PAUL THE TINNER PAUL, THE TINNER.
One of the most notable characters of Tuska-
loosa in the early times was James Paul, the tin-
ner. He is chiefly to be remembered for the fact
of his having made a large fortune from a very
poor and humble beginning. He came to Tuska-
loosa in 1819 (or 1820) from Tennessee ; and had
nothing but a rude set of tinner's tools, and per-
haps money enough to buy a few boxes of tin and
a roll of wire. But he was an incessant laborer.
His hammer was heard at all hours of the night,.and it was the wonder of the town how and when
he slept. He was rather a good-looking man, with
large head and marked physiognomy, of solitary
and secretive habits, and a look of incredulity, as
if he was suspicious of mankind. He was by no
means a favorite, but the especial aversion of his
immediate neighbors, whose incessant complaints
were sometimes mingled with wicked and not very
elegant expletives, chiefly leveled at his turbulent
hammer, whose vociferous clatter pursued them to
their beds at midnight, and aroused them before
day in the morning.
Paul had so long cultivated friendly relations
with the primitive implements of his trade, and
had such a passion for the old-style way of manu-
facturing tin by turning the edges and fashioning
his ware with the greatest possible clangor, that
he resolutely resisted the innovations of improved
machinery, and rejected the proffer of saving labor,
at the expense of giving up the dulcet notes of his
everlasting hammer.
Paul was exclusive in his habits ; an aristocrat
of the laboring order. He worshiped a sheet of
tin outspread in its glittering proportions as the
true representative of fortune.
Paul's vessels were made by his hands ; he had
the industry as well as the monopoly, and could
fix his prices. His little shop was in a frame build-
ing, about sixteen feet square, on the south side of
Main street, nearly opposite the State Bank build-
ing ; but Paul's shop was there long before this
latter building had been erected.
From this locality of Paul's shop, I am enabled
to trace a personal intimacy between Captain Otis
Dyer and James Paul in those early days ; for
Dyer's storehouse gabled on Market street, nea
Berry & Horner's corner, and running west some
fifty or sixty feet, the back doors of Paul's shop
and Dyer's store, in the rear of each, opened near
one another. I have seen these two persons to-
gether often —seemingly confidential friends—
somewhat resembling each other in person, both
being large, well-developed men.
Paul, while in and about his shop, invariably, in
warm or cold weather, appeared in his shirt-sleeves,
with a workman's apron on, fitting well up over
his shirt collar, close under his chin. On Sundays
he put on a long sable frock-coat and came out on
the streets clean-shaven, with his huge shirt collar
rising above his ears. His head was quite bald,
his face large and rugged, with prominent nose and
black eyes. His person denoted a first-class man
in its outer developments. He had no wife, but
every housewife in the town knew him, for his
cups, buckets, milk-pans, coffee-pots and wash-
basins formed the chief culinary wealth of the en-
tire town.
No, he had no wife, nor did he seem to care for
women. Had some superior being brought into
his shop an Eve, radiant with loveliness, as a free
gift to Paul, his hammer would not have suspended
its terrific clang unless she had said : "Good Mr.
Paul, I want to buy a, coffee-pot," or such words as
those; then he would have left his bench, turned to his
shelf, and exhibited his wares, saying : One quart,
one quarter : two quarts, two quarters ; three quarts,
three quarters ; four quarts, one dollar I'' Upon the
closing of the trade he would clamp the money be-
tween his thumb and palm—as if he was trying to
feel with his horny nail for some alloy in it before
depositing the coin in his pocket—being all the
time utterly oblivious of the bright eyes and sweat
voice near him, and without the slightest emotion
arising from the touch of the beautiful and deli-
cate fingers that had handed him the money.
It is no wonder, with these habits, these prices,
this monopoly, that Paul grew rich and kept him-
self so closely confined to his little shop, which was
indeed a mint to him.
The first thing that seemed to startle Paul from
his silvery dream was the arrival of a Northern
man, by the name of McKenzie, in town with a
large cargo of ready-made tinware. '
Paul stared wildly at this, but hammered away.
McKenzie took the market from Paul and held it
for a while, his prices being far below Paul's.
Then came another man in the trade named Mc-
Crory, a coppersmith, and established a shop ; so
that now there were three rival shops in the town.
