Rensselaer Republican, Volume 16, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 April 1884 — “LOONEY SAL.” [ARTICLE]

“LOONEY SAL.”

None of the inhabitants of the little town could tell why she was called “Looney Sal.” It could not have been because of any mental defect, for none such -was apparent in her. She was born in one of the low board huts of Shippenville, which stood on the swampy outskirts of Hoboken, and excelled the other rattletraps in evidences of senile decay. These were inhabited by the lowest of low wretches, all vagabonds by trade or profession, as yon will? No one asked who her parents were, and had such an inquiry been made no one could have answered it. “Granny Smith’s Den,” a low rumbole, could hardly be called Sal’s home —it was more of a place where she was allowed to exist in compensation for the fruits of her skill at petty larceny, the inevitable whenever she visited any of the mercantile,establishments. At night she edified the gatherings at Granny Smith's by songs and dances, and the words of the former were Usually indecent paraphrases of the popular songs of the day. Her wakeful nights could not but produce extreme sleepiness during the day, and it was no rare occurrence to see Sal stretched in slumber on the open meadow for many hours during the afternoon. These odd habits, associated with the girl’s other peculiarities. made her an object of curiosity as well as of dread to the school children. The younger ones, in obedience to their parent's commands, made a wide circuit about the open space in which Sal spent her forenoons. The older ones were attracted to the spot—perhaps conscious of approaching independence, perhaps only because of the curious sight of the black-locked, dark-eyed girl as she lay stretched upon he “seesaw” and gently rocked it up and down, as she hummed some weird song. Whenever the boys came near enough to be noticed by her she frightened them off with fierce grimaces, which seemed to pursue them in their flight to the sound of almost maniacal laughter. Sal had no friends or playmates. What girl would have selected her as a companion, she who associated only with those who shone as disreputable among the outcasts of Shippenville? Furthermore, her pugilistic prowess was as dreaded by the boys as was her scurrilous language by the girls. Sometimes, but rarely, a boy who vaunted his bravery could be induced into coming within her reach, but then it was only through the process known to children as “daring.” These efforts at a display of courage invariably produced a very subdued boy.jjrhose face and garments could hardly be considered ornamental. The “big boy” of the academy, Dick Allen, had “licked” allot his classmates but two or three, and Sal had conquered them. The other boys “dared” Dick to engage in combat with Sal, but he, .prompted by ,a ,sp^ie!i. k pf manliness,declined to fight a.girk On being greeted with "the inharmonious chant of "fraid cat,” “fraid cat,” he astounded his companions by a proposition to secure the girl’s friendship within half an hour. The doubts and depreciations which his playmates uttered stimulated him to proceed at once to Sal’s sunny S>ot. Of course his “chum,” Will srry, went with him. “Fellows, you could just see that he went ’Cause he was dared,” said Tom Sievers when he recounted his observations, taken from behind a large rock. “Will Barry played sharp; he just kept behind Dick, and Dick he marched right up to the Loonev Sal’s see-saw, and if he did look a little white, and if he did stand off—well, so far as that she couldn’t biff him in the eye—Dick he said, ‘Hello, Sal.’ And what do you think Sal did? I expected to see Dick mauled—just chewed up. An’ all you folks know I’m Dick’s friend—” “Oh, come now, Tom, give it to us straight,” one of the boys interrupted the juvenile modern Minnesinger; “tell us what slie did.” " j ‘ “Well, nothing,” answered Tom. . She Just stopped her see-saw, looked up at Dick just as if he was a cat or something; then she lay down agin, and working her see-saw she went on singin’, ‘See-saw, buck-a-me raw, folderol. dolderol, diedaw.’ Say fellows, that girl kin sing. Golly, it just—” ‘ "Oh, Tom, your, just foolin’,” his comrades cried; “tell us all about it” “Well, ain’t I telling yer? She just went on see-sawin’ just as if there wasn’t no Dick nor no Will. Then Will he gave Dick a shove to keep him from weakenin’, and then Dick he sings out again, ‘Hallow, Sal.’ Then Bal she took no notice of ’em strain. Then Will, he said, ‘Call her Looney Sab' why. don’t ye,’ and then— r Tom was not required to continue the Isle. All of the scholars had seen the boys running, followed by Sal; they

