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 11
 
 TALES OF THE TELEGRAPH
 
 
 Dennis, lying under the telegraph line, his left 
 hand still grasped the instrument" (page 220.)
 
 TALES OF THE 
 TELEGRAPH 
 
 The Story of a Telegrapher's Life 
 and Adventures in Railroad 
 Commercial and Mil- 
 itary Work 
 
 BY 
 
 JASPER EWING BRADY 
 
 1st Lieutenant iQth United States Infantry 
 Late Captain Signal Corps U. S. Volunteers 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY & McCLURE CO. 
 1899
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1898, 1899, 
 
 BY 
 
 S. S. McCtuRE Co. 
 COPYRIGHT, 1899, 
 
 BY 
 DOUBLEDAY & McCtURE Co.
 
 To the 
 
 Telegraphers of the Country 
 
 this little book is sincerely and affectionately 
 
 dedicated. 
 
 2072258
 
 Contents 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Learning the Business My First Office i 
 
 II. An Encounter with Train Robbers 1 1 
 
 III. In a Wreck 12 
 
 IV. A Woman Operator Who Saved a Train 25 
 
 V. A Night Office in Texas A Stuttering De- 
 
 spatcher , 33 
 
 VI. Blue Field, Arizona, and an Indian Scrimmage 42 
 
 VII. Taking a Whirl at Commercial Work My 
 
 First Attempt The Galveston Fire 52 
 
 VIII. Sending a Message Perforce Recognizing an 
 
 Old Friend by His Stuff 62 
 
 IX. Bill Bradley, Gambler and Gentleman 68 
 
 X. The Death of Jim Cartwright Chased off a 
 
 Wire by a Woman 80 
 
 XI. Witnessing a Marriage by Wire Beating a 
 
 Pool Room Sparring at Long Range 87 
 
 XII. How a Smart Operator was Squelched The 
 
 Galveston Flood 96 
 
 XIII. Sending My First Order 104 
 
 XIV. Running Trains by Telegraph How It is Done III
 
 viii Contents 
 
 XV. An Old Despatcher's Mistake My First Trick 125 
 
 XVI. A General Strike A Locomotive Engineer for 
 
 a Day 137 
 
 XVII. Chief Despatcher An Inspection Tour Big 
 
 River Wreck 147 
 
 XVIII. A Promotion by Favor and Its Results 160 
 
 XIX. Jacking up a Negligent Operator A Convict 
 
 Operator Dick, the Plucky Call Boy 168 
 
 XX. An Episode of Sentiment 185 
 
 XXI. The Military Operator A Fake Report that 
 
 Nearly Caused Trouble 192 
 
 XXII. Private Dennis Hogan, Hero 203 
 
 XXIII. The Commission Won In a General Strike. . 222 
 
 XXIV. Experiences as a Government Censor of Tele- 
 
 graph 237 
 
 XXV. More Censorship 246 
 
 XXVI. Censorship Concluded , 257 
 
 XXVII. Conclusion 269
 
 List of Illustrations 
 
 ". . . Dennis, lying under the telegraph line. His left 
 hand still grasped the instrument " Frontispiece 
 
 TO FACE 
 
 Facsimile of a completed train-despatcher's order i 
 
 " Two of the men tied my hands in front of me " 16 
 
 "After many efforts I finally reached the lowest 
 
 cross-arm " 30 
 
 " One of them picked up the lantern, and swaggering 
 
 over to where I sat all trembling . . ." 38 
 
 " He looked at me ... then catching me by the 
 
 collar . . ." loo 
 
 ". . . Half lying on the table, face downward, dead by 
 
 his own hand " 128 
 
 " ' See here, who is going to pull this train ? ' " 144 
 
 "Are you not doing it just because I am a woman ? " . . . 190
 
 FACSIMILE OF A COMPLETED ORDER AS ENTERED IN THE DE- 
 SPATCHER'S ORDER-BOOK
 
 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 LEARNING THE BUSINESS MY FIRST OFFICE 
 
 SEATED in sumptuously furnished palace cars, 
 annihilating space at the rate of sixty miles an 
 hour, but few passengers ever give a thought to 
 the telegraph operators of the road stuck away in 
 towers or in dingy little depots, in swamps, on 
 the tops of mountains, or on the bald prairies and 
 sandy deserts of the west; and yet, these self- 
 same telegraph operators are a very important ad- 
 junct to the successful operation of the road, and 
 a single error on the part of one of them might re- 
 sult in the loss of many lives and thousands of 
 dollars. 
 
 The whole length of the railroad from starting 
 
 point to terminus is literally under the eyes of the 
 
 train despatcher. By means of reports sent in 
 
 by hundreds of different operators, he knows the 
 
 i
 
 2 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 exact location of all trains at all times, the num- 
 ber of "loads" and "empties" in each train, the 
 number of cars on each siding, the number of 
 passing tracks and their capacity, the capabilities 
 of the different engines, the gradients of the road, 
 the condition of the road-bed, and, above all, he 
 knows the personal characteristics of every con- 
 ductor and engineer on the road. In fact if there 
 is one man of more importance than another on a 
 railroad it is the train despatcher. During his 
 trick of eight hours he is the autocrat of the road, 
 and his will in the running of trains is absolute. 
 Therefore despatchers are chosen with very spe- 
 cial regard for their fitness for the position. They 
 must be expert telegraphers, quick at figures, and 
 above all they must be as cool as ice, have nerves 
 of steel, and must be capable of grasping a trying 
 situation the minute an emergency arises. An old 
 despatcher once said to me : "Sooner or later a de- 
 spatcher, if he sticks to the business, will have his 
 smash-up, and then down goes a reputation which 
 possibly he has been years in building up, and his 
 name is inscribed on the roll of ' has-beens.' " 
 
 Before the despatcher comes the operator, and 
 the old Biblical saying, "Many are called but few 
 are chosen," is well illustrated by the small num- 
 ber of good despatchers that are found ; it is easy
 
 Learning the Business 3 
 
 enough to find excellent operators, but a first- 
 class despatcher is a rarity among them. 
 
 I learned telegraphy some fifteen or sixteen 
 years ago at a school away out in western Kansas. 
 After I had been there three or four months, I 
 was the star of the class, and imagined that the 
 spirit of Professor Morse had been reincarnated 
 in me. No wire was too swift for me to work, 
 no office too great for me to manage; in fact 
 visions of a superintendency of telegraph flitted 
 before my eyes. Such institutions as this school 
 are very correctly named "ham factories." 
 
 During my stay at the school I formed the ac- 
 quaintance of the night operator at the depot and 
 it was my wont to spend most of my nights there 
 picking up odds and ends of information. For 
 my own benefit I used to copy everything that 
 came along; but the young man in charge never 
 left me entirely alone. Night operators at all small 
 stations have to take care of their own lamps and 
 fires, sweep out, handle baggage, and, in short, be 
 porter as well as operator, and for the privilege of 
 being allowed to stay about I used to do this work 
 for the night man at the office in question. His 
 name was Harry Burgess and he was as good a 
 man as ever sat in front of a key. Some few 
 weeks after this he was transferred to a day of-
 
 4 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 fice up the road and by his help I was made night 
 operator in his stead. Need I say how proud I 
 felt when I received a message from the Chief 
 Despatcher telling me to report for duty that 
 night? I think I was the proudest man, or boy 
 rather, on this earth. Just think! Night opera- 
 tor, porter and baggage-man, working from seven 
 o'clock in the evening until seven o'clock in the 
 morning, and receiving the magnificent sum of 
 forty dollars per month ! It was enough to make 
 my bosom swell with pride and it's a wonder I 
 didn't burst. 
 
 Heretofore, I had had Burgess to fall back upon 
 when I was copying messages or orders, but now 
 I was alone and the responsibility was all mine. 
 I managed to get through the first night very well, 
 because all I had to do was to take a few "red" 
 commercial messages, "O. S." the trains and load 
 ten big sample trunks on No. 2. The trains were 
 all on time and consequently there were no or- 
 ders. I was proud of my success and went off duty 
 at seven o'clock in the morning with a feeling 
 that my services were well nigh indispensable to 
 the road, and if anything were to happen to me, 
 receivers would surely have to be appointed. 
 
 The second night everything went smoothly un- 
 til towards eleven o'clock, when the despatcher
 
 Learning the Business 5 
 
 began to call "MN," and gave the signal "9." 
 Now the signal "9" means "Train Orders," and 
 takes precedence over everything else on the wire. 
 The situation was anything but pleasant for me, 
 because I had never yet, on my own responsibility, 
 taken a train order, and I stood in a wholesome 
 fear of the results that might accrue from any er- 
 ror of mine. So I didn't answer the despatcher 
 at once as I should have done because I hoped he 
 would get tired of calling me and would tackle 
 "OG," and give him the order. But he didn't. 
 He just kept on calling me, increasing his speed 
 all the time. In sheer desperation, I went out on 
 the platform for five minutes and stamped around 
 to keep warm, hoping all the time he would stop 
 when he found I did not answer. But when I 
 returned instead of calling me on one wire, he had 
 his operator calling me on the commercial line 
 while he was pounding away on the railroad wire. 
 At the rate those two sounders were going they 
 sounded to me like the crack of doom and I was 
 becoming powerfully warm. I finally mustered up 
 courage and answered him. 
 
 The first thing the despatcher said was : 
 
 "Where in h 1 have you been?" 
 
 I didn't think that was a very nice thing for him 
 to say, and he fired it at me so fast I could hardly
 
 6 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 read it, so I simply replied, "Out fixing my batte- 
 ries." 
 
 "Well," he said, "your batteries will need fix- 
 ing when I get through with you. Now copy 3." 
 
 "Copy 3," means to take three copies of the or- 
 der that is to follow, so I grabbed my manifold 
 order-book and stylus and prepared to copy. There 
 is a rule printed in large bold type in all railroad 
 time-cards which says, "Despatchers, in sending 
 train orders to operators, will accommodate their 
 speed to the abilities of the operators. In all cases 
 they will send plainly and distinctly." If the de- 
 spatcher had sent according to my ability just then 
 he would have sent that order by train mail. But 
 instead, from the very beginning, he fired it 
 at me so fast, that before I had started to 
 take it he was away down in the body of it. I had 
 written down only the order number and date, 
 when I broke and said, "G. A. To." That made 
 him madder than ever and he went at me again 
 with increased violence the sounder seeming like 
 the roll of a drum. I think I broke him about ten 
 times and finally he said, "For heaven's sake go 
 wake up the day man. You're nothing but a 
 ham." Strangely enough I could take all of his 
 nasty remarks without any trouble while the or- 
 der almost completely stumped me. However, I
 
 Learning the Business 7 
 
 finally succeeded in putting it all down, repeated it 
 back to him, and received his "O. K." 
 
 When the train arrived the conductor and engi- 
 neer came in the office and I gave them the order. 
 The conductor glanced at it for a moment and 
 then said with a broad grin, "Say, kid, which 
 foot did you use in copying this ?" My copy wasn't 
 very clear, but finally he deciphered it, and they 
 both signed their names, the despatcher gave me 
 the "complete," and they left. As soon as the 
 train, which was No. 22, a livestock express, had 
 departed, I made my O. S. report, and then heaved 
 a big sigh of relief. 
 
 Scarcely had the tail-lights disappeared across 
 the bridge and around the bend, when the de- 
 spatcher called again and said, "For God's sake 
 stop that train." 
 
 I said, "I can't. She's gone." 
 
 "Well," he snapped back, "there's a good 
 chance for a fine smash-up this night." 
 
 That scared me almost out of my wits, and I 
 looked at my copy of the order. But it read all 
 right, and yet I felt mighty creepy. About thirty 
 minutes afterwards, I heard a heavy step on the 
 platform and in a second the hind brakeman came 
 tramping in, and cheerfully saluted me with, 
 "Well, I reckon you've raised h 1 to-night. 21
 
 8 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 and 22 are up against each other hard about a mile 
 and a half east of here. They met on a curve and 
 engines, box-cars, livestock and freight are piled 
 up in fine shape." 
 
 "Any one killed ?" I asked with a blanched face 
 and sinking heart. 
 
 "Naw, no one is exactly killed, but one engineer 
 and a fireman are pretty badly scalded, and 
 'Shorty' Jones, our head man, has a broken leg 
 caused by jumping. You'd better tell the de- 
 spatcher." 
 
 Visions of the penitentiary for criminal neglect 
 danced before my disordered brain ; all my knowl- 
 edge of telegraphy fled ; I was weak in the knees, 
 sick at heart, and as near a complete wreck as a 
 man could be. But something had to be done, so 
 I finally told the despatcher that Nos. 21 and 22 
 were in the ditch, and he snapped back, "D n 
 it, I've been expecting it, and have ordered the 
 wrecking outfit out from Watsego. You turn 
 your red-light and hold everything that comes 
 along. In the meantime go wake up the day 
 man. I want an operator there, and not a ham." 
 
 When the day man came in, half dressed, he 
 said, "Well, what the devil is the matter? 
 
 Speech had entirely left me by this time, so I 
 simply pointed to the order, and the brakeman
 
 Learning the Business 9 
 
 told him the rest. Never in all my life have I 
 spent such a night as that. The day man regaled 
 me with charming little incidents, about men he 
 knew, who, for having been criminally negligent, 
 had been shot by infuriated engineers or had been 
 sent up for ten years. He seemed to take a fiend- 
 ish delight in telling me these things and my dis- 
 comfiture was great. I would have run away if 
 I hadn't been too weak. About seven o'clock in 
 the morning, after a night of misery, he patroniz- 
 ingly told me, that it wasn't my fault at all ; the 
 despatcher had given a "lap order," and that the 
 blame was on him. Well! the reaction was as 
 bad, almost, as the first feeling of horror. I went 
 home and after a light breakfast, retired to bed, 
 but not to sleep, for every time I would close my 
 eyes, visions of wrecks, penitentiaries, dead men 
 and ruined homes came crowding upon my disor- 
 dered brain. 
 
 About ten o'clock they sent for me to come to 
 the office. I went over and Webster the agent 
 said the superintendent wanted to see me. I had 
 never seen the superintendent and he seemed to 
 me to be about as far off as the President of the 
 United States, but I screwed up my courage and 
 went in. I saw a kindly-looking gentleman 
 seated before Webster's desk, but I was too much
 
 io Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 frightened to speak and just stood there like a 
 bump on a log. Presently, Mr. Brink, the super- 
 intendent, turned to Webster and said, "I wonder 
 why that night man doesn't come?" 
 
 1 tremblingly replied, "I am the night man, sir." 
 He looked at me for a moment and smilingly 
 said, "Why, bless my soul, my lad! I thought you 
 were a messenger boy." He then asked me for 
 my story of the wreck. When I had given it he 
 seemed satisfied, and gave me lots of good advice ; 
 but in the end he said I was too young to have the 
 position, and I was discharged. But he kindly 
 added, that in a few years he would be glad to 
 have me come back on the road, after I had ac- 
 quired more experience. The next day I re- 
 turned to school.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 AN ENCOUNTER WITH TRAIN ROBBERS 
 
 MY FIRST attempt at holding an office had 
 proved such a flat and dismal failure that I thought 
 I should never have the heart to apply for another. 
 I worked faithfully in the school for about a 
 month, and then the fever to try again took hold 
 of me. I knew it would be of no use to apply to 
 my former superintendent, Mr. Brink, so I wrote 
 to Mr. R. B. Bunnell, Superintendent of Tele- 
 graph of the P. Q. & X. Railroad at Kansas City, 
 Missouri, saying I was an expert operator and 
 desired a position on his road. Mr. Bunnell must 
 have been laboring under a hypnotic spell, for by 
 return mail he wrote, enclosing me a pass to Al- 
 freda, Kansas, and directing me to assume charge 
 of the night office at that point at the magnificent 
 salary of $37.50 per month. This was a slight 
 decrease from my former salary, but I didn't care. 
 I wanted a chance to redeem myself and I felt con- 
 fident I could be more successful in my second at- 
 tempt. So I packed my few belongings, bade 
 good-bye to the school forever, and away I went.
 
 1 2 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 When I left "MN," I said nothing to any one 
 about my destination, and I did not know a thing 
 about Alfreda, except that it was near the border 
 line between Kansas and Colorado. The brake- 
 man on the train in talking to me told me it was a 
 very pleasant place ; but when he said so I fancied 
 I could detect a sarcastic ring in his voice, 
 and I was in no doubt about it when I arrived and 
 saw what a desolate, dreary place Alfreda was. 
 The only things in sight were a water-tank, a 
 pump-house and the telegraph office; and I wish 
 you could have seen that office. It was simply 
 the bed of a box-car, taken off the trucks and set 
 down with one end towards the track. A small 
 platform, two windows, a door, and the signal 
 board perched high on a pole completed the outfit. 
 
 I arrived at six-thirty in the morning and there 
 wasn't a living soul in sight. An hour later, a 
 big broad shouldered Irishman who proved to be 
 the pumper, came ambling along on a railroad ve- 
 locipede. He looked at me for a minute, and 
 after I had made myself known he grinned and 
 said, "Well, I hopes as how ye will loike the place. 
 Burke, the man who was here afore ye, got scared 
 off by thramps, and I reckon he's not stopped run- 
 nin' yit." Fine introduction wasn't it? 
 
 I found there was no day operator and the only
 
 Encounter with Train Robbers 1 3 
 
 house around was the section house, two miles up 
 the track. The operator and pumper boarded 
 there with the section boss; but the railroad com- 
 pany was magnanimous enough to furnish a ve- 
 locipede for their use in going to and from the 
 station. How I felt the first night, stuck away 
 out there in that box-car, two miles from the 
 nearest house and twelve miles from the nearest 
 town, I must leave to the imagination. My heart 
 sank and I had many misgivings, in fact, I was 
 scared to death, but I set my teeth hard and 
 determined to do my best, with the hope that I 
 might be promoted to a better office. I did win 
 that promotion but I wouldn't go through my ex- 
 periences again for the whole road. 
 
 One night after I had been working there about 
 a month, I went to my office as usual at seven 
 o'clock. It was a black night threatening a big 
 storm. The pumper had not gone home as yet 
 and he remarked, that it was "goin' to be a woild 
 night," but he hoped "the whistlin' av the wind 
 would be after kaping me company," and with 
 that he jumped on the velocipede, and off he went. 
 
 I didn't much relish the idea of the storm, for I 
 knew the reputation of Kansas as a cyclone state, 
 and my box-car office was not well adapted to 
 stand a hurricane. However, I went inside, and
 
 1 4 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 after lighting my lamps, sat down and wrote 
 letters and read, when I was not taking train 
 orders. This office was kept up solely because it 
 was a convenient place to deliver orders to freight 
 trains at night when they stopped for water. 
 
 About twelve-thirty in the morning my door 
 opened suddenly, and a man stepped quickly in. 
 I was startled because this was almost the only 
 man except the pumper and the train crews that 
 had been there since I came. Once in a while a 
 stray tramp had gone through, but this man was 
 not a tramp. He wore a long overcoat, buttoned 
 to his chin, with the collar turned up. A slouch 
 hat pulled well down over his eyes so far concealed 
 his face that his features were scarcely visible. He 
 came over to my desk and gruffly asked, "What 
 time is there a passenger train east to-night?" 
 
 I answered that one went through at half past 
 one, the Overland Flyer, but it did not stop at 
 Alfreda. Quick as a flash he pulled a revolver 
 and poking it in my face, said, "Young man, you 
 turn your red-light and stop that train or I'll make 
 a vacancy in this office mighty d d quick." 
 
 The longer I gazed down the barrel of that re- 
 volver the bigger it grew, and it looked to me as if 
 it was loaded with buck-shot to the muzzle. 
 When it had grown to about the size of a gatling
 
 Encounter with Train Robbers 15 
 
 gun (and it didn't take long to do it), I concluded 
 that "discretion was the better part of valor," and 
 reached up and turned my red-light. Meanwhile 
 the door opened again, and three more men-came 
 in. They were masked and the minute I saw 
 them I knew they were going to make an attempt 
 to hold up the Overland Flyer. Often this train 
 carried large amounts of bullion and currency 
 east, and I supposed they had heard that there was 
 a shipment to go through that night. 
 
 I was standing with my back to the table, and 
 just then I heard the despatcher say that the Flyer 
 was thirty minutes late from the west. I put my 
 hands quietly behind me and let the right rest on 
 the key. I then carefully opened the key and had 
 just begun to speak to the despatcher when one of 
 the men suspected me and said to the leader, "Bill, 
 watch that little cuss. He's monkeying with the 
 instrument and may give them warning." 
 
 I stopped, closed the key, and was trying to 
 look unconcerned, when "Bill," said that "to stop 
 all chances of further trouble," they would bind 
 and gag me. Thereupon two of the men tied my 
 hands in front of me, bound my legs securely, and 
 thrust a villainously dirty gag in my mouth. 
 When this was done, "Bill" said, "Throw him 
 across those blamed instruments so they will
 
 1 6 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 keep quiet." They flung me upon the table, face 
 downwards, so that the relay was just under my 
 stomach, and of course my weight against the 
 armature of the relay stopped the clicking of the 
 sounder. As luck would have it, my left hand was 
 in such a position that it just touched the key, and 
 I found I could move the hand slightly. So I 
 opened the key and pretended to be struggling 
 quite a little. The leader came over and giving 
 me a good stiff punch in the ribs, said with an 
 oath, "You keep quiet or we'll find a way to make 
 you." I became passive again, and then when the 
 men were engaged in earnest conversation, I be- 
 gan to telegraph softly to the despatcher. The 
 relay being shut off by my weight, there was no 
 noise from the sounder, and I sent so slowly that 
 the key was noiseless. Of course I did not know 
 on whom I was breaking in, but I kept on. I told 
 the exact state of affairs, and asked him to either 
 tell the Flyer not to heed my red-light and go 
 through, or, better still, to send an armed posse 
 from Kingsbury, twelve miles up the road. I re- 
 peated the message twice, so that he would be sure 
 to hear it, and then trusted to luck. 
 
 The cords and gags were beginning to hurt, 
 and my anxiety was very great. The minutes 
 dragged slowly by, and I thought that hour would
 
 Two of the men tied my hands in front of me." 
 
 (Page 16.)
 
 Encounter with Train Robbers 17 
 
 never end ; but it did end at last, and all of a sud- 
 den I heard the long calliope whistle of the engine 
 on the Flyer as she came down the grade. This 
 was followed by two short blasts, that showed she 
 had seen my red-light and was going to stop. 
 "My God !" I thought. "Has she been warned?" 
 So soon as the train whistled the men went out 
 leaving me helpless on the table. I heard the 
 whistle of the air brakes and knew the train must 
 be slowing up. My anxiety was intense. Pres- 
 ently I heard her stop at the tank, and then, in 
 about a second, I listened to the liveliest fusillade 
 that I had ever heard in my life. It was sweet 
 music to my ears I can tell you, for it indicated to 
 me, what proved to be a fact, that a posse were on 
 board and that the robbers were foiled. One of 
 them was shot, and two were captured, but "Bill," 
 the leader, escaped. They had their horses 
 hitched to the telegraph poles, and as "Bill" went 
 running by the office I heard him say, "I'll fix that 
 d d operator, anyhow." Then, BANG ! crash, 
 went the glass in the window, and a bullet buried 
 itself in the table, not two inches from my head. 
 I was not exactly killed, but I was frightened so 
 badly, and the strain had been so great, that when 
 the trainmen came in to release me, I at once lost 
 consciousness. When I came to, I was sur-
 
 1 8 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 rounded by a sympathetic crowd of passengers 
 and trainmen, and a doctor, who happened to be 
 on the train, was pouring something down my 
 throat that soon made me feel better. 
 
 As soon as I had recovered myself sufficiently, I 
 telegraphed the despatcher what had happened, 
 and the chief, who in the meantime had been sent 
 for, told me to close up my office, and come east 
 on the flyer, to report for duty in the morning 
 in his office as copy operator. 
 
 That is how I won my promotion.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 IN A WRECK 
 
 THE change from Alfreda to the chief de- 
 spatcher's office in Nicholson was, indeed, a pleas- 
 ant one. The despatchers, especially the first 
 trick man, seemed somewhat dubious as to my 
 ability to do the work, but I was rapidly improv- 
 ing in telegraphy, and, in spite of my extreme 
 youth I was allowed to remain. But the life of a 
 railroad man is very uncertain, and one day we 
 were much surprised to hear that the road had 
 gone into the hands of receivers. There were 
 charges of mismanagement made against a num- 
 ber of the higher officials of the road, and one of 
 the first things the receivers did was to have a 
 general "house-cleaning." The general manager, 
 the general superintendent, and a number of the 
 division superintendents resigned to save dismis- 
 sal, and my friend the chief despatcher went with 
 them. He was succeeded by Ted Donahue, the 
 man who had been working the first trick. Ted 
 19
 
 20 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 didn't like me worth a cent, and, rather than give 
 him an opportunity to dismiss me, I quit. 
 
 I was at home idle for a few weeks, and then 
 hearing that there might be an opening for opera- 
 tors on the C. Q. & R., a new road building up in 
 Nebraska, I once more started out. It was an all 
 night ride to the division headquarters, and 
 thinking I might as well be luxurious for once, 
 I took a sleeper. My berth was in the front 
 end of the last car on the train. I retired about 
 half past ten and soon dropped off into a sound 
 sleep. I had been asleep for perhaps two hours, 
 when I was awakened by the car giving a violent 
 lurch, and then suddenly stopping. I was 
 stunned and dazed for a moment, but I soon heard 
 the cracking and breaking of timbers, and the hiss- 
 ing of steam painfully near to my section. I tried 
 to move and rise up, but found that the confines 
 of my narrow quarters would not permit it. I 
 then realized that we were wrecked and that I 
 was in a bad predicament. I felt that I had no 
 bones broken, and my only fear was that the 
 wreck would take fire. My fears were not 
 groundless for I soon smelled smoke. I cried 
 out as loudly as I could, but my berth had evi- 
 dently become a "sound proof booth." Then I 
 felt that my time had come, and had about given
 
 In a Wreck 21 
 
 up all hope, and was trying to say a prayer, when 
 I heard the train-crew and passengers working 
 above me. Again I cried out and this time was 
 heard, and soon was taken out. God! what a 
 night it was raining a perfect deluge and the 
 wind blowing a hurricane. 
 
 I learned that our train had stopped on ac- 
 count of a hot driving-box on the engine; the 
 hind brakeman had been sent back to put out a 
 flag, but, imagining there was nothing coming, he 
 had neglected to do his full duty, and before he 
 knew it, a fast freight came tearing around the 
 bend, and a tail-end collision was the result. See- 
 ing the awful effects of his gross neglect, the 
 brakeman took out across the country and was 
 never heard of again. I fancy if he could have 
 been found that night by the passengers and train- 
 crew his lot would have been anything but pleas- 
 ant. Two people in the sleeper were killed out- 
 right, and three were injured, while the engineer 
 and fireman of the freight were badly hurt by 
 jumping. I didn't get a scratch. 
 
 As I stood watching the wrecked cars burn, I 
 heard the conductor say, "he wished to God he 
 had an operator with him." I told him I was an 
 operator and offered my services. He said there 
 was a pocket instrument in the baggage car, and
 
 22 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 asked me if I would cut in on the wire and tell the 
 despatcher of the wreck. I assented and went 
 forward with him to the baggage car, where he 
 gave me a pair of pliers, a pocket instrument and 
 about eight feet of office wire. I asked for a pair 
 of climbers and some more office wire, but neither 
 was to be had. Here, therefore, was a pretty 
 knotty problem. The telegraph poles were thirty 
 feet high ; how was I to make a connection with 
 only eight feet of wire and no climbers? I 
 thought for a while, and then I put the instrument 
 in my pocket, and undertook to "shin up" the pole 
 as I used to do when I was a schoolboy. After 
 many efforts, in which I succeeded in tearing 
 nearly all the clothes off of me, I finally reached 
 the lowest cross-arm, and seated myself on it with 
 my legs wrapped around the pole. There was only 
 one wire on this arm, so I had, comparatively 
 speaking, plenty of room. On each of the other 
 two cross arms there were four wires, and there 
 was also one strung along the tops of the poles. 
 This made ten wires in all, and I had not the least 
 idea which one was the despatcher's wire. The 
 pole being wet from the rain, made the wires 
 mighty hot to handle. I had the fireman hand 
 me up a piece of old iron wire he happened to 
 have on the engine, and with this I made a flying
 
 In a Wreck 23 
 
 cut in the third wire of the second cross arm. I 
 attached the little pocket instrument, and found 
 that upon adjusting it, I was on a commercial 
 wire. There I was, straddling a cross arm between 
 heaven and earth, with the instrument held on my 
 knee, and totally ignorant of any of the calls or 
 the wire I was on. I yelled down to the con- 
 ductor and asked him if he knew any of the calls. 
 No; of course he didn't; and he was so excited 
 he didn't have sense enough to look on his time- 
 card, where the calls are always printed. Finally, 
 after carefully adjusting the instrument, I opened 
 my key, broke in on somebody, and said "Wreck." 
 The answer came, "Sine." I said, "I haven't any 
 sine. No. 2 on the C. K. & Q. has been wrecked 
 out here, and I want the despatcher's office. Can 
 you tell me if he is on this wire?" 
 
 Now there is a vast deal of difference between 
 sending with a Bunnell key on a polished table, 
 and sending with a pocket instrument held on 
 your knee, especially when you are perched on a 
 thirty foot pole, with the rain pouring down in 
 torrents, the wind blowing almost a gale, and ex- 
 pecting every minute to be blown off and have 
 your precious neck broken. Consequently my 
 sending was pretty "rocky," and some one came 
 back at me with, "Oh! get out you big ham."
 
 24 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 But I hung to it and finally made them understand 
 who I was and what I wanted. The main office 
 in Ouray cut me in on the despatcher's wire and I 
 told him of the wreck. He said he had suspected 
 that No. 2 was in trouble, but he had no idea that 
 it was as bad as I had reported. He said he would 
 order out the wrecking outfit and would send doc- 
 tors with it. Would I please stay close and do 
 the telegraphing for them, he would see that I was 
 properly rewarded. Then I told him about where 
 I was, but promised to hold on as long as I could, 
 but for him to be sure and send out some more 
 wire and a pair of climbers on the wrecker. After 
 waiting about an hour the wrecker arrived, and 
 with it the doctors; so our anxiety was relieved, 
 the wounded taken care of, and a decent wrecking 
 office put in. 
 
 The division superintendent came out with 
 them, and for my services he offered me the day 
 office at X , which 1 accepted.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A WOMAN OPERATOR WHO SAVED A TRAIN 
 
 X was a pretty good sort of an office to have, 
 barring a beastly climate wherein all four seasons 
 would sometimes be ably and fully represented 
 in one twenty-four hours. But eighty big round 
 American dollars a month was not to be sneezed 
 at that was a heap of money to a young chap 
 and I hung on. In those days civilization had 
 not advanced as far westward as it is to-day, and 
 there was not much local business on the road, 
 due to the sparsely settled country. The first 
 office east of X was Dunraven, some twenty 
 miles away. Between the two places were sev- 
 eral blind sidings used as passing tracks. Dun- 
 raven was a cracking good little village and the 
 day operator there was Miss Mary Marsh ; there 
 was no night office. Now I was just at the age 
 where all a young man's susceptibility comes to 
 the surface, and I was a pretty fair sample. I 
 weighed one hundred and fifty pounds and every 
 ounce of me was as susceptible as a barometer on 
 2 5
 
 26 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 a stormy day. Consequently it was not long un- 
 til I knew Mary and liked her immensely. All 
 my spare time was occupied in talking to her over 
 the wire, except when the cussed despatcher would 
 chase me off with, "Oh ! get out you big spoon, 
 you make every one tired." Then Mary would 
 give me the merry, "Ha, ha, ha." 
 
 One time I took a day off and ran down to Dun- 
 raven, and my impressions were fully confirmed. 
 Mary was a little bit of a woman, with black hair, 
 red lips, white teeth, and two eyes that looked 
 like coals of fire, so bright were they. She was 
 small, but when she took hold of the key, she was 
 jerked lightning, and I have never seen but one 
 woman since who was her equal in that line. 
 
 Our road was one of the direct connections of 
 the "Overland Route," west to San Francisco, 
 and twice a day we had a train, that in those days 
 was called a flyer. Now it would be in a class 
 with the first class freights. The west bound 
 train passed my station at eight in the morning, 
 and the east bound at seven-thirty in the evening. 
 After that I gave "DS" good night, and was free 
 until seven the next morning. The east bound 
 flyer passed Dunraven at eight-fifteen in the even- 
 ing and then Mary was through for the night. 
 The town was a mile away from the depot and the
 
 A Woman who Saved a Train 27 
 
 poor girl had to trudge all that distance alone. 
 But she was as plucky as they make them and was 
 never molested. A mile west of Dunraven was 
 Peach Creek, spanned by a wooden pile and 
 stringer bridge. Ordinarily, you could step 
 across Peach Creek, but sometimes, after a heavy 
 rain it would be a raging torrent of dirty muddy 
 water, and it seemed as if the underpinning must 
 surely be washed out by the flood. 
 
 One day after I had been at X a couple of 
 months, we had a stem-winder of a storm. The 
 rain came down in torrents unceasingly for twelve 
 hours, and the country around X was almost a 
 morass. The roadbed was good, however, and 
 when the section men came in at six that night 
 they reported the track firm and safe. But, my 
 stars ! how the rain was falling at seven-thirty as 
 the flyer went smashing by. I made my "OS" re- 
 port and then thought I'd sit around and wait 
 until it had passed Dunraven and have a little 
 chat with Mary, before going home for the night. 
 At seven-forty-five I called her but no answer. 
 Then I waited. Eight o'clock, eight-fifteen, eight- 
 twenty, and still nothing from Dunraven. The 
 despatcher then started to call "DU," but no an- 
 swer. Finally, he said to me, "You call 'DU.' 
 Maybe the wire is heavy and she can't adjust for
 
 28 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 me." I called steadily for five minutes, but still 
 no reply. I was beginning to get scared. All 
 sorts of ideas came into my head robbers, 
 tramps, fire and murder. 
 
 "DS" said, "I'm afraid something has happened 
 to the flyer. Turn your red-light and when No. 
 26 comes along, I'll give them an order to cut loose 
 with the engine and go through and find the 
 flyer." 
 
 Five minutes later the wire opened and closed. 
 Then the current became weak, but adjusting 
 down, I heard, "DS, DS, WK." Ah ! that meant 
 a wreck. "DS" answered and I heard the fol- 
 lowing message : 
 
 "W. D. C. "PEACH CREEK, 4 | 13, 1 8 
 
 "DS. 
 
 "Peach Creek bridge washed out to-night, but I 
 heard of it and arrived here in time to flag the 
 flyer. Send an operator on the wrecking outfit 
 to relieve me. 
 
 "(signed) MARY MARSH, Operator." 
 
 Two hours afterwards the wrecker came by 
 X and, obedient to orders from the despatcher, 
 I boarded it and went down to work the office. 
 We reached there in about forty minutes and 
 found that the torrent had washed out the under- 
 pinning of the bridge, and nothing was left but a
 
 A Woman who Saved a Train 29 
 
 few ties, the rails and the stringers. A half 
 witted boy, who lived in Dunraven, had been fish- 
 ing that day like "Simple Simon," and came 
 tramping up to the office, telling Miss Marsh, in 
 an idiotic way, that Peach Creek bridge had 
 washed out. Just then she heard me "OS" the 
 flyer and her office was the next one to mine. As 
 the flyer did not stop at Dunraven, the baggage- 
 man and helper went home at six o'clock and she 
 was absolutely alone save for this half witted boy. 
 The section house was a mile and a half away to 
 the east. A mile away, to the south were the 
 twinkling lights of the village, while but one short 
 mile to the west was Peach Creek, with the bridge 
 gone out, and the flyer thundering along towards 
 it with its precious load of human freight. How 
 could it be warned. The boy hadn't sense 
 enough to pound sand. She must do it. So, 
 quick as a flash she picked up the red-light stand- 
 ing near, and started down the track. The rain 
 was coming down in a perfect deluge, and the 
 wind was sweeping across the Nebraska prairies 
 like a hurricane. Lightning was flashing, casting 
 a lurid glare over the soaked earth, and the thun- 
 der rolled peal after peal, resembling the artillery 
 of great guns in a big battle. Truly, it was like 
 the setting for a grand drama. Undaunted by it
 
 30 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 all, this brave little woman, bare headed, hair fly- 
 ing in the wind, and soaked to the skin, battled 
 with the elements as she fought her way down the 
 track. A mile, ordinarily, is a short distance, but 
 now, to her, it seemed almost interminable; and 
 all the time the flyer was coming nearer and nearer 
 to the creek with the broken bridge. My God! 
 would she make it ! Presently, above the howling 
 of the wind she heard the mad waters as they went 
 boiling and tumbling down the channel. 
 
 At last she was there, standing on the brink. 
 But the train was not yet saved. Just across the 
 creek the road made an abrupt curve around a 
 small hill, and if she could not reach that curve 
 her labors would be to no avail, and a frightful 
 wreck would follow. All the bridge was gone 
 save the rails, stringers and a few shaky ties. 
 Only forty feet intervened between her and the 
 opposite bank, and get across she must. There 
 was only one way, so grasping the lantern be- 
 tween her teeth, she started across on her hands 
 and knees. The stringers swayed back and forth 
 in the wind, and her frail body, it seemed, would 
 surely be caught up and blown into the mad 
 maelstrom of waters below. No! No! she 
 could not fail now. Away up the road, borne 
 to her anxious ears by the howling wind, she
 
 "After many efforts I finally reacJied the lowest 
 cross-arm." (page 22.)
 
 A Woman who Saved a Train 31 
 
 heard two long and two short blasts of the 
 flyer's whistle as she signalled for a cross- 
 ing. God! would she ever get there. Strain- 
 ing every nerve, at last success was hers, and tot- 
 tering, she struggled up the other side. Flying 
 up the track, looking for all the world like some 
 eyrie witch, she reached the curve, swinging her 
 red light like mad. Bob Burns, who was pulling 
 the flyer that night, saw the signal, and immedi- 
 ately applied the emergency brakes. Then he 
 looked again and the red-light was gone. But 
 caution is a magic watchword with all railroad 
 men, and he stopped. Climbing down out of the 
 cab of the engine, he took his torch, and started 
 out to investigate. He didn't have far to go, when 
 he came upon the limp, inanimate form of Mary 
 Marsh, the extinguished red-light tightly clasped 
 in her cold little hand. 
 
 "My God! Mike," he yelled to his fireman, "it's 
 a woman. Why, hang me, if it isn't the little 
 lady from Dunraven. Wonder what she is doing 
 out here." He wasn't long in ignorance, because 
 a brakeman sent out ahead saw that the bridge 
 had gone. 
 