Paul stared and hammered on as before, while the
house-wives all rejoiced. But McKenzie's popu-
larity subsided in a little while ; his wares, though
cheaper, were not substantial. Paul's were all
hand-made. McCrory, being in the coppersmith
line, gave his time to the manufacture of stills—
for whisky and brandy—and this did not inter-
fere seriously with Paul. He recovered his grip
and re-established his old exorbitant rates and
hammered on as diligently as ever.
Doubtless Paul's wealth at this time was exag-
gerated ; a few thousand dollars probably might
have been the uttermost of it. Nevertheless, in
the estimation of many it was marvelous. The
boys all thought that Paul manufactured four-
pence pieces and nine-pence pieces out of the drip-
pings of his solder-box. Some said he had a bar-
rel of silver coin made out of the solder drippings
under his work bench ! As encouraging such talesPaul never left his shop to walk out, even on Sun-
days, without carrying pistols in his pocket. This
he would take occasion to let any of his strolling
companions know, by now and then pulling out his
weapon and shooting a squirrel or a bird on the
wing. It is said of him that he could kill a squir-
rel with a Derringer forty yards off. (There were
no revolvers then).
So the story went around that Paul always car-
ried pistols about him on his walks out, for fear
of being robbed.
Such were some of the tales in full circulation
about Paul in those early days. He was a walking
mystery—something to be avoided.
Adam, the Rhymer, had a song on Paul, which
was quite well known to all the youngsters, running
thus:
Paul, the tinner,
He'll be winner
Or I'm a liar!
After awhile
He'll have a pile
As high and higher
Than Sims and Scott or Captain Dyer.
All night long
You hear his song,
Tink-a-tink-a-tang!
In the morn.
Fore day's born,
Tink-a-tink-a-tang!
He never sleeps except on Sunday,
And steals a lap from that for Monday.
Paul, the tinner.
Cooks his own dinnerAnd that's the why,
'Twixt you and I,
He grows no thinner.
He'll stick to that,
It makes him fat—
The round old sinner.
Nobody could say he had even seen Paul's
money. There were no banking houses then in
Tuskaloosa. If Paul had a banker, it was Otis Dyer.
But Paul began to buy up small parcels of land,
and now and then a slave or two. His lands grew
into plantations; then there was no longer any
mistake about his wealth. Still he clung to his
shop, still he wore his workman's apron, still his
hammer "made the night hideous."
Paul's shop had survived McKenzie's, and suf-
fered no backset from McCrory's, but his dooms-
day at last came. This was upon the advent of
Velina Hart, who rattled into the town one (^^uiet
morning, in the van of two large road wagons, one
laden with his family and furniture, and the other
with a stock of tin and copper and a bran-new set
of labor-saving machinery for the manufacture of
tin-ware, things that Paul had never seen.
Now, Velina Hart was a worthy rival of Paul.
If he could not keep up at night with Paul's ham-
mer, he more than supplied this deficiency by the
nasal clatter of his tongue. He entered the town
singing vociferously.
Hart at once rented a shop, swung up his new
machinery, and went vigorously to work. His
person was picturesque; he was small and thin,
angular and lank; dressed in blue jeans—a coat of
villainous cut and fit, long, swallow-tailed, and
woman-made, reaching to his heels!189
When Hart had fairly established his shop Paul
paid him a visit. The new machinery had been
mounted. There were wheels and rings set in
motion by which, as Paul could observe, the whole
day's work of the hammer and arm could be
accomplished by the machinery in an hour!
It was demonstrated to Paul that Hart with his
machinery and the help of one or two of his little
boys could make more vessels in a day than Paul
and his hammer could make in a month. Paul was
dismayed; his monopoly was dead.
AVhy was Paul dismayed? He had the means
and could at once have supplied himself with an
outfit of this new machinery. But Paul now found
out a secret—.that he cared really little for the
rapid turning out of vessels for the market. He
had grown accustomed to a certain routine which
he could not give up. He had seen Hart make a
coffee-pot from the flat sheets of tin, complete in
all its parts, from handle to spout, without the use
of the hammer ! ! What ? Could Jimmy Paul be
contented now, after so many years of assiduous
cultivation of the sweet tinkle of that melodious
instrument, the everlasting hammer, to give up
the soothing harmony ? What else could keep his
soul serene through the long winter nights and the
sweltering summer days ? How else could he
torture his neighbors ? "Give up the hammer?"
said Paul. "Never! never!"
