Billy the Bound Boy

Billy the Bound Boy

William McRoberts Hart

There is no complete historical record of Billy’s pedigree, but if the reader will do what the writer has done and accept it as it has been handed down from father to son, we will endeavor to give you a very brief account of his lineal descent.
We will reverse the wheel of time and turn backward until we reach the year of 1740. At this time they lived, on a farm in HopewellTownship in the state of New Jersey, an old Dutch farmer who had two sons. The father and mother had come from Holland a number of years before. The two sons were born there on the farm in New Jersey. On of these sons became a member of the Provincial Congress and is one of the Signers of the Declaration of Independence.

JOHN HART

His farm was devastated by the British army, from whom he escaped by running and hiding in the woods. He was in constant danger from the British and had many narrow escapes. His life was at stake every day and night until the defeat of the Hessians. He died at his home in New Jersey about 1780.
The other son was Billy’s great grandfather, Edward. When George Washington was made
Commander in Chief of the American army in 1754, he joined this army as a private. He
was drowned in the Delaware River while crossing with Washington on Christmas night in
1776.
Then for about two generations Billy’s fore-fathers labored, mostly as stone and brick masons, throughout the eastern portion of Pennsylvania and finally settled down along the valleys of the Juniata. Here Billy’s father, William Hart b. 1790, was born, grew into manhood and married a Puritan Maid whose maiden name was Patience Ring.
In the year 1814, soon after their marriage, thinking to better their conditions, they gathered their possessions together and set their faces to the promising west. Crossing the Alleghenies, Laurel Hill and Chestnut Ridge, they pitched their tent in Youngstown, a small town nestling at the foot of Chestnut Ridge on the old Pittsburgh and Philadelphia pike, about eleven miles from Greensburg, the county seat of Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania.
This was in November of 1814. Two boys and two girls were born to them here whose names were John and Andy and Eliza and Jane. Then on October 12, 1824
BILLY WAS BORN
So runs Billy’s lineage and up to this point we can certainly point with pride to his ancestry. We are sorry that we cannot continue in our approbation, but truth compels us to withdraw our approval, for here at the dawn of his existence, his heritage is one of sorrow and tears of want, of neglect and abuse.

To explain this clearly, we will leave Billy here for the present. Just as he has landed in this ill-starred port we will furnish the reasons for his ill treatment, by taking up the character of his father and the people the community and the time and customs in which he lived.
Billy’s father was an athlete of some note. Even before they came to Youngstown he had gained more than a local fame as a fleet footed runner, as well as an expert boxer. He gloried in his feats of agility and strength and took an active part, on all occasions, where such things were engaged. This, naturally, led him to associate with the sporting fraternity and through these influences, he speedily drifted into evil ways. He brutalized himself through drink and neglected his wife and children. In fact, he became totally indifferent to their welfare. He would work a while, either at peeling bark for the tannery, or at breaking stone on the pike, but any money that came into his possession went to buy whiskey, while he lolled along the banks fishing in the Loyalhanna, or in the Four Mile Run. Sometimes he would win a considerable sum of money in a foot race, a boxing match, running high jump or some feat of agility where his backers would share their winnings with him. This did not benefit his family for it only meant a more extended debauch and the money finally all passed over the bars of the four or five saloons which flourished there at that time.
Under these deplorable conditions the burden of the household rested on the mother. It was far from being an easy task, under the conditions of that time and place, for a woman to find food and clothing for herself and five growing children. In .ct, if it had not been for pitying neighbors, they certainly would have starved or frozen.
Of course, Billy has no remembrance of the first few years of his existence, but the very first things that he has any recollection of are the sorrow and tears and misery of pinching want. The wolf of hunger stood defiant and unchallenged in their hovel-like home. Their innocent, youthful eyes stared in the face of perpetual famine. Poverty was stamped on every hour of their lives and on all their surroundings.
Billy remembers, many times, when the children huddled in the cabin for a whole day, without one morsel of food, until evening when the mother would come and bring her wages for a hard days work in the form of a sack of Indian Meal, or potatoes, or flour, or bacon or, in fact, any sort of food that she could earn by washing, scrubbing, hoeing or husking corn or any kind of labor of which a woman is capable of performing. Although Billy had a very retentive memory, he cannot recall one single instance where his father ever procured one morsel of food, one shred of clothing for either his wife or his children. To his dying day he could never explain how their food and clothing was procured unless it was through the help that the mother received from charitable neighbors. Billy remembers - although he
was very young - of one place where they lived in an old tumble down cabin on the side of the Ridge. They had a near neighbor, how he learned it Billy does not know, but he knew that this man did not allow his wife to give food to these hungry children. Billy would watch until the man would leave the house, then he would scamper over and peep through the slats of the gate. Then this woman, with the heart of gold, would spread large slices of bread and bring them down and give them to these poor drink cursed and famishing children. Ah!, there were angels living in those days and one resided on the side of Chestnut Ridge.

