 | "Slug 14." |  |
“SLUG 14.”
A Doggerel Rhyme (Detailing the Fate of a “Rat” Who Spaced Nonpareil with Brevier). Read by Eugene Field, Esq., at the Printer's Banquet, January 1st, 1876, at St. Joseph, Missouri.
None knew where he came from or where he was born,
But he entered the “news-room” quite early one morn;
The foreman was busy discussing his lunch
And the “comps” were all sorting their “dupes,” in a bunch.
The strange man peered in with mysterious air.
And regarded the group with a curious stare.
But he entered the “news-room” quite early one morn;
The foreman was busy discussing his lunch
And the “comps” were all sorting their “dupes,” in a bunch.
The strange man peered in with mysterious air.
And regarded the group with a curious stare.
Imagine a person all tatters and rags,
Whose pants hung about him like, loose gunny bags,
With coat soiled and grimy, and minus a shirt
With boots full of holes and covered with dirt.
With a thing on his head that resembled a mat
That someone had tramped on—he called it a hat—:
Imagine a being in such a sad plight,
And you have an idea of whom I now write.
Whose pants hung about him like, loose gunny bags,
With coat soiled and grimy, and minus a shirt
With boots full of holes and covered with dirt.
With a thing on his head that resembled a mat
That someone had tramped on—he called it a hat—:
Imagine a being in such a sad plight,
And you have an idea of whom I now write.
But he might have been poor, and had no good clo'es.
Or perhaps was eccentric—nobody knows.
But one thing was certain—we never had guessed
That one could have features as that man possessed.
His body was crooked, his feet were turned in
And his face wore a wicked half cynical grin,
Such a queer, hooked-up nose was ne'er before seen,
And his eyes! Lord, what eyes—they were lit'rally green!
His cheek-bones were high, his eyebrows uncouth.
Like a yawning abyss stretched his wonderful mouth,
A scrubby red beard ran to waste on his jaws.
While his ears—well—they—no. I really must pause
In this their description—I fain will confess
No language of mine their wonders express.
They assumed just such shapes as their strange master willed.
As he worked them as deftly as if he were skilled
In the arts of the devil. Sometimes they were pointed.
Sometimes they were round, and sometimes were flaunted
Straight out like the sails of a boat: and again
They appeared the same shape as the ears of most men.
His hair was as red as a quick-tempered girl's.
And lay on his conical head, in short curls;
But they raised and stood straight as we “comps” eyed their master
As if they expected some direful disaster.
Or perhaps was eccentric—nobody knows.
But one thing was certain—we never had guessed
That one could have features as that man possessed.
His body was crooked, his feet were turned in
And his face wore a wicked half cynical grin,
Such a queer, hooked-up nose was ne'er before seen,
And his eyes! Lord, what eyes—they were lit'rally green!
His cheek-bones were high, his eyebrows uncouth.
Like a yawning abyss stretched his wonderful mouth,
A scrubby red beard ran to waste on his jaws.
While his ears—well—they—no. I really must pause
In this their description—I fain will confess
No language of mine their wonders express.
They assumed just such shapes as their strange master willed.
As he worked them as deftly as if he were skilled
In the arts of the devil. Sometimes they were pointed.
Sometimes they were round, and sometimes were flaunted
Straight out like the sails of a boat: and again
They appeared the same shape as the ears of most men.
His hair was as red as a quick-tempered girl's.
And lay on his conical head, in short curls;
But they raised and stood straight as we “comps” eyed their master
As if they expected some direful disaster.
“Well, what do you want?” Slug 13 soon cried.
“I want to get work,” the strange being replied.
“Work?” cried we in chorus, “can you hammer lead?”
“I'm bad at that bus'ness,” the strange being said.
“I want to get work,” the strange being replied.
“Work?” cried we in chorus, “can you hammer lead?”
“I'm bad at that bus'ness,” the strange being said.
Well, somehow or other, despite his vile look—
For the stranger we all of us some pity took.
And when he unfolded his piteous tale,
And when we remembered the fierce wintry gale
That was blowing without, we declared, to a man,
“We'll help the poor devil as much as we can!”
For the stranger we all of us some pity took.
