhere up the Lakes. The
lawsuit is ended, and we got the money your father left me, and are
going west to get a new and better start in the world. If you will write
me at the post-office in Buffalo, I will inquire there for mail. I
wonder if you will ever get this! I wonder if I shall ever see you
again! I shall find some way to send word to you. Mr. Rucker says he
knows the captain of the boat you work on, and can get his address for
me in Syracuse--then I will write you. I am going very far away, and if
you ever see this, and never see me again, keep it always, and whenever
you see it remember that I would always have died willingly for you, and
that I am going to build up for you a fortune which will give you a
better life than I have lived. Be a good boy always. Oh, I don't want to
go, but I have to!"
It was not signed. I read it slowly, because I was not very good at
reading, and turned my eyes west--where my mother had gone. I had lost
her! How could any one be found who had disappeared into that region
which swallowed up thousands every month? I had no clue. I did not
believe that Rucker would try to help her find me. She had been kidnaped
away from me. I threw myself down on the dead grass, and found the
worn-out shoe I had picked up in the closet. It had every curve of her
foot--that foot which had taken so many weary steps for me. I put my
forehead down upon it, and lay there a long time--so long that when I
roused myself and went down to the canal, I had not sat on my old stump
a minute when I saw Captain Sproule's boat approaching from the west.
With a heavy heart I stepped aboard, carrying the worn-out shoe and the
letter, which I have yet. The boat was the only home left me. It had
become my world.