Democratic Sentinel, Volume 3, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 April 1879 — THE “SNAPTOWN TOMMYHAWK.” [ARTICLE]

THE “SNAPTOWN TOMMYHAWK.”

BY WM. M. F. BOUND. It looked very like a pig-sty; but it wasn’t. It was the office of the Snaptown Tommyhawk, and, in the estimation of Simon Slope, the editor-in-chief and principal proprietor, was a rather imposing building. The first number of the paper has not jet made its appearance ; butit all went well. It would soon burst upon the world with meteorlike brilliancy, and more than verify the expectations of the public, which were very high, I can assure you. Simon Slope had projected the paper; Simon Slope had formed the company that was to publish it; Simon Slope had built the office; Simon Slope had been chiefly instrumental in securing the type and paper; and Simon Slope had written the most brilliant of the editorials and the most pungent of the paragraphs ; and yet you will be surprised to learn, my reader, that Simon Slope was only 14 years of age. The Snaptown Tommy hawk grew out of a public need. The boys of Snaptown had been for years groaning under parental oppression and the systematic tyranny of their elders, and they needed an organ. They needed a mouthpiece, through which they might lift up their voices against their op Sressors. When a month’s half-holi-ays had been taken away from them, because they had merely driven a cow into the village school-house and put cayenne pepper on the meeting-house stove, they felt that the time had come when they should make their wrongs known to the public, and appeal to that sense of justice that is supposed to slumber in the heart of every community. One day the Snaptown Courant had published a paragraph reflecting unkindly upon the boys of the place, and Simon Slope had read it. He could hardly contain himself with indignation as the words sank into his heart; and, as soon as his father had turned his back; he rolled the scurrilous sheet into a ball, and, thrusting it into his trousers pocket, rushed out of the house to a warm corner by the meeting-house horse-sheds, where the boys were wont to assemble for the twilight loafing. “Look here!” he shouted. "I say, this is too bad. Nobody is going to stand, this sort of thing." And he pulled the rumpled paper from among the tops, jack-knives, fishing-tackle and chewing-gum in his pocket. “Now, you fellows, just listen, an’ I'll read you something that'll make your hair fairly stand on end. Here ’ns." And he re.d aloud the following paragraph : Mischietc.vs Boys Wnea consider the dtcngv ctf the of this town, we feel such * write of uidhraauuD tout we feel that we should like to es.eiuwige c»ur edrtori«J pea for * good thick birch rod and give them * thrashing all round We have beard a good many com- . j uru of their behavior, but we did not fully reamse toe prevailing spirit of mischief until it ttw home to our own door. We did not mind their ptayiag hall before our office till Pandetaooissa «ould be quitt in comparison to the »rreet We did not beed, nr at least pretended n‘t to t-eed, toe hieroglyphics with which our Eardeu-feoce had beea decorated. We should have felt quite Jost if an occasional pane had not been broken in onr office windows. And we looked upon the hanging of a dead cat to our front doir as a harmless pleasantry. But, when it comes to stretching wire across the sidewalk at such heights that we alternately abrade onr shins and cut our throats, as we go homo at night; when it comes to putting loaded sticks into our wood-pile—one of which blew up our office-stove a few weeks ago—-we feel that patience ceases to be a virtue, and that honest citizens have some rights that boys are bound to respect. We hope this hint will be taken in the proper quarters, and that sundry parents in this town will heed Solomon’s wise admonition. Wo shall be happy to furnish rods.