And when he unfolded his piteous tale,
And when we remembered the fierce wintry gale
That was blowing without, we declared, to a man,
“We'll help the poor devil as much as we can!”
So we gave him a bed by the stove for the night,
And he laid him down with apparent delight.
“Old Frank” didn't like him—the dog knew full well
The tramp printer hadn't the good printer smell!
And he laid him down with apparent delight.
“Old Frank” didn't like him—the dog knew full well
The tramp printer hadn't the good printer smell!
The Cap'n, our foreman, has got a big heart,
As big as six oxen hitched to a dirt cart.
And when he observed the stranger's sad face
An' his rags, he determined to find him a place,
And, with Tufts' permission, he gave him a “case.”
As big as six oxen hitched to a dirt cart.
And when he observed the stranger's sad face
An' his rags, he determined to find him a place,
And, with Tufts' permission, he gave him a “case.”
Well, by God! In our office from that fated day—
Excuse my plain language, all hell was to pay!
Of all the damned “blacksmithing” under the sun.
The damnedest by that self same party was done!
Why, sir, when there came in a wedding report,
You ought to have seen that “lead-pounder” cavort!
He got so confused, and so reckless besides,
That for “kissing” he set “the groom pissed on the bride!”
An' when Deacon Burke wrote a funeral story
And spoke of deceased as “aged and hoary.”
Slug 14 inserted a “w.” when
An “h” would have suited all good “Union men.”
And so it went in “ads” and “eds”—he seemed
To take delight in botching. No one dreamed
Of having copy set “O. K.” by him.
Unless, perchance, he took a sudden whim
To set no more than fifteen hundred “m's” a night,
And then he managed to get matters nearly right.
Excuse my plain language, all hell was to pay!
Of all the damned “blacksmithing” under the sun.
The damnedest by that self same party was done!
Why, sir, when there came in a wedding report,
You ought to have seen that “lead-pounder” cavort!
He got so confused, and so reckless besides,
That for “kissing” he set “the groom pissed on the bride!”
An' when Deacon Burke wrote a funeral story
And spoke of deceased as “aged and hoary.”
Slug 14 inserted a “w.” when
An “h” would have suited all good “Union men.”
And so it went in “ads” and “eds”—he seemed
To take delight in botching. No one dreamed
Of having copy set “O. K.” by him.
Unless, perchance, he took a sudden whim
To set no more than fifteen hundred “m's” a night,
And then he managed to get matters nearly right.
One time, we all remember very well
He “pied” a “market galley” all to hell.
Again, spaced “agate” out with “nonpareil.”
He “pied” a “market galley” all to hell.
Again, spaced “agate” out with “nonpareil.”
Lord! how the Cap'n raved! But first says he
In gentle accents “Who set up four C?”
Slug 14 answered up, in accents clear,
As all good “typos” answer, “Here!”
Then Cap'n leaned back on the stone and swore;
“By Jesus Christ! as I've remarked before
And as you've often, often heard me tell.
‘Brevier’ won't ‘justify’ with ‘nonpareil!’”
In gentle accents “Who set up four C?”
Slug 14 answered up, in accents clear,
As all good “typos” answer, “Here!”
Then Cap'n leaned back on the stone and swore;
“By Jesus Christ! as I've remarked before
And as you've often, often heard me tell.
‘Brevier’ won't ‘justify’ with ‘nonpareil!’”
These and such scenes were often frequent, till
The good Macloon had more than got his fill.
One night, the last night of Slug 14's life,
In our “composing room” report was rife,
That in a solemn conclave held that day,
'T had been decreed to “fire” him sans delay.
The good Macloon had more than got his fill.
One night, the last night of Slug 14's life,
In our “composing room” report was rife,
That in a solemn conclave held that day,
'T had been decreed to “fire” him sans delay.
But then, as if to fill the cup of mis'ry up.
And cooly dash the mis'ry and the cup,
Slug 14 carried on as ne'er before.
He “pied” a “galley,” tipped his “cases” o'er,
An' brought an uncorrected “market galley” down.
And set it on the big “imposing stone.”
Then, to complete, he stepped on little Sweeny's tail!
And Sweeny, bless his heart! set up a wail.
And cooly dash the mis'ry and the cup,
Slug 14 carried on as ne'er before.