 Rough, but kindly hands, bore her tenderly into 
 the sleeper, and under the ministrations of her 
 own sex, she soon came around. So soon as she
 
 32 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 had seen the flyer stopping she realized that she 
 had succeeded and womanlike she fainted. Her 
 clothes were torn to tatters, and taken all in all 
 this little heroine was a most woe-begone speci- 
 men of humanity. 
 
 A wrecking office was cut in by the baggage- 
 man, who happened to be an old lineman, and she 
 sent the message to "DS," telling him of the 
 wreck. I relieved her and she stayed in the 
 sleeper all night, and the next day she returned to 
 her work at Dunraven, but little worse for the ex- 
 perience. She had positively refused to accept a 
 thing from the thankful passengers, saying she 
 did but her duty. 
 
 Two months afterwards she married the chief 
 despatcher, and the profession lost the best 
 woman operator in the business. I was dread- 
 fully cut by the ending of affairs, but she had 
 said, "Red headed operators were not in her 
 class," and I reckon she was about right. 
 
 Surely, she was a direct descendant from the 
 Spartan mothers.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A NIGHT OFFICE IN TEXAS A STUTTERING 
 DESPATCHER 
 
 IT WAS not long after Mary threw me over 
 that I became tired of X and gave up my job 
 and started south. I said it was on account of ill 
 health, but the last thing that cussed first trick des- 
 patcher said to me was, "Never mind, you old 
 spoon, you'll get over this attack in a very short 
 while." 
 
 I landed in St. Louis one bright morning and 
 went up to the office of the chief despatcher of the 
 Q. M. & S., and applied for an office on his divi- 
 sion. He had none to give me but wired the chief 
 despatcher at Big Rock, and in answer thereto I 
 was sent the next morning to Healyville. And 
 what a place I found! The town was down in 
 the swamps of southeast Missouri, four miles 
 north of the Arkansas line, and consisted of the 
 depot and twenty or twenty-five houses, five of 
 which were saloons. There was a branch road 
 running from here to Honiton, quite a settlement 
 on the Mississippi river, and that was the only 
 33
 
 34 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 possible excuse for an officer at this point.. The 
 atmosphere was so full of malaria, that you could 
 almost cut it with an axe. I stayed there just 
 three days, and then, fortunately, the chief des- 
 patcher ordered me to come to his office. He 
 wanted me to take the office at Boling Cross, near 
 the Texas line, but I had the traveling fever and 
 wanted to go further south, and he sent me down 
 on the I. & G. N., and the chief there sent me to 
 Herron, Texas. There wasn't much sickness in 
 the air around Herron, but there were just a mil- 
 lion fleas to every square inch of sand in the place. 
 Herron was one of the few towns in a very exten- 
 sive cattle belt, and a few days after I had arrived 
 I noticed the town had filled up with "cow punch- 
 ers." They had just had their semi-annual round 
 up, and were in town spending their money and 
 having a whooping big time. You probably know 
 what that means to a cow-boy. I was a tender- 
 foot of the worst kind, and every one at the 
 boarding-house and depot seemed to take particu- 
 lar delight in telling me of the shooting scrapes 
 and rackets of these cow-boys, and how they de- 
 lighted in making it warm for a tender-foot. Bob 
 Wolfe, the day man at the depot, told me how at 
 times they had come up and raised particular Cain 
 at the station, especially when there was a new
 
 A Night Office in Texas 35 
 
 operator on hand. I didn't half believe all their 
 stories, but I will confess that I had a few misgiv- 
 ings the first night when I went to work. One 
 night passed safely enough, but the second was a 
 hummer from the word go. The office was some- 
 what larger than the telegraph offices usually are 
 in small towns. The table was in the recess of a 
 big bay window, giving me a clear view of the 
 I. & G. N. tracks, while along the front ran the 
 usual long wide platform. The P. & T. C. road 
 crossed at right angles at one end of the platform, 
 and one operator did the work for the two roads. 
 There were two lamps over my desk one on each 
 side of the bay window and one was out in the 
 waiting-room. I also kept a lantern lighted to 
 carry when I went out to trains. 
 
 All through the early part of the night, I heard 
 sounds of revelry and carousing, accompanied by 
 an occasional pistol shot, up in the town, but about 
 half past eleven these sounds ceased, and I was 
 congratulating myself that my night, would after 
 all, be uneventful. About twelve o'clock, how- 
 ever, there arose just outside the office the great- 
 est commotion I had ever heard in my life. I 
 was eating my midnight lunch, and had a piece of 
 pie in my hand, when I heard the tramp of many 
 feet on the platform. It sounded like a regiment
 
 36 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 of infantry, and in a minute there came the report 
 of a shot, and with a crash out went one of my 
 lights, a shower of glass falling on the table. Be- 
 fore I could collect myself there came another shot 
 and smash out went the other light. I dropped 
 my pie and spasmodically grasped the table. The 
 only lights left were the one in the waiting-room 
 and my lantern, which made it in the office little 
 better than total darkness. All the time the tramp, 
 tramp on the platform was coming closer and 
 closer, and my heart was gradually forcing its 
 way up in my mouth. In a moment the waiting- 
 room door was thrown open, and with a wild 
 whoop and a big hurrah, the crowd came in. The 
 door between the office and the waiting-room was 
 closed, but that made no difference to my visitors ; 
 they smashed it open and swarmed into the office. 
 One of them picked up the lantern, and swagger- 
 ing over to where I sat all trembling with fear, 
 and expecting that my lights would go out next, 
 raised it to my face. They all crowded around 
 me and one of them gave me a good punch in the 
 ribs. Then the one with the lantern said, "Well, 
 fellows, the little cuss is game. He didn't get 
 under the table like the last one did. Kid, for a 
 tenderfoot, you're a hummer." 
 
 Get under the table! I couldn't. I would
 
 A Night Office in Texas 37 
 
 have given half my interest in the hereafter to 
 have been able to crawl under the table or to have 
 run away. But fright held its sway, and locomo- 
 tion was impossible. 
 
 For about five minutes the despatcher had been 
 calling me for orders, and in a trembling voice I 
 asked them to let me answer and take the order. 
 "Cert," said one of them, who appeared to be the 
 leader, "go on and take the order, and then take a 
 drink with us." 
 
 By the dim light of only that lantern, with my 
 order pad on a table covered with broken glass, 
 and smattered with pie, I finally copied the order, 
 but it was about the worst attempt I had ever 
 made; and the conductor remarked when he 
 signed it, that it would take a Philadelphia lawyer 
 to read it. The cow-punchers, however, from 
 that time on were very good friends of mine, and 
 many a pleasant Sunday did I spend on their 
 ranches. They afterwards told me that Bob 
 Wolfe had put them up to their midnight visit in 
 order to frighten me. They certainly succeeded. 
 My service at Herron was not very profitable, the 
 road being in the hands of receivers, and for four 
 months none of us received a cent of wages. The 
 road was called the "International & Great North-
 
 38 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 ern," but we facetiously dubbed it the "Independ- 
 ent & Got Nothing." 
 
 Some months after this I was transferred down 
 to the southern division, and made night operator 
 at Mankato. This was really about the best posi- 
 tion I had yet struck : good hours, plenty of work 
 and a fine office to do it in, and eighty dollars a 
 month. The agent and day man were both fine 
 fellows, and there was no chore work around the 
 station a baggage smasher did that. The des- 
 patchers up in "DS" office were pleasant to work 
 with and as competent a lot of men as ever 
 touched a key. I had never met any of them 
 when I first took the office, though of course I 
 soon knew their names, and the following incident 
 will disclose how and under what unusual circum- 
 stances I formed the acquaintance of one of them, 
 Fred De Armand, the second trick man. 
 
 About four weeks after I took the Mankato 
 office, engine 333, pulling a through livestock 
 freight north, broke a parallel rod, and besides 
 cutting the engineer into mince-meat, caused a 
 great wreck. This took place about two miles 
 and a half north of Mankato. The hind man 
 came back and reported it, and being off duty, I 
 caught up a pocket instrument and some wire, and 
 jumping on a velocipede, was soon at the wreck.
 
 1 One of them picked up the lantern, and swaggering over to -where 
 I sat all trembling . . ." (Page 36.)
 
 A Night Office in Texas 39 
 
 I cut in an office in short order, and "DS" soon 
 knew exactly how matters stood. One passenger 
 train south was tied up just beyond the wreck, and 
 in about an hour and a half the wrecker appeared 
 in charge of the train-master. I observed a young 
 man twenty-eight or thirty years of age standing 
 around looking on, and once when I was near him 
 I noticed that he stammered very badly. 
 
 I carefully avoided saying anything to that 
 young man, because, I, too, at times, had a rather 
 bad impediment in my speech. It asserted itself 
 especially when I heard any one else stutter, or 
 when the weather was going to change ; the men 
 who knew me well said they could always foretell 
 a storm by my inability to talk. From my own 
 experience, however, I knew that when a stam- 
 merer heard another man stammer, he imagined 
 that he was being made fun of, and all the fight 
 in him came at once to the surface; and as this 
 young man was about twice my size, I did my best 
 to keep away from him. But in a few moments 
 he came over to where I was and said to me, 
 "A-a-a-sk 'DS' t-t-t-t-o s-s-s-end out m-m-m-y 
 r-r-ain c-c-c-c-oat on th-th-th-irteen." Every 
 other word was followed by a whistle. 
 
 My great help in stammering was to kick with 
 my right foot. I knew what was coming, and
 
 40 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 tried my best to avert the trouble. I drew in a 
 long breath and said : "Who sh-sh-sh-all I s-s-s-ay 
 y-y-y-ou are ?" and my right foot was doing great 
 execution. True to its barometrical functions, 
 my throat was predicting a storm. It came. 
 
 He looked at me for a second, grew red in the 
 face, then catching me by the collar, gave me a 
 yank, that made me see forty stars, and said, 
 "B-b-b-last you! wh-wh-at d-d-o y-y-ou m-mean 
 b-b-y m-mocking me? I'll sm-sm-ash y-y-our 
 b-b-b-lamed r-r-ed head." 
 
 Speech left me entirely then, and I am afraid I 
 would have been most beautifully thumped, had 
 not Sanders, the trainmaster, come over and 
 stopped him. He called him "De Armand," and 
 I then knew he was the second trick despatches 
 After many efforts DC Armand told Sanders how 
 I had mocked him. Sanders didn't know me and 
 the war clouds began to gather again ; but John- 
 son, the conductor of the wrecker, came over and 
 said, "Hold on there, De Armand, that kid ain't 
 mocking you ; he stammers so bad at times that 
 he kicks a hole in the floor. Why, I have seen 
 him start to say something to my engineer pulling 
 out of Mankato, and he would finish it just as the 
 caboose went by, and we had some forty cars in 
 the train at that."
 
 A Night Office in Texas 41 
 
 At this a smile broke over De Armand's face, 
 and he grasped my hand and said, "Excuse 
 m-m-m-e k-k-id ; but y-y-you k-k-know how it is 
 y-y-yourself." You may well believe that I did 
 know. 
 
 One night, shortly after this, I was repeating an 
 order to De Armand, and in the middle of it I 
 broke myself very badly. He opened his key, and 
 said, "Kick, you devil, kick!" And I got the 
 merry ha-ha from up and down the line. But in 
 giving me a message a little while after he flew the 
 track, and I instantly opened up and said, "Whis- 
 tle, you tarrier, whistle!" Maybe he didn't get 
 it back.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 BLUE FIELD, ARIZONA, AND AN INDIAN SCRIM- 
 MAGE 
 
 THE desire to travel was strong within me, and 
 in the following June I left Mankato, went out to 
 Arizona and secured a position on the A. & P., at 
 Blue Field, a small town almost in the centre of 
 the desert. Alfreda, Kansas, was dreary and 
 desolate enough, but there, I was at least in com- 
 munication with civilization, because I had one 
 wire running to Kansas City, while Blue Field 
 was the crowning glory of utter desolation. The 
 Bible says that the good Lord made heaven and 
 earth in six days, and rested on the seventh. It 
 needed but a single glance at Blue Field to thor- 
 oughly convince me that the Lord quit work at the 
 end of the sixth day right there, and had never 
 taken it up since. There was nothing but some 
 scattering adobe shacks, with the usual comple- 
 ment of saloons, and as far almost as the eye could 
 see in every direction, sand hot, glaring, burn- 
 ing sand. To the far northwards, could be 
 42
 
 Blue Field, Arizona 43 
 
 dimly observed the outlines of the Mogollon range 
 of mountains. The population consisted chiefly 
 of about four hundred dare-devil spirits who had 
 started to wander westwards in search of the El 
 Dorado and had finally settled there, too tired, 
 too disgusted to go any farther, and lacking 
 money enough to return to their homes. It wasn't 
 the most congenial crowd in the world. There 
 was only one good thing in the place, and that 
 was a deep well of pure sparkling water. The 
 sun during the day was so scorching that the rails 
 seemed to sizzle as they stretched out like two 
 slender, interminable bands of silver over the hot 
 sands, and at night no relief was apparent, and 
 the office so stifling hot that my existence was 
 well nigh unbearable. But the pay was ninety 
 dollars per month and I hung on until I could save 
 funds enough to get back to God's own country. 
 To sleep in a house, in the day time, was almost 
 killing, so I used to make up a sort of bunk on a 
 truck and sleep in the shade of the freight shed. 
 At seven-forty-three in the evening, the Trans- 
 Continental flyer went smashing by at a fifty-five 
 mile an hour clip and the dust it raised was enough 
 to strangle a man. 
 
 The Arizona climate is a well known specific 
 for pulmonary troubles, and thousands of people
 
 44 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 come down there in all stages of consumption 
 from the first premonitory cough to the living 
 emaciated skeleton. 
 
 The first station west of me was Clear Creek 
 (so called on account of a good sized stream of 
 water that came down from the Mogollons), and 
 a few days after I arrived at Blue Field, I heard a 
 message going over the wires saying that Fred 
 Baird was coming down there to take charge. I 
 had known him up in Kansas, and his looks and a 
 hacking cough indicated only too truly, that the 
 dreaded consumption had fastened itself on him; 
 therefore when I heard of his assignment to Clear 
 Creek, I knew it was his health that brought him 
 down to that awful country. He had a wife (and 
 a sweet little woman she was), and two beautiful 
 children, aged two and four. A few evenings 
 after this I had the pleasure of talking to them 
 for several minutes as they went through on a 
 slow passenger train, and I must say that my heart 
 ached when I thought of the town to which that 
 family was going. What a place to bring a 
 woman? But then women have a faculty of 
 hanging on to their liege lords under all circum- 
 stances and conditions. God bless 'em. Baird, 
 himself, looked wretched, being a mere shadow of
 
 Blue Field, Arizona 45 
 
 his former self, but like all consumptives he im- 
 agined he was going to get well. 
 
 Just about this time, two Indian gentlemen, 
 named Geronimo and Victoria, were raising par- 
 ticular mischief all through that section of the 
 country, and the feeling that any moment they 
 might come down on you and raise your scalp 
 after puncturing you full of holes was anything 
 but pleasant. It was decidedly creepy and many 
 a time I wished myself back in the good old state 
 of Texas. I had come for excitement and adven- 
 ture and it was not long until I had both articles 
 doled out to me in large chunks. Those Indians 
 used to break out from their reservations, swoop 
 down on some settlement, kill everything in sight 
 and then loot and burn to their heart's content. 
 There was no warning just a few shots, then a 
 shrill war-whoop, and a perfect horde of yelling 
 and shooting red devils would be upon you. Pre- 
 cautions were taken and some of the larger set- 
 tlements were able to stand them off until some 
 of the small army could come and scatter them. 
 Blue Field had pickets posted every night, chosen 
 from among the four hundred toughs that lived 
 there, and was pretty well protected. 
 
 They gave us a wide berth for a while, but one 
 night, I was sitting dozing in my chair about
 
 46 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 eleven-thirty, when I was awakened by the sharp 
 crack of a rifle, followed in quick succession by 
 others, until it was a regular fusilade. Then I 
 heard the short shrill Apache war-whoop, and 
 mentally I thought my time had come. I tried to 
 breathe a prayer, but the high and unusual posi- 
 tion of my heart effectually prevented any articu- 
 lation. The window had been closed on account 
 of a high wind blowing, or I fancy I should have 
 gone out that way. However, I grabbed up a 
 rifle, and then opening a trap door, dropped down 
 into a little cubby hole under the floor, where we 
 used to keep our batteries. What I brought the 
 rifle along for I can't say, unless it was to blow 
 the top of my own head off. The place was like a 
 bake-oven and all the air I received came through 
 a small crack in the floor, and it was not long until 
 I was soaked with perspiration. 
 
 Overhead I could hear the crack of the rifles 
 and the whoop of the Indians as the battle raged, 
 back and forth. During a temporary lull I heard 
 the despatcher calling me for dear life, but he 
 could call for all I cared ; I had other business just 
 then I was truly "25." All at once I heard a 
 bigger commotion than ever, there was a sound as 
 if caused by the scurrying of many feet, and then 
 all was quiet. I sat there wondering what was
 
 Blue Field, Arizona 47 
 
 coming next, and how much longer I had to live, 
 when I smelled smoke, and in a second I knew the 
 depot was on fire. I tried to raise the trap-door, 
 but it had a snap lock and had been dropped so 
 hard in my mad efforts to get away, that it was 
 securely locked. Good God ! was I to be burned 
 like a rat in a trap? All was quiet save the 
 crackling of the flames as they licked up the depot. 
 Something must be done and quickly at that, or 
 there would be one operator who would receive 
 his conge in a manner that was anything but 
 pleasant. Feverishly, I groped around, and all at 
 once my hand came in contact with the Win- 
 chester rifle. I grasped it by the barrel, and using 
 it as a battering ram I started to smash that door. 
 The smoke by this time was stifling, suffocating, 
 and already my senses were leaving me, every- 
 thing was swimming around before my eyes, but 
 it was a case of life and death, and I hammered 
 away with all my might. Finally, Crash ! Ah ! I 
 had succeeded, the lock broke and in a moment I 
 had pulled myself up in the office. 
 
 The side towards the door was all ablaze and 
 escape that way was impossible, so I picked up a 
 chair and slammed it through the window over the 
 table, and climbed out taking a loose set of instru- 
 ments with me. The wires were still working,
 
 48 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 and above the crackle of the flames I heard "DS" 
 still calling me. I reached in through the window 
 and simply said, 
 
 "Indians depot on fire have saved a set of 
 instruments will call you later when I can fix a 
 wire," and signed my name, "Bates." 
 
 My lungs were filled with smoke and felt like 
 they had a million sharp needles sticking in them, 
 but thanks to my lucky stars, I was not otherwise 
 hurt. Everything appeared so quiet and still that 
 I was dazed, but presently I heard a low mum- 
 bling of voices out to the westwards. I made my 
 way thither and found the population (all that was 
 left of it), assembled. When I staggered up to a 
 group of the men, they turned on me like tigers, 
 not knowing what kind of an animal I was. I 
 recognized one of them who was commonly known 
 as "Full-House Charley," and weakly said, 
 
 "Don't shoot, Charley, it's Bates the night op- 
 erator at the depot." 
 
 "Well ! where the devil have you been all the 
 time? When the depot was burning some of us 
 went over there, but you'd gone some place. We 
 couldn't save anything so we let 'er burn. Your 
 side partner, the day man, was killed and scalped." 
 
 It appeared that just as the fight was the hot- 
 test, three troops of the th U. S. Colored Cav-
 
 Blue Field, Arizona 49 
 
 airy, appeared on the scene, having been on the 
 trail of this same band all day. They made short 
 work of the red men who melted away to the fast- 
 nesses of the Mogollons, first setting fire to the 
 depot, the troops in close pursuit. If there ever 
 were faithful hard working fighters in that coun- 
 try, it was these same dusky brunettes. 
 
 I told the gang where I had been, and in a few 
 minutes several of them went over to the station 
 to help me rig up a wire.' I knew the despatcher's 
 wire, and taking a pole's length out of another 
 line, I soon made a connection to the instrument I 
 had saved. It was no go the wire was dead 
 open. Then I rigged up a ground by running a 
 wire to a pipe that ran down the well, and in test- 
 ing I found the wire was open west. I called up 
 "DS," who was east of me, and told him what a 
 nice hot old time we had been having out there. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I knew there was trouble. 
 Just after you told me about the Indians and fire, 
 Clear Creek said their place was attacked by an- 
 other band and things were getting pretty hot 
 with them. Then the wire went open, caused as 
 I supposed by your fire, but now it seems as if 
 Baird is probably up against it as well. A train 
 load of troops will come through in a short while 
 to try and get beyond the Indians and cut them
 
 50 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 off. If you are able, I wish you would flag them 
 and go over to Clear Creek and report from there. 
 Disconnect and take your instrument and leave the 
 line cut through. A line man will be sent out 
 from here in the morning. Everything is tied up 
 on the road, and you can tell the C. & E. there's 
 nothing ahead of them, but to run carefully, keep- 
 ing a sharp lookout for torn up track and burned 
 trestles." 
 
 My experiences had been so exciting and the 
 smoke in my lungs so painful, that I was ready to 
 drop from fatigue; but then I thought of poor 
 Fred Baird and his family, and I said I'd go. 
 The troop train came in presently and I boarded 
 her. It did my heart good to ride on that engine 
 with "Daddy" Blake at the throttle, and think that 
 four hundred big husky American regulars were 
 trailing along behind, waiting for something to 
 turn up and just aching for a crack at the red men. 
 
 It was now about three o'clock, and just as the 
 first rays of early dawn illumined the horizon, we 
 came in sight of Clear Creek. There was a dull 
 red glow against the sky, that told only too well 
 what we should find. The place had not been as 
 well protected as Blue Field, and the slaughter 
 was something fearful. The depot was nothing 
 but a smoldering mass of ruins, and but a short
 
 Blue Field, Arizona 51 
 
 distance away we came upon the bodies of Baird, 
 his wife and two children, shot to pieces, stripped, 
 horribly mutilated and scalped. It was sickening, 
 and shortly after, when the troop train pulled out 
 for Chiquito, the sense of loneliness was oppress- 
 ing. A few people had escaped by hiding in ob- 
 scure places and when they came out they went to 
 work and buried the dead. I finally succeeded in 
 getting a wire through and then, despite the heat, 
 I slept. 
 
 The next day the troops corralled the Indians, 
 gave them a good licking and sent them back to 
 their old reservations. And yet in face of just 
 such incidents as these, there are people who say 
 that poor Lo can be civilized. 
 
 A construction gang came out and started to 
 re-build, and the company offered me a good day 
 office if I would remain, but Nay ! Nay ! I had 
 had all I wanted of Arizona, and I went back to 
 Texas, thankful that I had a whole skin and a full 
 shock of red hair.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 TAKING A WHIRL AT COMMERCIAL WORK MY 
 
 FIRST ATTEMPT THE GALVESTON FIRE 
 
 THE memory of my exciting experience in Ari- 
 zona lasted me a good long time, and I finally de- 
 termined to leave the railroad service and try my 
 hand at commercial work. The two classes are 
 the same, and yet they are entirely different. 
 
 It is a most interesting sight, to the uninitiated, 
 to go into the operating room of a big commercial 
 office and see the swarms of men and women bend- 
 ing over glass partitioned tables; nimble footed 
 check boys running hither and thither like so 
 many flies, carrying to each wire the proper mes- 
 sages, while the volume of sound that greets your 
 ears is positively deafening. Every once in a 
 while some operator will raise his head and yell 
 "Pink," "C. N. D." or "Wire." "Pink" means 
 a message that is to be rushed; "C. N. D." is a 
 market quotation that is to be hurried over to the 
 Bucket Shops or Stock Exchange, while "Wire," 
 means a message that pertains to some wire that 
 is in trouble and such messages must have prece-
 
 A Whirl at Commercial Work 53 
 
 dence over all others. The check boys are trained 
 to know the destination of each and every wire 
 and work under the direction of the traffic chief. 
 
 Far over on one side of a room is the switch 
 board. To the untutored mind it looks like num- 
 berless long parallel strips of brass tacked on the 
 side of the wall, and each strip perforated by a 
 number of small holes, while stuck around, in 
 what seems endless profusion, are many gutta- 
 percha-topped brass pegs. Yet through all this 
 seeming mass of confusion, everything is in apple 
 pie order, and each one of those strips represents 
 a wire and every plug a connection to some set of 
 instruments. The wire chief and his assistants 
 are in full charge of this work, and it must needs 
 be a man of great ability to successfully fill such a 
 place in a large office. 
 
 The chief operator has entire supervision over 
 the whole office, and his duties are hard, constant, 
 and arduous. Like competent train despatchers, 
 men able to be first-class chief operators are few 
 and far between. Not only must he be an expert 
 telegrapher, but he must thoroughly understand 
 line, battery and switch board work, and his ex- 
 ecutive ability must be of the highest order. 
 
 I had always supposed if a man were a 
 first-class railroad operator he could do equally
 
 54 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 good work on a commercial wire ; in fact the op- 
 erator in a small town is always employed by the 
 railroad company and does the little amount of 
 commercial work in addition to his other duties. 
 
 After leaving Blue Field I loafed a while, but 
 that's tiresome work at best, so I journeyed down 
 to Galveston, Texas, one bright fall morning, and 
 after trying my luck at the railroad offices, I wan- 
 dered into the commercial office on the Strand 
 and asked George Clarke, the chief operator, for a 
 job. 
 
 "What kind of a man are you?" he said. 
 
 "First-class in every respect, sir," I replied. 
 
 "Sit down there on the polar side of that Hous- 
 ton quad and if you are any account, I'll give you 
 a job at seventy dollars per month." 
 
 Now a "Quad" is an instrument whereby four 
 messages are going over the same wire at the 
 same time. The mechanism of the machine is dif- 
 ferent in every respect from the old relay, key and 
 sounder, used on the railroad wires. In a vague 
 way I had heard of "quads," and imagined I could 
 work them as well as an "O. S." wire, but when he 
 said for me to sit down on the "Polar side," I was, 
 for a minute, stumped. However, there were al- 
 ready three chaps sitting at that table, so the 
 fourth place must be mine. I sat down and pres-
 
 A Whirl at Commercial Work 55 
 
 ently I heard the sounder say, "Who?" I an- 
 swered "BY," and then "HO," said, "Hr. City," I 
 grabbed a pen and made ready to copy, but by the 
 time he had finished the address I was just putting 
 down the number and check. "Break" I said, 
 "G. A. from," B-r-r-r-r- how that sounder did 
 jump. This interesting operation was repeated 
 several times, but finally I succeeded in getting the 
 message down, and then without giving me time 
 to draw my breath, he said, "C. N. D." and started 
 ahead with a jargon of figures and words that I 
 had never heard of before. His sending was plain 
 enough, in fact it w r as like a circus bill, but I 
 vvasn't on to the combination, and it was all Greek 
 to me. Perspiration started from every pore, and 
 in my agony I said, "Break, G. A. Ahr.," Holy 
 Smoke ! how he did fly off at that, and how those 
 other three chaps did grin at my discomfiture. 
 
 "Call your chief operator over here," and with 
 that he refused to work with me any more. Clarke 
 came over and that blasted chump at "HO" said, 
 
 "For heaven's sake give us an operator to do the 
 receiving on the polar side of this quad. We are 
 piled up with business and can't be delayed by 
 teaching the ropes to a railroad ham. He's been 
 ten minutes taking one message, and I haven't
 
 56 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 been able to pound into his head what a 'C. N. D,' 
 is yet." 
 
 Clarke quietly gave him "O. K." and then 
 turned to me with, 
 
 "I guess you are not used to this kind of work. 
 Better go back to railroading, and learn some- 
 thing about commercial work before tackling a job 
 like this again. Come back in six months and I'll 
 give you another trial." I sneaked out of the 
 office, followed by the broad smiles of every man 
 in the place, and thus ended the first lesson. 
 
 I took Clarke's advice and went back to work on 
 a narrow-gauge road running northwards out of 
 Houtson, through the most God-forsaken country 
 on the footstool. Sluggish bayous, foul rank 
 growth of vegetation, alligators as long as a rail, 
 that would come out and stop trains by being on the 
 track, and air so malarious in quality that it was 
 only a question of time until one had the fever. 
 I stuck it out for two months and then succumbed 
 to the inevitable and went to the hospital where I 
 lay for three weeks. After I had fully recovered 
 they put me to work in the Houston General 
 Office, and some eight months after reaching there 
 I received a message from my old friend Clarke, 
 saying, "if I had improved any in my commercial 
 work he would give me a job at seventy dollars per
 
 A Whirl at Commercial Work 57 
 
 month." I hadn't improved much, but as this 
 world is two-thirds bluff, I made mine, and said 
 I'd come, trusting to luck to be able to hold on. 
 
 I reached there one pleasant afternoon and the 
 next morning went to work. I must have had my 
 rabbit's foot with me, because I was assigned to a 
 "Way Wire." I think if he had told me to tackle 
 a "Quad," again, I should have fainted. A "Way 
 Wire," is one that runs along a railroad, having 
 offices cut in in all the small towns. There wasn't a 
 town on the whole string that had more than ten 
 or fifteen messages a day, but the aggregate of all 
 the offices made up a very good day's work. Then 
 again I didn't have to handle any of those con- 
 founded "C. N. D." messages. Clarke watched 
 me closely and at the end of the first day he said 
 my work showed a marked improvement. You 
 may rest assured I watched my P's and Q's, and it 
 wasn't long before I had the hang of the system 
 and could take my trick on a "Quad" with the best 
 of them. Rheostats, wheatstone bridges, polar- 
 ized relays, pole changers, and ground switches 
 became as familiar to me as the old relay key and 
 sounder had been. 
 
 Some of the rarest gems of the profession 
 worked in "G" office at this time George Clarke, 
 "Cy" Clamphitt, "Jack" Graham, Will Church,
 
 58 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 John McNeill, Paul Finnegan alias the "Count," 
 and a score or more of men, as good as ever 
 touched a key or balanced a quad. A day's work 
 was from eight A. M., until five P. M., and for all 
 over time we were paid extra at the rate of forty 
 cents per hour. This extra work was called 
 "Scooping." 
 
 One day in December, Clarke asked me if I 
 wanted to "scoop" that night. I acquiesced and 
 after eating a hasty supper I went back to the 
 office and prepared for a long siege. I was put to 
 sending press reports, which is just about as hard 
 work as a man can do. I sent "30" (the end) at 
 two o'clock in the morning, and went home worn 
 to a frazzle. I was boarding on Avenue M. with ten 
 other operators, in a house kept by a Mrs. Swan- 
 son, and roomed with her little son Jimmie, who 
 was a hopeless cripple. I undressed, and after 
 shoving little Jim over to his own side of the bed, 
 tumbled in and was soon sleeping like a log. It 
 seemed as if I had just closed my eyes when I felt 
 some one pulling my hair. I knocked the hand 
 away and prepared to take another snooze, when 
 there was that awful pull on my red head again. I 
 opened my eyes prepared to fight, when I felt an 
 extra hard pull, and heard the wee sma' voice of 
 my diminutive room mate say,
 
 A Whirl at Commercial Work 59 
 
 "Get up, the house is on fire." "Rats," I said 
 Again, the awful pull, and, "Mr. Bates, 
 for God's sake get up ; the house is on fire ; the 
 whole town is burning up." 
 
 I sprang out of bed and the crackling of the 
 timbers, the glow of the flames, and the stifling 
 smoke, soon assured me it was time to move, and 
 quickly at that. I grabbed up a few clothes in one 
 arm, and grasping brave little Jimmie Swanson in 
 the other, I started for the steps. On our side, 
 the whole house was in flames, and the smoke 
 rushing up the stair-way was something awful. I 
 wrapped Jimmie's head in his night shirt, and 
 throwing a coat over mine, I started down the 
 stairs. Half way down my foot slipped, and we 
 both pitched head first to the bottom. Poor little 
 Jim, his right arm was broken by the fall, and 
 when he tried to get up, he found that his one 
 sound leg was badly strained. He said, 
 
 "Never mind me, Mr. Bates, save yourself. I'll 
 crawl out." 
 
 Leave him to roast alive ? Never ! I grabbed him 
 again and after a desperate effort succeeded in get- 
 ting him out. All our supply of clothing had been 
 lost in our mad efforts to escape, and as a bitter 
 norther was blowing at the time, our position was 
 anything but pleasant. I found a few clothes
 
 60 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 dropped by some one else and we made ourselves 
 as warm as possible. Then I grabbed Jimmie up 
 again and fled before the fiery blast. The awful 
 catastrophe had started in a fisherman's shack 
 over on the bay, twenty-seven squares from where 
 we lived, and being borne by a high wind, had 
 swept everything in its path. The houses were 
 mostly of timber and were easy prey to the relent- 
 less flames. Although Galveston is entirely sur- 
 rounded by water, the pipe-lines for fighting fire 
 at this time extended only to Avenue H, ten blocks 
 from the Strand. Beyond that, the fire depart- 
 ment depended on the cisterns of private houses 
 for the water to subdue the flames. 
 
 With lightning-like rapidity the flames had 
 spread and almost before they knew it the town 
 seemed doomed. Arches of flame, myriads of 
 falling sparks, hundreds of fleeing half-clad men, 
 women and children, the hissing of the engines in 
 their puny attempts to fight the monster, and ever 
 and anon the dull roar of the falling walls, made a 
 scene, as grand and weird as it was desolate and 
 awful. In less than two hours time fifty-two 
 squares had been laid waste, leaving a trail of 
 smoldering black ashes. That the whole city did 
 not go is due to a providential switch of the wind 
 that blew the flames back on their own tracks.
 
 A Whirl at Commercial Work 61 
 
 Of the fifteen operators in the day force, twelve 
 had been burned out, and the next morning, at 
 eight o'clock, when all had reported for duty, they 
 were as sorry a looking lot of men as ever 
 assembled. 
 
 "Some in rags, some in jags, and one in velvet 
 gown." "Count" Finnegan had on a frilled 
 shirt, a pair of trousers three sizes too small for 
 him, and his manly form was wrapped in a flow- 
 ing robe of black velvet, picked up by him in his 
 mad flight. 
 
 It was many a day before the effects of this 
 direful calamity were entirely obliterated.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 SENDING A MESSAGE PERFORCE RECOGNIZING 
 AN OLD FRIEND BY HIS STUFF 
 
 SOME time after this I was in Fort Worth copy- 
 ing night reports at eighty dollars per month. The 
 night force consisted of two other men besides my- 
 self. The "split trick" man worked until ten 
 o'clock, the other chap stayed around until twelve, 
 or until he was clear, while I hung on until "30" 
 on report which came anywhere from one-thirty 
 until four A. M. After midnight I had to handle 
 all the business that came along. 
 
 When I had received "30" I would cut out the 
 instruments and go home. 
 
 One morning, about two-thirty I had said "G. 
 N." to Galveston, cut out the instruments, put out 
 the lights in the operating room, and started to go 
 home through the receiving room and I was about 
 to put out the last light there, when the outer door 
 opened and in staggered a half drunken ranchman 
 who said, 
 
 "Hold on there, young fellow, I want to send a 
 message to St. Louis." 
 
 62
 
 Sending a Message Perforce 63 
 
 "I'm sorry, but it's too late to send it now. All 
 the instruments are cut out and we wont have St. 
 Louis until eight o'clock in the morning. Come 
 around then and some of the day force will send it 
 for you." 
 
 "But," he said in a maudlin voice, "I've got 
 nineteen cars of cattle out here that are going up 
 there to-morrow and I want to notify my agents." 
 
 I persisted in my refusal and was beginning to 
 get hot under the collar, but my bucolic friend also 
 had a temper and showed it. 
 
 "D n it," he said, "you send this message or 
 there is going to be trouble." 
 
 "Not much, I won't send your confounded old 
 message. Get out of this office : I'm going home." 
 
 Just then I heard an ominous click and in a sec- 
 ond I was gazing down the barrel of a .45, and he 
 said, 
 
 "Now will you send it? You'd better or I'll 
 send you to a home that will be a permanent one." 
 
 A .45, especially when it is loaded, cocked and 
 pointed at your head, with a half drunken galoot's 
 finger on the trigger, is a powerful incentive to 
 quick action. 
 
 "Give me your blamed old message, and I'll 
 send it for you." 
 
 Now there wasn't a through wire to any place
 
 64 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 at the time, but I had thought of a scheme to stave 
 him off. I took his telegram, went over and mon- 
 keyed around the switch board for a while, and 
 then sat down to a local instrument and went 
 through the form of sending a message. My 
 whole salvation lay in the hope that he was not an 
 operator and would fail to discover my ruse. I 
 glanced at him furtively out of the corner of my 
 eye, and there he stood, pistol in hand, grinning 
 like a monkey and swaying to and fro like a reed 
 in the wind. I didn't know what that grin por- 
 tended for me, but after I had gone through the 
 form of sending the telegram, I hung it up on the 
 hook, and turned around with, 
 
 "There, I hope you are satisfied now. Your 
 blamed old message has been sent." 
 
 "Satisfied ! Why certainly I'm satisfied. I just 
 wanted to show you that the Western Union Com- 
 pany wasn't the whole push. Come on over to 
 the White Elephant with me and we'll have a 
 drink together, just to show there's no hard feel- 
 ings between us," and with that he put away his 
 pistol and we went out. On the way over to the 
 Elephant he said, 
 
 "Say, kid, did you think I'd shoot if you hadn't 
 sent the message ?"
 
 Sending a Message Perforce 65 
 
 "Well," I replied, "I wasn't taking any chances 
 on the matter." 
 
 Then he laughed loud enough to be heard a 
 block away and said, "Why, that pistol hasn't 
 been loaded for six months, I was just running a 
 bluff on you, and you bit like a fish." 
 
 Good joke, wasn't it ? We had our drink, and 
 his message was sent by one of the day force, at 
 eight-tivelve A. M. 
 
 The Morse telegraphic alphabet is exactly the 
 same the world over, and yet each operator has a 
 peculiarity to his sending, or "stuff," as it is called, 
 that makes it easy to recognize an old friend, even 
 though his name be changed. 
 
 In the early part of my career, when I was 
 working days at X , in Nebraska, at Sweeping 
 Water there was a chap called Ned Kingsbury 
 holding down the night job, and as wild a young- 
 ster as ever hit the road. One night when 
 I was sitting up a little late I heard the despatcher 
 give Ned an order for a train that ordinarily 
 would not stop there. Ned repeated it back all 
 right enough, and then gave the signal, "6," which 
 meant that he had turned his red-light to the 
 track and would hold it there until the order was 
 delivered and understood. So far, so good. But 
 the reckless little devil had forgotten to turn his
 
 66 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 red-board and proceeded to write to some of his 
 numerous girls, and the first thing he knew that 
 freight train went smashing by at a thirty-five 
 mile clip, and Mr. Ned knew he was up against it. 
 