Could Jimmy Paul now go quietly to work mak-
ing coffee-pots by wheels, rings, and clamps?
Never. What would become of his stalwart right
arm and his nimble wrist without the five hundred
accustomed ups and downs for every coffee-pot ?
The muscles would rust out, and the very fount-
ains of his elbow grease be dried up forever.Pondering thus on the disturbed situation, Paul
rose from his seat, took up his hammer affection-
ately, swung it round and exclaimed: " I now be-
^in to understand what that big buck nigger at
the theater the other night meant when he said,
' Othello's occupation's gone I' Oh, thou faithful
hammer," continued Paul, soliloquizing; at that
moment there was an audible rap at Paul's back
door, which being opened, in stepped Capt. Otis
Dyer, pushing his cane in before him and saying,
with a tone of some little anxiety, " What's up,
Paul ? I thought I heard somebody in here mak-
ing a stump speech," and Dyer looked around as if
expecting to see Seth Barton or some other accom-
plished slang-whanger in the room spouting.
Now if Paul did not blush it was not because the
occasion was not a very proper one for such a dem-
onstration. But Paul did blush, and the presence
of the burning crimson on his large rugged face
was intensely visible.
He had been fairly caught in the act oratorical,
and that, too, by Otis Dyer, the last man on earth
before whom he would have been disposed to make
a display of his enthusiasm. "What's up?" con-
tinued Dyer.
"Nothing," answered Paul.
"Yes," said Dyer, "there is something up."
"There is nothinq up, captain, excepting that I
am going to shut up shop.-''
"Glad to hear that,'' said Dyer. "Get out of
the d filthy place as quick as you can, and be
a gentleman; you've got plenty." Now, that was
Dyer's way, and that was Dyer's speech; short
and pointed.
There was a pause. "My mind's made up, cap-
tain," said Paul. "You see, the world is in agood way of being turned, upside down. This lot
of new labor-saving machinery up here at Hart's
supplies the place of twenty laboring men, and
thus puts them out of work. Twenty laboring
men feed twenty poor families, do you see?
Then these twenty poor families are deprived of
their bread and butter by this new invention !
You see, by the figures (you're good at figures,
captain), if one set of machinery upsets twenty
poor families, one thousand sets will upset twenty
thousand poor families, and so on up in the
millions, you see!"
"Yes," said Dyer, ''I do see, but that makes the
goods cheaper."
"Yes," said Paul, "there's where the thing
hurts."
Captain Dyer, feeling his way with his cane
back into his sanctum, pondered on the probabili-
ties of the effect of labor-saving machinery, while
Paul continued his melancholy musing, whisper-
ing this time: " Woe, woe unto ye, ye musical fra-
ternity of tinkers ! you shall be scattered abroad
over the face of the earth, like unto the Jews, saving
the money, and the untimely lack of circumcision."
Paul had not then seen the seiving-machine !
If he had, he might have exclaimed with equal
warmth, as a kind-hearted humanitarian: " Woe,
'woe, unto you, ye nimble-fingered matrons and
light-hearted maidens; woe unto you, I never be-
grudged you a dollar for the making of a shirt;
but ye will live to see the time when a small round
coin no bigger than a drop of solder from a tink-
er's iron will be all ye can claim, and all that ye
will receive for the making of a shirt !" But Paul
did not pursue his philosophic cogitations beyond
the legitimate domain of tinkerdomHe shut up his shop, gathered together his
means, lingered a while in and around Tuska-
loosa, and finally departed from the State.
******Had Paul, such as he was, fallen into the hands
of Charles Dickens, with the characteristics really
forming the man, and with all his surroundings,
that ingenious writer might have made Paul the
center of a romance at once instructive and charm-
ing to mankind.
But Dickens did not find Paul, and so this soli-
tary man is left, without an artist, to make his
own history; and out of such materials as do
sometimes contribute to construct a tale illustrating
the fact— •
"That truth is, indeed, stranger than fiction."
Paul had little to do with the frivolities of charity,
and was proof against the amiable weaknesses
of benevolence. But he had the merit of attend-
ing well to his own business, and of leaving the
affairs of other people to their own management.