In spite of all the starvation and abuse to which ‘he was subjected, Billy grew and waxed strong. His young and naturally vigorous body was becoming inured to hardship and at the best, penury and destitution sits light on the head of a boy. He played with the other boys of the town and in season he fished in Four Mile Run and in the Loyalhanna through all its curves and eddy’s from where Latrobe now stands, on up to where the summer resort of Idlewild is located. He knew the best bait and the best places for sunfish, silver wides, chubs and suckers. That is, he fished if he happened to be the proud possessor of a real fish hook and some kind of line, which was not often. The people of the town were all poor in a general way, but Billy was poor in whatever angle it was viewed from. In that day, when a boy went fishing and had an extra hook proudly dangling from his shirt front, was, by all the other boys, considered a “nabob”. Hooks were far too precious to take any chances on losing. If a hook got fastened on a rock, or a root, the only sane method of procedure was to jerk off the jean pants and check shirt, throw down the chip hat and dive down and loosen the hook. Hooks and lines were scarce with all the boys but in Billy’s case everything was scarce. NO! No! Not everything for there was plenty of sunshine as it threw its silver bars among the foliage over the side of the Ridge, while Billy scampered over its broad slopes and roamed through its verdure clad vales and fought his way through the laurel thickets and the jungle of ironwood and sumacs. There was plenty of water in the Loyalhanna to dabble, paddle and swim in. He knew where the wild plums got ripe first. He knew where the heaviest clusters of blue grapes hung. He knew where the chestnut tree stood whose burrs would be the first to open. He knew where the best haw trees grew
- both red and black. He knew where the huckleberries grew in the greatest profusion. He knew where the biggest roots of sweet myrrh could be dug. The service berry, sassafras and spice wood, birch and the wild cherry have all contributed their portion towards building up an iron constitution in Billy, which stayed with him to a ripe old age.
Billy was rich in boy knowledge but was entirely destitute of all those things, which make for the comforts of life.
Even at this early age, Billy was sometimes employed to help take care of the horses at one or the other of the stables connected with each of the tavern stands in the town. During one of these periods an old Colonel, who made frequent visits into the town for the seemingly purpose of getting drunk, made one of his usual visits. In getting off his horse, which Billy was holding, his foot got stuck in the stirrup and he fell to the ground. Billy was not to blame for this mishap and no serious damage was done, yet the Colonel rose in a towering rage and catching Billy, gave his ears such a cuffing that they rang for hours. Before the Colonel departed for home Billy and another boy, James West, crawled under the stables and collected a hat full of real ripe old eggs. About dusk they took their rotten eggs and went to the lower end of town where the pike crossed the old mill race. Making an equal division of the eggs, they hid on either side of the pike and waited for the Colonel. Seventy five years afterward, the writer heard Billy laugh loud and long at the recollection of how those ancient eggs - swiftly thrown- would crack when they hit either the horse or the rider. This, of course, stopped the ringing in Billy’s ears.
About the time of which we write, about 1830 - Youngstown was just a “pike” town and nothing else. Its most flourishing industries were the four or five bar rooms located there. Each tavern had its own bar, which was always kept well stocked with whiskey from one or the other of the distilleries, which at that time were located not many miles apart. There were few breweries in this section of the country and beer was scarce as well as expensive. Whiskey was plenty and cheap and, of course, was the most popular drink.

