Part 2

“No, this is only my second term. Let me explain how they do things up there. I went there, full of enthusiasm for the public service. Being a new member, I scarcely expected to get on one of the big committees, but I thought I was entitled to something. The Speaker put me on the Indian Affairs Committee. The only Indians I knew anything about were the braves of the Tammany tribe, but I was willing to learn. I read the works of J. Fenimore Cooper so as to get posted on Indian Affairs. When I got a pretty good grip on the subject I waited for a meeting of my committee, but couldn’t find any. Near the close of the session I went to an old member of the Legislature and asked him if there were any Indians in the state and if so what was I supposed to do for them.

“‘Indians in New York?’ he came back. ‘Plenty of them. You come from Manhattan and must have noticed a number of them in front of cigar stores with uplifted tomahawks. These Indians are exposed to all kinds of weather and it is your duty to observe the weather effect and be ready to report on the same when the committee meets.’

“I asked him when the committee did meet and he said, ‘I have been here for the past six years and it has not met yet, but it is likely to meet any day.’”

Sometimes tobacco signs are painted on boards, and of such a curious example is to be seen at the door of a small establishment bearing the sonorous name of the “Mephisto Cigar Store.”

It is a typical representation of the typical stage demon, dressed in tights and furnished with the regulation bat like wings.

VII

AS the “Wooden Indian” has long been a by-word, and a popular symbol of stolidity in mind and body, I have thought it worth while to show that like more pretentious statuary he may furnish inspiration to the Muse of Poetry. Here is an advertisement in verse sent me by a lady of Seneca Falls, New York.

“Where the stately Indian chieftian Stands in silence by the door, Down on Vall street, stop and peep in You will find a splendid store. Should you choose the weed Nicotian Choice tobaccos that inspire Whose sweet incense wins devotion To the smoking meerschaum’s fire, Would you purchase true enjoyment, Joy without a shade of sorrow; Would you rest from your employment With a fragrant rich cigarro, Formed from meerschaum, clay and brier, Tipped with amber, stemmed with cherry, Are the bowls for perfumed fire, Holding fumes that make men merry, Or, should you prefer to “quid” it, And to taste the weed’s dark juices, Warrington will not forbid it Neither need you make excuses. You who love the weed they call sweet, Plug or fine cut, twist or leaf, Go to Warrington’s at Vall street There where stands the Indian Chief.”

VIII

WHAT a sarcasm of Destiny it is that when we have driven out and killed off all the Indians who were so happy here, we write poetry praising them, novels about the good looking, brave, and almost, too saintly Red Man. And now it is seriously urged that a suitable Memorial be erected in New York Harbor to the Memory of the North American Indian whose ranks are thinning so rapidly, that within a comparatively few years more, the race will be obliterated by the advance of the white man’s civilization. That is rather a rosy way of describing the treatment the Indian has received.

The proposed statue will be colossal in size and of bronze in construction, with outstretched arm, typifying a greeting from the primal American to the people of all other nations.

That might be well represented by “Samoset,” illustrating the finer, better traits of the Indian, when he cried out a “Welcome, Englishmen” to the strangers who were landing.

I have dwelt so much on this theme that I’m actually confusing the real Indian with a wooden statue. Never mind. Did you know that Schiller wrote an Indian Death song?

I’ll quote a few verses:

“Well for him! he’s gone his ways, Where are no more snows; Where the fields are decked with maize That unplanted grows;

Where with beasts of chase each wood, Where with bird each tree, Where with fish is every flood Stocked full pleasantly.

He above with spirits feeds; We, alone and dim, Left to celebrate his deeds, And to bury him.”

IX

I am told that a Collector went about in Baltimore twenty years ago and bought up all the best of these signs in that city, for their carving was often admirable, spirited, and artistic. A friend sends me an interesting history of that “Ancient Baltimorean, the Cigar Store Indian,” written in 1908 for a paper of that city.

On good authority, it is stated that there are 2,000 tobacco stores in Baltimore. One finds them in all parts of the city, on street corners, in basements, in the middle of blocks and fronting alleys.

It is estimated that 150 of these 2,000 tobacco stores are identified by a wooden figure just as a barber shop is identified by a ribbon-striped pole. The wooden figures are almost always found to represent an Indian, although occasionally there are other figures.

And so they may be found differing in size, coloring, ornamentation, state of repair and general condition, or rather, in most cases, general debility.