had observed her gleaming eyes; they had seen her agile body fly after them over stile and stone; had seen them approach the school, pass over the threshold, rush upstairs into the classroom, and there, before the very eves of the teacher, she threw her offenders to the floor, and with each blow of her little clenched fists she hissed: “Whoyer call looney? Who’s loouey, eh?” As she struck them the other scholars jumped upon their seats to get a better view of the one-sided encounter, perhaps. They did not hear what the teacher said as he stooped over the strugglers and tore the girl from her passive, bewildered opponents. A dead silence reigned as he held the girl and gravely asked: “What have you done to the girls, you boys?” And then—so the class supposed — ho certainly must have whispered some severe threat to the wild girl. For what else could have-so - suddenly calmed her passionate rage ? Sal, when he directed the question to the boys, raised her face tohiswithacurious mixture of searching doubt and astonishment, and when he said: “Come with me, girl,”she followed him out of the classroom in the meakest possible manner. When half an hour had elapsed he returned to the classroom and his lessons, but his manner, ever kind as it was, seemed to have added to it an incomprehensible gravity, which appeared even Sadness. Sal did not go back to her hut, but walked to the back of the school and sat down on a block of stone. The day passed,yet she barely moved. None of the children stopped to see what had become of her;, she heard them leave the school, but did not stir. Evening came, a chilly raw evening. Sal drew her knees close to her body, wound her bare, bruised arms about them and crouched there, a frowsy, uncanny creature, “Teacher says forgive them fellers and don’t steal. He don’t cuss me nor he don’t call me Looney Sal nuther. He sez Sairey—Sairey—ha, ha, ha! Me Sairey. Ha, ha, ha—” t Her laughter was interrupted by the coarse croak of Granny Smith’s voice, which asked: “Air ye crazy, Sal ?” Granny Smith was an industrious person. While her soul-and-body destroying work at night would have more than justified her sleeping all day, she stole hours from her rest doing which she stole all else that came within he reach, as she feigned to travel about in the guise of a ragpicker and beggar. Her way home this day led behind the school-house—a belated “kept-in” child might be there; it could be knocked down and robbed of a slate, if nothing else.— “What air ye doin’ here?” “Nawthin',” said Sal. Her defiant tone awakened the hag’s ire. Her bony hands grasped and struck the girl, while her hoarse, gutteral voice accompanied each blow with brief remarks, of which only the following will bear transcription; “Wagabone! Too lazy to dance, is yer ? I’ll learn ye—yer!” She helped Sal on to the shanty; kicks and blows and curses were the means employed. But they were of no avail; though the boisterous, drunken audience called for Sal, she refused to dance; and instead of her songs they heard heavy blows which fell upon a human body, but not a plaint was uttered. The assemblage were too low to even attempt a defence of the child. * Several days thereafter Sal’s see-saw stood idle, and the store-keepers of Hoboken did not have to bewail the loss of any of their merchandise. Sal was not seen anywhere, and no one inquired about her. The children as they went to school gave a glance at the see-saw. Sal was not on it; nor the next day either. It would be fun, aye, quite brave to destroy the waifs only pleasure. The boys who wrecked the see-saw did not feel quite manly when they did it, but they had heard their parents say it were well to eradicate the miscreants of Shippenville, to destroy every vestige of the settlement. And then the boys who made fire-wood of Sal’s seesaw, all of them bore marks of blows inflicted by her. Bevenge is sweet. The scholars were assembled in the large class-room and sang their reverential morning hymn. The song ceased suddenly as a little, browned face appeared at one of the windows. A little tareT’-’figure sat on ' Looney Sal!” the children screamed.* Mr. Shepherd quietly approached the window and lifted the sash, and at the same time the quaint little body disappeared. Sal slid down the lightning rod, which was within reach, and stood on the ground below. She looked anxiously up at the window she had so hurriedly left. The teacher evidently did not see her. He had htrrdly drawn in his head when she again cl imbedjto the window. This time she heed not press her face against the pane; the sash had not been closed. Her shadow fell upon the teacher’s desk, but he appeared not to observe it. Sal cast a dubious glance at him, and then, to sustain her anger,threw a handful of small stones on the floor.

