\ I H 1! HH \ {HnSl Utt 1 1 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA "Here, Stub, shine up this ere hoss !" Page 86. ON THE MOUNTAIN DIVISION By KIRK PARSON It NEW YOUKS EATON & MAINS CINCINNATI: JENNINGS & GRAHAM \ Copyright by EATON &. MAINS, 1903. TS PREFACE. "J-w-VRUTH is often stranger than fiction." On the Mountain Division is no story; it is * fact. Every important railroad incident herein narrated has come within the bounds of the author s knowledge. The characters portrayed are old friends. The author will be satisfied if the reader is stimu- ^ lated to a better life and the rough, warm-hearted, "? grimy railroader is given a place a little nearer the ^ heart of other classes; if the simple, sturdy, honest country-folk are held in higher esteem by their urban cousins; and if this book hastens the day J\> "That man to man the world o er Shall brithers be for a that" ri K. P. TABLE OF CONTENTS. CHAPTER. BOYHOOD. PAGE. I. FIRST RECOLLECTIONS 7 II. THE ORPHANAGE 10 III. INDENTURED 16 IV. SUNDAYS ON THE FARM 22 V. AT SCHOOL 30 VI. I GO A-FlSHING 42 VII. WANDERING WILLIE 50 VIII. THE SUMMERFIELD HOME 63 IX. SPRINGTIME 75 X. THE FEVER 81 MANHOOD. XI. A WIPER 85 XII. ON THE ROAD 92 XIII. AWRECK 97 XIV. CONVALESCING 106 XV. FLAGGING 112 XVI. THE STRIKE 126 XVII. THANKSGIVING 133 XVIII. LONG HOURS 139 XIX. MARRIAGE 1 50 6 Table of Contents. CHAPTER. PACK. XX. LEFT 162 XXI. SUNDAY RAILROADING 169 XXII. A RUNAWAY 179 XXIII. ACHANGE 188 XXIV. ANOTHER CHANGE 197 BROTHERHOOD. XXV. ACLEW 205 XXVI. SUSPENSE 211 XXVII. MORE HOPEFUL 221 XXVIII. A PHILADELPHIA HOME 231 XXIX. MY ELDER BROTHER 238 XXX. His STORY 246 XXXI. Au REVOIR 250 ON THE MOUNTAIN DIVISION. BOYHOOD. M CHAPTER I. First Recollections. Y first recollections are of a fleshy woman, not handsome, not particularly clean ; of a dingy, denuded room, and of a super abundance of clawing from numerous dirty fingers. As days passed the great woman became to me a good woman; the dingy room became home; the greasy fingers so many goads that urged me to begin fighting my own battles. All my victories, however, were defeats. The owners of the goads were three other children somewhat larger than my self. They often planted me in the dirt by the door step. It was all fun to me until my eyes were har rowed. That was too harsh treatment. I resented. Somehow or other I did not grow very rapidly. Perhaps it was because I ate my peck of dirt too soon. I was quite old when I began to walk. 8 On the Mountain Division. Not long afterward I became very sick. For days and days everything seemed dark. There was no noise in the room except an occasional heavy step of the woman I had learned to call "Mam." Then I felt her rough hand with a loving touch. How my flesh burned! She fanned me; tied my hands in rags and rocked me hour after hour in an old, creaking chair. The pain ceased. Better days dawned. My strength returned. Her thick lips again touched my cheek. The children were play ing with me. Times were as of yore. One day I was cleaned up pretty thoroughly and attired in better garments than usual. I felt proud. A stranger came to our door. He was very kind. Mam carried me out to the buggy. How I did want to ride! She hugged me to her great bosom and buried me in the oily wrinkles of her face and neck. Tears fell upon me, but I brushed them off, all the while squirming to get into the wagon. A last kiss and hug, that almost smothered me, and I was re leased. Mam said "By-by" very sadly. I could see nothing sad about having a carriage ride that fine morning. I gleefully waved a by-by, with my face toward the horse as I was driven away. I never saw the woman again. I knew not who she was even certainly not my mother, though as good as a mother. I did learn afterward that she was a widow with three children of her own. She was poor. By the pockmarks on my skin I learned that I had had the smallpox. She had nursed me , First Recollections. 9 through ; watched over me as over a son. I would I might now reward her for her kindness and self- sacrifice, but I cannot. God has not forgotten the good woman. Her dingy home and her best care were but a widow s mite, yet it was all she had. They were freely given to me, a helpless orphan. The weary and ill-proportioned body has, no doubt, long ago returned to dust, but the soul is a gem that will glow with an eternal luster. Some day a crown will be placed upon that brow. Mam was a queen. 10 On the Mountain Division. CHAPTER II. The Orphanage* AFTER several hours of fast driving our car riage ride came to an end. We stopped in front of an immense building. I was handed out into kind motherly arms, taken to a bath tub, cleaned, and dressed in beautiful kilts. From the dressing room to the playroom I was escorted. How my heart danced for joy ! Think of it, reader, a nursery full of little folks, most of them larger than myself, a few smaller, and I to be one with them. All the boys of my size wore gowns just like mine. I was timid at first, but that soon wore away, and I was as much at home as anyone. Time passed rapidly with an occasional "scrap" among us to break the monotony. Somehow or other I had to take a back seat in times of trouble. Some months after my advent into the new life a kind nurse took me up in her arms, told me who I was, and that I was "picked up up-country a ways." My name was William Barson. Up to this time I had known no other name than Willie. It was a great revelation to me, yet it did not hinder my young heart from cud dling up close to nurse s breast and feeling perfectly at home. The good woman informed me further that I was an orphan, and that the big house in The Orphanage. 11 which we lived was an orphanage. My father and mother had never been known to the authorities of the institution, nor could any trace of them be found. My only possession was myself; my only inheritance, my name. It impresses me now when I think of it that I was alone; then it made no differ ence with me. As long as nurse was good to me, and I received all the food I wanted, plenty of sleep, and lots of play, it was all right. One day my kilts were taken off and in their stead was placed a pair of knickerbockers. Every boy can recall the day when he owned the world for the first time and it all hung by a pair of suspenders. But a new world came into my existence; instead of all play, it seemed as if it were all work. I had to drill, then study, and frequently to do odd jobs of some minor importance. It was awful at first. .When the pencils and slates came around it was good ; when the picture books appeared it was better ; and when I began to read it was best. It is certain that a child enjoys learning as well as growing. God pity a boy who does not like books ! I was dull but not a fool. I did not advance rapidly, but I ad vanced, and it was for this reason that I was kept so long at the orphanage. My face was against me, as well as my size and actions. But my turn to leave came at last. One bright June morning I was called to the reception room by one of the teachers. A stranger sat awkwardly athwart one of the chairs. He im- 12 On the Mountain Division. pressed me at once. I had seen him the day before looking at us while at play and afterward at work. I was not much of a sport, but quite a worker. No doubt this musty guest had an eye to business. He measured a man, and a boy too, not by his outward appearance, but by what there was in him and how much could be got out. "Waal, Willie, how d ye like tew go home with me an help me take care o my hosses an cattle? I want jest sech a youngster s yew tew dew odd jobs huntin hens eggs, waterin the colt, feedin the hogs, an gittin the cows. Shouldn t wonder n yew could help quite some on the farm an save me an the ole woman quite a number o steps." As he spoke he drew me toward him with a kindly smile and took my hand in his. There was some thing about him that I did not just like, though I did not know what it was. His left eye was a squint eye or something of that sort. It opened occasion ally, but most of the time was very nearly shut, and all the while twitching. His paper collar straddled over his vest, and the threadbare bow hung aslant, one end over and the other end under the collar. There was a forward sag effect in the set of his coat, top buttons of his vest unfastened, pantaloons three inches too short, and his extremities were cov ered, the nether ones with cowhide boots, and the upper one by a greasy felt hat, which now hung over his left knee, while his head and long hair looked like a crow s nest after a storm. Yet I The Orphanage. 13 rather took to him, perhaps on account of the farm he possessed and its beauties that he placed before me, the crowning feature being. the Newfoundland dog, Shack. "I think we can run things fur fair when we git a leetle used t each other. Our good milk 11 make ye look diffenter n ye dew now, an the sunshine an air o New Dover 11 make yer cheeks s brown s a russet." Jake Stoneman took me home with him, and I must confess I was glad to go. The monotonous life at the orphanage and its rigid rules had begun to chafe me. I was an eight-year-old boy, and hence the freedom of a farm was very attractive. My knowledge of human nature was limited, and per haps I did not read as deeply into Mr. Stoneman s character then as I might have done to-day under similar circumstances. It would, however, have done me no good if I had known all about him, for the inevitable was before me. This was my first bid, and the asylum, no doubt, was glad to be rid of me. There is plenty of sympathy in the world for an orphan, but, as a rule, very little charity or real as sistance. Sometimes a fellow is blamed for the man ner of his birth and held responsible for the death of his parents long before he knew them from any body else s parents. In fact, I had to leave the or phanage, though I did not know it, and the good Lord had already tempered my will to go gladly. The trip meant a ride in the cars. My heart was 14 On the Mountain Division. already leaping with wildest anticipation. I had never enjoyed that luxury, though I had often watched the flying trains. We walked to the little station, less than a mile away. My cup was running over. Mr. Stoneman pushed me ahead of him into a seat of leather up holstering and, sitting down, drew from his pocket a brier-root bowl half burned away, filled the re mainder with black tobacco, lighted it, shoved his hat onto the back of his head, placed his knees against the back of the seat in front, and entered into the blissful realms of a smoker s repose. He was not the only one in the car enjoying the same elysium. I wondered then if ladies ever rode on railway trains, for there were none in our coach. It is strange, isn t it, men, that a boy should have such an idea flit through his mind? Innocence is often called foolishness. But what cared I for the blueness within. The blueness without was pure and the window was open. The incoming air filled my lungs. The pass ing scenes filled my mind. I was busy, consequently happy, save, now and then, when I jerked my head back from the window for fear of being decapitated by a passing locomotive. The train ran out onto a fill. A broad river came into view. The next instant I dodged a girder as we entered the iron bridge. I jumped so vigorously into my smoking companion that he aroused from bis reverie ajad looked out. The Orphanage. 15 Mr. Stoneman again lapsed into silence while the train sped in and out of the short tunnels so charac teristic of Trenton. The train stopped. There were the customary changes of passengers, and we moved on. My companion went off to talk with an ac quaintance. Curiosity was wearing away. There was a sameness of sights and sounds. Everything seemed to be whirling and blending until sweet Mor pheus closed my eyes. I was aroused by a punch in the side that made me jump as I heard the voice of my master, saying : "Come, boy, no more o this. We git off now." He hauled me out of the car, like a lamb to the slaughter, more asleep than awake. It was twilight. The freshness of the evening air could hardly arouse me, and I followed, half walking, half running, to keep up with the walking machine about two strides ahead of me. The two miles traveled, the dimly lighted room, the supper, and a woman were all a hazy indistinctness to me, and, completely tired out, I tumbled into bed to dream of a brother and a big railway conductor with brass buttons two ideals never lost sight of. . . V 16 On the Mountain Division. CHAPTER III. Indentured. INDENTURED ! I did not know what the word meant, but it came at me across the breakfast table like a cannon ball. Its effect upon my sensibilities was similar to the above-mentioned missile. I did not know what had hit me. Jake Stoneman, his two-tined fork in one fist and a thin steel-bladed case knife in the other, resting "thumbs up" on the table at either side of his loaded plate, his mouth half filled with warmed-up potatoes, and with his left eye a-quiver, began: "Neow, my young feller, the time s come when we must have an understandin atween us, so s not to have no trouble hereafter. Yew re indentured." He swallowed what was on hand and masticated, shifted his position so as to make an acute angle of his right side and the table, and where he could look me square in the face, took a swallow of hot tea from his saucer, filled in more potatoes, and con tinued : "Me an th ol woman here," pointing to Mrs. Stoneman at his left, "have lived tewgather nigh on to twenty-five years, an we know bout what s what. She s not as spry s she onct was, an I have the rumatiz occasionally. So we thought a boy bout The time s come when we must have an understandin ." Page 16. Indentured. 17 your size d help us long fur quite some time yit. You re eight neow, an we expect tew have yew till yer sixteen. Guess yer able tew earn yer keep, an , if ye don t, why, ye ll haf tew, that s all. Won t e, Sue?" turning to his wife, who nodded modestly toward him, at the same time turning her small black eyes on me with a look that penetrated me like an X-ray. "Y understand, don t ye, Will?" he con tinued. "We ain t no tyrants, an don t mean tew mis use ye ny, but know right here n neow that we run things here an that yew ll dew s we say. There s yer room up there," pointing out of the window to a small room over a shop and corncrib combined, four or five rods from the kitchen, "where yew can dew s ye like, an I expect yew tew be there, tew, when night comes an not be out gaddin round the coun try nuther. F I ketch ye into any funny business, yew ll know it. As I hinted afore, yew ll have nough t eat, tew drink, an tew wear, but I sha n t lose a cent on ye, an I don t want no doctor bills tew pay nuther. Guess we understand each other neow," he continued, taking the remaining swallow of tea, shoving back from the table, and wiping his mouth with his shirt sleeve. "An neow fur work. There s some weedin out yender in the veg tables. Try yer hand at that this forenoon." He rose from his chair, went to his box of tobacco on the kitchen mantel, filled a stub clay pipe, lighted it, and went out to the barn. I immediately went to the garden. The old dog bounced out in my path. 2 18 On the Mountain Division. He startled me, but after a "Good old fellow" or two, and finally a pat on the head, Shack and I were made fast friends. I had weeded onions and lettuce before, and was perfectly at home. The day was warm. I began work before seven o clock. The sun climbed very slowly during the last two hours before noon. I worked on faithfully, determined that my master should not lose anything on me, and also thinking that if I pleased him at first my chances for leniency in the future would be increased. My back was al most broken. I had been hurrying a little to get the weeds all out before noon, and just as I pulled the last one, and straightened up, Mr. Stoneman, who was standing close to me, spoke: "Waal, Will, yew ve done a good job. I guess yew know what yer at. Come neow an have a bite." Dinner was coarse but plenty, and I did justice to it. I liked the hospitality, so far, though perhaps it was on account of its novelty. When I was told that I could ride a horse to cultivate corn my eyes opened with delight, but the work I had done and the amount of food I had eaten made me drowsy and lazy. Once on the horse, however, going back and forth between the rows, I was wide awake. "But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow r, its bloom is shed." After a couple of hours of fun the riding became grievous. I hitched first one side and then the Indentured. 19 other. A rest of a few minutes relieved me a little, but matters soon became worse than ever. Yet I stuck to it like a hero without a murmur. By five o clock the field was cultivated. I am glad that in these days, except in heathen countries, the farmers drive the horses between the rows instead of tortur ing innocent boys by making them ride the animals before the plow or cultivator. When supper was over I was told to fetch some wood into the kitchen, feed a half-peck of corn to the chickens (it was fun to run the sheller), and carry swill to the pigs. The pails were large, and after I had bathed my legs in buttermilk concluded to go oftener with less load. While I did this Mr. and Mrs. Stoneman did the milking. As I passed near them on the way to the pigpen I overheard him say to his wife that I had done a big day s work, but he was afraid that I had been so good that it would not last long. He was going to keep a sharp eye on me. When they appeared at the house I had done all that was required of me, and lay on the grass with Shack licking my hand. My master asked no ques tions "Yew c n tie up the dog yender," pointing to the kennel, "an go tew bed, Will. Guess yew ve done nough." I arose and, as I walked away with my hand on Shack s head, quietly said, "Good night, Mr. Stoneman." He looked at me in astonishment as he answered, "G d-night." I could hardly climb the narrow steps into my 20 On the Mountain Division. room. Every bone in my body ached. The board walls were veneered with burnished gold leaf, beaten by the rays of the setting sun that streamed in through the only window. The atmosphere in the chamber smelled hot and stifling. Presently I found a small door fastened on the inside by a hook and staple; this I opened to let in the evening air. I leaned a moment on the doorsill, that was per haps a yard above the floor. I was happy, but O, so tired. The sun shone down through the corn rows and the breeze filled the air with the fragrance of fresh earth. Shadows deepened. Lightning bugs signaled with their lanterns to the croaking orchestra in a sluggish stream winding along at the foot of the hill. In the east smiled the full, friendly moon. I looked at Shack. "Good-night, old fellow," I said. Sitting on his haunches, he smacked his mouth and yawned, the yawn diminishing to a happy whine as his tail swept a semicircle of the ground. I turned to my bed. It was low and small. The slats were covered with a well-filled straw tick. The bedding was clean then. A small box standing on end, with a newspaper for a spread, was my table. A piece of broken mirror and part of a half-toothless comb constituted my toilet outfit. A chair without a back stood in the corner, and a picture of George Washington on the wall completed my furniture and ornaments. I was not long losing myself in the soporific qualities of the bed. It was delightful. I Indentured. 21 have since thought of that little room and the first night I spent in it. The last sounds I heard were the whistle of the engine that brought me in the night before and the rattle of Shack s chain as he crawled into his kennel. 22 On the Mountain Division. CHAPTER IV. Sundays on the Farm* "T T 7 ILL! Will! Wi-ill!" were the first \l \l sounds I recognized the next morn ing. " S time yew s up, boy." I scrambled out of bed as quickly as possible, though not very supplely, for my joints were stiff and my muscles sore with a burning reminder that I had ridden a horse the day before. I could scarcely dress. The sun was just rising when I appeared at the kitchen door. "Git the cows, an don t be all day bout it," said Mr. Stoneman the moment he saw me. I immediate ly started down the road toward the bars. The cows were at the farthest end of the pasture, and more than half an hour had passed before my return. I was wet to my knees with the heavy dew. Shack trotted at my side. "Yew re a purty-lookin youngster," said my overseer. " F yew d mind the cattle an not go gad- din off after woodchucks with the dog yew wouldn t be s wet. Next time yew go fur the cows leave the cur t home. I didn t get yew tew hunt rabbits an* play dog. D ye mind what I say? Yew c n keep yer soppy duds on tew pay fur runnin round the lots fur fun when I s waitin fur ye all the time." Sundays on the Farm. 23 By tHe time he had finished his oration I was trembling from head to foot, posing like a chicken just removed from a bath in a swill-barrel. I started away to feed the pigs, when Shack attempted to play with me by catching my hand tenderly in his mouth. No sooner did this happen than Mr. Stoneman s cowhide boots kicked him yelping halfway across the yard. The dog hustled for his kennel ; I hurried toward the hogpen; the kicker growled, "I sha n t have tew rompin pups bout my premises; no, sir!" The sense of humor was far from me about that time. In fact, affairs wore a serious aspect. I be came indignant, and concluded in my own mind that my master was a scapegrace. I was conscious that I had got the herd as quickly as I could and, furthermore, I was asked for no explanation con cerning the length of my absence. Breakfast was eaten in silence. No milk was on the table except a very little for coffee, which was denied me. I was hungry, nevertheless, and ate nearly everything within reach. The day passed gloomily. The clouds obscured the sun. My clothes kept damp until nightfall. Hoe ing potatoes was hard work. At four o clock it began to rain, but we worked on till nearly six. The soil became too wet then to continue. My room had gathered dampness, but I was soon warm and asleep when I got a chance to go to bed. The next night was hot and muggy. The mosquitoes sang around me in swarms. Their songs I could endure, but the 24 On the Mountain Division. awful suspense and perforation of my epidermis be came unbearable. I did not dare ask for netting. My lord did not seem to notice the blotches and bloodstains on my face and hands. Perhaps he thought my blood so thick that the hummers could not suck sufficient of it out to weaken me, or else it was so thin that it would do no harm to drain my capillaries. Anyway, I was food for the fowls of the air Jersey mosquitoes. Sunday morning dawned. I wondered what would happen. I had awakened without assistance. Hearing no stir outside, I remained quiet and rested. My body was full of aches and stiffness. The sun had already peeped in through the knot-holes of my dormitory. Rolling over, I dropped into a Sunday morning doze, so customary among lazy people. Again I awoke, but there was no stir yet. I yawned, counted the rafters in the roof, then the cracks be tween the boards, and finally the spots of sunlight that streamed through them. Dressing and descend ing to the ground, Shack was the only individual to greet me. Patting his head for a moment, I strolled toward the pasture. The sun was high, and the dew nearly gone. Just as I drove the cows into the barn yard Mr. Stoneman appeared with the milk pails, yawning and moping along as if the day belonged to the chief of laziness, instead of to God. The chores were finished and breakfast eaten in the same slug gish manner. It was after nine o clock when I came out of the kitchen from the morning meal. For the Sundays on the Farm. 25 first time since my arrival I felt lonesome. At the orphanage I had learned something of the Sabbath day and religious services, and could tell a Bible when I saw one. At my new home, however, no book had, as yet, appeared. I had not been permitted to tread the sacred precincts of the front room, there fore was not competent to judge whether or no the Book was there. I had not been off the premises since I came onto them in the darkness. My horizon of observation was therefore limited. No visitors had entered our front gate, for few travelers passed. Whether a church or schoolhouse stood within forty miles of the farm was more than I knew. One thing I had learned, namely, to ask no questions. I lay on the grass with Shack at my side. About ten of the clock visitors arrived. The horse was poor, the wagon rickety, harness tied up with bag strings, and the husband, wife, and three children correspondingly slovenly in appearance, language, and, I afterward learned, in morals. This was my introduction to Sunday visiting. Since then I have seen much of it. Men living in towns, pressed with business during the week, of a Sunday morning ride out to see their tenants on rural property and to over see their interests. No time to visit the farm offered itself to them except that day. Such landlords I have known to leave their church, Sunday school, and other religious services, Sunday after Sunday, to pat their tenants on the back and say "You re doing well here this year," I have also wondered 26 On the Mountain Division. how much welldoing lay credited to their account in the ledger of the Lord s vineyard. They are like the man I once read of who, when asked to attend a great supper, said, "I have bought a piece of ground, and I must needs go and see it; I pray thee have me excused." But Nat Walker did not come to look at the farm. He came to talk over the bargain made between him and Stoneman a few days previous concerning the horse that he drove. He had made a glaring discovery of a slight blemish on its near hind leg and thought a little "boot" of some sort ought to be allowed him. I paid little atention to their bickering, which was carried on in a friendly spirit. Every thing passed off smoothly. Dinner was served about three o clock. Bounteous culinary art graced the table, though the visiting children disgraced it. The parents had no control over the youngsters. Fork, knife, spoon, or hand carried food to their face, some entering the mouth, the rest missing. The men conversed in subdued tones. Mrs. Walker scolded and cuffed. Mrs. Stoneman apoligized for the scanty dinner and urged the children on in their depredations by saying, "O, never mind the tablecloth, let the chil dren have a good time." They had it, together with everything in reach. In the confusion I attended strictly to supplying the wants of the inner boy. I marveled also, as some children do, if these people ever attended church, and if youngsters Sundays on the Farm. 27 could possibly perform pranks of this sort when ac customed to the religious instructions of a Christian home. But the hours wore on, and about five o clock, when Nat Walker drove out into the road, I noticed the handles of an old discarded flat-land plow pro truding from under the rear seat of his wagon. I concluded that Stoneman had settled the horse trade with the old plow "to boot." As the first week and Sunday passed, so passed the following days of work and of rest, but the monotony was broken one afternoon by the appear ance of a young man coming cross-lots into the field where I was raking buckwheat. "Hello, my boy!" was his friendly salutation. "What is your name? Isn t this pretty hard work for a lad of your size?" The kindly words and smiling face of the speaker startled me at first. Regaining my composure, I answered as best I could, feeling all the while that I had found a friend in somebody. He took my rake from me, raked a bundle, set it up, and, sitting down on a stone, continued his questions. I told him nearly everything I knew and all about myself. Nothing was kept back. We were having a splendid time when Mr. Stoneman came into the field with a jug of water he was water boy. My friend ad vanced to him with outstretched hand, saying: "How do you do, Mr. Stoneman? My name is Leeder, pastor of the little Methodist church over 28 On the Mountain Division. at New Dover. I have not seen you out to our services yet." By that time I was out of hearing, for I imme diately resumed the rake when my superior came. Mr. Leeder talked a long time with Mr. Stoneman, and when he passed me on his way out of the field told me that he had made arrangements for me to come over to church and Sunday school every Sun day after that at half-past ten. With a warm grip of the hand and a hearty "Good-bye," and a "God bless you, Willie," he was gone. I had something now to live for. The day came at last. I was not so crippled as in former times, for I had got used to my fare. Before the appointed hour I was on the steps of the little church, nestling behind two tall pines and almost obscured by maples and elms. While I stood there several persons passed in, but none spoke to me. I saw Mr. Leeder coming down the road. Would he know me? As he sprang lightly out of the carriage he grasped me by the hand warmly with a "Good-morning, Willie ! I am glad to see you. Just come right inside." In less time than it takes to tell it I was comfort ably seated within and waiting. I do not remember much of the sermon, but the text, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me," is indelibly written on my memory. By the manner that the pastor looked after me, I was his special guest. Placed in a class of boys of Sundays on the Farm. 29 about my age and under the instruction of Miss Rey nolds, I seemed at the very gate of Beulah. I re ceived a "lesson quarterly." That, with a copy of the Sunday School Advocate, was the nucleus of my private library and reading room. It seems little enough now, but it meant wonders to me then. That evening the cows seemed to drive easier; the words of Mr. and Mrs. Stoneman were like music ; old Shack seemed the only dog in the world, and my attic was a palace. The weeks passed. They were tedious, but I could endure all so long as I had the Sunday coming as a reward. "Day of all the week the best, Emblem of eternal rest." Mr. Leeder never came out to see us again. He was yet a student in theology and unable to be on his charge except during vacation and over Sunday. But I saw him every Sabbath. That was sufficient for me. Yet I did wish that he might be my brother my elder brother. He had already proven himself a spiritual brother, over and over again. One day a Mr. Ambrose preached in his place. I did not like him, because I understood little that he talked about. His not speaking to me did not exalt him in my estimation. The congregation, however, liked him, on account of his culture and oratory, which they said were fine. Perhaps they were; nevertheless I was not so impressed. 30 On the Mountain Division. CHAPTER V. At School. IT was a cold November twilight. I had come in from work wet to the skin and shivering. The east wind, so penetrating in New Jersey, had pelted mist and rain at me all day. The late after noon added sleet. While drying my clothing by the kitchen fire and resting a few minutes before supper, Mr. Stoneman, removing the clay stub from his mouth, said kindly, after he had blown a quantity of smoke from his face that would have done credit to a volcanic crater, "Waal, Will." I looked up in surprise. "Yew ve ben a purty good worker this summer. Me an the ole woman s ben talkin bout yew this afternoon, an I concluded tew send yew up t Oak Tree tew school this winter. Injin sum mer s over, an I guess farmin s bout played out fur quite some time yit. Yew might s well git s more learnin s tew lay round here. It s a mile n a half up there, an yew c n walk it in twenty minutes. Don t yew let me ketch ye leavin the house fur school sooner n that time afore nine. Yew c n begin Monday." Wheeling his chair from the stove round to the table, he began eating. I needed no invitation to follow his example. Supper over and the chores all done, I sat by the At School. 31 stove until thoroughly dry and warm. It was still storming when I went to my sleeping room. Ice covered the ground. Shack shivered and whined as I passed him. A happy thought struck me, though the result a few days later was not so pleas ant. Unsnapping the chain from the dog s collar, I let him follow me to my chamber. Before many minutes I was in bed and Shack on it a guest of honor. I had shivered enough that day and am sure the dog had, and, thus mutually agreed, dog and boy slept till morning as cozy as "two bugs in a rug." The storm continued at daylight. The fields in which I had toiled all summer lay beneath a cover ing of snow while I snoozed under the warm cover let canis boni. It was Sunday. Turning my back on my friend, comfort was mine in a morning nap. But Mr. Stoneman had better staying qualities than I had, for I had nearly completed the chores at the barn when he came stalking in with the milk pail. Promptly at eight-forty the next morning I left the house for school, with my dinner in a two-quart pail. I was happy all over, snuggled up in a new coat, manufactured out of my master s old one. A pair of new cowhide boots, a secondhand cap over my head and ears, and a pair of Mrs. Stoneman s cast-off mittens, into which my hands were loosely tucked up, completed my wardrobe. The wind was biting, and blowing almost a gale, yet I faced it with the ease of a giant. Nearing the schoolhouse,, I heard a burst of 32 On the Mountain Division. laughter from a group of boys standing in the door way and hall. One voice exclaimed above all others, "Well, if here don t come Jake Stoneman s kid." Entering the door I said, "Good-morning." Only one boy whom I had met at New Dover Sunday school answered me. The others stood back to right and left as I entered the inner door, hearing behind me something like these remarks: "Old Jake s gettin liberal with is clothes, ain t *e?" "Guess stony Sarah ll have cold fingers now." These were the first intimation I had heard that the Stonemans passed in the neighborhood as penurious. That ac counted for me not getting into society any and very few ever coming to my abiding place. Stingy souls seldom get large enough to be noticed, even in a sparsely settled community. Miss Sadie Colder, the teacher, bell in hand, just opening the door to call school, met me. Her genial manner and inviting face, like veritable sunbeams, penetrated me in an instant. It was worth facing a north wind a dozen times. "Good-morning," she said, with a sweetness that fell over me like an evening breeze sifted through a bank of blooming lilacs. While I answered she asked my name and whence I came. Learning all the facts in the case, she seemed the more pleased to see me and to help me to select a good, comfortable seat in the middle of the room and near the stove. I did not know much, but what I knew, I knew. She was surprised that an urchin like me should want to read in the At School. 33 National Second Reader, but when she heard me read she was more surprised. No wonder, for her mind had been flooded with all manner of gossip concerning me, my origin, and my present environ ment. Too great-hearted to be prejudiced and too generous to be partial, Miss Colder took me into her confidence at once. I was boyish enough to tell her one day how I liked her, and that she was as good as Mr. Leeder, who preached down at the Methodist church. "Did you ever see him?" I asked, looking up from my book to her sunlit face. Her countenance changed instantly to a crimson in stead of pink. The snickers of the larger boys and girls around the stove made her blush all the more, and finally caused her to rise and leave the group to do some work on the blackboard. I was innocent then, and am yet, for that matter though I have since learned that the ones we most love and the names we like best to hear spoken, if mentioned in nocently, are like darts hurled from a sure hand. I am no Cupid, but I shot an arrow that day that went straight to the heart. Time flew too rapidly. Winter came on, cold and bleak. Shack and I kept each other nocturnal com pany. One morning Mr. Stoneman rose sooner than usual in order to get an early start to Rahway. Coming up into my room to waken me, he caught my friend on the bed. The devil was let loose, sure. Holding the lantern up before his face, he looked first at me, shivering like an aspen leaf, and then at 34 On the Mountain Division. the dog, whose head rested between his forepaws upon the counterpane, his ears hanging limp at the sides of his head and eyes blinking at the light and more flaming master, as if expecting an immediate earthquake. It came. Seizing the cur by the nape of the neck, Stoneman hurled him from the bed with the force that made the bones crack, and as the poor fellow staggered to his feet with a ki-yi he kicked him down the steps, end over end. Turning down the bedclothes, with the flat of his hand he fetched me out of bed standing. At this particular exigency he found his speech, a part of which I will omit. "Neow, boy, onct an fur all, I want no more o this blasted nastiness. F yew want tew sleep with the dog, go tew is kennel, but," raising his voice to a scream, "don t yew never fetch that dirty whelp on this clean bed no more." Mrs. Stoneman had washed the sheets before I came there, six months before. "By George Harry, ye ain t fit tew live," he howled, as he shook me by the shoulder as a terrier would shake a rat. Dropping me at last, as if I were a hot iron, he stamped down the stairs. The weather continued cold. School furnished my only relief. Returning home that evening, Shack did not meet me at the top of the hill as had been his custom. Mr. Stoneman had not yet returned, so I ventured to go to the kennel. The poor brute shivered from the cold and was too lame to come out of his nest. There had been no food given him that day; at least, no tracks in the snow indicated At School. 