He never married, and no child was ever named
after him, either for admiration of his character,
tender recollections, personal peculiarities, or the
hope of a legacy ; but if he was not gifted in the cul-
tivation of the affections, he had the gratification
of counting his coins; and if he was not versed in
geography, he had the consolation of knowing
that he had discovered practically the philoso-
pher's stone, and had actually transmuted tin into
gold.
That he had labored for the love of labor is evi-
dent from the fact that long after he was rich he
worked at his bench until midnight. With the
annual income of thousands, he would toil an hourfor a dime ! This labor could not have been
prompted at his age by avarice; it was rather the
habitual scorn of idleness; and to that extent it
was a merit that should be recognized and com-
mended; and a virtue that should be allowed, like
charity, to cover a multitude of sins.
It is said of Mr. Paul that, after he had grown
rich, he took up a notion to v^isit Europe. For that
purpose he purchased a fine sad^e-horse and made
preparations for the journey. The story goes on.
rather extravagantly that he traveled on horse-
back to New York, and having remained there a
day or two, he ordered his horse and inquired the
road to London !
Upon being advised that he
would have to go thence by sea he expressed great
amazement, abandoned the trip, and came back to
Tuskaloosa, a wiser, if not a better, man.
While preparing for this journey to Europe,,
somebody asked him when he was going to start ?
He replied: "As soon as I work up the two boxes
of tin that I have on hand." His fortune was
then going into the hundred thousands I
PAUL, THE TINXER-II.
In the extreme south of Texas, on the borders,
of Mexico, where flows a river, there was a strag-
gling village of two or three hundred population,,
consisting of the lowest order of human beings,
worn-out tramps, escaped convicts, runaways from
the States, some full-blood Indians, men and
squaws, with a lot of transient Mexicans, who
strolled over occasionally from the village on the
border beyond.
The village was built up out of shrubby logs,,
more properly sticks, daubed with mud; here andthere was a rather substantial frame, and one or
two rock cabins. Among the business houses
liquor shops predominated.
In the midst of this village, on the corner of a
square, over a bluff, there stood a small one-story
frame house, somewhat prominent, and having the
appearance of a substantial foundation, with one
glass window in one end, and a painted shutter to
the door that opened in the street. Over the door
of this house was a sign, conspicuously displayed,
in red letters —
Peter, the Tin Smith. |
Inside of this house, which had but one room,
ithere was a row of shelves filled with cups, basins,
buckets, pans, and coffee-pots. There was a work-
man's bench reaching across one end of the room,
•
on which there was discernible a lot of tools, and
the implements of the trade, with a rude three-
cornered stool in front of the bench, near which
was mounted a pair of long, tinker's shears, close
by a soldering box and irons. There was a cot
doubled up in one corner near the fire-place, on the
hearth of which was a small skillet, with some
other culinary vessels. Some boxes and kegs were
piled around promiscuously, and a single chair
appeared in the middle of the room, as if waiting
gloomily for some very occasional occupant.
On the stool in front of the bench sat a man
some sixty years of age, corpulent up to the weight
of 220, with a large rugged face and very black
eyes, a ponderous nose ; massive head, perfectly
bald, the only hair about it being the locks which
hung from the back part of it, extending all the
way between the ears —this was snowy white.This old man was absorbed in his occupation—
making coffee-pots. He seemed an automaton—
so silent, still, and so steady—the only perceiv-
able movement about him being the machine-like
motion of his right arm as it rose and fell, lifting a
small hammer with which he was incessantly be-
laboring the tin. A close observer might have
noted occasionally a sign of restlessness, as the old
man would sometimes lay down the hammer and
sit as if listening to something in the wall or to an
outside tread, an approaching or a receding foot-
step ; and he would sometimes turn himself clear
around on his stool and survey with restless eyes
the fixtures in the room, as if some lurking sus-
picion was running through his mind, exciting his
lips to tremulousness and brightening his eyes
with an unearthly glitter. Then he would resume
his labors and work on listlessly without particular
vigor, but as evenly and smoothly as if he was run
by wheels wound up in his body, after the manner
of a clock.
There was a good supply of wares on the shelves
in the shop, but the custom was not lively, nor did
the old man seem greedy of gains from this source;
he cared little for sales, and put himself to no
trouble to accommodate; nothing short of an ap-
plication to buy would rouse him from his labor, or
call him from his bench.
