CHAPTER III. JOHN'S EDITORIAL CAREER.
In our hero's peregrinations he wandered into the Sucker state, the country of vast projected rail roads, good corndodger, splendid banking houses, and poor currency, and during his progress therein he earned and hoarded about one hundred and fifty bona fide dollars. With this store of wealth jingling in his pockets, he entered the town of B————; he did not come now as the needy adventurer, but as one holding one hundred and fifty considerations entitling him to respect. The world had taken a wider spread to his eye, and assumed new features, or rather he began to see with a clearer vision, for the common order of society appeared now, as plain as daylight, to have most villainous faces, and the respectability of wealth was as apparent as moonshine—he could now easily assign a reason for the deference paid to high station—in short, he had arrived at a state of feeling highly becoming the possessor of increasing wealth. Addressing the innkeeper of the town, who was a member of one of the first families, with an air of consequence, he demanded a whole room for his accommodation, when heretofore the third chance in a bed would have been considered a luxury, oriental in its character, and a blessing befitting a “three tailed bashaw.” The little town was an important one, as all sucker towns are, yet the arrival of our hero was enough to create a sensation from its one extremity to the other. An acquaintance with the innkeeper soon gained him an introduction to the member of the legislature from that district, and this opening soon made him intimate with the town. Many efforts were made by the citizens to “draw him out,” and learn his business, but John kept dark. “He's a close fellar,” said a sucker citizen, “but I reckon, arter all, his business is pole-ticks.” These and sundry other “ambiguous givings out,” assured our hero that he was a subject of general interest. “What is his politics?” was a question of import, duly discussed in the leading political circles; and “was he married?”—and, “who'd get him, if he wasn't?” was equally an absorbing matter of interest among the ladies; indeed, an animated discussion as to his preference had already caused a coolness between several pairs of devoted female friends. It was said that the pert Miss A—, the storekeeper's daughter, had absolutely walked down the principal street of B———, right before our hero, swinging the skirt of her frock in a most enticing manner. Such a bold and forced movement to take him by surprise, before any other maid could get a chance, was declared, at a tea and gossip party, to be most “tolerable and not to be endured.” At length his object was made known—he inquired of the legislative member, if that was a good point to establish a paper, and as soon as his surprise would permit, the member declared it to be an immense place, indeed, an enormous location, and more than that, the material for an establishment was in the town, had been in operation, and all it wanted was an editor to conduct the paper. John signified his ability and willingness, and the intelligence spread through the town like a prairie fire, and some pretty noses turned up as their owners exclaimed—“Why, I swow, he's only a printer, after all!”
The member for the district, along, lanky, cadaverous lawyer, who was death on a speech, powerful in chewing tobacco, and some at a whisky drinking, was part owner of the printing concern, and having an opponent in the district, who had started a paper in the lower town, on the river, to oppose him, he was most anxious to get the press going; so, assuring John he could have it at his own terms, and one hundred and fifty subscribers to commence with, which must of course swell to a thousand, they settled the matter, and proceeded to examine the establishment. It was at length agreed that our hero should give one hundred and twenty-five dollars of his one hundred and fifty, in cash, and his note for four hundred and fifty dollars more, payable at the end of a year, besides fifty dollars rent for the office, which also belonged to the lawyer. A meeting of the first citizens of the town was held on the ensuing evening, to which John Earl, Esq., was formally introduced as the new editor of the B———— Eagle, and the re-commencement of the paper duly discussed.
“You've hearn tell of the bank and tariff questions?” inquired a leading constituent and subscriber.
John answered “yes,” he was somewhat acquainted with them.
“Well, hoss, we 'spect you to be right co-chunk up to the hub on them thar questions, and to pour it inter the inimy in slasher gaff style.”
John agreed to do his prettiest.
“In the town below us,” continued the constituent, “thar is a fellar of the inimy who's dead bitter agin us and our town, so you must gin him scissors! Rile him up, and sot his liver workin', 'cause the skunk is injurin' our location. Advartis' our doins' in gineral, sich as we got to sell, and throw yourself wide on the literary fixins and poetry, for the galls—and, Mister Earl, ef you ony do this genteely, and with spirit, the whole town will take the paper! Don't forgit to gin the town below particular saltpetre.”
