Eugene Field, a Study in Heredity and Contradictions Volume I Part 9

Then he retired in hilarious satisfaction from the scene of devastation he had made. Consternation reigned in that office until Field returned, when he quickly dispelled the gloom with a promise of revenge, and set the staff at work to patch up the ruin the envious Wickersham had made. But they were not permitted to do this in peace, for their enemy, returning in the dark of night, bombarded the windows of the editorial rooms with the staves of old ash-barrels he had found conveniently by.

While Wickersham was engaged in this second a.s.sault, with windows smas.h.i.+ng to right of them and to left of them, with gla.s.s falling all around them, and the staves of old ash-barrels playing a devil's tattoo about them, the devoted band of editors, reporters, and copy-readers worked n.o.bly on. They had confidence in their leader that their hour would come. Their first duty was to get out the paper. After that they looked for the deluge.

When Wickersham had expended his last stave and fiercest epithet on the shattered windows he retired in bad order to his apartments at the St. James Hotel.

Now began Field's revenge, planned with due deliberation and executed with malicious thoroughness. He first sent for "'Possum Jim," an aged and very serious colored man, who wors.h.i.+pped "Mistah Fiel'" because of the sympathy Eugene never withheld from the dark-skinned children of the race. "'Possum Jim" spent most of his existence on the same street corner, waiting for a job, which invariably had to come to him. His outfit consisted of an express wagon strung together with telegraph wire, and a nondescript four-footed creature that once bore the similitude of a horse. Whenever Field had an odd job to be done about his household he would go out of his way to let "old 'Possum Jim" earn the quarter-partly to do an act of kindness to "Jim," but chiefly to tease Mrs. Field by the appearance of the broken-down equipage lingering in front of their dwelling.

Just before the Tribune went to press, a sergeant of police called on Field in response to a summons by telephone. After a whispered conference he left, with a broad smile struggling under his curling mustache. In company with a number of his staff Field next made the round of the all-night haunts and gathered to his aid as fine a collection of bohemian "thoroughbreds" as ever made the revels of Mardi Gras look like a Sunday-school convention. He installed them at the resort of a Kentucky gentleman named Jones, opposite the St. James. As one who was there reports, "The amber milk of the Blue-gra.s.s cow flowed in plenty." Bidding his a.s.sociates await his return, Field, armed with a single bottle, crossed the street to the hotel in search of the enemy.

For half, an hour they waited, in growing fear that Wickersham had retired for the night, with orders the night clerk dared not disobey, that he was not to be disturbed, even if the hotel was on fire. Just as expectation had grown heavy-eyed, Field appeared crossing the street with Wickersham on his arm, very happy, more of a good fellow than ever and more than ever ready for red-eyed anarchy of any sort.

"After a swift hour"-I quote from one who was there and whose account tallies with Field's own-"and as the morning opened out Field insisted on breaking for sunlight and fresh air. Wickersham was always a leader, even in the matter of making a noise. He sang; everyone else applauded. He shrieked and shouted; all approved. Windows went up across the way in the hotel, and night-capped heads protruded to investigate. The frantic din of the electric-bells could be heard. The clerk appeared to protest." What attention might have been paid to his protest will never be known, for just then "'Possum Jim's" gothic steed and rattletrap cart rounded the corner.

"I say, old man," shouted Field, "we want your rig for an hour; what's it worth?"

Jim played his part slyly, and the bargain was finally struck for $2.50, the owner to present no claim for possible damages. Wickersham was so delighted with the shrewdness of the deal that he insisted on paying the bill. The horse, which could scarcely stand on his four corners, was quickly unharnessed and hitched to a telegraph pole, and before he realized what the madcaps were about, Wickersham was himself harnessed into the shafts. The novelty of his position suited his mood. He pranced and snorted, and pawed the ground and whinnied, and played horse in fine fettle until the word go. Field, with a companion beside him, held the reins and cracked the whip. The others helped the thoroughbred in harness the best they could by pus.h.i.+ng.