 In some states a rail-roader guilty of criminal 
 negligence is sent up for a term of from one to 
 ten years. The smash up that resulted from 
 Ned's carelessness was a catastrophe of the fatal 
 kind; one engineer was killed, and a fire- 
 man and brakeman or two laid up for months 
 He fully realized the magnitude of his offence and 
 promptly skipped away from the wrath that was 
 sure to follow, and nothing more was heard of 
 him in that section of the country. 
 
 This all happened a number of years before I 
 went to work in Fort Worth, and one morning I 
 was doing a little "scooping," by working days, 
 and sat down to send on the "DA" quad. I 
 worked hard for about two hours on the polar 
 side, and was sending to some cracker jack, who 
 signed "KY." Shortly after that I changed over 
 to the receiving side and "KY" did the sending 
 to me. I had been taking about ten messages and 
 the conviction was growing on me momentarily 
 that the sending was very familiar and that I must 
 have known the sender. Where had I heard that 
 peculiar jerky sending before? It was as plain as
 
 Sending a Message Perforce 67 
 
 print, but there was an individuality about it that 
 belonged only to one man. All at once that night 
 in Nebraska flashed on my mind and I knew my 
 sender was none other than Ned Kingsbury. I 
 broke him and said, 
 
 "Hello, Ned Kingsbury, where did you come 
 from ?" 
 
 "You've got the wrong man this time, sonny, 
 my name is Pillsbury," he replied. 
 
 "Oh ! come off. I'd know that combination of 
 yours if I heard it in Halifax. Didn't you work 
 at Sweeping Water, Nebraska, some time ago, 
 and didn't you have some kind of a queer smash 
 up there?" 
 
 Then he 'fessed up and said he had recognized 
 my stuff as soon as he heard it, but hadn't said 
 anything in hopes I wouldn't twig him. 
 
 "Don't give me away, old chap. I'm flying the 
 flag now and have lost all my former brashness." 
 
 I never did.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 BILL BRADLEY, GAMBLER AND GENTLEMAN. 
 
 TELEGRAPHERS are, as a rule, a very nomadic 
 class, wandering hither and thither like a chip buf- 
 feted about on the ocean. Their pathway is not 
 always one of roses, and many times their feet are 
 torn by the jagged rocks of adversity. I was no 
 different from any of the rest, neither better nor 
 worse, and many a night I have slept with only the 
 deep blue sky for a covering, and it may be added 
 sotto voce it is not a very warm blanket on a 
 cold night. 'Tis said, an operator of the first class 
 can always procure work, but there are times when 
 even the best of them are on their uppers. For 
 instance, when winter's chill blasts sweep across 
 the hills and dales of the north, like swarms of 
 swallows, operators flit southwards to warmer 
 climes, and for this reason the supply is often 
 greater than the demand. 
 
 I was a "flitter" of the first water, and after I 
 had been in Fort Worth for a very short while I 
 became possessed of a desire to see something of 
 68
 
 Gambler and Gentleman 69 
 
 the far famed border towns along the Rio Grande 
 frontier. So I went south to a town called Hall- 
 ville, and found it a typical tough frontier town. 
 I landed there all right enough and then pro- 
 ceeded to gently strand. Work was not to be 
 had, money I had none, and my predicament 
 can be imagined. Many of you have doubt- 
 less been on the frontier and know what these 
 places are. There was the usual number of gam- 
 bling dens, dance halls and saloons, and of course 
 they had their variety theatre. Ever go into one 
 of the latter places? The first thing that greets 
 your eye is a big black and white sign "Buy a 
 drink and see the show." Inside, at one end, is the 
 long wooden bar, presided over by some thug of 
 the highest order, with a big diamond stuck in the 
 centre of a broad expanse of white shirt front. 
 At the other end is the so-called stage, while scat- 
 tered about indiscriminately are the tables and 
 chairs. The air is filled yea, reeking with the 
 fumes of bad whiskey, stale beer, and the odor of 
 foul smelling cheap tobacco smoke, and through 
 all this haze the would-be "show," goes on, and 
 the applause is manifested by whistles, cat calls, 
 the pounding of feet on the floor and glasses on 
 the tables. Occasionally some artist (?) will ap- 
 pear who does not seem to strike the popular fancy
 
 jo Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 and will be greeted by a beer glass or empty bottle 
 being fired at his or her head. 
 
 Now, at the time of which I speak, my pros- 
 pects were very slim, and as nature had endowed 
 me with a fair singing voice, I had just about 
 made up my mind to go to the Palace Variety 
 Theatre and ask for a position as a vocalist. I 
 could, at least, sing as well as some of the theat- 
 rical bygones that graced the place. The price of 
 admission in one of these places is simply the price 
 of a drink. I felt in my pocket and found that I 
 had one solitary lonely dime, and swinging aside 
 the green baize door, I entered. 
 
 "Gimme a beer," I said laying down my dime. 
 A small glass, four-fifths froth and one-fifth beer, 
 was skated at me by the bartender from the other 
 end of the counter, and my dime was raked into 
 the till. 
 
 Then I stood around like a bump on a log, try- 
 ing to screw my courage up to ask the blear eyed, 
 red-nosed Apollo for a job. Some hack voiced old 
 chromo was trying to warble "Do they miss me 
 at home," and mentally I thought "if he had ever 
 sung like that when he was at home they were 
 probably glad he had left." The scene was sick- 
 ening and disgusting to me, but empty stomachs 
 stand not on ceremony, so I turned around and
 
 Gambler and Gentleman 71 
 
 was just about to accost the proprietor, when 
 Biff! I felt a stinging whack between my 
 shoulders. Quickly I faced about, all the risibil- 
 ity of my red headed nature coming to the sur- 
 face, and there I saw a big handsome chap stand- 
 ing in front of me. Six feet tall, broad-shoul- 
 dered, straight, lithe limbs, denoting herculean 
 strength, a massive head poised on a well shaped 
 neck, two cold blue eyes, and a face covered by a 
 bushy brown beard ; dressed in well fitting clothes, 
 trousers tucked in the tops of shiny black boots, 
 long Prince Albert coat and a broad sombrero set 
 rakishly on one side of his head. Such was the 
 man who hit me in the back. 
 
 "Hello, youngster, what's your name?" 
 Rubbing my lame shoulder, I said, "Well it 
 might be Jones and it might be Smith, but it ain't, 
 and I don't know what affair it is of yours, any 
 way." 
 
 "Oh ! come now, boy, don't get huffy. You've 
 got an honest face and appear to be in trouble. 
 What is it? Out with it. You're evidently a 
 tenderfoot and this hell-hole of vice isn't a place 
 for a boy of your years. What's your name? 
 Come over here at this table and sit down and tell 
 me."
 
 72 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 Something in his bluff hearty manner gave me 
 hope and after sitting down, I said. 
 
 "My name is Martin Bates. I'm a telegraph 
 operator by profession and blew into this town 
 this morning on my uppers. I can't get work and 
 I haven't a red cent to my name. It is necessary 
 for me to live, and as I can sing a little bit, I came 
 in here to see if I could get a job warbling. I 
 won't beg or steal, and there is no one here I can 
 borrow from. There's my story. Not a very 
 pleasant one is it?" 
 
 "There may have been worse. How long since 
 you've had anything to eat." 
 
 "Nine o'clock this morning," I grimly replied. 
 "Good Lord, that's twelve hours ago. Come 
 on with me out of here and I'll fix you up." 
 
 Meekly I followed my new found friend. I 
 was sick at heart, weary and worn out in body and 
 I didn't care a rap whether school kept or not; 
 anything would be better than my present situa- 
 tion. He took me about three blocks up the main 
 street and we went into a suite of beautifully fur- 
 nished rooms. He rang a bell, a darkey came in, 
 and it wasn't long before I had a lunch in front of 
 me fit for the gods, and I may add it didn't take 
 me many minutes to get outside of it. My friend
 
 Gambler and Gentleman 73 
 
 watched me narrowly while I was eating, and 
 when I had finished he said, 
 
 "Now youngster, you're all tired out. You go 
 to bed in the next room and get a good night's 
 sleep. In the morning we'll see what we can do 
 for you, but one thing is certain, you're not going 
 into that vile hole of a Palace Theatre again. 
 Somewhere in this world you have a father and 
 mother who are praying for you this night. Don't 
 make a slip in your pathway in life and break their 
 hearts. Everything is safe and quiet here and no 
 one will disturb you until I come in in the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 There was a peculiar earnestness in his voice as 
 he spoke that was very convincing, and as he rose 
 to go out, I meekly said, 
 
 "What's your name, mister?" 
 
 "Bill Bradley," he answered with a queer smile. 
 "Now don't you ask any more questions to-night," 
 and with that he was gone. 
 
 I went to bed almost sick from my exposure and 
 lack of food, and just as the old sand man of 
 childhood's happy days began to sprinkle his 
 grains in my eyes, I heard, way off in the dis- 
 tance, a peculiar click and a drawling voice calling 
 off some numbers. "Four." "Sixteen." "Thirty- 
 three." "Seventy-eight." "Ten." "Twenty-
 
 74 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 six," and then, a great shout arose and some one 
 called out "KENO." Ah ! I was near a gambling 
 house, but I was too tired to care, nature asserted 
 herself, and I gently crossed the river into the 
 land of Nod. 
 
 The next morning I was really sick with a high 
 fever, and when Bill came in I was well nigh 
 loony. 
 
 "Hello," he said, "this won't do. Tom, I say, 
 you Tom, go and tell Doctor Bailey I want him 
 here quick. D n quick. Do you hear?" and 
 black Tom answered, "Yas, suh." 
 
 To be brief, I was three weeks on my back, and 
 bluff old Bill Bradley nursed me like a loving 
 mother would a sick child. Day and night he hung 
 over me, never a thing did I need but what he pro- 
 cured for me, and one day after the fever had left 
 me and I was sitting up by an open window, I 
 said, 
 
 "Mr. Bradley, what do you do for a living?" 
 
 "Boy," he replied with a flushed face, "I am 
 sorry you asked that question, but sooner or later 
 you would have heard it and I'd a great deal 
 rather tell you about it myself. I'm a gambler 
 and these three rooms adjoin my place which is 
 called the "Three Nines," and then he told me the 
 story of his life. He was a son of a fine Connecti-
 
 Gambler and Gentleman 75 
 
 cut family, a graduate of Harvard, and in his day 
 had been a very able young lawyer with brilliant 
 prospects, but one night, he went out with a crowd 
 of roystering chaps, the lie was passed, and it 
 was the old story, he came to Texas for a refuge. 
 The great civil war was just over, the country in a 
 chaotic state, and there he had remained ever 
 since. Thrown with wild, uncouth men, and be- 
 ing reckless in the extreme, he opened a gambling 
 house. 
 
 "Why did you take this great interest in me?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "Look here, young chap, you are altogether too 
 inquisitive. I've got an old father and mother 
 way up in Ball Brooke, Connecticut, whose hearts 
 have been broken by my actions, and when I saw 
 you in that hellish den of vice you looked so out of 
 place that I determined to save you. It was im- 
 pulse, my boy, and then again, it may have been 
 the remembrance of the one, at whose knee I used 
 to lisp, 'Now I lay me down to sleep.' " 
 
 My recovery was very rapid from that time on, 
 and when I was able to work I secured a position 
 in the commercial office in Hallville. One evening 
 after being paid I strolled into the "Three Nines;" 
 Bill was dealing faro, and I thought I might in a 
 measure, show my gratitude towards him by risk-
 
 76 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 ing a com. There was a big crowd standing 
 around the table, but I edged my way in and 
 placed a dollar on the queen to win. Luck was 
 with me and I won. Once, twice, thrice, did the 
 cards come my way, and my stack of whites and 
 reds was growing. This didn't seem to me much 
 like gratitude to win a man's money, and I wished 
 I hadn't started. Presently Bill looked up, and 
 spying me, pointed to my stack of chips, and said, 
 "Whose stack is that?" "Mine," I replied, and 
 with one fell swoop he dashed the chips into the 
 rack, and taking a ten-dollar bill from the drawer, 
 he turned to his side partner and said, "Jim, take 
 the deal," and then he got up, took me by the arm, 
 saying, "You come with me." 
 
 Feeling like a sneak I followed him, and when 
 we had reached his sitting-room, he sat down and 
 said, 
 
 "Kid, how much were you in on that deal ?" 
 
 "Just one dollar," I replied. 
 
 Then he looked at me, his eyes shone like coals 
 of fire, and he said, 
 
 "Look here boy, here's ten dollars. If you are 
 ever hard up and want money come to me, and I'll 
 give it to you willingly, but don't you ever let me 
 see or hear of you staking a cent on a card again. 
 I'm running a gambling house, and as gambling
 
 Gambler and Gentleman 77 
 
 houses go, it's an honest one, but I'm not out 
 plucking lambs like you. Your intentions were 
 probably good but don't you ever do it again. If 
 you really want to show your gratitude for what 
 I have done for you, promise me honestly that you 
 will never gamble." 
 
 I felt very much humiliated, but took his words 
 of advice, promised, and have never flipped a coin 
 on a card since that night. 
 
 Bill was a married man, and in addition to his 
 suite of rooms spoken of, he had a very nice resi- 
 dence on Capitol Hill. His suite was a side issue, 
 to be used when the games were running high. I 
 had never met Mrs. Bradley, but during my illness 
 I had evidence every day of her goodness in the 
 shape of many delicacies that found their way to 
 my bedside. I had asked Bill time and again to 
 take me out to meet his wife, but he always put me 
 off on one pretext or another. 
 
 When I started to work, I had secured a room 
 at the house of a Mrs. Slade. She had three 
 daughters and one Sunday afternoon we were all 
 out walking together, when one of them pointed 
 to a very fine residence and said, "That's the 
 residence of Bill Bradley, the big gambler." 
 
 Just then Bill and his wife came driving by be- 
 hind a spanking team of bays. Quick as a flash
 
 78 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 my hat came off, and I bowed low. Bill saw it and 
 very cavalierly returned my salute. The elder 
 Miss Slade turned on me like a tigress, and said, 
 
 "Mr. Bates, do you know who that man is? 
 Do you know what he is ?" 
 
 "Yes, I know him very well," I replied. 
 
 "Then what do you mean by insulting us by 
 speaking to such a man ? I did not know that you 
 associated with men of his ilk." 
 
 In a plain unvarnished way I told them of Bill 
 Bradley's kindness to me, but it was no go, and 
 as I would not renounce my liking for the man 
 who had been my benefactor, my room in their 
 house became preferable to my society and I left. 
 
 The next evening I saw Bill in his rooms, and 
 he said, 
 
 "Martin, yesterday, when Mrs Bradley and I 
 drove by you and the Slade girls, you spoke to me 
 and lifted your hat to Mrs. Bradley. I could do 
 naught but return the salute. Now my boy, there's 
 no use of my mincing words with you; I be- 
 friended you, probably saved you from ruin, but 
 young as you are, you know full well that our 
 paths do not lie parallel with each other. I am a 
 gambler, and although Mrs. Bradley is as good a 
 woman as ever lived, (and I'd kill the first man 
 that said she wasn't) we are not recognized by
 
 Gambler and Gentleman 79 
 
 society; no, not even by the riff raff that liye in 
 Hallville. You have your way to carve in the 
 world, don't ruin it right at the outset by letting 
 people know you are friendly with gamblers. No 
 matter how good your motives may be, this scoff- 
 ing world will always miscontrue them and cen- 
 sure you." 
 
 This made me hot and I told him so. No 
 matter if he was a gambler, he was more of a 
 gentleman than nine-tenths of the men of society, 
 yes, men, who would come and gamble half the 
 night away in his place, and then go forth the 
 next day and pose as models of propriety. 
 
 The upshot of the whole business was that I 
 left Hallville soon after this and went to San An- 
 tonio to take day report, and one day I picked up 
 a paper, and read an account of how Bill Bradley 
 had been assassinated by a cowardly cur who had 
 a grudge against him. He was stabbed in the 
 back, and thus ended the career of Bill Bradley, 
 gambler and gentleman.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE DEATH OF JIM CARTWRIGHT CHASED 
 
 OFF A WIRE BY A WOMAN 
 
 I DIDN'T stay at San Antonio very long after 
 this but started northwards. You see it was 
 getting to be warm weather. The first place I 
 struck was a night job in a smashing good town 
 up near the south line of the pan handle. I quit 
 working at midnight, and to get to my boarding 
 house had to walk a mile through a portion of the 
 town called "Hell's half-acre," to get to my board- 
 ing house. 
 
 The most prominent place of any description in 
 the city was a saloon and gambling house known 
 as the "Blue Goose," owned by John Waring and 
 Luke Ravel. Both men were as nervy as they 
 make 'em and several nicks in the butts of their 
 revolvers testified mutely as to their prowess. 
 Their place was like all other dens, and consisted 
 of the usual bar and lunch counter in one room, 
 while in the adjoining one was the hall of gaming. 
 Faro, roulette, hazard, monte, and the great 
 national game, poker, held high carnival there 
 80
 
 The Death of Jim Cartwright 81 
 
 nightly. Next to the "Goose" was a long narrow 
 room used as a shooting gallery. The place was 
 only a few doors around the corner from my 
 office, and many a night on my way home I 
 would stop at the lunch counter and have a sand- 
 wich and a cup of coffee. I remembered my 
 promise to bluff old Bill Bradley, and was never 
 tempted to go in the gambling hall. .1 generally 
 used to rise about noon each day and go up town 
 and loaf until four o'clock, when it was time to go 
 to work. I picked up a speaking acquaintance 
 with Luke Ravel, and sometimes we would go into 
 the shooting gallery together and have a friendly 
 bout with the Flobert rifles. 
 
 At this time there was one of those tough 
 characters in the town named Jim Cartwright. In 
 days gone by he had been a deputy United States 
 Marshal, and one time took advantage of his 
 official position to provoke a quarrel with an 
 enemy and killed him in cold blood. Public in- 
 dignation ran high and Jim had to skip to Mexico. 
 He stayed away two years and getting in trouble 
 over there, came back to his old stamping grounds 
 in hopes the people had forgotten his former 
 scrape. They hadn't exactly forgotten it, but 
 Jim was a pretty tough character and no one 
 seemed to care to tackle him.
 
 82 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 One night Luke Ravel and Jim had some words 
 over a game of cards, and bad blood was en- 
 gendered between them. The next day my side 
 partner Frank Noel, and I went into the shooting 
 gallery to try our luck, and were standing there 
 enjoying ourselves, when Luke came in and took 
 a hand. He was dressed in the height of fashion, 
 and while we three were standing there, Jim Cart- 
 wright, three sheets in the wind, appeared in the 
 doorway pistol in hand. He looked at Luke and 
 said, with an oath, 
 
 "Look here, Luke Ravel, your time has come. 
 I'm going to kill you." 
 
 My hair arose, my heart seemed to stop beating, 
 but there was no way out, so Noel and I edged our 
 way over as far as possible, and held our breath. 
 Luke never turned a hair, nor changed color. He 
 was as cool as an iceberg, and squarely facing 
 Cartwright said, 
 
 "You wouldn't shoot an unarmed man would 
 you, Jim?" 
 
 "Aint you got no gun?" 
 
 "No," replied Luke, "I'm unarmed. See," and 
 with that he threw up the tails of his long coat. 
 
 Jim hesitated a minute, and then shoving his 
 gun into his pocket he said, 
 
 "No, by heavens, I won't kill an unarmed man.
 
 The Death of Jim Cartwright 83 
 
 I'll give you a chance for your life, but I warn 
 you to fix yourself, because the next time I see you 
 I'm going to let daylight through your carcass," 
 and with another oath he turned to walk away. 
 Hardly had he taken two steps, when there was 
 a blinding flash followed by a loud report, and Jim 
 Cartwright lay dead, shot through the heart, 
 while Luke Ravel stood over him; a smoking .38 
 pocket pistol in his hand. Where he pulled his 
 gun from no one ever knew ; it was all over in a 
 flash. It seems a cowardly thing to shoot a man 
 in the back, but it was a case of 'dog eat dog.' 
 
 Luke was arrested next day, and Noel and I 
 gave our testimony before the coroner's jury, and 
 he was bound over for trial before the next term 
 of the circuit court to sit six months hence. 
 There is an old and very trite saying in Texas 
 that, "a dead witness is better than a live one." 
 This was gently whispered into our ears, and 
 accordingly one night about a month after this, 
 Noel and I "folded our tents, and like the Arabs, 
 silently stole away." 
 
 Luke was acquitted on the plea of self defence. 
 
 Spring time having come, and with it the good 
 hot weather, I continued to move northwards and 
 finally brought up in a good office in Nebraska, 
 where I was to copy the night report from Chi-
 
 84 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 cago. We had two wires running to Chicago, 
 one a quad for the regular business, and the other 
 a single string for "C. N. D." and report work. 
 My stay in this office was, short, sharp, brilliant 
 and decisive. 
 
 The first night I sat down to work at six-thirty, 
 and in a few minutes was receiving the worst 
 pounding I had ever experienced, from some 
 operator in "CH" office who signed "JL." There 
 was no kick coming on the sending, it was as plain 
 as a large sized poster, but it was so all-fired fast, 
 that it made me hustle for all I was worth to get 
 it down. There is no sense in a fellow sending so 
 fast, because nothing is made by it and it tires 
 every one completely out. Ordinarily, a thirty 
 word a minute clip is a good stiff speed for report, 
 but this night, thirty-five or forty was nearer the 
 mark. In every operator there is a certain 
 amount of professional pride inherent that makes 
 him refrain from breaking on report unless it is 
 absolutely necessary. The sender always keeps a 
 record of the breaks of each receiver on the line, 
 and if they become too frequent the offender is 
 gently fired. On the night in question I didn't 
 break, but there were several times when foreign 
 dispatches were coming that I faked names in 
 great shape. It was an ugly night out, and about
 
 The Death of Jim Cartwright 85 
 
 nine o'clock our quad flew the track, and in a min- 
 ute "JL" said to me, 
 
 "Here's ten blacks (day messages) just handed 
 me to send to you," and without waiting for me 
 to get my manifold clip out of the way he started. 
 I didn't get a chance to put the time or date down, 
 and was swearing, fighting mad. After sending 
 five of the ten messages, "JL" stopped a second 
 and said, 
 
 "How do I come?" 
 
 "You come like the devil. For heaven's sake 
 let up a bit," I replied. 
 
 "Who do you think you are talking to?" came 
 back at me. 
 
 Seemingly, patience had ceased to be a virtue 
 
 with me, so I replied, "Some d d ambitious 
 
 chump of a fool who's stuck on making a record 
 for himself." 
 
 "That settles you. Call your chief operator 
 over here/' 
 
 Joe Saunders was the chief, and when he came 
 over he said, 
 
 "What's the trouble here, kid, this wire gone 
 down?" 
 
 "No," I answered, "the wire hasn't gone down, 
 but that cuss up in 'CH' who signs 'JL' has been
 
 86 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 pounding the eternal life out of me and I've just 
 given him a piece of my mind." 
 
 "Say anything brash?" asked Joe. 
 
 "No, not very. Just told him he was a d d 
 fool with a few light embellishments." 
 
 Joe laughed very heartily and said, "I guess 
 you are the fool in this case, because 'JL' is a 
 woman, Miss Jennie Love, by name, and the 
 swiftest lady operator in the business. If she 
 makes this complaint official, you'll get it in 
 the neck." 
 
 I didn't wait for any official complaint, but put 
 on my coat and walked out much chagrined, be- 
 cause I had always boasted that no woman could 
 ever run me off a wire. I had the pleasure of 
 meeting Miss Love afterwards and apologized for 
 my conduct. She forgave me, but like Mary 
 Marsh, she married another man.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 WITNESSING A MARRIAGE BY WIRE BEATING 
 A POOL ROOM SPARRING AT LONG RANGE 
 
 AFTER my disastrous encounter with Miss 
 Love, I went south and brought up in St. Louis, 
 where old "Top," the chief operator, gave me a 
 place working a New York quad. This was about 
 the worst "roast" I had ever struck, and it was 
 work from the word go from 5 P. M. until I A. M. 
 Work on any wire from a big city leading to New 
 York is always hot, and this particular wire was 
 the worst of the bunch. While working in this 
 office I had several little incidents come under my 
 observation that may be of interest. 
 
 The coy little god of love manifests itself in 
 many ways, and the successful culmination of two 
 hearts' happiness is as often queer as it is hu- 
 morous. 
 
 Miss Jane Grey was an operator on the G. C. & 
 F. Railway at Wichita, Kansas, and Mr. Paul 
 Dimmock worked for the Western Union in 
 Louisville, Kentucky. Through the agency of a 
 matrimonial journal, Jane and Paul became ac- 
 87
 
 88 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 quainted; letters and pictures were exchanged, 
 and it was the old, old story they became en- 
 gaged. They wanted to be wedded and the more 
 sensational and notorious they could make it the 
 better it would suit them both. Jane only earned 
 forty dollars per month, while Paul's monthly 
 stipend was the magnificent sum of sixty, with 
 whatever extra time he could "scoop." Neither 
 one of them wanted to quit work just then, they 
 felt they could not afford it, but that marriage 
 must come off, or they would both die of broken 
 hearts. Paul wrote, Jane WTOte, plans and 
 compromises were made and refused; the situa- 
 tion was becoming desperate, and finally Jane's 
 brilliant mind suggested a marriage by wire. 
 Great head fine scheme. It takes a woman to 
 circumvent unforeseen obstacles every time. 
 Chief operators were consulted in Kansas City 
 and St. Louis and they agreed to have the wire 
 cut through on the evening appointed. There 
 were to be two witnesses in each office, and I was 
 one of the honored two in St. Louis. The day 
 finally arrived, and promptly at seven-thirty in the 
 evening Louisville was cut through to Wichita, 
 and after all the contracting parties and the wit- 
 nesses had assembled, the ceremony began. There 
 was a minister at each end, and as the various
 
 Beating a Pool Room 89 
 
 queries and responses were received by the wit- 
 nesses, they would read them to the contracting 
 party present, and finally Paul said, 
 
 "With this ring, I thee wed, and with all my 
 worldly goods I thee endow : in the name of the 
 Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, 
 Amen." 
 
 The ring was placed on the bride's finger, by 
 proxy, the benediction pronounced by the Wichita 
 minister, and the deed was done. In due time the 
 certificate was received and signed by all the wit- 
 nesses, and the matter made of record in both 
 places. 
 
 How long did they live apart ? Oh ! not very 
 long. I think it was the next night that I saw a 
 message going through directed to Paul saying, 
 "Will leave for Louisville to-night," and signed 
 "Jane." 
 
 I wonder if old S. F. B. Morse ever had any 
 idea when he was perfecting the telegraph, that it 
 would some day be used to assist in joining 
 together, 
 
 "Two souls with but a single thought, 
 Two hearts that beat as one." 
 
 Operators are as a rule as honest as the sun, 
 yet, "where you find wheat, there also you find 
 chaff," and once in a while a man will be found
 
 90 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 whose proper place is the penitentiary. One of 
 the easiest ways for an operator, so inclined to 
 make money, is to cut wires, steal the reports of 
 races, market quotations, or C. N. D. reports, and 
 beat them to their destinations. Wires are 
 watched very closely so that it is hard for an out- 
 sider to do any monkeying. Many men under- 
 stand telegraphy who do not work at the business, 
 and it is for this reason that all the instruments in 
 the bucket shops and stock exchanges are turned 
 so low that no one outside of the operating room 
 can hear a sound. When it is realized that tran- 
 sactions are made, and fortunes won or lost in a 
 fractional part of a minute, it will be seen how 
 very careful the great telegraph companies must 
 be. The big horse races every year offer great 
 temptations. 
 
 While I was working in St. Louis, a case came 
 under my observation that will readily illustrate 
 the perversity of human nature. In a large office 
 not so very far away, there was working a friend 
 of mine, who did nothing but copy race reports 
 and C. N. D.'s all day. On the day the great 
 Kentucky Derby was to be run, the wire was cut 
 through from the track in Louisville to a big pool 
 room in this city. 
 
 Now the chief operator in this place was a scaly
 
 Beating a Pool Room 91 
 
 sort of a cuss in fact, it was said that he had 
 done time in the past for some skullduggery and 
 when the horses went to the post, he stood by the 
 switchboard and deliberately cut the pool room 
 wire, so the report didn't go through. He copied 
 the report himself, knew what horse had won, 
 and then sent a message to a henchman of his, 
 who was an operator and had an instrument se- 
 creted in his room near the pool room. This chap 
 went quickly into the pool room and made wagers 
 right and left. A rank outsider, a twenty to one 
 shot, won the race, and after the confederate had 
 signified that he was ready, the chief sent the re- 
 port through as if it had come from the track. 
 The whole transaction didn't take over two min- 
 utes and the "bookies" were hit for about $30,000, 
 which Mr. Chief and his side pardner divided 
 between them. 
 
 A little while later the suspicions of the book- 
 makers became aroused, complaints were made, 
 an investigation followed, and one fine day when 
 matters were becoming pretty warm, the recal- 
 citrant chief disappeared. His confederate con- 
 fessed to the whole scheme and the jig was up. 
 The chief was afterwards apprehended and sent 
 up for seven years, but he held on to his boodle. 
 
 For the first month of my stay in St. Louis, my
 
 92 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 life was as uneventful as a May day, but at the 
 end of that time a man came on the New York 
 end of our quad that was enough to make a man 
 drink. The men working together on a wire like 
 this should always be harmonious, because the 
 business is so heavy there is no time for any war 
 of words. However, operators are like all other 
 men, and scraps are not uncommon. Generally 
 they take place at long range, and no one is hurt 
 thereby. Some men have an unhappy faculty of 
 incurring the hatred of every person over a wire, 
 while personally they may be princes of good fel- 
 lows. The man referred to above, signed "SY," 
 and he had about as much judgment as a two year 
 old kid. It didn't make any difference to him 
 whether the weather was clear or muggy, no mat- 
 ter whether the wire was weak or strong, he'd 
 pound along like a cyclone. Remonstrance 
 availed nothing, and one night when he was cut- 
 ting up some of his monkeyshines, I became very 
 warm under the collar and told him in language 
 more expressive than elegant, just what I thought 
 of him, threatening to have our wire chief have 
 him fired off the wire. He answered : 
 
 "Oh ! you go to blazes, you big ham. You're 
 too fresh anyway."
 
 Beating a Pool Room 93 
 
 The epithet "ham" is about as mean a one as 
 can be applied to an operator, and I came back 
 at him with : 
 
 "Look here, you infernal idiot, I'll meet you 
 some time and when I do I'm going to smash 
 your face. Stop your monkeying and take these 
 messages." 
 
 "Hold your horses, sonny, what's the difference 
 between you and a jackass?" he said. 
 
 "Just nine hundred miles," I replied. 
 
 Further words were useless and in a few min- 
 utes he was relieved, but just about the time he 
 got up he said : 
 
 "Say, 'BY,' don't forget you've got a contract 
 to smash my face some of these days. I'll be ex- 
 pecting you. Ta Ta." 
 
 That was the last of him on that wire and the 
 incident passed from my mind. I pulled up and 
 left St. Louis shortly after that and went to work 
 for the old Baltimore and Ohio Commercial Com- 
 pany, at the corner of Broadway and Canal 
 streets, in New York. I drew a prize in the shape 
 of the common side of the first Boston quad. Sit- 
 ting right alongside of me was a great, big, hand- 
 some Irish chap named Dick Stanley. He was as 
 fine a fellow as ever lived, and that night took me
 
 94 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 over to his house on Long Island to board. We 
 were sitting in his room about nine-thirty, having 
 a farewell smoke before retiring and our con- 
 versation turned to "shop talk." We talked of 
 the old timers we had both known, told reminis- 
 cences, spun yarns, and all at once Dick said : 
 
 "Say, Bates, did you ever work in 'A' office in 
 St. Louis?" 
 
 "Oh! yes," I replied, "I put in three months 
 there under 'Old Top.' In fact, I came from 
 there to New York." 
 
 "That so?" he answered. "I used to work on 
 the polar side of the No. 2 quad, from this end, 
 over in the Western Union office on Broadway 
 and Dey street. What did you sign there?" 
 
 "BY," I answered. I thought he looked queer, 
 but we continued our talk, and finally I told him 
 of my wordy war with a man in New York, who 
 signed "SY," and remarked that I was going over 
 to 195 Broadway, and size him up some day. He 
 knocked the ashes out of his pipe, got up from his 
 chair, and, stretching his six feet two of anatomy 
 to its full length said : 
 
 "Well, old chap, I'm fagged. I'm going to 
 bed. You'd better get a good sleep and be thor- 
 oughly rested in the morning, because you'll need 
 all your strength. I'm the man that signed 'SY'
 
 Beating a Pool Room 95 
 
 in the New York office, and I'm ready to take that 
 licking." 
 
 Did I lick him? Not much, I couldn't have 
 licked one side of him, and we were the best of 
 chums during my stay in the city.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 HOW A SMART OPERATOR WAS SQUELCHED 
 
 THE GALVESTON FLOOD 
 
 A LITTLE while after this "Stub" Hanigan, 
 another operator, invited Dick and me to go down 
 to a chop house with him for lunch, and we ac- 
 cepted. I say chop house when in reality it was 
 one of those numerous little hotels that abound all 
 over New York where one can get a good meal 
 for very little money. Hanigan was a rattling 
 good operator, but he was very young and had a 
 tendency to be too fresh on occasion. 
 
 He ordered us a fine lunch and while we were 
 sitting there discussing the good things, a big 
 awkward looking chap came into the dining- 
 room. He was accompanied by a sweet, pretty 
 looking little woman. She was a regular beauty, 
 and it needed but a glance to see that they were 
 bride and groom, and from the country. They 
 had all the ear marks so apparent in every bride 
 and groom. They hesitated on the threshhold a 
 moment, and the groom said very audibly: 
 
 "Dearest, this is the finest dining-room in the 
 96
 
 How an Operator was Squelched 97 
 
 world," and "Dearest" beamed on her liege lord 
 in a manner that was very trustful and sweet. 
 Hanigan, idiot that he was, laughed outright. 
 Dick and I both gave him a savage kick under the 
 table, but it didn't have any effect. 
 
 The head waiter brought the couple over and 
 sat them down at our table, and, say that woman 
 was as pretty as any that ever came down the 
 pike. Towards the end of the meal, Hanigan 
 took his knife and fork and began to tele- 
 graph to Stanley and me, making all sorts of fun 
 about the country pair. Now that is a pretty 
 dangerous business, because there is no telling 
 who may be an operator. Dick growled at him 
 savagely under his breath and told him to shut 
 up. Nay! Nay! Mr. Hanigan wouldn't shut 
 up worth a cent. Finally he made some 
 scurrilous remark, and then another knife and 
 fork came into play. Mr. Bridegroom was doing 
 the talking now, and this is what he said to 
 Hanigan : 
 
 "I happen to be an operator myself, and have 
 heard and understood every word you said. As 
 long as you confined yourself to innocent remarks 
 about country brides and grooms, I haven't 
 minded it a bit. In fact, I have rather enjoyed it. 
 But now you've gone too far, and in about five
 
 98 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 seconds I'm going to have the pleasure of smash- 
 ing your face." 
 
 Then, before we had time to do a thing, biff; 
 and Hanigan got it squarely on the jaw. We 
 hustled him out of there as soon as we could, but 
 Mr. Bridegroom had all his Irish up and followed 
 him out. Eventually we succeeded in calming 
 him down; "Stub" made a most abject apology, 
 and I don't believe he ever used his knife and fork 
 for any such a purpose again. 
 
 The gawky chap was Mr. Dave Harrison, one 
 of the finest operators in the profession. 
 
 Just about this time fall weather was coming 
 on, and there was a suggestion of an approaching 
 winter in the chill morning air, and receiving a 
 letter from my old friend Clarke in Galveston, 
 telling me there was a good job waiting for me if 
 I could come at once, I pulled up stakes in New 
 York, and sailed away on the Mallory Line ship 
 "Comal," for my old stamping ground. I reached 
 there the next week and was put to work on the 
 New York Duplex, which, by the way, was the 
 longest string in the United States. Mrs. Swan- 
 son had re-opened her boarding house on Avenue 
 M, everything looked lovely and I anticipated a 
 very pleasant winter. Up to September i8th, 
 everything was as quiet and calm as a May day.
 
 How an Operator was Squelched 99 
 
 The weather had been beautiful, the surf bathing 
 and concerts in front of the Beach Hotel fine, and 
 nothing \vas left to wish for. 
 
 I quit working on Thursday, September i8th, 
 at five P. M., and went out to the beach and had a 
 plunge. The sky was clear, but there was a good 
 stiff breeze blowing, and it was increasing all the 
 time. The tide was flowing in, and the dashing 
 of the waves and roar of the surf made a picture 
 long to be remembered. After my swim I went 
 home, and when supper was finished three of us 
 again went out to the beach. The wind had in- 
 creased to a perfect gale, and already the water 
 was over the car tracks. The Pagoda and Surf 
 bath houses were surrounded, while numerous 
 small shacks along the shore had been washed 
 away. Inch by inch, foot by foot, the water ad- 
 vanced until it began to look serious, but no one 
 dreamed of the flood that was to follow. 
 
 We went home at eight-thirty, and at ten I 
 dropped into the realms of the sand man, lulled 
 to sleep by the roar of the distant surf, and the 
 whistling and moaning of the high wind. 
 
 Jimmie Swanson was again my roommate and 
 about five o'clock he woke me up and said : 
 
 "Mr. Bates, if this wind keeps up the whole is-
 
 i oo Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 land will be under water in a very few hours 
 more." 
 
 "Nonsense, Jimmie," I replied, "there is no 
 danger of that," and I turned over to have an- 
 other snooze, when I heard a peculiar swash, 
 swash, swash, against the side of the house. 
 
 "Jimmie, what's the swash we hear?" I asked. 
 
 He got out of bed, limped over to the window, 
 opened the blinds, looked a minute and then 
 yelled : 
 
 "Good Lord! the whole town is under water, 
 and we are floating." 
 
 It needed but a glance to convince me that he 
 spoke part truth. There we were surrounded on 
 all sides by water, but the house was still on its 
 foundation. 
 
 "Water, water, everywhere 
 Nor any drop to drink." 
 