To review the history of these Indians one would naturally look to a tobacconist of age, with years in the business of dealing in and manufacturing of smokers’ articles, and in interviewing several of such many facts of interest may be learned.

The oldest tobacconist in Baltimore is venerable Mr. Caspari, of Calvert street, one of whose figures was mentioned above.

Mr. Caspari’s story of the Indian is as follows: “The first figures were made by ship carpenters 125 years ago and were carved out of lengths of old seasoned masts.

“In those days of individual effort and prosperity cigar stores were few and far between, and for a sign to identify them they used the figure of an Indian, because from the Indian, the white man first received tobacco.

“At first the figure was painted on each side of a board. This was placed in front of the store. From that evolved the carving of the figure from solid wood as a new idea and more attractive and progressive, as well as more expensive and valuable.

“Fifty years ago no tobacconist would think of opening a store without a figure. Now the men in the trade think that to put an Indian out is to waste money.

“When I started business, in 1861, my stock cost me $30, and I had a figure that cost $40. I had to have the sign, though it cost more money than the stock inside. Since then I have been 46 years in business on one (Calvert) street,” said Mr. Caspari.

In 1864 he hired a man from New York to make figures for him. The first figure was a small one, representing an Indian squaw. This was sold in Baltimore in 1865 and brought $15.

These figures were made out of old masts. Each one was handmade with saw, knife, chisel and such tools of the trade. The sculptor would work on five or six different ones in turn and take, on an average, about a week’s time to finish a figure.

Mr. Caspari has sold figures in many other towns and cities.

In the old days, customers coming in and wanting a figure would choose some new design, and so “Girls of the Period” were next in vogue. These were fanciful, flashy figures and very attractive.

“Pipitone, on Charles street, near Baltimore, years ago bought one of these fancy figures,” said Mr. Caspari, “and soon after a storm blew it to Baltimore street, damaging it badly. He brought it back and had it repaired and painted and about two months after that a horse ran away and the wagon caught the figure and broke it to pieces.”

X

IN 1868 or 1870 “Fritz in Ireland” was acted by J. K. Emmet at the Holliday Street Theatre, in Baltimore, and the actor sang his famous lullaby to one of these “Girls of the Period” figures. After these Mr. Caspari offered drum majors, represented with Uncle Sam breeches and clothed to correspond.

Then came “Champagne Charley,” with side whiskers, red coat, striped trousers and holding a bottle in one hand, at which he pointed a finger of the other.

Then came the soldier. This figure carried a genuine old musket.

Next appeared the “Scotch Girl,” with Tam-o-shanter and plaid dress, like a bag-pipe player.

With a large assortment of figures on exhibit to choose from, Mr. Caspari did a good business. Every cigar store that started had one.

New customers looking about for a figure would come in with a new idea and new designs would be made to order. Mr. Caspari had 100 figures on exhibition at one time.

Last were made Punches and clowns. This was about 20 years ago. After that the trade fell off and the stock was sold out.

The value of figures depended on the size, amount of work and time necessary to finish them and on their newness of design and ornamentation. They cost new, from $15 up to $250. One Mr. Caspari sold for $400.

He bought a little darky figure at one time on Pratt street that had resisted the elements for 150 years. This little figure was about 30 inches high.

During the war, on a St. Patrick’s Day, he dressed the darky in a green coat, with a clover leaf and tall hat. An Irish soldier came along and, seeing the darky, became incensed and knocked it off its block, exclaiming vehemently against its being an Irish “nigger.”

On another St. Patrick’s Day a drunken Irishman, seeing the darky in similar patriotic regalia, made such a disturbance that a policeman had to be called.

Figures were sold all over Baltimore and were repaired frequently. Some were more exposed to the elements than others. Some were of such design that portions were more easily broken off than was the case with others.

XI

TO repaint a figure cost from $10 to $15. They were always painted flashily with high-grade paint and trimmings of genuine gold or silver or whatever metal was called for. Some had earrings, others beads, bracelets or necklaces to repaint fancifully. Then the feathers of the Indian required the highest artistic blending of colors.

Mr. Caspari had scores of paint pots used in connection with this branch of his business. Each held a different colored paint.

As a rule figures required repainting every 18 months, although Mr. Fricke’s Indian, bought 25 years ago, has had but three coats of paint.

“But they never could get the color again as it was at first,” says Mr. Fricke.

The 2-foot law as applied to obstructions of sidewalks has been one of the main causes for the removal of the Indian and such figures.