John gave them to understand that if his subscribers wished it, he would not only cut up the editor, but throw the lower town into a series of fits which would cause its utter dissolution. All being duly settled, our hero retired to his room to dream of future greatness. Already did he behold sheets filled with editorial tact and talent—already was his name inscribed upon the roll with illustrious editorial contemporaries—Ritchie, Pleasants, Blair, Gales, Chandler, Prentice and Neal, those great names of the tripod tribe already numbered him on their list, and he fancied “his name grown great in mouths of wisest censure,” while his pockets were correspondingly corpulent with the reward for such ability. Poor fellow, could he have drawn aside the curtain, and beheld the days of toil, the struggles to procure ink and paper, the labor of writing editorials, and the labor of setting them up, working them off at press, pasting up the mail, and the lack of reward which repaid this drudgery, he would have kicked ambition out of his company, and clutched his little hoard like a vice.
The town of B———— and the town below, had been rivals ever since they were first laid out upon a map—the growth of one had always been the envy of the other, and an improvement in one was sure to be imitated by the other. The lower town had been most successful in the publication of a newspaper, for the reason that they paid something to support it, while the town of B———- suffered for the neglect they manifested towards the press. The editor below not only abused the religion, politics, merchandise, and intelligence of B————, but the beauty of the women, and the smartness of the babies; he had even gone so far as to say that B———- women and babies could be known by their heads. This was an outrage most unpardonable, and John rose in estimation as their defender against such vandal accusations.
Behold John seated scratching out his first editorial! Ah, ye weavers of cheap literature, who have watched with aching curiosity the appearance of your first production—ye writers of small poetry for daily journals, who have listened so eagerly for praise—ye penny editors who have successfully tickled the popular ear—ye ruling deities of mammoth weeklies, what are all your feelings, concentrated into one great throb, in comparison to the mighty throes of talent waking from her sleep in the mind of John Earl. It would have shocked the lower town like the heaving of a volcano, had they but known the shower of expletives our hero was tracing on the sheet before him. Goths and Vandals, corruption and spoilsmen, traitors and apostates, vile incendiaries and polluting vipers, poisonous demagogues, and a host more, bitter as sin, were showered like hail from his pen, when giving “perticular goss” to the lower town editor and his abettors.
With the appearance of the first number our hero's consequence began to rise, the respectable citizens took him cordially by the hand, and their daughters smiled upon him, while the poorer inhabitants wondered at his “larnin'.”
“A most excellent first number,” said the lanky member, “a good quantity of hot shot—just the thing—sew the lower town up—you've got prodigious talents—immense!”
John bowed to the pleasing flattery.
“Well, hoss,” said the storekeeper constituent and subscriber, “You've slashed the hide off'er that fellar in the lower town, touched his raw, and rumpled his feathers—that's the way to give him jessy. I raily believe you'll git yourself inter the legislatur' afore long, ef you keep on.”
Our hero listened to these first breathings of fame with a swelling bosom—there was a chance of his becoming somebody, at last, and labor became a pleasure when it produced such a yield. At a public meeting called in the town he was elected secretary, and ventured on the occasion to make a speech, which was loudly applauded, and in the next number of the Eagle appeared a glowing description of the proceedings, with a synopsis of his own speech. This awoke some jealousy in the mind of the lanky member, who thought John wished to supplant him. As time progressed the Eagle increased its subscription to two hundred, its editor grew popular, in debt, and received nothing from his subscribers—indeed, he soon discovered that pay made up no part of their patronage, and he began to grow tired of laboring for glory alone. All this time the war was waging hotter and thicker between the towns and their editors. At length he of the lower town inserted in his “Patriotic Herald and Telegraph” the following:
“We are informed, from good authority, that the Buzzard of the Eagle cannot pay his board bill, and fears are entertained that he will slope without liquidating the debt!”
