The Story of My Boyhood and Youth | Page 7

sympathetic, pitiful, and kind in ever changing
contrasts. Love of neighbors, human or animal, grows up amid savage
traits, coarse and fine. When father made out to get us securely locked
up in the back yard to prevent our shore and field wanderings, we had
to play away the comparatively dull time as best we could. One of our
amusements was hunting cats without seriously hurting them. These
sagacious animals knew, however, that, though not very dangerous,
boys were not to be trusted. One time in particular I remember, when
we began throwing stones at an experienced old Tom, not wishing to
hurt him much, though he was a tempting mark. He soon saw what we
were up to, fled to the stable, and climbed to the top of the hay manger.
He was still within range, however, and we kept the stones flying faster
and faster, but he just blinked and played possum without wincing
either at our best shots or at the noise we made. I happened to strike
him pretty hard with a good-sized pebble, but he still blinked and sat
still as if without feeling. "He must be mortally wounded," I said, "and
now we must kill him to put him out of pain," the savage in us rapidly
growing with indulgence. All took heartily to this sort of cat mercy and
began throwing the heaviest stones we could manage, but that old
fellow knew what characters we were, and just as we imagined him
mercifully dead he evidently thought the play was becoming too
serious and that it was time to retreat; for suddenly with a wild whirr
and gurr of energy he launched himself over our heads, rushed across
the yard in a blur of speed, climbed to the roof of another building and
over the garden wall, out of pain and bad company, with all his lives
wideawake and in good working order.
After we had thus learned that Tom had at least nine lives, we tried to
verify the common saying that no matter how far cats fell they always
landed on their feet unhurt. We caught one in our back yard, not Tom
but a smaller one of manageable size, and somehow got him smuggled
up to the top story of the house. I don't know how in the world we
managed to let go of him, for as soon as we opened the window and
held him over the sill he knew his danger and made violent efforts to

scratch and bite his way back into the room; but we determined to carry
the thing through, and at last managed to drop him. I can remember to
this day how the poor creature in danger of his life strained and
balanced as he was falling and managed to alight on his feet. This was a
cruel thing for even wild boys to do, and we never tried the experiment
again, for we sincerely pitied the poor fellow when we saw him
creeping slowly away, stunned and frightened, with a swollen black
and blue chin.
Again--showing the natural savagery of boys--we delighted in
dog-fights, and even in the horrid red work of slaughter-houses, often
running long distances and climbing over walls and roofs to see a pig
killed, as soon as we heard the desperately earnest squealing. And if the
butcher was good-natured, we begged him to let us get a near view of
the mysterious insides and to give us a bladder to blow up for a
foot-ball.
But here is an illustration of the better side of boy nature. In our back
yard there were three elm trees and in the one nearest the house a pair
of robin-redbreasts had their nest. When the young were almost able to
fly, a troop of the celebrated "Scottish Grays," visited Dunbar, and
three or four of the fine horses were lodged in our stable. When the
soldiers were polishing their swords and helmets, they happened to
notice the nest, and just as they were leaving, one of them climbed the
tree and robbed it. With sore sympathy we watched the young birds as
the hard-hearted robber pushed them one by one beneath his jacket,--all
but two that jumped out of the nest and tried to fly, but they were easily
caught as they fluttered on the ground, and were hidden away with the
rest. The distress of the bereaved parents, as they hovered and screamed
over the frightened crying children they so long had loved and sheltered
and fed, was pitiful to see; but the shining soldier rode grandly away on
his big gray horse, caring only for the few pennies the young songbirds
would bring and the beer they would buy, while we all, sisters and
brothers, were crying and sobbing.