“Is that you Sarah ?’’ His tone expressed neither reproof nor surprise; it was a simple greeting. Sal might have expected this. She bent through the open window and laughed rudely. “I wur here before.” “Is that so?” He looked upon her as if her conduct were( eminently preper. “Did you wish to come in?” he asked invitingly. Sal stared at him. Her defiant expression gave place to one of surprise. “What—me?” The teacher nodded. “In thar?” “Certainly, if you wish to.” Sal sprang through the window. “Goin’ to sing?” she asked impudent- .. . The teacher nodded and continued to turn the leaves of his book without looking at her. “Page thirty-eight,” he called to the boys, and then handed his open book* to the little guest. , “Will von sit down and sing with tik?” ‘ „ A peal of loud, ooarse laughter was her only answer. And she laughed she struck her brown fists on her knees and -

rocked her body to and, fro. As suddenly she ceased to laugh when she noticed the stem expression on the teacher’s face. She hung her head, twisted her fingers about and scratched the floor with her foot in a most embarrassed manner. “Can’t read,” she exclaimed suddenly as she looked into the teacher’s face. He placed his hand on her bedraggled unkempt head. “That makes no difference, child: some of us here are not good readers—that is why I read each verse of the hymn before we sing it.” She silently ascepted the little stool that was offered her, and sat ever so still, with downcast eyes as if she would not interrupt the full, deep voice of the man who sang. And then the room resounded with the clear voices of the children, as they were lifted in tuneful prayer. Sal did not stir. When the song subsided the sudden stillness seemed to awaken Sal as if from a dream. The teacher thought her cheek was moist. “Is there anything the matter with you, child?” She shook her head, quietly returned the book to him, and approached the door. “Kin I go out here?” He opened the door. “Did yon like our song, Sarah ?” The habjtually aggressive face looked piteous, and her great dark eyes glimmered. They were suffused with tears. She rapidly brushed the back of her hand over her eyes and ejaculated: “Them fellers busted my see-saw. I cum here to bust them.” As harsh as her words were they conveyed an explanation for her presence, in which the child—perhaps unconsciously—expressed regret for her evil intention. **'* * * ♦ The streets were still and deserted. The peaceful little city seemed to have gone asleep with all its 1 inhabitants; only Granny Smith’s Den was illumined by a solitary dip-light. A few ruffians were discussing one of those plans, the execution of which had given Shippenville its merited disrepute. Sal lay crouched upon a bundle of illsmelling straw, asleep, perhaps; “The first of the month,” growled the old hag, “The kids bring the school money. Two dollars each of ’em. Makes near S3OO. Now’s yer chance. Send Sal up the lightnin’ rod, and have her drop the rope-ladder. Shorty gits up an’ then—well, let’s take a drink first.” She placed a bottle of vile whisky to her lips, and passed it to Dan, the pickpocket, the least valiant of the lot. Shorty took the bottle next, and. with a “here's lucking at ye.” would have drained it had not the Old woman snatched it from him, exclaiming: “Hold on! No giftin’ drunk aforehand.” Sal knew that she had to take part in robbing the schoolmaster’s monthly receipts. She arose rapidly and attempted to glide out of the room. Shorty and Granny Smith grasped her, and the old bedlam croaked: “Was goin’ to skip, was yer? I knowed it, ye peacher. You're in love with him, is yer? clean gone, hey? Was goin’to slide out an’give us away, yedaisy? Thet’s the thanks we gets for feedin’ ye, ye cat. I’ll learn ye-—” -‘Hol* on, Granny,” said Dan the pickpocket, whose libations had stimulated him into a species of judgment, “stop beatin’ an’ cursin’ of her now; when we’ve made the ritlie kill her if it suits ye; nobody’ll care.” The