35 it. I ventured a few consoling words and hurried on to the barn. Night came on, and still no Stone- man. Under cover of darkness I carried some clean straw to the kennel, hung a piece of old carpet at the door, and, finding some food at the table, on the sly, of course, and in the slop pail, fed the starving- animal, trusting the wind and snow to cover my tracks before daylight. Just as I was about to retire the belated man came. His delay was on account of being obliged to wait his turn for his horseshoeing. I had done all the chores and met him at the barn with a lantern. Tak ing the light from my hand as we left the barn, he bade me go to bed. My feet were cold and my body was chilled from holding the light for him to unhitch the team. Hours passed before I fell asleep. When I awoke I was stiff with cold. I appeared pinched and blue. Not until I had run halfway to school and sat in the warm schoolroom an hour was I thoroughly comfortable. That day I did not eat all my dinner; the rem nant I left in the pail. The following day my luncK consisted of what I had not eaten the day before, with slight additions. This, however, did not occur many times. Strange to say, I had a hankering for fresh victuals. Across the road, on my way to school, ran a brook that told no tales. The wooden bridge that spanned the stream furnished an excel lent position for feeding the fishes. I fed them. They told no tales either. But the day of which I 36 On the Mountain Division. write the surplus provisions, together with some I really wanted myself, I saved for Shack. He met me as was his wont, but lame and crestfallen. It took him but a moment to devour the contents of my dinner pail. Almost his entire supply of pro visions for the remainder of the winter came from the above-mentioned source. Shack was not much of a dog, measured by a standard of breed and manners, though he did know a friend when he found one, and knew enough to appreciate friendship, too. I suppose that, accord ing to philosophical dogma or humanitarian caprice, only human beings are capable of friendship. Never theless, I have seen dogs manifest more affection toward their kind, and unkind as well, than some animals who passed for humankind. The cold snap and cold bed told on my constitu tion. The other members of the family noticed the change. The night will never be forgotten when I was told I could sleep in the garret over the kitchen. The room was real cozy. The same old bed graced it, with some of its staleness removed by soap and water. Home life grew better. I dried my boots and stockings about the stovepipe, if, perchance, I had played in the snow too much at school. All I lacked in those days was my dinner, but the satis faction and appreciation of Shack as he gulped it down, sometimes a whole biscuit at once, more than compensated me for my self-denial. " One morning, while waiting for Mrs. Stoneman At School. 37 to put up my dinner, she remarked, "Willie, ain t there any bottom to your stomach?" The empty pail every night had excited her curiosity, for all the while she had been increasing the quantity and really meant to give me enough to eat. "Really, Mrs. Stoneman," I answered, "perhaps there isn t, but I don t waste a bit. Every crumb is eaten up, slick and clean." My veracity was never questioned, and, when as sured that none was wasted, she was content. So also was Shack. Even he showed signs of improve ment. My diligent work at school and the supposed par tiality of the teacher toward me naturally brought on jealousy. I was the innocent party, of course, and suffered the consequences, as I will relate. Joe Thomas, a good-looking young man, though not a bookworm, by any means, somehow or other took a dislike to me. He had twin brothers, just a little older than I, and considerably larger. Joe quietly kept those boys tantalizing me whenever he got me out of sight from the teacher. One nooning all the boys went over the knoll to a clay pit, where a small area of ice made excellent skating. I came on the ice the last one. As I drew near I received this greeting: "Here comes Jake s brat!" one of the twins bawled out ; "he s the teacher s spot," re ferring to my pockmarked face. "Hello, spotty! come, spot ! come, spot !" ending with a whistle com monly given to call a dog. But I did not call. 38 On the Mountain Division. Not long afterward the twins kept sliding nearer to me, each pass attempting to trip me. I did not mind the fall two or three times, but when it came to a half dozen or more my anger began to rise. "Will you please stop tripping me?" I respectfully asked them. Instantly they sent up a cry, "Hear Jake s brat!" and with it a punch in my ribs. My little nine-year-old body bristled. "Two can play at that game, if you please," I replied, knowing that they with the help of Joe could paralyze me in about a minute, but I determined to be game to the last, depending somewhat on the sympathy and assistance of some of the other boys who were my friends, and more afraid of the trio than I was. The only answer was, "Look out for Jake s Billy ! Billy goat is coming look out!" And I did come, too, landing on Tommy s jaw. He immediately sprawled off howling toward Joe, who at once skated up to me with, "You young brat, just lay hands on one o my brothers again and I ll break every bone in your body," at the same time cuffing me over the ice. I struck on my face, but soon re gained my feet, the blood spurting from my nose. The smell of gore completely aroused the tiger in me. I seized a loose stone from the bank and hurled it at him with all my might. It missed its mark. He skated near me again to slap me, but I was off the ice enough to dodge his long swing from the At School. 39 shoulder. This was my opportunity, and I seized it. Grasping a scraggly root from the shore I slipped it between his legs and threw him headlong sprawling all over the ice. At that juncture the twins jumped onto me. The battle had begun in earnest. Joe scrambled to his feet and rushed at me like a mad bull. Charlie Lumm leaped in front of him, shout ing, "Hold on, Joe! Fair play! Two s enough!" The words were cut short by Joe s fist. Charlie reeled, and before he really knew what hit him half a dozen other lads were on Joe. In the meantime, the twins and myself rolled and tumbled down the bank and onto the ice, leaving be hind a trail of crimson. By that time I was not the only one bleeding. One of the boys had got away from me, running for the schoolhouse and yelling at every jump; the other one I still held down. Joe lay begging for mercy from his captors, when we were all startled by the kind voice of Miss Colder, who had stood by, a silent spectator, long enough to know all about the war, its causes and results. "There, boys, that will do. I am very sorry you cannot play together like gentlemen." We followed her to the schoolroom like dogged prisoners of war. I was in the worst plight of any one. My nose was swollen, my face and hands gory. Taking an old apron from the closet and putting it around her, Miss Colder washed and rubbed my face as tenderly as a mother. I was al most glad to be battered up that I might receive such 40 On the Mountain Division. v kindness, even though I was ashamed enough to hide my face. After the others had gone home Charlie and I remained to apologize for our insubordination. She had forbidden fighting. With tears in her eyes she replied : "I think I can trust you, boys, and tell you that you did right. You were not in the fault, and only defended your selves, yet I m sorry it happened. We won t have any more such battles, will we?" and she bowed her head on the table. Charlie and I stood there for a minute in silence. Without a word he went out of the room and home. In a moment the teacher raised her head, put out her hand, and drew me to her arms. I was only a lad of nine, but that one hug and warm kiss on my swollen and spotted face has kept me from many a snare. My little heart was broken, yet what a pleas ant break it was as my feelings burst out in a flood of tears. She talked to me until my loneliness left me. I realized that I had found a mother, a sister, a friend, all in one. Her kind words and parting benediction gave me courage. There was something in the world now worth living for, and I determined to live for it I would always be on the side of right. Another fight at Oak Tree school never occurred while I attended it, and as long as Miss Colder taught it. I walked borne on air that night, and would have taken delight in giving forty dinners to At School. 41 Shack had they been mine to give. I thought my home as good as any. I knew my teacher was the best in the world, for she lived "pure religion and undefiled before God." I lacked but one thing a brother to whom I might confide all my joys, sor rows, and triumphs. 42 On the Mountain Division. M CHAPTER VI. I Go a-Fishing. ORE than a year had passed since the battle at the clay pit. I longed to visit the scenes of the fray, for the boys told me "there were slathers o bullheads in the old hole." I had never been a-fishing, and a desire to go had grown into a burning passion. The opportunity arrived at last. Mr. Stoneman had been called to New Bruns wick for a week to serve as traverse juror during the May term of court. He went away on Monday, with instructions for me to attend to the chores, help his wife plant in the garden, and, what spare time I had, to clean out the shed where the sheep had wintered. This last task was enough for any one boy to do, but you, reader, know how much a boy can do in a very short time provided he be privileged to sit a few hours in the rain on the bank of a pool and hold a fishpole. On Tuesday the plan of a fishing excursion was conceived. I boyishly prayed for propitious weather. I was unable to work in the shed for the first two days. The garden received all my attention, and that of Mrs. Stoneman s as well Wednesday she was unable to be out in the sun on account of over- I Go a-Fishing. 43 exertion the day previous. That was my golden opportunity. If ever a boy worked in his life Stone- man s Billy tugged and sweat and jerked and pulled that day. By chore time the job was done. My, but I was lame and tired! What of that compared with the coming gala day ! "If it will only rain to-morrow," thought I, "there is a certainty that by nightfall few bullheads will remain in the clay pit." But it didn t rain. The garden absorbed all my time. In the afternoon, how ever, a shower, followed by a slight haze, indicated a storm. Instead of going to bed direct in the even ing, I took a roundabout path to our next neigh bor s and quietly borrowed fishing tackle against the coming Good Friday so it seemed to me, at least. When I awoke Friday morning the sweetest music that ever floated into a boy s ears floated into mine. It was raining. The gentle drizzle on the roof and the sloppy drip of the eaves told me that it was no passing shower. One thing was settled al ready : I could not work in the garden that day. I had to churn in the forenoon, but as soon as my cold lunch was swallowed (I always lunched at noon when the proprietor was away from home) I hastened to the barn with an intimation to Mrs. Stoneman that the shed would be clean that after noon. It was. In less time than it takes to tell it, Shack and his youthful master, equipped with all the necessary 44 On the Mountain Division. piscatory paraphernalia, sallied into the barn, through it into the meadow beyond, and through the meadow and the rain into the woods. The old coat that Mr. Stoneman used about the barn served me as an extra covering. I knew that if asked by the aforesaid gentleman why it was wet the fact that I had worn it in a shower the night before while after the cows would be sufficient explanation. The drip from the foliage, the gentle showers upon me as I tripped and stumbled into a sap ling or bush, and the novelty of the sport, to say nothing of the numerous briers, were certainly ex hilarating. Once at the water s edge, the real fun began. The angle-worms wriggled and corkscrewed. I jabbed at the squirming coil, only to puncture my thumb. At last I transfixed one amidship and threw off shore for a catch. I caught, or rather my hook caught, into a snag. Endeavoring to get it loose, and while leaning far out over the water, pulling and twisting the pole and line hither and thither lo! I was lift off the ground on the toe of a boot. I struck the water about halfway to the line. While soaring through the air, like a flying squirrel for my great coat flapping on my outstretched arms must have made me appear as such the gentle words of Stone man fell upon my ear: "Go t the bottom fur yer hook, yew blasted brat !" But I did not find the hook. The bottom of the I Go a-Fishing. 45 pit was quite hard, and when my feet touched it, involuntarily, I kicked. My head shot out of water as I spouted like a whale. Before the limpid liquid was all discharged my head was submerged again. I had found a little more than my depth. My head must have bobbed up and down like a huge cork with a darting bass on the hook. I danced around the clay pit spouting, blubbering, yelling, and gasp ing, all at the same time, the water just about to my ears if I had stood on tiptoe. In the meanwhile, when nearly exhausted, unconsciously waltzing near my tormentor, he hit me a tunk on the head with a pole, remarking, " F ye think ye c n stay where ye b long, take holt o this ere." Snapping at the pole for life, I proved to be the first bullhead landed that day according to Stone- man s opinion. Lying in the wet bushes a few mo ments, I had an opportunity to consider what "fisherman s luck" was, that Good Friday was no more, and, above all, that I had fished enough. An other conclusion at which I arrived without the aid of logic was that I was mad. I have since learned that "Ef you feel like bein blue, Better laugh; Sighs won t bring sunshine to you Better laugh. You can t conquer fate with frowns In a fight of fifty rounds : So in all yer ups and downs Better thing to do, by half, Is jest to laugh. 46 On the Mountain Division. "When you think uv cussin , don t ! Better smile. When skeeters bite and fishes won t, Better smile. Ef yer hook an line get stuck On the limb, ur some bad luck, Only way ter show yer pluck, Stead uv grumblin all the while, Is jest to smile." It never occurred to me before that my treatment at the hands of Stoneman was other than just. At that particular moment it was unbearable. I might have lain there in the bushes till now had not the sun burst through the clouds, mottled the wet ground with patches of silver, and trimmed the leaves with crystal beads. Nevertheless, it was not very "clear shining after rain." Stoneman had gone. Followed by Shack, with his tail between his legs, I journeyed on toward the place whence I had come, as wet as wet could be, but rapidly drying from internal heat. I had worked two years for him, I cogitated, as best I knew how, and had never lost any time from sickness, play, or visiting. It was strange to me now that I could not have a few hours respite from toil when it rained so hard as to render work on the farm im possible and when I had already completed what I was expected to do under shelter. Please remember, reader, that I fished no more in the clay pit. That night my heart ached. I dried my clothing, sitting behind the kitchen stove. I thought more I Go a-Fishing. 47 mean things that evening than I had in all my pre vious life, Stoneman being at one end of a bare cherry table, his head wreathed in a cloud of smoke, and his wife at the other end counting the money he had received from the county. The amount was little. To them it was big; to me, then, inestimable. Going to their bedroom, Mrs. Stoneman brought out an old stocking which received the precious coin and which already jingled with gold. My heart said : "You old, stingy misers, here you have lots of money, while I go barefoot, with clothes unfit to go to a stone frolic or a logging bee. You make me earn three times what I cost, and then don t treat me decently." In my anger I left them with their household gods of silver and gold. If ever I believed in a just God it was then. He seemed to console me, though I cried myself to sleep with a strange feeling that time only is necessary to right all wrongs and brush away all clouds. Some day I should find my elder brother whose affection and love would more than compensate for my many troubles. The next morning a small bucket of water and a piece of dry bread sat on the floor of my room. Trying to open the door, I found it fastened. The fact dawned upon me that I was a prisoner. That was the longest day I ever lived, except the next, which was a glorious Sunday in May. Monday morning brought liberty. The only consolation I had during those two days of imprisonment was to 48 On the Mountain Division. see Stoneman after the cows, feeding the pigs, and toting in wood. Down in a little lot by the house a calf ran at will. The chore boy for those two days knew nothing about its peculiarities. I did, and watched for de velopments. Bossy habitually drank about ten swal lows at first and then bunted for all he was worth. This maneuver, if not closely watched, overturned the pail or drove the milk into the air like a playing geyser. The mistress had fed it the first morning of my imprisonment. Sunday morning, after he had done all the chores, got on his clean clothes, eaten his breakfast, lighted his pipe, and settled down to real comfort, Mr. Stoneman came out of the back door with a pail of milk and leisurely walked down toward the calf lot. The innocent creature stood with its head through the fence. Now and then the little fellow darted his head and shoulders forward and swayed his caudal appendage. Imagine how I felt about then ! The quiet man placed the bucket under the calf s nose and let one side of it set upon his toes. He leaned his arms on the top board of the fence, stooped over and looked down upon the spotted head beneath him, and smoked away as calmly as you please. Presto ! The white tip at the extreme of the little creature s tail lifted to a level with its back ; at the same instant, with a slight tremor of the body, its nose struck on the same horizontal. A column of I Go a-Fishing. 49 milk shot up straight into the burning crater of Stoneman. Don t tell anybody, but he was a sight. His face was filled with fire, ashes, tobacco, and milk, the mixture trickling down through his whiskers in rivulets, onto his shirt, and dripping from his best pantaloons and coat sleeves in grayish streamlets. Standing for a moment, facing my way in a half-stooping posture, arms at half mast, he re minded me of the big Shanghai chicken I had res cued from the swill barrel the week before. Just at this point the pent-up volcanic fires erupted. He seized the pail by the bail, jerked it from the feasting one. The head of the calf disap peared through the fence like the head of a turtle into its shell. It scented war. Poising the pail above his head for a good aim, his majesty, Mr. Stoneman, turned the last quart of bossy s break fast down the back of his own neck. That was the last straw. The bucket hissed through the air and exploded near the opposite fence. Solid shot, in the form of stones, followed in rapid succession, while the enemy, banner in air and flaunting victory, capered back and forth and up and down the lot with an occasional bawl of calf pleasure. He evidently enjoyed the exercise, inasmuch as no evil came near his "blasted hide," as Stoneman remarked when he withdrew his forces and beat a retreat for the house. 4 50 On the Mountain Division. CHAPTER VII. Wandering Willie. "Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame ! Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie, And tell me thou bring st me my Willie the same." THE years passed. My lot remained the same. Stoneman s habits were not in accord with my notions. He made Sunday a day of lounging and occasional visiting, but he neither visited nor entertained unless there was a little busi ness deal somewhere in the complication. He never worked on that day, simply because he was too lazy, as most Sunday visitors are. He never entered the church but once while I lived with him, and that was when old Uncle Tommy Henway died. Uncle Tommy was the hermit bachelor of the neighbor hood, and was found dead one day in his apology for a bed. The poormaster had the funeral in charge, and Mr. Stoneman was asked to be "one o the bearers." He accepted the honor with solemnity. It was the only time I ever saw him really "dressed up," except when he brought me away from the or phanage two historical epochs in my life. He seemed as much out of place in the church as the corpse, for Uncle Tommy had not been in a church before in fifty years. Wandering Willie. 51 It has always been a query with me why all the Sunday visitors, loafers, workers, and sports, who seemingly have no regard for church services, ex cept ten-cent suppers and free entertainments, want to be buried from the church, and their friends, too, have all the ministers in the village present and the best choir in the vicinity. I write this not because Uncle Tommy was a pauper, but because he was a godless American heathen. If the church was of any value to him it was while he lived. Stoneman sat in the pew, listened, and wiped his eyes, appearing as solemn and ridiculous as on the day he saved me from drowning in the clay pit. The whole scene was as good as a circus to me. In the procession we rode in solemn state, I on some straw in the one-horse spring wagon, he and Mrs. Stone man doing the part of the aristocracy, on the only seat of the vehicle. After the services at the cemetery we drove to Rahway, to do some trading, an unheard-of event for the Stonemans. For the first time in my life I was on the streets of a town of any size, and over the threshhold of an up-to-date store. I guess I was; green as grass, for constantly the boys kept me turning and gaping for something, I knew not what. On our way home, along by the tracks of the Penn sylvania railway for two miles, I feasted my eyes, vowing that as soon as I was big enough a railroader I would be. Thirteen years old. I did as much work as any- 52 On the Mountain Division. one at the Stoneman homestead. There had been little to break the monotony until after our visit to Rahway. A new pair of shoes, the tops of which connected within a half inch of the lower extremi ties of a shop-worn pair of pants, a new hat and coat were then purchased for my special use. The large outlay, three dollars and seventy- four cents, had chaffed the commercial heart of my lord, who endeavored to force me into works of supereroga tion in payment of the debt of gratitude I owed him. Complaint there was none, nevertheless the yoke galled. Shack was poorer than ever, and I had be gun to share my food with him again, occasionally swiping an extra from the table into my pocket. Sitting for a moment one day behind the corn house, just after dinner, quietly disgorging my pockets and gorging the dog s stomach, to the surprise of all concerned I was caught. Slapping me side of the head with the flat of his hand, Stoneman picked up a piece of bean pole that chanced to be near and laid it over the back of my only friend. With a howl of pain the animal made for the kennel, followed by the brute. On my way to the field, rubbing my left ear, I heard other blows from the cudgel. The ear did not hurt half as much as my heart. I felt myself a coward to run when a friend was in dan ger. I prayed for the courage of Gideon. When I passed the kennel at chore time Shack still remained inside. He could not come out. At bed time, dark as pitch, I stooped down at the door and Wandering Willie. S3 reached in. The poor fellow trembled like a leaf. His soft tongue feebly licked my hand. I heard the faint pounding of his tail in the straw. He deserved a supper that he had not received. I determined he should have it, too, even if a battle had to be fought for it. My spunk was daily increasing. Feeling around in the darkness, I found the old basin used for dipping swill. I washed it in the brook, stole over the fence into the cow pasture, and filled it with milk. Shack lapped it all down with a relish. I patted a good-night on his head and went to bed. During the night I was awakened by the rattle of his chain and a dull thumping against the sides of the dog house. Hastening down, I found him in agony, apparently in convulsions. The old moon had just risen, so that I was able to see quite dis tinctly. Speaking to the dog in an undertone, he whined faintly and bounded out upon me, but fell faint and quivering. He rested contentedly with his head in my lap. After a few moments of silence he began to shiver. Then, turning his cold nose up ward, he licked me gently in the face, shuddered, stiffened and all was over. I sat on the ground for an hour or more holding the head of my dead friend and crying like a booby. It might have been weakness, but I am not ashamed of it. I was alone then. Out in the back pasture the next night I officiated at a solemn funeral, acting as chief mourner, grave- digger, undertaker, and parson. Beneath a graceful 54 h On the Mountain Division. cedar on a sandy knoll Shack at last found rest. The moon again lighted me to my room just as faint shafts of light began to bespangle the east. I was more dead than alive the next day, but I worked faithfully. However, I drew my full allowance of rations, a part of which went into my stomach, and the dryer portion into my pocket, for I was too sick at heart to eat. I bade Mr. and Mrs. Stoneman "good-night" and went to my room. I dared not drop off to sleep for fear of not waking till morning. After nodding and dozing about an hour and seeing that the light in the house was extinguished, I stole down the stairway, shoes and stockings in hand. Once beyond the house I turned into the road. After a few minutes walk I stopped, dressed my feet, and trudged on. I soon left the Oak Tree schoolhouse behind and hastened on into a strange land. Home less, friendless, and alone, I strode on in the night with all my possessions on my back, except the dry bread, gingerbread, and johnnycake I carried in my hand, wrapped in a Sunday School Advocate. The streets of Plainfield were deserted and silent. I made not a halt, but kept straight on up the mountain toward Bernardsville. Stars shone through a warm haze when I set out ; now clouds began to roll up in the west. Lightning played and quivered along the horizon. It was inky blackness all around me. A flash of lightning re vealed a barn standing in a field alone, some distance from the highway. I realized that I was fagged out. Wandering Willie. 55 Loss of sleep, sorrow, overexertion, and the excite ment of the moment completely exhausted me. Be tween the flashes I made for the fence, over it into the field, reached the shelter, gained an entrance, and found a comfortable resting place on some new- mown hay. After eating a part of my lunch by heaven s electricity and amid peals of thunder, I lay down to sleep. My reader, do you know the soporific luxury of a bed in new hay while the rain patters on the roof? Heaven s artillery could not awaken the .Wandering Willie on such a cot. When I did awake my bones ached and my stomach gnawed. Rising and becoming cognizant of myself, it was impossible for me to tell whether it was morning or afternoon. Sunrise or sunset, I knew not which. It proved to be the latter. In five minutes my remaining rations were eaten. In the twilight I crept to a meadow brook close by, slaked my thirst, bathed my face, got my bearings, and re turned to my bed. When I awoke it was dark and still. Crawling from my comfortable quarters and getting into the highway, I journeyed on toward the north. At daybreak another friendly hay barn appeared, but not the luxurious bed. Yet I manufactured a fairly good one and cuddled up for the day. It was nearly noon when my eyes opened. Surely, thought I, I must be a tramp now anyway. Hunger seized me in earnest. It occurred to me just then that my commissary supplies were cut off, and that 56 On the Mountain Division. I must either forage or die. I would neither starve nor go back to Jake Stoneman s, that was settled; beg or steal was out of the question; work I could and would if an opportunity offered yes, I would make an opportunity. Thus determined, I entered the road and walked straight for the first farmhouse. The haymakers were just out from dinner, lounging and joking on the porch and under the trees. There was no alternative; I must have food. I was ravenous. The men sighted me while yet a great way off. On coming nearer such remarks as, "What show have we here ? Lost, strayed, or stolen ? Let s have some fun with it!" greeted me. I made directly for them and immediately said, "How do you do?" They were completely bewild ered, and no wonder. I was a pitiable specimen of the turf. My hair was long, pants short, and coat shorter, all, more or less, flecked with hayseed and chaff. Dust covered my shoes, spots my face, and dirt my hands. "Is the gentleman of the house about ?" I asked. "No! He s gone to Morristown to-day," re spectfully answered one of the men, "but his wife is inside." "Lookin fur a job?" haughtily asked a youth. "Goodwin don t hire tramps." "Shet up, Tip !" said another. " Y ought tew be civil even tew a dog, much more tew a kid like him." "Yes, I want a job," said I, moving toward the door. Wandering Willie. 57 The man who first answered me called Mrs. Good win, who came to the door inquiring what was wanted. "Here s a chap lookin fur a job an wants to see the gentleman o the house." The woman was a large, good-natured lady. Standing in the door she looked me over from head to foot, partly in disgust, partly in pity. I awaited my first sentence. "Looking for a job!" she half mused to herself. "Well, I never ! Where did you come from, young ster ? Are you a runaway ?" She settled down to business, and her eyes read me like a book. I hesitated, stammered, and shifted my body onto the other foot and my hat into the other hand. The unexpected had happened. To lie would be wrong. To tell the truth might send me back to Stoneman. To Stoneman s I would not re turn, and I never dreamed of lying. "Come ! out with it ! Are you a runaway ?" "Yes, ma am, I am," shifting uneasily to my former position. "From home?" "No, ma am." "Haven t you any home?" "No, ma am." "Haven t you ever had a home?" "Not much of a one, ma am." "Haven t you any parents?" "Not that I know of, ma am." 58 On the Mountain Division. At this the men burst into laughter, but Mrs. Goodwin continued: "Where had you been staying before you began tramping ?" "Down near New Dover." "Who were you living with?" "A man by the name of Stoneman." "What, Jake Stoneman, that squint-eyed old skin flint down there? Are you that boy at s been stayin there for the past four or five years?" interrupted one of the men who had not yet spoken. Jumping to his feet and turning to Mrs. Goodwin, he con tinued : "If he s that boy he ll never go back to New Dover if I c n hender it. I worked near there las summer an know all about this Stoneman an his meanness. I wouldn t blame the boy f e d stole the money the old woman keeps tied up in a stockin . I for one ll stand by the boy an sock my fist into old Jake s ribs f he comes snoopin up round here." Finishing his plea, my pettifogger sat down again on the porch and chewed at his toothpick with a vengeance. "Is Lew right about you?" asked Mrs. Goodwin, pointing toward my defendant. "Yes, ma am." "What s your name?" "William Barson, ma am." "How came you at Stoneman s ?" "He took me from an orphanage five years ago." "How old are you?" Wandering Willie. 59 "Thirteen, ma am." Half musing she went on : "Thirteen ? Why, you look older, but your size is of a boy much younger. Want a job? You look as if you need something to eat more than work. Go round to the trough at the back door, wash up, come into the house, and we ll see if we can t give you a bite to stay your; stomach." In a half hour I came out of the front door a new boy. No doubt they expected me to move on. I had no such intention. I immediately volunteered to "rake after." It was not new work. No one said anything when Tip began "bunching up" and I took the rake. My work was satisfactory. When Mr. Goodwin arrived, made inquiries into my case, and watched me work he admitted that I was just the boy he wanted for a couple of months, provided I continued as well as I had begun. It was no trick at all to suit my new master. He did not expect a lad of thirteen to do the work of a man. The time flew by on wings of pleasure. A short distance beyond my new home lived a boy two years older than myself. We became inti-* mate friends. My desire for a brother grew as our friendship ripened. We spent the Sabbaths to gether. He attended the little New Vernon chapel Sunday school and, as a matter of course, I went along. Two months passed before I realized it. Septem ber came, and with it a request from Mr. Goodwin 60 On the Mountain Division. that he would like me to remain a few weeks longer. I remained. During those weeks I spent much time on the truck wagon, holding the horses and driving them, while my employer huckstered along the streets of Morristown from house to house. The middle of October came. Mr. Goodwin in formed me rather coldly that my services were no longer needed. There had been some crooked work done of late, and circumstantial evidence pointed toward me as the guilty perpetrator. The wages coming to me were twenty-five dollars, but my lord claimed that at least fifteen dollars had been taken from his till little by little, and that that shortage must be deducted from the twenty-five. In vain did I plead my innocence. I begged him to search me, my room, and all my belongings. He would not listen to me. I have always believed Mr. Goodwin sincere in his decision against me. He was shrewd, honest, and upright to the last degree, but having concluded that some one was deceiving him, that person was dropped. Perhaps he formed opinions too quickly and based his judgment upon too slight evidence, as is often the case with honest, moral men. He never would think of giving a fellow another chance. One fall, or what he supposed to be a fall, broke off communication. Nevertheless, I had not taken the money. It is true that he had trusted me with quite large sums, and often allowed me to pay small bills and to take receipts for the same. The place of the money Wandering Willie. 