Mr. Hutchingson has in front of his store on Gay street an Indian maiden which came into his possession with other stock in 1896. A former owner once recognized it and stated that he had had it for 30 years.

Mr. Hutchingson says this is the only Indian that experienced and survived the big fire of 1904. The Church of the Messiah, corner of Gay and Fayette streets, was the only church that burned, and this Indian saw it burn and was herself blistered and cracked. Since then she has had a new coat of paint.

George Eikenberg, on East Fayette street, has had a figure in front of his store for 30 years. Mr. Decker, of North Gay street, above Belair Market, has an Indian made by a Mr. Gato on North Caroline street. Mr. Decker bought it in 1879, and the only repairing done has been on one arm that was accidentally broken off. It has been painted every two years and has always done good service.

Incidentally, Mr. Gato, the sculptor, was a short man and had to stand on a chair to carve part of the Indian, which is itself a small one.

XII

MISS Wurach, 733 West Pratt street, Baltimore, states that her father started in business 51 years ago and that she and her brother now continue to keep the store, her father being dead. The figure in front is the second one used in 51 years. The age of the present figure is not known.

Mr. Bringman’s Indian figure, on West Baltimore street, is very old and very impressive in appearance, being of unusually large size and displaying great muscular development. It has required much repairing about the feet and on one thigh.

Very interesting is the story of F. Dreves’ figure, on West Fayette street, above Park avenue, as told by Mr. Dreves.

The late Mr. Dreves, Sr., at one time dealt in Indian figures.

Sailing vessels that for a long time plied up and down the coast of America and across the Atlantic carrying merchandise and passengers would become unfit for further use at sea and were then dismantled.

Often the masts of these old sailing vessels would be trailed in the water and towed into port. These portions of masts would, in the water, become hardened, or even petrified. They were of large size and furnished excellent material for wood carving of all kinds.

About 35 years ago the late Mr. Dreves obtained two lengths of such masts and wished to have two Indian figures carved from them.

He found a German sculptor from Munich who had carved figures now to be seen adorning the Capitol at Washington.

The German sculptor had never seen an Indian, but when shown pictures of the figures he was to carve exclaimed: “O yes, that’s the American,” meaning that the Indian was the only native American.

Each Indian completed cost $115 in the raw wood.

XIII

THE Indians carved by the German sculptor are represented with catamount hide for covering. A quiver of arrows is fastened over the left shoulder. In the right hand is a bow and the left hand holds a bunch of tobacco leaves.

Evidence of the skill and training of the now departed German sculptor may be seen in the figure. Every muscle visible on the human form is executed in its exact relation.

The little depression about the kneepan, the lines of the shinbone and the condyles of the elbow joint are perfect.

The brother of Mr. Dreves’ Indian was purchased by Mr. Oppelt and may now be seen in front of his store on Park avenue.

This Indian was sold to the present Mr. Oppelt’s father 35 years ago for about the price of carving and material as given above.

XIV

JOHN E. Owens made a great hit with his popular play “The Live Indian,” in which he took down and hid a stunning figure, that had stood many years before a cigar store, in fact considered to be one of “the oldest inhabitants.”

Made up as an exact counterpart of this, he mounted the pedestal and waited until midnight, when he broke into the store, and hastened away, rich in booty; not leaving, however, till he had replaced the insulted Indian in his rightful place.

This was an irresistibly comical sight. But the wooden Indian must go; his death knell has been rung. In the old days, a cigar store without this symbol, would be as lacking in life as a one ring Circus at the present time. All has changed: you can walk street after street in any city, and pass tobacco stores by the score but your old friend is not there. Tobacco sales are now managed by advertisements and gaudy lithographs of chorus girls smoking cigarettes, or fancy pictures just to catch the eye. These are the new favorites and soon the Indian Sign will be obsolete; a relic of the ages.

This fact suggested making a collection to preserve his memory.

I fancy I hear some one say, “This seems to end rather abruptly.” That is true; but just as Horace Greeley said, “The way to resume is to resume,” I think the way to stop is to stop. And it is a triumph of self control in a woman to stop short when she really has nothing more to communicate.

I hope that this little historic Souvenir, will be desired by every man who smokes and every woman who “loves the odor of a good cigar.” Like Col. Sellers, I have prepared a bottle for each eye.

And now in a whisper let me close with a treasonable quotation from Kipling:

“A woman’s only a woman—but a good cigar is a smoke!”

Transcriber’s note:

○ Several of the page numbers in the List of Illustrations were corrected.

○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.

○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.

○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book.