In this manner, and all yelling like Comanche Indians, twice they made the circuit of the block. All the guests in front of the big hotel were leaning out of the windows, when the police sergeant popped in sight with a squad of four men. Field, who had been duly apprised of their approach, gave the signal, and the crowd, making good their retreat to Jones's, abandoned Wickersham to his fate. He was quickly, but roughly, disentangled from the intricacies of "'Possum Jim's" rope-yarn harness. The more he protested and expostulated, the more inexorable became the five big custodians of the outraged peace, until the last word of remonstrance and explanation died upon his well-nigh breathless lips. Then he tried cajoling and "connudling" and those silent, persuasive arts so often efficacious in legislative lobbies; but there were too many witnesses to his crime, and bribes were not in order.

When at last Wickersham, from sheer despair and physical exhaustion, sank limp in the arms of his captors, the sergeant, on the pretext of seeking the aiders and abettors in the riot, half carried, half led the prisoner into Jones's resort.

A quarter of an hour later the police squad made its exit by the back door, and less than an hour afterward Wickersham's special was bearing him southward toward Texas.

But Field's revenge was not fully sated yet. He caused a $2 Pullman rate-bill, making a sixty per cent. reduction, to be prepared in the Tribune office, and secured its introduction in the legislature by the chairman of the House committee on railways. The news was immediately flashed East, and Wickersham came posting back to Denver with the worst case of monopoly fright he had ever experienced. The day after his arrival the Tribune had something to say in every department of his nefarious mission, and every reference to him bristled with biting irony and downright accusation. Never was a "good fellow and a thoroughbred" so mercilessly scarified.

For the remaining six weeks of the session Wickersham did not leave Denver, nor did he dare look at the Tribune until after breakfast. Every member of the legislature received a Pullman annual. Champagne flowed, not by the bottle, but by the dray-load. Wickersham begged for quarter, but his appeals fell like music on ears that heard but heeded not. Nor did he find out that the whole affair was a put-up job until the bill was finally lost in the Senate committee.

One of the familiar stories of Field's rollicking life in Denver was at the expense of Oscar Wilde, then on his widely advertised visit to America. As the reader may remember, this was when the aesthetic craze and the burlesques inseparable from it were at their height. Antic.i.p.ating Wilde's appearance in Denver by one day, and making shrewdly worded announcements through the Tribune in keeping with his project, Field secured the finest landau in town and was driven through the streets in a caricature verisimilitude of the poet of the sunflower and the flowing hair.

The impersonation of Wilde a la Bunthorne in Gilbert and Sullivan's opera, "Patience," was well calculated to deceive all who were not in the secret. Field's talent as a farceur and a mimic enabled him to a.s.sume and carry out the expression of bored listlessness which was the popular idea of the leader of aesthetes. n.o.body in the curious, whooping, yelling crowd a.s.sembled along the well-advertised route suspected the delusion, and after an hour's parade Field succeeded in making his exit from public gaze without betraying his ident.i.ty.

When Wilde turned up the next day he was not a little mystified to learn that he had created a sensation driving around Denver in the raiments of Bunthorne, while in reality travelling over the prairie in a palace-car. It was Field himself who relieved his curiosity with a highly amusing narrative of the experience of the joker lounging in the seat of honor in the landau.

Wilde, it is related, saw nothing funny in the affair, nor was he provoked at it. His only comment was, "What a splendid advertis.e.m.e.nt for my lecture."

It was while in Denver that Field had numerous and flattering offers to leave journalism for the stage, and more than once he was sorely tempted to make the experiment. In the natural qualifications for the theatrical profession he was most richly endowed. In the arts of mimicry he had no superior. He had the adaptable face of a comedian, was a matchless raconteur, and a fine vocalist. At a banquet or in a parlor he was an entertainer of truly fascinating parts. During his life in St. Louis and Kansas City his inclination had led him to seek the society of the green-room, and in Denver his position enlarged the circle of his acquaintance with the theatrical profession, until it embraced almost every prominent actor and actress in America, and was subsequently extended to include the more celebrated artists of England. Among his favorites was Madame Bernhardt, whose several visits to the United States afforded him an opportunity for some of the most entertaining sketches that ever delighted his Chicago readers. None of these contained more pith in little than that brief paragraph with which he opened his column one day, to the effect that "An empty cab drove up to the stage-door of the Columbia Theatre last night, from which Madame Bernhardt alighted."