61 drawer I knew perfectly, having often been sent there for change. Tip had more money than usual. Cigars and candy were common luxuries with him. Where his spending money came from was a guess to me, but if I could only have the chance of a few days I was sure I could ferret out the source. The opportunity was not granted, and I knew better than to accuse anyone of a crime without sufficient evidence to con vict. There remained but one thing to do go. The Goodwin home closed to me forever. My labor satisfied. Wages cheerfully paid so far. I had been picked up from tramping, and given a good home and decent treatment, all of which I appreciated. They took me into their confidence and trust and, according to their opinion, I had betrayed both. Now I must take my ten dollars and go and go forever. In vain did I lay my claim before Mr. Goodwin. Would he only let me stay till I proved myself hon est, and until my wages would repay the lost money ? I wanted to leave him the ten dollars rather than depart with a stain on my reputation. I wept and begged and went. The servant girl said I was innocent. Tip whistled and remarked that it was good enough for me. Mrs. Goodwin used her apron about her eyes and nose, as if she had taken an overdose of snuff, while her husband gritted his teeth. He was "sot in his way." I slept with Ned that night and poured out my 62 On the Mountain Division. troubles to him. He, too, believed me innocent. Then I cried and blurted out that "there s no use trying to be good." I talked of my elder brother, "and, Ned," said I, "I have a brother, too, and some, day I ll find him." I planned to write to Ned when I settled in a new place, and he would report to me the outcome of the burglary at Goodwin s. The next morning, with a little bundle under my arm, I set my face toward the north for a second time. This time my heart was heavier than before, for I went under criminal accusation. Trudging along the road that morning, Mr. Goodwin and Tip passed me, the former paying no attention to me, while the latter shouted, ".Wander ing Willie, again! " "I ain t got no reg lar place that I can call my home, I don t get no fond embrace as o er this world I roam ; Portland, Maine, is just the same as sunny Tennessee, For any old place I hang my hat is Home, sweet home, to me." The Summer-field Home. 63 CHAPTER VIII. The Summerfield Home. "Loud though the winter blew cauld at our parting, Twas na the blast brought the tear to my e e: Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to me." " T ANE, I wish you d bathe my foot with that lini ment again. I guess this rheumatism ll kill J me." So spoke Joseph Horton to his wife while he sat in a comfortable rocker, a pillow at his head, and his right foot well bandaged, resting on a chair. The room represented the coziness of a well- to-do farmer. Several straight-backed, splint chairs, three wooden rockers covered with double-quilted calico, a large lounge, and a table constituted the furniture, which was arranged about a sheet-iron stove. A striped rag carpet mantled the floor, and in one corner a high, wooden clock reached from carpet to ceiling. The ceiling consisted of wide pine boards painted red. A pan partially filled with late pippins and parings sat on the hassock near the fire. Annie, a girl of twelve, the only child for Frankie, a brother two years her senior, had been sleeping in the cemetery but three months and Aunt Phoebe, a maiden sister of Mrs. Horton, constituted the re mainder of the family. The odor from the room 64 On the Mountain Division. smelled strongly of boneset, vinegar, liniment, and slowly sizzling apples. The illumination came from a hanging lamp over the table, the glow from the roaring fire and Annie s radiant face. "I miss Frankie so much these days," continued the patient, as his wife sat down and began bathing the painful member. "It was all I could do to finish the chores to-night. It ll be quite some time fore I can get round well again, and I do wish I had a chore boy. We ve always worked h^rd, Jane. Now we re gettin old, and I m rheumatic. But we ve a little ahead and can t complain Och ! E-e-e ! Rub a leetle careful there that stuff takes right holt. iYes, as I was goin to say, if we only had Frankie now our family circle would be complete and our cup of blessin full. God has been good to us just the same, Jane, and I m not the one to find fault." A hush fell upon the company as the conversation ceased. Mrs. Horton continued rubbing the foot, while her husband sat back in the chair with his eyes closed. To a careful observer several tears chased leach other at intervals down his wrinkling cheeks, while the good wife drew her sleeve across her eyes, as if the pungent odor of the liniment affected them. Both their minds dwelt on the little mound up the hill, that was now receiving its first snow covering. The storm had begun in the early afternoon when the air was damp and biting. First came a fine ice- dust which, as the temperature rose, turned to large, fleecy snowflakes. The wind rose and howled The Summer-field Home. 65 around the buildings and roared through the moun tain forests. Darkness shut in with a blustering, blinding storm* "What matter how the night behaved ? What matter how the north wind raved? Blow high, blow low, not all its snow Could quench our hearth fire s ruddy glow;" "That was a good story, Aunt Phoebe, Said Annie, with a long breath, rising from her cozy corner where she had listened to one of auntie s favorite tales. "Good-night !" She stood hesitating by her father s side. Placing an arm around his neck and leaning against him lov ingly, she remarked with a yawn, "I m sleepy, papa, but the wind blows so I don t want to go to bed. O, dear!" as a violent blast struck the dwelling, "how the house shakes at every gust! Hark! was that some one knocking? Who can be out such a night as this? Shall I open the door?" "Yes, dear, and be spry about it, for whoever it is e ll perish if e don t get under shelter soon." Annie seized the latch and opened the door. A gust of wind freighted with snow rushed into the room, half extinguishing the light and hissing against the hot stove. Nothing could be seen. Annie cheerily shouted, "Come in, quick, or we ll all be snowed under!" An object entered, and the door closed. When the flurry had subsided a small boy, shivering, be- 66 On the Mountain Division. wildered, blue with the cold, and covered with snow, stood inside the door. There was a moment of silence, while every eye was fastened on the lad. "Come up by the fire, my boy !" said Mrs. Horton, who pushed a chair in the direction indicated. The youth sat down shivering and speechless. The red-hot stove drove the snow out of sight, while the water gathered in little pools on the oilcloth. The good woman took one of the little hands in hers. It was cold as ice. Lifting his cap, the ears showed white rings on the outer cartilage. "Get a basin of cold water, Annie, quick, for the poor fellow is nearly frozen." They removed him to the couch, away from the heat of the stove, and, taking off his leather boots, bathed his feet and hands with cold water. In a few minutes the chill had passed from them and they were removed from the cold bath and rubbed briskly with a rough towel. They gave him a drink of hot ginger tea and again brought him to the fire side. While the little fellow sat silently looking into the bright coals several tear drops coursed down his face. They did not fall unnoticed. Friendship germinated, grew, and bore fruit at once. Not a word had yet passed between the hospitable hosts and the strange little guest. The silence was golden. Mr. Horton was the first to speak: "Well, my boy, you were purty near froze, did you know it? Guess you ve had a purty tough time of it, haven t you?" The Summerfield Home. 67 "Yes, sir!" came faintly and with a shudder. "Have you come far to-day?" "I don t know" another shiver "how far, sir." "Where is your home, my lad?" "I haven t any home, sir. I m not a tramp nor a beggar neither. I only want a place where I can earn my way, but no one seems to to want me around. I worked for Mr. Goodwin down at New Vernon, and he liked my work well enough, he said, but finally sent me away twitting me of stealing but, sir, I didn t. Since then I ve tried to find work, but I can t I ve spent all my money. I don t know what to do or where to go. I feel as if I had an elder brother somewhere, yet I don t know. I never saw my parents Oo-oo-oo!" as a chill passed over him making his teeth chatter. "If I could only find my brother, or a friend even, I would be all right." By this time I had friends around the Horton hearthstone. I have had severe exposure to the ele ments since that night, but never came so near giving up in my life. I prayed for deliverance. It came through the blinding gale and drifting snow in the form of a light in the window. Providence had favored me. I must have a mission on earth or the Lord would have then let me freeze to death. You may have sometime felt that there was no place in the world for you except in the potter s field. If you have never realized that condition you are to be pitied. Just at the point of despair the good Father 68 On the Mountain Division. of us all flings open the gate leading into a state of consciousness and knowledge of world-ownership and all heaven, besides. "All mine are thine, and thine are mine." It need not be mentioned that I had found a home. They informed me that they were sorely in need of a chore boy, but that I was too small. When they knew my real age and allowed me to try my hand at work the bargain was closed. Mr. Horton s rheu matism increased until he was unable to get out of doors. All the chores fell on me. But what of it as long as such a fireside blazed for me, and such com pany as was there included me also. Books and pa pers lay before me. My food was sumptuous. In the nightime I rolled in fluffy feathers. By holiday time Mr. Horton recovered sufficiently to be around again, and I was permitted to go to school. What school days ! Were you, my reader, ever at Summerfield, New Jersey, away up on the mountains? To the northwest is Mount Minsi, on the west side of the Delaware Water Gap, while on the east the Jersey side the mountains stretch away to the horizon with a summit as level as the ocean. These for the background; the meander ing Delaware, patches of woodland and farms at our feet, the foreground, became the everyday picture that gratified Annie and me as we went to and from school. And such dinners as we carried in our basket, and the pleasure of eating them! I can taste them yet. My chief joy, how- The Summer-field Home. 69 ever, was breaking roads through the snow for my schoolmate. I had gained parents, sister, and a dear old auntie. Brother s place in my heart was yet vacant. My con dition would not have been so happy had not their misfortune left an aching void, to be filled in part by me. Why Frankie was taken and Willie left remains a question to be answered in the here^ after. The wisest of us stand as children before our heavenly Father. After everything in the barn, kitchen, woodhouse, and cellar was done for the night we gathered in the sitting room to spend the evening. The apple pan sat among us as a permanent entertainer. Uncle Joe all the neighbors called Mr. Horton by that name, and his good wife, Aunt Jane spent most of his time reading; Aunt Jane, knitting or mend ing; Aunt Phcebe, knitting or telling stories; and Annie and I, listening or playing dominoes or fox and geese. Sometimes we were elfish and tormented Aunt Phoebe. She had the fashion of knitting and nodding, the needles, as if adhering together, going slower and slower, down to the sticking point, while her body went over and over until her head dropped, awakening the sleeper with a start and setting the whole knitting machinery in motion faster than ever. We used to tickle her nose with a straw, occasionally of course, just before the nod. When she jumped, we shouted, "There, Aunt Phcebe, we caught you napping that time!" 70 On the Mountain Division. "No, you didn t !" she asseverated every time. "I ain t as near asleep as you think I be." But she was asleep, yet one of the best old souls that ever lived. However, I have seen folks who were eternally asleep before they were twenty years of age. They would talk in their sleep and yet declare their wake- fulness. They could not always be wakened, either, by the jab of a bodkin. It is so strange how some of us sleep, and even die, and yet escape burial for half a century. Aunt Phoebe never slept except physic ally. Mentally and spiritually, she was wide-awake and very much alive. This dear old dame spent most of her life at Dingman, on the Delaware, between Port Jervis and the Water Gap, and was steeped in Indian lore. The air along that portion of the noble river has never yet been disturbed by a steamboat whistle or the puffing locomotive, and still has the flavor of tradi tion. The sluggish stream, many islands, the tall cliffs, and sandy flats, must have been the ideal fish ing waters, hunting grounds, and home of the noble red man. Where the lithe warrior paddled his canoe among the rushes, there the nimble limbs of the deer bathed and its graceful neck stooped to drink. Where the Meadow King now drops the timothy and clover, the squaw once hoed the maize and pounded the grain with a stone pestle and mortar of her own make. Here, too, the boys raced, threw the tomahawk, shot their flint-headed arrows, and bathed and fished in the limpid water. Where are The Summerfield Home. 71 now the lover s nook and tryst, there the Indian hunter once wooed his dusky mate and led her thence to his lonely wigwam. With bated breath we listened to the tale of the battle at Death Eddy. The Indians overpowered the whites, drove them from the settlement over the bluff, down the mountain, and into the river, and massacred men, women, and children under the tomahawk until the stream ran red with blood. We could almost imagine the whistle of the wind around the corner of the house to be the moaning of the vic tims under the gleam of the scalping knife. Since those days I have visited the scenes of the story, and from far up in the forest nearly to the top of the mountain floated down to, and over, the river the sweet, plaintive notes of the mourning dove. The Indian war whoop has long since died away in its last echo, but the minor strain continues from the throat of a dove of peace. The story of the fray at Minisink thrilled us. There scores of warriors, white and red, fought for mastery and possession of the soil. There, too, scores returned to the dust whence they came; the white man s soul to the judgment, "to render an ac count of the deeds done in the body," and the red man s soul to its happy hunting ground. May the just Father of us all judge between them. Many were the legends and yarns that clustered around the life of Tom Quick, the greatest Indian hunter of his time. Returning one evening to his 72 On the Mountain Division. cabin, he found it in ashes and his parents, brothers, and sisters, lying in their blood, while their scalps dangled from the belts of the bloodthirsty braves. There in the dusk, with his family dead about him, he looked up to the evening stars and vowed before God to avenge their butchery before he died by slay ing one hundred Indians. He slew ninety-nine, so the story goes, and died regretting that but one had escaped. Will you blame him who had the privilege of reading, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord" ? Can you blame the Indian who had not that opportunity and lived consistently as he read the word of his God from Nature s book? Rafting on the Delaware was perfectly familiar to our story-teller. There was little rafting between "Port an the Gap," but raftsmen from up river often landed at Dingman for the night the eddy being frequently filled with rafts and the farmhouses with rugged, healthy lumbermen, who, too often, inclined toward drinking and boisterous carousing. Their jollity was not so apparent until they had passed "through the Gap;" then their lower nature was let loose, and appetite and passion ran wild, for above Port Jervis they must be cool and sober. Here the river flows in a narrow channel, frequently thrown into a tumult of rapids, such as at Cochecton and Mongaup falls, Lackawaxen dam,* Big and Little Cedar, and at Butler s and Sawmill rifts. Below * The dam has been removed since the Delaware and Hudson Canal was abandoned. The Summer-field Home. 73 the Port the river widens, flows quietly, and for hours at a time only the light "paddlin o the hind hands" and the close watch of the steersman are necessary. At night the raftsmen had everything their own way. When "layin over" for high or low water or high wind they sometimes ate and drank everything in sight, occasionally resorting to the destruction of property. Many hard-contested battles they had with the canalers. Fists were al ways used. Often the canalers brought into play loaded whips and clubs. If the lumbermen were likely to be worsted they used their crank augurs and sometimes axes. Many were the stories told us of the Lords, the Coles, the Geers, and the Lakins of the Upper Dela ware, among whom were excellent steersmen and powerful men, while on the lower waters were such men as "Old Joe Coogler," who could "run a raft from Black s to Trenton without dippin a far d oar." Summerfield was not very far from the Delaware. Often Annie and I walked to the brow of the moun tain and looked down upon the serpentine waters pounding along over the bars and rifts and smoothly lapping along through the rush-fringed eddies. Dur ing a "fresh" we frequently saw rafts floating lazily down the stream, all of which increased the vivid ness of the oft-repeated stories of Aunt Phoebe. But the smoky trail of the locomotive and the snakelike train following attracted my attention more. It would not be many years, I then thought, 74 On the Mountain Division. before I would join the great army of railroaders. My plans were made, for nothing but a "life on the rail" would for me produce contentment. Those were the halcyon days of my boyhood; the silvery and gold-embroidered rifts in the clouds, letting through the genial sunlight of the time when I should be a man. Springtime. CHAPTER IX. Springtime* "At last young April, ever frail and fair, Wooed by her playmate with the golden hair, Chased to the margins of receding floods, O er the soft meadows starred with opening buds, In tears and blushes sighs herself away, And hides her cheek beneath the flowers of May." YES, May had come. My heart could contain no more happiness without enlargement. The peach orchards were great, pink sun- bonnets bent over the sandy hilltops. The green patches of winter grain gave a touch of beauty to the mountain sides, fringing the woodland or the fields that had been plowed for later grain. The first warm, blue haze of early spring had cleared from the atmosphere. In its stead came the dry, bright air, floating on the west wind and freighted with the fragrance of May. The spring work was well along, and Uncle Joe became anxious to know more about me. His natural disposition led him to seek information con cerning my former character. He was a cautious man, shrewd, intelligent, and fair in judgment. My work and conduct pleased him, yet he was too wary to allow me to lay a trap for him. All this he kept to himself and pondered it in his heart. 76 On the Mountain Division. O, how it rained ! Some fences had to be repaired along the pasture next to a clump of second-growth timber. Patches of bushes, here and there, kept me wet to the skin all the time I was working. At five in the afternoon the job was done. When I entered the kitchen, my clothes dripping, Annie handed me a letter. It was from Ned Thraner. Surely this brings good news ! Opening the missive, my heart bounded with joy as I read that Mr. Goodwin had found the thief, and he knew me to be innocent. Still I felt sad to learn that Tip now lay in jail awaiting trial for stealing. Taking the letter to Uncle Joe, who sat in the sit ting room reading his paper, I exclaimed, Here s a letter that will show you that I have told you the truth about Mr. Goodwin and his accusation against me." "That s all right, Willie," he coolly replied, push ing my letter back to me and laying his hand over another one on the table, "here s one from Mr. Good win himself which tells the whole story, and a check for fifteen dollars to boot," handing me the paper. "You re an honest boy and may stay here s long s you like. Better go now and find the sheep and see there s no lambs in trouble. T rains hard enough to drown a sheep." He turned to his reading, and I plunged into the rain again as light as a feather, although the water slushed and gurgled in my boots at every step. Springtime. 77 A home and friends, an honest boy, Enough to fill my soul with joy ! The summer passed like a continual picnic. Of course I worked, for there is no pleasure in idleness. When one s heart is in the task, fatigue vanishes, time flies, and life pleases. The very air breathes freedom. I was alone much of the time; not lonesome, but in periods of meditation. More and more the con viction that I had an elder brother grew upon me. Sometime and somewhere, I was confident, we would have a happy union or reunion, I knew not which. Summerfield Methodist Episcopal Church had been supplied for years by students from Drew Theo logical Seminary. Occasionally the pastor brought along a fellow-student or classmate to preach for him and share with him the bounteous board of the mountain farmers. It was a rare treat for "the boys from Drew;" to dine with the farmer girls and there are none better to chat round a home fire side, and to sleep in a downy bed were sharp con trasts to the monkish life at the seminary. Harry Blessner preached for us. Just before holi days he began revival meetings, to continue through vacation at least. A week passed. Every night found me at the church with Annie, Uncle Joe, and usually Aunt Jane. Family prayers became more personal and genial, though Mr. Horton always prayed for results and from the heart. Never hav ing opportunities of Bible study or Christian train- 7$ On the Mountain Division. ing, the home that opened to me was a revelation as well as a benediction. The teaching in the orphanage had done wonders for my habits. At Stoneman s there was no opportunity to use tobacco or intoxi cants. Even if there had been, the nicotine that coated Stoneman s mouth, smoked his visage, and scented his clothing was sufficient to disgust any ordinary person. By the way, tobacco is like a snail anyway, "slow but sure," leaving a slimy trail. Well, at the opening of the revival I was moral in the strictest sense of the word perhaps as good as I ever have been since, although I was neither saved by grace nor useful to the church. One even ing the Gospel in John third chapter and sixteenth verse was preached by a classmate of Blessner. The fountain of my soul then began to play. What a sprinkling of conviction I received ! The next night the witness of the Spirit came from the eighth of Romans. The good brother dwelt long on Father, sons, and Jesus our elder brother. I am no theolo gian or homilist, and till then I thought I was no great sinner, but the truth came home to me like a vision from heaven. When the invitation to the altar came I was too weak to stand. Men and women wept on account of their sins. I wept with them. "Come, ye sinners, poor and needy," just touched my case. A hand lay on my shoulder as the kind voice of my pasfcor said, "Come, Willie, now is your time," Springtime. 79 The way from the pew to the altar was long and the burden heavy. When I dropped at the railing there seemed never such a case of fallen humanity and total depravity in all the world. That posi tion and its consciousness, together with a vow and faith to do better, proved to be very near glory for me. The sermon had cut me all to pieces. "O, Father, help !" I cried, but I had known no father, and could not get light. Sonship had no more effect. I longed for an elder brother. Here I held fast. "Jesus, my elder brother," I groaned. My eyes opened. The dimly lighted room was mellowed by celestial brightness. The faces in the audience shone. My tears dried. My burden was gone; my sorrow gone; homesickness gone; self gone. A new boy with an elder brother stood in my stead. The clothing, spotted face, and diminu tive body were identical with myself, yet self was gone. Nevertheless I lived, yet not I, but Christ lived in me; "and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith df the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." The congregation were singing "Praise God, from whom all blessings flow." I arose and lustily joined with them. The quiet moment of benediction calmed my soul and nestled it in the bosom of the Almighty. I went into the church that evening an orphan and came out a son ; I went in a beggar and came out an heir. 80 On the Mountain Division* "O happy are they, Who the Saviour obey, And have laid up their treasure above! Tongue can never express The sweet comfort and peace Of a soul in its earliest love. "That sweet comfort was mine. When the favor divine I received through the blood of the Lamb; When my heart first believed, What a joy I received, What a heaven in Jesus s name !" The Fever. 81 CHAPTER X. The Fever. YOU know how silly and sentimentally a boy acts when he begins the ascent of the hill so famous in legend and practice. We all climb it. Most of us reach the summit at twenty- one, some before, some later, and others never. It is the era of climbing, anyway. Yet some label that plastic period the epoch of transition, others the years of pliability, and still others the saphead age. Whatever may be the correct term to use, cer tainly it is not sapiency. It may be the "ascent of man," but the man does not appear until after the ascent. You know How a boy works on the third of July. The enthusiastic patriot washes the old buggy, cleans the harness, and slicks up in general, in order to be spick and span on the Fourth. As I write I stop to smile at how that rig appeared after that awful day of dust, heat, driving, drenching, and mud. Annie and I drove to Washington to celebrate. The brass band, the marching throng, the patriotic speeches, and lemonade hawkers bewildered me. The ragamuffins* parade completely took away my senses. Yes, and we had peanuts and candy galore. 82 On the Mountain Division. It was a glorious event ! I know I grew sentimental coming home that evening, but I could not help it. I was dead in earnest. We understood each other and had the sense to be patient. We were allowed to spend the day together, because I was sort of guar dian brother to Annie, but of course we considered matters a little more seriously, as sixteen-year-old lads and lasses do, you know. Thus the summer passed. The health of Uncle Joe was excellent. The crops turned out well and were snugly stored in the barns. Several straw and hay stacks showed the abundance of harvest. We were rilling the cellar. The bins were bursting with smooth potatoes and blushing apples. Then came on a cold rain in October. It seemed oppressive to me. A sense of dissatisfaction crept over me, where before had been unalloyed happiness. I went after the cows in the late afternoon. From either side of the mountain came the shrill whistle of the locomo tives and their heavy breathing. The long sup pressed desire for railroading burst out anew. The startling whistle of a bobwhite, coming up from the rail fence, increased the longing. Manhood was covering my boyish notions and sentiments. The boy may have been a good farmer; the man never could be. Standing beneath a large tree, under which I had taken shelter from a passing shower, I concluded, finally and forever, that railroading should be my lifework. My education was from the common schools, with two terms in a high school, The Fever. 83 certainly sufficient, I thought, for an ordinary rail roader. At present I had a good home, where I might live forever, as far as I knew, but it seemed more like sponging than living. They had taken me in when I was in need. That had put me under obligations to them. I considered the obligation met. Now was the time to leave. At the fireside that evening I broke the news. There was surprise, yet Uncle Joe, especially, knew how to sympathize with me. He had himself once been a poor, homeless boy, and began life at sixteen. "Of course, it s for you to decide, Willie," said he. "We d like you to stay with us as long s you like, but if you re not contented with the farm and want to railroad it, why, the time s come for you to begin. Remember, you go away with our best wishes. I want you always to feel that this is your home, and the latchstring hangs on the outside. F you could stay a week or two longer, till I could get my fall work done, twould be a great accommoda tion; but if you think you d better go now, why, that s for you to say." I immediately promised to help on the farm till cold weather set in. Annie had quietly stolen up to her room when her father began to talk. When I passed her open door on my way to bed I heard a restless sob. Her eyes confirmed my supposition when she came to the breakfast table. The same fire 84 On the Mountain Division. burned in me. To give way to it then meant yield ing to sentiment rather than to reason. Those two weeks were rather sad ones. They flew by as on wings. The morning of my leave- taking came. Uncle Joe placed in my hand one hun dred dollars in gold. I could not take it. It was too much. " T you don t want it now, Willie," said he, "take part of it and leave the rest here payable on demand." I had to do it. One fourth of it I took with me, the remainder I left behind. Surely I did not want, for goodness and mercy had followed me all the days of my life. When Aunt Phoebe kissed me good-bye she placed in my hand two pairs of thick, woolen socks knit by her own hands. I felt a little guilty that I had ever teased the good old soul. Aunt Jane gave me a Bible and a "God bless you" with it. Annie s gift, the most precious of them all, was a tear. I choked, jumped into the wagon, and rode away in silence with Uncle Joe. At the station we said good-bye. With my trunk checked and myself speeding along in the train, I had time to meditate, to shed a few tears, and face the world alone again. This time, however, I had friends and a home be hind. Fortune lay before me. Again I was among strangers, but with an aim. Au revoir to old Sum- merfield and Summerfield friends ! MANHOOD. CHAPTER XI. A Wiper. IT iWAS a crisp morning in November, and everything was humming in the yard of the C. O. & B. Railroad at Bryson. The city was the terminus of the Eastern and Mountain Divisions. Inside, among the numerous offices, all were busy, from the superintendent to the lowest clerk. In those days the division superintendent the "old man," as he was called by the boys hired the trainmen. I found my way up into his office and stood timidly beside him. Finishing a brief order, with a rapidity that startled me, he turned his chair and with an eagle eye looked me through, asking hurriedly, "What can I do for you?" "I want a job on the road." With another roll of his eyes he turned to the desk, saying, "What! a little fellow like you want to go on the road? No!" "Can t I get some position where I can work up ?" "You might be a wiper," he added, between the sentences he was dashing off with his pen. "Will you give me the job?" 86 On the Mountain Division. After a long pause he jerked out, "Go t the as sistant trainmaster. Good-morning!" I soon found the aforesaid official and engaged as wiper, assistant hostler, and boy of all jobs. The roundhouse became my home; the railroaders my companions. At first they all appeared about the same to me, gruff, hurrying, reckless, jolly, swear ing, and selfish fellows. But a week s time not only revealed to me many good-natured "boys," but also many a true, clean heart beneath the greasy, blue blouses. The ones given to the most talk usually proved to be of least account. I learned that rail roads, like all institutions and machines, except wind mills, cannot be run by wind. No sooner had my work begun than my outer crosses burdened me. It took all my strength to keep sweet. The first afternoon while wiping one engine a burly fellow ran another in from the turntable over the adjoining pit, and, dropping to the floor beside me, commanded in a voice that made the roundhouse reecho, "Here, Stub, shine up this ere hoss, an don t be all day bout it ; do it while she s hot !" I obeyed orders, supposing that he probably owned stock in the road, there being no one around just then to inform me otherwise. As he passed out of the roundhouse I heard him shout to the foreman, "Hey, Mike! what gamin ye got over there fur a wiper? He don t know an ingin from a coal jimmy, and would wipe a stone boat if some ole farmer hauled one in here an told im to," A Wiper. 87 Before quitting that day I asked Mr. Rooney, the roundhouse boss, who the fellow was that brought in that nice clean engine. "Sure an he s a brakesman on the Eastern Divi sion an thinks he knows all bout railroodin ; an I guess he do know all e iver will, fur is head gearin don t be much when the hole fur s mouth s took out. He s a ben on the rood bout six wakes, an I doubt f e stays that much longer. Th ingine e fetched in come frum the sheds over thare an didn t need wipin half so bad s is ears. Look a-here, my boy," continued the good-hearted Irishman, as he laid his hand on my shoulder, "ye re a granehorn, an let me give ye a bit o good advice. The fust thing a rail- rooder must larn is who s the boss. Noo, I m boss o this yer roundhouse, an if things be not doon right, I m a holdin fur t all an all. F yez slight yer worruk the blame cooms kerslap back to me see? I ve let yez do purty much yer own way to day, so I have, to see f yez d neglect yer worruk, an I ve kept a mighty clus eye on yez, too, an* I find yez entarely satisfact ry. Billy that s yer name, ain t it? that s a fust-class recommend. Noo, rec lect, yez beholdin to nobody fur nothin axcept me, an s long s yez do s I say it s nobody s bizness, an it s Mike Rooney, the boss, what s a-tellin yez, bedad! An then whin Mouthy Anderson, er inyone else yes, an th super ntindent o the road aven gives yez lip, talk back s much s ye plase s long s yez be respictable. Stan up fur the right, an take nuthin 88 On the Mountain Division. frum nobody. Never ye fear, fur s long s yez doos what s to my liking an f yez do be inter trooble an yez will, cause yez be so leetle brace up an use a powker if necissity calls fur it, an* if that be not enuff yez 11 find Mike Rooney cluse for- ninst an behint. An doos yez understand, Billy, meb y?" "Yes, Mr. Rooney, I ll remember what you have said and profit by your advice. Thank you for it, and good-night." I never forgot the old man s words, nor did I lose his confidence or support. He was a rough man, but honest, and as true as steel. His word was as sure as the hills. Strange faces greeted me every day. One clean- faced, corpulent engineer came for his locomotive at seven-fifteen every day with a round, cheery "Good- morning, my boy. Is she neat s a pin?" I always managed to be near old 444 when he came in. I liked the engineer from the first. Saturday night he brought in the engine himself; the fireman usually did it. Swinging wearily from the lower step, he approached me with a pleasant yet serious smile, say ing, "Are you a stranger in Bryson ?" I told him that I was. "Let me see, what is your name?" as he took from his pocket a little notebook. I told him. "What you going to do to-morrow?" writing clown my name and address, A Wiper. 89 "Go to church somewhere, I guess, but I don t know just where." "You re a Christian, then, I take it, and you d better come over to our church, the Asbury Metho dist, at ten-thirty in the morning. I ll see you there and get you into the Sunday school. Then you ll go home to dinner with me. In the afternoon we ll go down to the Y. M. C. A. How does that strike you?" I was overjoyed. I knew I had found not only a Christian man, but a friend and a church home in a strange place. Orin Neely, I knew, had brought the engine into the roundhouse that afternoon, tired as he was, for the sole reason of making me at home. I was a stranger and he took me in. Ever afterward I found "Ot" Neely a diamond in the rough, the roughness consisting entirely of his railroad clothes. You may rest assured that I spent my first Sunday in Bryson perfectly at home, for when I sat in the Neely pew I recognized my old friend Leeder in the pulpit. He, too, recognized me with a hearty wel come at the close of the service. That Sabbath was a twelve-hour meditation. Old faces recalled old scenes. My former life passed in review. When I found my warmest friend of yore, Miss Colder, to be Mrs. Leeder I was still more at home. Within a fortnight I was a member of the Asbury Methodist Episcopal Church, of its Sunday school, and the railroad Y. M. C. A., with a host of friends around me. I learned that no one need go friendless or 90 On the Mountain Division. workless in a strange place if his past life Had been exemplary. A church letter is the very best recom mendation. Birth and poverty are easily overcome by character. The roundhouse and the work agreed with me. I grew fat and happy; as Rooney put it, "quick an* sassy." I whistled and sung to my heart s content. The winter wore away. No. 444 had just gone out into a March blizzard leaving in my soul a wake of joy from its engineer. No. 963 almost immediately came in, steaming from its hot jackets and cylinders, and its cooler portions covered with snow. The fire man had had a hard run and was tired and cross. No sooner did he spy me than he began : "See here ! you, young Barson, wha d ye leave the best poker off the tank fur, last night? F ye ever cut that caper on me agin I ll use the next one over yer head. D ye hear?" "Yes," I answered, simultaneously turning on the blower and my individual whistle, for I was firing up 369 that was going out in a few minutes. "Whistle, f ye want to, ye young, spotted brat. I won t stan any more o* yer tomfoolery afore I re port ye." I leaned out of the cab window and replied as calmly as possible: "Every poker was on 963 last night, and she was popping at a hundred and forty- five pounds when you took her out. As for you re reporting, go ahead !" "You re a liar, n ye know it, an I c n back it, too ! A Wiper. 