He “pied” a “galley,” tipped his “cases” o'er,
An' brought an uncorrected “market galley” down.
And set it on the big “imposing stone.”
Then, to complete, he stepped on little Sweeny's tail!
And Sweeny, bless his heart! set up a wail.
Out rushed E. Field, with wildly flashing eye,
Followed by Burke, while Dutton stood hard by—
“Who's done this deed?” the angry “local” cried.
E. Field looked volumes at Cap. H. Macloon.
Said he, “My friend, the end can't come too soon!”
“No,” said the Cap'n, “Here, you man!
Come here as quickly as you can!
I have long doubted whence you came—
Present your ‘card’! Divulge your name!”
Followed by Burke, while Dutton stood hard by—
“Who's done this deed?” the angry “local” cried.
E. Field looked volumes at Cap. H. Macloon.
Said he, “My friend, the end can't come too soon!”
“No,” said the Cap'n, “Here, you man!
Come here as quickly as you can!
I have long doubted whence you came—
Present your ‘card’! Divulge your name!”
“Card? What d'ye mean?” the gaping idiot cried.
“Your ‘Union card!’” the foreman then replied.
“I ain't no Union man!” “Good Lord! what's that?”
The “comps” all shrieked—“No, I'm a ‘Rat!’”
“Your ‘Union card!’” the foreman then replied.
“I ain't no Union man!” “Good Lord! what's that?”
The “comps” all shrieked—“No, I'm a ‘Rat!’”
He spoke his doom, in awful silence all
Those thirteen “comps” marched slowly down the hall,
And from the closet dragged a cannon grim—
Slug 14 felt that death awaited him.
Yet, like a rat, despairing, full of hate.
Baffled he stood and mocked approaching fate.
Those thirteen “comps” marched slowly down the hall,
And from the closet dragged a cannon grim—
Slug 14 felt that death awaited him.
Yet, like a rat, despairing, full of hate.
Baffled he stood and mocked approaching fate.
The dragged the cannon from its hiding place—
That captain viewed the scene with pallid face.
They poured the powder in, pound after poun'.
Then with the “shooting-stick” and “mallet” rammed it down.
That captain viewed the scene with pallid face.
They poured the powder in, pound after poun'.
Then with the “shooting-stick” and “mallet” rammed it down.
“Bring on the victim! ‘Fire’ him out of here!”
Pale was the Cap'n's face, but not a tear
Of sorrow or regret! They seize the wretch.
And now upon the cold imposing stone they stretch
His struggling body, bind him fast with rope.
Quiet he lies, devoid of every hope.
Pale was the Cap'n's face, but not a tear
Of sorrow or regret! They seize the wretch.
And now upon the cold imposing stone they stretch
His struggling body, bind him fast with rope.
Quiet he lies, devoid of every hope.
His body in the fatal cannon then they force,
Shouting erstwhile in accents madly hoarse,
“Death to all ‘Rats’!”—the fatal match is struck.
The cannon pointed upwards—then kerchuck!
Fix! snap! ker-boom! Slug 14's grotesque form
Sails out to ride a race upon the storm.
Up through the roof, and up into the sky—
As if he sought for “cases” up on high,
Till like a rocket, or like one who's trusted,
He fell again to earth—completely busted!
Shouting erstwhile in accents madly hoarse,
“Death to all ‘Rats’!”—the fatal match is struck.
The cannon pointed upwards—then kerchuck!
Fix! snap! ker-boom! Slug 14's grotesque form
Sails out to ride a race upon the storm.
Up through the roof, and up into the sky—
As if he sought for “cases” up on high,
Till like a rocket, or like one who's trusted,
He fell again to earth—completely busted!
This is no romance, friends—it's solemn truth.
Heed it, ye vet'rans, ye ambitious youth,
Or, if ye doubt, consult with any one
Who worked with me when this fell deed was done;
Or ask Macloon, and you will shortly hear
Of him who “spaced out agate” with “brevier.”
Heed it, ye vet'rans, ye ambitious youth,
Or, if ye doubt, consult with any one
Who worked with me when this fell deed was done;
Or ask Macloon, and you will shortly hear
Of him who “spaced out agate” with “brevier.”
| "Slug 14." | |