 On account of the sandy nature of the soil on 
 Galveston Island, most of the houses were built 
 up on piles, and the water was gently slopping all 
 over the first floor of our habitation. The streets 
 were flowing waist high, and filled with floating 
 debris of all kinds ; beer kegs, boards, doors, and 
 tables ad lib. The wind soon began to quiet 
 down, and when our first fright was over we had 
 a high old time swimming and splashing around
 
 ' He looked at me . 
 
 then catching me by the collar , . 
 {page 40.)
 
 How an Operator was Squelched 101 
 
 in the water. It's a great city that will bring 
 salt water bathing right up to the doors of its 
 houses. 
 
 After a very skimpy breakfast, four of us made 
 a raft, and paddled and pushed it down to the 
 office. Nary a wire was there in working order. 
 You see, Galveston is on a very flat island scarcely 
 one mile wide, and the only approach at this time 
 was a low railroad bridge, three miles long. Our 
 wires were strung along the side of that, and at 
 five o'clock in the morning, every wire was under 
 water, and the force on duty either swam home or 
 slept on the floor. 
 
 That day was about the easiest I ever spent in a 
 telegraph office. There was a Mexican cable from 
 Galveston to Vera Cruz, but the flood had washed 
 away their terminals, and for that day, Galves- 
 ton was entirely isolated from the world. 
 
 Houston, fifty-five miles north, was the first big 
 town adjacent, and as all our wires ran through 
 there, it was apparent they were having a hot time 
 doing the relaying all day. They had only a 
 small force, and evidently the business was de- 
 layed. The storm had finally blown itself out, 
 and at four o'clock Clarke called for volunteers 
 to go to Houston to help out until our wires came 
 in shape again. The G. H. & H. railroad people
 
 IO2 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 said they thought the water was low enough to 
 permit an engine to cross the bridge, and in re- 
 sponse to Clarke's call eight of us volunteered to 
 attempt the trip. After reaching the mainland 
 we would be all right, but there was that con- 
 founded three mile bridge to cross. We boarded 
 engine 341, with Dad Duffy at the throttle, and 
 at four-fifteen he pulled out. Water was still over 
 the track and we proceeded at a snail-like pace, 
 Just at the edge of the bridge we stopped; Dad 
 looked over the situation and said : 
 
 "The water is within two inches of the fire-box 
 now, and it's doubtful if we can get across, but 
 here goes and God save us all." 
 
 The sensation when we first struck that bridge 
 and realized that we were literally on a water sup- 
 port, was anything but pleasant, and I reckon 
 most of us uttered the first prayer in many a day. 
 Slowly we crept along, and just as we were in the 
 middle of the structure the draw sagged a little, 
 and ker splash! out went the fire. A great 
 cloud of steam arose and floated away on the 
 evening air, and then, there stood that iron mon- 
 ster as helpless as a babe. Dad looked around at 
 us eight birds perched up on the tender and said : 
 
 "Well I reckon you fellers won't pound any 
 brass in Houston to-night."
 
 How an Operator was Squelched 103 
 
 Pleasant fix to be in, wasn't it ? A mile and a 
 half from land, perched up on a dead engine, sur- 
 rounded on all sides by water, and no chance to 
 get away. There was no absolute danger, be- 
 cause the underpinning was firm enough, but all 
 the same, every man jack of us wished he hadn't 
 come. Night, black and dreary, settled over the 
 waters, and still no help. Finally, at eight o'clock, 
 the water had receded so that the tops of the rails 
 could be seen, and two of us volunteered to go 
 back on foot to the yard office for help. That was 
 just three miles away, but nothing venture, noth- 
 ing have, so we dropped off the hind end of the 
 tender and started on our tramp back over the wa- 
 ter-covered ties. We had one lantern, and after we 
 had gone about a half of a mile, my companion 
 who was ahead, slipped and nearly fell. I caught 
 him but good-bye to the lantern, and the rest of 
 the trip was made in utter darkness. To be brief, 
 after struggling for two hours and a half, we 
 reached the yard office, and an engine was sent 
 out to help us. At twelve o'clock the whole 
 gang were back in the city, wet, weary and worn 
 out. 
 
 The next day the water had entirely subsided 
 and work was resumed. We learned then of the 
 horror of the flood. Sabine Pass had been com-
 
 1 04 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 pletely submerged, and some hundred and fifty or 
 two hundred people drowned. Indianola had 
 been wiped out of existence, and the whole coast 
 lined with the wreckage of ships. That there were 
 no casualties in Galveston, was providential, and 
 due, doubtless, to the fact that the whole country 
 for fifty miles back of it is as flat as a pan-cake, 
 and the water had room to spread. 
 
 I worked there until spring and then a longing 
 for my first love, the railroad, came over me and 
 I gave up my place and bade good-bye to the com- 
 mercial business forever. I had had my fling at 
 it and was satisfied.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 SENDING MY FIRST ORDER 
 
 I HAD now been knocking about the country for 
 quite a few years, and working in all kinds of 
 offices and places, and had acquired a great deal of 
 experience and valuable information, so I reached 
 the conclusion that it was about time for me to 
 settle down and get something that would last me 
 for a while. Commercial work I did not care for, 
 nor did I want to go back on the road as a night 
 operator on a small salary. I thought I had the 
 making of a good despatcher in me, and deter- 
 mined to try for that place. I knew it had to be 
 attained by starting first at the bottom, so I went 
 up on the K. M. & O. and secured a position as 
 night operator at Vining. The K. M. & O. was a 
 main trunk line running out of Chaminade, and 
 was the best road for business that I had as yet 
 struck. Vining was midway on the division, and 
 was such a good old town that I would have been 
 content to have stayed there for some time, but 
 one day an engine pulling a through livestock ex- 
 105
 
 1 06 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 press broke a driving rod while running like light- 
 ning, and the result was a smash up of the first 
 water engine in the ditch, cars piled all over her, 
 livestock mashed up, engineer killed, fireman badly 
 hurt, and the road blocked for twenty-four hours. 
 The wreck occurred on a curve going down a 
 rather steep grade, so that it was impossible to 
 build a temporary track around it. A wrecking 
 train was sent out from El Monte, and as I hap- 
 pened to be off duty, I was picked up and taken 
 along, to cut in the wrecking office. The division 
 superintendent came out to hurry up things and he 
 appeared so pleased at my work that, in a few 
 weeks, he offered me a place as copy operator in 
 the despatcher's office at El Monte. This ap- 
 peared to be a great chance to satisfy my ambition 
 to become a despatcher, so I gladly accepted, and 
 in a few days was safely ensconced in my new 
 position. The despatchers only work eight hours 
 a day, while the copy operators work twelve, so 
 they work with two despatchers every day. I had 
 the day end of the job and worked from eight 
 A. M. until eight P. M., with an hour off for dinner, 
 so that I really was only on duty for eleven hours. 
 The pay was good for me, seventy dollars per 
 month, and I was thoroughly satisfied. Really all 
 that is necessary to be a first class copy operator
 
 Sending My First Order 107 
 
 is to be an expert telegrapher. It is simply a work 
 of sending and receiving messages all day. How- 
 ever I wanted to learn, so I kept my ears and eyes 
 opened, and studied the time card, train sheet, and 
 order book very assiduously. 
 
 The first trick despatcher was honest old Pat- 
 rick J. Borroughs, a man of twenty-five years' ex- 
 perience in the business and as good a man as ever 
 sent an order or took an O. S. report. He was 
 kindness and gentleness personified, and assisted 
 me in every way possible, and all my future suc- 
 cess was due to his help and teaching. The mem- 
 ory of the time I worked under him is the bright- 
 est spot in all the years I served in the business. 
 After I had been there for about five months, he 
 would allow me, under his supervision, to make 
 simple meeting points for two trains, and one day 
 he allowed me to give a right-of-track order to a 
 through freight train over a delayed passenger. 
 Then he would let me sit around in his chair, 
 while he swallowed his lunch, and copy the O. S. 
 reports. I was beginning to think that my educa- 
 tion as a despatcher was complete, and was think- 
 ing of asking for the next vacancy, when a little 
 incident occurred that entirely disabused my 
 mind. The following occurrence will show how 
 little I knew about the business.
 
 io8 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 We had received notice one morning of a spe- 
 cial train to be run over our division that after- 
 noon, carrying a Congressional Railroad Com- 
 mittee, and of course that meant a special sched- 
 ule, and you all know how anxious the roads are 
 to please railroad committees, especially when they 
 are on investigating tours (?) with reference to 
 the extension of the Inter-State Commerce Act, 
 as this one was. We were told to "whoop her 
 through." The track on our division was the best 
 on the whole road, and it was only 102 miles long; 
 we had plenty of sidings and passing tracks, and 
 besides old "Jimmie" Hayes, with engine 444 was 
 in, so they could be assured of a run that was a 
 hummer. Mr. Hebron, the division superintend- 
 ent, came in the office and told Borroughs to tear 
 things loose, in fact, as he said, "Make 'em all car 
 sick." 
 
 After he had gone out Pat tossed the notifica- 
 tion over to me, and said, "Bates, here's a chance 
 for you to show what kind of stuff you are made 
 of. Make out a schedule for this special, giving 
 her a clean sweep from end to end, with the ex- 
 ception of No. 21." 
 
 Proud! That wasn't the proper name for it. 
 I was fully determined that this special should 
 have a run for her money if she ran on my sched-
 
 Sending My First Order 109 
 
 ule. No Congressional Committee was going 
 back to Washington with the idea that the K. M. 
 & O. wasn't the swiftest road in the bunch, if I 
 could help it, and I had a big idea that I could. 
 Pat told me he would do the copying while I made 
 the schedule, but as he said it I fancied I saw a 
 merry twinkle in his honest blue eyes. I wasn't 
 daunted though, and started to work. 
 
 "Order No. 34. 
 
 "To C & E, all trains : 
 
 "K. M. & O. RAILROAD (Eastern Division). 
 "DESPATCHER'S OFFICE, 'DS,' October 15, 18 
 
 "Special east engine 444, will run from El 
 Monte to Marsan having right of track over all 
 trains except No. 21, on the following schedule : 
 
 "Leave El Monte, 2 130 p. M." 
 
 Thus far I proceeded without any trouble, and 
 then I stuck. Here was where the figuring came 
 in, along with the knowledge of the road, grades 
 and so forth, but I was sadly lacking in that re- 
 spect. I studied and figured and used up lots of 
 gray matter, and even chewed up a pencil or two. 
 I finally finished the schedule and submitted it to 
 Pat. He read it carefully, knitted his brows for a 
 moment, and then said, slowly: 
 
 "For a beginner that schedule is about the best 
 I ever saw. It's a hummer without a doubt. But
 
 1 1 o Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 to prevent the lives of the Congressional Commit- 
 tee from being placed in jeopardy, I think I shall 
 have to make another." Then he laughed heart- 
 ily and continued, 
 
 "All joking aside, Bates, my boy, you did pretty 
 well, but you have only allowed seven minutes 
 between Sumatra and Borneo, while the time card 
 shows the distance to be fourteen miles. Jim 
 Hayes and engine 444 are capable of great bursts 
 of speed, but, by Jingo, they can't fly. Then again 
 you have forgotten our through passenger train, 
 No. 21, which is an hour late from the south to- 
 day ; what are you going to do with her ? Pass 
 them on one track, I suppose. But don't be dis- 
 couraged, my boy, brace up and try it again. 
 That's a much better schedule than the first one I 
 ever made." 
 
 He made another schedule and I resumed my 
 copying. It wasn't long, however, before my con- 
 fidence returned and I wanted a trick. I got it, 
 but in such a manner that even now, fifteen years 
 afterwards, I shudder to think of it.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 RUNNING TRAINS BY TELEGRAPH HOW IT IS 
 
 DONE 
 
 THE despatcher's office of a big railroad line is 
 one of the most interesting places a man can get 
 into, especially if he is interested in the workings 
 of our great railway systems. It is located at the 
 division headquarters, or any other point, such as 
 will make the despatching of trains and attendant 
 orders of easy accomplishment. In riding over a 
 road, many people are prone to give the credit of 
 a good swift run to the engineer and train crew. 
 Pick up a paper any day that the President or 
 some big functionary is out on a trip, and you will 
 probably read how, at the end of the run, he 
 stopped beside the panting engine, and reaching 
 up to shake the hand of the faithful, grimy en- 
 gineer, would say : 
 
 "Thank you so much for giving us such a good 
 ruy I don't know when I have ridden so fast 
 before," or words to that effect. He never thinks 
 that the engineer and crew are but the mechanical
 
 1 1 2 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 agents, they are but small cogs in a huge ma- 
 chine. They do their part and do it well, but the 
 brains of the machine are up in the little office and 
 are all incorporated in the despatcher on duty. 
 Flying over the country regardless of time or 
 space, one is apt to forget where the real credit 
 belongs. The swift run could not be made, and 
 the train kept running without a stop, if it were 
 not for the fact that the despatcher puts trains on 
 the sidetrack so that the special need not be de- 
 layed, and he does it in such a manner that the 
 regular business of the road shall not be inter- 
 fered with. 
 
 The interior of the despatcher's office is not, as 
 a rule, very sumptuous. There is the big counter 
 at one side of the room, on which are the train 
 registers, car record books, message blanks, and 
 forms for the various reports. Against the wall 
 on one of the other sides is a big black board 
 known as the "call board." On it is recorded the 
 probable arrival and departure of trains, and the 
 names of their crews, also the time certain crews 
 are to be called. As soon as the train men have 
 completed the work of turning their train over to 
 the yard crew at the end of their run, they are reg- 
 istered in the despatcher's office, and are liable 
 thereafter for duty in their turn. The rule "first
 
 Running Trains by Telegraph 113 
 
 in, first out," is supposed to be strictly adhered to 
 in the running of trains. About the middle of the 
 room, or in the recess of the bay window, is the 
 despatcher's table. On it in front of the man on 
 duty, is the train sheet, containing information, 
 exact and absolute in its nature, of each train on 
 the division. On this sheet there is also a space 
 set apart for the expected arrival of trains 
 on his district from the other end, and one 
 for delays. Loads, empties, everything, is there 
 that is necessary for him to know to properly run 
 the trains on time and with safety. At any min- 
 ute the despatcher on duty can tell you the precise 
 location of any train, what she is doing, how her 
 engine is working, how much work she has to do 
 along the road, and all about her engineer and 
 conductor. Generally, there are two sets of in- 
 struments on the table, one for use of what is 
 known as the despatcher's wire, over which his 
 sway is absolute, and the other for a wire that is 
 used for messages, reports, and the like, and in case 
 of emergency, by the despatcher. Mounted on a 
 roll in front of him is the current official time card 
 of the division. From the information contained 
 thereon, the despatcher makes all his calculations 
 for time orders, meeting points, work trains, etc. 
 Across the table from the despatcher sits the "copy
 
 1 1 4 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 operator," whose duty it is to copy everything that 
 comes along, thus relieving the despatcher of any- 
 thing that would tend to disturb him in his work. 
 The copy operator is generally the man next for 
 promotion to a despatcher's trick, and his relations 
 with his chief must be entirely harmonious. 
 
 The working force in a well regulated despatch- 
 er's office consists of the chief despatcher, three 
 trick despatchers, and two copy operators, with 
 the various call boys and messengers. The chief 
 despatcher is next to the division superintendent, 
 and has full charge of the office. He has the su- 
 pervision of the yard and train reports, and the 
 ordering out of the trains and crews. He has 
 charge of all the operators on the division, their 
 hiring and dismissal, and has general supervision 
 of the telegraph service. In fact, he is a little tin 
 god on wheels. His office hours? He hasn't 
 any. Most of the chiefs are m their offices from 
 early morn until late at night, and there is no 
 harder worked man in the world than the chief 
 despatcher. 
 
 Each day is divided into three periods of eight 
 hours each, known as "tricks," and a despatcher 
 assigned to each. The first trick is from eight 
 A. M. until four p. M. ; the second from four p. M.
 
 Running Trains by Telegraph 1 1 5 
 
 until twelve midnight ; and the third from twelve 
 midnight until eight A. M. 
 
 At eight o'clock in the morning, the first trick 
 despatcher comes on duty, and his first work is to 
 verify the train sheet and order book. The man 
 going off duty checks off all orders issued by him 
 that have been carried out, and his successor signs 
 his initials to all orders yet to be obeyed. This 
 signifies that he has read them over very care- 
 fully and thoroughly understands their purport. 
 As soon as he has receipted for them he be- 
 comes as responsible as if he had first issued them. 
 He glances carefully over his train sheet, assures 
 himself that everything is correct and then as- 
 sumes his duties for the day. Anything that is 
 not clear to him must be thoroughly explained 
 before his predecessor leaves, and he must signify 
 that he understands everything. The value of 
 that old time card rule, so familiar to all rail- 
 roaders, "In case of doubt always take the safe 
 side," is exemplified many times every day in the 
 running of trains by telegraph, and the attendant 
 orders. After a despatcher has assumed charge 
 of the trick he is the master of the situation ; he is 
 responsible for everything, and his attentiveness, 
 ability and judgment are the powers that keep the 
 trains moving and on time.
 
 1 1 6 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 When all trains are running on time, and there 
 are no extras or specials out, the despatcher's duty 
 is easy, and consists largely in taking and record- 
 ing "O. S. reports," and "Consists." The "O. S. 
 report" is the report sent in by the various opera- 
 tors as the trains arrive and depart from the sev- 
 eral stations. A "consist" is a message sent by 
 the conductor of a train to the division superin- 
 tendent, giving the exact composition and destina- 
 tion of every car in his train. When trains are 
 late, however, or many extras are running or the 
 track washed out, the despatcher's work becomes 
 very arduous. Orders of all kinds have to be 
 made, engines and crews kept working together 
 and trains moving. 
 
 Down the centre of the train sheet, which varies 
 in size according to the length of the division, are 
 printed the names of all the telegraph stations on 
 the division and the distances between them. On 
 either side of this main column are ruled smaller 
 columns, each one of which represents a train. 
 The number of each train is at the head of the ap- 
 propriate column, and under it are the number of 
 the engine, the names of the conductor and en- 
 gineer, and the number of loads and empties in the 
 train. All trains on the division are arranged in 
 three classes, and each class has certain rights.
 
 Running Trains by Telegraph 117 
 
 Trains of the first class are always passengers ; the 
 through freight, and the combination freight and 
 passenger trains compose the second class. All 
 other trains, such as local freights, work trains 
 and construction trains belong to the third class. 
 It is an invariable rule on all railroads that trains 
 running one way have exclusive rights over trains 
 of their own and of inferior classes running in the 
 opposite direction. 
 
 What is called the "double order system," is 
 used almost exclusively on all single track roads, 
 and if the rules and regulations governing it were 
 strictly adhered to and carried out, accidents for 
 which human agency is responsible, would be 
 impossible. It consists simply in giving an order 
 to all the trains concerned at the same time. That 
 is to say, if the despatcher desires to make a meet- 
 ing point for two trains, he will send the same 
 order simultaneously to both of them. If a train 
 is leaving his end of the division and he desires 
 to make a meeting point with a train coming in, 
 before giving his order to his conductor and en- 
 gineer, he would telegraph it to a station at which 
 the incoming train was soon to arrive, and from 
 whence the operator would repeat it back word for 
 word, and would give a signal signifying that his 
 red board was turned. By this means both trains
 
 1 1 8 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 would receive the same order, and there would be 
 no doubt about the point at which they were to 
 meet. 
 
 To illustrate this method, let us suppose a case 
 of two sections of No. 13 running east and one 
 section of No. 14 running west. Both trains are 
 of the second class, and as the east bound trains 
 have the right of way, No. 14 must keep out of 
 the way of the two 13*5. A certain point, call it 
 Smithville, is, according to the time card, the 
 meeting point for these two trains. But No. 14 
 finds out she has a lot of work to do at Jonesboro ; 
 or a hot driving box or a draw head pulling out 
 delays her, and thus she cannot possibly reach 
 Smithville for No. 13. She is at Jason, and un- 
 less she can get orders to run farther on No. 13*3 
 time, she will have to tie up there and be further 
 delayed an hour. The conductor tells the operator 
 at Jason to ask "DS" if he can help them out any. 
 "DS" glances over his train sheet, and finds that 
 he cannot let them run to Smithville, because No. 
 13 is nearly on time; but there is a siding at 
 Burkes, between Jason and Smithville, and he con- 
 cludes to let 14 go there. So he tells the operator 
 at Jason to "copy 3," and then he calls Smithville 
 and tells him to "copy 5." Both the engineer and 
 conductor get a copy of all orders pertaining to
 
 Running Trains by Telegraph 1 1 9 
 
 their trains, and the operators retain one for their 
 records and for reference in case of accident. Both 
 operators turn their red boards the first thing, and 
 so long as the signal remains red, no train can pass 
 the station, without first receiving an order or a 
 clearance card. In the case supposed the order 
 would be as follows : 
 
 "DS DESPATCHER'S OFFICE, 12, 8 , '98 
 "Orders No. 31. 
 To C. & E. ist and 2nd 13, SM. 
 To C. & E. No. 14, JN. 
 
 First and second sections No. 13, and No. 14 
 will meet at Burkes. 
 
 12. (Answer how you understand). 
 
 "H. G. C." 
 
 The despatcher's operator, sitting opposite to 
 him, copies every word of this order as the de- 
 spatcher sends it, and when the operators at 
 Smithville and Jason repeat it back, he underlines 
 each word, great care being taken to correct any 
 mistakes made by the operators. After an opera- 
 tor has repeated an order back he signs his name, 
 and the despatcher then says : 
 
 ''Order No. 31, O. K.," giving the time and 
 signing the division superintendent's initials 
 thereto. The order is next handed to the conduc- 
 tor and engineer of each train when they come to
 
 1 20 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 the office ; both read it carefully, and then signify 
 that they understand it fully by signing their 
 names. The operator then says to the despatcher, 
 "Order 31, sig. Jones and Smith," and the de- 
 spatcher gives the "complete" and the exact time. 
 Then a copy is given to the conductor and one to 
 the engineer and they leave. On the majority of 
 roads the conductor must read the order aloud to 
 the engineer before leaving the office. 
 
 Thus No. 14 having received her orders, pulls 
 out, and when she reaches Burkes, she goes on the 
 side track and waits there for both I3's, because 
 13, being an east bound train of the same class, 
 has the right-of-track over her. The same modus 
 operandi is gone through with for No. 13, and 
 when the trains have departed the operators pull 
 in their red boards. When the meeting has been 
 made and both trains are safely by Burkes, the de- 
 spatcher draws a blue pencil or makes a check 
 mark on his order book copy and signs his initials, 
 which signifies that the provisions of the order 
 have been carried out. Should its details not 
 have been completed when the despatcher is re- 
 lieved, his successor signs his initials thereto 
 showing that he has received it. This is the 
 method of sending train orders, exact and simple, 
 on single track railroads. On double track lines
 
 Running Trains by Telegraph 121 
 
 the work is greatly simplified because trains run- 
 ning in each direction have separate tracks. Does 
 it not seem simple ? And how impossible are mis- 
 takes when its rules are adhered to. It really 
 seems as if any one gifted with a reasonable 
 amount of common sense, and having a knowledge 
 of the rudiments of mathematics, could do the 
 work, but underneath all the simplicity explained, 
 there runs a deep current of complications that 
 only long time and a cool head can master. I have 
 worked in offices and been figuring on orders for 
 a train soon to start out from my end of the divis- 
 ion, when all of a sudden some train out on the 
 road that has been running all night, will bob up 
 with a hot box, or a broken draw head, and then 
 all the calculations for the new train will be 
 knocked into a cocked hat. 
 
 The simple meeting order has been given 
 above. The following examples will illustrate 
 some of the other many forms of orders, and are 
 self-explanatory. 
 
 TIME ORDER 
 
 No. 14 has a right to use ten minutes of the 
 time of No. 13 between Jason and Jonesboro. 
 
 SLOW ORDER 
 All trains will run carefully over track from
 
 1 22 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 one-half mile east of Salt Water to Big River 
 Bridge, track soft. 
 
 EXTRA ORDER 
 
 Engine 341 will run extra from DeLeon to 
 Valdosta. 
 
 ANNULMENT ORDER 
 
 No. 15 of January 6th is annulled between San- 
 tiago and Rio. 
 
 WORK ORDER 
 
 Engine 228 will work between Posey and Pat- 
 terson, keeping out of the way of all regular 
 trains. Clear track for extra west, engine 327 at 
 10:30 A. M. 
 
 When an operator has once turned his red board 
 to the track for an order, under no circumstances 
 must he pull it in until he has delivered the order 
 for the train for which it is intended. In the 
 meantime should another train come in for which 
 he has no orders, he will give it a clearance card as 
 follows : 
 
 To C. & E., No. 27 
 
 There are no orders for you, signal is set for 
 No. 1 8. H. G. CLARKE, Operator. 
 
 At stated times during the day, the despatchers 
 on duty on each division end full reports of all
 
 Running Trains by Telegraph 123 
 
 their trains to the divisions adjoining them on 
 either side. This train report is very complete, 
 giving the composition of each and every train on 
 the road, and the destination of every car. A 
 form of the message will readily illustrate this : 
 
 SAN ANGELO, 5 | 16, 18 . 
 W. H. C. 
 
 DS 
 No 17 will arrive at DS, at 10:20 A. M., with the 
 
 following : 
 
 1 HH goods Chgo. 
 
 2 Livestock Kansas City. 
 
 3 Mdse 
 
 i Emgt. outfit St. Louis. 
 
 6 Coal Houston. 
 
 6 Wheat Chgo. 
 
 7 Empty sys. flats Flat Rock. 
 
 Total 26 H. G. B. 
 
 All work is done over the initials of the division 
 superintendent and in his name. These reports 
 keep the despatchers fully informed as to what 
 may be expected, and arrangements can be made 
 to keep the trains moving without delay. Of 
 course the report illustrated above is for but one 
 train, necessarily it must be much longer when 
 many trains are running.
 
 i 24 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 At some regular time during the day all the 
 agents on the division send in a car report. This 
 is copied by the despatcher's operator and shows 
 how many and what kind of cars are on the side 
 tracks ; the number of loads ready to go out ; the 
 number and kind of cars wanted during the ensu- 
 ing twenty-four hours; and if the station is a 
 water station, how many feet of water are in the 
 tank; or if a coaling station, how many cars of 
 coal there are on hand; and lastly, what is the 
 character of the weather. On some roads 
 weather reports are sent in every hour. 
 
 In view of all this, I think it is not too much 
 to say, that the eyes of the despatcher see every- 
 thing on the road. There are a thousand and one 
 small details, in addition to the momentous mat- 
 ters of which he has charge, and the man who can 
 keep his division clear, with all trains moving 
 smoothly and on time, must indeed possess both 
 excellent method and application, and must have 
 the ability and nerve to master numerous unex- 
 pected situations the moment they arise. He is 
 not an artisan or a mechanic, he is a genius.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 AX OLD DESPATCHER'S MISTAKE MY FIRST TRICK 
 
 I HAD become thoroughly proficient and more 
 frequently than ever Borroughs would let me 
 ''spell" for him for a while each day. Be it said 
 to his credit, however, he was always within hear- 
 ing, when I was doing any of his work. He was 
 carefulness personified, and the following incident 
 only serves to show what unaccountable errors 
 will be made by even the best of men. 
 
 One cold morning in January, I started to the 
 office as usual. The air was so still, crisp and bit- 
 ing that the air-pumps of the engines had that pe- 
 culiar sharp, snappy sound heard only in a panting 
 engine in cold weather. They seemed almost im- 
 bued with life. As I went into the office at eight 
 o'clock to go to work, the night man remarked 
 that I must be feeling pretty brash; my spirits 
 seemed so high. And in fact, that was no joke; 
 I was feeling fine as silk and showed it all over. 
 But as I said good morning to Borroughs, I no- 
 ticed that he seemed rather glum, and I asked: 
 
 I2 5
 
 1 26 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 "What's the matter, Dad? Feeling bad this 
 morning ?" 
 
 He snapped back in a manner entirely foreign 
 to him, "No, but I don't feel much like chaffing 
 this day. I feel as if something was going to hap- 
 pen, and I don't like the feeling." 
 
 I answered, "Oh! bosh, Dad. You'll feel all 
 right in a few minutes; I reckon you've got a 
 good old attack of dyspepsia; brace up." 
 
 Just then the wires started up, and he gruffly 
 told me to sit down and go to work and our con- 
 versation ceased. That was the first time he had 
 ever used anything but a gentle tone to me, and I 
 felt hurt. The first trick is always the busiest, 
 and under the stress of work the incident soon 
 passed from my mind. Pat remarked once, that 
 the general superintendent was going to leave 
 Chaminade in a special at 10:30 A. M., on a tour 
 of inspection over the road. That was about all 
 the talking he did that morning. His work was 
 as good as ever, and in fact, he made some of the 
 prettiest meets that morning I had ever seen. 
 
 About 10:35, 1- asked Borroughs to allow 
 me to go over to the hotel to get a cigar. I 
 would be gone only a few minutes. He assented, 
 and I slipped on my overcoat and went out. I 
 wasn't gone over ten minutes, and as I stepped
 
 An Old Despatcher's Mistake 127 
 
 into the doorway to come upstairs on my return, I 
 heard what sounded like a shot in the office. I 
 flew upstairs two steps at a time, and never to my 
 dying day will I forget the sight that met my 
 gaze. Borroughs, whom I had left but a few mo- 
 ments before full of life and energy, was half 
 lying on the table, face downwards, dead by his 
 own hand. The blood was oozing from a jagged 
 wound in his temple, and on the floor was the 
 smoking pistol he had used. Fred Bennett, the 
 chief despatcher, as pale as a ghost, was bending 
 over him, while the two call boys were standing 
 near paralyzed with fright. It was an intensely 
 dramatic setting for a powerful stage picture, and 
 my heart stood still for a minute as I contem- 
 plated the awful scene. Mr. Hebron, the division 
 superintendent, came in from the outer office, and 
 was transfixed with horror and amazement when 
 he saw the terrible picture. 
 
 Bennett turned to me and said, "Bates, come 
 here and help me lift poor Borroughs out of this 
 chair." 
 
 Gently and carefully we laid him down on the 
 floor and sent one of the badly frightened boys 
 for a surgeon. Medical skill was powerless, how- 
 ever, and the spirit of honest Pat Borroughs had 
 crossed the dark river to its final reckoning.
 
 1 28 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 Work in the office was at a standstill on account 
 of the tragic occurrence, but all of a sudden I 
 heard Monte Carlo calling "DS" and using the 
 signal "WK," which means ''wreck." Bennett 
 told me to sit down and take the trick until the 
 second trick man could be called. I went over 
 and sat down in the chair, still warm from the 
 body of my late friend, and wiping his blood off 
 the train sheet with my handkerchief, I an- 
 swered. 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the state of 
 my feelings as I first touched the key ; I had com- 
 pletely lost track of trains, orders and everything 
 else. However, I gradually pulled myself to- 
 gether, and got the hang of the road again, and 
 then I learned how the wreck had occurred. 
 About a minute after I went out, Borroughs had 
 given a right-of-track order to an express freight 
 from Monte Carlo to Johnsonville, and had told 
 them to hurry up. Johnsonville is on the out- 
 skirts of Chaminade, and Borroughs had com- 
 pletely forgotten that the general superintendent's 
 special had left there just five minutes before with 
 a clean sweep order. That he had known of it was 
 evident from the fact that it was recorded on the 
 train sheet. Two minutes after the freight had 
 left Monte Carlo, poor Pat realized he had at last
 
 "... Half lying on the table, face downward, dead by his 
 own hand." {page 127.)
 
 An Old Despatcher's Mistake 129 
 
 made his mistake. He said not a word to any 
 person, but quietly ordered out the wrecking out- 
 fit, and then reaching in the drawer he took out a 
 revolver and snuffed out his candle. He fell 
 forward on the train sheet, as if to cover up with 
 his lifeless body, the terrible blunder he had just 
 made. Many other despatchers had made seri- 
 ous errors, and in a measure outlived them ; but 
 here was a man who had grown gray in the serv- 
 ice of railroads, with never a bad mark against 
 him. Day and night, in season and out, he had 
 given the best of his brain and life to the service, 
 and finally by one slip of the memory he had, as 
 he thought, ruined himself ; and, too proud to bear 
 the disgrace, he killed himself. He was abso- 
 lutely alone in the world and left none to mourn 
 his loss save a large number of operators he had 
 helped over the rough places of the profession. 
 
 The wreck was an awful one. The superin- 
 tendent's son was riding on the engine, and he and 
 the engineer and the fireman were mashed and 
 crushed almost beyond recognition. The super- 
 intendent, his wife and daughter, and a friend, 
 were badly bruised, but none of them seriously 
 injured. The second trick man was not to be 
 found immediately, so I worked until four o'clock, 
 and the impression of that awful day will never
 
 130 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 leave me. Pat's personality was constantly be- 
 fore me in the shape of the blood stain on the 
 train sheet. It was a long time before I recovered 
 my equanimity. 
 
 The next afternoon we buried poor Pat under 
 the snow, and the earth closed over him forever; 
 and thus passed from life a man whose character 
 was the purest, whose nature was the gentlest: 
 honest and upright, I have never seen his equal in 
 the profession or out. I often think if I had not 
 gone over to the hotel that morning, the accident 
 might have been averted, because, perhaps, I 
 would have noticed the mistake in time to have 
 prevented the collision. But, on the other hand, 
 it is probable I would not have noticed it, because 
 operators, not having the responsibility of the 
 despatchers, rarely concentrate their minds in- 
 tensely on what they are taking. A man will sit 
 and copy by the hour with the greatest accuracy, 
 and at the same time be utterly oblivious of the 
 purport of what he has been taking. There can 
 be no explanation as to why Pat forgot the special. 
 It is one of those things that happen ; that's all. 
 
 The rule of seniority was followed in the office, 
 and in the natural sequence of events the night 
 man got my job, I was promoted to the third trick
 
 An Old Despatched Mistake 1 3 1 
 
 from twelve midnight until eight A. M. and a 
 new copy operator was brought in from Vining. 
 
 If any trick is easier than another it is the third, 
 but none of them are by any means sinecures, 
 When I was a copy operator I used to imagine it 
 was an easy thing to sit over on the other side of 
 the table and give orders, "jack up" operators, 
 conductors and engineers, and incidentally haul 
 some men over the coals every time I had to call 
 them a few minutes ; but when I reached the sum- 
 mit of an operator's ambition, and was assigned to 
 a trick I found things very different. Copying 
 with no responsibility was dead easy; but des- 
 patching trains I found about the stiffest job I had 
 ever undertaken. I had to be on the alert with 
 every faculty and every minute during the eight 
 hours I was on duty. While the first and second 
 trick men, have perhaps more train order work 
 attached to them, the third is about on a par with 
 them as far as actual labor is concerned, because, 
 in addition to the regular train order work, a new 
 train sheet has to be opened every night at twelve 
 o'clock, which necessitates keeping two sheets 
 until all the trains on the old one have completed 
 their runs. There is also a consolidated train 
 report to be made at this time, which is a re-cap- 
 itulation of the movements of all trains for the
 
 1 3 2 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 preceding twenty-four hours, giving delays, causes 
 thereof, accidents, cars hauled, etc. This is sub- 
 mitted to the division superintendent in the morn- 
 ing, and after he has perused and digested its con- 
 tents he sends a condensed copy to the general 
 superintendent. Many a man loses his job by a 
 report against him on that train sheet. 
 
 To show the strain on a man's mind when he is 
 despatching trains, let me tell a little incident that 
 happened to me just in the beginning of my career 
 as a despatcher. Every morning about five 
 o'clock, the third trick man begins to figure on his 
 work train orders for the day and when he has 
 completed them he sends them out to the different 
 crews. Work train orders, it may not be amiss to 
 explain, are orders given to the different con- 
 struction crews, such as the bridge gang, the 
 grading gang, the track gang, etc., to work be- 
 tween certain points at certain times. They must 
 be very full and explicit in detail as to all trains 
 that are to run during the continuance of the 
 order. For regular trains running on time, no 
 notification need be given, because the time card 
 rules would apply; but for all extras, specials, and 
 delayed trains, warnings must be given, so that the 
 work trains can get out of the way for them, other- 
 wise the results might be very serious, and busi-
 
 An Old Despatcher's Mistake 133 
 
 ness be greatly delayed. Work orders are the bane 
 of a new despatcher's existence, and the manner in 
 which he handles them is a sure indication as to 
 whether he will be successful or not. Many a man 
 gets to a trick only to fall down on these work 
 orders. 
 
 I stumbled along fairly well the first night as a 
 despatcher, and had no mishaps to speak of, al- 
 though I delayed a through passenger some ten 
 minutes, by hanging it up on a siding for a 
 fast freight train, and I put a through freight on 
 a siding for a train of an inferior class. For 
 these little errors of judgment I was "cussed 
 out" by all the conductors and engineers on the 
 division when they came in; and the division 
 superintendent, on looking over the train sheet 
 the next morning, remarked, that delaying a 
 passenger train would never do in such a tone 
 of voice that I could plainly see my finish should 
 I ever so offend again. 
 
 The second night passed all right enough, and 
 by 5 .-30 A. M., I had completed my work orders 
 and sent them out. From that time on until eight 
 o'clock when the first trick man relieved me I 
 was kept busy. He read over my outstanding 
 orders, verified the sheet, and signed the transfer 
 on the order book, and after a few moments' chat I
 
 1 34 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 went home. I went to bed about nine o'clock, and 
 was on the point of dropping off to sleep, when all 
 at once I remembered that an extra fast freight 
 was due to leave at 9 145 A. M., and that there was 
 a train working in a cut four miles out. I 
 wondered if I had notified her to get out of the 
 way of the extra. That extra would go down 
 through that cut like a streak of greased lightning, 
 because Horace Daniels, on engine 341, was 
 going to pull her, and Horace was known as a 
 runner from away back. I reviewed in my mind, 
 as carefully as I could all the orders I had given to 
 the work train, and was rather sure I had notified 
 them, but still I was not absolutely certain, and 
 began to feel very uncomfortable. Poor Bor- 
 roughs had just had his smash up, and I didn't 
 want "poor Bates," to have his right away. 
 Maybe it was the spirit of this same old man 
 Borroughs, who was sleeping so peacefully under 
 the ground that made me feel and act carefully. I 
 looked at my watch and found it was 9 :2O. The 
 extra would leave in twenty-five minutes and I 
 lived nearly a mile from the office. The strain 
 was beginning to be too much, so I slipped on my 
 clothes and without putting on a collar or a cravat, 
 I caught up my hat and ran with all my might for 
 the depot. As I approached I saw Daniels giving
 
 An Old Despatcher's Mistake 135 
 
 341 the last touch of oil before he pulled out. 
 Thank God, they hadn't gone. I shouted to him, 
 "Don't pull out for a minute, Daniels; I think 
 there is a mistake in your orders." 
 