91 .You take it back er I ll jam yer lyin tongue clear down yer gullet." Before you could say "Jack Robinson" he was into the tank and had me by the nape of the neck shaking me all the way down the steps to the floor of the roundhouse. But he had no sooner landed than he went one way and I the other, and the voice of Mike Rooney sounded between us, "I ll tache yez to tech one o me b ys ! Yez don t know nuf to fire Biddy s cook stove, yez don t, an Mike Rooney s the man what ken bate it inter yez pate, that s what e ken thar, an bad luck ter yez!" The two-hundred-pound fireman rose on the one side of the referee and I on the other, while the boss of the roundhouse gesticulated with a brake- stick the peacemaker of the occasion. Then the cool, good-hearted Irishman went into explanations : "Thar s yer powker, Al, what yez be blowin about, an it s thar from yer own carelessness, so it be. Yez powked the fire, yez did, fore ye took 963 out, an whin yez went off the turntable an over the frog it jarred off an yer head do be so full o nuthin that yez couldn t hear me spake to yez, though but I yelled a lung out. Ax the b y his pardin now an be a man, an no more o yez blatherskitin about this place agin an agin." The fireman extended his hand, which I grasped. The misunderstanding was understood. We were friends from that hour. 92 On the Mountain Division. CHAPTER XII. On the Road. BLOOMING spring matured into sedate sum mer. The roundhouse was hot and stuffy with the smell of gas and grease constantly in the air. Nearly every railroader on the Eastern and Mountain Divisions became well known to me. The majority treated me kindly, though much as a boy. I felt like a man. Others saw more than boy hood carefulness in my work and manners. All greeted me with the sobriquet "Billy Stub;" a few with contempt, but most of them with affection. The Summerneld home floated through my memory many a time, and stood out a reality, almost, at the receipt of a letter from Annie every fortnight. My heart yearned for the familiar scenes and friends, yet I felt no desire to return to the farm. The Stone- man homestead remained in mind like an island floating on the sea just under the rim of the horizon, while the orphanage rested like a soft haze where the upper and nether blues united. "Say, Billy! d you ever think of going on the road ?" said my friend Neely as he laid a broad palm on my knee. We sat under a maple that shaded a part of his closely mown lawn. It was a sultry Sun day evening in dog days. The service at the churcll On the Road. 93 had been brief. I was whiling away a few moments with a man whom I had learned to love almost like a father. "I ve had my eye on you ever since you came to Bryson, and though you re small you re strong and active. I know of no reason why you can t get a brake if you want to. Weight don t make a man; if it did I d be among the great," he concluded with a muffled chuckle that shook his fat sides. "Times has been slack for a spell, but in a month or so the fall business ll liven up things. Some o the boys have left, and there ll be some promotions, and that means a place for new men. If you d like to run your chances with us, why I ll see that you get a job. I ve been on the road for twenty-four years and ought to know a thing or two about railroading, and I guess I ve got a little influence with the superin tendent of the Mountain Division, for he flagged on the same train I began firing on. You know Brother Leeder, this morning in his sermon, com pared life to a railroad, wth its grades, fills, cuts, tunnels, switches, side-tracks, signals, and wrecks; and yet, if Christ be the engineer it s a good run, an excellent roadbed, and safety guaranteed to the terminus. With him there s no danger of open switches, washouts, weak bridges, landslides, or broken axles. You re running behind that Engineer now, and I don t see why you ain t just as safe on the road as in the roundhouse. What d ye say, Billy?" 94 On the Mountain Division. It took me but a moment to inform him that that was the one reason why I came to Bryson, and the sooner I was on the road the better to my liking. "All right, my boy!" he replied, rising and carry ing his chair to the porch. "I ll remember you. Good-night!" As the gate closed behind me and my feet struck the walk I began in a low, suppressed tone to whistle "Nearer, my God, to thee." Once in my room I committed myself to the care of the Engineer who never slumbers, and was soon speeding over the rails of refreshing sleep. One cool evening in October, as I was leaving the roundhouse, Rooney came to me saying that the superintendent of the Mountain Division wanted to see me. "I m afeered as he wants yez fur permotion, Billy. Yez desarve it, sure, but yez be a fit here an yez be a b y I ken depind on. But good luck to yez. The ole man cartainly has nothin agin yez. Good night, me b y, an if yez niver come back to worruk under Mike Rooney ye ll lave a good friend behint, so yez will." By noon the next day I was middle brakeman on a train of empty coal jimmies, steaming over the Mountain Division. "Leaping o er mountain, o er valley and plain, What a wonderful thing is a railroad train !" The sensation was new to me, but I liked it. The weather was exhilarating, the scenes unfamiliar, On the Road. 95 my heart young and unaccustomed to the dangers and accidents of the road. Looking backward, with my present experience, I can see human blood on almost every milepost. We talk of the numbers killed and wounded in battle, drowned at sea, and ruined body and soul by all the devilish devices and crimes consequent on the saloon, but we often forget the numbers slaughtered on the rail. The statistics for the year ending June 30, 1899, are that there were seven thousand one hundred and twenty-three persons killed by railroads in the United States, and forty-four thousand six hun dred and twenty more or less injured. The figures alone would almost intimidate passengers from en tering a railway coach, yet when they understand that of the above number only two hundred and thirty-nine passengers were killed and three thou sand three hundred and forty-two injured, making a distance of over sixty millions of miles traveled to one injured, the case is not so sickening. In fact, it is as safe as any mode of travel allowing for the numbers accommodated. Also, among the total accidents were four thou sand five hundred and seventy-four killed and six thousand three hundred and fifty-five injured who were trespassers, many of them tramps and hobos. Yet the slaughter of railroad employees is shocking, and I shudder to think of my narrow escapes and re joice at God s kind providence over me. During the period between September 30, 1888, and the same 96 On the Mountain Division. time, 1899, there were in the United States twenty- five thousand nine hundred and ninety railroad em ployees killed and three hundred and twenty-two thousand one hundred and forty-six injured a great army of able-bodied men. Compared with all wars since the Franco-Prussian one, the railroad appears the greatest slaughter pen. Notwithstanding, the railway has become a neces sity, is here to stay, and will always find plenty of good men to risk life and limb in its service. We believe that no other public conveyance has been of more benefit to the people, with fewer accidents in proportion to the numbers employed, money in vested, tonnage carried, and persons accommodated. Let that be as it may, I was thoroughly happy on my first trip over the Mountain Division of the C. O. & B. Railroad. I have enjoyed my railroad life ever since, and expect to follow the road until disabled or removed by age limit or infirmity. The uppermost thought in my mind was: "I am a strange being plenty of friends, but, to my knowl edge, not one of my kith and kin living. I could bear it all if I had only a brother." A Wreck. 97 CHAPTER XIII. A Wreck. THE most attractive pair that ever walked the streets of Coalville were Chunky and I ; not on account of our beauty and grace, but of our oddity. You, my reader, know about my size, but you don t know how tall Chunky was. I could easily walk under his outstretched arm with an ordinary hat on, and then clear by half an inch. However, Chunky and I became chummy friends for the few hours of each trip we lay over at Coalville before our return to Bryson. Every alternate day one might see the long and the short of our train crew sauntering along the streets of the city at the western terminus of the Mountain Division. Chunky fired ; I ran head brake. What a night ! The streets of Bryson snapped with the cold. The yard was comparatively empty, its network of switches swept with a gale through which the sev eral colors of the switch lamps gleamed in the dark ness like the eyes of wild animals. We were the last crew boarded out that night. The wind blew at a cutting rate, and the thermometer registered sev eral degrees below zero. It was cloudy and dark; too cold to storm, but the little snow that had already fallen was rapidly drifting with the thickly flying 98 On the Mountain Division. frost. No one exposed himself except from necessity. Chunky had the kitchen hot. I stuck to the cab, except when switching. With ears and face tied up almost to suffocation, I could scarcely hear the loud, hollow squeaking and squealing of the wheels through the frozen snow and over the curving, frost-bitten rails. The conductor came out of the office with orders. I met him, received the engineer s slip, and, as the conductor swung his lantern up and down, I started on a trot for the locomotive. Toot-toot! sounded the whistle sharp and wheezy in the frosty night. The heavy breathing of the engine began and the train slowly wound its way out of the complication of switches and onto the main track. I glanced at the orders and handed them over the boiler to the engineer. It was a straight meet order "Meet No. 6 at Mountdale and run to Summit for orders." Closing every possible crevice in the cab and nestling close up to the warm jacket of the boiler, I was soon lulled to a wakeful, dreamy sleep by the hollow panting of the engine, the occasional shoveling and picking of coal by Chunky, the open ing and closing of the firebox door, and the low whistling of Sam, who sat at the throttle. At Netherton we took water, and twenty minutes later slowly ran into the siding at Mountdale. Chunky had old 454 popping at a hundred and forty- five pounds when No. 6 rushed by. We immediately pulled out and began climbing the mountain. A Wreck. 99 At five forty-five we had again taken water, hooked onto twenty more empties, received orders, and left the Summit. I handed the orders, "Meet 32 at Rio and proceed to Coalville," to Sam, who read them and remarked, "Billy, you ll be a dead boy if you stay out on the jimmies to Rio to-night." "I guess not," I replied, at the same time pulling down my cap tighter, buttoning my coat, and clambering out over the tender onto the coal jimmies that were already rattling and bobbing down the mountain. It was all down-grade, an easy run of thirty-five miles, but, O, the air and the night! I turned on a couple of brakes, went back two more cars, and sat down partially sheltered by the side of an empty jimmy. The north wind cut my face, what little was exposed, like a knife. A volume of black smoke escaping from the stack, due to a freshly covered fire, mingled with the steam from the pop. The wind twisted, jerked, and hurled the cloud. The firelight shining from the open door gilded its under surface. The frost and clouds of snow from the track and drifting cuts flecked it. The whole made a weird picture of a thundering train descending a wild grade on a mad night. At just six o clock we passed Crescent siding. I was numb with cold. I had eight brakes on when Sam whistled brakes with such suddenness that I nearly lost my balance while jumping to the next car. As I twisted the brake wheel with all my might I saw a headlight on a curve just ahead. An- 100 On the Mountain Division. other yank and, as I sprang for the side of the car preparatory to a jump for life, old 454 went into the approaching train. Would God that I might obliterate from my thoughts the memory of that picture! The two pilots crashed into each other with a hellish boom, while both whistles were wide open. Our engine stove in the front of the other s boiler and plunged over the bank. The escapng steam, congealed into icy crystals, stung my face. The car to which I clung climbed up into the dark ness in the trail of live coals hurled from the rearing iron horses. Borne to my ears on the biting blast from the lips of Chunky was, "O God !" My brain was on fire. I became dizzy. The cars reeled, toppled, and sank under me. Another crash, and I knew no more. "Into the ward of whitewashed walls, Where the dead and dying lay." My eyes opened. The sun streamed in through a great southern window. The air redolent with anti septics was pure and warm. I felt stinging pains in my right leg, and realized that I was fast with a weight suspended to my foot. My whole body was sore. My fingers and toes smarted as if burned. A pleasant face under a white cap bent over me, and a soft hand stroked my burning forehead, while the owner of the hand spoke with a voice as balmy as a May morning and as cheery as a rippling brook: "Lie still, now, my good fellow, you re in good hands." After all, I was quite comfortable. A Wreck. 101 As the hand continued back and forth across my brow I heard wild utterances from a strangely fa miliar voice: "O! My God! Where s Billy? Is he killed?" My lips opened and I shouted, not very loudly but with all my strength, "No, Chunky, I m all right!" The smooth palm slid over my mouth, and further communication ceased. But the anxiety was re lieved, for I heard my friend moan in satisfaction, "Thank God! Billy s alive!" Gradually the events of the wreck came back to my mind, like approaching objects through a fog. I realized that I was in a hospital. The sun slowly crept along the floor, up the wall, faded to a gos samer tint, and disappeared. Twilight deepened and darkness came on apace. A great contentment filled my soul as I murmured, "He that keepeth thee shall not slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep." The nurse gave me a drink of water, after which I fell asleep as calmly as a babe on its mother s breast. The ward was flooded with sunshine when I awoke. I was myself again, except for the physical breaks and bruises. I turned my head to the right. Within ten feet of me I saw the matted and tangled hair of Chunky, as his head rolled nervously on his pillow. The tumbled bed and immediate presence of a nurse told of his suffering and danger. His face turned toward me. The color had gone, and even my inexperienced eye detected the approach of death. 102 On the Mountain Division. "Good-morning, Chunky ! How do you feel ?" I asked, and shuddered at the strangeness of my own voice. "O, Billy, I m glad you re not smashed but I guess I ve made my last run. Billy, I m all bunged to pieces doctors say there s no use am- putatin for they wouldn t know wouldn t know where to begin nor end. O it s all up with me Oh-h-h! These awful pains! It s better me nor you mighty tough, though but I m satisfied^ Oh-h-h!" He choked and coughed as the nurse raised his head that he might breathe the easier. It was horrible to see his large, muscular frame bruised almost to a pulp, and as weak as an infant. "No, no, Chunky! It s not so bad as you think. Cheer up, old chump. We ll soon be back on the road as well s ever." "No, Billy, no !" He breathed with difficulty and the death rattle was in his throat. "I ll never make another run on the old C. O. & B. again, but I m making a fast run to the New Jerusalem. Roadbed purty rough, just now. It s straight s a die. No coal jimmies on here Billy and no shovelin . I ve tried to be a brother to you, Billy but I ve made bunglin work at it. You ve found one Elder Brother down here an I ll soon tell him you re a credit to the fambly. He s a good Brother to me, too for he was bruised for my in iquity. Guess I ought to stan my few scratches without a whimper. Hope you ll find tother A Wreck. 103 brother soon, Billy. When I get in I ll come down down to the station every day to meet the train for you ll be in on One sure. The engineer s .whistlin now for the station I m at the end o my run. Don t have to run 454 into the round house." With a smile on his face that shone like sunshine, he continued "O, Billy, it s fine station they have great city beautiful lights all white switches closed good-bye Bill!" and the strong fireman fell back on his pillow, shuddered, and was still. The nurse tenderly laid the sheet over his face, and my best railroad friend had made his last trip. Chunky would never have been an engineer, on account of his illiteracy, yet, in every sense of the word, he was a man. He had few inherited talents ; he had acquired many. Nature had not endowed him with a handsome physique, but the deficiencies along that line were more than counterbalanced by a large heart and a character as white as the driven snow. He was trustworthy, honest, and a Chris tian. His manners were crude, but his life was clean. Sorrowing at the loss of a brother, my thoughts wandered to the little cottage at Bryson, where a widow and four fatherless children mourned. Chunky s wife had spent all that he earned, and just as rapidly as he earned it a great misfortune. What would become of them now? The railroad 104 On the Mountain Division. company would in all probability bury her husband, and further than that she could expect nothing from them. He was not a brotherhood member. Many of his friends would contribute a few hundred dol lars for the widow, but what of that among so many and of such wasteful habits. I thought over the two sides capital and labor. I had observed that few railroaders, though draw ing larger pay than the average workingman, ever became comfortably settled in a home of their own. Many of the men are financially negligent ; more of their wives prodigal. A few, in case of accident, draw a small sum from lodges or brotherhoods, which seems worse than nothing to the family after the habit of prodigality has been formed. On the other hand, the companies employ men who are willing to risk even life for them, yet in jury throws aside the faithful servants as naught; while death on the road may leave the home penni less, without any recourse whatever to the company, save through tiresome and expensive legal compli cations, in which the costs oftentimes aggregate more than the benefit obtained. But I am glad that a few great corporations, among them some railroad companies, are treating their employees as brothers. In the West and the East many disabled employees receive pensions, something like ten to fifty per cent of the salary they received on the road, based on the time of service for the company and the position held while doing A Wreck. 105 active duty. The company reserves the right to retire any employee between the ages of, say, sixty- one and seventy years, if from any cause they have become incapacitated for service. This means an annual outlay of many thousands of dollars without any apparent income. However, there comes into the character of such corporations that which is worth more than bonds, while the employed feel the interests of the road as their own. Under such management the efficiency of a road is increased as well as that of the individual employee. Many roads refuse to employ new men over thirty-five years of age. Some, however, that main tain the pension system, apply this rule to men of inexperience; but when the applicant for employ ment has had experience the age limit is put at forty- five. Too much appreciation cannot be shown these corporations. It is a step in advance, and means much toward the ultimate settlement of the grievance between capital and labor. The employer loses nothing in this course of practical, economic expenditure. He rather gains by having the good will of the employee as well as the esteem of the public he serves; while, on the other hand, in case of accident or misfortune, not due to personal fault or carelessness, no honest workman will be cast aside as a human wreck to be taken over the hills to the poorhouse, or to occupy a two-by-six plot in the potter s field. 106 On the Mountain Division. CHAPTER XIV. Convalescing. THE odor of flowers began to drift in through the open windows of our ward. Now and then, from some thoughtful, sympathetic soul, a bouquet of liverwort, adder s-tongue, or wake-robin all sweet harbingers of spring found its way to one of our tables. I was convalescing rapidly. The news of the outside world also came to me through the papers. I learned that the cause of our wreck had been a half-asleep train dis patcher. Each engineer had obeyed orders. One had died at his post. Whistling Sam had made his last run at the throttle. He was alive, but disabled. It was a fortunate wreck, after all, for only four were injured. After I had gone on the road again another dispatcher made a similar blunder, but the enginemen saw each other in time to stop without a collision. Warren s siding was close at hand, and we passed without loss of time. Each engineer blamed the other, and each was man enough to keep his mouth closed. The dispatcher never saw his error until it was pointed out to him. It proved to be his only mistake, though he remained in that office for years afterward. Messages of love came to me every fortnight from Convalescing. 107 the hill country of Summer-field. One day when April knew not whether to laugh or cry, shine or shower, on account of the close proximity of May, I was thrown into a similar fickle mood. Sitting at the foot of my bed absorbed in the contents of a book, the nurse quietly touched my arm and in formed me that a gentleman awaited me in the re ception room. Almost leaping from my chair for joy, the nurse held me back, kindly saying that she would roll me into the room if I would be composed. The assurance quieted me at once, and in a moment I sat in the presence of good Mr. Horton. I could not speak from gladness, while tears of joy flowed in showers. "Well, well, Will! I m glad to see you again!" said Uncle Joe, as he came forward and took my frail hand in both of his with a warmth I shall never forget. "Here s a few posies Annie sent you," he continued, producing a neat little bouquet of violets, our spring favorites, "and she said I d got to bring you home with me in a day or two. Don t shed tears over such a little matter as this. I ruther thought you d be kind o tickled to see me, and not that I d set you off into paroxysms of grief. Guess if I d known this I d better stayed to home." But his quaint, warm humor did not brighten me up a bit. He began on another chord of my feel ings : "Well, now, I know all about it, my boy. I was laid up for quite some time once, and you came to help me jest in the nick o time, so I thought I d 108 On the Mountain Division. reciprocate a little. You re weak. You was purty badly bunged up, I reckon, but a few whiffs of our mountain air will fetch the color back to your cheeks again. You ve changed quite a bit since you was home. I guess the folks 11 know you, though. How are you, anyway?" By this time I had myself under control, and could answer like a man rather than like an hysterical schoolgirl. Two days later, on the first day of May, just at sunset, I was tenderly assisted into the old, familiar Horton sitting room, this time with showers of caresses and not clouds of snowflakes. How restful the old armchair! How comforting Aunt Jane s solid physique! How like a May morn ing was Annie s smile! It was well worth a wreck to be out of it alive and into the old home to recuperate. The more than two years of my absence had made few changes about the farm. A few more gray hairs mingled with the brown and black on the heads of the elders of the family. Annie was now a woman. She sat at my feet on the familiar hassock, looking up into my face, while I spun the yarns of my railroad life. Her eyes no longer wore the expression of childish glee; seriousness, sym pathy, and love beamed from them. The old wooden clock struck ten before we had thought of bedtime. Uncle Joe had risen and gone in his stocking feet to wind the family heirloom, an in fallible sign for retiring. The good-nights, prayers Convalescing. 109 by the familiar bedside, blissful slumber, morning sunlight, feathered choir, and spring perfumes passed in panoramic swiftness. It was day home. I was rested. How frequently and easily conversational groups gathered in those days of convalescing ! This morn ing, while I sat reading in an easy-chair, Aunt Jane, rolling-pin in hand, appeared leaning against a jamb of the door that led to the kitchen. The lower right-hand corner of her apron, artistically and carelessly flung underside out, draped over her left hip, and a little flour here and there sprinkled her face and chubby arms. Aunt Phoebe, somehow, floated in from the garden with flowers. Annie s chamber work had been speedily completed. By some accident Uncle Joe came in from the barn in his shirt sleeves, and sat on the doorsill for fear of soiling the carpet with his muddy boots. Before anyone realized time or unfinished tasks we all were laughing together and narrating reminiscences. A kettle boiling over on the stove was a bugle blast to duty. Aunt Jane hurried to the kitchen. As her spherical form disappeared the other members of the chatting club retired to their several places of labor as if going through routine drill. I was alone again. The afternoon knot had its nucleus when Neighbor Overfield spied me on the front porch. He quickly hopped out of his market wagon, left his team by the gate, and came up the walk with, 110 On the Mountain Division. ".Waal, say, Billy! this is good fur sore eyes to see you round agin. I hearn you had a clus call. You ve got lots to thank the good Lord fur yit. The smell o the old fields ill tone ye up better n ever in a few weeks. How air ye, anyway ?" While we conversed my friend sat on the edge of the porch working his foot in the pebbles that had been washed out by the drip of the eaves. Aunt Phoebe s head popped out of the sitting-room win dow like a turtle s from its shell. Annie nestled on the doorsill behind me. Aunt Jane just then had to pick some fresh lilacs, and, with her apron over her head, lingered quite a spell within earshot. Uncle Joe, coming up from the cellar with a basket of seed potatoes, set them down on the hatchway steps and, of necessity, of course, passed through our group in order to get his hoe. Even the hired man, suddenly taken with a feverish throat, left his team at the plow that he might slake his thirst at the well, a rod from my chair. "Whoa, there, Tom!" shouted Mr. Overfield, as he jumped up and ran for his team, which had be come uneasy and started for home. When the jolly farmer had hopped over the tailboard of his wagon and clambered to the seat he shouted back, "See you gin, Billy, afore ye go back! Come over an pull our latchstring !" As he disappeared at the bend of the road I looked for my other auditors. They were not. I was alone again with verdant nature folded and festooned be- Convalescing. Ill fore me. I rambled out to the grove, back of the barn, and meditated : "Where fields are green once more I tread, The touch is restful to my feet; The birds are singing o er my head Their songs that never seemed more sweet. "Where fields are green I walk once more The crooked lane to me so dear, And, as the stone wall I pass o er, The murmur of the brook I hear. "Where fields are green the flowers throw Their sweetness on the balmy air, And all above and all below Seems beautiful beyond compare. "Where fields are green I view the trees In all their majesty and worth, And with their leaves they catch the breeze And hand it down to the green earth. "Where fields are green to-day I see Against the sky the distant hills, And health and life flow back to me That rob me of my petty ills. "And as I gaze an Unseen Power My faith beholds o er all the scene; Ah, would that I might make this hour An endless day where fields are green." 112 On the Mountain Division. CHAPTER XV. Ragging* ILDER S purty chuck, to-day, ain t e, Billy ?" said Truman Shay, one of our brakemen, while we were making up our train in Bryson yard. I was then flagging. Phil Schleaser, a small, stocky, black-eyed, cool, and conceited man, pulled the throttle, and Hank Gilder, a careless, unprincipled, too-often-tipsy fel low, conducted. "One o these days Schleaser ill read im the riot act in a way that ill make im think of is mother- n- law. You know Hank s been boozin too freely of late, an on a trip bout six weeks ago Phil gave im a jackin up that fairly made is hair stan . Hank lay off a couple o days then on a spree and has been straight s a string till last week. Bout another day n little Phil ill be back in the caboose with blood in is eye. I don t blame im a bit, fur if any thing should happen we d all be called up fore the ole man an there d haf to be some lyin done or we d git the G. B. Course the engineer s next in authority an ought to report the conductor, but you know Phil s a good-hearted feller an wouldn t re port Hank unless he got so s the devil couldn t live with im. He likes a nip too well imself to be hard Flagging. 113 on anyone fur drinkin a leetle more n e should. Phil seldom drinks on duty, an never shows liquor anyway." Toot, toot! As our train slowly moved by us Shay continued : "We ll want o keep our eye peeled to-day, Billy, an mind what I m tellin ye, the head an* tail of our crew ill be in a mix-up fore many hours." He caught the front hand rod of the caboose at the last word, while I, after closing the switch and running along the track, signaled all right and jumped to the rear steps. The conductor sat at his desk making out the train report. He knew what he was about; never theless, the contour of a bottle appearing through his coat boded a time, and that not far distant, when he would not know. Truman winked at me. Each understood what would be expected from the other. There was no use of reasoning with Gilder, for he would flare up in a minute. Being sub ordinates, we thought a still tongue and a cool head the better part. Our orders carried us only to Sandy Junction, where No. I would pass us. The latter was late, and Schleaser, to pass away time, strolled back to the rear of the train. When his nimble body swung up the steps the natural rocking of the ca boose startled Gilder from his half-dozing condition. Truman and I sat on the rail a couple of rods in the rear. We waited for results. The tramp of Schleaser s heavy-soled shoes across the floor told 114 On the Mountain Division. the whole story, while the sarcastic "Ah! ha!" snapped out like the crack of a gun as he opened the rear door. It was evident that the caboose was not large enough for him just then. "See here, old man!" he began, coolly chewing a sliver he had picked up by the way, "this ere kind o biz has gone on fur enough!" He spoke as if addressing an audience of ten thousand. No one in sight or hearing, however, mistook his meaning. Gilder began to curse his engineer and en deavored to rise from his desk. In making the at tempt his coat flapped back and the quick eye of Schleaser caught sight of the neck of the bottle. "Never mind bout gittin up an makin yer bow tew me, you mealy-mouthed bloat of a skin stay right where you be." The last sentence came out like a young cyclone. With a gesture of his right arm that swept the car he gracefully picked the bottle from its abiding place and flung it out of an open window like a crack, base ball pitcher. Stepping in front of the desk, he immediately got down to business and practical oratory : "Now, Hank, you know I ain t nothin aginst your drinkin a lettle once in a while, but tew git down like a hog an carry a bottle on duty takes nerve. You can run a train when you re sober s good s any man on the road, but when you git a drink o tew in you, you don t know nothin ye Flagging. 115 don t. I ve put up with this ere sloppin over s long s I m goin tew. I d ruther have Hank Gilder conduct fur me than any man on the division, but I want it strictly understood, ah-ha ! that I won t have Hank Swiller on my train another trip. You re nothin but an ass. You set there like an old hog, chuck full o swill set there now!" The conductor made another attempt to rise, but the flat hand of little Phil put him into the comer as quiet and as meek as a lamb. "Now, I ll tell ye what I m goin tew dew, an I ll dew it tew, an don t ye forgit it," continued the engineer. "You re goin tew lay there," pointing to the long side cushions, "an sleep this ere blubber off er I ll swat ye over s flat s a pancake. I ll tend tew the train. Don t you ever let me ketch ye with another bottle. D y understand? To-morrer, f you ain t sober s a judge, you ll never take another trip with me, nor nobody else, on the ole C. O. & B. I ve never re ported you yit, but I will. I ll dew it this time, fur I ve tol you so, an little Phil s word s good s a banknote. Mind what I say, ah-ha, Hank!" Dropping from the steps to the ground as lightly as a squirrel, he remarked to" us with his own peculiar sneer, " Tend t yer knittin this trip, boys, an I promise you there 11 be no more o this kind o funny business," and slowly swaggered up the track with his hands in his pockets and hat on one side of his head. "Phil means business this time, Billy," added 116 On the Mountain Division. Truman. "If Hank don t brace up right on the spot the jig s up with im as fur s railroadin s concerned." Following our engineer to the station, we learned that No. i was thirty minutes late. That meant so much more lounging. The branch train soon came in, and after it had gone around the Y was ready to return as soon as the main-line train arrived. Its crew joined ours. Getting into conversation with the rear brakeman, corresponding to my position on the coaler for you know that "birds of a feather flock together" I told him something of my life as well as of my firm conviction that I had an elder brother somewhere in the States, and my opinion was that he would be a railroader too. My friend, however, knew nobody of my name or looks either, though he promised to keep on the lookout and put me on the trail if possible. The long whistle from the east announced the approach of No. i, and we all separated to our sev eral posts of duty. The orders that Schleaser handed me as he hustled to his engine were "Meet 2 at Collins and get further orders." Everything boomed along our division. The double track was being laid and before snow flew we hoped to be run ning without the bother of so many orders. Our conductor lay sound asleep, scarcely moving all the way to Collins. There he was left alone for some time while I was at the office, and Shay helped cut out a crippled jimmy together with a half dozen Flagging. 117 others that we could not haul up the grade; we could not get a pusher. No sooner were we on our way up the mountain than it was evident that Gilder had been at work as well as the rest of us. The devil always has his traps at the proper place to catch his victims. Less than four rods from the caboose while the train stood on the siding was a saloon, and thither Gilder, who had feigned sleep, slyly stole during our ab sence and obtained another bottle. This half-empty telltale at intervals, caused by the jar of the train, appeared at the top of the inside coat pocket like the head of a serpent dancing in demoniac glee. It was certain now that the pretender would soon be a real slumberer, and that the sleep of a brute. At the Summit twenty-four cars were added to our train, and on we sped down the long grade. At Rio station I was left with a flag to get to Coalville as best I could, for Schleaser was in a hurry to get his train out of the way of No. 3, due in fifteen minutes. It was but twelve miles to our destination, and with a dozen minutes start they were able to clear the track just as I stepped off No. 3 at Coalville. Hastening to the yard to help put away the train, I found them all busy except Gilder, who had departed. "Now, men," said Schleaser, with a cock of one eye, gently shoving his greasy hat to one side of his head while he scratched the other, and chewing the ever-present toothpick, "the jig s up with Gilder s fur s I m concerned !" US On the Mountain Division. "Here too!" answered Shay. "Ah-h!" continued the engineer with a snap of his voice like the pop of his engine on a frosty morn ing, "jest min what I tell you. This s his last trip with Phil Schleaser. F e comes round in the mornin yes, f e comes round in the mornin tew go back with us all well an good if not yes, if not, we know the way home. I guess ole 137 ken hunt her way home ef little Phil s at the throttle an Jake, here, flings the scoop Ah-h, boys!" "That s business," we all chimed in concert. "Ah-h! That s the way I like tew hear ye talk it. Lay low. Say nothin tew nobody. You, Billy, take in Hank s reports to-night. An tew- morrer, when we git into Bryson, we ll see what the ole man ken dew fur us. Mind now!" Thus we separated. In the morning our conductor was on hand at the usual time, drunk enough to be mean and sober enough to know his authority. He was a larger and stronger man than his engineer, yet he was afraid of the little man, especially when Schleaser was in the right and a little angered. We had considerable shifting to do to make up our train. Gilder was out doing his best to help. Half the time his signals were wrong, and all the while they were given with nervous rapidity, evidencing displeasure at the man in the cab. He grew worse. After he had caused portions of the train to bump together with such force as to spill several tons of coal, and once nearly Flagging. 