Among the celebrities who visited Denver while Field was in what he would have called his perihelion was Miss Kate Field, with whose name he took all the liberties of a brother, although there was no blood relations.h.i.+p between them thicker than the leaves of a genealogical compendium. He took especial pains to circulate the report through all the West that Miss Field had brought a sitz-bath with her to alleviate the dust and hards.h.i.+ps of travel in the "Woolly West," where, as he represented, she thought running water was a luxury and stationary bath-tubs were unknown. But he atoned for this by one of the daintiest pleasantries that ever occurred to his playful mind. When Miss Field was preparing for her lecture tour in Mormon land she started an inquisitive correspondence with her namesake, whose Tribune Primer was then spreading his fame through the exchanges. The two soon discovered that they were cousins, no matter how many times removed, but near enough to inspire Field to entrust a letter to Uncle Sam's mail addressed thus:

A maiden fair of untold age Seeks to adorn our Western stage; How foolish of her, yet how nice To write me, asking my advice!

New York's the city where you'll find This prodigy of female kind; Hotel Victoria's the place Where you'll see her smiling face.

I pray thee, postman, bear away This missive to her, sans delay.

These lines enclosed are writ by me- A Field am I, a Field is she.

Two very fertile fields I ween, In constant bloom, yet never green, She is my cousin; happy fate That gave me such a Cousin Kate.

From Denver to New York this pretty conceit carried the epistle just as safely and directly as if it had borne the most prosaic superscription the postal authorities could exact, and I venture to say that it was handled with a smiling solicitude never bestowed on the humdrum epistles that travel neither faster nor surer for being marked "important and immediate." This was before Field had formed the habit of illuminating everything he wrote with colored inks, or the missive to his Cousin Kate would have expressed his variegated fancies in all the colors of the rainbow, especially red.

In a short sketch, ent.i.tled "Eugene Field in Denver," Wolfe Londoner speaks of his friend as a "bright ray of laughing suns.h.i.+ne across this shadowy vale, a mine of sentiment and charity, an avalanche of fun and happiness," but one who "never in all the run of his merry, joyous career was known to wake up with a cent." Why?

Here is the explanation given by Mr. Londoner, who was familiar with every phase of Eugene Field's life in Denver:

"The course of one short day was ever long enough to drain his open purse, and his boon companions were as welcome to its contents, while it could stand the strain, as its careless, happy owner. The bright side of life attracted his laughing fancy, and with stern and unalterable determination he studiously avoided all seriousness and shadow. There was no room in his happy composition for aught of sorrow or sadness, and a quick and merry wit always extricated him from every embarra.s.sing position or perplexing dilemma."

Mr. Londoner rightly says that an inert Eugene Field was an impossibility, and at that time he was only supremely happy when busily engaged in playing some practical joke on his ever-suspecting but never sufficiently wary friends. Of course Mr. Londoner himself was victimized, and more than once. During one campaign, as chairman of the Republican County Central Committee, Mr. Londoner was delegated to work up enthusiasm among the colored voters of Denver, and in an unguarded moment he took Field into his confidence and boasted of his flattering progress. The next morning the following advertis.e.m.e.nt, displayed with all the prominence of glaring scare-heads, appeared:

WANTED!!

EVERY COLORED MAN IN THE CITY.

To call at Wolfe Londoner's Store.

A Car load of Georgia Watermelons Just received For a special distribution Among his Colored Friends.

Call Early and get Your Melon!!!

It is needless to say that when Mr. Londoner's store opened in the morning an ever-increasing cloud of dusky humanity, with teeth that glistened with the juice of antic.i.p.ation, gathered about the entrance. Business in the store was at a standstill and travel on the street was blocked. No explanation could appease the rising anger of that dark mult.i.tude. It was melons, or a riot. Melons, or that unheard-of thing-a colored landslide to the democracy. Mr. Londoner was at his wits' ends. There were no melons in the market, and none expected. Just as Londoner was preparing to abandon his store to the wrath of the justly incensed melon-maniacs, a car-load of magnificent melons dropped into one of the freight sidings, and Londoner and the Republican party were saved. n.o.body ever knew how or whence that pink-hearted manna came. The price was exorbitant, but that did not matter. Londoner paid it with the air of a man who had ordered melons and was indignant that the railway company had disappointed him in not delivering them the day before. There was not a crack in the solid black Republican column on election day.