 Daniels was a gruff sort of a fellow, and he 
 snapped back at me, " What's the matter with you? 
 I hain't got no orders yet. Come here until I oil 
 those wheels in your head." 
 
 I went up in the office and Daniels followed me. 
 Bennett, the chief, was standing by the counter 
 as 1 went in, and after a glance at me he said, 
 "What's up, kid? Seen a ghost? You look al- 
 most pale enough to be one yourself." 
 
 I said, "No, I haven't seen any ghosts, but I am 
 afraid I forgot to notify that gang working just 
 east of here about this extra." 
 
 The conductor and engineer were both there and 
 they smiled very audibly at my discomfiture; in 
 fact, it was so audible you could hear it for a 
 block. Bennett went over to the table, glanced at 
 the order book and train sheet for a minute and 
 then said, "Oh, bosh ! of course you notified them. 
 Here it is as big as life, 'Look out for extra east, 
 engine 341, leaving El Monte at 9 145 A. M/ What 
 do you want to get such a case of the rattles and 
 scare us all that way for?" 
 
 I was about to depart for home to resume my
 
 1 36 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 sleep, and was congratulating myself on my es- 
 cape, when Bennett called me over to one side of 
 the room, and in a low, but very firm voice, meta- 
 phorically ran up and down my spinal column 
 with a rake. He asked me if I didn't know there 
 were other despatchers in that office besides my- 
 self; men who knew more in a minute about the 
 business than I did in a month ; and didn't I sup- 
 pose that the order book would be verified, and 
 the train sheet consulted before sending out the 
 extra ? He hoped I would never show such a case 
 of the rattles again. That was all. Good morn- 
 ing. All the same I was glad I went back to the 
 office that morning, because I had satisfied myself 
 that I had not committed an unpardonable error 
 at the outset of my career. 
 
 In case of doubt always take the safe side.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A GENERAL STRIKE A LOCOMOTIVE ENGINEER 
 FOR A DAY 
 
 DURING the ensuing spring, one of those spas- 
 modic waves of strikes passed over the country. 
 Some northern road that wasn't earning enough 
 money to pay the interest on its bonds, cut down 
 the salaries of some of its employees, and they 
 went out. Then the "sympathy" idea was worked 
 to the full limit, and gradually other roads were 
 tied up. We had hopes it would escape us, but 
 one fine day we awoke to find our road tied up 
 good and hard. The conductors and brakemen 
 went first, and a few days later they were followed 
 by the engineers and firemen. That completed 
 the business and we were up against it tighter than 
 a brick. Our men hadn't the shadow of a griev- 
 ance against the company, and were not in full 
 sympathy with the strike, but their obligation to 
 their unions was too strong for them to resist. 
 
 It placed us in a pretty bad fix because just at 
 this time we had a yard full of freight, a good deal
 
 138 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 of it perishable, and it was imperative that it 
 should be moved at once or the company would be 
 out a good many dollars. The roundhouse men 
 and a few hostlers were still working, so it was an 
 easy thing to get a yard engine out. Bennett, my- 
 self, Burns, the second trick man, and Mr. Heb- 
 ron, the division superintendent, went down in 
 the yard to do the switching. There were twenty- 
 three cars of Texas livestock and California fruit 
 waiting for a train out, and the drovers were be- 
 coming impatient, because they wanted to get up 
 to Chicago to take advantage of a big bulge in the 
 market. 
 
 I soon found that standing up in the bay win- 
 dow of an office, watching the switchmen do the 
 yard work and doing it yourself, were two entirely 
 different propositions. When I first went in be- 
 tween two cars to make a coupling, I thought my 
 time had come for sure. I fixed the link and pin 
 in one car, and then ran down to the next and 
 fixed the pin there. The engine was backing 
 slowly, but when I turned around, it looked as if 
 it had the speed of an overland "flyer." I watched 
 carefully, raised and guided the link in the oppo- 
 site draw head, and then dropped the pin. Those 
 two cars came together like the crack of doom, and 
 I shut my eyes and jumped back, imagining that I
 
 A General Strike 1 39 
 
 had been crushed to death, in fact, I could feel that 
 my right hand was mashed to a pulp. But it was 
 a false alarm; it wasn't. I had made the coup- 
 ling without a scratch to myself, and it wasn't 
 long before I became bolder, and jumped on and 
 off of the foot-boards and brake-beams like any 
 other lunatic. That all four of us were not killed 
 is nothing short of miracle. 
 
 By a dint of hard work we succeeded in getting 
 a train made up for Chaminade, and all that was 
 now needed was an engine and crew. There was 
 a large and very interested crowd of men stand- 
 ing around watching us, and many a merry ha-ha 
 we received from them for our crude efforts. En- 
 gine 341 was hooked on, and we were all ready 
 for the start. Burns was going to play con- 
 ductor, Bennett was to be the hind man, while I 
 was to ride ahead. But where were the engineer 
 and fireman ? Mr. Hebron had counted on a non- 
 union engineer to pull the train, and a wiper to do 
 the firing, but just as we expected them to appear, 
 we found that some of the strikers had succeeded 
 in talking them over to their side. To make mat- 
 ters worse the roundhouse men and the hostlers 
 caught the fever, and out they went. Mr. Hebron 
 was in a great pickle, but he didn't want to ac- 
 knowledge that he was beaten so he stood around
 
 1 40 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 hanging on in hopes something would turn up to 
 relieve the strain. 
 
 Now, it had occurred to me that I could run 
 that engine. When I was young and fresh in the 
 railroad business, I had spent much of my spare 
 time riding around on switch engines, and once 
 in a while I had taken a run out over the road with 
 an engineer who had a friendly interest in me. 
 One man, old Tom Robinson, who pulled a fast 
 freight, had been particularly kind to me, and on 
 one occasion I had taken a few days' lay off, and 
 gone out and back one whole trip with him. Be- 
 ing of an inquisitive turn of mind, I asked him a 
 great many questions about gauges, valves, oil 
 cups, eccentrics, injectors, etc., and whenever he 
 would go down under his engine, I always paid 
 the closest attention to what he did. I used to 
 ride on the right hand side of the cab with him, 
 and occasionally he would allow me to feel the 
 throttle for a few minutes. Thus, when I was a 
 little older, I could run an engine quite well. I 
 knew the oil cups, could work the injector, knew 
 enough to open and close the cylinder cocks, could 
 toot the whistle and ring the bell like an old timer, 
 and had a pretty fair idea, generally speaking, of 
 the machine. Having all these things in mind, I 
 approached Mr. Hebron, as he stood cogitating
 
 A General Strike 141 
 
 upon his ill-luck, and said, "Mr. Hebron, I'll run 
 this train into Chaminade if you will only get 
 some one to keep the engine hot." 
 
 "You," said Hebron, "you are a despatcher; 
 what the devil do you know about running a loco- 
 motive?" 
 
 I told him I might not know much, but if he 
 would say the word I would get those twenty- 
 three cars into Chaminade, or know the reason 
 why. He looked at me for a minute, asked me a 
 few questions about what I knew of an engine and 
 then said, 
 
 "By George! I'll risk it. Get on that engine, 
 my boy ; take this one wiper left for a fireman, and 
 pull out. But first go over to the office for your 
 orders. You won't need many, because every- 
 thing is tied up between here and Johnsonville, 
 and you will have a clear track. Now fly, and let 
 me see what kind of stuff you are made of." 
 
 Strangely enough, after he had consented I was 
 not half so eager to undertake it ; but I had said I 
 would and now I must stick to my word, or ac- 
 knowledge that I was a big bluffer. I went up to 
 the office and Fred Bennett gave me the orders. 
 But as he did so he said: "Bates, that's a fool- 
 hardy thing for you to do, and I reckon the old 
 man must be crazy to allow you to try it, but
 
 142 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 rather than give in to that mob out there I'll 
 see you through with it. Now don't you forget 
 for one minute, that you have twenty-three cars 
 and a caboose trailing along behind you; that I 
 am on the hind end, and that I have a wife and 
 family to support, with a mighty small insurance 
 on my life." 
 
 He went out, and Bennett told the cattle men to 
 get aboard as we were about to start. All this 
 had been done unbeknown to any of the strikers; 
 but when they saw me coming down that yard 
 with a piece of yellow tissue paper in my hand 
 they knew something was up, for every man of 
 them knew that was a train order. But where 
 was the engineer ? 
 
 I went down and climbed up in the cab of old 
 341, and removing my coat, put on a jumper I had 
 brought from the office. Engine 341, as I have 
 said, was run by Horace Daniels, one of the best 
 men that ever pulled a throttle, and his pride in 
 her was like that of a mother in a child. She was 
 a big ten-wheeled Baldwin, and I have heard Dan- 
 iels talk to her as if she was a human being; in 
 fact, he said she was the only sweetheart he ever 
 had. He was standing in the crowd and when he 
 saw me put on the jumper he came over and said :
 
 A General Strike 143 
 
 "See here, Mr. Hebron, who is going to pull 
 this train out ?" 
 
 Mr. Hebron who was standing by the step, said, 
 "Bates is." 
 
 Daniels grew red with rage, and said : 
 
 "Bates? Why good heavens, Mr. Hebron, 
 Bates can't run an engine ; he's nothing but an old 
 brass pounder, and, judging from some of the 
 meets he has made for me on this division, he 
 must be a very poor one at that. This here old 
 girl don't know no one but me nohow ; for God's 
 sake don't let her disgrace herself by going out 
 with that sandy-haired chump at the throttle." 
 
 Mr. Hebron smiled and said, "Well then, you 
 pull her out, Daniels." 
 
 Daniels shook his head and replied, "You know 
 I can't do that, Mr. Hebron. It's true I'm not in 
 sympathy with this strike one jot, but the boys are 
 out, and I've got to stand by them. But when 
 this strike is over I want old 341 back. Why, 
 Mr. Hebron, I'd rather see a scab run her than 
 that old lightning jerker." 
 
 But Mr. Hebron was firm and Daniels walked 
 slowly and sadly away. By this time we had a 
 good head of steam on, and Bennett gave me the 
 signal to pull out. I shoved the reverse lever from
 
 1 44 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 the centre clear over forward, and grasping the 
 throttle, tremblingly gave it a pull. 
 
 Longfellow says, in "The Building of the 
 Ship :" "She starts, she moves, she seems to feel 
 a thrill of life along her keel." I can fancy ex- 
 actly how that ship felt, because just as the first 
 hiss of steam greeted my ears and I felt that engine 
 move, I felt a peculiar thrill run along my keel, 
 and my heart was in my mouth. She did not start 
 quite fast enough for me, so I gave the throttle 
 another jerk, and whew ! how those big drivers 
 did fly around ! I shut her off quickly, gave her a 
 little sand, and started again. This time she took 
 the rail beautifully, walking away like a thorough- 
 bred. 
 
 There is a little divide just outside of the El 
 Monte yard, and then for a stretch of about five 
 miles, it is down grade. After this the road winds 
 around the river banks, with level tracks to John- 
 sonville, where the double track commences. All 
 I had to do was to get the train to the double track, 
 and from there a belt line engine was to take it in. 
 Thus my run was only thirty-five miles. 
 
 Our start was very auspicious, and when we 
 were going along at a pretty good gait, I pulled 
 the reverse lever back to within one point of the 
 centre, and opened her up a little more. She stood
 
 
 " See here, who is going to pull this train f " 
 
 (Page 143.)
 
 A General Strike 145 
 
 up to her work just as if she had an old hand at the 
 throttle instead of a novice. I wish I were able 
 to describe my sensations as the engine swayed 
 to and fro in her flight. The fireman was rather 
 an intelligent chap, and had no trouble in keeping 
 her hot, and twenty-three cars wasn't much of a 
 train for old 341. We went up the grade a-flying. 
 When we got over the divide, I let her get a good 
 start before I shut her off for the down grade. 
 And how she did go ! I thought at times she 
 would jump the track but she held on all right. At 
 the foot of this grade is a very abrupt curve and 
 when she struck it, I thought she bounded ten feet 
 in the air. My hat was gone, my hair was flying 
 in the wind, and all the first fright was lost in the 
 feeling of exhilaration over the fact that 7 was the 
 one who was controlling that great iron monster 
 as she tore along the track. I I was doing it 
 all by myself. It was like the elixir of life to an 
 invalid. My fireman came over to me at one time 
 and said in my ear that I'd better call for brakes 
 or the first thing we knew we would land in the 
 river. Brakes ! Not on your life. I didn't want 
 any brakes, because if she ever stopped I wasn't 
 sure that I could get her started again. We made 
 the run of thirty-five miles in less than an hour, 
 and when we reached Johnsonville I received a
 
 146 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 message from Mr. Hebron, congratulating me on 
 my success. But Bennett well, the rating he 
 gave me was worth going miles to hear. He said 
 that never in his life had he taken such a ride, nor 
 would he ever volunteer to ride behind a crazy en- 
 gineer again. But I didn't care ; I had pulled the 
 train in as I said I would, and the engine was in 
 good shape, barring a hot driving box. I may 
 add, however, that I don't care to make any such 
 trip again myself. 
 
 We went back on a mail train that night, that 
 was run by a non-union engineer, and in a day or 
 two the strike was declared off, the men returned 
 to work, and peace once more reigned supreme. 
 Daniels got his "old girl" in as good shape as ever, 
 and once when he was up in my office he told me 
 he had hoped that old 341 would get on the ram- 
 page that day I took her out and "kick the stuf- 
 fin' " out of that train and every one on it. Poor 
 old Daniels, he stuck to his "old girl" to the last, 
 but one day he struck a washout, and as a result 
 received a "right of track order," on the road that 
 leads to the paradise of all railroaders.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 CHIEF DESPATCHER AN INSPECTION TOUR 
 BIG RIVER WRECK 
 
 I HAD always supposed that the higher up you 
 ascended in any business, the easier would be your 
 position and the happier your lot. What a fallacy, 
 especially in the railroad service, where your re- 
 sponsibilities, work, care, and worries increase in 
 direct proportion as you rise ! The operator's re- 
 sponsibility is limited to the correct reception, 
 transmission, delivery and repetition of his orders 
 and messages ; the despatcher's to the correct con- 
 ception of the orders and their transmission at the 
 proper time to the right train ; but the chief de- 
 spatcher's responsibilities combine not cnly these 
 but many more. A despatcher's work is cut out 
 for him, just as the tailor would cut his cloth 
 for a journeyman workman, and when his eight 
 hour trick is done, his work for the day is finished 
 and his time is his own. Not so the chief. His 
 work is never done ; he works early and late, and 
 even at night when he goes home utterly tired out 
 '47
 
 148 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 from his long day, he is liable to be called up to 
 go out on a wrecking outfit, or to perform some 
 special duty. As soon as anything goes wrong on 
 a division the first cry is, "Send for the chief de- 
 spatcher." Almost everybody on the division is 
 under his jurisdiction except the division super- 
 intendent, and sometimes I have seen that mighty 
 dignitary take a back seat for his chief despatcher. 
 It was some ten years after I had begun to 
 pound brass, that I awoke one fine morning to find 
 myself offered the position of chief despatcher on 
 the central division of the C. N. & Q. Railway, 
 with headquarters at Selbyville. I was very well 
 satisfied at El Monte, had been promoted to the 
 first trick and had many friends whom I did not 
 like to leave, but then, I was as high as I could 
 get in a good many years, because Fred Bennett, 
 the chief, was a stayer from away back, and there 
 wouldn't be a vacancy there for a long time to 
 come. The district of which I was to take charge 
 was about three hundred miles long, and consisted 
 of three freight divisions of one hundred miles 
 each. That meant a whole lot of hard confining 
 work, but who wouldn't accept a promotion; so 
 after carefully considering the matter, I gratefully 
 accepted, and was duly installed in my new posi- 
 tion. As I did not know anything about the road
 
 Chief Despatcher 1 49 
 
 or the operators thereon, one of my first acts was 
 to take a trip of inspection over the road. I rode 
 on freight trains or anything that came along, and 
 dropped off as I wanted to, in order that I might 
 become thoroughly acquainted with the road and 
 the men 
 
 One of the time card rules was that no person 
 was to be allowed to enter any of the telegraph 
 offices except those on duty there ; even the train 
 men were supposed to receive their orders and 
 transact their business at the window or counter. 
 Generally, however, this rule was not enforced 
 very rigidly. When I was a night operator I 
 never paid any attention to it at all. I dropped 
 off No. 6 at eleven-thirty one night at Bakersville. 
 A night office was kept there because it was a good 
 order point and had a water tank. I had never 
 met the night man and knew nothing of him, ex- 
 cept that he was a fiery-tempered Irishman named 
 Barry, and a most excellent operator. It had been 
 told me that the despatchers had, on more than 
 one occasion, complained of his impudence, but 
 his ability was so marked and he was so prompt 
 in answering and transacting business, that he 
 was allowed to remain. As No. 6 pulled out he 
 went into the office, closed the door and then shut 
 the window. He had apparently not seen me, or
 
 150 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 if he had he paid no attention to me, so I went 
 into the waiting-room and rapped on the ticket 
 window. He shoved it up, stared at me and 
 gruffly said, "Well! what's wanted?" 
 
 I answered pretty sharply, that I desired to 
 come into his office. 
 
 "Well then you can take it out in wanting, be- 
 cause you don't get in here, see !" 
 
 I started to reason with him, when he slammed 
 the window in my face. That made me madder 
 than a March hare, and I told him if he didn't let 
 me in that office mighty quick, I'd smash that win- 
 dow into smithereens and come in anyhow. 
 
 Biff ! Up went that window, and Mr. Barry's 
 face looking like a boiled beet appeared, "Smash 
 that window will you? You just try it and I'll 
 smash your blamed old red head with this poker. 
 Get out of that waiting-room. Tramps are not 
 allowed." 
 
 Just then it occurred to me that he did not know 
 me from the sight of sole leather; so I said : "Hold 
 on there, young man ; I'm Mr. Bates, the newly 
 appointed chief despatcher of this division, and 
 I'm out on a tour of inspection. Now stop your 
 monkeying and open up." 
 
 "Bates thunder! Bates would never come 
 sneaking out over the road in this manner. You
 
 Chief Despatcher 151 
 
 pack up and get. It will take more than your 
 word to make me believe you are Bates." 
 
 I saw that remonstrance with him was useless, 
 and, besides I had an idea that he might carry out 
 his threat to smash my head with the poker, so I 
 went over to a mean little hotel and stayed all 
 night, vowing to have vengeance on his head in 
 the morning. When daylight came, I went back 
 to the station, and Dayton, the day man, knew me 
 at once, having worked with me on the K. M. & O. 
 Barry had told him of the trouble, and he was hav- 
 ing a great laugh at my expense. Barry, himself, 
 showed up in a little while, but he didn't seem the 
 least bit disturbed, when he found out who I really 
 was. He said there was a time card rule, that for- 
 bade him allowing any unauthorized person in his 
 office; he thought I was some semi-respectable 
 "hobo," who wanted a place to stay all night; how 
 in the world was he to know ? Suppose some one 
 else had come out and said he was the chief des- 
 patcher, was he going to let them in the office 
 without some proof ? I saw that this was mighty 
 good reasoning and that he was right. Did I fire 
 him? Not much. Men on railroads who so im- 
 plicitly obey orders are too valuable to lose; and 
 before I left the road he was working the third 
 trick.
 
 1 5 2 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 Things ran along very smoothly for a while and 
 I was having a good time. The winter passed and 
 with the advent of spring came the heavy rains 
 for which that part of the country was justly 
 noted. Then the work commenced. 
 
 One Friday evening after four or five days of 
 the steadiest and hardest kind of rain, I received 
 a message from the section foreman at Truxton, 
 saying that Big River was beginning to come up 
 pretty high, and that the constant rains were mak- 
 ing the track quite soft. I immediately sent him 
 an order to put out a track walker at once, and 
 told the despatcher on duty to make a "slow or- 
 der" for five miles this side of the Big River; the 
 track on the other, or south side, was all right, 
 being on high ground. 
 
 Our fast mail came in just then, and after the 
 engines were changed, the engineer and conductor 
 came into my office for their orders. I told them 
 about the soft track, and in a spirit of pure fun, 
 remarked to Ben Roberts, the engineer, that he 
 had better look out or he would be taking a bath 
 in Big River that night. He facetiously replied : 
 "Well, I don't much mind. I'm generally so 
 dirty when I get that far out that a bath would do 
 me good." 
 
 They received their orders, and as Roberts went
 
 Chief Despatcher 153 
 
 out the door, he laughingly said, "I reckon, Bates, 
 you'd better send the wrecker out right after us to 
 fish me out of Big River to-night." 
 
 I stepped over to the window, saw him climb 
 up on engine 232, a beautiful McQueen, and pull 
 out, and just as he started, he turned and waved 
 his hand to me as if in token of farewell. 
 
 Truxton, five miles from the river, was not a 
 stop for the mail, but I had them flagged there, to 
 give them another special warning about ap- 
 proaching Big River with caution. Just then the 
 track walker came into Truxton, and reported that 
 he had come from the river on a velocipede, and 
 that while the track was soft it was not unsafe and 
 the bridge appeared to be all right. Presently, I 
 heard, "OS, OS, XN, No. 21, a 7 145, d 7 151" and 
 I knew the mail had gone on. 
 
 The next station south was Burton, three miles 
 beyond the bridge, and I thought I would wait 
 until I had the "OS" report from there before go- 
 ing home for the night. Thirty minutes passed 
 and no sign of her. This did not worry me 
 much, because I knew Roberts would be extremely 
 careful and run slow until he passed the bridge. 
 In a minute Truxton opened up and said, "Rain- 
 ing like blazes now." I asked him where the track
 
 154 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 walker was, and he said he had gone out towards 
 the bridge just after the mail had left. 
 
 Fifty minutes of the most intense anxiety 
 passed, and all of a sudden every instrument in the 
 office ceased clicking. As soon as a wire opens, 
 all the operators are instructed to try their ground 
 wires, and in that way the break is soon located. 
 Bentonville, Bakersville, Muncy, Ashton, all in 
 quick succession tried their grounds, and reported 
 "All wires open south." Presently the despatch- 
 ers' wire closed again, and "DS, DS, XN." There ! 
 that was Truxton calling us now. I answered and 
 he said, "Wires all open south. Heavy rain now 
 falling; violent wind storm has just passed over 
 us; lots of lightning; looks like the storm would 
 last all night." 
 
 I told him to hustle out and get the section fore- 
 man, and gave him an order to take his gang and 
 car and go to the bridge and back at once and 
 make a full report. 
 
 But where was 21 all this time? Stuck in the 
 mud, I hoped, but all the same I was beginning 
 to have a great many misgivings. Mr. Antwerp, 
 the division superintendent, came in just then, and 
 I reported all the facts of the case to him. He 
 was very much worried, but said he hoped it 
 would turn out all right. Getting nothing from
 
 Chief Despatcher 155 
 
 Burton, on the south, I told Truxton to keep on 
 his ground until the section gang or track walker 
 came back with a report. Twenty minutes later 
 he began to call "DS" with all his might. I an- 
 swered and this is what the despatcher's copy op- 
 erator took : 
 
 Truxton, 5 | 21, 188 . 
 "M. N. B. 
 "DS. 
 
 "No. 21 went through Big River bridge to- 
 night ; track was soft all the way over from Trux- 
 ton ; engine, mail, baggage and one coach on the 
 bridge when it gave way; three Pullmans stayed 
 on the track. Roberts, engineer ; Carter, fireman, 
 and Sampson, conductor, all missing. Need doc- 
 tors. 
 
 "O'HARA, 
 
 "Brakeman." 
 
 My God ! wasn't it awful ! I sent one caller to 
 get out the wrecking crew and another for a doc- 
 tor. I then instructed Burke to prepare orders 
 for the wrecker, pulling everything off and giving 
 her a clean sweep; told Truxton to keep on his 
 ground wire and stay close; and pulling on my 
 rain coat, I bounded down the steps and up to the 
 roundhouse to hurry up the engine. Engine 122, 
 with Ed Stokes at the throttle, was just backing 
 down as I came out, so I ran back, signed the or-
 
 156 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 ders, and as soon as the doctors arrived, Mr. Ant- 
 werp told me to pull out and take charge, saying 
 he would come out if necessary on a special. 
 
 It was scarcely five minutes from the time I re- 
 ceived the first message until we pulled out and 
 started on our wild ride of rescue. Forty miles 
 in forty minutes, with one slow down was our 
 time. The old derrick and wreck outfit swayed 
 to and fro like reeds in the wind, as we went down 
 the track like a thunderbolt, but fortunately we 
 held to the rails. There was scarcely a word 
 spoken in the caboose, every one being intent upon 
 holding on and thinking of the horrible scene we 
 were soon to view. When we reached Truxton we 
 found the track walker there, and after hearing his 
 story in brief, we pulled out for the bridge. Our 
 ride from Truxton over to the wreck was frightful. 
 It was still raining torrents, the wind was coming 
 up again, lightning flashed, thunder rolled and the 
 track was so soft in some places that it seemed 
 as if we would topple over ; but we finally reached 
 there and then what a scene to behold! 
 
 The bridge, a long wooden trestle, was com- 
 pletely gone, nothing being left but twisted iron 
 and a few broken stringers hanging in the air. 
 Four mail clerks, the express messenger, and the
 
 Chief Despatcher 157 
 
 baggage man were drowned like rats in a trap. 
 Poor Ben Roberts had hung to his post like the 
 hero, that he was, and was lost. Sampson, the 
 conductor, and Carter, the fireman, were both 
 missing, and in the forward coach, which was not 
 entirely submerged, having fallen on one end of 
 the baggage car, were many passengers, a num- 
 ber of whom were killed, and the rest all more or 
 less injured. 
 
 The river was not very wide, and I had the 
 headlight taken off of our engine and placed on 
 the bank; and presently a wrecker came up from 
 the south, and her headlight was similarly placed, 
 casting a ghastly weird, white light over the scene 
 of suffering and desolation. I cut in a wrecking 
 office, Truxton took off his ground, I put on mine, 
 and Mr. Antwerp was soon in possession of all 
 the facts. A little later I was standing up to my 
 knees in mud and water, and I heard a weak voice 
 say: "Mr. Bates, for God's sake let me speak to 
 you a minute." 
 
 I looked around and beheld the most woebe- 
 gone, bedraggled specimen of humanity I had ever 
 seen in my life. "Well, who under the sun are 
 you ?" I asked. 
 
 "I'm Carter, the fireman of No. 21. When I
 
 158 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 felt the bridge going I jumped. I was half stunned, 
 but managed to keep afloat, being carried rapidly 
 down the stream. I struck the bank about a mile 
 and a half below here, and I've had one almighty 
 big struggle to get back. For the love of the Vir- 
 gin give me a drink; I'm half dead;" and with 
 that the poor fellow fell over senseless. 
 
 I called one of the doctors and had him taken 
 to the caboose of the wrecker, and when I had 
 time I went in and heard the rest of his story. The 
 poor chap was badly hurt, having one ankle 
 broken, besides being bruised up generally. He 
 said when No. 2 1 left Truxton, Roberts proceeded 
 at a snail-like pace, keeping a sharp lookout for a 
 wash out. He slowed almost to a standstill be- 
 fore going on the bridge, but everything appear- 
 ing all safe and sound he started again, remark- 
 ing to Carter, "Here's where I get the bath that 
 Bates spoke about." 
 
 The engine was half way over when there came 
 a deafening roar; the train quivered, and then 
 Carter jumped. That was all he knew. It was 
 enough, and we sent him back with the rest of the 
 wounded the next morning. He is pulling a pas- 
 senger train there to-day. The engine was lost 
 in the quicksands, and was never recovered, and
 
 Chief Despatcher 159 
 
 Ben Roberts stayed with her to the last. He had 
 more than his bath in Big River that night ; he had 
 his funeral; the river was his grave, and the en- 
 gine his shroud
 
 CHAPTER XVII! 
 
 A PROMOTION BY FAVOR AND ITS RESULTS 
 
 I HAD been on the C. N. & Q. for about eight 
 months, when my second trick man took sick, 
 and being advised to seek a healthier climate, re- 
 signed and went south. Generally speaking the 
 chief despatcher's recommendation is enough to 
 place a man in his office ; and as I had always be- 
 lieved in the rule of seniority, I wanted to appoint 
 the third trick man to the second trick, make the 
 day copy operator third trick man, and call in a 
 new copy operator to replace the night man who 
 would be promoted to the day job. In fact, I had 
 started the ball rolling toward the accomplishment 
 of this end, when Mr. Antwerp, the division su- 
 perintendent, defeated all my plans by perempt- 
 orily asserting his prerogative and appointing his 
 nephew, John Krantzer, who had been night copy 
 operator to the third trick. I protested with all 
 my might, in fact was once on the point of re- 
 signing my position but the old man wouldn't hear 
 of either proposition, and Krantzer secured the 
 160
 
 A Promotion by Favor 161 
 
 place. Now while Krantzer was an excellent copy 
 operator, he was very young, and lacked that per- 
 sistence and reliability so essential in a successful 
 despatcher. After I had protested until I was 
 black in the face, I asked Mr. Antwerp at least to 
 put the young man on the second trick, so that in 
 a measure I could have him under my eye. But 
 no, nothing but the third trick would satisfy him, 
 so on the third trick the rattle-brained chap went 
 the next night. 
 
 He struggled through the first night without 
 actually killing anybody, but his train sheet the 
 next morning resembled a man with a very bad 
 case of measles ; there were delays on everything 
 on the road, with very few satisfactory explana- 
 tions. There was the fast mail twenty-five min- 
 utes in going six miles. Cause ? None was given. 
 But a perusal of the order book showed that 
 Krantzer had made a meet for her with a freight 
 train, and had hung her up on a blind siding for 
 fifteen minutes. Freights that had been out all 
 night were still out, tied up in all kinds of shapes. 
 Meets had been made for two long trains at a 
 point where the passing track was not large 
 enough to accommodate either one of them, and 
 the result was thirty minutes lost by both of them 
 in "raw hiding" by. Many other discrepancies
 
 1 62 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 were noticeable, but these sufficed to show that 
 Krantzer's abilities as a despatcher were of a very 
 low order. However, I reflected, that it was his 
 first night, and I remembered my own similar ex- 
 perience not many years ago, so I simply sub- 
 mitted the sheet to Mr. Antwerp without com- 
 ment. He wiped his glasses, carefully adjusted 
 them on his aristocratic nose, and after glancing 
 at the sheet for a few moments, said, "Ah ! humph ! 
 Well ! Well ! Well ! Not a very auspicious start, 
 to be sure; but the boy will pick up. Just jack 
 him up in pretty good shape, Bates ; it will do him 
 good." I jacked him up all right to the queen's 
 taste but it was like pouring water on a duck's 
 back. 
 
 The second night was not much of an improve- 
 ment, and I made a big kick to Mr. Antwerp the 
 following morning, but it did no good. The 
 third night was a hummer. I was kept at the 
 office pretty late, in fact until after eleven o'clock, 
 and before going home I wrote Krantzer a note 
 telling him to be very careful as there were many 
 trains on the road. Our through business at this 
 time was very heavy, and compelled us to run 
 many extras and specials. I was particular to in- 
 form him of two extras north, that would leave 
 Bradford, the lower end of the division, some time
 
 A Promotion by Favor 163 
 
 after 12 130 A. M., and directed him to run them 
 as special freights having the right of track over 
 all trains except the passengers. Each train was 
 made up of twenty-five cars of California fruit 
 bound for New York, and they were the first of 
 their kind to be run by us. We had a strong com- 
 petitor for this class of business in the Valley 
 Route, a line twenty miles away, and were making 
 a big bid for the trade. The general manager had 
 sent a message that a special effort was to be 
 made to put the two trains through a-whooping, 
 and I had ordered engines 228 and 443, two of 
 the best on the road, to pull them. Burke, the 
 second trick man had everything running 
 smoothly at the time I wrote the note, and I told 
 Krantzer that, as it looked then, all he would have 
 to do would be to keep them coming. No. 13, a 
 fast freight south, had an engine that wasn't 
 .steaming very well, and I suggested to him to put 
 her on the siding at Manitou. It would delay 13 
 about fifteen minutes but her freight was all dead 
 stuff, so that would not make much difference. I 
 did everything but write the order, and that I 
 could not do, because I couldn't tell just what the 
 conditions would be when the extras reached 
 Bradford, where they would receive the order. 
 Krantzer succeeded in getting them started in
 
 1 64 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 fair shape; but not content to let well enough 
 alone, he thought he would run No. 13 on to 
 Burnsides instead of putting her on the siding 
 at Manitou as I had suggested, and gave orders 
 to that effect. After he had given the "complete" 
 he told the operator to tell them to "fly." If he 
 had given this same order for the meeting at 
 Burnsides to the two extras, at the same time, all 
 would have been well, except that the extras 
 would have been delayed some fifteen minutes, but 
 this he was unable to do. Burnsides itself is only 
 a day office, so he could not communicate with 
 them there, and they had already passed Gloriana, 
 the first night office south of Burnsides. The op- 
 erator at Gloriana heard the order to 13 and told 
 Krantzer it was a risky thing to do ; but he told 
 him "to mind his own business, as he (Krantzer) 
 could run that division without any help." 
 
 No. 13 was pulled by engine 67, with Jim Bush 
 at the throttle, and he was such a runner that he 
 had earned the sobriquet of "Lightning Jimmie." 
 While he had reported early in the evening that 
 his engine was not steaming very well, he had 
 succeeded in getting her to working good by this 
 time. Burnsides is at the foot of a long grade 
 from the north, and about a mile up there is a 
 very abrupt curve as the track winds around the
 
 A Promotion by Favor 165 
 
 side of the hill. The two extras were bowling 
 along merrily when they struck this grade; and 
 although there is a time card rule that says that 
 trains will be kept ten minutes apart, they were 
 right together, helping each other over the grade. 
 In fact, it was one train with two engines, some- 
 what of a double header with the second engine 
 in the middle. They were going on for all they 
 were worth, expecting to meet No. 13 at Manitou, 
 as originally ordered. 
 
 In the meantime, Bush pulling No. 13, had 
 passed Manitou, and with thirty-eight heavy cars 
 behind him, was working her for all she was worth 
 on the down grade, so as to get on the siding for 
 the extras at Burnsides. He was carrying out 
 Krantzer's order to "fly," with a vengeance. And 
 just as he turned the curve, he saw, not fifty yards 
 ahead of him, the headlight of the first extra. To 
 stop was out of the question. He whistled once 
 for brakes, reversed his engine, pulled her wide 
 open and then jumped ! He landed safely enough, 
 and beyond a broken right arm, and a badly 
 bruised leg, was unhurt. His poor fireman, though, 
 jumped on the other side and was dashed to pieces 
 on the rocks; and the head man and engineer of 
 the first extra were also killed. I had known 
 many times of two trains being put in the hole;
 
 1 66 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 but this was the first time I had ever seen three 
 of them so placed. 
 
 Krantzer had sense enough to order out the 
 wrecker, and send for me. I knew just as soon 
 as I heard the caller's rap on my door that he had 
 done something so I lost no time in getting over 
 to the office and there sat Krantzer as cool as if he 
 had not just killed three men by his gross care- 
 lessness and cost the company thousands of dol- 
 lars. I had the old man called and when he came 
 and learned what had occurred, his discomfiture 
 was so great that I felt fully repaid for all my an- 
 noyance on his nephew's account. He directed 
 me to go out to the wreck and report to him upon 
 arrival. I had Forbush, the first trick man, called 
 and placed him in charge of the office during my 
 absence. Incidentally, I told Krantzer he had bet- 
 ter be scarce when I sent the remains of those 
 crews in, because I fancied they were in a fit mood 
 to kill him. When I returned I found that he had 
 gone. It appeared that Jim Bush went up into the 
 office, and although he had one arm broken, he 
 was prepared to beat the life out of that crazy 
 young despatcher. Forbush saw him coming and 
 gave Krantzer a tip, and as Bush came in one 
 door, Krantzer went out the other. 
 
 The effects of this wreck were far beyond cal-
 
 A Promotion by Favor 167 
 
 culation to the company because they lost the busi- 
 ness they were striving to win, and the way the 
 general manager went for old man Antwerp was 
 enough to make us all grin with delight. It is 
 needless to say I was allowed to place my own 
 men thereafter.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 JACKING UP A NEGLIGENT OPERATOR A CONVICT 
 OPERATOR DICK, THE PLUCKY CALL BOY 
 
 ONE of the most unpleasant duties I had to per- 
 form was that of "jacking up" operators, and pun- 
 ishing them for their short-comings. Generally, 
 if the case was not a very bad one, and the man 
 had a good reputation, I would try and smooth 
 it over with only a reprimand ; but there are times 
 "when patience ceases to be a virtue," and punish- 
 ment must be inflicted. The train sheet is always 
 the first indication that some operator is to be 
 "hauled up on the carpet." One morning I found 
 the following entry on the sheet : 
 
 "No. 1 6 delayed forty-five minutes at Benton- 
 ville, account not being able to raise the operator 
 at Sicklen in that time. Called for explanation 
 and operator said 'he was over at hotel getting 
 some lunch.' " 
 
 That excuse "over at hotel getting some lunch," 
 is as familiar to a railroad operator as the creed 
 is to a good churchman. A young man named 
 168
 
 Jacking Up an Operator 169 
 
 Charles Ferral was the night man at Sicklen, and 
 his ability as an operator was only exceeded by his 
 inability to tell the truth when he was in a tight 
 place. I was too old an operator to be fooled by 
 any such a yarn as this; and besides, the con- 
 ductor of No. 17 reported to me that he had found 
 Ferral stretched out on the table asleep, when he 
 stopped there for water. But he was a first-rate 
 man and I didn't want to lose him, so I wrote him 
 a sharp letter and told him that a repetition of his 
 offense would cause him to receive his time in- 
 stantly. He was as penitent as the prodigal son, 
 and promised never to so offend again; and he 
 kept his word for just about ten days. 
 
 One morning he asked my permission to come 
 up to "DS" on No. 2 and go back on No. 3 in the 
 afternoon. I gave it, but warned him to not lose 
 too much sleep. There are some men in the busi- 
 ness that the sound of their office call on a tele- 
 graph instrument will cause to awaken at once 
 no matter how soundly they may be sleeping, but 
 Ferral was not one of these. The night follow- 
 ing his return to his station, I was kept at the of- 
 fice until late, and about eleven o'clock No. 22 ap- 
 peared at Bakersville, and wanted to run to Ash- 
 ton for No. 17. They were both running a little 
 late, and as 17 had a heavy train of coal and sys-
 
 1 70 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 tern empties, I told Burke to let them go. But the 
 only station at which we could then get an order 
 to 17 was Sicklen, Ferral's station. Burke began 
 to call, but Sicklen made no answer. He called 
 for forty-five minutes at a stretch, 22 all the time 
 waiting at Bakersville. He stopped for five min- 
 utes and then went at it again. In ten minutes 
 Sicklen answered. Burke started to give the or- 
 der, but Ferral broke and gave the "OS" report 
 that 17 had just gone by. 
 