119 catching Shay between the bumpers while he was arranging a coupling pin, Schleaser could wait no longer. Calling his fireman to handle the engine, he dropped from the cab like a giant and rapidly approached his conductor. His face naturally quite dark, became a thundercloud. His eyes shot flames of fire. Gilder was checking off his waybills at the moment and did not notice the approach of his enemy. Finishing the work, he had just raised his hand to signal "Go ahead" when the bills were snatched from his hands as if by magic and a grimy hand across his ear sprawled him on the ground. The oaths rolled from his lips in torrents. He scrambled near to a coupling pin, seized it, and with a terrible oath and mortal threat faced his an tagonist. The very sight chilled him. The engineer s countenance forbode no compro mise. His body was erect and under perfect con trol. "Drap that, ye sot!" shot out between his teeth. The iron missile fell. "Git!" he hissed, motioning toward the caboose. The conductor turned and went. As he turned he was uncere moniously assisted by the broad-soled shoe of Schleaser s right foot, and "Git!" again fell on his ears. For ten car-lengths "Git" and shoe alternated with telling effect. When the conductor resented, his pace was quickened by a more vigorous use of leather suasion. The last application was ad ministered as the patient entered the caboose door, which the satisfied engine-driver shut with a bang", 120 On the Mountain Division. exclaiming, "Stay there, now, till I tell you tew git out!" Pulling his hat down over his eyes, as was his wont, he returned to the locomotive. We smiled as he passed us. Our answer was a twinkling roll of his dark eyes toward us, a slight smile nestling in the corners of his mouth and the expression, "Ah-h!" That was the last trip of Henry Gilder on the C. O. & B. He emptied his bottle before we pulled out of the yard, fell bestially asleep, and remained so all the way home. There he was reported and discharged. I pitied the poor fellow when I saw him stagger away that evening into a saloon. My heart ached. I wanted to tell it all to somebody. I determined to spend the evening with Ot Neely. My friend was at home and full of good cheer. After relating the incidents of the last trip I asked his opinion as to the justice of Schleaser in his treatment of the drinking conductor. His answer came to me like a revelation, and opened my eyes to the liquor traffic as never before. "Do you know, Billy," said he, laying his warm hand on my knee, "that your engineer is as deep in the mud as your conductor is in the mire, and in my estimation, deeper? He drinks himself. Not only that, but he let Gilder drink, knowing all the while that the conductor did not have the self-control he himself had. Gilder used to conduct for me. At the Flagging. 121 start I told him he must not touch a drop, if he did I would report him. He kept perfectly straight. We got along first-rate, and I wanted him to remain with me, but he wouldn t. Why? Simply because if he went with Schleaser he could drink; and drink he has. Occasionally he went too far, and, after one of Schleaser s blows/ would brace up for quite a spell. Five years of such railroading have put him where he is. And who s the more to blame?" "You know your engineer lives up to Sandy Junc tion, don t you? You know that saloon about ten rods this side of the station? It s the most hellish mantrap on the road. There are three other such places in that little village of not more n five hundred inhabitants. The only excuse for that hole is on the devil s side. Just let me tell you something, my young friend, by way of an eye-opener and that which I know to be a fact." The speaker was warm ing up to his subject. "I don t talk about my neighbors until I have first talked to them; nor do I blow off a lot of stuff I know nothing about. The Junction is iin the county of which Bryson is the county seat. A year ago last winter, at the February term, when the court was considering remonstrances against grant ing licenses to certain saloons, not being on duty, I dropped into the court room to see what was going on. The first case called up was that of Pat Moyer, who runs the junction house. He s nothing but a bloat, can scarcely write his own name, and doesn t 122 On the Mountain Division. pretend to do anything but sell grog. THe re monstrance had about fifty names of respectable people on it, and the application was signed by twelve men, among them Philip Schleaser. This I know, for I saw the papers. The Methodist preacher there was pushing the case; and two or three good men backed him. Several witnesses had been called to prove that Moyer was not a man of good moral character. You know that those words are on every application for license in our commonwealth. The plaintiff proved his illegal selling, and had a minor on the stand, who took oath that he had bought drink there. Among the witnesses for the defense came Schleaser, who swore that there was a necessity for the saloon, the burden of his testimony being that a cattle man on his train one night got off and got a lunch there, the upshot of which was that if the place was not there cattlemen would go hungry. Do you know that the old snoozer got his license?" cried Neely, with warmth, as he turned his chair and slapped me on the knee with a force that made me wince. "I ve been at the Junction all hours of night and day and never yet saw a drover in Moyer s for lunch. Have tried to get one myself several times and have never succeeded. I have it, too, on good authority that he has no more beds in the house than will ac commodate his own family. In fact, he makes no pretense of keeping a house for travelers. He has neither hotel nor restaurant accommodations, only Flagging, 123 a plain, dirty grogshop. Schleaser often visits the place, and from my cab I have many times seen him and Gilder in there drinking together. Phil is per fectly safe on his engine, and always as cool as a cucumber, and yet Hank s just as good a conductor as Phil is an engineer. Both like whisky equally well, but where one is weak the other is strong, and vice versa. Which is the better?" I told this whole story to Phil, and with consid erable heat. The only satisfaction received was a cool reminder that I had better mind my own P s and Q s, and a guess that he could find counsel when he needed it. "The same thing as regards licenses, practically, happens here in Bryson every year. Once in a while we win, twice in a while we lose. You know Lan- ford, our station agent, and a member of our church? Last year I went round for him to sign a remonstrance against opening that gin mill down on the corner of Maple and Main. He said he daren t do it. He was the last man I expected to refuse, and I told him so. I s pose you know, Ot, says he, that the whisky freight bill here every month is nearly as much as it costs to run all the churches in town. That is business for the company. I am watched, and should my name go on that remon strance the brewers association, or the saloonists, or whatever you may call them, would be on my; track. Then if the company did not remove me the whisky would come over the T. & C. road and our 124 On the Mountain Division. company would be the losers. You know they d rather lose me than that trade. It is evident that the company caters to the devil. "It don t seem possible, Billy, but Jackson, the agent at the Junction, told me the same thing. I have no reason to think otherwise. The whole rum traffic is enough to make the imps of darkness blush with shame and angels weep and hide their faces. Phil s as good a railroader as we ve got, but his practices keep him from a passenger run. The com pany knows him. He s perfectly trustworthy, yet they re afraid some day he ll get more steam in his head than in his locomotive. "You see, as long s you do as he does it s all right, but just cross him sometime. Keep your eye skinned, Billy, and report to me in a month what you ve seen. I tell you what, my boy," and his face showed deepest emotion, "it s an awful business, and my soul longs for the day when all men shall drink the water from the fountain of life and not swill away at the devil s punch bowl. O yes, there s lots of good Christians yet, and railroaders too. Thank God, there are some men left. Guess it s bout bedtime, and to-morrow s my long day." I had already risen and opened the door. With a cheery "good-night" I stepped into the darkness. Passing along a dark alley, I started at a gurgling mutter, as from a delirious sleeper. Striking a match and following the sound, the face of Hank Gilder in a drunken sleep met my eyes. The night Flagging. 125 was warm. The conductor s tent was heaven s star lit blue; his bed, God s green sward. I left him to sleep off his potions. Poor fellow ! Moderation was not one of his virtues. His nature was like a pile of pine shaving; his engineer s, a heap of chaff. The one burns quickly, the other smolders. The chaff burns, nevertheless, and its odors are obnoxious to the whole community. It flames, too, at every pass ing breeze, and often in the nighttime. It is most dangerous when it is considered extinguished. If ever a snake is the vicegerent of the devil it is the viper called "Moderation," nestling in the soul of a moderate drinker. 126 On the Mountain Division.] CHAPTER XVI. The Strike* CAB! SCAB!" A hundred voices shouted it in derision! The scene was heartrend- ing. In a cut on a curve of the railroad, just east of the little village of Carton and three miles from Bryson, was a wreck. The employees of the C. O. & B. had been on strike for a month. A few trains were running. None, however, was on schedule time. The crews were nonunion men, un acquainted with the road and many of them inex perienced in railroading. A freight train had stopped at the station on the west-bound track (we were double-tracked then), with its caboose in a rock cut, out of sight for a following engineer ex cept for a few rods. However, a semaphore down at the end of the straight line was controlled from a tower from which the station, cut, and straight line were visible. The board was up. A pusher with a scab engineer approached. He neither whistled nor heeded the board, but went into the rear of the motionless train at full speed. Two men in the caboose escaped, the third was pinioned. The stove was overturned and the debris almost immediately ignited. It was a chill November day, and in com pany with others I walked up to see the wreck. The Strike. 127 When we arrived the engine that caused the crash had been hauled back out of the fire and the unin jured cars ahead removed. Only three empty box cars and the caboose burned. In the midst of the flames, in plain sight, the body of the scab brake- man roasted. The tracks were controlled by a score of policemen, and behind them, on the heights of the cut, gathered a hundred or more lookers-on, among them many employees of the T. & C. road, which ran just below. These employees had started the cry of "Scab!" and men, women, and children were not slow to join. The gathered scab trainmen presented a pitiable sight; the green, shivering policemen, ridiculous; the destruction of property, wasteful ; the burning of human flesh, horrible ; and the shouting of a frenzied mob, positively fiendish. Strikes have resulted advantageously to both em ployed and employer. Even then compromise would have been better. The contending parties are neces sary to each other s existence ; the contention is not. Both are in the same boat, and how foolish for either party to scuttle the craft expecting the other man only to get the ducking. How much the world needs the Brotherhood of Jesus Christ that accepts both labor and capital. That would be better than arbitration. Capital would have the interest of labor at heart and vice versa. In fact, no capital and labor would exist. The middle wall and partition would be down and all be one in Jesus Christ. I am a brotherhood man. The right to quit is 128 On the Mountain Division. mine, provided the work, wages, or bosses, do not suit me. If my labor is not satisfactory to my em ployer he has the right to discharge me without asking the privilege of my comrades. Hot-headed and heartless agitators cause more trouble than the actual laborers and capitalists. To call a strike when one of the specified grievances advanced was that the laundry of the company went to a poor, re spectable widow, instead of to a union laundryman, is contemptible; yet such has been done, and that, too, when the company had been unusually partial to its employees. Not long ago our night operator at Netherton was discharged for negligence. Being a member of the telegraphers brotherhood and a ready talker, he was tendered the position of traveling agitator, or something to that effect. The order may not have known their man, but that is no excuse. They should have investigated his case and meted out to him his deserts namely, expulsion. Engineer Simon Agitus, who lost a leg in a wreck in 94, was a good railroader, an honest man, and, unfortunately, a glib speaker. He was assigned a brotherhood office. Acute of perception, he saw every possible error in the wage and time scales. Having an excellent opinion of himself, he ignored counsel. His fault was a vivid imagination, coupled with a persuasive tongue that wrought evil. He re minded me of an old shingle weaver I once knew, who told several huge yarns in his youth and in old The Strike. 129 age kept telling them, until, when I knew him, he actually believed them to be true. Agitus meant fairness, but his petty grievances, fused in an en thusiastic temperament, became enormous economic evils, and his genial persuasion carried his auditors with him. Our losing strike of 95 grew largely out of the influence of that well-meaning but misguided man. On the other hand, Superintendent Stubornis", when approached by a committee from the Order of Railroad Trainmen, requesting, as fast as con venient, to put in the Gould coupler, in place of the link and pin and the Jenny coupler, flashed up and replied : "We ll attend to our rolling stock and make improvements as we see fit. Remember, our equip ment is under our own management. Good-day!" After discharging his bile he turned to his desk. What the superintendent said was true and to the point, but unwise. Instead of leading his employees he tyrannizes over them. If he had hurled his heart (if he had one) at them, in place of has acrimonious authority, the results to all concerned would have been far otherwise. "If each man in his measure Would do a brother s part To cast a ray of sunlight Into a brother s heart, How changed would be our country, How changed would be our poor ! And then might Christian nations Deserve the name once more." 130 On the Mountain Division. Arriving home from the wreck at Carton, heart ache seized me. I withdrew to my room at an early hour. When I blew out the light there appeared an unusual gleam on the window shade. I paid no attention to it, however, and closed my eyes to sleep. Scarcely had I done so when a dozen locomotive whistles from the yard and roundhouse, several other whistles from the different manufactories, the fire gong, and church bells sounded a deafening alarm. Mingled with these were the cries and shouts of human voices. Springing from my bed and glanc ing in the direction of the company s yard, I saw lurid flames leaping and volumes of smoke rolling toward the clouded heavens. Hastily dressing, it took me but a moment to be at the place of destruc tion. There the hellish work of a riot appeared, a violent mob run mad. Strike sympathizers with a few agitating strikers had fired the company s prop erty. Officials with scab workmen attempted to move the unharmed cars away from the burning ones and run the engines out of the burning round house. The mob threw the switches, broke the switch bars, pulled the coupling pins and hurled them away or through the cab windows, and crowded around the turntable and blocked the re moval of the locomotives. A hundred policemen were ordered from adjoining cities. The strikers cut the telegraph wires and, out of town, tore up the track, thus preventing the approach of aid. The howling, yelling rioters kept on with their de- The Strike. 131 moniacal ravages. They gutted loaded box cars, stole the contents, and burned what was left. A dozen men were killed. The sight of blood acted upon the others much as it does upon a mad lion. Scores were wounded. Their cries and groans mingled with the curses and howls of the living, who danced in impish glee around the smoking ruins. The fire had now begun to spread to private property ; the very city was threatened with destruc tion, yet the mob howled and gloated. Reason had gone. The T. & C. road had been forgotten. Shortly after midnight the blast of a bugle, clear and shrill, broke on the night air. Com panies B and C of the 4th State militia appeared, their blue front advancing down the street. Their bayonets flashed in the lurid light. A fiendish yell greeted them, followed by a show of resistance. Several shots resounded, and two or three bluecoats fell out of the ranks. The gaps closed. The cold steel came on. There was nothing for the mob to do but disperse. The militia picketed the company s property, got out the fire-engines, extinguished the flames, and restored quiet. The ruins were appall ing. I had seen enough of mob rule. At nine-thirty-two that morning I took train 6 on the T. & C., and at one-fifteen stepped off the train within six miles of Summerfield. Good old neigh bor Brown was the first person I saw. He greeted me warmly. "How air ye, Barson ? S pose you re bound for Uncle Joe s, ain t ye? If you ll wait a 132 On the Mountain Division. few minutes you can ride up with me, unless you have some better conveyance." I thanked him heartily and accepted the cordial invitation. It was a raw November day. With an open market wagon nearly full of pea coal, a steep mountain road, a slow team, and a slower driver, we did not outstrip the wind. However, before 6 o clock "the light in the window" flickered through the lilac bush into our faces. Another minute and my cold fingers knocked on the door. What a welcome ! "There are no friends like the old friends, who have shared our morning days, No greeting like their welcome, no homage like their praise : Vain is the scentless sunflower, with gaudy crown of gold ; But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweet in every fold." Thanksgiving. 133 CHAPTER XVII. Thanksgiving-. "The snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Ifc "Every pine, and fir, and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl." IT was a genuine, old-fashioned Thanksgiving Day. The night before a foot of snow had smoothed out all the unevenness on the surface of the ground. The grass roots lay snugly tucked under the coverlet of white. Looking through the leafless trees from the east the air appeared filled with a network of floating coral. Against the blue background of ether every limb and branch was traced in ermine and gilded with golden shafts of the morning sun. Two hours after sunrise a gentle breeze shook the downy crystals into midair, there to vanish into mist. Or, perchance, large masses of snow, like tufts of wool, floated earthward as easily as a flying squirrel and sank with a spat into their feather bed, there to sleep until awakened in another existence. Above, all was blue. 134 On the Mountain Division. The earth was as trackless as the sea. The well- beaten paths had disappeared; the highway vanished. The gate and bar posts were floating buoys, outlining the course by which to steer from the house to the barn. The eaves of the porch hung fretted with ocean foam, some of which had carpeted the outer edge of the floor. How fresh was the air ! How beautifully God had covered the faults and shadows of earth ! His work alone endured. Sub limity reigned. A chicadee floated into the tall pear tree rippling out its song. Sleigh bells rang out merrily on the morning air. Jumpers, bobs, and swell-bodies glided along, their occupants bound, some homeward to father and mother, some to homes of friends, some churchward, all bent on pleasure and Thanksgiving. Uncle Joe, Aunt Jane, Annie, and I bundled into the old red- boxed, two-seated sleigh and joined the churchgoers, leaving behind Aunt Phoebe to stuff and baste our Thanksgiving turkey. When I entered the church the feeling excited turned back the dial of my life a half dozen years. Familiar scenes delighted me. Friendly voices greeted me. A group of gentle-hearted rustics ex changed salutations around each of the cheering, glowing, wood-burning stoves. One by one they dropped out of the circle into the family pew, while their places were filled with newcomers. The stamping of feet and sweeping of snow in the yestibule grew less frequent, the happy hum of Thanksgiving. 135 voices hushed. The minister broke the silence by reading : "Praise to God, immortal praise, For the love that crowns our days ! Bounteous Source of every joy, Let thy praise our tongues employ." The congregation sang lustily, making a "joyful noise unto the Lord." A hundred hearty voices re peated, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name." The sermon, the dinner, the chat by the fireside, passed like a blissful dream. Night came on apace. I sat in the old, calico- covered rocker with my back to the fire and my face toward the western window. The mountains slept in the distance, cold and white. The blazing sun rolled in sections behind the treetops. The low eaves hung above the window, serrated with icicles, from whose needle-points the water had ceased to drip and through the crystal prisms the golden sunlight played. The color faded from the pendant ice. I glanced at the mountains. The sun had said "good-night." The horizon gleamed a glorious crimson. Amber and pink flitted, exchanged places, and faded away. A few floating clouds rested near the horizon like ruby ships. "Deeper, deeper grows the shadow, Paler, now, the glowing west" Steely-blue chased away the more gorgeous colors. 136 On the Mountain Division. Purple followed, and with a smile Venus peeped from her hiding place. The picture was complete. "Day had put on his jacket, and around His burning bosom buttoned it with stars." The firelight had already dyed the inner side of the icicles and window panes. I turned to face its ruddy glow and the happy faces of home. Annie, silent and alone, sat meditating with her feet resting on a hassock. In the gloaming I drew my chair to her side and took her hand in mine. "Give me a quiet little spot That I may hold as mine, Which love may have as constant tryst, And hallow as its shrine; With one dear heart to make my home Our hearts to beat as one ; Then let the giddy, thoughtless world Its course of fashion run." Our eyes met. The firelight glow on Annie s cheek was augmented by the inner flush. We arose without a word. I drew her to my breast. Her head fell upon my shoulder. Each read the sequel in the other s eyes; yet my voice found utterance: "Annie, you are mine forever, aren t you?" A moment of silence followed. "Yes, dear!" "When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past For years fleet away with the wings of a dove The dearest remembrance will still be the last, Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love," Thanksgiving. 137 We ratified the covenant and fused our hearts at the burning altar of Cupid. The magic spell departed when the doorlatch rat tled, but we stood our ground until Aunt Jane lighted the lamp, at the same time remarking, "Guess we need a light by the looks o things !" After the room became illuminated Uncle Joe stood bewildered, either surprised at our position or intoxicated by the prevailing celestial atmosphere. He regained consciousness when his better half locked her plump arm in his and cooed in his ear, "Don t you remember when you was young, Joe?" Now came my turn. Dropping my arm and tak ing Annie by the hand, with heartless apology and bashful petition, I informed them of what had just happened, the import of which the more observing housewife had already divined. Eyes grew moist. For an age I seemed alone, while loving parents drew their only child to their hearts. We received congratulations. The mingling love and sorrow filled each heart with a confidence and joy known only to those who are pure in heart and love. It was a sacred hour. The family altar that night bore heavenward an unusual sweet savor of Thanksgiving. The paternal prayer was suppressed and pathetic. The father of earth clasped hands with the Father of heaven. The only daughter of that godly home was consigned to my care, while the God of heaven witnessed to the consecrated covenant. Wealth and position 138 On the Mountain Division. were not so much as thought of. How many times that prayer has restrained me, no one can tell. It has been worth a world of wealth and an army of servants. Would that all betrothals were of the soul! Long Hours. 139 CHAPTER XVIII. Long Hours* "TJELLO, Billy! Give me yer paw." The familiar voice of Phil Schleaser greeted * * me and his hand grasped mine with a warm grip. I had just stepped to the platform at Sandy Junction from a special train. It was return ing with some railroad and government officials, who were on a trip of pleasure and inspection. We were carrying signals and running first section of No. I, for which my old engineer waited to take him to his work at Bryson, the division terminus. "How are you, Schleaser? I m glad to see you again !" I had not seen him since the strike. Pro motion had removed me from his crew, and the changes in runs had thrown everything out of the old ways. A new management controlled the road. Several of the leading managers had come from the middle West and knew little about mountain rail roading. Formerly the crews went out regularly every day, each engineman having his own engine. Now they were boarded out in turn, ahead or behind regular time, according to the amount of freight traffic, engineers taking the first locomotive avail able. Schleaser overflowed with the new manage ment and ejected a constant torrent of fault-finding. 140 On the Mountain Division. "Glad tew see you promoted, Billy, but railroadin in these days ain t what it us t tew be. I don t know what I m doin half the time now, an , what s more, I don t care much. My last trip I had nothin but a scrap heap. Twouldn t steam no more n a dry-goods box. My fireman didn t do nothin but swear an slam the firebox door. We stalled three times on the hill. Never had steam enough tew lift a teakittle cover. Not only that, but the old hog pounded till I thought it would strip every brass an pin off er. Why, the ingines now ain t kept up in shape. You know I us t tew pride myself that every box was as tight s a drum an the brass shinin like a lookin -glass." "Yes, that s so, Phil," I put in. "Ah-h, you bet," he exclaimed, with the same old laugh. Schleaser s locomotive had always appeared as well as any on the division. "Them Westerners may know how tew drive cattle, but they don t know railroadin , even if they think they dew. Bout the time every siding is filled with bunged-up ingines they ll sing another song. I m not goin tew slick up my ingine to-day fur Tom, Dick, an Harry tew run er to-morrer. They ain t goin tew dew it fur me, an I don t blame em neither. It s a good thing the company s orderin new locomotives, or they d soon have tew put on mules. "Tew s fifty minutes late as usual. Egad! I don t know when tew eat, drink, or sleep no more. Th ole woman says I don t stay home long enough Long Hours. 141 tew it acquainted, out as I am all hours o the night an day. Have tew take a leetle stimulant oc casionally, er I d sleep at my post. Come over tew Moyer s jest for old time s sake, Billy. I know you didn t us t tew take nothin ; now s you re in with the big-bugs you might take a nip. Guess you find lots of it there?" pointing toward the special, "but come on !" "No, thanks, Phil! I ve not taken anything yet, and, what s more, I m not going to begin, either. Yes, they have plenty of the best, so called, on our train, but they would fire us in a minute if they caught us in it or anything like it. They can have it ; we cannot. It isn t consistent. It s true, all the same. I tell you, Phil, I don t need it, and, thank God, I don t crave it. Good-bye, old fellow ! Better keep away from Moyer s." And I swung onto the special as it passed. I had already been on duty twenty-six hours. It would be two more hours before I got to bed, and that, too, in the middle of the day. No one liked the irregular part of the present railroading system. Passenger, local freight, and shifting crews alone were regular. Many of the shifting crews, how ever, were twenty-four hours on and twenty-four off; occasionally twenty- four on and twelve off. Judging by myself, victuals were tasteless, every body seemed cross, pail not packed properly, and things in general ran crossways or behind time. .Wrecks had become more frequent since the strike, 142 On the Mountain Division. though nearly all the old men had been reinstated. There was a system in the management, of course. As it is hard for an old dog to learn new tricks, so it appeared hard for the old men to learn new ways. The use of air brakes had increased the size of the trains. This naturally threw all the little jim mies off the road, to be replaced by gondolas that could stand the bumping. Nearly all of the cars built were more or less increased in size. Locomo tives increased to the dignity of "Mother Hub- bards," "hogs," and "compounds." The old air brake, working through a dozen or more cars, proved impracticable. The direct pressure upon the brake decreased the train-line pressure so rapidly that it became impossible to hold heavy loads down a long grade with a large number of cars of air. With a sufficient number of brakes to steady a heavy train the air could not be generated rapidly enough to meet the demand; with fewer connected cars the train bumped, jerked, and often parted. This pro duced wrecks. The old three-way valve and the direct pressure are now discarded. In their stead are the triple valve and an auxiliary reservoir of air under each car. The main reservoir or drum on the engine has a pressure of ninety pounds and the train-line pres sure has seventy. Whenever the train-line pressure decreases by the escape of air the brakes are ap plied and remain so until the air from the main reservoir restores the train-line pressure to seventy Long Hours. 143 pounds. This system is far the more complicated, and, hence, less reliable in some respects, but on the whole it is better. Should there be a leak in the coupling tubes, or the train break, everything stops. Accidents are impossible from that source. The en gineer also controls every car that is connected with air. Even the air may be cut out of the auxiliary reservoir on an individual car and carried to those in the rear. This, however, is not usually done, ex cept in case of a "cripple." Long trains are yet steadied by the application of hand brakes at the rear, when running down grades and over hog s- backs and summits. These appliances are great labor-savers as well as a convenience and a safety. The trainmen, how ever, must be on the alert. As a rule, the air works. The emergency, supposed to stop everything, is an application used only in case of accident or obstruc tion ahead. The control of the train depends largely upon the nerve of the man at the throttle. Every other member of the crew, however, must be at his post, whether he does anything or not. Heroes often lose their lives through the negligence of others or by accidents, the cause of which being beyond the knowledge and control of mortals. These incidents, however, are rare. Therefore, under these nerve- straining conditions, railroaders should have their regular work, rest, and runs, as well as practice total abstinence from stimulants of all kinds. "You pull us to-day, do you, Neely ?" I asked, as 144 On the Mountain Division. rny good friend sat down on a baggage truck beside me. It was five minutes before leaving time. We had to run first section of an excursion train to River Valley Park. Our coaches were already filled to overflowing, and hundreds of passengers stood waiting for the next section. "Yes, Billy, and I d rather forfeit a half month s pay than go out to-day. I ve been out twenty-four hours already, and am more dead than alive. The trainmaster met me when I stepped off my engine an hour ago and told me what must be done. I simply said it was impossible and unreasonable to send me out without rest. He fumed and swore and said I could do one of two things. I knew what that meant. If I had coal or freight, I wouldn t care so much. I don t like to pull excursion trains." "All aboard !" shouted the conductor. I hastened to the car, took up the stepping stool, threw it over the brake lever, and shouted, "Right here!" The engineer rose wearily and lumbered along down the platform to his engine. His eyes rolled heavily. Black rings of dirt and care circled them, and his honest face was streaked with grease and sweat. For two hours everything ran gayly. The pic nickers rejoiced. In spite of my environment my thoughts drifted to the faithful man in the cab. Within half a mile of our destination our train came to a sudden standstill. Hastening to the locomo tive, I found my friend flat on his back under the engine and working with all his might. Long Hours. 145 "What s up, Ot?" I asked. "Not much at present, but it means hours of work for me at the Park when I need a nap another in cident of Tom, Dick, and Harry hold of the same engine," as he squeezed out through the greasy wheels. He sprang into the cab, blew in the flag, and opened the throttle. The second section picked up our flag and overhauled us just as the passengers had left the cars, for we had finished our journey at a twenty-mile-an-hour gait. At 3 o clock the break was repaired. We left at 3:30. "I d give anything if I was in Bryson, my boy. I m not only played out, but there s a strange feeling come over me that something s going to go wrong. It broods over me like a nightmare. If I had an old fireman I d chance him in my place. But it s no use whining, though. Keep your eye skinned, Billy, and we ll trust God for the rest." I assured the faithful servant that I would like to help him if possible. "Cheer up, Ot ! It ll come out all right, never fear." He shook his head sorrowfully and strode away with, "Well, it s no use dodging. Farewell !" We returned second section. Two hours passed without incident. I breathed easier. Perhaps the engineer s extreme weariness had made him vision ary, and that there was no omen of evil above his star. I was doomed to disappointment. With out any warning the crash came. The occupants of 10 146 On the Mountain Division. my coach were hurled headlong against the seats, yet none sustained serious injury. I measured my length in the aisle. Regaining my feet and rushing from the car amid the screams of women and shouts of men, I hastened forward. We had run into the first section, telescoped the two rear coaches, and the engine lay steaming in the midst of the third. The cries and curses of the wounded and dying were heartrending. The lives of twoscore or more went out like the snuffing of a candle. A hundred others were seriously injured, many of whom died later. Little ones lay crushed to death in their mothers arms. Children pinioned with the splinters called for papa to help, quick, and papa lay in death a few feet away. Fortunately, the wreck was not fired. Deaf to the cries for assistance, I slowly crawled over the debris toward the hissing engine. The cab was ripped clean from the boiler. Where could be the man who had caused the wreck, and yet who was as innocent as any man on the road? "Neely, hello, Neely!" I called softly. "Here, Billy!" faintly came up from the steam and timbers beneath me. "Are you much hurt, Ot?" I cried excitedly. "O, Billy ! I couldn t help it. I fell asleep in spite o myself only a minute O God! I knew I couldn t keep awake. I did my best. I would have died a hundred times if I could have saved this wreck. The spirit was willing but the flesh was weak weak Billy " Long Hours. 147 I seized an ax and chopped for dear life. The fireman joined me, his face covered with blood from a small contusion on the forehead. Several gruff men clambered up near us, and with oaths and threats tried to drive us from our work. "Leave the fool to die by inches!" they shouted. The fireman seized a large splinter, drew it, and declared he would brain the first man who attempted to delay the rescue of the suffering engineer. Breathless, and with the sweat pouring from me in streams, I rested a moment. My guard took the ax and I the club. Knowing more of the mechanism of the locomotive than I did, Allie reached through the steam and closed the cock. In a moment the air cleared and we saw our friend pinioned to the ground and either dead or in a faint. It proved to be the latter. In five minutes more we lifted his stalwart frame out of its narrow cell and carried it to a place of safety. We found his heart beating. No bones were broken. After bathing his head in water his eyes opened, and almost immediately he began to talk. "O, Billy! It s awful! They ll say I was drunk and careless and now a murderer, but God knows I was a sober Christian trying to do my best !" He was not badly hurt. However, under the aw ful mental strain and physical exhaustion he swooned again. The bystanders who saw his face and heard his words at once showed pity and sym pathy. No man could look into the eyes of Ot 148 On the Mountain Division. (Neely without seeing a man in them and a soul as pure as the water from a mountain spring. An hour later he was put under arrest and taken away by the authorities. "It s all right, Billy. God s will be done. I was asleep, but I did my best. Drop around and comfort Mary a little when you get back to Bryson. Good-bye!" He squeezed my hand faintly and tottered away. He carried with him a strong heart, though, alas ! a shattered body. He was tried for manslaughter. Through the in fluence of the company and his host of friends he was acquitted. Physically, he never became the same, though his life was the type of the noblest Christian character. He pulled the throttle no more. His railroading was over, but he never forgot the boys in his prayers, and in his heart-to-heart strug gles with them on account of their sins. The com pany honored him, though unable to reinstate him, even had he desired it. The trainmaster resigned his position and apolo gized to Neely, who frankly forgave him with all his heart. Neely became a trainmaster on the spiritual railroad and secured for many a poor sinner a life job with an eternal salary. He became to the C. O. & B. what Jim Burdick was to the C. B. & Q. in 1900. As one hard railroader said of Neely s work on our road, "This road don t need much except to git rid of a lot o old sinners like us to be an air line to heaven. It s only a question of time till you see the angels swipin our jobs, an* Long Hours. 