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CHAPTER II

A NEW LAND AND A NEW LIFE

[graphic]

THE ORIGINAL OF THE TAMMANY
TIGER.

Loaned by W. C. Montanye

They took up their residence in Greenwich Street, then a neighborhood of respectable dwellings. There was a school near by, to which the little boy, who could not speak a word of English, was sent.

It was all foreign and strange to him on that first morning, and he did not know where to go. Mischievous children directed him here and there. One rogue of a boy pointed to a line that seemed to be some sort of a class, and the little German lad took his place in it. Those were the old days of rod and ruler, and this was the line marked for punishment. The sharp-faced woman principal entered a moment later to perform her duty. She could not understand German, and the little boy's fervid explanation in that tongue was of no avail. He hurried home at recess and refused to return to a school where the first lesson was applied to the patch on a little boy's trousers. His mother tried to explain that a mistake had been made. It was no use. He had tried to explain that, himself. He preferred not to risk another mistake-at least not in the same spot.

His second American experience was hardly less discouraging. It took place next morning when he was strolling down Greenwich Street, enjoying the sights of the new world. Suddenly, from a cellar directly in front of him, there leaped a rude boy wearing a fireman's hat, and with a long trumpet, upon which he blew a blast that carried terror to the heart and flight to the heels of the small Bavarian.

His mother soon removed her little family to the quiet neighborhood of William Street, near Frankfort. But the house was said to be haunted. Some former occupant was believed to have acquired the habit of walking about at night, between twelve and one o'clock, and these were not peaceful hours for a little lad who happened to be awake. Altogether he became less sure that he was glad they had come to this land of unusual things.

Yet there were compensations. Next door to the haunted William Street house was a man who made crayon sticks for artists. Often there were faulty ones, and these he gave to the little Nast boy, who took them to school-a new school, where German was a circulating medium-and drew pictures for the other pupils. One of these-a picture of an African capturing a lion-excited their admiration. Also, perhaps, their envy, for a larger boy, seizing the slate, hurried with it to the teacher. It was expected that punishment would fall on the young artist's head. Instead of which, there were laurels of praise. The little lad of Landau, who was one day to destroy evil-doers and make presidents, had won his first triumph in the New World.

His second conquest came a few days later, at the same school. A big boy-perhaps the one who had exhibited his drawingwas in the habit of imposing upon him at play-time. The little Nast boy endured this for a season. Then, one day, he suddenly turned upon his tormentor with such fury and violence that it was found necessary to rescue the big screaming bully

to save his life. The little boy was not molested again. Indeed, he became something of a hero, and decided that perhaps America was not such a bad place as he had at first thought.

He found a great joy in running to fires. In Landau he had never seen a fire, except once when the coal yard had smoked a little and the regiment had paraded with beating drums, as if the world were coming to an end. Now, there were fires almost daily. The little boy was at first terrified, then fascinated. He made a fire engine of his own and became chief of the crew. Less than a dozen blocks away the Big Six-the fire company of which big Bill Tweed was chief-had its headquarters. On the engine of the Big Six was painted a tiger's head-a front view with fierce distended jaws, reproduced from a French lithograph, a copy of which hung in an art store on the northeast corner of James and Madison Streets.* The boy Nast used to regard this tiger's head, as it appeared in the lithograph and upon the engine of the Big Six, with admiration and awe. Little could he guess then what use he would make of that sinister emblem in later days. For it was the Big Six tiger that was to go with Tweed into Tammany Hall, and it was Thomas Nast, the man and cartoonist, who was first to emblazon it as the symbol of rapacious plunder and of civic shame.

But in that long ago time, the Big Six boys with their polished engine and glaring tiger meant only excitement and joy. He pursued them when fires broke out-running and shouting with a crowd of other boys that mingled with a tangle of frightened teams and a score of yelping curs. The Big Eight, a hated rival, also had headquarters not far away, and sometimes it happened that the two companies would forget the fire to engage in a bloody conflict in the public streets. Whatever may

* The head on the engine is believed to have been actually painted from another copy of this tiger lithograph, borrowed by Tweed from the father of W. C. Montanye, in whose possession the picture still remains. (See page 9.)

be the present conditions, New York in those days was hardly a model of law and order and good government. The Macready and Forrest riot, perhaps the most remarkable event in all dramatic history-a city plunged into lawless bloodshed because of a jealousy between two actors-took place at this period, an episode which the little boy, now nine and accustomed to scenes of carnage, both witnessed and enjoyed. He also saw the burning of the old Park Theatre-on Park Row opposite the present post-office-a fine big fire from which only a wooden statue of Shakespeare survived.

And all the time he drew-anything and everything. His desk at school was full of his efforts, and the walls of the haunted house on William Street were decorated with his masterpieces. It may have been for this reason that the ghost gave up its nightly rambles.

Sometimes his love of art led him into difficulties. A poster on a dead-wall, at the corner of Houston and Eldridge Streets, attracted his attention one quiet Sunday morning, when his mother and other good people were at services. It was a picture of a beautiful full-rigged ship, and he wished to draw it. He cut it out with his knife, though not before a big policeman had slipped across the street and seized him quite suddenly from behind. But the young artist was versatile. He voiced a yell that rent the Sabbath stillness and caused the terrified policeman to drop him hastily. The captain of the district appeared on the scene, also the landlord of the haunted house, who interceded for the youthful draftsman. The incident closed with a lecture from the captain on the evil of over-enthusiasm, even in art.

But now a very important thing happened. This was nothing less than the arrival of the elder Nast, whose term of enlistment had ended. His coming had been announced by a comrade, and great excitement immediately ensued. The little

boy was despatched hastily to the corner bakery to buy an extra large pfann-kuchen for the great occasion. Returning, he was passed by a closed cab which suddenly stopped. Then a man leaped out and, seizing him, thrust him quickly inside. The little boy thought he was kidnapped, but an instant later found himself in his father's arms, with the precious big pfann-kuchen being crushed between them. Of course he was happy, but the prospect of his mother's grief at sight of the ruined cake saddened him. However, the cake did not prove a total loss. Its slight damage was quickly forgotten in the joy of treasures from afar, and in listening to the father's tales of travels in many lands. This was in 1850, when young Thomas was ten years old.

Nast senior was a skilled musician and a man to make friends. He became a member of the Philharmonic Society, and of the band at Burton's Theatre in Chambers Street. To the latter place, Nast junior often accompanied him-sitting, as he had done in the little theatre of Landau, in a special seat in the

[graphic]

A SCENE FROM "TWELFTH NIGHT," DRAWN ABOUT 1853-4

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