" Good Mr. Peter, I want to buy a coffee-pot!"
At this appeal the old man would leave his bench,
turn to his shelves, exhibit his wares, saying,
habitually: "One quart, one quarter; two quarts,
two quarters; three quarts, three quarters; four
quarts, four quarters —one dollar." When the
bargain was struck he delivered over the ware,
seized the proffered coin, clamped it vigorouslybetwixt his thumb and palm, pressing it as if try-
ing to sink his thumb-nail into the eagle-bird that
adorned it—to make it scream before consigning
it to its cage.
The reader has now doubtless discovered what
I have attempted but thinly to disguise, that this
old man, Peter, is no other person than Paul, the
Tuskaloosa tinner !
Now, why did Paul establish himself in this
remote village, and live in this queer manner ?
The reader will be good enough to understand
that upwards of twenty years had elapsed since
Paul was last seen in Tuskaloosa. He emigrated
from Alabama to Mississippi, where he established
a large farm, not far from Columbus, and con-
tinued to grow rich, thriving in agricultural pur-
suits.
Paul had a refractory man-slave whom he found
it necessary to punish repeatedly. This slave dis-
appeared mysteriously, and his supposed remains
were found amidst the ashes of a burned brush-
heap.
Paul, not being very popular, and having been
known to have punished this slave repeatedly be-
fore, was suspected of having killed and made
way with him. He was indicted for murder, and
fled the country.
A very large reward was offered for the capture
of Paul, and, induced by this, a party of old Tuska-
loosans, who had known Paul intimately, put them-
selves at once upon his trail, and after a long while
found him at this village, in the far south of Texas,
as above described.
While Paul was sitting in his usual place, pur-
suing his occupation, keeping his soul serene by the
melodious tinkle of that everlasting hammer, whoshould present themselves at the door of the shop—
who, but Charles G. Picher and Skinner !
Paul heard them enter, but did not raise his head
or stop his arm until Picher touched him on the
shoulder and said : "How are you, Major Paul ?"
That Paul was startled at this can not be denied ;
he arose at once and looked at Picher stolidly in
the eyes ; then, glancing at Skinner, he said : "I
need not ask, no—no—I know your business. I
know you both. Well, make as little noise as pos-
sible. I will go with you, cheerfully, for I am in-
nocent." Paul's right hand, that had been so faith-
ful to that hammer, was not stretched to either of
his visitors. There wer^' no greetings, no expres-
sions of cordiality or gladness on his part. He
touched not the exten led hand of either, nor
frowned, nor scolded, nor did he exhibit emotions
of either sorrow or regret. But his manner was
the very sublimity of an indefinable, unutterable
contempt.
"All right, major," said Picher, " we take you
at your word; we are your friends, and we'll see
you out."
In the meantime Skinner closed the door, and
the two visitors had exhibited formidable fire-
arms.
"Just turn the key in that door, if you please,"
said Paul; " let us have no intruders. Allow me
to change my shop clothes and I will go with you
at once."
"Certainly, major," said Picher; and Paul stepped
into one of the corners of the shop, lifted the lid
from an old box, took out a suit of black clothing,
among which was a handsome, long-tail frock-
coat, and, with as little delay as possible, proceeded,
in the most quiet manner, to change his clothing.198
Paul's shirt was always clean; he changed that
invariably every morning; and it may be stated
here as a fact, as little a thing as it may seem,
that Paul had been noted at Tuskaloosa for his pe-
culiar neatness in the single matter of his shirts.
They were of the best Irish linen, of the best make,
with the fullest and broadest old-style ruffles. His
shop apron covered him well from his throat down-
ward, and so his ruffles always remained untar-
nished through the longest day's toil. When Paul
had arrayed himself in his sable suit he presented
to his captors the appearance of a genuine looking
Wall-street millionaire. Paul then proceeded to
fasten up his doors and windows, adroitly remov-
ing the key into his pockets ; put on a glossy silk
hat, took up his ponderous ebony, gold-headed
walking-cane, and said, " Ready I"
This was the only word he used, when, stepping
upon a plank in the same corner where his clothes-
box was located, standing perfectly upright, he
thundered upon the floor with his ringing cane, and,
as a flash of lightning, he sunk through the floor.
The orifice through which he disappeared was
closed so instantaneously and so silently that the
opening had jiot been seen by the bewildered de-
tectives !