149 we ll be bounced a-scootin . Instead o callin out, Twenty minutes for lunch/ at Bryson, it ill be, Twenty minutes for prayer meetin . And as soon as the old man ketches this religious smallpox he ll stop Sunday trains an every man that don t go to church an learn their signals will git their walkin papers mighty quick." 150 On the Mountain Division. M CHAPTER XIX. Marriage* AY I have another cup of coffee, Mrs. Con rad, if you please?" As the old lady slowly rose to comply with my request I buttered the half of a hot roll, cogitating the while that a boarding-house mistress was not the ideal mistress by a long way. Mrs. Conrad was one of the best and most motherly women that ever lived. Her home was mine. With a daughter and son she lived in her own cottage in the suburbs of Coalville. Elias, the son, was a railroader like myself. Four other sons were married, away from home and run ning on different divisions of the C. O. & B. Janie worked in a dressmaking shop down town. Mr. Conrad had been dead a couple of years. The Coal ville family lived in comfortable circumstances, still the old lady kept from one to three boarders to de fray running expenses of the house. It was an ideal boarding place for a fellow like me. On this par ticular morning, however, my nature was in re bellion, and Mother Conrad s quick perception read the inner longings of my soul. "You re gettin a leetle restless, ain t you, Wil liam? Judgin from your looks, you hain t got a friend in the world." Marriage. 151 "Well," sipping my coffee, "no, I m not friend less. I believe I have one waiting on me, and a good, motherly one, too. But you know, Mrs. Con rad, that friends, a good place to sleep, good food, and a good job don t make a home! I never had a home or relatives to my knowledge." "I want to know!" her sympathies enlisted at once. "Yes, there was a time when I thought myself friendless, yet the unseen Hand that I afterward learned to trust must have led me, for I came out all right. Since then I have never lacked one Friend at least, besides a number of earthly friends." "Yes, he s the best Friend ! Let me get ye nother cup o coffee? Won t? Just as well have it as not. I ve got plenty on it." "I feel that I have a brother somewhere, and that he s a railroader too. I never heard of anybody by the name of Barson, and I begin to think that is not my correct name. So I am now looking out for a man who has a peculiar history and who looks some thing like me. It would be more like home to have even a brother. Now, don t think I m finding fault with my present quarters. You have cared for me as well as anyone could." "O no, no, William ! I ve got too much sense for that. We enjoy our little home and try to make others happy in it. God s been very good to us. You jes keep right on and it ill come out for the best. You ll fall in with your brother yit." 152 On the Mountain Division. I rose and put on my coat preparatory to going. My landlady set my pail on the table, and, with a smile, remarked: "I guess, William, you re not so much concerned about your brother this mornin as you be about some little gal somewhere. Your homesickness is in the region of the heart." As a matter of course, I blushed and hemmed and hawed. But the remark was too direct to be evaded without some answer. Best of all, Mrs. Conrad was no gossip. By some occult process she had diagnosed my cardiac symptoms and plainly stated my disease. There could be no shying. Taking from her hand the well-packed pail, I gave her to understand that June would find me in a home of my own, if health and money could do it. "I kind o thought so, Mr. Barson, an I don t blame you a bit. If you want to buy a house Dr. Adams s house on Cherry Street is for sale and will be vacant by the first o June. The doctor s goin West an* wants to sell. We d like to have you for neighbors real glad on it ! Here s your night key. You may want to come in when you git back to night." " With a gracious smile of kindness the good woman handed me the key, which in my absent- mindedness I had left in the door the night before. My embarrassment revealed the one thing upper most in my mind in fact, it was all that was in there; and really it had about half brought me to my senses to divulge my secret to the old lady. At Marriage. 153 any rate, my heart was light, the day was bright, the train on time, and all was well. I was running rear trainman on No. 4 from Coal- ville to the eastern terminus of the road, and re turning on train No. 9, arriving at Coalville at 3 A. M., a run of nearly four hundred miles in fifteen hours and counting me two days time. The day following the trip we lay idle. Time dragged, ex cept when I was asleep usually about eight hours at a stretch. It was the balmy tenth of May. According to my limited record I was twenty-five years old that day. The train was full. No. 4 run as local over the Mountain Division. I collected the tickets from the rear car to help out the conductor. There was lit tle time to scent the mountain air and enjoy the springtime scenery until we left Bryson. From there in, for nearly a hundred miles, we made but four stops. "Is this the train to take to go to Bryson ?" asked an old lady just before leaving time on our return. "Yes, ma am !" I answered, and took her arm to assist her on board. "Are you sure it is?" she asked again. "What time does it get there?" "Yes, ma am ! Get right in here. We arrive at Bryson at eleven-ten." "This must be the train, then, for my son Orin wrote to me that I d get there at ten minutes past Jeven," 154 On the Mountain Division. Taking Her heavy satchel from her hand, I helped her up the steps and seated her comfortably, near the rear of the car, and placed her baggage as a sort of defense for her. It was evident that the old lady had not traveled extensively, and that now she was far from home, among strangers. Just ahead of her and across the aisle sat a couple of young men hardly deserving the name, though. Oblivious of others, they carried on this conversation loud enough to be heard through the car. "Say, Jack! How much for hay seed to-night?" "O, bout a quarter for granny s carpetbag full." At these remarks a couple of girls began to titter and flaunt their handkerchiefs before their mouths. The train had moved out from the station, through the maze of switches and colored lights, and plunged into the darkness, chasing the gleam of the rails. Passing the old lady while I went from front to rear, she stopped me, requesting that I should not carry her past Bryson. "O, dear! I m afraid granny ill fall off the cars," moaned one of the aforementioned youths. A titter from the seat of folly. "It would ruin her twenty-five-cent bonnet!" wailed the other, as he arranged his soft hat to rep resent a poke bonnet. A large man in front turned, scowled, and shook his head at them. "Candies, nice and fresh! Havana oranges, all juicy!" sang out the newsboy slowly coming down Marriage. 155 the aisle. The poke-bonnet youth swayed to and fro, drawing in his lips to represent the absence of teeth, while the other shouted, "Granny s lost er teeth and can t chaw !" The large man spoke up cheerily with a wink at the newsboy and a nod in the direction of the smarties, "Have you any sugar rags for howling babes?" "O yes!" he answered, loud enough to be heard above the rush and clank of the train. "Sweet sugar rags! All nice and juicy! For toothless in fants only have one?" swinging his basket to the would-be granny. A roar of laughter greeted him, and hoots came from all over the car. "Good for Tommy!" some shouted, as the boy continued on down the aisle singing out his imaginary wares "Nice juicy rags for toothless babies. Skull caps for brainless babies ! Two for five ! Buy them while they re going two for five!" A minute passed before the laughter subsided. Strong men wiped from their eyes tears of joy. The imitation poke disappeared and two smart Alecks evaporated. When only now and then a muffled burst of merriment could be heard Tommy started back. At nearly every seat he made a sale. The big man threw a quarter into the basket, with a chuckle and "That s all right, Tommy! Well done!" When the newsboy opened the door to pass into 156 On the Mountain Division. the car forward another hearty cheer greeted him, and bowing his smiling face Tommy Day and the empty basket passed out into the darkness. Only a few minutes elapsed before the usual hum of voices had well-nigh ceased. Each passenger turned, twisted, and adjusted himself for a nap. The uneasy passenger turned and motioned to me. "You re takin them to an asylum, ain t you?" she asked, pointing to the docile lambkins across the way. "It s too bad that ones so young should have such misfortunes." Before I could answer she con tinued: "You re sure you ll know when we git to Bryson. It s so dark I don t see how you can tell one place from another." "It s no difficult matter to tell where one is in the darkest nights after passing over the road hundreds of times. There s no danger of our running by that station anyway. We change engines there and stop twenty minutes for lunch. And, besides, Bryson was my home for about eight years." "You used to live there then, I take it? Maybe you know my son, Orin Neely. He was a rail roader a number o years and had some bad luck a few months ago." "O yes, I know" "They say he ain t much like he once was, but Grin s a good boy." "Yes, indeed, he s a" "He had a bad wreck, but he wa n t to blame for it there was a big " Marriage. 157 "Excuse me, madam! Brewster! Brewster! Change for the Cedar Valley Railroad. Brewster! An hour passed before I could again converse with my old friend, for already she seemed almost a mother to me. She might have appeared odd to some, but I would have given all my wages to have had a mother of the same stamp. "Yes, Mrs. Neely, I m well acquainted with your son at Bryson. My name is Barson, and " "Dew tell! Be you Billy Barson my son has so often wrote me about? Why, wa n t you on his train when it was wrecked? I m awful glad to see you ! I feel perfectly safe in your hands now." I assured her that she need have no anxiety con cerning her safety, and that in good time I would give her over into the care of her beloved son. We chatted on with an occasional interruption. Of course, I had to tell her about my hobby, for which she showed deep emotion as only a loving mother can. She only hoped that some day I would find my elder brother. Then her own old home scene came before her the country post office at Haversham, Rhode Island, a mile away from their little farm that overlooked Block Island and the blue waters of the bay and sound around it. She supposed that the soil there was not so fertile as in many other parts of the country, but it was her home and the most precious spot on earth. Then, as she mused, the old place and loving home ties were better subjects for her enjoyment than great mansions, wealth, and 158 On the Mountain Division. fertile fields without them. She confessed her ig norance of the ways of the world, but at her age she was beyond caring for what folks said about her queer ways. "My idea of home is where pa an me can raise our children up in the fear o the Lord an away from the temptations of the wicked cities. I m get- tin old, an maybe childish, but I m happy. It makes me feel like a child when pa an me kneel at the fam ly altar with our sons and daughters around us and pray to the great God who has cared for us so long an tenderly. We don t all get together very often now, yet it s a joy to know that we all pray at the same altar every mornin . Mary s in Maine, Susan s in Ohio, Dan el s in Or gon, James is a missionary in India, Charles is a professor in a mis sion college in South America, Melissa lives near home, Orin s in Bryson, an Franklin, the baby, is married an lives on the old place. They re all Chris tians, every one on em, and I think we ll be an aw ful happy fam ly over the river. Pa an me will soon be the first occupants of that new place an get things ready for the children, jest as we did at the old Rhode Island home. Pa s an invalid now. He s had a stroke. He ll soon pass on. It won t be long fore I ll follow. I expect this is my last long jour ney on earth." The dear old mother stopped to wipe her eyes. "I wanted to see Orin again an lean my feeble, totterin body on his strong arm. Orin s as good a boy as ever lived. I guess he s good s I got. Marriage. 159 They re all better n I deserve. They ve been awful good to pa an me. I hope the Lord ill reward them." "Well, here we are at Bryson, and twenty-three minutes late. Sit right still till the others get out, and then we ll come and get you. Sit right still! Bryson! Bryson! Twenty minutes for lunch!" A minute later I had the pleasure of seeing my friend Neely stride into the car and take his old mother in his arms as he would have taken one of his little girls. Filial and maternal love mingled and overflowed. Due notice was taken of me. Nevertheless, when the train drew out from the light of the station and rumbled on into the night I meditated alone and tried to console myself. A hush fell on the occupants of the car. I mused on for hours. My mind was made up. The next afternoon I struck a bargain with Dr. Adams. Twenty-five hundred dollars was the stipulated price for the Cherry Street cottage, for which I gave him fifteen hundred dollars in cash and a mortgage on the property for the remaining amount. My fondest hopes were realizing. The days and weeks passed. Every moment I was not on the road, eating or sleeping, I feathered my nest. One day, with good Mrs. Conrad and another intimate friend as advisers, I selected car pets, bedroom suits, and curtains, which were put in their proper places after the rooms had been 160 On the Mountain Division. thoroughly renovated, papered, and painted. Every thing was complete, with the exception of what I knew Annie would bring with her. The fire was to be lighted and supper ready on the twentieth of June. "Knee-deep in June!" Summerfield. Annie and I strolled up through the grove back of the barn. The stars twinkled softly upon us, and the breeze from the Delaware valley swept up the mountain side. To-morrow, in the little church where clustered so many sweet memories, we were to be made one in law, as we already were one in heart. The whistle of a whip-poor-will and the tinkling notes of a wood robin from the deep woods behind us, softened by the pathetic cooing of a mourning dove from a distant hillside, blended as sweetly and harmoniously as the several passions that swept over the harpstrings of our souls. We were so happy. Yet sadness tinged the joy, because this would be the last of our wooing days among the old, old scenes of our childhood. Their simplicity, hallowed places, and cozy corners were to be our haunts no more. Before the altar railing in the Summerfield Metho dist Church where I knelt and found my soul knit to the life of my Elder Brother, Jesus, on the padded elevation, covered with the old red and brown carpet, Annie and I kneeled and received the benediction of Rev. Mr. Blessner. We rose and our lips publicly acknowledged the happy union our hearts had long Marriage. 161 enjoyed. As we rode away from the sacred edifice the bell rang jubilantly and our souls responded : "Ring out, glad bell ! Your message tells, Through tremulous waves of air, That the hour is sweet, with joy complete, For a dream divinely fair Has opened the way to endless day And Love is monarch there." Of course we went to Niagara. Suffice it to say that at twilight, the twentieth of June, we entered Cherry Street cottage. It was still and tenantless. Supper steamed on the table. The fire burned low in the kitchen range. ,We were alone, at home honeymoon begun. "Home s not merely four square walls Though with pictures hung and gilded; Home is where affection calls, Filled with charms the heart hath builded. "Home ! go watch the faithful dove, Sailing neath the heaven above us; Home is where there s one to love, Home is where there s one to love us." 11 162 On the Mountain Division. CHAPTER XX. Left. TOO-O-O-T, too-o-o-t, too-o-o-t, tooo-o-t! That meant that I was left. A half hour before, a slight accident to the engine sent me back with a flag. The break had been repaired, my duty ended, and now I saw the train gliding along and away from me. I was alone on the barren mountain slope, a mile and a half from Notchview station. There I determined to go and wait for No. 4, due in about two hours and a half. When I stepped into the little mountain station the telegrapher, Charles Tickman, called out cheerily, "Hello, Billy ! Left ? Glad you ve dropped in to-day, for I m considerable out o sorts and want to prod somebody with my tale of woe. Do you remember those geraniums, petunias, and begonias I had in the window, and all a mass of bloom and foliage?" Charlie was complimented by all the trainmen for the beauty of his window. It was "as neat as wax." He always attended strictly to his busi ness, too. "Yes, I remember them, but what have you done with them?" "Done? I d like to mop the gutter with our Left. 163 division superintendent. He can t see beauty except in an eagle stamped on the face of a gold twenty. Confound his old skin! He stepped off the Meteor this morning and sauntered into my conservatory like a ruffian into a lady s chamber. Instead of com mending me for the neat appearance of the room, he knocked the ashes off his cigar right in the middle of the floor and grunted, as his little finger touched the fire in the end of the weed, Out with them things there! pointing to the flowers; you re here in the interest of the company, and not to cultivate posies. Those windows are to see through and not to see at! He was gone, and twenty minutes later wired me from Summit, Have you cleaned out? They re out back of the station frantically swinging their tender arms in the wind. I d as soon lose a tooth as part with em. There s no use growling about it, though. We have the option of obeying orders or quitting." And Charlie looked as if mourning for a near rela tive. His was about the only room on the road without a cuspidor a veritable floating island in nicotine expectorations that befouled the floor and atmosphere. Even the roughest railroaders, who were accustomed to ruminate their juicy morsel, ceased at the threshold of Charlie s sanctum. They looked upon him not as a crank or as feminine, but as a gentleman. They used him and his accordingly. His word was law. Clickety-click-click-click went the sounder. The 164 On the Mountain Division. attention of the heartbroken operator was called to his business for a moment. Answering the call and shoving back the lever to the key, he said, "Two s engine is broke down. No. 329 hauls her out o Collins. You re to follow on No. 4. I say, things are coming to a pretty pass when a telegrapher s got to be tied up to his machine like a dog to his kennel. I used to work twelve hours, and occasionally dur ing that time get out into the air for a minute. It s all day with me now. I m pounding brass from seven to seven, week days and Sundays. We receive more orders under the new management and double track than we did under the old regime and single track. A fellow s got to bend over the ticker all the time like a mother over a sick child. I haven t time to go a sparking.. Should I ever get into a mat rimonial alliance I d have to get a lay-off once in a while to renew acquaintance with my wife. All the operators don t fare as slim as I do, but it s the rule rather than the exception." "How s No. 4, Charlie?" called a brakeman through the open window. He had just jumped from a slowly passing freight. "On time, Jim!" "Thank you! All right!" shouted the brakeman, and, swinging his arms to the engineer, boarded the train that wound on down the mountain grade. "Te-he-e! O, deah! The sun is so warm !" Fan ning herself with all her might, a young fashion- plate entered the room. She stood in the open door Left. 165 of the office and began : "Mr. Tickman, is there an express package here for me Bertha Yawka ? My, but I ll melt ! I expect a box of Huyler s best from papa in Noo Yawk. No? Sure? Is that the kind of wata you drink?" she continued, blubbering away in a cup of water she had drawn from the tank. "It s worse than Tuckahoe wata. I m ova at the Mountain House for a month, and will you be kind enough to deliver the package when it arrives? O, isn t it delightful up here? Good-bye!" Before an answer could be given the gauzy wings had flown. "She s a type of our summer girls, Billy. They may be good for something, but I ve never found out just what, unless it be to eat Huyler s best and to give orders. They think I ve nothing to do but trot round at their beck and call. They re not all so, thank fortune. The cultured are human and sympathetic, but the wealthy ignorant are disgust ing. Gee Whitaker, Billy! Congratulations, old boy! I came near forgetting you had taken unto yourself a wife." "Thank you, Charlie! I m living in the state of connubial felicity these days. I recommend the same state to you for health, wealth, and wisdom." "Well, to be honest, I would like it, but I haven t a ghost of a show to get off this mountain to hunt deer. I see nothing but these summer butterflies, and I d as soon court and wed a candy store or a millinery shop. Where did you find Mrs. Barson ?" 166 On the Mountain Division. "O, where the sweetest flowers bloom back in the country." "You showed your sense again, but, granny! What s the use of cultivating the soul affections? We railroaders are bound to become machines any way, and the sooner the better, I guess. No flowers, no ornaments, nothing but an eternal clickety-click from morning till night, and a desolate room in a boarding house, with a bed, washstand, and dirty linen from night till morning. I daren t be caught with a storybook in my hand. By the way, they ve ordered the bulletin boards of religious services and the wall pockets for religious literature removed from the waiting room. See those ads over there on the clock? Jones Restaurant! Valley House! Schweitzer s Beer ! From externals our line should run through the desert of Sahara or over the Mountains of the Moon. I begin to feel heathenish. Haven t been inside of a church in a year. Guess if we ever get a leave of absence we ll have to strike for it. Might as well tie up the road as all of us fellows to be tied up. O, Jemima ! Maybe I ll feel better when my bile works off. I tell you it s tough just the same. Sitting here alone the sunny, sum mer Sundays, I imagine myself back to the old home in the country, trudging to Sunday school, with daisies and buttercups on either side of the path across lots, and an old-fashioned aster in my buttonhole. It s about the only satisfaction I get. I can fairly taste the noon lunch of bread and milk. Left. 167 We ate it with bowl in hand while the lazy flies buzzed back and forth. The whole atmosphere was loaded with the fragrance of fields. Its elixir had a certain soporific quality, just the thing for a boy s siesta. It grinds on a fellow like prison life, here. I now appreciate the old scenes I once hated. I d give the world to be back there for a month." To-oo-oo-oo ! "There s No. 4, and that means solitude again. Might bout as well be a hermit as an operator. But I m glad you got left, Billy. You ve done me good. Good-bye!" Four slowed down, and as soon as the speed had decreased sufficiently I jumped and signaled to go ahead. Taking a seat in the rear of the day coach, my attention was at once called to a sick woman. A young lady, I concluded a daughter, fanned her constantly, while a gentleman, her husband, I pre sumed, sat at her feet, for the back of one seat had been turned forward that the invalid might recline. They were poor people, yet rich in affection and patience. "Close the window, James! The gas is suffoca ting. Annie, where are my smelling salts?" the woman asked feebly. "Here they are, mother." "Thank you, dear ! That is so much better." The day was hot; the car stuffy. When we emerged from a tunnel the air within was stifling. The train stopped at Carton, near which was a 168 On the Mountain Division. small, clean pond covered with water lilies. The breeze floated over the water and into the car win dow. The sick woman smiled. "Water lilies ! Water lilies! Three for five!" A modest little boy, with well-worn though clean clothing, came timidly down the aisle announcing his wares. On his left arm lay a mass of fresh water lilies, the fragrance of which filled the car. He had made three sales before he reached the sufferer. She raised her head as she smelled the perfume. The little fellow took in the situation at once and said to Annie, "Give the lady these," handing her a number of flowers and going right on with, "Water lilies! Three for five!" All in the car noticed the kindly act, and at once felt the spirit of Him who is so mindful of the "lilies of the field." When the boy passed out of the rear door and dropped to the plat form after the train began to move he had no lilies, but a well-filled pocket of coins to make glad some humble Christian home. His presence had brought light to scores, and turned the stifling atmosphere to fragrance, their ill-nature and suffering to happi ness and patience. The boy was an illustration of the Christian. The lesson I learned then has been a boon to me ever since. Really, I was glad myself that I got left. Sunday Railroading. 169 CHAPTER XXI. Sunday Railroading. "J JEL-LO-O-O, Barson! Hey, hey, hey! II Barson !" * * I turned lazily in bed, realizing where I was and that it was just about daylight Sunday morning. "Barson-n-n !" again floated in through the open window. Springing to the floor and poking my head out, I replied to the call-boy, for it was none other than he, "What s wanted?" "Report to the office at eight !" and he was gone. I watched him and his pony out of sight and won dered in blank amazement with eyes fixed in space as I continued to hear the cuddle-up, cuddle-up hoof- beats of the galloping steed on the asphalt growing fainter and fainter in the distance. Absolute quiet reigned. The June morning air reminded me of the days agone, when with stiff muscles I used to lean out of the little window at Stoneman s of a Sunday. Not a sound then disturbed the sacred stillness, save an occasional cackle from the barnyard harem, the singing of birds, and the rasping clinks of Shack s chain as he crawled out from his kennel. It all came back to me like a dream. I was a boy again. Just 170 On the Mountain Division. then a milk wagon came rattling down the street. The spell was broken, and I came to myself. To-day is communion at Embury Church, I mused, and I do not wish to be absent. Besides, it is missionary day in the Sunday school, and I want my boys to give more than any other class in their grade. But I ll be there though. I can drop in at the office on my way to class meeting at nine-thirty. "Will! What on earth you doing so long in the draught of that window? You ll catch cold even if it is warm!" "Why, Annie," as I rolled back into bed, "I m in a quandary to know why I m wanted at the office at eight this morning. I certainly have no misde meanor, for which to call me to account, and they can t want me to work. That would be out of the question; yet, some of the boys heard that a new crew was making up to do Sunday excursion work. But they wouldn t take me off a through run for that service. I ll take another nap on it, anyway, and trust the good Lord for the rest." A comfort able snooze followed. At the family altar that morning I prayed for divine direction, fully assured in my own heart that the tangle would be straightened. At eight of the clock I stood before the trainmaster, and, with out a word, received a slip from his hand with this order : "Conduct excursion to Mountdale and return. Leave Coalville 9 A. M., Mountdale 4 p f M, Take six Sunday Railroading. 171 coaches and baggage car. Cobb, engineer. Engine 694. Helper to Summit, 581." I was dumb. After a moment s hesitation I stammered, "What does this mean?" "Isn t the order clear to you?" "Yes, but I don t want to run on Sundays." "If the order is plain, obey it. The promotion ought to satisfy anyone." Rising, he entered the private office and slammed the door behind him." "O God!" I cried, "has it come to this? Lead me, Father, and I will be led by thee." Placing the order in my pocket, I walked out to the yard. Finding Cobb and the rest of the crew waiting for me, I proposed a bolt en masse. The fireman s opinion corroborated mine. All the others said, "Go, or we ll lose our jobs." "Job or no job," I replied, "I m going to-day, but I ll never run a Sunday train again as long as I live. I wouldn t go to-day if the trainmaster had not now made it impossible for me to see him. If I m called out again a week to-day, boys, I stay at home. My services are at the option of the company, my prin ciples are not." At 9 :c5 we pulled out of Coalville with a heavy load of pleasure-seekers. The majority of the ex cursionists were churchless and godless, unless, per chance, their gods were Bacchus and Folly. A few sports, gamblers, and debauchees mingled with the throng, also a few church members who cared more for a "good time" than they cared for their com- 172 On the Mountain Division. pany, their church, home, God, or his day. My morning text was, "Go not with the multitude to do evil ;" the skeleton of my sermon, broken command ments, excess, and greed; and the flesh and blood of the homily were the things I saw and heard dur ing the day. "This Sunday business gives a fellow that eternal tired feeling we read so much of in patent medicine books," yawned one of the trainmen as we lounged in the shade eating our dinners. "It takes away all my morals, and I never had any to spare, as well as my happiness and ambition, the latter never at a premium either. Last Sunday I went over the road with perishable freight a rush train." "Coal, I suppose?" said the fireman, as he swal lowed a mouthful of coffee. "Certainly. The road runs more coal on Sundays than any other day in the week. There ain t no freight in the way, and some of the passenger trains are off, so that there s clear sailin . Corporation conscience covered with gold." "That s right, Jim!" replied the honest fireman. "Sunday railroadin s a public nuisance, to say nothin of positive wickedness. There s not a good feature about it that ain t cloaked by wrongdoing. I m not much of a man, but I ve never been over the road of a Sunday without a twang o conscience. I m no Christian, and never will be s long s I work Sundays. Tain t consistent. I s pose I ll lose all Sunday Railroading. 173 my conscience f I keep on. Even then I might slide into some denominations with three sheets in the wind, but that s no sign I d find all sig nals set for a clear track when I come to the pearly gates. "Lots o the railroaders are s bad s the company. Last month I was to church on Sunday mornin O, you needn t grin, Jack, I do get to the place o wor ship once in a while whether I worship er not as I was goin* to say, down there in that little church at Rio." "You mean that little two by four ; two towers at the front corners bigger n the rest o the church, bout like the pillars o Hurcules; and four green blinds on a side, about a hundred yards above the semaphore?" "That s the identical temple, Ed. Well, the par son was pray in at a fine clip and had reached the Lord s Prayer without an interruption. He an the congregation steamed into that with me kind o taggin along, when 73 came down the hill with Bill Dempster at the lever of old 461. You know her whistle s like a fog horn ! She was poppin* at a hundred and sixty-five, and jest as the people said, Thy kingdom come, Bill pulled the whistle wide open and kept it there till he got to the semaphore. Everybody finished the prayer on is own hook an said Amen when he made the terminus. It made no difference whether he said it loud or low, nobody could hear it anyway, an as to the ear o 174 On the Mountain Division. the Lord I ve my doubts if he could hear in such a pandemonium as that. "But that was not half so bad" gulping down a hunk of corn bread with a swallow of coffee "half so bad s it happened a few minutes later. We was listenin to a fine sermon on Mount Sinai, an the preacher was a gettin in the arousements by com- parin the trumpetlike sound from the mountain to the Gospel bugle-blast of to-day and was sayin , My friends, the voice of God calls to you to-day in trumpet tones from heaven, when too-oo-oo-oo! went the milk train roarin down by, like the rays o light. Frum hell, said Zack Tyler, as he nudged me n the ribs. He spoke loud enough to be heard by the preacher, an as soon s the noise stopped the parson continued : Yes, an the devil s hustlin these days, too. Surely he s goin about like a roarin lion. I tell you what, boys, when I hear the clankin o the connectin rod, the rattlin brake irons, an* grindin brakes on a Sunday it makes me feel s if the devil was comin with clankin chains, and a grindin our noses on the very rag wheels o hell. An what s more, we re fools enough to let im rub em on, good an hard." "Well, what you blowin about, then?" asked the engineer. "You ain t got to work Sunday f you don t want to. Your nose s s flat s any of our n." "I know it. I m s big fool s anyone. But tain t right, jest the same, an don t begin to be nec sary. Sunday Railroading. 175 We re all n the same boat. The people could stop Sunday trains if they wanted to. In most States the law s agin it. But because somebody s got a pocket full o mun we take off our hats to em and let em walk over us with copper-toed boots. Twouldn t be so bad if they was liberal with their gains, but they ain t. That little church I mentioned has a lot uptown an away from the racket o the road, but can t afford to build yet. D ye s pose the company d donate a cent ? Not a red ! Stingier n old Squire Squeezer, who used to wash the whiskers he shaved off his brazen face, strain off the water, n bile it down to save the soap. They ll plead poverty an say they can t help every church along the line or they d be bankrupt. The devil ought to pay is way. The company has a right to the ground, but it hain t got a lease on all o God s pure air to fill it with gas an sounds, fit only for the infernal regions, specially on the Lord s " "What s that?" shouted one of the brakemen, hurriedly covering his pail and running in the direc tion of the picnic grounds, closely followed by the rest of us. The noise was a bedlam of human- fiendish voices, shouting, cursing, and screaming, a howl that would have done credit to a corps of imps of darkness. We soon reached the battlefield, which was drenched with blood and beer. Collarless males with gory faces and females with torn dresses and flowing hair withdrew and were withdrawn one 176 On the Mountain Division. from the other all vanquished, all victorious. The fray began with a couple of sports, maudlin to the degree of foolishness, and ended in a free-for-all scrap, in which bottles, bowlders, teeth, tongues, fingers, and fists became weapons of a promiscuous and effective warfare. The police, for their part of the program, rendered a few free numbers and re tired without an encore, carrying their arms and fingers in the manner of a man who had fallen into a cellar drain during the rainy season. One of the cops, who was a good sort of a fellow and was down right mad for he possessed a temper something like yours and mine rather feelingly remarked, still holding his arms akimbo like a scarecrow, "I wish the scum o the city d stay to home !" "Say, Mack," replied another, "these are the whey we ve been dealin with ; the cream stays to home." A faint smile flitted across the offended man s face and faded to a serio-comic expression, while he again made answer : "That may be so, but I m tired o this Sunday business. Six days o labor is more n I can stand and keep my temper, an when it comes to doin police duty to a pack o hudlums like these it s enough to rile a saint, an I m no saint. I like to go to church myself, an be with my fam ly. There, boys, you go on home, now, like good little men," he shouted pleasantly to a couple of little chaps, who whined out, "We ve come to see you, pa. Ma said we could." "This is no place for you to-day, so go on home Sunday Railroading. 