This was personal—every body said it was personal—the lanky member said it must be wiped out with blood—the storekeeper swore that John must “eat the other fellar's gizzard,” and the ladies of B———— resolved, at a tea party, that the death of the lower town editor could alone atone for the many indignities he had heaped upon them, and John was the very man to offer himself up as a sacrifice. All the subscribers to the Eagle were interested in the matter, for they would gain in any event, as how: If the lower town editor was removed, an enemy had perished; if John fell, a creditor's accounts were closed, so they were unanimous for a duel. The lanky member informed John of the general opinion of the public as to what he should do, and urged the sending of a challenge forthwith, which he offered to bear. John intimated that he must have a day to practise before he sent the missive, and this was acceded to as prudent, but bowie knives were recommended by his friend as much the safest and sure means of killing.
Our hero seated himself in the Eagle office that night, where the ghost of his departed greatness visited his waking thoughts, to laugh at his present misery. Of his one hundred and fifty dollars, but twenty-five remained—his clothes were nearly worn out—his board bill unpaid—his subscriptions and advertisements ditto, and the supply of paper and ink was insufficient for another issue, besides a duel on hand with another poor devil of an editor, and the whole town thirsting for the bloody transaction. A thought flashed upon his brain—he would go see his antagonist. No sooner was the idea conceived than he put it in execution. Gathering up his remaining twenty-five dollars he set off in the night for the lower town, where he arrived about daylight. After a hasty breakfast at the inn, he entered the “Herald office,” and seating himself upon the only chair in the establishment, inquired for the editor. A little pale man, engaged at case, lay down his composing stick and advanced, expecting a new subscriber, but started to run as soon as he was informed that the editor of the “Eagle” was before him. John stopped his egress and made him sit down while he talked to him. A conversation brought on mutual apologies, and he found his antagonist as great a sufferer as himself—the mere hack of county politicians, who had been lured by the same phantom—greatness, until he had worn himself to a corresponding shadow, chasing the vision. The two typo editors shook hands in friendship, and our hero departed homeward.
On John's arrival he encountered the member, who urged the immediate despatch of the challenge, which John refused, and to his refusal added some words of contempt for the citizens of B————, and their representative in particular. This aroused the member, who declared that cowardice had driven him over to the enemy. To prove the falsehood of this assertion, John knocked the member down, and kicked his honor must indignantly. The editor of the Eagle was well aware, that after this outbreak he must “break for tall timber,” so cooking a smash dish of pi in his office, he bequeathed the feast to his successor, and leaving his subscription list, and interest in the concern, to pay his debts, he beat a hasty retreat. As he hurried through the woods skirting the river, the welcome puff of a steamer saluted his ear, and waving his handkerchief as a signal, she stopped, landed a boat, and took him on board.
Farewell to B————, its dreams of greatness had faded to mist, and instead of growing honor, emolument, and renown, it had yielded naught but the fruit of bitterness, accompanied with toil and care, the end of which was a roll back to the bottom of the hill he had fancied already climbed. The great of earth will smile at his troubles, —happy for him that his disposition would only permit them to cause a momentary sadness. As the steamer receded from the scene of his late vexation and care, he began to rejoice in his freedom, and in a light-hearted mood, paced her deck, an untrammelled candidate for new fortune. Bright dreams of the future came again, and what a blessing it is that the lonely adventurer in this world is permitted to dream, for with a vivid imagination he may revel in joys which waking reality can never equal.
Let us return a moment to B————. All there, as may be supposed, was a scene of confusion, indignation, and horror, at the outrage inflicted upon the member—he had absolutely been kicked! A warrant was issued for John, and then it was discovered he had sloped—more indignation! The editor of the lower town still lived, and the member had been kicked—horror! The office of the Eagle was in pi and its editor non est, which means nowhere—terrible excitement! Here was capital for the lower town editor, and didn't he use it—to use a classical expression he lit upon the upper town and its member “like a thousand of brick!” He charged them with starving their editor, charged their editor with cowardice, charged the member with tamely submitting to be kicked by the aforesaid cowardly editor, and wound up by asserting that the town of B———— produced nothing but pusillanimous men, ugly women, and pugnosed babies! The glory of B————, departed while the lower town swelled into vast importance, and its editor received a present of two new shirts from the ladies of his section, besides three spirited subscribers paid him one dollar each, of their four years subscription—a stretch of liberality so astounding, that to this day the event forms one of the most interesting legends of the Sucker state.