The Pittsburgh and Philadelphia “pike” was the artery, which kept Youngstown alive. There was no public works of any kind and one very small and very crude tannery constituted in the entire business in the way of manufactories. This was conducted on such rude methods that it only employed about two men so the rest of the population depended on the “pike for all the employment that they either needed or wanted. This work consisted of quarrying and hauling stone on the “pike” or ditching or breaking stone along the “pike”. The wages were low, but in that day it did not cost much to live. The simple reason is that very many things that in this day are considered absolute necessities and in that day would have been looked on as luxuries and not at all necessary. Their clothing was plain and inexpensive. Land was cheap and they were satisfied to live in dwellings of the plainest construction.
The Pittsburgh and Philadelphia “pike” was the great artery of trade between the East and the West. Hundreds of teams and teamsters were employed in carrying merchandise between these two points, while the rumbling stage coach carried passengers and whatever mail there was. Youngstown was one of the regular stopping places for both the teamsters and the state. Five tavern stands flourished here at that time arid furnished all the accommodations needed for both man and beast. The stables contained stalls for a large number of horses and each had a large wagon yard. There was not much ceremony practiced in putting up at one of these hotels. Numbers of transportation companies had been formed and each one had many teams employed of the best horses that could be bought. They used great strong wagons fitted with the large “Conestoga” beds. Great rivalry existed as to which company’s team could haunt the heaviest load or make the trip in the shortest time. When a teamster drove into a stable yard it signified that he intended to stop at that tavern for the night. The hostlers employed there proceeded to unhitch his horses while the driver walked into the bar room, threw his whip on the counter as a form of registering. The bar keeper hung the whip up and promptly set out the big black bottle. The driver, after slaking his thirst, would compare notes for a while with other drivers then proceed to the stable to see if any of his horses needed shoeing or to see if any harness needed repairing or anything else that could be attended to that he might not be delayed when he wished to start in the morning.
The teamsters employed were a wild, dare devil class of men. Drinkers and fighters who were at home wherever their teams and wagons were. Rollicking soldiers of fortune who cared not toward which point of the compass they were headed for. They seemed to have a perpetual thirst and they would fight at the drop of the hat.
After a few more drinks, and supper in the dining room, then he relaxed and proceeded to enjoy himself in his own way.
In one or the other of the taverns, the chairs and tables would be removed from the dining room, some girls gathered in, and a fiddler enthroned on a chair on top of a table. Soon the merry strains of “Money Musk” or “Old Zip Coon” or Turkey in the Straw” would start the cowhide boots of the teamsters to beating boisterous time on the wide oak boards of the floor. Drink was plenty and cheap at the bar and often the fun grew fast and furious. The favorite dances were the Cotillion or Square Dance. Four couples in each set and the figures were merrily reeled off as they were loudly called by some sun burned teamster, whose throat was full of clinkers collected there by loud profanity and raw whiskey.

Fights were numerous and they were fights to a finish. No weapons were used besides the bare knuckles and their feet. These were only common diversions and did not interfere with the dance. Far into the small hours of the morning the hoarse voice of the figure caller could be heard have across the town. “Swing your corner; now your own, and balance all; First couple lead off to the right; Swing four hands and on the next, Swing six hands and on to the next; Take them along and circle eight; Swing your own and a grand hook-in]
These figures would be gone through with much laughter, joshing of each other, high kicking and an occasional WHOOP-PEE!. There were neither dudes, nor prudes in these tavern dances and they were held almost every night. The “Turkey-Trot” and the “Bunny Hug” were unknown. If these two dances mean a wider freedom of speech and action between the sexes, we are free to say that Youngstown has a long lead on Fifth Avenue. There were no white slippers, nor silks, nor satins, nor was there anything stately or majestic in these dances. It was a sort of “catch-as-catch-can” affair. In comparison, we believe that the “Bunny Hug” and “Turkey Trot” would be very quiet and tame events.
Fights were numerous all “rough and tumble” events and nothing was barred except the use of weapons, such as knives, revolvers or black jacks. Biting, kicking, or gouging were permissible and a battered up face did not lower the owner in the esteem of the general public. This was only evidence that the man was, at least, willing to try to back up his opinions. In that day there were men in Youngstown and among the teamsters who were tough subjects to deal with in a fisted encounter. Men prided in the fact that they were known as “scrappers”. Many of these fights occurred through jealousy arising - as it usually does - from the free distribution of smiles of some fair damsel who is taking part in the dances. Many others were for no cause whatever, except the legitimate and very natural outcome of the large quantities of whiskey that was drank. The most prolific cause of the quarrels arose between the teamsters of rival lines. Each would do anything that lay in his power to delay the other on his trip. They would slip out to the stables at night and cut the harness of rival teams, hide the “butt chains” or the collars, remove the “linch-pins” from the wagons and, in fact, would perform any act that would cause delay or annoyance. Sometimes a big teamster would get so hilarious that he would imagine he was capable of running the whole town to suit himseli This was always sure to run him up against some man of the town who thought otherwise, and in many cases, the teamster was wrong in his guess.
Billy remembered many of the principal characters who resided in Youngstown at that time. To the writer, he has often related anecdotes of the Johnston’s and the Keltz’s, Gibsons, Robb’s, McAtee’s, VanSwarter — who was a swordsman of more than local fame, - the Igo’s, Ailberts and a number of others. Among the fighters, Peter Igo stands out first and foremost. Big, raw boned and with the strength of a buffalo, as lithe as a panther and just as willing to fight as he was to bid you good morning.
Peter was the only original unwhipped man in that vicinity. He had marred many visages and had many times had his own marred, but there was never a man drove away from Youngstown who could truthfully say that he had licked Peter Igo. The last time that Billy remembered seeing Peter, he was coming down the main and only street of the town yelling like a catamount to let everybody now he was there. He had one trouser leg torn off high on his thigh and had a live raccoon chained to his ankle, while over his shoulder was slung a huge army musket.