177 now," and off they trudged, hand in hand, sprinkling the walk with their tears. Turning to us, the father resumed : "It s mighty tough to be forced into a place where it ain t fit for one s children to be, and even on Sunday. Two years ago we had as nice a lot of young people here as you d want to see. Since the excursions have run here, an more especially them on Sundays, they seem possessed. Bout all they talk of is the per formances on the picnic ground. The railroad brings up a car o beer an the Park company let them sell it here without a license, and then tell us poor fools to keep the excursionists quiet. Might just as well lay an underground fuse to a ton o dynamite under a dam, set it afire, an tell us to keep the water back. It s devilish business anyway, and I wisht I was out of it," and he sauntered away to a pump as if to wash off the stains that, evidently, he felt and knew were beyond the reach of soap and water. "We ll have a jolly gang to-night," carelessly laughed one of my brakemen as we took to cover. The rain came down in torrents and continued for hours. Many of the picnickers sought shelter, and many more seemed oblivious to the waters without on account of the overflow within. We left the station in the rain. Imagine the plight of the passengers. Words are expressionless. In many instances I was forced to enter the pockets of pas sengers to obtain their tickets, they were in such a helpless state of intoxication. Several men lay in 12 178 On the Mountain Division. the baggage car like brutes. Near the end of our journey many awoke from their stupor. We locked the doors to keep them from staggering through the aisles from car to car, few being able to cross the platform of the moving train. The work was finally done. Reaching home, I made for my bathtub and prayer room, for I had done dirty work that day and must needs be renewed in body and soul. A Runaway. 179 CHAPTER XXII. A Runaway. " I Tl 7 HAT you got there, Dempster?" X/W "Books!" replied the fat engineer, removing the pipe from his mouth as he stopped in front of my gate. "Coin to school now, Billy. To-day s exams, fur us throttle- pullers." His manner was imitative of the pride and gusto of a ten-year-old boy. His countenance changed to a serious look, and, leaning over the fence, he con tinued: "I ll tell you my opinion it may be right, it may be wrong it s good enough for me, anyway, between you an me an that black cat over there, these new rules are all humbug. The idea of a man fifty-five years old, who s railroaded it thirty years an knows every spike in the Mountain Divi sion, settin down to a book o rules an learnin the hull thing over again, only a little different. The difference, as far s I can see I may be blind s a bat ain t no improvement, an jest enough to raise the devil. We re havin more wrecks these days than in the history of railroads. Take this book o* rules for the block system they re puttin in now, an a fellow can learn more n one trip over the road than he can ever learn with the book only. I tell 180 On the Mountain Division. you railroadin s got to be learned by practice an* not by theory. Goll! I d like to see a crew that had passed an examination from the book in bang- up style start out over a familiar road with nothin new but the semaphores or banjo signals I don t care which an try to go through. The first block would stop the train an every last man would out with his book an compare it with the signal ahead. The crew d look like a lot o boys gazin at a toy balloon. But the system s all right, and the book s all right, but we re goin hind end foremost. You can t beat nothin into these college-bred new managers. They mean well, know enough, an can make books which we old duffers can t, but they need to pound over the road in a freight car a while an they ll know suthin o railroadin . Looks like rain er snow ! Guess I d better jog on." Such was the general opinion of the old rail roaders concerning the new management of the road. The pulling of rough, old, tried and true men out onto an ideal system run by men who were largely theoretical in work marked a change so vast that, in spite of everything, accidents frequently occurred. I still ran as sort of extra conductor. I had been off duty long enough to get a good sleep. Pulling up to the fire and taking my morning paper, I set tled down to take my ease when a ring at the door bell interrupted. "You re wanted immediately to take a train p* A Runaway. 181 coal over the mountain," said the call-boy, and he was gone. Hastily packing my pail, Annie kissed me good bye and I was gone. The trainmaster met me at the yard. His flushed face revealed a smoldering fire. Something had gone wrong, without a doubt, but, being accustomed to obey orders, I asked no questions. "Here, Barson, take this train over the hill to Bryson as wild-cat everything s O. K. to pull out. Blake s your engineer, and 643 will push you," and he was gone. Looking up the train, I saw every man at his post and the crew on the pusher, all waiting my move. Giving the signal at once, we steamed out of the siding onto the main track. The pusher bumped, and we were on our way up the mountain. I sat down at the desk and looked over the waybills. Everything was in order. Within a half hour my report was completed, and I rose from the desk. Peering through a window, I saw rain falling, an occasional snowflake or hailstone mingling with it. Just then the conductor of the pusher hustled into the caboose. As he shook the sleet from his hat he began: "We re gettin a bad rail to-day, Barson. Guess you ll have some fun down the mountain. D ye know what sort of a trap you ve got your foot in?" "Trap?" said I, in astonishment, "what do you mean ? I ve done nothing out of the ordinary." 182 On the Mountain Division. "No, I know you re all O. K., and if anything happens the boys 11 stand by you, but do you know your crew?" "Why, no one but Blake, and I suppose Leet, who fires for him. The others I don t know." "You ve got a green crew at the brakes, an* more n that you ve got your tonnage all right." "Yes, I noticed we had a heavy load, but we can hold it with twenty cars of air." "That may be, but there s a nigger n the fence somewhere. You know this is Al Lindley s reg lar run, an he s a good conductor, none better ner care- fuller. He came out this mornin , got orders, mad$ up his train, saw what he had in train an crew, ari* went back to the trainmaster an said he d like at least one old brakeman or less load. Well, old P. D. flew mad an told im to go with what he had or go home. Then it was Al s turn to flare up, an he flared. All right, says he, Mr. Dictator, I ll go home; and takin up his mittens walked out o the room, leavin the waybills layin on the desk. He came over to the caboose, got his dinner bucket an overcoat, remarkin to a half dozen of us fellers that he d not take the hull rollin stock o the road over the hill for nobody, anyway, with a green crew. .We knew the fat was in the fire. No sooner d Al gone than Mr. P. D. came out smokin like a hot- box. Perkins stood near us quietly pullin on a cigar. The trainmaster reached out his bills to him, sayin , Will you take this train over the mountain ? A Runaway. 183 You know Perk s considered one o the levelest heads in the freight service. Well, we held our breath to see what he d say. Says e, without re- movin his hands from his pockets an half squintin as the smoke floated over is eyes, an as cool s a cucumber says e, Not to-day, Mr. Dictator. The old man knew that that meant biz, and sent the call- boy for you. So you see where you be an how ye got there. I tell e, Barson, it s a nasty rail, an if we had much further grade to climb we d stall." Buttoning his heavy coat close up to his chin, he opened the door. He hesitated a moment. The cold air rushed in and the sleet sissed over the little stove. Half closing it behind him, he called back: "Good luck to you! A fellow s safer to-day on runners than on wheels," and he was gone. In a moment we broke over the summit and drew away from the pusher as it backed in onto the Y. All three brakemen were out on the train. I had cautioned them to keep the speed down to the minimum. The running boards were a glare of ice. Over the coal a thin crust had formed. The brake wheels were slippery and covered with ice also. No man could move on the top of a box car when the train had a speed exceeding thirty miles an hour. Wrapping myself in my thick coat, I climbed to the lookout to see what was going on. I had noticed that the steam was shut off as we ran over the sum mit. When I looked out the engine was popping and the air pump working. However, the speed of the 184 On the Mountain Division. train increased. On a straight line I saw Blake pull the engineer s brake handle, but felt no diminution of speed. Not a brakeman had touched a brake wheel. I opened a side window and signaled brakes. The air fairly chilled me to the bone. My coat sleeve was cased in ice. The engineer immediately whistled brakes. The trainmen began to move slowly at their task; they could do no otherwise. The train kept increasing its speed. Another straight line revealed the engineer in the act of ap plying the emergency brake. This I felt a little, and then knew that he had but few cars of air. When he saw the effect of the brakes he seized the reversing lever and, throwing it over, opened the throttle, and pulled the whistle wide open. The en gine screeched like a demon, and, working against the train, rolled and plunged like a race horse, though we were not yet running at more than thirty miles an hour. This was altogether too fast on such a rail, for we were comparatively near the top of the hill. Dropping from the lookout, I sprang for the brake of the caboose and screwed it with all my might. The flakes of ice flew from the rail like hail. Climbing the box car next to the caboose, I tightened that brake but felt it slip. The wheels had been accustomed to the heavy pressure of air and were so smooth that a hand applkation caused little friction. But I twisted it tighter yet. Then I looked over the train. The flagman was down on the cars of coal turning the brake as best he could. The Runaway Freight. Page 185. A Runaway. 185 The two other brakemen were on box cars hanging on for dear life. The fireman came up over the tank and slowly climbed down out of sight to some gon dolas. The engineer flew wildly about the cab, not knowing what to do next. I began to crawl along the running board on my hands and knees. It was slow work. I finally made the length of a car with the loss of a mitten. Clenching the brake wheel, the ice cut into my fingers. To turn was useless, but I turned. The sleet came in sheets. Speed now at least fifty miles an hour the whistle wide open. We were running away. Where each man happened to be at that moment, there he had to remain, pro viding he could grip tight enough, for to move meant to slip, and to let go, instant death. We passed Romono station before I hardly saw it. The operator looked wildly out of the window. I knew he would warn the stations below, if possible, and keep the track clear for us. We helplessly waited for we knew not what. Hands were clutching icy brakes and freezing in the grip. Several miles of grade yet lay below us. Would we keep the track? The engine screamed and rocked, the cars creaked and tossed. Now and then a half- fastened door from a box car slipped from its bearings and flew down the mountain side like a shingle in a gale. On a sharp curve the over loaded gondolas of coal hurled their freight into the air like showers of gravel. The brakeman on the coal cars, feeling the coarse black diamond mingling 186 On the Mountain Division, with the piercing sleet, closed his eyes and held the tighter. At times the train seemed rounding a curve on its outer wheels. The opposite motion of the next curve righted it. One weak flange meant in stant derailment of everything behind it. Past Warren s Siding we flew, and in less than a minute the steeples of Collins appeared. That was the foot of the grade. Just at the entrance to the yard lay a sharp curve, beyond which was a long trestle on a wide curve. Could we pass it ? Wheels could never keep the track at our lightning speed. There was but a moment to dread the curve was in sight. I saw Blake let go the whistle rope and clutch the side of the cab. The long trestle with its dizzy height next loomed up through the flying sleet. The absence of the whistle seemed like the silence before the death shudder. I saw the engine strike the curve and swerve like a plunging war horse. The middle brakeman held to his brake like a frozen corpse, his hat off and long hair stiff behind him, cased in ice. The flagman lay half buried in coal, with white face turned to the sky and bony hands gripping for life. "O God !" I moaned, breathed a prayer, and closed my eyes. I held my breath an instant and hung on for dear life as the box car reared on the bend. Another moment and I felt the easy spring, and heard the humming noise, of the steel trestle beneath the wheels. I opened my eyes. The straight track of Collins yard lay before us ? over which we rushed A Runaway. 187 like a bullet from a gun. The usual chuck, chuck, and jar of the trucks over the frogs of the switches were scarcely perceptible. We flew, and only God controlled our wings. The warmer atmosphere in the valley and the constant use of the tracks in the yard gave us a fairly good rail. I felt the train slacken, and within three miles we came to a standstill. I seemed in a dream. None of us moved until the crew of a train standing on a siding by which we had stopped cried out, "Come right off, boys, and we ll tend to the train." We crawled slowly down to the ground. Friendly hands assisted us into the caboose, where we were stripped of our icy garments, rubbed and warmed with the care and tenderness of a mother. Later they took us back to Collins. No. 5 landed us in Coal- ville at six-twenty in -the evening. The trainmaster met us at the platform and gave each of us a hearty hand-shake. His actions meant more than words. He had learned a lesson ; we had. The news of the runaway had spread over the town. A continuous ovation attended our way. But the strain was too great. When I reached Annie s arms my nerve gave way. Time will never dim the memory of that wild ride down the Moun tain Division. 188 On the Mountain Division. CHAPTER XXIII. A Change* "When the green gits back in the trees, and bees Is a-buzzin aroun ag in In that kind of lazy go-as-you-please Old gait they bum roun in; When the groun s all bald where the hayrick stood, And the crick s riz, and the breeze Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood, And the green gits back in the trees, I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these, The time when the green gits back in the trees !" YES, it is springtime. The little peach tree in our back yard is full of bloom. Now and then a gentle May breeze hustles through the branches and a cloud of pink flakes go sailing away over the garden. The green bursts out on the trees. The air is laden with the sweetness of May. Everything is quiet. The plants grow, the buds burst, and the fragrance floats. I am on a "lay-off." In our sleeping room up stairs Annie lies, white and still, but a smile plays around her mouth. The doctor has just gone. Down in the kitchen Mother Horton and good Mrs. Conrad are rolling up in soft flannels a little wriggling piece of humanity. "Be still as any mouse: There s a baby in the house." A Change. 189 A boy! Not a brother, but a son. Is it any wonder I go round the house on tiptoe? Even then I cannot attain to the dignity and height that is due me. I am going to lift the fluffy little thing now and carry it up to mamma. How the good old dames smile at my awkwardness and stand with their hands on their hips gazing at me as I ascend the stairway. Think of it! We three! How happy we are ! Surely a change has come to our home. Our cup of joy has always been full, but now it is enlarged and overflowing. I have a son, a wife, and a home. Somewhere there is a brother, and so close that, at times, I can almost feel his presence. My fondest hopes are realized, all except finding my elder brother. Somehow, somewhere, sometime, we shall meet meet as railroaders, brothers. My first trip over the road after Joe came to live with us we called him Joseph after Grandpa Hor- ton was in charge of an excursion train to Bryson. After reporting and putting away the train I de termined to look up old friends. I had about five hours in town before returning. I stepped into the railroad Y. M. C. A., and to my joy received a warm welcome from my old friend Neely. His voice had the mellowness of yore, and his laugh was the same healthful tonic. "I tell you, Billy, I m glad to see you. I know my wife will be, too, and so will mother. She s staying with me now since father died last winter. 190 On the Mountain Division. [You must take dinner with us today. Let s see! lYou ve been away from here about five years, hain t you. Hoo ! Don t seem but yesterday I saw you in the roundhouse, as green s grass and as innocent s a lamb." A long blast of a locomotive whistle uncon sciously brought our watches from our pockets. "One s on the dot to-day," spoke Neely, as we slowly walked to the window from which we could look down upon the platform of the station and see all who boarded or left the train then coming to a standstill. "Jim keeps old 400 as slick s a whistle !" remarked my friend, as he looked over the locomotive with the innate pride of a careful engineer. "I sometimes hanker for the road again, if I could be regular in my habits, but I ve no use for this owling round, day and night, no time, any time, and all the time I say, Billy, ain t that Hank Gilder standing over there by the truck ? There he goes up to the engine and is shaking hands with Shay. Shay s firing 400 now. Wa n t he in your crew when Hank conducted for you ?" "Yes," I replied, "and that is certainly Hank Gilder," though he appeared like a gentleman, every inch of him. He had left Bryson a half dozen years previously and had not been heard of since. We concluded to watch him and see if he still walked in his old ways. When last known he was a shiftless drunkard. He stood on the platform until No. I A Change. 191 was out of sight, and then turned as if wondering what next to do. He glanced at the door of a saloon near by where he had squandered many a month s wages. His facial expression gave evidence that the place had no charm for him any longer. He hailed an old companion who went by toward the fated saloon. At first Gilder was not recognized. Only an instant passed, however, before he was warmly greeted and pulled toward the open door. Gilder s face lighted with a smile. He still held the hand of the laborer, and, pointing toward the room in which we were, said something to his would-be tempter that made him blush with shame. They continued in conversation for some time. When they separated it was with a promise from the tippler, who went straight home, past the open saloon door, while Gilder crossed the court and came up the stairs into the Y. M. C. A. rooms. It was a delight to take the hand of a man, well dressed, well kept, clean shaven, with clear eye and complexion, whom I had formerly known as a sot. It needed no logic or philosophy to tell that the grace of God had been at work and had done the job thoroughly. "But it s most noon, boys !" broke off Neely, "and wife 11 be looking for us. We ll go up to the house, and then, Hank, after we ve fed the body, you can tell us how it all come about." The Neely home was perfectly familiar. We spent a delightful hour at the table. Adjourning to 192 On the Mountain Division. the sitting room, we three railroad men romanced, yarned, and visited. Gilder told a five-year-long story of absolute happiness. He had gone West aimlessly and almost hopelessly. Wandering one night about the railway station in Omaha, money less, cold, and hungry, a railroad Y. M. C. A. secre tary slipped an arm into his and led him into the comfortable rooms of that organization. Once more treated like a man, his better nature responded to the kindness. In less than a week he was soundly converted to God and braking on a freight train. He immediately wrote his family what had hap pened, and promised them money for their fares .West after the first pay. He kept his promise, and within a year was as comfortable in a rented house as any king on earth, and conducting on a fast freight. For the last two years he had conducted a passenger train, and now owned a fine home in the suburbs of Omaha. Two weeks before his arrival in Bryson his train had been wrecked by the care lessness of a drunken engineer on another train. The nervous shock and other injuries received in the smash-up necessitated a two months leave of ab sence. Hence he was resting in the East among old friends and scenes. "No, Ot!" he exclaimed at the conclusion, "I wouldn t exchange for the old life if the universe was laid at my feet as mine. By the way, what s become of Phil Schleaser?" "O, he got into a wreck about a year ago and left A Change. 193 the road. I think he s running that old groggery up at the Junction." "Too bad ! I always liked Phil, but he had too good an opinion of himself and of his own powers. He ll find out some day that his moderation will be his damnation. Maybe he s found it out already. I once admired his ability to drink and to keep sober and cool at the same time, but it drove me to the wall. I d been a different man long before if there had been a different man at the reversing lever." "Look here, Gilder !" I interrupted, "go up to the Junction with me this afternoon and see Schleaser. It will do him good to look you over again." "It s a bargain, my boy ! When do you leave?" "Three-thirty!" "All right! I ll be around. Must go over now to see my wife s folks a minute to let them know I m here. Will see you again, Ot, before I go back. Farewell, old boy !" and the happy Christian departed. For some time we sat in silence. At last Neely exclaimed, "Behold what God hath wrought!" Two minutes before leaving time, while I stood talking with my engineer, I felt a light touch on my arm and an "O. K., Billy," rang in my ear as Gilder entered the baggage car. We ran extra and our first stop was Sandy Junc tion. The board stood against us. At the office I received orders to wait for No. 4, after which pro ceed on the east-bound track to Canope. There hadf 13 194 On the Mountain Division. been an accident to a coaler on the west-bound track. That would delay us fifteen minutes if No. 4 was on time. A moment later the Philadelphia train pulled into the Junction and discharged her passengers. Among them was Schleaser, blear-eyed and swag gering. The quick eye of Gilder took in the situa tion at once. He met his old engineer as he stepped to the platform and took the proffered hand as ten derly as a mother with a "Well, Phil, how goes the battle?" The little dark fellow shoved his broad-brimmed hat over his left ear, squinted his eyes in the old characteristic manner, and, standing unsteadily, looked his friend over. He recognized in Gilder the man whom he had booted into the caboose for being drunk. "Ah-ah-h! Ah-h! I see! Hank, old bones, how air ye? Didn t know y at first, with yer b lt shirt an broadcloth. Come over t house house an* have suthin fur auld auld lang syne. Me an the road s had a fallin out an an I m keepin a little biz over here on the on the corner. Hank say, don t tell nobody, but see that my feet s I can t confound it ! control em !" Gilder gently led him away from the crowd and drew him down on a baggage truck at the rear of the building. He kindly refused the entreaties "to take something," for Schleaser had even offered him from the bottle he carried along with him "in case o mergency." A Change. 195 I left them alone and strolled back into the office. "Four s ten minutes late, Barson," said the operator. That gave me fifteen minutes yet to wait. In the meantime the engine of the Philadelphia train had been turned and was coupling on. I leisurely watched the proceedings until the brakeman had finished the coupling and stepped back from be tween the car and the tender, calling out from the opposite side of the train, "All right, Charlie! Try the air!" I saw the tubes throb and relax as the release let the air out hissing, and, turning on my heel, walked back to the rear of the train and entered into con versation with the conductor. The entire crew were strangers to me. Looking down the train (I can see him as plainly as if it were but yesterday), I took particular notice of the youthfulness of the engineer, who had left his cab and stood with the fireman watching Gilder and Schleaser. "Your engineer looks almost like a boy," I re marked to the conductor. "He does appear boyish in looks, but he s every inch a man at the throttle. He s a " A rush of the crowd around the corner in the direction of the truck interrupted our conversation. The throng gathered to watch the sorrowful and de bauched face of Schleaser, wet with tears. He wailed in an agony of grief over a stinging con science. Gilder had talked to him so kindly and yet so truthfully that his sins appeared to him like 196 On the Mountain Division. demons. With a groan and a spring he jumped from the truck, drew the bottle from his pocket, and hurled it from him with all his might, crying, "God helpin me, I ll never touch another drop no, not another nip!" Simultaneously from the other side of the plat form rose a scream. A girl of perhaps ten years of age staggered and fell with blood streaming from a deep cut in her cheek where the cruel bottle had landed. The young engineer seized her and carried her to the waiting room just as No. 4 whistled and I hurried away to my train. Another Change. 197 CHAPTER XXIV. Another Change. " y^~> OOD-BYE, papa! Sthe me go bellyflap- I T per, lickity jingle, wight into our yard!" ^ ^ And away went five-year-old Joe down the hill and straight through the gate. The same motion that brought him to his feet also scooped some snow into his mouth with a red mitten, as he shouted again and waved his hand, "Good-bye, papa !" Just behind him, in the window, beamed the face of Annie. On her knee, with white nose flattened on the window pane, sat little year-and-a-half-old Jennie, swinging her arms and laughing at "bruver in no." I was on my way to work and had drawn Joe on his sled to the top of the grade in the alley and watched him coast down a thing he never did un less I was near to see that he had no collision with passing teams or pedestrians. This was a rare treat for the little fellow, and especially with his new sled, a recent gift from Santa Claus. When alone he played contentedly in the back yard, but with papa it was his delight to "wide in e ally." Waving an adieu to the sweet trio, at the foot of the slope I turned my steps toward the station. I 198 On the Mountain Division. now conducted on two through trains, 2 and 7, leaving Coalville at 9 A. M., and returning at mid night. I made the trip three times a week, always off on Sunday. The wind blew piercingly from the northeast, cutting to the very bone. An occasional flake of snow whisked by like skirmishers before a great battle. Buttoning my coat tighter, and musing that the weather forecast was snow, I quickened my pace. Coming from the west the train was full. Many were returning from their holiday visits, and among others a dozen or more students to their several places of learning. We could scarcely get along without the college boys and girls, their merry wit and genial manners ; yet, like all other flocks, it has some black sheep. It may be of necessity or other wise. They are there, at any rate. I was busy for several stations and aside from collecting and punching tickets noted nothing but the happy greetings of friends. In an hour the rush was over. The laugh and shouts of the jolly boys subsided and the conversation hushed to the low hum-buzz so familiar to a railway day coach. Chums naturally fell together. Minutes whirled away as they planned what they would "take up next term." The delegation represented several in stitutionseach championing his own as supreme. Two from old Wesleyan withstood three from Yale, while one each from Columbia, Brown, Princeton, and Harvard kept the pace for his alma mater. Ere- Another Change. 199 long this grew monotonous. The conversational topic became the weather, now made conspicuous by a blizzard sweeping over the barren mountain region through which we ran. This turned the discussions to winter scenes, sleigh rides, and sobered them up with home memories. While one long-winded, love-i sick fellow spun his yarn with the flourish of a fop, a curly-headed humorist from Wesleyan slid down into the cushions with his knees against the seat ahead, and, pulling his soft hat over his eyes, began softly to hum "Stars of the Summer Night," so fa miliar to every collegian. A long-necked fellow from Yale moaned his basso profundo, and across the aisle the Princetonian and Columbian with first bass and tenor. The fop was in the midst of the most exciting scenes of his sleigh-ride when the quartet, having felt their way until satisfied that they had the key and could pull out a swell or two, burst into full tone. The story ended. With that as a starter the boys sang on, from the "Bulldog on the Bank" ad infinitum. Two of the Yale boys who could not sing finally proposed a smoke. Jerking the bright-faced lad from Brown, they said, "Come on, Ben. You ll take a hand! Come on!" Bennie shook his head and a pink tinge crept into his cheeks. "What s e matter? Been to church or are you tied to ma s apron strings ?" The pink deepened to crimson and faded to ashy whiteness. His eyes flashed as he spoke, so that the 200 On the Mountain Division. tempter knew what he meant: "I m done with the smoker and the whole outfit. I may be tied to mother s apron string, certainly not to you." "Hell ne er devised a blacker art Than that which seeks to smother The fires that glow in youth s warm heart Of loyalty to mother ! And heaven no brighter ornament Has given our race, my brother, Than that brave son whose confidante And sweetheart is his mother !" The curly-headed singer started "Home, Sweet Home." Four of the others rose and went forward into the smoker. When the quartet concluded the song many faces were turned to the storm without the rushing train, and an occasional tear stole down the cheeks of elderly persons, who, in memory, lived over the happy scenes of childhood and youth. We stopped at Netherton, the storm still raging furiously. Only an old mountaineer, who entered the smoker, boarded the train. When I left the day coach to get his ticket the quartet was singing "Where is My Wandering Boy To-night ?" I found four wanderers, wreathed in the noxious fumes of cigarettes, gathered about a board and engaged in a game of pedro. My heart ached for them. If mothers had only known where the boys were, and if the boys had only known the heartaches of the mothers, how different might have been the scene. An hour passed. Wine had gone around, Another Change. 201 Eyes usually calm and steady grew red and blinking. Cheeks flushed. The hollow laugh went round. Near them sat four men who poured out the wine in quantities and played for stakes with steadier nerves, a coolness and deliberation that meant ulti mate destruction to player and a stumbling-block to the youths who witnessed the game. Their habits were fixed ; the boys were learning how imitators, objects of pity, they. At the railway terminus the students went their several ways. How different the two groups ! Had there been a banker or railroad president on board the train that day, to which company would he have intrusted his wealth or responsibility? To me, an ordinary railroader, life is made up of little things, the innumerable threads of warp and woof. Every movement flies the shuttle and trails a fiber of char acter, either of use or abuse, of righteousness or sin, of beauty or deformity. The end of life reveals a fabric of usefulness, cleanliness, and beauty propor tionate to the filaments of gold woven therein. Time runs the loom that never ceases its clanking until the eternal whistle blows "quit" and the machinery stops forever. "We ll not see our sweethearts to-night, Billy," said my engineer to me when I handed him our orders at Bryson. "Statler just come over the mountain and says the cuts is fillin like smoke an* it s a snowin an blowin like a two-year-old blis- 202 On the Mountain Division. zard. We ll be apt to git a couple o helpers at Collins an a snowplow to boot. If we can t go over then we ll sock er right through the top o the hill." On account of the heavy storm, and consequently few passengers, we had but four coaches and a helper to Collins. There a snowplow and another locomo tive hooked on. The wires somewhere over the hill were down, but we knew that no freight would move, and, besides, we had the right of way. On we lumbered. At times the plow buried itself in the drifts. Three miles beyond Notchview was a cut noted for its ability to collect snow. Temporary drift- fences had been placed along its sides, and we hoped to find it comparatively clear. Running as we were on the west-bound track, we caught the heaviest drifts, for the wind blew from the northeast. This proved the exact quarter for the wind to miss the fence and fill the cut. We rushed the bank at full speed. The train slowed. More steam was ap plied. The heavy pressure forced the plow further and further, slower and slower, until it stopped. Silence reigned. It was broken by the gale that howled and whistled around, over, and between the cars, while the snow poured onto the north side of the train in solid sheets. Jumping and catching the bell rope for I was too short of stature to reach it ordinarily I signaled to back. Toot-toot-toot! came from one engine, then another, and another, Another Change. 