 That settled it; No. 22 was hung up another 
 hour all on account of Ferral's failure to attend 
 to his duty. I opened up on him and said, "Where 
 have you been for the last fifteen minutes ?" The 
 same old excuse, "Lunch," came back at me. 
 
 "Well, where were you for ten minutes before 
 that?" 
 
 Then that dear old stereotyped expression, 
 "Fixing my batteries," followed. But I was only 
 too sure that he had been asleep, and No. 17 going 
 by had awakened him. So I gently remarked that 
 "I was not born yesterday, and said that he would 
 probably have ample time to fix his batteries after 
 this; that, in fact, I thought it would be a good 
 thing for him to take a long course in battery 
 work, and I would assist him all I could I would 
 provide him with the time for the work."
 
 Jacking Up an Operator 171 
 
 The next morning I laid the matter before Mr. 
 Antwerp, and he wanted the man discharged 
 forthwith. But during the night my anger had 
 cooled somewhat and now I felt inclined to give 
 him another chance ; so I simply urged that he be 
 laid off for a while. 
 
 "All right, Bates, but make it a good stiff lay- 
 off not less than fifteen days," said Mr. Ant- 
 werp. 
 
 I wrote Ferral accordingly; but I had scarcely 
 finished when a letter came from him to me, beg- 
 ging off, and promising anything if I would not 
 discharge him ; but, instead would lay him off for 
 forty-five days. I took him at his word and gave 
 him the forty-five days he asked for, instead of the 
 fifteen I had intended to give him. But, about 
 two weeks later he came up to "DS," and looked 
 so woebegone, and pleaded so hard to be taken 
 back, that I remitted the remainder of his punish- 
 ment. He was greatly chagrined when he learned 
 that he had trebled his own sentence. He was 
 never remiss again. Go over to the despatcher's 
 office any night and you will see him, bright and 
 alert, sitting opposite the despatcher doing the 
 copying. He is in the direct line of promotion, 
 and some day will be a despatcher himself. I 
 never regretted my leniency.
 
 172 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 In addition to the main line, I had a branch of 
 thirty-eight miles, running from Bentonville up 
 to Sandia. The despatching for this branch was 
 done from my office, and when we wanted anyone 
 there Bentonville would cut us through. This 
 was seldom necessary, however, because there 
 were only two trains daily, a combination freight 
 and passenger each way. The last station this 
 side of Sandia was Alexis. The state penitentiary 
 was located there, and the telegraphing was done 
 by a convict "trusty" a man who, having been 
 appointed cashier of a big freight office in the 
 western part of the state, couldn't stand prosper- 
 ity, and, in consequence, had been sent up for six 
 years. His conduct had been so good that, after 
 he had served four years inside of the walls, he 
 was made a "trusty." His ability as an operator 
 was extraordinary. He had a smooth easy way 
 of sending that made his sending as plain as a 
 circus bill. 
 
 The two branch trains on the branch were 
 known as 61 and 62, and one day 62, running 
 north in the morning, had jumped the track laying 
 herself out about ten hours. When she left San- 
 dia as 6 1 on her return trip south, she again went 
 off the track and the result was sixteen hours' 
 more delay. We wouldn't send a wrecker up from
 
 Jacking Up an Operator 173 
 
 the main line, and they had to work out their own 
 salvation. When they finally appeared at Alexis 
 they were running on the time of 62. That would 
 never do, and the conductor asked the operator 
 at Alexis to get him orders to run to Bentonville 
 regardless of No. 62. Burke, my second trick 
 man, was on duty at the time, and it so chanced 
 that he did not know the Alexis man was a con- 
 vict. He was about to give the order asked for 
 when something on the main line diverted him 
 for a moment. When he was ready again, Alexis 
 broke him and said, "Wait a minute." 
 
 To tell a despatcher to wait a minute when he 
 is sending a train order is to court sudden death, 
 and Burke said, "Wait for what?" 
 
 "For whatever you blame please, I'm going out 
 to weigh this coal." 
 
 Burke's Irish blood was all up in his head by 
 this time, and he said : "What do you mean by 
 talking that way to me? No. 61 is waiting for 
 this '9' ; now you copy and I'll get your time sent 
 you in the morning." 
 
 "Oh! will you? I guess my time is all fixed so 
 you can't touch it. I only wish you could; I'd 
 like mighty well to be fired from this job; I 
 wouldn't even wait for my pay." 
 
 I had been sitting at my desk taking it all in,
 
 174 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 and was just about ready to expire with laugnter, 
 when Burke called over to me: "Did you hear 
 that young fellow's impudence?" 
 
 "Yes, I heard." 
 
 "Well, what are you going to do about it? I've 
 never had an operator talk to me like that before. 
 I must certainly insist that you dismiss him at 
 once. He and I can't work on the same road." 
 
 "Unfortunately, Burke," said I, "the State has 
 a claim on his services for two years yet, and I 
 am afraid they won't waive it." 
 
 At this it dawned upon Burke, who and what 
 the man really was; but I cannot say that his 
 humor was improved at once by the discovery. 
 
 One morning shortly after this I was sitting in 
 my office making up an annual train report, and 
 was cussing out anything and everybody, because 
 this train report is one of the worst things in the 
 whole business. It was figures till you couldn't 
 rest, and I had already been working at it for 
 three days, and my head was in a perfect whirl. 
 That morning one of our call boys had turned up 
 missing and that fact also irritated me. It would 
 seem that a call boy was a pretty insignificant 
 chap in a big railroad, but such is not the case. 
 In a perfect system every employee is like a cog 
 in a big wheel, and as soon as one cog is broken
 
 Jacking Up an Operator 175 
 
 there is a jar in the otherwise smooth symmetrical 
 movement of the machine. The call boy is quite 
 an important personage, because, upon him de- 
 pends the prompt calling of the various crews in 
 time to take out their trains. He must keep a 
 keen watch on the call board for the marking up 
 of trains ; he must know who is the first to go out, 
 and he must know the dwelling place of every en- 
 gineer, fireman, conductor and brakeman in the 
 city. On a big division like ours, this, in itself, 
 was not a small job. On some roads men are em- 
 ployed for this work, but I had always been par- 
 tial to the boys, and kept four of them, two on 
 days and two on nights. When my day boy left, 
 I promoted a night boy to the second day job, and 
 was cudgeling my brain for a good chap to go on 
 nights. In a little while I heard a sharp rap on 
 the office door, and in response to my "come in," 
 uttered in a tone that was anything but pleasant, 
 a sturdy looking little chap about fourteen years 
 old stood before me. He had a shock of jet black 
 hair, tumbled all over his head, a pair of bright 
 eyes, round full face, not over clean, strong 
 limbs and a well knit body. His clothes hung on 
 him like gunny sacks, and the crudity of the many 
 various patches indicated that they had not been
 
 176 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 put on by woman's deft fingers. He didn't wait 
 for me to speak, but blurted out : 
 
 "Say, mister, I have just heard tell as how you 
 wants a call boy. Do you ?" 
 
 He took my breath away by his bluntness; he 
 looked so honest and sincere, so I simply replied, 
 "Yes," and waited. 
 
 "Well then, I wants the job. See !" 
 
 "What's your name, youngster, and where is 
 your home?" 
 
 "My name's Dick Durstine; I hain't got no 
 home, no father, no mother, no nothin', just me, 
 and I wants to learn the tick tick business. It 
 looks dead easy." 
 
 This was really funny, but I liked his impu- 
 dence, and, while I had no intention of hiring him, 
 I determined to draw him out, so I said : 
 
 "Where were you born, when did you come 
 here, and do you know where any of the crews 
 live?" 
 
 "I was born in St. Louis ; mother died when I 
 was a kid, and Dad was such a drunken worthless 
 old cuss and beat me so much, that I brought up 
 in a foundling asylum. I come in here riding on 
 the trucks of your mail train about three weeks 
 ago, and the fellers up in the roundhouse have 
 been lettin' me feed and snooze there. I know
 
 Jacking Up an Operator 177 
 
 where all the crews live exceptin' some of your 
 kid glove engineers wot pulls the fast trains, but 
 I can soon find them out. Please give me the job, 
 mister; I'm honest and I'll work hard." 
 
 Something in his blunt straightforward way 
 appealed to me and I determined to try him. Han- 
 dled right I imagined he would be a good man; 
 handled wrong, he would probably become a 
 bright and shining light of the genus hobo. So I 
 hired him, telling him his salary would be forty 
 dollars per month. 
 
 "Hully gee!" he exclaimed, "forty plunks a 
 month ! Well say ! I won't do a ting wid all dat 
 mun ; I'll just buy a road. Thank you mister, I'll 
 work so hard for you that you'll not be sorry you 
 gave me the job. But don't you forget that I 
 wants to learn the tick tick business." 
 
 That night at seven o'clock he went to work, 
 and it didn't take long to see that he was as bright 
 as a new dollar. He knew everything about the 
 division, knew all the crews and where they lived. 
 Days went by and still he held up his end and was 
 a great favorite with all the force. There was a 
 local instrument in the office, and one of the op- 
 erators wrote the Morse alphabet for him, and 
 ever after that he kept pegging away at the key. 
 He practiced writing and it wasn't many weeks
 
 178 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 before he was getting to be something of an op- 
 erator. I went out to the main line battery room 
 one evening to give some instructions to the man 
 in charge and there I discovered Master Dick with 
 a battery syringe in one hand and a brush in the 
 other deeply engrossed in monkeying with the 
 jars. 
 
 "Look here, you young rascal," I said sharply, 
 "what are you doing in here? First thing you 
 know you will short circuit some of these batte- 
 ries and then there'll be the de'il to pay. Don't 
 you ever let me catch you out here again, or I'll 
 fire you bodily." 
 
 "I hain't been doing nothin', Mister Bates, I just 
 wanted to see what made the old thing go tick 
 tick. Wot's all them glass jars for wid the green 
 water and the tin in ?" 
 
 I explained to him as well as I could the con- 
 struction of the gravity battery. He had been for- 
 bidden to monkey with any of the instruments or 
 the switch board in the main office, but his infer- 
 nal inquisitiveness soon ran away with his sense, 
 and it wasn't long before he was in trouble. He 
 pulled a plug out of the switch board one evening, 
 and Burke threatened to kill him. Another even- 
 ing, he went into my office and monkeyed with 
 an instrument that I kept there connected to the
 
 Jacking Up an Operator 179 
 
 despatcher's wire, and left it open. There was no 
 report from any of the offices on either side, and 
 investigation soon revealed the culprit. The wire 
 was open for ten minutes and Burke was as mad 
 as a March hare, when he reported it to me the 
 next morning. I sent for Master Dick and in- 
 formed him that another such a report against 
 him would cause his instant dismissal. He seemed 
 penitent enough, but two nights afterwards he 
 short circuited all the main line batteries by his 
 foolishness, and raised Cain in the office for a 
 while. The next morning his time was presented 
 to him and he was told to get out. He pleaded 
 hard but his offenses had been too numerous, and 
 I had to let him go. I must confess, however, that 
 we all missed him greatly, because, in spite of his 
 troublesome nature, he was a prime favorite with 
 all the force. 
 
 Our road ran through some wild unsettled 
 country, and a few years previous, a Mr. Bob For- 
 ney and some distinguished gentlemen of the road, 
 had paid us a visit, with the result that the ex- 
 press company lost about forty thousand dollars 
 and their messenger his life. The country be- 
 came too warm for them and they fled. 
 
 Our flyer left two nights after this, having on 
 board about a hundred thousand dollars of gov-
 
 1 80 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 ernment money, and I remarked to Bob Stanton, 
 the conductor, that it was a fine chance for a hold 
 up, but he laughed it off and said that civilization 
 was too far advanced for that kind of work just 
 now. 
 
 About nine o'clock I was sitting in the despatch- 
 er's office smoking a cigar before going home for 
 the night, when all at once the despatcher's wire 
 and the railroad line opened. Sicklen reported 
 south of him and then took off his ground. Pretty 
 soon the sounder began to open and close in a pe- 
 culiar shaky manner, and then I heard the follow- 
 ing: 
 
 'To 'DS,' gang of robbers goin' to hold up the 
 flyer in Ashley's cut to-night. They will place 
 rails and ties on the track to wreck train if they 
 don't heed signal. Warn train to watch out and 
 bring gang out from Sicklen. This is Dick Durs- 
 tine." 
 
 All was quiet for a minute and then he started 
 again, but soon he stopped short and we heard no 
 more. The line remained open. 
 
 We raised Sicklen on a commercial wire and 
 told him to turn his red-light and hold everything. 
 I was in somewhat of a quandary; the sending 
 had been miserable, sounding unlike any stuff 
 Dick had ever sent, and then the stopping of the
 
 Jacking Up an Operator 181 
 
 whole business made it seem rather suspicious. 
 Still Ashley's cut was an ideal place for a hold up, 
 and the weather was dark and stormy. Every- 
 thing was propitious for just such a job. 
 
 In the meantime, Ashton, the first office south 
 of Sicklen, had reported on the commercial line 
 that the despatcher's wire was open north of him. 
 That would place it near the cut in all probability. 
 Anyway I didn't intend to take any chance, so I 
 sent a message to Sicklen telling him to notify the 
 sheriff of all the facts and ask him to send out a 
 posse on the flyer, and, also, for him to get the 
 day man to go out and patch the lines up until a 
 line man could get there in the morning. About 
 twenty minutes afterwards the flyer left Sicklen 
 nicely fixed with a strong posse, and an order to 
 approach the cut with caution. It was only three 
 miles from Sicklen to the cut, and I knew it would 
 be but a matter of a short while until something 
 was heard. Sure enough, forty minutes later the 
 despatcher's wire closed and this message came : 
 
 "To Bates, DS : 
 
 "Attempt to hold up No. 21 in Ashley's cut was 
 frustrated by the sheriff's posse. Outlaws had 
 placed ties on the track in case we did not heed 
 the signal to stop. Two of them killed, three cap- 
 tured and one escaped. Dick Durstine is here,
 
 1 8 2 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 badly shot through the right lung. Will have him 
 sent in from Sicklen on 22 in the morning. 
 
 "Stanton, Conductor." 
 
 The next morning when 22 pulled in I went 
 down and there, laid out on a litter in the baggage 
 car, was Dick Durstine, my former call boy, weak, 
 pale, and just living. He was conscious, and 
 when I leaned over him his eyes glistened for a 
 minute, he smiled and feebly said : 
 
 "Say, Mister Bates, didn't I do them fellers up 
 in good shape ? When I gets well again will you 
 gimme back my job so I can learn some more 
 about the tick tick? I'll never monkey any more, 
 honest to God, I won't." 
 
 A queer lump came in my throat and there was 
 a suspicion of moisture in my eyes as I contem- 
 plated this brave little hero, and I said : 
 
 "God bless your brave little heart, Dick, you 
 can have anything on this division." 
 
 Mr. Antwerp had appeared and was visibly af- 
 fected. We had Dick removed to the company 
 hospital, and then for some days he lay hovering 
 between life and death, but youth, and a strong 
 constitution finally won out and he began to mend. 
 
 When he was able to sit up I heard his story. 
 It appeared that when I dismissed him he laid 
 around the place for a day, and then jumping a
 
 Jacking Up an Operator 183 
 
 freight, started south. At Sicklen he had been put 
 off by a heartless brakeman and had started to 
 walk to Ashton. It was evening and he became 
 tired. After walking as far as the north end of 
 the cut he laid down and went to sleep behind a 
 pile of old ties. He was awakened by the sound of 
 voices near by, and listening intently, he learned 
 that the men were outlaws and intended to hold up 
 the flyer that night. They intended to flag her 
 down as she entered the cut and do the business in 
 the usual smooth manner. In case she wouldn't 
 stop, they would have a pile of ties on the track 
 that would soon put a quietus on her flight. Poor 
 little Dick was horrified and stealing quietly away 
 some distance he stopped and cogitated. Time 
 was becoming precious. How was he to send a 
 warning ? Oh ! if he could only get into a tele- 
 graph office ! Suddenly an idea struck him. He 
 went a little farther up the track, and shinning up 
 a pole he took his heavy jack-knife, and after a 
 hard effort, succeeded in cutting two wires. An- 
 other pole was climbed and only one wire cut from 
 it. With this strand he made a joint so that the 
 two ends of the despatcher's wire could be brought 
 in easy contact. Then by knocking the two ends 
 together he sent the warning. His cutting of the 
 wire had made a peculiar loud twang and one of
 
 1 84 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 the outlaws heard it. Becoming suspicious, he 
 and his partner started up the track to investi- 
 gate. They came upon Dick, kneeling on one 
 knee, engrossed in his work, and without one 
 word of warning shot him in the back. They left 
 him for dead, but thank God he did not die, and 
 to-day he is on a road that before many years will 
 land him on top of the heap.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 AN EPISODE OF SENTIMENT 
 
 THE night man down at Bentonville quit rather 
 suddenly one fall morning, and as I had no im- 
 mediate relief in prospect, I wired the chief de- 
 spatcher of the division south of me to send me a 
 man if he had any to spare. That afternoon I 
 received a message from him saying he had sent 
 Miss Ellen Ross to take the place. I still had a 
 very distinct recollection of my encounter with 
 Miss Love, and I \vasn't overfond of women op- 
 erators anyway, so Miss Ross's welcome to my 
 division was not a hearty one. She was the 
 first woman I had ever had under my jurisdiction. 
 I was at the office quite late a night or two after 
 this, and heard some of her work; there was no 
 use denying that she was a very smooth operator 
 as well as a very prompt one. Burke said he had 
 no complaint to offer; she was always on time, 
 and I must confess I felt much chagrined. I 
 wanted a chance to discharge her, but it didn't 
 appear to materialize. But I was a patient waiter
 
 1 86 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 and one morning about three weeks later I came 
 into the office and on looking over the delay sheet 
 I saw the following entry in the delay column : 
 
 "No. 1 8 delayed fifty minutes, account not be- 
 ing able to raise the operator at Bentonville in that 
 time; as an explanation, operator says she was 
 over at the hotel getting her lunch." 
 
 Evidently Miss Ross had little ingenuity in the 
 line of excuses or she would never have offered 
 such a threadbare one as that. I wanted the 
 chance to annihilate her and here it was. I called 
 up Bentonville and asked if Miss Ross was there. 
 She was, and I said, "Isn't it possible for you to 
 invent a better excuse than 'lunch' for your failure 
 to answer last night, or this morning rather?" 
 
 She drummed on the key for a moment and 
 then said if I didn't like that excuse I knew what 
 I could do. I caught my breath at her audacity 
 and then "did." I sent her time to her on No. 21, 
 and a man to take her place. I then dismissed the 
 matter from my mind and supposed that I had 
 heard the last of Miss Ross. I never was very 
 well acquainted with the female sex or I would 
 not have dismissed the matter with such compla- 
 cency. 
 
 A day or two after this I was sitting in the di-
 
 An Episode of Sentiment 187 
 
 vision superintendent's office, he being out on the 
 road, and I heard a voice say : 
 
 "Is this Mr. Bates?" I had not heard anyone 
 come in and I glanced up and answered, "Yes." 
 I saw before me a young woman of an air and 
 appearance that fairly took my breath away. I 
 immediately arose to my feet and with all possible 
 deference invited her to take a seat. I supposed 
 she was the wife of some of the officials and 
 wanted a pass. In response to my inquiry as to 
 what could I do for her she said, timidly : 
 
 "I am Miss Ross, lately night operator at Ben- 
 tonville." 
 
 Her answer put me more off my ease than ever, 
 but the discipline of the road had to be maintained 
 at any cost ; so as soon as I could, I put on my se- 
 verest look and sternly said, "Well !" She smiled 
 slightly in a way that made me doubt if she were 
 much impressed by my display of rigor; and an- 
 swered, "I came to see if you wouldn't take me 
 back. I am sure I didn't mean to offend the other 
 night. I have been an operator for nearly four 
 years and I have never had the least bit of trouble 
 before. You have no fault to find with my work 
 I am sure; and I promise to be very careful to 
 never offend again. Won't you please take me 
 back?"
 
 1 88 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 Gee ! but she did look pretty and her big black 
 eyes were shining like bright stars. If she had 
 only known it I was ready by this time to have 
 given her the best job on the whole division, even 
 my own, but I wasn't going to give up without 
 a show of resistance and I said : 
 
 "Humph! Well let's see!" Then I rang my 
 bell and told the boy to get me the train sheet of 
 the sixteenth. I looked very stern and very wise 
 as I read the delay report to her. 
 
 "That, Miss Ross, is a very serious offense. A 
 delay of fifty minutes to any train is bad enough, 
 but when it happens to a through freight it is the 
 worst possible. Then you say you were at the 
 hotel for lunch. The order book shows that the de- 
 spatcher called you from two A. M. until two-fifty 
 A. M. Isn't that rather an unearthly hour to be 
 going out to lunch ? My recollection of the Ben- 
 tonville station is that it is a mile from the excuse 
 of a hotel in the place. Really, I am very sorry 
 but I don't see how anything can be done." 
 
 Discipline was being maintained, you see, in 
 great shape, but all the time I was delivering my 
 little speech I was feeling like a big red-headed 
 hypocrite. Miss Ross looked up at me with those 
 beautiful eyes; then two big tears made their ap- 
 pearance on the scene, and she sobbed out ;
 
 An Episode of Sentiment 189 
 
 "Well, I know I told a fib when I made that 
 excuse, but the despatcher was so sharp and I was 
 so scared when he said he had been calling me 
 for fifty minutes, that I told him the first thing 
 that came into my mind. Then, the next day I 
 was angry at you, because I thought you were 
 charring me, as I was the only woman on the line, 
 and I suppose I was rather impudent. But do you 
 think it is fair to discharge me for the same thing 
 that you only gave Mr. Ferral fifteen days for? 
 Are you not doing it simply because I am a 
 woman ?" 
 
 I never could stand a woman's tears, especially 
 a pretty one, and when she cited the case of 
 Ferral, I realized that I had lost my game. I let 
 myself down as easily as I could and that night 
 Miss Ross went back to work at Bentonville, and 
 the man there was put on the waiting list. 
 
 It was very funny after this how many times 
 I had to run down to Bentonville. That Sandia 
 branch line had to be inspected; the switch board 
 had to be replaced by a new one in "BN" office; 
 wires had to be changed, a new ground put in, and 
 many other things done, and always I had to go 
 myself to see that the work was done properly. 
 The agent at Bentonville came, before very long, 
 to smile in a very knowing way whenever I
 
 1 90 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 jumped off the train; Mr. Antwerp had a pecu- 
 liarly wise look in his eye when I mentioned 
 anything about Bentonville, but I didn't mind it. 
 I was in love with the sweet little girl, and was 
 walking on the clouds. If I hadn't been I would 
 have seen that my cake was all dough in that 
 quarter. I might have noticed that big Dan For- 
 bush had an amused look in his eye when I went 
 off on one of these trips. If I had watched the 
 mail I might have seen numerous little billets com- 
 ing daily from Bentonville, addressed in a neat 
 round hand to "Mr. Dan Forbush." But I didn't, 
 I kept right on in my mad career, and one day 
 when my courage was high I offered my hand and 
 my heart to Miss Ross. She refused and told me 
 that while she was honored by my proposal, she 
 had been engaged to Mr. Forbush for two years, 
 having known him down on the "Sunset" before 
 he came to our road. I took my defeat as philo- 
 sophically as I could and the next spring she left 
 Bentonville for good, and Dan took a three weeks' 
 leave. When he came back he brought sweet 
 Ellen as his bride. One evening not long after 
 that I was calling there, when Mrs. Forbush 
 looked up at me very naively and said : 
 
 "Mr. Bates, did I pay you back for discharging 
 me?"
 
 
 
 'Are you not doing it just because I am a woman ? 
 
 (page 189.)
 
 An Episode of Sentiment 191 
 
 There's no doubt about it, she did, and I felt 
 it. She was the third girl to throw me over, and 
 I determined to give up the business and go for a 
 soldier. I stuck it out there till fall and then re- 
 signed for all time.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE MILITARY OPERATOR A FAKE REPORT THAT 
 
 NEARLY CAUSED TROUBLE 
 
 THE railroad and commercial telegraphers are 
 well known to the general public, because they are 
 thrown daily in contact with them, but there is 
 still another class in the profession, which, while 
 not being so well known are, in their way, just as 
 important in their acts and deeds. I refer to the 
 military telegrapher. His work does not often 
 carry him within the environments of civilization ; 
 his instruments are not of the beautiful Bunnell 
 pattern, placed on polished glass partitioned ta- 
 bles ; his task is a very hard one and yet he does it 
 without a grumble. His sphere of duty is out at 
 the extreme edge of advancing civilization. You 
 will find him along the Rio Grande frontier ; out 
 on the sun-baked deserts of New Mexico and Ari- 
 zona; up in the Bad Lands of Montana, and the 
 snow-capped mountains of the Rockies. A few 
 of them you will find in nice offices at some 
 department headquarters or in the war office in 
 192
 
 The Military Operator 193 
 
 Washington, but such places are generally given 
 to men who have grown old and gray in the serv- 
 ice. His office? Any old place he can plant his 
 instruments, many times a tent with a cracker 
 box for a table ; a chair would be an unheard-of 
 luxury. His pay ? Thirteen big round American 
 dollars per month. His rank and title? Hold 
 your breath while I tell you. Private, United 
 States Army. Great, isn't it ? Many times a de- 
 tail to one of the frontier points means farewell to 
 your friends as long as the tour lasts. 
 
 When I left the railroad business I journeyed 
 out westward to Fort Hayes, Kansas, and held up 
 my right hand and swore all manner of oaths 
 to support the Constitution of the United States ; 
 obey the orders of the President of the United 
 States and all superior officers ; to accept the pay 
 and allowances as made by a generous (God save 
 the word) Congress for the period of five years. 
 Thus did I become a soldier and a "dough boy" 
 because I went to the infantry arm of the service. 
 I've stuck to the business ever since. 
 
 I supposed when I went into the army that my 
 connection with wires and telegraph instruments 
 was entirely finished. I had worked at the busi- 
 ness long and faithfully and was in a state of mind 
 that I thought I had had enough. That's very
 
 1 94 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 good in theory, but powerful poor in practice, be- 
 cause I hadn't been soldiering a month before a 
 feeling of home-sickness for my old love came 
 over me ; in fact to this day I never see a railroad 
 but what I want to go up in the despatcher's of- 
 fice and sit down and take a "trick." But there 
 were commissions to be had from the ranks of the 
 army and I wanted one, so I hung on and did my 
 duty as best I could. 
 
 The stay at Fort Hayes was a very peaceful and 
 serene one ; I did no telegraphing there for a year, 
 and then we were ordered to Fort Clark, Texas. 
 When I quit the commercial business I had almost 
 taken an oath never to go back to Texas, but I 
 couldn't help it in this case. 
 
 Fort Clark is one hundred and thirty miles due 
 west of dear old San Antonio, and situated nine 
 miles from the railroad. When my company ar- 
 rived, there was no telegraphic communication 
 with the outside world and all telegrams had to be 
 sent by courier to Spofford Junction, for trans- 
 mission. After having been stationed there for 
 about eight months I was sent for by the com- 
 manding officer and told to take charge of a party 
 and build a telegraph line over to the railroad. 
 The poles had been set by a detachment of the 
 3rd Cavalry and in five days' time I had strung
 
 The Military Operator 195 
 
 the wire. Being the only operator in the post I 
 was placed in charge of the office and relieved 
 from all duty. It was a perfect snap ; no drills, no 
 guards, no parades, nothing but just work the 
 wire and plenty of time to devote to my studies. 
 
 In December, 1890, the Sioux Indians again 
 broke loose from their reservations at Pine Ridge 
 and all of the available men of the pitifully small, 
 but gallant, United States army were hurriedly 
 rushed northwards to give them a smash that 
 would be lasting and convincing. There was the 
 7th Cavalry, Custer's old command, the 6th and 
 9th Cavalry, the roth, 2nd, and i/th Infantry, the 
 late lamented and gallant Capron's flying battery 
 of artillery, besides others General Miles per- 
 sonally assumed command, and the campaign was 
 short, sharp, brilliant and decisive. The Indians 
 were lambasted into a semblance of order, and 
 that personification of deviltry, Sitting Bull, given 
 his transportation to the happy hunting grounds, 
 but not before a score or more of brave officers and 
 men had passes to their long reckoning. Captain 
 George Wallace, of the 7th Cavalry; Lieutenant 
 Mann, of the same regiment, and Lieutenant Ned 
 Casey, of the 22nd Infantry, left places in the 
 ranks of the officers that were hard to fill. 
 
 My regiment, the i8th Infantry, was too far
 
 196 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 away to go, and besides, the Rio Grande frontier, 
 with Senor Garza and his band of cut-throats 
 prowling around loose, could not be left unpro- 
 tected. There would be too big a howl from the 
 Texans if that occurred. 
 
 During all these trying times my telegraph of- 
 fice was naturally the center of interest, and I had 
 made an arrangement with the chief operator at 
 San Antonio to send me bulletins of any impor- 
 tant news. I always made two copies, posting one 
 on the bulletin board in front of my office, and de- 
 livering the other to the colonel in person. 
 
 Soldiers are very loquacious as a rule and give 
 them a thread upon which to hang an argument, 
 and in a minute a free silver, demo-popocrat con- 
 vention would sound tame in comparison. Go 
 into a squad-room at any time the men are off 
 duty, and you can have a discussion on almost any 
 old subject from the result of the coming prize 
 fight to the deepest question of the bible and the- 
 ology. Many times the argument will become so 
 warm between Privates "Hicky" Flynn and "Pie 
 Faced" Sullivan that theology will be settled a la 
 Queensbury out behind the wash-house. Among 
 soldiers this argumentative spirit is called "chew- 
 ing the rag." 
 
 One morning shortly after Wounded Knee with
 
 The Military Operator 197 
 
 its direful results had been fought, I thought it 
 would be a great joke to post a startling bulletin, 
 just to start the men's tongues a-wagging. 
 So I wrote the following : 
 
 "Bulletin 
 
 "San Antonio, Texas, 12 | 26, 1890. 
 "Reported that the 6th and 9th Cavalry were 
 ambuscaded yesterday by Sioux Indians under 
 Crazy Horse, and completely wiped out of exist- 
 ence. Custer's Little Big Horn massacre out- 
 done. Not a man escaped." 
 
 I chuckled with fiendish glee as I posted this on 
 the bulletin board and then started for breakfast. 
 I thought some soldier would read it, tell it to the 
 men of his company, and in that way the fun 
 would commence. My scheme worked to perfec- 
 tion, because some of the men of G Company, 
 (mine was D) had seen me stick it up and had 
 come post haste to read. I started the ball rolling 
 in my own company and in about a minute there 
 were fifty men around me all jabbering like mag- 
 pies as to the result of this awful massacre. Of 
 course, the regiment would be hurried north forth- 
 with no other regiment could do the work of 
 annihilation so well as the i8th. Oh! no. Of 
 course not !
 
 198 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 Said my erstwhile friend and bunkie "Hickey" 
 Flynn : "Av coorse, Moiles will be after sendin' 
 a message to Lazelle to bring the Ateenth fut up at 
 once, and thin the smashin' we will be after givin' 
 them rid divils will make a wake look sick." 
 
 "Aw cum off, Hickey," said Sullivan, "phat the 
 divil doesyez knowav foightin' injuns? Phat were 
 ye over in the auld sod ? Nathin' but a turf dig- 
 ger. Phat were ye here before ye 'listed ? Dom ye, 
 I think ye belong to the Clan na Gael and helped 
 to murther poor Doc Cronin, bad cess to ye." 
 
 A display of authority on the part of the top 
 sergeant prevented a clash and the jaw-breaking 
 contest proceeded. By this time the news had 
 spread and the entire garrison were talking. Just 
 as I was about to tell them that it was a fake pure 
 and simple, I happened to glance towards my of- 
 fice, and Holy Smoke ! there was my captain stand- 
 ing on his tiptoes (he was only five feet four) 
 reading that confounded bulletin. I hadn't 
 counted on any of the officers reading it. Gener- 
 ally they didn't get up until eight o'clock and by 
 that time I would have destroyed the fake report. 
 The officers' club was in the same building as 
 my office and the captain had come down early, 
 evidently to get a to read the morning paper 
 (which came at 4 p. M.) and his eye lighted on
 
 The Military Operator 199 
 
 my bulletin. I saw him read it carefully, and then 
 reaching up he tore it from the board and as quick 
 as his little legs would carry him, he made a bee 
 line for the commanding officer's quarters. I 
 knew full well how the colonel would regard that 
 bulletin when he found out it was a fake. I was 
 able to discern a summary court-martial in my 
 mind's eye, and that would knock my chances for 
 a commission sky- highwards because a man's 
 military record must be absolutely spotless when 
 he appears for examination. What was I to do? 
 Just then I saw the captain go up the colonel's 
 steps, ring the bell, and in a moment he was ad- 
 mitted. I felt that my corpse was laid out right 
 then and there and the wake was about to begin. 
 
 A few moments later the commanding officer's 
 orderly came in, and looking around for a min- 
 ute, caught sight of me and said : 
 
 "Corporal, the commanding officer wants to 
 see you at his quarters at once," and out he went. 
 "Start the band to playing the 'Dead March in 
 Saul,' " thought I, "because this is the beginning 
 of a funeral procession in which I am to play the 
 leading part." I walked as slowly as I could and 
 not appear lagging, but I arrived at my crematory 
 all too soon. I rapped on the door and in tones 
 that made me shiver, was bidden by the old man to
 
 200 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 come in. The colonel was standing in the middle 
 of his parlor, wrapped in a gaudy dressing gown, 
 and in his hand he held my mangled bulletin. 
 Right at that minute I wished I had never heard 
 a telegraph instrument click. 
 
 "Corporal," said the colonel, "what time did 
 you receive this bulletin?" 
 
 "About six-fifteen, sir, immediately after rev- 
 eille," I replied with a face as expressionless as a 
 mummy's. 
 
 "Why did you not bring it to me direct as you 
 have heretofore done ?" 
 
 "Well, sir, I didn't think you were awake yet, 
 and I did not want to disturb you." 
 
 "Have you any later news, corporal?" 
 
 "No sir, none, but I haven't been back to the 
 office since, sir." Gee ! but that room was becom- 
 ing warm ! 
 
 "Are you certain as to the truth of this awful 
 report ?" 
 
 "It is probably as authentic as a great many 
 stories that are started during times like these 
 that is all I know of it, sir." (Lord forgive me.) 
 
 "It seems almost too horrible to be true, and yet, 
 one cannot tell about those Sioux. They're a bad 
 lot a devilish bad lot" this to my captain and 
 then to me : "You go back to your office, corpo-
 
 The Military Operator 201 
 
 ral, and remain very close until you have a denial 
 or a confirmation of this story and bring any news 
 you may receive to me instanter. That's all cor- 
 poral." 
 
 The "corporal" needed no second dismissal, and 
 saluting I quickly got out of an atmosphere that 
 was far from chilly to me. 
 
 Now, by my cussed propensity for joking, I 
 had involved myself in this mess, and there was 
 but one way out of it, and that was to brazen it 
 out for a while longer and then post a denial of 
 the supposed awful rumor. But the denial must 
 come over the wire, so when I reached my office 
 I called up Spofford and told old man Livingston 
 what I had done and what I wanted him to do 
 for me, and in about half an hour he sent me a 
 "bulletin" saying that the previous report had hap- 
 pily proved unfounded and the 6th and Qth Cav- 
 alry were all right. This message I took at once 
 to the colonel and as he read it he heaved a big 
 sigh of relief, but he dismissed me with a very pe- 
 culiar look in his eye. 
 
 The next evening as I was passing the colonel's 
 quarters on my way to deliver a message to the 
 hospital, I heard him remark to another officer, 
 "Major, don't you think it is strange that the pa- 
 pers received to-day make no mention of that
 
 202 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 frightful report received here yesterday morning 
 relative to the supposed massacre of the 6th and 
 9th Cavalry?" 
 
 No, the major didn't think it a bit strange. 
 Maybe he knew that newspaper stories should be 
 taken cum grano salis, and then maybe he knew 
 me. 
 
 There were no more ''fake reports" from that 
 office.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 PRIVATE DENNIS HOGAN, HERO 
 
 IT WAS while I was sitting around a barrack- 
 room fire that I picked up the following story. 
 There were a number of old soldiers in my com- 
 pany men who had served twenty-five years in 
 the army and their fund of anecdote and excite- 
 ment was of the largest size. 
 
 On Thanksgiving Day, 187 , Private Dennis 
 Hogan, Company B, 29th United States Infantry, 
 the telegraph operator at Fort Flint, Montana, sat 
 in his dingy little "two by four" office in the head- 
 quarter building, communing with himself and 
 cussing any force of circumstances that made him 
 a soldier. The instruments were quiet, a good 
 Thanksgiving dinner had been enjoyed and now 
 the smoke from his old "T. D." pipe curled in 
 graceful rings around his red head. 
 
 Denny was a smashing good operator and some 
 eighteen months before he had landed in St. Louis 
 dead broke. All the offices and railroads were 
 203
 
 204 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 full and nary a place did he get While walking 
 up Pine street one morning his eye fell foul of a 
 sign: 
 
 "Wanted, able-bodied, unmarried men, between 
 the ages of twenty-one and thirty-five, for ser- 
 vice in the United States Army." 
 
 In his mind's eye he sized himself up and came 
 to the conclusion that he would fill all the require- 
 ments. Now, he hadn't any great hankering for 
 soldiering, but he didn't have a copper to his name 
 and as empty stomachs stand not on ceremony, in 
 he went and after being catechized by the recruit- 
 ing sergeant, he was pounded for thirty minutes by 
 the examining surgeon, pronounced as sound as a 
 dollar, and then sworn in "to serve Uncle Sam 
 honestly and faithfully for five years. So help 
 me God." The space of time necessary to trans- 
 form a man from a civilian to a soldier is of a very 
 short duration, and almost before he knew it he 
 was dressed in the plain blue of the soldier of the 
 Republic. He was assigned to B company of the 
 29th United States Infantry stationed at Fort 
 Flint, Montana. The experience was new and 
 novel to him, and the three months recruit train- 
 ing well nigh wore him out, but he stuck to it, and 
 some two months after he had been returned to 
 duty, he was detailed as telegraph operator vice
 
 Private Dennis Hogan, Hero 205 
 
 Adams of G Company, discharged. There he had 
 remained since. 
 