But Field was not through with Mr. Londoner yet. The colored brethren had to hold their ratification meeting to endorse the Republican nominations, and more especially to render thanks for the creation of watermelons, and to the man who paid for them, out of season. Of course Mr. Londoner was invited to attend, and when it came his turn to address the meeting the chairman, a colored deacon of the church where "'Possum Jim" wors.h.i.+pped, by the name of Williams, introduced him as follows:

"I now take great pleasure in introducing to you our friend and brother, the Honorable Mistah Wolfe Londoner, who has always been our true friend and brother, who always advises us to do the right thing, and stands ready, at all times, to help us in the good fight. Although he has a white skin, his heart is as black as any of ours. Brothers, the Honorable Wolfe Londoner."

There was no mistaking the authors.h.i.+p of this felicitous introduction.

Field was never tired of repeating another story at the expense of Mr. Londoner, in connection with the visit of Charles A. Dana to Denver. The arrival of "Mr. Dana of the New York Sun" was made the occasion for one of those receptions by the Press Club which made up in heartiness what they lacked in conventional ceremony. Mr. Londoner was the president of the club, and it not only fell to his lot to deliver the address of welcome to guests of the club, but to look after their comfort and welfare while they remained in the city, and often to provide them with the wherewithal to leave it. On Mr. Dana's presentation he was called on for some remarks, to which Mr. Londoner listened with the air of a man who had heard the same tale from lips less ent.i.tled to deliver a message of counsel and warning to a group of newspaper writers. When his guest had finished his remarks, Mr. Londoner, according to Field's story, walked over to Mr. Dana and asked him how much he wanted.

Mr. Dana looked at him with a puzzled air, and asked: "How much what? What do you mean?"

"Why, money," Mr. Londoner is said to have replied. "Every newspaper man who ever came to this club was introduced the same as you were, made a speech the same as you did, and then came to me to borrow money to get out of town with. Now, how much do you want?"

According to Field, he never saw a man so greatly relieved as Mr. Londoner was when Mr. Dana a.s.sured him that his hotel bill was paid and he had enough money sewed into his waistcoat to carry him back to New York, where he had a job waiting for him.

On one occasion Field accompanied the Denver Press Club on a pleasure trip to Manitou, a summer resort that nestles in a canon at the base of Mount Rosa. Before the party was comfortably settled in the hotel, Field was approached by a poor woman who had lost her husband, and who poured into his ear a sad tale of indigence and sorrow. He became immediately interested, and at once set about devising means for her relief. As his purse was as lean as her own and his companions were not overburdened with the means to get back to Denver, he announced a grand musical and dramatic entertainment, to be given in the parlors of the hotel that evening, for the benefit of a deserving charity. Every guest in the hotel was invited, and the members of the Press Club spread the notices among the citizens of the village. When asked who would be the performers, Field answered, with the utmost nonchalance, that the Lord would provide the entertainment if Manitou would furnish the audience. The evening came, and the parlors were crowded with guests and villagers, but no performers. After waiting until expectancy and curiosity had almost toppled over from tiptoe to disgust and indignation, Field stepped to the piano with preternatural gravity and attacked it with all the grand airs of a foreign virtuoso. Critics would have denied that Field was a pianist, and, technically considered, they would have been right. But his fingers had a fondness for the ivory keys, and they responded to his touch with the sweet melody of the forest to the wind. He carried all the favorite airs of all the operas he had ever heard in his fingers' ends. He knew the popular songs of the day by heart, and, where memory failed, could improvise. He had a voice for the soft and deep chords of negro melodies I have never heard surpa.s.sed, and with all, he had a command of comedy and pathos which, up to this time, was little known beyond the circle in Denver over which he reigned as the Lord of Misrule. That night in Manitou those who were present reported that, from the moment he sat down at the piano until the last note of the good-night song died away, he held that impromptu audience fascinated by his impromptu performance. By turns he sang, played, recited poetry, mimicked actors and well-known Colorado characters, told anecdotes, and altogether gave such a single-handed entertainment that the spectators did not know whether to be more astonished at its variety or delighted with its genius. The result was a generous collection, which went far to relieve the distress of the woman who had touched Field's sympathy.