“There!” exclaimed Simon, when he had finished reading. “What do you think of that?” “Nobody ain’t willin’ to let us have a little fun,” said Tom Stokes, Simon’s bosom friend, and the very boy who bored the hole and put the powder into a stick of the editor’s wood. “Something ought to be done about it,” exclaimed a red-headed urchin, whose special recreation was the drawing of caricatures on doors and fences. “I’ll make a picture of him hanging to a gallows. Paint it in red on his front door.” “I might lick his little boy,” said a pugnacious urchin, “ but I’ve done it so often a’ready that he wouldn’t know what ’twas for, an’ I’m afraid ’twouldn’t do no good.” “We might serenade him with tin horns and tin pans,” said another boy; “ but he’s so used to it now that he sleeps straight through it.” “ I’ll tell you what let’s do,” said Simdl. “ Let’s start a paper and pay him back in his own coin. Sarse for sarse—that’s what I say.” “ Takes a lot of money to start a paper,” remonstrated the heiroglyphic boy. “Bother!” said Simon. “It don’t take much if you do your own work of it. We can buy a press for $5, and buy second-hand type by the pound for a little more’n the price of old lead.” “ Where you goin’ to get your $5 to buy your press ? ” asked one practical youth. “Earn it, you booby,” said Simon. “An’ who’s goin’ to write the paper, after you get things? Seems to me it will be a good deal like writin’ compositions, and everybody knows there ain’t no fun in that.” “ Oh, I’ll write most of it! ” said Simon; “me and two or three of the other boys. We’ll form a company. Capital $lO. I’ve got $5 already, and I’ll be half owner; and the rest of you can make up $5 more easy enough.” This was the beginning of the Snaptown Tommyhawk. The company was formed, the type was bought and sorted, the press was set up in the building which the publishing company had erected for it. The building, as I’ve said, was not imposing, but it answered admirably. Old doors, old drygoods cases—in fact, any old boards that could be found lying about were used in its construction, and the sash for the windows were surreptitiously obtained from a ruined hen-house on the Slope premises. But I needn’t go into the details of preparation. The Snaptown Tommy hawk became a reality in due course of time, and a copy of its first and only issue is lying before me as I write. Si Slope had a very good conception of an editor’s duties. He had thought a goqd deal about the matter, and asked the advice of his elders. He had heard his father say that “what the public

wants is facts;” and his mother had remarked that it was gossip that made people read the papers. His older sister, who had just returned from a finishing school, declared that no firstclass paper could exist without a fashion article and poetry. Then Si’s quick observation had shown him that the most attractive articles in the Snaptown Courant were those that were most abusive. In fact, he had heard his father say that “fearlessness is what everybody likes in a newspaper—calling a spade a spade, and a liar a liar, and a thief a thief;” and upon this free and fearless basis Simon determined that the Snaptown Tommy ho wk should be conducted. Then it should be.original —nothing stolen from other papers, no rehash of stale jokes, no old rhymes; but all fresh and original. To attain the end of originality. Simon enlisted all the boys of his acquaintance to bring him items. “Just keep your ears and eyes open, boys,” he said, “and tell me what you hear and see. I’ll fix it into shape and publish it; and you shan’t be the losers, you bet.” The boys were very diligent and effective newsgatherers, and Si proved to the world that he held the pen of a ready writer, as you will see by the following extracts from the first number of the Tommyhawk. I think I’d better transcribe the whole number, as it is not larger than two pages of a reading book. Here it is—heading, spelling, and all: THE. SNAPTOWN TOMMYHAWK. Foundered by Simon Slope. Noz.~L May 15th, 1874. No. 1. MOTTO : BE JEST AND FEAB NOT. Editorial. This paper is published by Simon Slope and some other boys, to show to old Smith, of the Courant, that he ain’t all creation, as he thinks he is, and that somebody else can write and edit a paper as well or better than him. Most everybody round here has had about enough of old Smith’s sarse, and it is high time a decent and unscurrilous sheet was started. That is what this is going to be. All the news we publish will be original, which is not the case with the Courant. We have a large corpse of reporters, and have hired a boss poet, and we do not intend to knock under to any paper in the country. , Our politics is Republikin, clear through. We respectfully solicit the patronage of our towns people, and hope to run the Courant off its legs in about 1 year. Sic semper tyranis.

NEWS. The editor of the 8 n C -t, on returning from the lodge of Freemasons last Tuesday Evening, was called an “outrajous old donkey ” by his wife, who kept him sitting on the doorsteps for three-quarters of an hour. He had forgotten his latch key. Billy Smith informs us that his sister thinks the new singing-teacher just lovely. She remarked at the tea-table last Sunday Evening that all through singing-school she felt just like flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him. We cannot commend her taste —for we should not like our sister to care for a man who has his hair dyed on the sly every Saturday Evening, as our barber’s son informs us Mr. Singing Snodgrass does. Mr and Mrs Percival had another row about pocket money last Friday night. They had better be careful how they quarrel with their windows open. Our friend Tom Stokes informs us that his father the grocery man does keep rum in the keg down cellar labelled “Soothing Syrup,” and Captain Fungus has a jug filled there every week. He says also that his father sometimes puts chalk or some other white stuff in his sugar. Deacon Pepper has a boil on his nose. He half starves his hired boy —and we’re glad he’s getting his “come up-uns.” The Thompkins family keep their children on rather short allowance. One of them informs us that no more than one piece of plum cake is ever allowed them at a time. Miss Slope will have the minister and his family at tea next Wednesday. Great preparations are in progress. She has borrowed Mrs. Pepper’s china Tea Set for the occasion and the repast will be spread on Mrs. Stoke’s long damask table-cloth. She has sent her best spoons down to Boston to be replated and sent word to have them all marked to look as nigh as can be like real silver. She says that whatever the minister's sermons amount to she’s bound he shall have a good supper—and that’s what he don’t often get at home with such a wife as he has. ARTICLES.—Cats.—Cats are about the most interestingest animals there is. You can have more fun with a cat in half an hour, if you have a good tree handy and an enterprizing dog, that you can with a whole traveling menagerie. Cats and fire-crackers are mortal enemies—You tie a bunch to a cat’s tail and set ’em and they will go down the street like a firry comet. N. 8., wire is better than string to fasten them on with—as string is liable to burn off. It is a very pleasant pastime to see two cats fight. Their tails -may be tied firmly together, and, for fear they might tear up things in the garden, it is a good plan to hang them across a clothes-line. They can be heard miles. I have often seen them. Some folks regard this sport as cruel; we call snch folks chicken-livered. Did you ever see a shaved cat? They are very singular creatures—if may be done with a razor if you know where your father keeps his’n. You tie up the cat’s paws in old mittens while you are doing of it. Some folks don’t think it hardly P a 7§ —ft“d J shall never be guilty of do-