 At four o'clock on the afternoon in question 
 Denny was aroused from his reverie by the 
 sounder opening up and calling "FN" like blue 
 blazes. He answered and this is what he took : 
 
 "DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS ST. PAUL, MINN. 
 
 "November 26th, 187 
 "COMMANDING OFFICER, 
 
 "Fort Flint, Montana. 
 
 "Sioux Indians out. Prepare your command 
 for instant field service. Thirty days' rations; 
 two hundred rounds ammunition per man. Wire 
 when ready. 
 
 "By command of Major General Wherry. 
 "(Signed) SMITH, 
 
 "Assistant Adjutant-General." 
 
 Denny was the messenger boy as well as opera- 
 tor and without waiting to make an impression 
 copy, he grabbed his hat and flew down the line to 
 the colonel's quarters. That worthy was enter- 
 taining a party at dinner, and was about to give 
 Hogan fits for bringing the message to him in- 
 stead of to the post adjutant ; but a glance at the 
 contents changed things and in a moment all was 
 bustle and confusion. 
 
 For weeks the premonitory signs of this out-
 
 206 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 break had been plainly visible, but true to the red- 
 tape conditions, the army could not move until 
 some overt act had been committed. The gener- 
 ous interior department had supplied the Indians 
 with arms and ammunition and then Air. Red 
 Devil under that prince of fiends incarnate, Sit- 
 ting Bull, started on his campaign of plunder and 
 pillage. 
 
 At eight o'clock that night Colonel Clarke wired 
 his chief that his command was ready, and at mid- 
 night he received orders to proceed the next morn- 
 ing at daylight, by forced marches up to the junc- 
 tion of the forks of the Red Bud, and take position 
 there to intercept the Indians should they attempt 
 to cross. Two regiments from the more northern 
 posts were due to reach there at the same time, and 
 the combined strength of the three commands was 
 supposed to be sufficient to drive back any body of 
 Indians. There was little sleep in Fort Flint that 
 night. 
 
 Now, Hogan wasn't much of a success as a gar- 
 rison soldier, but when a chance for a genuine 
 fight presented itself, all the Irish blood in his na- 
 ture came to the surface, and after much pleading 
 and begging, the adjutant allowed him to join his 
 company, detailing Jones of D Company as opera- 
 tor in his stead. Jones wasn't as good an opera-
 
 Private Dennis Hogan, Hero 207 
 
 tor by far as Denny, but in a pinch he could do the 
 work, and besides, he had just come out of the 
 hospital and was unable to stand the rigors attend- 
 ant upon a winter campaign in Montana. 
 
 Denny went to his company quarters in high 
 glee and soon had his kit all packed. Some weeks 
 before he had been out repairing the line and when 
 he returned to the post he had left a small pocket 
 instrument and a few feet of office wire in his 
 haversack. He saw these things and was about 
 to remove them, when something impelled him to 
 take them along. What this was no one ever 
 knew. Perhaps premonition. 
 
 The next morning just as the first dim shadows 
 of early dawn stole over the snow-clad earth, the 
 gallant old 29th, five hundred strong, swung out 
 of Fort Flint, on its long tramp. From out of 
 half-closed blinds on the officer's line gazed many 
 a tear-stained face, and up on "Soapsuds Row" 
 many an honest-hearted laundress was bemoaning 
 the fates that parted her from her "ould mon." 
 
 The weather turned bitter cold and after seven 
 days of the hardest kind of marching they reached 
 and crossed the Red Bud just below the junction 
 of the two forks. A strong position was taken 
 and every disposition made to prevent surprise.
 
 ao8 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 The expected re-enforcement would surely come 
 soon and then all would be safe. 
 
 The next day dawned and passed, but not a sign 
 of that re-enforcement. That night queer looking 
 red glows were seen at stated intervals on the hori- 
 zon North, West and East on the north side of 
 the river, and to the South on the other bank did 
 they gleam and glow. Colonel Clarke was old 
 and tried in Indian warfare and well did he know 
 what those fires meant Indians and lots of 
 them all around his command. His hope now 
 was that the two northern regiments would strike 
 them in the rear while he smashed them in front. 
 
 The next morning, first one, two, three, four, 
 an hundred, a thousand figures mounted on fleet 
 footed ponies appeared silhouetted against the 
 clear sky, and it wasn't long before that little com- 
 mand of sturdy bluecoats was surrounded by a 
 superior force of the wildest red devils that ever 
 strode a horse or fired a Winchester rifle. Slowly 
 they drew their lines closer about the troops like 
 the clinging tentacles of some monster devilfish, 
 and about eleven o'clock, Bang! and the battle 
 was on. 
 
 "Husband your fire, men. Don't shoot until 
 you have taken deliberate aim, and can see the ob-
 
 Private Dennis Hogan, Hero 209 
 
 ject aimed at," was the word passed along the line 
 by Colonel Clarke. 
 
 Behind hastily constructed shelter trenches the 
 soldiers fought off that encircling band of Indians, 
 with a desperation and valor born of an almost 
 hopeless situation. Ever and anon, from across 
 the river came the ping of a Winchester bullet, 
 proving that retreat was cut off that way. The 
 Indians had completely marched around them. 
 
 Where was the re-enforcement? Why didn't 
 it come ? Was this to be another Little Big Horn, 
 and were these brave men to be massacred like the 
 gallant 7th Cavalry under Custer ? As long as his 
 ammunition held out Colonel Clarke knew he 
 could stand them off, but after three days of hard 
 fighting, resulting in the loss of many brave men, 
 the situation was becoming desperate. Fires could 
 not be lighted and more than one brave fellow 
 went to kingdom come in filling the canteens at 
 the river's bank. Most of the animals had been 
 shot, many of them being used for breastworks. 
 
 Colonel Clarke was inspecting his lines on the 
 early evening of the third day, and had about 
 made up his mind to ask for a volunteer to try and 
 get beyond the Indian lines and carry the news to 
 Fort Scott, sixty miles away, to call for re-en- 
 forcements. Six troops of the nth Cavalry were
 
 2 1 o Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 stationed there under his old friend and class- 
 mate, Colonel Foster. He knew the character of 
 the regular army chaps well enough to be certain 
 they would come to his assistance, if it were a pos- 
 sible thing. If all went well with his courier in 
 three days' time they would be there. 
 
 The word was passed along the line and in a 
 few seconds he had any number of officers and 
 men who were willing and ready to take the ride. 
 Just as the colonel had decided to send ist Lieu- 
 tenant Jarvis on this perilous trip, Hogan ap- 
 peared before him, saluting with military precision, 
 and said with a broad Irish brogue : 
 
 "Axin' yer pardin' kurnel, but Oi think Oi kin 
 tell ye a betther way. The telegraph loine from 
 Scott to Kearney runs just twenty-foive moiles 
 beyant here to the southards. Up at the end of 
 our loines on the other side of the river is a deep 
 ravine. If Oi kin get across with a good horse 
 and slip through the Indian loines on the other 
 soide, I can, by hard roidin' reach this loine in two 
 or three hours. I have a pocket instrument wid 
 me and can cut in and ask for re-enforcements 
 from Fort Scott. If the loine is down I can con- 
 tinue on to the post, and make as quick time as 
 any of the officers ; if it is up it will be a matther 
 of a short toime before we are pulled out of this
 
 Private Dennis Hogan, Hero 211 
 
 hole. Plaze let me thry it kurnel. Lieutenant 
 Jarvis has a wife and two children, and his loss 
 would be greatly felt, whoile I I well I haven't 
 any wan, sir, and besoides, I'm an Irishman, and 
 you know, kurnel, an Irishman is a fool for luck." 
 This last was said with a broad grin. 
 
 Colonel Clarke was somewhat amazed at this 
 speech, but he studied reflectively, with knitted 
 brows for a moment, and then said, "All right, 
 Hogan, I'll let you try it. Take my horse and 
 start at three o'clock in the morning. Do your 
 best, my man, do your best; the lives of the re- 
 mainder of this command depend on your efforts. 
 God be with you." 
 
 "If I fail kurnel, it will be because I'm dead, 
 sir." 
 
 Shortly before three o'clock in the morning, 
 Denny made ready for his perilous ride. The 
 horse's hoofs were carefully padded, ammunition 
 and revolver looked after, the pocket instrument 
 fastened around his neck by the wire, so if any 
 accident happened to the horse he would not be 
 unnecessarily delayed, and all was ready. He 
 gave his old bunkie a farewell silent clasp of the 
 hand and then started on his ride that meant life 
 or death to his comrades. The horse was a mag- 
 nificent Kentuckian and seemed to know what was
 
 2 1 2 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 required of him. Carefully and slowly Hogan 
 pushed his way to the place opposite the ravine, 
 and then giving his mount a light touch with the 
 spurs, he took to the cold water. The stream was 
 filled with floating ice but was only about fifty 
 yards wide and in a few minutes he was safely 
 over, and climbing up the other bank through the 
 ravine. Finally, the end was reached and he was 
 on high ground. Resting a minute to see if all 
 was well, he -started. So far, so good, he was 
 beyond the Indian lines. He was congratulating 
 himself on the promised success of his mission 
 when all at once, directly in front of him he saw 
 the dim shadowy outlines of a mounted Indian. 
 Quick as a flash Denny pulled his revolver and 
 another Indian was soon in the happy hunting 
 ground. This caused a general alarm and Hogan 
 knew he was in for it. Putting his spurs deep in 
 his horse's flanks away he went with the speed of 
 the wind. A perfect swarm of Indians came after 
 him, yelling like fiends and shooting like demons. 
 On ! on ! he sped, seemingly bearing a charmed 
 life because bullets whizzed by him like hail. He 
 was not idle, and when the opportunity presented 
 itself his revolver spoke and more than one Indian 
 pony was made riderless thereby. 
 
 Suddenly he felt a sharp stinging pain in his
 
 Private Dennis Hogan, Hero 213 
 
 right shoulder, and but for a convulsive grasp of 
 the pommel with his bridle hand he would have 
 pitched headlong to the earth. 
 
 No, by God! he couldn't fail now. He must 
 succeed, the lives of his comrades depended on his 
 efforts. He had told Colonel Clarke he would get 
 through or die, and he was a long way from dead 
 yet. Only an hour and a half more and he would 
 have sent the message and then all the Indians in 
 the country could go to the demnition bow wows 
 for all he cared. 
 
 Hearing no more shots Denny drew rein for a 
 moment and listened. Not a sound could be heard, 
 the snow had started to softly fall and the first 
 faint rays of light on the eastern horizon heralded 
 the approach of a new-born day. Ah! he had 
 outridden his pursuers. Gently patting his faith- 
 ful horse's neck, he once more started swiftly on, 
 and when he was within a few miles of the line 
 he chanced to glance back and saw that one lone 
 Indian was following him. 
 
 Now it was a case of man against man. In his 
 first flight and running fight he had fired away all 
 his ammunition save one cartridge. This he de- 
 termined to use to settle his pursuer, but not until 
 it was absolutely necessary ; and putting spurs to 
 his already tired horse, he galloped on.
 
 2 1 4 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 The Indian was slowly gaining on him and he 
 saw the time for decisive action was at hand. 
 Ahead of him but one short half mile was that 
 line, already in the early morning light he could 
 see the poles, and if the god of battles would only 
 speed his one remaining bullet in the right direc- 
 tion, his message could be sent in safety and his 
 comrades rescued. His wounded right arm was 
 numb from pain and his left was not the steadiest 
 in the world, but nothing venture, nothing have, 
 and just then Bang! and a ballet whizzed by 
 his head. "Not this toime, ye red devil," Denny 
 defiantly shouted. A second bullet and he dropped 
 off his horse. Quickly wheeling about, he dropped 
 on his stomach, and taking a careful aim over his 
 wounded right arm, he fired. The shot was appar- 
 ently a true one and the Indian pitched off head 
 first and lay still. 
 
 With an exultant shout Hogan jumped up and 
 started for the line. Nothing could stop him now. 
 Loss of blood and the intense cold had weakened 
 him so that his legs were shaky, the earth seemed 
 to be going around at a great rate, dark spots were 
 dancing before his eyes ; but with a superhuman 
 effort he recovered himself and was soon at the 
 line. 
 
 The wire was strung on light lances, and if
 
 Private Dennis Hogan, Hero 215 
 
 Denny were in full possession of his strength he 
 could easily pull one down. He threw his weight 
 against one with all of his remaining force but 
 to no avail. What was he to do? But sixteen 
 feet intervened between him and that precious 
 wire. 
 
 The faithful, tired horse, when Denny jumped 
 off, had only run a little way and stopped, only too 
 glad of the chance to rest. He was now standing 
 near Hogan, as if intent on being of some further 
 use to him. Suddenly Denny's anxious eyes 
 lighted on the horsehair lariat attached to the sad- 
 dle. Here was the means at hand. Quickly as 
 he could he undid it, and with great difficulty tied 
 one end to the pommel and the other to the lance. 
 Then he gave the horse a sharp blow, and, 
 Crash! down went the lance. 
 
 Making the connections to the pocket instru- 
 ment as best he could with one cold hand, he 
 placed the wire across a sharp rock and a few 
 blows with the butt of his revolver soon cut it. 
 The deed was done. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Private Dunn, the operator at Fort Scott, 
 opened up his office bright and early one cold 
 morning and marveled to find the wire working 
 clear to Kearney. After having a chat with the
 
 2 1 6 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 man at Kearney about the Indian trouble, he was 
 sitting around like Mr. Micawber when he heard 
 the sounder weakly calling "FS." Quickly ad- 
 justing down he answered and this is what he 
 took. 
 
 "COMMANDING OFFICER, 
 
 "Fort Scott, Montana. 
 
 "29th Infantry surrounded by large body 
 hostile Sioux just north of junction of the forks 
 of the Red Bud. Colonel Clarke asks for imme- 
 diate re-enforcements ; ammunition almost gone ; 
 situation desperate. I left the command at three 
 o'clock this morning. 
 
 "(Signed.) DENNIS Ho/' 
 
 Then blank, the sounder was still and the line 
 remained open. The sending had been weak and 
 shaky, just as if the sender had been out all night, 
 but there was no mistaking the purport of the mes- 
 sage. 
 
 Dunn didn't wait to pick up his hat but fairly 
 flew down the line to the commanding officer's 
 quarters. The colonel was not up yet, but the 
 sound of animated voices in the hallway caused 
 him to appear at the head of the stairs in his 
 dressing gown. 
 
 "What is it, Dunn," he asked.
 
 Private Dennis Hogan, Hero 217 
 
 "A message from the 2gth Infantry, sir, saying 
 they are surrounded by the Sioux Indians and 
 want help." 
 
 Colonel Foster read the message, and ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 "My God ! Charlie Clarke stuck out there and 
 wants help! Dunn, have the trumpeter sound 
 'Boots and Saddles/ Present my compliments 
 to the adjutant and tell him I desire him to report 
 to me at once. Kraus," this to his Dutch striker 
 who was standing around in open-mouthed won- 
 derment "saddle my horse and get my field kit 
 ready at once. Be quick about it." 
 
 A few men had seen Dunn's mad rush to the 
 colonel's quarters and suspected that something 
 was up, so they were not surprised a few minutes 
 later to hear "Boots and Saddles" ring out on the 
 clear morning air. The command had been in 
 readiness for field service for some days, and but a 
 few moments elapsed until six sturdy troops were 
 standing in line on the snow-covered parade. A 
 hurried inspection was made by the troop com- 
 manders and then Colonel Foster commanded 
 "Fours right, trot, march," and away they went 
 on their sixty-mile ride of rescue. A few halts 
 were made during the day to tighten girths, and 
 at six o'clock a short rest was made for coffee.
 
 2i 8 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 ******* 
 The sound of the firing across the river shortly 
 after Hogan left the 2Qth was plainly heard by his 
 comrades and many a man was heard to exclaim, 
 "It's all up with poor Denny." But the firing 
 grew more distant and Colonel Clarke had hopes 
 that Hogan had successfully eluded his pursuers 
 and determined to hold on as best he could. He 
 knew full well that the Indians would be extra- 
 ordinarily careful and that it would be folly for 
 him to attempt to get another courier through that 
 night. That day was indeed a hard one ; it was 
 trying to the extreme. Tenaciously did those In- 
 dians watch their prey. Well did they know by 
 the rising of the morrow's sun the ammunition of 
 the soldiers would be exhausted and then would 
 come their feast of murder and scalps ; Little Big 
 Horn would be repeated. 
 
 About two o'clock, Colonel Clarke, utterly re- 
 gardless of personal danger, exposed himself for 
 a moment and Chug ! down he went, shot through 
 the thigh by a Winchester bullet. Brave old chap, 
 never for one minute did he give up, and after 
 having his wound dressed as best it could be done, 
 he insisted on remaining near the fighting line. 
 Lieutenant Jarvis was shot through the arm, Cap- 
 tain Belknap of E Company was lying dead near
 
 Private Dennis Hogan, Hero 219 
 
 his company, and scores of other brave men had 
 gone to their last reckoning. Hanigan, Hogan's 
 bunkie, was badly wounded, and out of his head. 
 Every once in a while he would mumble, "Never 
 you mind, fellers, we will be all right yet, just 
 stand 'em off a little while longer and Denny will 
 be here with the I ith Cavalry. He said he'd do it 
 and by God ! he won't fail." 
 
 As the shades of the cold winter evening crept 
 silently over the earth, the firing died away, and 
 the command settled down to another night of the 
 tensest anxiety and watching. Oh! why didn't 
 those northern regiments come ? Did Hogan suc- 
 ceed in his perilous mission? Depressed indeed 
 were the spirits of the officers and men. 
 
 About nine o'clock Lieutenant Tracy, the adju- 
 tant, was sitting beside his chief, who was appar- 
 ently asleep. Suddenly, Colonel Clarke sat up 
 and grabbing Tracy by the arm said, "Hark! 
 what's that noise I hear?" 
 
 "Nothing sir, nothing," replied Tracy; "lie 
 down Colonel and try to rest, you need it sir" 
 and then aside "poor old chap, his mind's 
 wandering." 
 
 "No, no, Tracy. Listen man, don't you hear 
 it ? It sounds like the beat of many horses' hoofs,
 
 220 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 re-enforcements are coming, thank God. Hogan 
 got through." 
 
 Just then, Crash ! Bang ! and a clear voice rang 
 out, "Right front into line, gallop, March! 
 Charge!" and those sturdy chaps of the nth 
 Cavalry true to their regimental hatred for the In- 
 dians, charged down among the red men scatter- 
 ing them like so much chaff. Then to the north- 
 wards was heard another ringing cheer, and the 
 two long-delayed regiments came down among 
 the Indians like a thunderbolt of vengeance. 
 Truly, ''It never rains but it pours." The 29th, 
 all that was left of it, was saved, and when Colonel 
 Foster leaned over the prostrate form of his old 
 friend and comrade, Colonel Clarke feebly asked, 
 "Where is that brave little chap, Hogan?" 
 
 "Hogan? Who is Hogan?" asked Foster. 
 
 "Why, my God, man, Hogan was the man that 
 got beyond the Indian lines to make the ride to 
 inform you of our plight. Didn't you see him ?" 
 
 "No, I didn't see him," and then Colonel Foster 
 related how the information had reached him. 
 
 A rescuing party was started out and in the pale 
 moonlight they came upon the body of poor 
 Denny lying stark and stiff under the telegraph 
 line, his left hand grasping the instrument and the
 
 Private Dennis Hogan, Hero 221 
 
 key open. A bullet hole in his head mutely told 
 how he had met his death. Beside him lay the 
 Indian, dead, one hand grasping Hogan's scalp 
 lock, the other clasping a murderous-looking knife. 
 Death had mercifully prevented the accomplish- 
 ment of his hellish purpose. 
 
 Hogan's shot had mortally wounded the Indian 
 in the left breast, but with all the vengeful nature 
 of his race, he had crawled forward on his hands 
 and knees, and while Hogan was intent on send- 
 ing his precious message, he shot him through the 
 head, but not until the warning had been given to 
 Fort Scott. Denny's faithful horse was standing 
 near, as if keeping watch over the inanimate form 
 of his late friend. 
 
 They buried him where he lay, and a traveler 
 passing over that trail, will observe a solitary 
 grave. On the tombstone at the head is in- 
 scribed : 
 
 "DENNIS HOGAN, 
 
 "Private, Company B, 
 
 "29th U. S. Infantry. 
 
 "He died that others might live."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE COMMISSION WON IN A GENERAL STRIKE 
 
 THE time spent as a soldier in the ranks passed 
 by all too swiftly. The service was pleasant, the 
 duty easy, and the regiment one of the best in the 
 entire army. I don't know any two and a half 
 years of my life that have been as happy and 
 peaceful as those spent in the ranks of the Ameri- 
 can Army. When the proper time came my recom- 
 mendations were all in good shape and I was duly 
 ordered to appear before an august lot of officers 
 and gentlemen at Fortress Monroe, Virginia, to 
 determine my fitness to trot along behind a com- 
 pany, sign the sick-book, and witness an occasional 
 issue of clothing. One warm June afternoon I 
 bade good-bye to the men who had so long been 
 my comrades, and journeyed to the eastwards. I 
 was successful in the examinations, and on a Sun- 
 day morning early in August, myself, in company 
 with twelve other young chaps, received the pre- 
 cious little parchment in which the President of 
 
 222
 
 The Commission Won 223 
 
 the United States sends greetings and proclaims 
 to all the world : 
 
 "That reposing especial confidence and trust in 
 the valor, patriotism, and fidelity of one John 
 Smith, I have made him a second lieutenant in the 
 regular army. Look out for him because he hasn't 
 much sense but I have strong hopes as how he will 
 learn after a while." 
 
 The apprenticeship was finished and the chev- 
 rons gave way to the shoulder straps. 
 
 This time I thought surely I had heard the last 
 of the telegraph, never again was I going to touch 
 a key. I had been at my first station just about 
 two months when one morning I appeared before 
 the Signal Officer of the post and plaintively asked 
 him to let me have a set of telegraph instruments. 
 He did, and it wasn't long before I had a ticker 
 going in my quarters. There was no one to prac- 
 tice \vith me, so I just pounded away by myself 
 for an hour or so each day, to keep my hand in. I 
 have yet to see a man who has worked at the busi- 
 ness for any length of time who could give it up 
 entirely. It's like the opium habit powerful 
 hard to break off. I have never since tried to lose 
 sight of it. 
 
 In 189 one of those spasmodic upheavals 
 known as a sympathetic strike spread over the
 
 224 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 country like wild fire, and it wasn't long before the 
 continuance of law and order was entirely out of 
 the hands of the state authorities in about ten 
 states, and once more the faithful little army was 
 called out to put its strong hand on the throat of 
 destruction and pillage. Troops were hurriedly 
 despatched from all posts to the worst points and 
 the inefficient state militia in several states rele- 
 gated to its proper sphere that of holding prize 
 drills and barbecues. 
 
 Owing to the fact that the army cannot be used 
 until a state executive acknowledges his inability 
 to preserve law and order, and owing also to the 
 fact that the executives in one or two of the states 
 were pandering to the socialistic element, saying 
 they could enforce the laws without the assistance 
 of the army, this strike had spread until the entire 
 country except the extreme east and southeast was 
 in its strong grasp, and the work cut out for the 
 army was doled out to it in great big chunks. Men 
 seemed to lose all their senses and the emissaries 
 of the union succeeded in getting many converts, 
 each one of which paid the sum of one dollar to 
 the so-called head of the union. Snap for the 
 aforesaid "head," wasn't it? It was positively 
 refreshing to the army at this time to have at its 
 head a man who did not know what it was to pan-
 
 The Commission Won 225 
 
 der to the socialists, and one who would enforce 
 his solemn oath, "To enforce the laws of the Uni- 
 ted States," at all hazards. United States mail 
 trains were being interfered with ; the Inter-State 
 Commerce law was being violated with impunity, 
 and various other acts of vandalism and pillage 
 were being committed all over the land and the 
 municipal and state authorities "winked the other 
 eye." 
 
 Way out in one of the far western posts was a 
 certain Lieutenant Jack Brainerd, 3ist U. S. In- 
 fantry, serving with his company. Jack was a 
 big, whole-souled, impulsive chap, and before his 
 entrance to the military academy, had been a 
 pretty fair operator. In fact, being the son of a 
 general superintendent of one of the big trunk 
 lines, he was quite familiar with a railroad, and 
 could do almost anything from driving a spike, or 
 throwing a switch to running an engine. The first 
 three years succeeding his graduation had been 
 those of enervating peace ; all of which palled on 
 the soul of Lieutenant Jack to a large degree. The 
 martial spirit beat high within his breast, and he 
 wanted a scrap he wanted one badly. 
 
 The preliminary mutterings of this great strike 
 had been heard for days, but no one dreamed that 
 anarchy was about to break loose with the strength
 
 226 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 of all the fires of hell ; and yet such was the case. 
 On the evening of July 4th, a message came to the 
 commanding officer at Fort Blank, to send his 
 command of six companies of infantry to C at 
 once to assist in quelling the riots. The chance 
 for a scrap so longed for by Lieutenant Brainerd 
 was coming swift and sure. The next morning 
 the command pulled out. The trip was unevent- 
 ful during the day, but at night a warning was 
 received by Major Sharp, the grizzled battalion 
 commander, who had fought everything from 
 manly, brave confederates to skulking Indians, to 
 watch out for trouble as he approached the storm 
 centre. There were rumors of dynamited bridges, 
 broken rails, etc. The major didn't believe much 
 in these yarns, but "Verbum Sap." and the 
 precautions were taken. The next morning at 
 five the train pulled into Hartshorne, eleven miles 
 out from C . This was the beginning of the 
 great railroad yards and evidences of the presence 
 of the enemy were becoming very apparent. A 
 large crowd had gathered to watch the bluecoats 
 and it was plain to be seen that they were in full 
 sympathy with the strikers. "Scab" and a few 
 other choice epithets were hurled at the train crew, 
 and when they were ready to pull out the train 
 didn't go. The conductor went forward and
 
 The Commission Won 227 
 
 found that the engineer had refused to handle his 
 engine because Hartshorne was his home and the 
 crowd had threatened to kill him if he hauled that 
 load of "slaves of Pullman" any further. When 
 Major Sharp heard of it his little grey eyes 
 snapped and he growled out : 
 
 "Won't pull this train, eh ! Well, damn him, 
 we'll make him pull it. Here, Mr. Brainerd, you 
 take some men and go forward and make that en- 
 gineer take us through these yards. If he refuses 
 you know what to do with him." 
 
 Do ? Well, I reckon Jack knew what to do all 
 right enough. He took Sergeant Fealy, a vet- 
 eran, and three men and went forward. The en- 
 gineer, a little snub-nosed Irishman, was at his 
 post with his fireman, a good head of steam was 
 on, but nary an inch did that train budge. A big 
 crowd of men and women stood around jeering 
 and laughing at the plight of the bluecoats. Push- 
 ing his way through the crowd, Jack climbed up 
 into the cab closely followed by his little escort. 
 
 "Sergeant Fealy," he said in a voice loud 
 enough to be heard a block, "get up on that tender, 
 have your men load their rifles, and shoot the first 
 d d man that raises a hand or throws a missile. 
 And you," this to the engineer, "shove that reverse 
 lever over and pull out."
 
 228 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 "But, my God, lieutenant," expostulated the en- 
 gineer, "this is my home and if I pull you fellers 
 out of here they'll kill me on sight besides look at 
 the track ahead. I'd run over and kill a lot of 
 those people." 
 
 "There's no 'buts' about it. This train is going 
 in or I'll lose my commission in the army ; besides 
 if these people haven't sense enough to get out of 
 the way let 'em die." 
 
 Mr. Engineer started to expostulate farther but 
 the ominous click of a .38 Colt's was incentive 
 enough to make him stop and then he shoved her 
 over and gave her a little steam just a coaxer. 
 
 "Here, you blasted chump, that won't do," and 
 with that Brainerd reached over and yanked the 
 throttle so that she bounded away like a hare ; at 
 the same time he gave her sand. It's a great won- 
 der every draw head in the train didn't pull out, 
 but fortunately they held on. The crowd on the 
 track melted away like the mists before the sum- 
 mer's sun, and beyond a few taunting jeers no 
 overt act was committed. The engineer didn't 
 relish the idea of a soldier running his engine and 
 became somewhat obstreperous. Brainerd grabbed 
 him by the scruff of the neck and landed him all 
 in a heap in the coal. Then he climbed up on the 
 right-hand side of the cab and took charge of
 
 The Commission Won 229 
 
 things himself. There were myriads of tracks 
 stretching out before him like the long arms of 
 some giant octopus, but all traffic was suspended 
 on account of the strike and the main line was 
 clear. The train flew down the line like a scared 
 rabbit and in thirty minutes reached the camp at 
 Blake Park. I had arrived there that morning 
 from the south for special service and when I saw 
 Brainerd climb down off of that engine his face 
 was smutty, but his eyes twinkled and he came 
 towards me with a broad grin and said, 
 
 "Hello, Bates, where in thunder did you spring 
 from?" 
 
 There wasn't much time for talking because the 
 great city was groaning beneath the grasp of an- 
 archy, and until that power was broken, there 
 would be no rest for the weary. 
 
 The situation that existed at this time is too well 
 known to require any explanation here. The state 
 and city authorities were powerless; the militia 
 inefficient and many a citizen bowed his head and 
 thanked God on that warm July morning for the 
 arrival of the regulars. Only twenty-one hun- 
 dred of them all told, mind you, against so many 
 thousands of the rioters, and yet, they were dis- 
 ciplined men and led by officers who simply en- 
 forced orders as they received them. No matter
 
 230 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 where or what the sympathies of the men of a 
 company might be, when the captain said "Fire," 
 look out, because the bullets would generally fly 
 breast high. The situation resembled the Paris 
 Commune, and but for the timely arrival of the 
 small body of bluecoats, another cow might have 
 kicked over another lamp, and the frightful con- 
 flagration of 1871 have been more than dupli- 
 cated. But the "cow" was slaughtered and the 
 "lamp" extinguished. 
 
 The morning after Brainerd arrived he was de- 
 tailed on special service and ordered to report to 
 me, and together we worked until the trouble was 
 over. Just what this service was need not be re- 
 corded, but one thing sure, railroads and the tele- 
 graph figured in it quite largely. In fact the gen- 
 eral superintendent of the Western Union Tele- 
 graph Company placed the entire resources of the 
 company at my disposal. A wire was run direct 
 to Washington, lines run to all the camps, and 
 Jack and I each carried a little pocket instrument 
 on our person. 
 
 Although the Brotherhood of Locomotive En- 
 gineers did not go out in a body, there was quite 
 a number of them who would not pull trains for 
 fear of personal violence from the strikers. One 
 old chap, Bob Redway, by name, had known Ma-
 
 The Commission Won 231 
 
 jor McKenney of our battalion, in days gone by, 
 when he was pulling a train on the N. P., and the 
 major was stationed at Missoula. Bob wandered 
 into camp one afternoon to see his old friend and 
 just at that time a company was ordered to the 
 southern part of the city to stop a crowd that was 
 looting and burning P. H. Railway property. As 
 usual the engineer backed out at the last moment. 
 The major turned to Redway, and said, "See here, 
 Bob, you're not in sympathy with these cutthroats, 
 suppose you pull this train out." 
 
 "All right, major, I'll pull you through if the 
 old girl will only hold up. She's a stranger to 
 me, but I reckon she'll last." 
 
 Brainerd and I were to go along and do some 
 special work around the stock-yards, and soon we 
 were shooting down the track like a flyer. At 
 62nd street we passed a sullen looking crowd and 
 when we reached i3Oth street, we were flagged 
 by the operator in the tower, and informed that 
 the mob in our rear was starting to block the track 
 by overturning a standard sleeper. They were 
 going to cut us off. We cut the engine loose, put 
 fourteen men up on the tender, and Brainerd and I 
 started back with them. . The engine was going 
 head on, having backed out from the city, and Bob 
 let her put for all she was worth. Just at 62nd
 
 232 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 street there is a long sweeping curve and we were 
 coming around it like a streak of blue lightning, 
 when all at once we saw the crowd just in the act 
 of pulling the sleeper over on our track. There 
 was no time to lose and the command "Fire" was 
 sharply given. "Bang," rang out the Spring- 
 fields, one or two of the mob dropped to the 
 ground, the rest let go of the ropes and ran like 
 scared cats, and the car tottered back in its original 
 place. Redway had shut off steam and was slow- 
 ing down under ordinary air, when all at once 
 there was a dull deafening roar, and then for me 
 oblivion. I was only stunned and when I regained 
 consciousness looked around and saw the men 
 slowly regaining their feet. Redway was not 
 killed, but the shock and concussion of the detona- 
 tion of the dynamite made him lose his speech and 
 he was bleeding profusely at the nose and ears. 
 The cowcatcher, headlight and forward trucks of 
 the engine were blown to smithereens, but fortu- 
 nately the boiler did not burst and there she stood 
 like some powerful monster wounded to the death. 
 The mob, imagining that their fiendish work had 
 been complete, became emboldened and rapidly 
 gathered around the little body of bluecoats. It 
 began to look rocky, and Brainerd came limping 
 over to me and said, "Bates, I'm pretty badly
 
 The Commission Won 233 
 
 bruised about the legs, and can't climb, but if 
 you're able, for God's sake climb that telegraph 
 pole and cut in and ask department headquarters 
 to send us down some help. I'll form the men 
 around the bottom of the pole and shoot the first 
 damned man or woman that throws a missile. 
 We're in a devilish bad box." 
 
 I took the little instrument, nippers and wire 
 and up I went. There were side steps on the pole 
 so the ascent was easy. What a scene below! 
 Five or six thousand angry faces, besotted, coarse 
 and ill-bred looking brutes, gazing up at me with 
 the wrath of vengeance in their hearts; and held 
 at bay by a band of fourteen battered and bruised 
 bluecoats, a wounded engineer and fireman, com- 
 manded by an almost beardless boy. Well did 
 that mob know that if those rifles ever spoke there 
 would be a number of vacant chairs at the various 
 family boards that night. The wire was soon cut, 
 the main office gave me department headquarters 
 and in thirty minutes' time that mob was scatter- 
 ing like so much chaff before the wind, and with a 
 ringing cheer, two companies of the th Infantry 
 came down among them like a thunderbolt. We 
 were saved and took Redway back to camp with 
 us. That evening the major came over to see 
 him. Poor chap! he couldn't speak but he mo-
 
 234 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 tioned for a pencil and paper and this is what he 
 wrote : 
 
 "Don't worry, major, I'm all right. My speak- 
 ing machine seems to have had a head end collision 
 with a cyclone, but if you want me to pull any 
 more trains out my right arm is still in pretty 
 good shape." Bob hung to us all through the try- 
 ing weeks that followed and in the end some of us 
 succeeded in getting him a good position in one 
 of the departments in Washington. 
 
 Far up in the Northwest things were in a very 
 bad shape. Everything was tied up tight; mail 
 trains could not run because there were no men to 
 run them ; "Debsism" had a firm grasp ; and even 
 though many of the trainmen were willing to run, 
 intimidation by the strikers caused them to go 
 slow. 
 
 At one place, call it Bridgeton, there was an 
 overland mail waiting to go out, but no engineer. 
 Here's where the versatility of the American sol- 
 dier came in. Major Clarke of the th Infantry, 
 had four companies of his regiment guarding pub- 
 lic property at Bridgeton and he sent word by his 
 orderly that he wanted a locomotive engineer and 
 a fireman. Quick as a flash he had six engineers 
 and any number of men who could fire. He chose 
 two good men and then detailed Captain Stilling's
 
 The Commission Won 235 
 
 company to go along as an escort. Orders were 
 procured at the telegraph office for the train to run 
 to Pokeville, where further orders would be sent 
 them. When the crowd of loiterers and strikers 
 saw the preparations they jeered in derision. 
 They had the engineer and fireman coralled, but 
 their laugh turned to sorrow when they saw a 
 strapping infantry sergeant climb into the cab and 
 after placing his loaded rifle in front of him, he 
 grasped the throttle and away they went much to 
 the disgust of Mr. Rioter. They didn't like it 
 worth a cent, but as one striker put it, "What's the 
 use of monkeyin' with them reg'lars ? When they 
 gets an order to shoot, they're just damned fools 
 enough to shoot right into the crowd. Milish' 
 fire in the air, because as a rule they have friends 
 in the crowd and don't care to hurt 'em." 
 
 Pokeville was one hundred and two miles from 
 Bridgeton and the run was carefully made and 
 without incident. When the volunteer engineer 
 and Captain Stillings, who was playing conductor, 
 went to the office for orders, they found the place 
 deserted. A sullen-looking crowd was looking on 
 and appeared to enjoy the discomfiture of the sol- 
 diers. They had put the operator away for a 
 while. Pressing up near the sides of the train 
 they became somewhat ugly and Captain Stillings
 
 236 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 brought out his company, and lining them up 
 alongside of the track he turned to his ist lieu- 
 tenant and said : 
 
 "Mr. Mitchell, I'm going into this telegraph 
 office. If this crowd gets ugly I want you to 
 shoot the first damned man that moves a finger to 
 harm anybody." 
 
 But without an operator orders could not be 
 procured, and without orders the train could not 
 go. Captain Stillings was in a quandary, but all 
 at once he stepped out in front of his company and 
 said in a loud tone, "I want an operator." 
 
 "I'm one, sir," said Private O'Brien, quickly 
 stepping forward and saluting. 
 
 "Go in that office and get orders for this train." 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied O'Brien, and in a minute 
 another bluecoat was helping the train on its way. 
 If Captain Stillings had wanted a Chinese inter- 
 preter he could have gotten one any old thing. 
 The train had no further mishaps, because every- 
 thing necessary to run a railroad was right here in 
 one company of sixty-two men belonging to the 
 regular army. 
 