Let it not be understood that nothing more serious than some hilarious escapade or sardonic bit of humor ever crossed the life of Eugene Field in Denver. His innate hatred of humbug and sham made the Denver Tribune a terror to all public characters who considered that suddenly acquired wealth gave them a free hand to flaunt ostentatious vulgarity on all public occasions.

CHAPTER XI

COMING TO CHICAGO

What I have written thus far of Eugene Field has been based upon what the lawyers call hearsay or doc.u.mentary evidence. It has for the most part been directly heard or confirmed from his own lips. In the early days of our acquaintance the stories of his life in Denver were rife through every newspaper office and green-room in the United States. No one who had spent any time in Colorado came East without bringing a fresh budget of tales of the pranks and pasquinades of Eugene Field, of the Denver Tribune. The clipping vogue of his Primer series had given him a newspaper reputation wide as the continent. He was far more quoted, however, for what he said and did than for anything he wrote. Had his career ended in 1883, before he came to Chicago, there would have been little or nothing left of literary value to keep his memory alive, beyond the regretful mention in the obituary columns of the western press.

And it came near ending, like the candle exposed to the gusts of March, or a bubble that has danced and glistened its brief moment in the sun. The boy who was too delicate for continued application to books in Amherst, who had outgrown his strength so that his entrance at Williams was postponed a year, whose backwardness at his books through three colleges had been excused on the plea of ill-health, had been living a pace too fast for a never strong and always rebellious stomach. He was not intemperate in eating or drinking. It was not excess in the first that ruined his digestion, nor intemperance in the other that caused him to become a total abstainer from all kinds of intoxicating beverages. He simply became a dyspeptic through a weird devotion to the pieces and pastries "like Mary French used to make," and he became a teetotaler because the doctors mistook the cause of his digestive distress.

The one thing of which Eugene Field was intemperate in Denver was of himself. He gave to that delicate machinery we call the body no rest. It was winter when he did not see the sun rise several times a week, and the hours he stole from daylight for sleep were too few and infrequent to make up for the nights he turned into day for work and frolic. Thus it came about that in the summer of 1883 Eugene Field had reached the end of his physical tether, and some change of scene was necessary to save what was left of an impaired const.i.tution.

From what has been said, it is easy to understand how Field's abilities were diverted into a new and deeper channel in 1883. "Stricken by dyspepsia," writes Mr. Cowen, "so severely that he fell into a state of chronic depression and alarm, he eagerly accepted the timely offer of Melville E. Stone, then surrounding himself with the best talent he could procure in the West, of a virtually independent desk on the Chicago Morning News. There he quickly regained health, although he never recovered from his ailment."

How Mr. Stone came to be the "Fairy G.o.dmother" to Field at this turning-point in his life may be briefly related, and partly in Mr. Stone's own words. He and Victor F. Lawson had made a surprising success in establis.h.i.+ng the Chicago Daily News, in December, 1875, the first one-cent evening paper in Chicago. It is related that in the early days of their enterprise they had to import the copper coins for the use of their patrons-the nickle being up to that time the smallest coin in use in the West, as the dime, or "short bit," was until a more recent date on the Pacific coast. The Daily News was more distinguished for its enterprise in gathering news and getting it out on the street before the comparative blanket sheets of the early eighties than for its editorial views or literary features.

In January, 1881, Messrs. Lawson & Stone conceived the idea of printing a morning edition of their daily, to be called the Morning News. As it was to be sold for two cents, it was their purpose to make it better worth the price by a more exacting standard in the manner of presenting its news and by the employment of special writers for its editorial page. Just then, however, the crop of unemployed writers of demonstrated ability or reputation was unusually short, and the foundation of the Chicago Herald in May of the same year, by half a dozen energetic journalists of local note, did not tend to overstock the market with the talent sought for by Messrs. Lawson & Stone. It was the rivalry between the Morning News (afterwards the Record) and the Herald, that sent Mr. Stone so far afield as Denver for a man to a.s.sist him in realizing the idea cherished by him and his a.s.sociate. An interesting story could be told of that rivalry, which has just ended by the consolidation of the two papers (March, 1901) into the Chicago Record-Herald, but only so much of it as affects the life and movements of Eugene Field concerns us here.