old hag swore that she would, and kicked the girl into the street. She continued to thump and kick her until the party arrived at the academy; then she gave her a rope ladder, and as she ordered the child to climb up the light-ning-rod, hissed: “Git up to the window, open it and fasten the hooks into the sill. If ye makes the littlest noise to give us away, Shorty’ll be up after yer and he’ll cut out yer lights and his’n too. Find the money an’ nobody won’t get hurt.” The child’s hard face looked uneasy in the moonlight. In a trice she was on the sill, had opened the window, fas tened the hooks, and dropped the ladder. Shorty was with her in a moment. They passed through the school room into the teacher’s sleeping apartment. Sal did not look at the man; the excitement of the adventure made the theft more attractive to her than all -others had ijwfi; Shu found the dash box breast. “Thou shalt not steal—forgive those that sin against thee,” murmured the teacher in his sleep. ,®_ Shorty clapped his hand on Sal’s mouth and stifled the cry she was about to utter. He grasped her and quickly dragged her from the room. When they returned to the window he released her. “Yelp now, ye pup, an’ I’ll go back an’ cut his throat.” Sal stood as if to allow him to descend first “Not much, ye devil—you go first. I ain’t goin’ to leave yer here to yell.” Sal crawled toward the ground. Shorty followed, the frail ladder swinging and treating to break. “Hurry down ye cat,” said Shorty, when they were about midway between the window and earth. Below stood Granny Smith and Dau; above her Shorty with his brightly gleaming knife. Her time had come; she would not steal from the only being that had ever spoken a kind word to her. Before her intent could be understood she had run up to Shorty,wrenched the knife from his hand.and cut one side of the rope ladder. “Help! murder I thieves!” she screamed. The instinct of self-preservation caused her to cling to the ladder, but the weight being thrown on one hook alone it tore through the wood of the sill and—a groan, a crash—and Shorty and Sal lay on the street. He shivered, seemed to choke and gurgle. Shorty was before a higher judge than ever passed sentence on him on earth. The noise had attracted a few belated wayfarers, and a moment later the schoolmaster came out with a lantern. “What is the matter?” He saw the bodies. “Are they badljihurt ?” Some one J ' answered, '‘Shippenville thieves. Good for them. Why, here’s Looney Sal—got her deserts at last” “Oh,no; I am snre she did not intend

any wrong," said the teacher as he lifted her little head. She looked at him with a smile, and when his expression assured her that she would be believed, gasped, “Teacher —I wouldn't hook nothin'—-from yer yer is good to me—” “Don’t speak, poor child. I know yon would not.” He looked upon her suffering, quivering form. » “I’d like ter go ter school,” she breathed. He took her ih his arms and carried her into the same class-room into which she had intruded but a few days before. ■‘' E:; - , " “Had we not better send for a surgeon ?” asked one of the good-natured neighbors whom the noise had at-; tracted. “Too late, my friend,” said the teach; er; “the end is approaching.” “Ain’t der!— goin’—dor—be—no—singin’?” Sal sighed. Immediately youngman’s voice, strong and fulErbso in the hymn of praise that the class hat| sung the morning that Sal first went tq school. She faintly sung the melody with him, and toward the end. of tiie song her voice grew fainter and until it was reduced to a mere “Sarah—poor child!” The young man bent over her as he anxiously called her. She opened her eyes_ and smiled at him. “More singin’,” she gasped. He complied “with her request in a choked voice. And as the glimmering dawn oame in through the window the bruised little body moved no more. In silence the teacher arose and reverently brushed back the matted locks from poor Sal’s little face, which smiled peacefully in death.— New York Graphic.