 July slipped away and it was well into August 
 before we returned to our posts and the old grind 
 of "Fours right," and "Fours left."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 EXPERIENCES AS A GOVERNMENT CENSOR OF 
 TELEGRAPH 
 
 THE few years succeeding the great strike were 
 ones of calm, peaceful tranquility. Each recurring 
 November ist, brought the initiation of Post Ly- 
 ceums at all garrisons, in which the officers were 
 gathered together twice a week, and war in all its 
 phases was studied. We didn't exactly know 
 where the war was coming from, but, still we 
 boned it out. Old campaigns were fought over; 
 the mistakes made by the world's greatest com- 
 manders, from Alexander the Great to Grant and. 
 Lee were pointed out; Kriegspiel was played; 
 essays written and discussed, recommendations 
 made as to ammunition and food supply; use of 
 artillery in attack and defense ; the proper method 
 of employing the telegraph in the war; and a 
 thousand and one things relative to the machine 
 militaire were gone over. All this time we were 
 slumbering over a smoldering volcano, and on 
 February 16, 1898, the eruption broke loose; the 
 237
 
 238 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 good ship Maine was destroyed in Havana harbor, 
 and the feelings of the people, already drawn to 
 the breaking point by the inhuman cruelties of 
 Spain towards her colonies near our own shores, 
 burst with a vehemence that portended, in unmis- 
 takable language, the rending asunder of the once 
 proud kingdom of Spain. The army wanted a 
 war; the navy wanted it, the whole population 
 wanted it and here it was within our grasp. It 
 was the dawning of a new day for the United 
 States ; a new empire was being born in the West- 
 ern hemisphere. The feverish preparations at- 
 tendant upon the new conditions are of too recent 
 date to need any sketching here. 
 
 When it was finally determined that the time 
 had arrived for the assembling of the small but 
 efficient regular army, I was stationed with my 
 regiment at Fort Wayne, Michigan. Like all 
 other troops, we were at the post ready for the 
 start. The pistol cracked on the I5th of April, 
 and on the iQth we started. Mobile, Alabama, 
 was our objective where we arrived on the 22nd 
 of the month. Here began the ceaseless prepara- 
 tion for the part the regiment was to play in the 
 grand drama of war that was to follow, all this 
 camp life and concentration being but the pro- 
 logue.
 
 Censor of Telegraph 239 
 
 The camp was a most beautiful one, the weather 
 pleasant, and it was indeed a most inspiring sight 
 to see the long unbroken lines of blue go swinging 
 by, keeping absolute time and perfect alignment 
 to the inspiring strains of some air like "Hot time 
 in the old town to-night," or 'The stars and 
 stripes forever." 
 
 I had started in with my regiment and expected 
 to remain on duty with it until the end of the war, 
 sharing all its perils and hardships, doing my part 
 in the fighting, and partaking of any of the re- 
 nown it might achieve should the Dons ever be 
 met. But "Man proposes and God disposes," and 
 on the afternoon of May 2ist, I was sitting in my 
 tent correcting some manuscript when a very 
 bright-eyed colored newsboy came along and said : 
 
 "Buy a paper, cap'n." 
 
 That was the day that a wild rumor had been 
 in circulation that Sampson had met Cervera in 
 the Bahama Channel and completely smashed him, 
 so I laid down my manuscript and said : 
 
 "Anything in there about Sampson licking Cer- 
 vera?" 
 
 "Naw, sir, dat were a fake, cap'n, but dere is 
 lots of oder news fur you." 
 
 "No, kid, I don't want a paper to-night, and 
 besides I'm not a captain, I'm only a lieutenant."
 
 240 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 "But yer may be one some day. Please buy 
 one cap'n," and with this he laid a paper down on 
 my table (a cracker box). I was about to shove 
 it aside and sharply tell him to skip out when my 
 eye fell upon : 
 
 "Nominations by the President." 
 
 "To be captains in the Signal Corps," then fol- 
 lowed my name. I bought a paper, yes, all he 
 had. 
 
 On May 27th, I was ordered to proceed at once 
 to Tampa, Florida, reporting upon arrival by tele- 
 graph to the chief signal officer of the army for in- 
 structions. Tuesday morning, the 2Qth of May, I 
 reported my arrival and spent the rest of the morn- 
 ing in looking around the camps, renewing old ac- 
 quaintances. I supposed of course that I was to 
 be assigned to the command of one of the new sig- 
 nal companies then forming to take part in the 
 Santiago campaign and was filled with delight at 
 the prospect, but about eleven o'clock I received 
 an order from General Greely directing me to as- 
 sume charge of the telegraphic censorship at 
 Tampa. Three civilians, Heston at Jacksonville, 
 Munn at Miami, and Fellers at Tampa, were 
 sworn in as civilian assistants and directed to re- 
 port to me, thereafter acting wholly under my or- 
 ders. Mr. B. F. Dillon, superintendent of the
 
 Censor of Telegraph 241 
 
 Western Union Telegraph Company, was in 
 Tampa, and I had a long conference with him. He 
 assured me of his confidence and cordial support, 
 and placed the entire resources of his company at 
 my disposal. Operators all over the state were in- 
 structed that anything I ordered was to be obeyed 
 and then the work began. 
 
 The idea of a telegraphic censorship was a new 
 and irksome one to the great American people and 
 just what it meant was hard to determine. Much 
 has been written about "Press Censorship." That 
 term was a misnomer. There never was an at- 
 tempt to censor the great American press. The 
 newspapers were just as free to print as they were 
 before the war started. All the censorship that 
 existed was over the telegraph lines militarily oc- 
 cupied. A government officer was placed in charge 
 and his word was absolute ; he could only be over- 
 ruled by General Greely, the Secretary of War or 
 the President. It was his duty to watch telegrams, 
 regulate the kind that were allowed to pass, and 
 to see that no news was sent whereby the inter- 
 ests of the government or the safety of the army 
 might suffer. 
 
 The instructions I received were general in their 
 nature and in all specific cases arising, my judg- 
 ment was to determine, and I want to remark
 
 242 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 right here, the rapidity with which those specific 
 cases would arise was enough to make a man faint. 
 The first rule made was that cipher messages or 
 those written in a foreign tongue were prohibited 
 unless sent by a government official on public busi- 
 ness. There were a few exceptions to this rule. 
 For instance; many large business houses have 
 telegraphic cipher codes for the transaction of 
 business, and it was not the policy of the govern- 
 ment to interfere in any manner with the commer- 
 cial affairs of the country, so these messages were 
 allowed to pass when the code book was presented 
 to the censor and a sworn translation made in his 
 presence. Spanish messages were transmitted 
 only after being most carefully scanned and upon 
 proof of the loyalty of the sender or receiver and 
 a sworn translation. Not a single private mes- 
 sage could be sent by any one, that in any way 
 hinted at the time of the departure or destination 
 of any ship or body of troops. Even officers about 
 to sail away were not allowed to telegraph their 
 wives and families. If they had a pre-arranged 
 code, whereby a message could be written in plain 
 English, there was no way to stop their transmis- 
 sion. Foreign messages were watched with eagle 
 eyes and many and many a one was gently con-
 
 Censor of Telegraph 243 
 
 signed to the pigeon hole, when the contents and 
 meaning were not plain. 
 
 From Key West (which was shortly afterwards 
 placed in my charge) there ran the cable to Ha- 
 vana, and this line was the subject of an extraordi- 
 narily strict espionage; not a message being al- 
 lowed to pass over it that was not perfectly plain 
 in its meaning. Mr. J. W. Atkins was sworn in as 
 my assistant at Key West, and thus I had the whole 
 state of Florida under my control. All the lines 
 from the southern part of the state converge to 
 Jacksonville, and not a message could go from a 
 point within the state to one out of it without first 
 passing under the scrutiny of either myself or one 
 of my sworn assistants. 
 
 My office was in H. B. Plant's Tampa Bay ho- 
 tel, and there, every day, from seven A. M. until 
 twelve midnight, and sometimes one and two in 
 the morning, I did my work. My own long ex- 
 perience as a practical telegrapher stood me in 
 good stead and when any direct work was to be 
 done with the White House in Washington, or 
 any especially important messages were to be sent, 
 I personally did the telegraphing. At the Execu- 
 tive Mansion was Colonel B. F. Montgomery, sig- 
 nal corps, in charge of the telegraph office, so
 
 244 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 when anything special passed, no one knew it but 
 the colonel and myself. 
 
 The Tampa Bay hotel was at this time the scene 
 of the most dazzling and brilliant gaiety. Shaf- 
 ter's 5th Corps was preparing for its Santiago 
 campaign and each night many officers and their 
 wives would meet in the hotel and pass the time 
 away listening to the music of some regimental 
 band or in pleasant conversation. Men who had 
 not seen each other since the close of the great 
 civil war renewed old acquaintances and spun rem- 
 iniscences by the yard. Military attaches from 
 all the countries of the world were daily arriving, 
 and their gaudy uniforms added a dash of color 
 to the already brilliant panorama. The bright 
 gold of Captain Paget, the English naval attache, 
 the deep blue of Colonel Yermeloff, who repre- 
 sented Russia, contrasted vividly with the blue and 
 yellow of Japanese Major Shiska, and the scarlet 
 and black of Count Goetzen of Germany. But 
 prominent among all this moving panorama of 
 color was the plain blue of the volunteer, and the 
 brown khaki of the regular. My view of the 
 scene was limited to fleeting glimpses from my 
 office where I was nightly scanning messages, do- 
 ing telegraphing or overlooking 30,000 or 40,000 
 words of correspondents' copy. Preparations for
 
 Censor of Telegraph 245 
 
 the embarkation were going on with feverish 
 haste, and orders were daily expected for the army 
 to move. 
 
 There were at this time nearly two hundred 
 newspaper correspondents scattered around 
 through the hotel and in the various camps. They 
 represented papers from all over the world, and 
 were typical representatives of the brain and sinew 
 of the newspaper profession, and were there to 
 accompany the army when it moved. Such men 
 as Richard Harding Davis, Stephen Bonsai, Fred- 
 erick Remington, Caspar Whitney, Grover Flint, 
 Edward Marshall, Maurice Low, John Taylor, 
 John Klein, Louis Seibold, George Farman and 
 Mr. Akers of the London papers, and scores of 
 others. They were quick and active, intensely 
 patriotic, alert for all the news, a "scoop" for 
 them was the blood of life, and the censorship 
 came like a wet blanket. In a small way I had 
 been corresponding for a paper since the begin- 
 ning of the war, but when the detail as censor 
 came I gave it up as the two were incompatible.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 MORE CENSORSHIP 
 
 I MUST confess that I stood in awe of these 
 newspaper chaps, because I knew my orders would 
 incense them and if they took it into their heads 
 to roast me my life would be made miserable for 
 a good many days to come. But then in the army 
 orders are made to be obeyed and I determined 
 not to show partiality to any of them. It was to 
 be "a fair field and no favor," so I sent word and 
 asked them to meet me in the reading-room of the 
 hotel at two o'clock that afternoon. They came 
 garbed in all sorts of field uniform and I made a 
 little speech tellingwhat they might send and what 
 was interdicted ; I remarked that the work was as 
 irksome to me as it was to them, but orders were 
 orders and if they would live up to the few simple 
 rules they would make my task much easier and 
 save themselves lots of trouble. Nothing abso- 
 lutely was to be sent, that would convey in any 
 way an idea of the number of troops in Tampa, 
 the time of arrival or departure of any number of 
 
 246
 
 More Censorship 247 
 
 troops or ships, and above all, not a word was to 
 be sent out as to when the 5th Army Corps was to 
 sail. When I had finished one of the correspond- 
 ents shook his head in a deprecatory way and 
 said: 
 
 "Well, captain, we thought Lieutenant Miley 
 (my predecessor) was bad enough but you can 
 give him cards and spades and beat him out. 
 You're certainly a hummer from the word go, and 
 I reckon we'd better go home." 
 
 He had my sympathy but that was all. Every 
 correspondent had a war department pass; these 
 I examined and registered each man. 
 
 That night my fun commenced. At six p. M. 
 they began to file stuff, and armed with a big blue 
 pencil I started to slash and when I finished, some 
 of their sheets looked like a miniature football 
 field, while their faces betokened blank amazement 
 and intense disgust. Boiled down, the first night's 
 batch of copy consisted of a glowing description 
 of the new censor; this fiend whose weapon was 
 a blue pencil his glowing red whiskers his gog- 
 gle eyes, and his Titian-colored hair. One of 
 them said : 
 
 "This afternoon the new censor stuck his head 
 out of the window and the glow was so great from 
 his red whiskers and auburn locks that the fire
 
 248 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 department was turned out. The latest report is 
 that the censor was unquenched," and so on. They 
 couldn't send any news so they sent me. Most of 
 them were space writers and everything went. In 
 many ways they tried to evade the rules; by in- 
 sinuations, hints upon which a bright telegraph 
 editor could raise an edifice with a semblance of 
 truth, but the blue pencil generally got in its work 
 before the dispatch reached the operator. I had 
 two stamps made; one "O. K. for transmission," 
 and the other, "REJECTED, file, do not return." 
 Number one went on all messages for transmis- 
 sion and number two on all others. As I gaze at 
 these relics now I see that number two has been 
 used much more than its companion. 
 
 I had made it a rule that each paper maintain- 
 ing a correspondent in Tampa was to furnish me 
 with a copy of every edition of the paper. As a 
 result, in a few days I had a mail that was stu- 
 pendous. A clerk was on hand who read these 
 papers, marking all things bearing a Tampa date 
 line. Then I would read them and woe betide the 
 correspondent whose paper contained contraband 
 news from Tampa. Off went his head and his 
 permit was recalled for a certain time as a punish- 
 ment. 
 
 There never has been a line of sentinels so
 
 More Censorship 249 
 
 strong but that some one could break through, 
 and there was undoubtedly some leakage from 
 Tampa, but to see news of actual importance from 
 there was like hunting for a needle in a haystack. 
 The mails carried out some, but even then the cor- 
 respondents suffered. Two incidents may not be 
 amiss. 
 
 One young chap whose keenness ran away with 
 his judgment, brought me a stack of copy one 
 night, almost every word of which was contra- 
 band. The blue pencil got in its work in great 
 shape and then the "rejected" stamp put its seal 
 of disapproval on the message and it was filed 
 away with many others, that "were not dead, but 
 sleeping." Mr. Correspondent muttered some- 
 thing about "a cussed red-headed censor who 
 wasn't the pope and could be beaten" and walked 
 away. I thought no more of the matter until 
 about seven days thereafter when my clerk gave 
 me a marked copy of the correspondent's paper, 
 and there, big as life, under a Tampa date line was 
 the rejected dispatch. He had left my office and 
 mailed his story to a friend living up in Georgia, 
 and it was telegraphed by him from there. You 
 see, Georgia was beyond my jurisdiction. He had 
 surely made a "scoop ;" he had sown the wind and 
 that night he reaped the whirlwind, because I
 
 250 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 promptly suspended him from correspondents' 
 privileges, and forbade him the use of the wires. 
 General Greely upheld me in this as in all other 
 cases and for ten days I allowed him to ruminate 
 over his offence, while his paper was cussing him 
 out for failing to send in stuff. Then I restored 
 him to his former status, first making him sign 
 a pledge on honor that he would abide forever 
 thereafter by the censorship rules. 
 
 Another young man who represented a Cincin- 
 nati daily, walked into the express office in Tampa 
 one evening and gave the agent a package say- 
 ing: 
 
 "Say, old chap, have your messenger running 
 north to-night give this to the first operator after 
 crossing the Georgia line and tell him to send it 
 to my paper. It's a big scoop and I want to get 
 it through." 
 
 Of course, the "old chap" was built just that 
 way. He took the message and in five minutes it 
 was reposing gently in my desk. I then quickly 
 sent out a telegram to all my censors taking away 
 the correspondent's privileges until further orders. 
 
 That night full of innocence and beer he 
 walked into the Tampa city office and handed Cen- 
 sor Fellers a message for his paper, just as a sort
 
 More Censorship 251 
 
 of a bluff. Fellers grinned at him quietly and 
 said: 
 
 "Sorry, Mr. J , but Captain B has just sus- 
 pended you from use of the telegraph until further 
 orders." 
 
 In a very few minutes Mr. J appeared at my 
 office, blustering like a Kansas cyclone, and de- 
 manded to know why I had dared to treat him 
 thus ? I simply picked up his copy and showed it 
 to him, saying : 
 
 "This is your handwriting, I believe, Mr. J ." 
 
 The props dropped out from under him and he 
 said: 
 
 "Well, by thunder, you censor mail, telegraph 
 and express ; I reckon if I attempted to send any- 
 thing by carrier pigeon you'd catch it and put that 
 d d old 'rejected' stamp on it." 
 
 "No," I replied, "but I might possibly use it on 
 a mule." 
 
 In spite of his pleadings and promises he was 
 hung up for ten days. 
 
 It must be said, however, that such men as these 
 were rarities : most of the men, especially those 
 representing the great dailies, were only too will- 
 ing to abide by orders. They kicked hard natu- 
 rally and rightfully because news that they were 
 forbidden to send from Tampa was sent broad-
 
 252 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 cast from Washington as coming from the war 
 department. Oh ! yes they kicked so much that it 
 seemed as if my auburn locks would turn gray, 
 but the protest was against the censorship in gen- 
 eral and not against me. I was enough of a news- 
 paper man to fully appreciate their position, and 
 more than one message went from me to General 
 Greely asking if Washington could not be cen- 
 sored as well as Tampa. No ! Army officers had 
 no power to stop the mouths of the high civil of- 
 ficials of the government, and so the dance went 
 on. 
 
 And the managing editors would flood their 
 correspondents with telegrams of inquiry as to 
 why they did not send the news that daily came 
 from Washington as having originated in Tampa ; 
 and the correspondents would come to me and I 
 would endeavor to calm them down as best I 
 could. Then, incidentally, the managing editors 
 would take a fling at me personally, and I would 
 receive a polite telegram of protest but to no avail. 
 
 Finally, one night the trouble culminated, and 
 conjointly the correspondents sent a long telegram 
 to General Greely asking if he could not right the 
 seeming injustice. They did not mind being 
 beaten in a fair field, but they did hate to be 
 "scooped" by Washington correspondents who
 
 More Censorship 253 
 
 were having an easy time. Almost every man 
 signed the protest and then it was brought to me, 
 and I quickly O. K'd. it. Shortly afterwards a 
 number of them came to my office and assured me 
 that it was not against me personally they w T ere 
 kicking, and Louis Seibold, of the New York 
 World, sent General Greely a message saying : 
 
 "I don't like your blooming censor business one 
 bit, but if you have to have it, you've got the best 
 man for it in the army right here in Tampa," or 
 words to that effect. Many others sent similar 
 messages but not quite so outspoken. General 
 Greely appreciated their position and said so, but 
 was unable to change the condition of affairs and 
 so matters continued. 
 
 All this time feverish preparations were being 
 made to rush off Shafter's expedition. June 7th 
 w r as a very hard and trying day, and at six o'clock 
 in the evening I had just seated myself for a hasty 
 bite of dinner when a messenger came to me from 
 the telegraph office saying that the White House 
 wanted me at once. I went to the key and was 
 informed that the President wanted to talk to Gen- 
 erals Miles and Shafter and that the greatest se- 
 crecy must be maintained. After sending word 
 to the generals, I sent all the operators out of the 
 office, closed the windows and turned down the
 
 254 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 sounder so that it could not be heard three feet 
 away. When General Shafter came in he had an 
 officer stationed in the hall so that no one could ap- 
 proach in that direction. General Miles came in 
 shortly afterwards and the door was closed. We 
 all sat in front of the table, General Miles on my 
 right, and General Shafter on the left. Lieuten- 
 ant Miley of General Shafter's staff stood behind 
 his chief. It was a scene long to be remembered. 
 General Shafter was dressed in the plain blue army 
 fatigue uniform, its strict sombreness being re- 
 lieved only by the two gleaming silver stars on his 
 shoulder straps. General Miles, the commanding 
 general, was in conventional tuxedo dress, and 
 looked every inch the gallant soldier and gentle- 
 man that he is. From the little telegraph instru- 
 ment on the table ran a single strand of copper 
 wire, out in the dark night, over the pine tops of 
 Florida and Georgia, over the mountains of the 
 Carolinas, and hills and vales of Virginia, into the 
 Executive Mansion at Washington. In the office 
 of the White House were the President, the Sec- 
 retary of War, and Adjutant-General Corbin. 
 The key there was worked by Colonel Montgom- 
 ery, so if there ever was an official wire this was 
 one.
 
 More Censorship 255 
 
 When all was ready I told the White House to 
 "go ahead." 
 
 The first message was from the Secretary of 
 War to General Shafter directing him to sail at 
 once, as he was needed at the destination which 
 was known at this time only to about five officers 
 in Tampa. General Shafter replied that he would 
 be ready to sail the next morning at daylight. 
 Then, by the President's direction, a message was 
 repeated that had been received from Admiral 
 Sampson, saying he had that day bombarded the 
 outer defenses of Santiago, and if ten thousand 
 men were there the city and fleet would fall within 
 forty-eight hours. The President further directed 
 that General Shafter should sail as indicated by 
 him with not less than ten thousand men. Then 
 followed an interchange of messages, more or less 
 personal in their nature, between the generals and 
 the Washington contingent. Finally all was over 
 and the line was cut off. The whole conversation 
 lasted about fifty minutes, but the beginning of 
 new history was started in that time and the cur- 
 tain was going up on the grand drama of war. 
 All the time this was going on I could hear faintly 
 the strains of 'Auf Wiedersehn,' together with 
 the merry jest of the officers and the light laughter 
 of the women. Brave men, braver women soon
 
 256 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 their laughter was turned to tears and many of 
 the officers who went out of the Tampa Bay hotel 
 on that warm June night are now sleeping their 
 last sleep, having given up their lives that their 
 country's honor might live. The train carrying 
 the headquarters to Port Tampa left at five o'clock 
 in the morning. There was very little sleep that 
 night and the next morning the big hotel was well 
 nigh deserted. And all this time the destination 
 of the fleet was unknown to all but those high in 
 rank and myself.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 CENSORSHIP CONCLUDED 
 
 MY OWN sleep on that night was limited to 
 about two hours snatched between work, and the 
 following morning was a very busy one. About 
 once every hour I would report to the White 
 House how things were progressing at the port. 
 As the big transports received their load of living 
 freight, one by one they would pull out in the 
 stream and anchor, waiting until the time should 
 come when all would be ready, and then like a big 
 swarm they would pull out together. They did 
 not sail at daylight; unexpected delays occurred, 
 and eight, nine, ten, eleven and twelve o'clock 
 passed and still they had not sailed, although the 
 twelve o'clock report said they would be gone by 
 twelve-thirty. 
 
 At one o'clock a messenger came hurriedly to 
 me and said the White House wanted me at the 
 key at once. When I answered, Colonel Mont- 
 gomery said, "The President -wants to know if you 
 can stop that fleet?" Now the wire to Port Tampa 
 25?
 
 258 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 was on a table right back of me and calling him 
 with my left hand I said : 
 
 "Can you get General Miles or General Shaf- 
 ter ?" and with my right hand I said to the Presi- 
 dent, "I'll try, wait a minute." 
 
 Then said the White House, "It is imperative 
 that the fleet be stopped at once. 
 
 From Port Tampa, "No sir, I can't find General 
 Miles or General Shafter." 
 
 I replied, "Have all the transports pulled out of 
 the slip?" 
 
 "Yes sir, so far as I can see they are all gone." 
 
 From Washington, "Have you stopped the 
 fleet?" 
 
 "Wait a minute will let you know later, am 
 trying now." 
 
 To Port Tampa, "Go out and find a tug and 
 get this message to either General Miles or Gen- 
 eral Shafter, 'The President directs that you stop 
 the sailing of Shatter's army until further orders.' 
 Now fly." 
 
 Just then Port Tampa said, "Here comes Gen- 
 eral Miles now," and in a minute more the mes- 
 sage was delivered and the fleet stopped. I then 
 reported to the President : 
 
 "I have delivered your message to General
 
 Censorship Concluded 259 
 
 Miles and the fleet will not sail until further or- 
 ders." 
 
 They came back wondering what had stopped 
 them and that evening we learned of the appear- 
 ance of the "Phantom" Spanish fleet in the Nicho- 
 las Channel heading westward. "Cervera wasn't 
 bottled up in Santiago," said some, "and before 
 morning he will be here and blow us out of the 
 water." Great was the consternation and as a 
 precaution all the ships were ordered back into 
 the slip. It must be said, however, that General 
 Miles never had any idea that the Spanish fleet 
 was approaching our shores. 
 
 The transport fleet was tied up and then fol- 
 lowed six days of weary waiting, and the duties 
 of the censor became more arduous than ever, and 
 the utmost vigilance was exercised. Private mes- 
 sages w r ere almost all hung up, in fact, very little 
 else than government business was allowed to pass 
 over the wires. And yet, every day for a week, 
 copies of the daily papers that reached me had, 
 under flaming headlines, the startling news that 
 Shafter's fleet had sailed destination Havana, 
 San Juan, Matanzas, yes even the Spanish 
 coast. All this was announced from Washington, 
 and made the correspondents snort; they made 
 every excuse to let their papers know they were
 
 260 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 still there. They wanted money, they wanted to 
 send messages to their families, in fact, they 
 wanted everything under the sun, but to no avail. 
 Finally, on the i4th of June the army sailed away, 
 filled with hope and courage,on their mission that 
 resulted in victory for the American arms; but 
 that was a foregone conclusion, while we less for- 
 tunate ones were left behind to pray for the suc- 
 cess that we knew would be theirs. 
 
 The correspondents were all on the transport 
 "Olivette," and just before they pulled out I sent 
 them a message saying I would release the news 
 that night about the sailing of the fleet only, and 
 they might file their messages. They did in large 
 numbers and here- is where the joke came in. 
 When the messages reached the papers they 
 thought it was all a bluff to mislead the public, 
 and many of them refused to publish the news, 
 but the fleet had gone this time for certain. As 
 late as two days afterwards I received messages 
 from the managing editors of two of the greatest 
 papers in the country, asking me if the fleet had 
 really sailed. I assured them it had. One thing 
 is certain, the destination of that fleet was a well- 
 kept secret. Mr. Richard Harding Davis in his 
 admirable book on the Cuban and Porto Rican 
 Campaigns, says that credit is due the censor be-
 
 Censorship Concluded 261 
 
 cause it was so well kept. I am afraid that this is 
 about the only good word the censor ever received 
 from the said Mr. Davis. 
 
 The "Olivette," on which the correspondents 
 sailed, was the last boat to leave Port Tampa. 
 She left about six-thirty P. M. in the glory of the 
 setting sun of a tropical evening. About five- 
 thirty P. M. Mr. Edward Marshall, that prince of 
 good fellows, who represented the New York 
 Journal, came into my office to write a message 
 for his paper, to be left with me and sent when 
 the story was released. Marshall was a typical 
 newspaper man and a thorough American, and 
 had just returned from New York where he had 
 been in attendance upon the sick-bed of his wife. 
 He was very anxious to get his story written be- 
 fore he sailed. I knew the "Olivette" was about 
 to pull out, and if he expected to go on her it was 
 high time he was moving. As Port Tampa was 
 nine miles away, I told him to fly and cut his story 
 short or send it from Port Tampa. He thanked 
 me and reached Port Tampa just in time to save 
 being left. It was this same Edward Marshall 
 who so daringly pushed to the front during the 
 Guasimas fight of the Rough Riders, and was se- 
 riously wounded by a Mauser bullet near his spine. 
 He was supposed to be dying, but true to his
 
 262 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 newspaper training and full of loyalty to his pa- 
 per, he dictated a message to his journal between 
 the puffs of a cigarette, when it was supposed each 
 breath would be his last. But thank God he did 
 not die, and now gives promise of many years of 
 useful life. I have often thought if I had not 
 warned him in time to go he would not have been 
 shot; but then all war is uncertain, and in warn- 
 ing him I was only, "Doing unto others as I would 
 be done by." 
 
 During all these stirring times just described 
 there were two women correspondents, poor souls, 
 who were indeed sad and lonely. They were very 
 ambitious and wanted to go to Cuba with the 
 army, but the War Department wisely forbade 
 any such a move and then my trouble began. At 
 all hours of the day or night I was pestered by 
 these same women. One of them represented a 
 Canadian paper and was most anxious to go. She 
 tried every expedient and tackled every man or 
 woman of influence that came along. Even dear 
 old Clara Barton did not escape her importunities. 
 She wanted to go as a Red Cross nurse, but didn't 
 know anything about nursing. However, I reckon 
 she was as good as some of the women who did 
 go. She was an Irish girl with rich red hair, and 
 as mine was of an auburn tinge we didn't get
 
 Censorship Concluded 263 
 
 along worth a cent. She didn't do much tele- 
 graphing but sent all of her stuff by mail. How- 
 ever, it was her intention to send one telegram to 
 her paper and "scoop" all the other chaps in so 
 doing. She wrote a letter to her managing editor 
 in Toronto and told him there was a censor down 
 there who thought he could bottle up Florida as 
 regards news, but she intended to outwit him. 
 Particular attention was being paid so as to pre- 
 serve the secrecy of the sailing day of Shatter's 
 army. Cipher and code messages bearing on this 
 occurrence were to be strictly interdicted. But 
 that didn't make any difference to her; she could 
 beat that game. So on the day the fleet actually 
 sailed she would send a message to her paper say- 
 ing, "Send me six more jubilee books." This 
 would indicate that the fleet had really gone. Bril- 
 liant scheme from the brain of a very bright 
 woman, but she lost sight of the fact that Messrs. 
 Carranza and Polo y Bernabe were at that time 
 in Canada spying on the United States, and that 
 all the Canadian mail was most carefully watched. 
 Such, however, was the case, and in a short time 
 the contents of her letter were known to General 
 Greely, and by him communicated to me. One 
 evening Miss Correspondent was standing in the
 
 264 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 lobby of the Tampa Bay hotel surrounded by a 
 group of her friends, when I approached and said : 
 
 "Excuse me, Miss J , but I should like to 
 speak to you for a moment" 
 
 "Well, what is it, pray? Surely you haven't 
 anything to say but what my friends can hear, 
 have you?" Sassy, wasn't she? 
 
 "Oh! well if that is the case?" I replied, "I am 
 sorry to inform you that you are suspended from 
 correspondent's privileges and from the use of 
 the telegraph until further orders." 
 
 "And what for pray?" 
 
 "I don't just exactly know," I answered, "but 
 I think it has something to do with sending you 
 'six more jubilee books' from Canada." 
 
 Well ! she turned all the colors of the rainbow, 
 and snapped out, "Goodness gracious! how did 
 yon where did you hear that?" 
 
 I smiled politely and walked away. The next 
 morning, shortly after I reached my office, a timid 
 knock was heard at the door. 
 
 "Come in," I yelled, thinking it was a messen- 
 ger boy. In walked Miss J , woebegone, crest- 
 fallen and disheartened, with a letter of apology 
 and explanation. I forwarded this to General 
 Greely and kept her suspended for seven days.
 
 Censorship Concluded 265 
 
 She never offended again, and the last I heard of 
 her she was in Key West gazing with longing eyes 
 towards the Pearl of the Antilles. She never 
 reached there. 
 
 The other woman correspondent was different 
 She was an American widow, bright, dashing and 
 vivacious. She had heard of the ogre of a cen- 
 sor; she would conquer him through his suscep- 
 tibility. I'll admit that the censor in question 
 was susceptible of some things but not in busi- 
 ness matters. One day she filed an innocent little 
 telegram to her paper, saying, ''For ice cream 
 read typhoid." The operator glanced at it and 
 said, "You'll have to get Captain B 's O. K. on 
 that message before I can send it." 
 
 She talked sweetly to him, but that didn't hap- 
 pen to be one of his "susceptible" days. Then she 
 came to me, and as my "susceptibility" had run to 
 a pretty low ebb I refused to permit the message 
 to go on, on account of its hidden meaning. 
 
 "Oh, pshaw ! Captain, I wrote a story for my 
 paper and in it described the death of a man from 
 the effects of eating too much ice cream, and now 
 I learn that he died of typhoid fever." 
 
 I was pretty hard-headed that morning and 
 couldn't assist the lady and she left the office vow-
 
 266 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 ing vengeance. The next edition of her paper 
 contained the most charmingly sarcastic article 
 about the red-headed, white-shoed censor I have 
 ever seen, but I had become case-hardened by this 
 time and did not mind it in the least. 
 
 It might be supposed that as soon as the army 
 had sailed and the correspondents had gone, that 
 the censorship duties would be lighter. They 
 were, officially, but otherwise they became harder 
 than ever. The army had gone, but the women 
 had been left behind. The husbands were away 
 fighting dying while the wives were waiting 
 with dry eyes and aching hearts for the news that 
 would mean life or death to them. There were 
 some forty wives, daughters, and sweethearts re- 
 maining in the Tampa Bay hotel, and to them the 
 censor became a most interesting party. They 
 knew that any news that came to Tampa would 
 come through him, and they wanted it -vhether 
 his orders would allow him to divulge it or not. 
 Before, I had to contend with the importunities 
 of zealous correspondents, now it was the longing 
 eyes of sweet women whose hearts were breaking 
 with suspense, whose lives had stood still since 
 the 1 4th day of June when the fleet sailed away. 
 Of the two, I would rather contend with the for- 
 mer.
 
 Censorship Concluded 267 
 
 The long and trying days dragged slowly by 
 and still no news. Finally, on the 22nd of June, 
 it was known that the army was landing; June 
 24th, the Guasimas fight of the cavalry division 
 took place, and from that time on life was made 
 miserable for me by importunate women. Many 
 telegrams yes, hundreds of them came to me 
 every day, and each time one of those cursed little 
 yellow envelopes was put in my hands, if I hap- 
 pened to be in the lobby of the hotel, I could feel 
 forty or fifty pairs of anxious eyes concentrated 
 on me, as if to read from the expression of my 
 face whether the news was good or bad. Colonel 
 Michler of General Miles's staff was there, and if 
 we should happen to be together talking, the 
 women would surmise that the news was bad ; and 
 many times their surmises were just about right. 
 One sweet little black-eyed woman always said she 
 could tell from my face whether I was bluffing or 
 not. July ist, 2nd, and 3rd, were very gloomy 
 days for we poor chaps who had been left behind 
 and for the women. We they knew the 
 fight was on, that men were heroically dying, and 
 we also knew that the army was in a hard way. 
 Strive as we might, no gleam of hope could be 
 culled from the news of those three days. Cer- 
 vera's fleet was still in the harbor of Santiago, and
 
 268 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 the army not only had the Spanish troops to fight 
 but the navy as well. Flesh and blood might 
 stand the rain of Mauser bullets, but they could 
 not stand rapid-fire guns and eight-inch shells. 
 The third of July dragged by, and at eleven o'clock 
 Colonel Michler retired for the night not feeling 
 in a very pleasant frame of mind. The lobby was 
 well nigh deserted, but Colonels Smith and Powell 
 and a few more officers sat by one of the big open 
 doors having a farewell smoke and chat before 
 going to bed. At eleven-thirty I was standing 
 by the desk talking to the clerk, when the night 
 operator came charging out of the office and gave 
 me a little piece of yellow paper. I quickly opened 
 it and read, "Sampson entirely destroyed Cerve- 
 ra's fleet this morning." News like that, if true, 
 was too good to keep, so I went into the telegraph 
 office and had a wire cut through to the New York 
 office and asked for a confirmation or denial of 
 the report. They confirmed it and gave me the 
 text of the official report. I bounded out in the 
 hall and shouted out the glorious news at the top 
 of my voice. Gloom was dispelled instanter, and 
 joy reigned supreme. At just twelve o'clock mid- 
 night, we drank a toast to the army and navy, and 
 to our country. 
 
 Santiago surrendered and the army went to
 
 Censorship Concluded 269 
 
 Porto Rico only to be stopped in the midst of a 
 most brilliant campaign by the signing of the 
 protocol. The censorship was ended and willingly 
 did I lay down the blue pencil and take up my 
 sword.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 I CANNOT refrain from concluding this little 
 volume by a tribute to the telegraphers of the 
 country. 
 
 It is but fifty-five years since Professor S. F. B. 
 Morse electrified the civilized world by the com- 
 pletion of his electro-magnetic telegraph. Since 
 that time great improvements have been made un- 
 til now it is difficult to recognize in the delicate 
 mechanisms of the relay, key, sounder, duplex, 
 quad, and multiplex, the principle first promul- 
 gated in the old Morse register. Its influence was 
 at once felt in all walks of life ; it was an art to be 
 an expert telegrapher. Keeping pace with the 
 strides of advancing civilization, the telegraph has 
 spread its slender wires, until now almost the en- 
 tire world is connected by its magnetism. Away 
 back in the early fifties when railroads and com- 
 forts were few, while danger and trials were 
 plenty, these faithful knights of the key carried 
 on their work under the most adverse circum- 
 stances. Since its first appearance it has mani- 
 festly been the possessor of millions of secrets, 
 870
 
 Conclusion 271 
 
 public and private. In times of joy you flash your 
 congratulations to distant relatives or friends; in 
 minutes of sorrow and tribulation, your message 
 of sympathy is quickly carried as a balm to ach- 
 ing hearts ; in the worries of business its use is of 
 the most vital importance; and while you are 
 peacefully slumbering on some swiftly moving 
 railroad train the telegraph is one of the princi- 
 pal means of insuring a safe and speedy .trip. 
 Pick up your favorite daily paper the one that 
 is always reliable read the market or press re- 
 ports accurately printed, and then think that the 
 telegraph does it all. Read news from foreign 
 countries from out-of-the-way places and think 
 of the miles of mountains, deserts, plains and val- 
 leys passed over ; think of the slender cable down 
 deep in the throbbing bosom of the ocean and of 
 the little spark that brings the news to your door ; 
 and then reflect on the men whose abilities accom- 
 plish these results. Think of his work in the 
 countries where it is so hot that it seems as if the 
 land beyond the River Styx is at his elbow; in 
 lands where it is always cold and the days and 
 nights are long. In season and out; in times of 
 death, pestilence and famine, with never a mur- 
 mur, these sturdy, loyal men, and true-hearted 
 women do their work. All these are incidents of
 
 272 Tales of the Telegraph 
 
 peace. Now think, when war, grim-visaged and 
 terrible, spreads its mighty power over the earth. 
 What is responsible for the news of victory? 
 What brings you the list you so anxiously scan 
 of the dead and wounded ? What means are em- 
 ployed by the subdivisions of the army in the field 
 to keep in constant communication, so that they 
 may act as the integral parts of an harmonious 
 whole? In the late Spanish-American war what 
 first brought news, authentic in character, to the 
 Navy Department that Cervera with his doomed 
 fleet was in Santiago harbor? And during the 
 dark and trying days from June 22nd until July 
 1 4th, the telegraphers of the army the signal 
 corps men were ceaseless and tireless in their 
 efforts, and as a result within five minutes of its 
 being sent, a message would be in Washington. 
 While the army slept they worked, without any 
 regard to self or comfort. And to-day in the far- 
 off Philippine islands they are still striving with 
 the best results. The telegraphers are honest, 
 loyal, patriotic men a little Bohemian, perhaps, 
 in their tastes and deserve a better recognition 
 for the good work they do. 
 
 "30" 
 
 "Filed, 2 135 A. M." 
 "Received, 2 143 A. M."
 
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