Paul, anticipating pursuit, had prepared a sub-
terraneaji retreat which was quick, safe, and cer-
tain.
No pen could adequately depict the exact coun-
tenances of the two detectives at the occurrence of
this momentous event. Perplexity, amazement,
bewilderment, are words too circumscribed in their
meaning to convey the full description of their
feelings; they were the paralyzed fixtures of a
stupendous consternation Piclier looked at Skinner, and Skinner looked at
Picher, with eyes jostled of their internal fires,
the disjointed sparks striving in vain for concen-
tration. Their lips were sealed but tremulous, and
their tongues were palsied !
How long our heroes remained in this fixed atti-
tude was hardly known to themselves.
"By gosh I" was Picher's first ejaculation, feel-
ing for his snuff-box.
"Gone," said Skinner, "by the holy Moses I"'
relapsing, by spasmodic jerks, into silence.
Still the two men remained in their respective
positions —one on the stool, one on the chair—each
fearing to move lest that mystical floor should open
to devour him.
Picher, from the wreck of his broken fortunes,
had retained possession of an ancient gold snuff-
box, which he carried about with him as a remain-
der of his former happy and prosperous days. This
he drew from his right-hand vest pocket, and,
helping himself to a teaspoonful of the revivifying
powder, handed the box silently to Skinner. Now
Skinner partook liberally, but not anticipating
happy results ; his nose, from the very habit, was
snuff-proof.
"Pack it in. Skinner," said Picher; "pack it
in ; nothing less than thunder can get us out of
th-this-s," at the same time uttering a bla«t from
his expanding nostrils that served at once to lift
him from the stool and to fill the room with a sort
of shimmering chime—the tinkling echo of a
thousand rims of ready-made buckets, basins, and
coffee-pots !
While Skinner's nose resolutely refused to see
the snuff, Picher's had lifted him out of the realms,
of lethargy<' We must get out of this/' shouted Picher.
^'Certainly,"' said Skinner, as if waking from a
dream.
" Get out of this ? by the holy Moses, yes," said
Skinner, springing out of his chair. "But how?
that's the mischief."
Making for the front door, the painted shutter
•of which formed a striking contrast with the dingy
walls around, Picher found it locked and the key
gone !
Rushing to the back door, he found the
same condition of things—locked, and the key
gone ! No force could compel, no persuasion could
induce either of the doors to fly open. Then
Picher started toward the window, but paused
suddenly ! Now, that window (the only one in
the house) was located precisely in front of the
spot whence Paul had disappeared ! The soul of
Charley Picher was not equal to the invasion of
such mysterious precincts.
"Burst open the window, Skinner, said Picher.
" By the holy Moses, narry time," said Skinner.
"By Gosh, then," said Picher, " I'll break away
the door-lock," and, seizing Paul's hammer, he
started to execute his design. But just as Picher
clutched the handle of the hammer, a voice sepul-
<chral, from beneath, exclaimed :
''Drop that!"
Picher's knuckles relaxed a little, and he hesi-
tated.
"Drop that hammer f repeated the voice, and
the hammer rolled heavily on the floor !
*******•—Not reluctantly—not reluctantly, I leave these
•detectives in that enchanted castle. How they got
out of it must be left to the tell-tale pen of some
future historian.N. B. —I request the amiable reader to draw his
pencil through the word castle in the last foregoing
paragraph and insert the word tin-shojD, but I insist
that the word enchanted be allowed to remain in its
place, because I rather like the phrase "enchanted
tin-shop."
:5t * * * * * *
My further information concerning Major Paul
rUns thus:
Paul succeeded in eluding his pursuers for a long
time, but he was, in the end, circumvented; and,
like the gallant Numidian, Jugurtha, who so long
resisted and defied the legions of Rome, he at last
fell into a trap, and yielded to stratagem what he
denied to force; he was captured and delivered
over to the authorities of Mississippi.
It is said that the evidence against Paul, though
possibly not conclusive, was such as to put him in
supreme dread of a trial, and that he spent the
whole of his large fortune and the remainder of
his life in fighting off a trial : dying at last,
ruined in fortune, broken in heart and body, with
a cloud of suspicion resting upon him higher and
mightier than any monumental stone that money
could purchase or friendship dedicate.