ing of it—though I do think a father is rather mean who whales his boy all over—when his finger is cut half off and his face scratched all over all ready. Kittens are very pretty. There are more than forty of them in the water under the mill bridge. They nearly all of them have stones tied to their necks. It is very unfeeling thing to drownd a kitten. They are innercent harmless creatures. Cats are great singers. The Chinese eat cats. What can you expect of the heathen? Some people hang dead cats as May baskets—it is only a joke but the folks that get ’em never seem io appreciate it. There is a great many other things about cats—but I think I have given you a plenty of ideas already, so will close. Simon Slope. That was all the reading-matter that the Tommyhawk contained. . There were some advertisements, principally calling attention to the manufacture- of sweet-fern cigars and asking for the return of lost balls and jack-knives. Altogether the paper was a success —if the success of a paper can be reckoned by the commotion it creates. The above number was issued on a Saturday morning, and before midnight of the same day Mrs. Slope had received a note from the minister declining her “kind, invitation to tea,” and devoting several pages to as hearty abuse as a minister could frame in language. Mr. Stokes’ store was visited by a committee of the temperance society, who brought an officer to seize the “soothing-sirup” keg; and, before he had gone, another minion of the law had Mr. Stokes in hand for selling adulterated goods. That same night Deacon .Pepper discharged his hired boy, without notice. On that same afternoon Mr. Singing Snodgrass walked into the barber’s shop, thrashed the barber, broke the bottles, and went straight off and proposed to Billy Smith’s sister, who accepted him at once. The edition of the paper was sold in no time. There was not a copy of it left by 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and, while Si Slope was that evening making a selection of candy and dime novels, for which he intended to pay with the proceeds of the sale, he was seized upon by Mr. Percival, who proceeded then and there to chastise him. He had hardly escaped from this- angry man before Stokes’ boy had him by the hair of the head, dragged him into the middle of the street, and, putting him down in the mud, kicked him till he was black and blue. Capt. Fungus saw the fight, and came and helped Stokes’ boy. At last, covered with mud and with shame, the young editor made his escape and hied him homeward, vowing vengeance. He was just turning the last corner when he met the boy whom Deacon Pepper had turned away, and this wicked boy had a horsewhip. Such shrieking was never heard before in Snaptown. After this last infliction Si sneaked into the yard, saying: “ Never mind, I’ll pay them up next week. I’ve got things to tell about all of ’em. I’ll get every one of them a lickingl” And he went across the yard to lock up the Tommy - hawk office. As he approached the building, the Tompkins boys sprung out upon him, and, acting as leaders ta a score more of fiery and untamed youngsters, they proceeded to tear down the building before Simon’s very eyes, having previously bound him to a tree. Then they pelted him -with the types, and, it being quite dark, made a glorious fire of the debris of the structure. Mr. Slope, seeing the light, came rushing out of the house, and, instead of driving the boys away, shouted: “Go it, boys. Serves him right. And, when you’ve done, I’ll take him in hand.” And Mr. Slope did take him in hand pretty effectually—so effectually, indeed, that Simon was obliged to stand at his meals for a week afterwards. Poor boy 1 The day after that first and only issue he was seen limping out to the ruins, and, as he stood there, leaning on a cane, and surveyed them with his one unblacked eye, he was heard to murmur: “Things ain’t as they was. There’s no premium on telling the truth now-a-days. George Washington couldn’t have edited a paper without lying; and I’d rather go to school all my days than ever try it again.”