203 growing fainter and fainter, until the whistle from the plow sounded muffled in a snowdrift. This was followed by a pop from one locomotive, then an other. We did not lack for steam. We heard the steam hissing from the cylinder cocks as if escaping into a cave. A moment passed. We moved a little and finally backed out onto a fill, where it seemed that the wind would lift the train from the track. The passengers crowded about me and plied me with a dozen questions at a time. My only answer was that we were going through if possible, and, if not, we would be perfectly safe in the cars until relief came. We were yet on a little upgrade, with less than an eighth of a mile for a flying start. The flag was out a few rods, but no living being was safe very far from shelter that night. We slowly backed to the last drift we had passed on our way up. I signaled "Go ahead !" The drivers had scarcely time to clear themselves from the snow before they were into it again. This time we went a little further. About one more buck we thought would put us through. When we backed the second time the snowplow was found to be off the rails. This delayed us so long that before we were ready to move again the cut was as full as ever with the hard-packed snow at the bottom. Another forward move was useless. We backed onto the fill, kept steam at good pressure through the cars, and turned in for the night, re lieving the flagman at brief intervals, though we 204 On the Mountain Division. were sure nothing would reach us that night but Boreas and his feathered ice. Toward morning the wind sank to a breeze, shifted to the west, and died. The clouds broke, separated, and scurried away. Stars twinkled in the deep blue, like glinting diamonds. Orion had one foot below the western horizon when faint streaks of dawn appeared over the eastern mountain, like sun- tipped bayonets above frowning battlements of marble. The east kindled and flashed, brightened and glowed until the sun, glorious in its garments of fire, rolled above the cold, white mountain ridge. The purple in the west had faded with the stars. Three colors predominated blue above, white be low, gilded with the golden shafts of the sun. Far down the mountain slope a column of blue smoke curled skyward, locating the home of a mountaineer. were stranded on a snowy, frozen, billowy sea. BROTHERHOOD. CHAPTER XXV. A dew. WE could do nothing but wait. Fortune favored us in that the buffet car had not been cut out at Collins. We were in no immediate danger from starvation. Two miles of snow lay between us and the summit, the nearest station, and for all we knew the nearest dwelling. One of our brakemen, a strong young man, volun teered to go over and seek news from the outside world. We who remained behind organized into a mutual benefit society and established the system of community of goods; at least, as far as food was concerned. The best of humor prevailed. Conver sation sprang up between strangers, strangeness grew into acquaintance, acquaintance ripened into friendship. Stories and laughter went the rounds. The children romped, the young people billed and cooed, and the old folks visited. A little apart from the others I entered into con versation with a middle-aged man who once had been a railroader. In a wreck he became disabled by losing a part of a foot. When I met him he rep- 206 On the Mountain Division. resented a Chicago wholesale house. Not many minutes passed before I bored him with my hobby an elder brother. He listened patiently, even with interest. "Where were you from, originally?" he asked. "Why, I don t know," I answered. "My first recollection is of an old house not very many miles from an orphanage in eastern Pennsylvania. I pre sume I m a native of that State. As for my rela tives, I never knew of any." "Your name is Barson?" he continued. "Well, that s an odd name. I never heard it before. There is something about your motions, though, that re minds me of somebody I ve seen, but I can t for the life of me tell who. Your features seem familiar, too, except those pockmarks pardon the allusion. I m not superstitious in the least, and therefore have not much faith in your feeling or presentiment, or whatever you call it. It would be strange, however, if you had no relatives in the world. I don t know of anyone s being born without at least one father and one mother. It would be in the course of nature to have brothers and sisters. I ll remember you and keep my eyes open. If anything does turn up I ll let you know," he concluded, as I hurried out for news. The scout had returned. Several lads from Sum mit accompanied him. They brought more pro visions and reported the road open through from Summit and a hundred or more laborers with shovels A Clew. 207 working toward us. The wind had done its heaviest work just over the brow of the mountain where we lay snowbound. Several miles down the slope we saw the steam from a locomotive toiling along in our rear, now stopping, now proceeding. Noon passed. The dinner hour was well seasoned with jokes. Keen appetites added zest to the repast. We anticipated a speedy liberation from blockade duties. The sun hung low in the west, and not a sign of a human being came near us except an old hunter and his dog. Which of the two was the more surprised at seeing us snugly tucked up in a snowbank is hard to tell. The dog sniffed and barked a few times, each bark raising him from his forefeet like the re coil of a gun. The hunter slowly slipped his rifle from his shoulder, as if he had sighted a deer. He shifted an enormous quid of the weed to the other cheek, defiled the beautiful snow with expectoration, doffed his greasy hat sufficiently to scratch his greasier head, and, with a farewell squint of his bullet eyes, shouldered his gun and waded off down the mountain, followed by the satisfied cur. . Just at sunset report came that the shovelers were in the last drift ahead of us. An engine and snow- plow soon followed them. We watched the crescent new moon hang in the amber west like a silver censer. Slowly the moon slipped out of sight be hind the cold mountain tops, softened by the purple shadows. We lighted the lamps and ate the last assignment of rations. The twilight and lamplight 208 On the Mountain Division. sobered us. The children were tucked away in quiet corners. One loving mother sang a low, sw/eet lullaby to a nursing infant. Bundling into my greatcoat, I went forward to note the progress of the relief corps. Everything was done that could be done. At the present the outlook was that mid night would still find us on the fill. At 10 o clock a headlight shone on the rear of our train. The slumbering passengers roused to inquire what had happened, and, on being informed, snuggled down into the seats again and dozed off to dream of home and friends. At one o clock the roadmaster told me that the road was clear. The locomotives had been carefully looked over, and all couplings carefully examined and tested. Swinging my lantern from the front platform, we started. The drift that had blocked us was above the top of the train as we passed through it. After thirty hours of delay we again sped over the rails. At the summit the two helpers and snowplow were taken off. We took water and rumbled on down the mountain, a long grade of forty miles .to Coalville. We had passed Rio, the last stop before the end of our division. I had gone through the cars and sat down to assort and arrange my tickets when my drummer acquaintance came to me in evi dent excitement : "Say, conductor, Fve thought of that fellow and where I saw him. I dozed off a while ago and he A Clew. 209 came back to me like a flash. Then I seemed to be awake and had not been to sleep at all. But it s all straight in my mind now, anyhow. By George! I believe he s your brother, too, come to think about it." "Well, I want to know all about him," I ex claimed. "Go on !" "It was about five years ago I was running with a crew whose fireman was a little fellow, little larger than you, and I ll be hanged if he didn t look like you perhaps a little better-looking. But his name was Parson Charlie Parson and he was quite a parson, too. He was a dandy, as good a lad as ever heaved coal. He never said anything about himself or his folks, only as he was asked. I pumped this much out of him one day, that his parents were dead, and that he once had a younger brother who died in infancy." Too-oo-oo-oo ! "There s the whistle for Coalville, where I must leave you. Can t you stay with me to-night? I want to know more about this Parson you tell of." "No ! I ought to have been in Buffalo yesterday. Can t possibly remain along the road a minute. Tell you what I ll do. When I get home I ll write the engineer and conductor of our crew and find where the little fellow is, and then I ll let you know at once." "That ill do," I said, "but don t be fooling about it. I want the facts in the case, and quick, too. 14 2 10 On the Mountain Division. Shall look for a letter from you every day till it comes. Good-bye! Stop off sometime when you come this way again," and slipping a dollar into his hand for postage, which he returned, "immediately and at once," as Samantha Allen would say, I hur ried away. Never did home seem so like home as it did that morning. I was tired and worn out, but could not sleep for thoughts of my elder brother. Suspense. 211 CHAPTER XXVI. Suspense* YOU, my reader, know the feeling when the messenger boy hands you a telegram. Instantly you think over the wide circle of friends and ask yourself, What can be the news within? Is it good or is it bad? Who is the for tunate or the unfortunate ? It seemed that I carried around in my hand a telegram the seal of which I could not break. For weeks I waited. Not one word came from the traveling man concerning my elder brother, though news of him was of the utmost im portance to me. The months dragged on in awful suspense. At last I wrote a letter of inquiry to the address of my friend. Within a week I received a note from his wife that her husband for a long time had been lying at the point of death in a hospital at St. Louis, there from injuries received in a trolley wreck. She knew nothing about my case. I could read between the lines that her own heart was breaking. My suspense was not to be compared for a moment with hers. In fact, her sorrow relieved me, and hope yet lighted my way. Bitterness against the honest drummer vanished, and only sympathy for his griev ing wife remained. With the last drifts lying upon 212 On the Mountain Division. the northern hills leaking away their lives, and with the smiling liverwort and arbutus pushing up from the warming earth, I became myself again. Later on came those soft, smoky days when the brooks murmur sweetly and the harbingers of summer warbled from every tree top. The patches of winter grain grew green, and the plowman whistled behind the lazy horses as he followed along the hill side in the fresh furrows. I felt much as James Whitcomb Riley must have felt when he wrote : "When the whole tail-feathers o Wintertime Is all pulled out and gone, And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, And the swet it starts out on A feller s forred, a-gittin down At the old spring on his knees I kind o like jest a-loaferin roun When the green gits back in the trees Jest a-potterin roun as I-dum-please When the green, you know, gits back in the trees !" Every trip we made was through a changeable world. May came and went so quickly that before we knew it everything was "Jest a-bilin full of June, From the rattle of the cricket, to the yallar-hammer s tune ; And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on the snag, Seems ef they can t od-rot- em ! jist do nothin else but brag!" During that delightful month Annie and the chil dren spent a fortnight up at Summerfield. Little Joe was overanxious to visit his grandparents. Suspense. 213 "There s too much said about my clothes, The scoldin s never done I m goin back down to gran pa s, Where a boy kin have some fun. "I guess my gran pa s lonesome, I don t care what you say; I seen him kinder cryin When you took me away. "When you talk to me of heaven, Where all the good folks go, I guess I ll go to gran pa s, An we ll have good times, I know." I remained home just long enough to sleep, and it was not very sound sleeping at that. Good Mother Conrad she was growing childish, you know thought I acted as crazy as when I boarded with her before my marriage. I took my meals with her while my family was away. I had just taken up my Christian Advocate on Sunday afternoon, when the doorbell rang. I opened the door and ushered in a brother conductor, who, seating himself, began : "Well, Barson, know ing that you were alone and a long afternoon to wear away, I thought I d drop in, chat a minute, and then we d go down to the brotherhood meeting. How d that strike you?" "Why," said I, "the brotherhood meets at nine- thirty in the morning. I ve been there already, and as to being lonesome it s all out of the question when I have the old Advocate around." "You re mistaken about the brotherhood, just the 214 On the Mountain Division. same. You re a member of the Brotherhood of Railway Conductors, aren t you?" "O yes! I see now. I was thinking of the Brotherhood of St. Paul. By the way, Frank, you belong to our church, don t you?" "Certainly!" with a squint and a reflective atti tude. "I ve been a member of the old Embury Methodist Episcopal Church for about thirty-five years. I m a trustee now." "How does it happen that you never joined the brotherhood or don t ever come to class meeting?" "One brotherhood is all I can attend. That takes the best part of the Sunday afternoon I m off duty, and I take the forenoon to catch up sleep I lose the night before." "Why, man, you get in four hours ahead of me Saturday nights, and I never think of missing the first morning service at the church. As to the brotherhood, I can t attend but one either, although I m a member of that of the conductors simply for the financial benefit derived from it in case of acci dent. I keep my dues paid, and as for attending their meetings I never will as long as they are held on Sunday." "You might just as well attend lodge as to work for the company." "That s so, too, but I don t work on Sunday. I told the company once that I wouldn t, and they ve never bothered me since. I m not saying anything against you or any man working on the Sabbath, Suspense. 215 much less the brotherhood for meeting that day. There s only one person I pretend to control. It is just as much Sabbath-breaking for me to attend the brotherhood as it is to go in my back yard and chop wood. It would answer the purpose as well and even better if the meetings alternated between Tuesday and Wednesday nights. That would give every member a chance to be there at least half the time, and many of them at every meeting. There would be a better attendance then, I dare say, than at pres ent. This Sunday business, as a necessity, is, to me, all nonsense. You know the C. O. & B. run excur sions every Sunday up the Western Division about forty miles to Chehocton Lake. Now, see here ! Our presiding elder, who travels over the road every week in the year, has to pay a dollar and a half for a round-trip ticket to that place for the purpose of encouraging the good country folk who are overrun every Sunday by the excursionists. The Sabbath- breakers who go over a Sabbath-breaking road pay only fifty cents for a ride that costs a conscientious man of God three times as much. Even if they issue him a half- fare clerical ticket and you know those tickets have been discontinued it would not be as low as the Sunday ticket. Where s the justice? I ll work my best for the company six days in the week and take every cent they ll give me for my wages. There our contract ends. I ve no right to lease to man the time that belongs to God. I d just as soon work for the company at their business on Sunday, 216 On the Mountain Division. however, as to attend the conductors brotherhood, which is my individual, secular affair. I can t run everything to suit me, and I m glad of it, but I know this one thing, that, as far as in me lies, I ll run Billy Barson just as straight as a string." "Did you hear of Johnny Tanitor s misfortune?" my visitor asked, shifting uneasily in his chair. "No! What s the matter with him?" "He was discharged last week. I saw him yester day and he hasn t the faintest inkling what his offense was, unless he had passed a spotter. Johnny is not as old a man as I am he s about forty-five, and hasn t been bounced on account of age. He s a good-hearted fellow and can t say no to anyone who pleads for a ride. In these days a fellow s got to obey orders and keep everybody off the train who ain t got a pass or a ticket. I wouldn t dare pass my mother. Only yesterday a chap boarded my train down the road a ways. He handed me a ticket that was O. K. As I came through the car a station afterward he pulled back his coat and revealed the neck of a bottle. He was in the rear of the last car and behind all the passengers. The scamp actually tried to get me to drink. I never drink off or on duty, and thought nothing of the incident until we passed the next station, at which he got off the train, when his ticket called for a through passage. I m just as positive now that he was a spotter as that I am sitting here. Can t be too careful these days," Suspense. 217 "That s so, Frank. A little incident happened last night that aroused my suspicions along this line. We stopped at Collins as usual. I superintended the coupling on of the helper and one thing and an other, and took no notice of who boarded the train. .When I took up the tickets a fellow sat in one of the seats with his hat pulled down over his ears as if sound asleep. I passed him first, stopped, looked over the car, thought a while, went back and shook him a little. Ticket, please/ says I. He yawned as if waking from a long sleep. A bewildered ex pression crossed his countenance. I knew he had just come in and that he was playing possum. It beats all how quickly some folks go to sleep/ I growled. At that he threw out a quarter, just the fare to Romono, where he left me. He was a bright man and, I m positive, in the employ of the company. As you say, a fellow s got to keep his eye peeled." "Did I ever tell you the scrape I got into a year ago, Billy? It was one night coming up on No. 9. Two of the toughest rogues I ever dealt with boarded the train at New York. They had through second-class tickets. Both were pretty full just enough to know what they were doing and doing it coolly, cunningly, and meaner than the very devil. I found them in one of the day coaches and when I punched their tickets I told them to go into the smoker at the next station. They said they would, and they did, but when I passed through the train again they were in the old places, 218 On the Mountain Division. " Didn t I tell you to go into the smoker at the last station? I ripped out pretty sharply. "One of them, with an eye like a hawk and face like a beer mug, respectfully replied, Yes, sir ! We did/ " Well/ says I, you go forward at the next stop and stay there, too/ "After the next stop I found the hawk-eyed fellow alone in the old nest. Didn t I tell you to stay in the smoker ? I blurted out, mad as a hornet. " Yes, sir/ he politely replied, as he winked at an old gentleman across the aisle, and I did stay there another wink till I came out again/ "I seized him by the collar and started him for the door. He came on easy, wearing a broad smile. " What ye going to do with me ? he asked, as I opened the door. " Put you in the smoker and keep you there, too, and if I find you in here again I ll put you off the train/ " Hold on ! he shouted so that everybody in the car heard him, stop the train. I ll have you arrested if you compel me to pass over the platform while the train s in motion/ "The passengers burst into a laugh, and I burst into a heat. But I wouldn t stop the train, and the scoundrel was so cool about the matter that I didn t know just what he would or would not do. So I shook his collar a little as a smirky smile played over his rum-blossomed face, and I remarked to him Suspense. 219 that he would be arrested if he played any more of his smartness on me. "He calmly sat down and I passed on through the car. The passengers had no use for the rascal, yet they enjoyed the fun a good deal better than I did. "Things ran smoothly for a while. He behaved like a gentleman. At the next stop he went out, I don t know where, but I was satisfied that his pranks were at an end. I didn t find him in the smoker. That raised my anger. You know I m a pretty big fellow, and when I m mad I can make the fur fly. I made up my mind it would fly, too, if I got hold of that scamp again. "Well, I entered the car where he had been, and there, by Jocks! he was again, his old slouch hat pulled down over his face and the second-class ticket sticking up over its greasy band. The passengers saw it and were on the watch for the coming fracas. "I made for him like a hawk at a chicken and jerked him into the aisle till his heels cracked, when, by the jumping up, John Rogers, if I didn t have an innocent old man by the collar and that imp was in the next seat behind peeking over the rim of his hat and taking in the sights with as much interest as a small boy watching a dog fight. "The old man was sound asleep when I woke him. He demanded an explanation. I saw the bait that I had bitten and explained to him my mistake. That infernal hound had quietly slipped his ticket in the old man s hat and the old man s ticket into his own 220 On the Mountain Division. hat, and there being a similarity in the hats I took the bait like a trout takes a fly. I mollified the old gentleman amid roars of laughter, and then, turning to my respected passenger, said, loud enough to be heard over the car, A man of supreme gall, like you, ought to have a pass over every road in the United States. Ride where you please/ and I passed on." "It s four o clock," says I, "and I guess we d better go down to the Association rooms." Rising and fastening the doors, we strolled down the street. At the square he turned off to the brotherhood rooms, and I proceeded on to the Young Men s meeting. The subject of the after noon was "The Elder Brother." Though the char acter was not such as I desired in my elder brother, yet it increased a hundredfold the tension of my suspense. More Hopeful. 221 CHAPTER XXVII. More Hopeful. "You know how a speedin engine Just trembles and rolls and reels, An seems like to jar to pieces With every turn of her wheels. Well, three-twenty-seven was hurlin Herself down the curvin track, An soilin the face of nature With the smoke from her diamond stack; When, suddenly, a-rippin an tearin , The right-hand side-rod broke, An , clearin a splintered pathway With a mighty whirlin stroke, It tore a hole in the boiler ; The steam rushed out in a cloud, An the wail of the dyin engine Reechoed long an loud." "^ZOU bet, boys," said Russell, a jolly freight | engineer, "my hair stood on end for once -*- in my life. We were goin down the hill at a clippin rate under control, of course an* I heard one click that I knew meant biz. I jumped like lightnin , threw the reverse lever over, seized the throttle and engineer s brake-handle. By that time, whether you believe it or not, I was stickin to the jacket like a squirrel to a tree, and every sliver of the cab cleaned off as smooth s your hand, and at every turn o the drivers the side rod whistled by my ear 222 On the Mountain Division. screamin , Jim, hug er tight or I ll clean you out. You may just imagine I hugged. Naturally I pulled both levers, and before many seconds I had the thing stopped." "Did you think o your mother-in-law, Jim ?" put in one of the trainmen standing by. "You re talkin now, Jack. That rod sang a song round my ear to the tune of the broomstick. I tell e, it had whiskers on it." This conversation took place among a group of railroaders waiting and loafing about the station. I had listened to a bit of it, having arrived a little ahead of my train. Just then it came under the shed. There was a rush off and a rush on. The conductor who brought the train from the West said as he passed me, "Lot o hogs on to-day, Barson !" His words were too true. Once under motion I entered the day coach and found a half dozen stand ing among them one or two not very well-dressed ladies. There were at least a half dozen men with backs to the aisle, occupying a whole seat the farther end of which was piled full of boxes, grips, and dress-suit cases. The retiring conductor had given them a name thoroughly appropriate to their nature. A husband and wife occupied two seats and put themselves to inconvenience by eating across the seat between them. A woman and a pug occupied another. A poor woman and three children, all under six, occupied two other seats. Another nature appeared. It was a man who im- More Hopeful. 223 portantly asked the lady if she had four tickets as a guarantee to her occupying so much room. She meekly said "No," and was about to take one of the little ones in her lap, when a gentleman of ordinary dress jumped up like a flash and warmly said, "Take my seat, sir. I d rather go to the smoker than to see those little folks disturbed." My turn came then. Motioning to the brakeman, I instructed him to clear the seats of baggage and dogs and seat the standing passengers. Without a word he piled satchels and bundles in the end of the coach, and then quietly explained that such stuff belonged in the baggage car. When he came to the pug he pertly informed its mistress that all dogs had to ride with the baggage. "O, you can never take my little Fanny into an old baggage car. She ll be frightened to death among those rough men and old trunks and things 1" "But, madam, it s my business to obey the orders of the company. Let me have her, please I assure you no harm will come to her." "You can t take her, I say!" she screamed. "Can t I have him, Mr. Conductor," as she smiled her best at me that silly, sickly ripple of affectation so characteristic of a loveless heart. "No, madam !" I answered. "Take it out, John." John immediately reached over the hysterical creature and folded the beast to his bosom, gently jerking the chain from the jeweled hands, and carried the pup from the car, followed by a wail 224 On the Mountain Division. of a broken-hearted piece of femininity. Her babe of about eight months lay asleep in the lap of a nurse. Well do I remember one of Jake Stoneman s cows, that used to get in the barway and keep all the other cattle out of the field. We called her Old Heif. She could not eat and at the same time keep the rest of the herd out. She delighted to play watchdog rather than be a matronly cow. Many a time have I pelted the stones into her ribs until she surrendered, but the next morning she rendered the same program. The old bos reminded me of "the dog in the manger," but when it comes to a razorback in a car seat consistency ceases to be a jewel. We lay over a half hour at Sandy Junction on ac count of a washout ahead. I sat down in the shade and carelessly drew a letter from my pocket. It was from the wife of my old drummer acquaintance. It stated that he had died and she had been unable to find any clew to the person he had thought to be my brother. My heart had been sore all day. Thoughts would center around an elder brother, yet the realization of him seemed farther away than ever. "Why art thou so pensive, Barson ?" kindly asked the conductor from the other road as he sat down beside me. "You look as if you had lost a friend. Perhaps you re thinking of that elder brother you so often speak about." More Hopeful. 225 "That s what I am, Ladd," I answered. "A few months ago I thought I was on his track, but this letter scatters everything to the wind!" "How s that?" I related the incident connected with the com mercial traveler and the circumstances that had broken off our communication. "Did you say the fellow s name was Parson, Charlie Parson?" inquired a brakeman from the road that terminated at the Junction. "Yes, sir! That was the name." "I know a fellow by that name. He used to run on this road, but is on the Pennsylvania some where now. He lives in Philadelphia. He s very sensitive on the subject of his ancestry or I would see him myself; as it is, I ll get his address and send it to you in a day or two. You may do the corresponding." I assured him that that was all I asked of anyone. I would run down the game if somebody would help me to get on the trail. Handing him my card, our meeting adjourned. "Haven t I met you somewhere?" I was passing back toward the front of the train after taking up the tickets, when a hand was laid on my arm and a pleasant voice asked the above question. I con fronted a clergyman of perhaps forty-five years of age. He seemed anxious to talk with some one, and, inasmuch as nearly all the other passengers were asleep for we were on our return trip a fit of 15 226 On the Mountain Division. lonely wakefulness had attacked him. Not being particularly busy myself, I swung round on the seat arm ahead of him and remarked "Perhaps so, but I don t remember your face." "I may be mistaken. However, there is some thing about your size and those pit marks on your face that evidence the fact that I have seen you before. In my noddle I have a sort of photographic gallery of all the faces I ever met, and I do not often err. If you re in no particular hurry we can soon find out. Sit down and we ll while away the minutes by indulging in a few pleasantries," and he slid to the farther end of the cushion, telling me his name, his home, and that he was a Methodist itinerant. "Well," said I, as I seated myself at his side, "that you re a Methodist clergyman is a pretty good recommendation. I m a Methodist layman, and work at the business, too." "That s right," and the good man slapped me on the knee. "I m glad you are a worker and not a shirker or jerker. There are too many persons in these days who drive their business with all their might and work at their religion only at odd spells. By the by, how long have you been a member of the Church?" "O, pretty close to twenty years. I was con verted off up in the mountains of New Jersey, at a little place called Summerfield, a few years before I went on the " More Hopeful. 227 "Summer-field ?" he interrupted. "That s the place, my brother !" and he grasped my hand with a grip that made me feel as if a giant friend had me in his vise. "I knew I d seen you. You were con verted there one night under the pastorate of Brother Blessner. I was up there that night from Drew as sisting him. I remember your face as plainly as if it were but yesterday." The train slowed up for Bryson. I left my friend to attend to my duties as conductor. When my task was over and our train in motion I slid into the big arm of the Methodist parson, where I felt quite at home and very small in fact, I was, when compared with his two-hundred-pound corporosity. "Say, what were you and that woman over there having that confab about? What s wrong with her ticket?" "Why," I answered, "she had a return ticket limited to ten days. Twelve days have passed since it was stamped, and I m supposed not to take it for the return fare." "Didn t you do it? That would be downright meanness not to do it." "Yes, I know it, but it s like this. You know such cases have been tried over and over in the courts and the company always gets beaten. It has been decided that a purchased ticket is good until used, the time limitation on them amounting to nothing. I suppose the company puts on the limit, however, 228 On the Mountain Division. to keep the passengers within bounds, but the worst of it is that they hold us conductors responsible for the enforcement of the law." "Not a very pleasant duty, I dare say. What did you do with that woman s ticket?" "No, indeed ! It s not pleasant. When I meet a stubborn person, which is very seldom, and the fare is small, I take the ticket, pay the fare, like this case to-night, and let it go. In case of a long-distance ticket, I enforce the law. Here is where the scalpers get in, and I don t blame them half as much as I do the companies for issuing such paper. To my mind the companies ought to issue more uniform tickets with uniform rates. That would avoid many com plications. The idea of putting on a ticket Not transferable ! "Yes, that reminds me of the clerical orders we used to have. I once rode over this road at half rate, but now I go like everybody else. Guess I get the worth of my money, too," and he shook his big, jolly sides with laughter. "I traveled on a clerical when a student in Drew, and by the way, if a fellow ever needs a boost it s when he s a student. Some of the boys who had no regular preaching places, and had no right to the half-rate order, once in a while borrowed one of these not transferables and rode on it. It leaked out to the authorities, and the students ceased riding at half rates. I suppose it is the same in our case now. The great majority suffer for two or three rascals. Wouldn t care so much if More Hopeful. 229 the filthy politicians did not go scot free. I can t blame the company so much, but I would like to see the culprits deprived of their thumbs and great toes, like Adoni-bezek of old. One of these days the Haman game will be played on them and they ll be hanged on a gallows of their own manufacture. Say, brother, don t you have to take a pile of back talk from us impudent passengers?" "To be sure! But what s the use of squealing about it? Some folks would die if they couldn t talk. They are like some Methodist preachers and poor railroads their terminal facilities are bad. Haven t you any good old brothers in your congre gation, or conceited members of your official board, who would talk the church to death if you did not blow for brakes?" "Yes, that s so! I blow for brakes to one class, and blow up brakes to another, and furnish steam for still another class. Human nature is a curious concern anyway, and a trifle different in each in dividual. If everybody was as good as you and me, we preachers would have too soft a bed, and you conductors wouldn t earn your salt. I tell you, if it were not for the Holy Spirit, the leveler of human nature and the transformer of man into an angel of light, life wouldn t be worth the living. There is no life outside of Him. In touch with Him, we have no inward crosses, but they crowd on the outside pretty thickly sometimes, yet his strength is suffi cient. Bless the Lord!" 230 On the Mountain Division. Thus we chatted on all the way to Coalville. There I bade my friend good-night. "Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence." A Philadelphia Home. 231 CHAPTER XXVIII. A Philadelphia Home. "1~"^V ORA, just listen to this! Here s a letter 1 from a Billy Barson, who claims me for a brother. He has no grounds under heaven for thinking so other than that my name is similar to his, that we are both without relatives, and that he has an innate feeling of having a living elder brother." The words fell rather sarcastically from the lips of Charles H. Parson. He flourished the above- mentioned letter with the importance of a man who knew what he said to be the conclusion of the whole matter. Dorothy, his wife, came in from the dining room, and, looking over his shoulder, read on through the letter with him. "But see here, Charlie," she calmly suggested, "if this unknown personage is thirty-five, isn t he about the age of your younger brother whom you say died of smallpox? You know that you are not positive he is dead." "That s so, honey! But to think of his turning up, slap-dab, in this way ! the very idea is absurd. The whole shooting-match is not worth wasting a two-cent stamp over," and he tossed the letter into the wastebasket. 232 On the Mountain Division. "See here, my dear!" said his less hasty better half, quietly relieving the basket of the strange missive, "the writer of this absurdity, if that is what you wish to call it, is no fool. He s a conductor of a passenger train, and that s just as exalted a sta tion in life as you have on your greasy engine. There s no harm done in satisfying the poor fellow s curiosity, anyway. You know that Truth is often stranger than fiction. "O, the man may be all right, as far as that is concerned, and it might be an honor to own him as a brother, and all that but, shucks! It s all tom foolery! He s nothing but a visionary chap with one of his cogs slipped. I m done with him." "No, you re not, either! Weren t you born in eastern Pennsylvania? and orphaned when a small boy? Didn t you have a younger brother? And this Barson writes that he had the smallpox before he could scarcely remember?" "Well, Dorothy Ann! You re a good lawyer to put two and two together and make a million out of it. You could always take three nothings and make a big thing out of them. How about that ?" and he playfully kissed her. "It s a clear case that you re tied in a double bow- knot to a woman you can t shake off so easily." "All right, then, Dode; get me a pen and we ll see if we can resurrect a brother." Half in jest, half in earnest, he seized the pen and wrote ; A Philadelphia Home. 233 "Mv DEAR SIR : Yours of the 23d inst, regard ing our connection as brothers, received. I have little faith in the evidence you give, and would have burned the letter without answering had it not been for my wife. I will admit, however, that I had a younger brother who, in babyhood, died from small pox. If you care to investigate further, come and see me. Yours respectfully, "CHARLES H. PARSON/ Sealing the envelope and drawing the rocker up near the open grate, for it was a chilly night in September, he took up Ben-Hur to while away the evening hours. He was a locomotive engineer on the Pennsylvania Railroad, running one of the fast flyers between Philadelphia and Atlantic City and living in the former city. His home indicated that of a well-to-do railroader. Dwelling in the sub urban district with his wife and four children, there were no comforts of life that the family did not en joy; even many luxuries came within their reach. All were members of the Presbyterian church except Hal, the little four-year-old Parson. Our mistress was no ordinary musician, nor was Mr. Parson, for that matter. The children inherited the talent. An evening or Sunday afternoon sacred concert frequently occurred in the home some one leading on the piano, banjo, or other of their various instruments, while the other members of the family followed on other instruments, or in song, or both. 234 On the Mountain Division. The father s heart beat very near to his children, and much nearer even since a bright little son had been laid away under the snow. His run was all in daylight, so that he spent nearly every evening in his home. His was a model, modern family. Mattie, the oldest, had just reached sixteen. She was a perfect picture of her mother, whose affectionate, unassuming, sympathetic, pleas ant, economical, generous, and motherly nature made her very attractive. Mother was a sort of balance wheel to her husband, who, accustomed to think quickly while his train neared and passed sig nals at the rate of sixty miles an hour, often formed his opinions as rapidly at home, when sober thinking and careful deliberation were absolutely necessary. "I say, wife," he remarked a few evenings later, "here s a pretty good thing about railroading. A conductor is instructing a green brakeman and ad vising him always to keep his lantern with him, the fellow having left it in a corner at the other end of the car. When he has it at hand he would be ready to give signals for safety in case of accident, other wise the consequences might prove fatal. The author then applies the illustration to religion that some hang on a peg to be taken down when con venient, while others carry it with them seven days in a week. Not a bad idea. "Do you remember that slight wreck I had a few years ago when I was pulling the night-line?" he continued, laying down the newspaper, removing A Philadelphia Home. 235 his glasses, and gently tapping them on his left thumb. "That very thing caused the mischief. The road lay a dead level and I had a train of eight coaches, two more than usual. The night was dark and rainy, and as I left the lights in the Atlantic City yard and plunged into the darkness following the gleaming rails over which we flew I felt pretty shaky, for we had a late start of twenty minutes and a heavy train at that. We had a single track, then, you know. I determined to make up time. We had a run of about thirty miles to a siding, where we met No. 9 coming from this city. We usually waited a few minutes for her, and I was bound she would not wait for us that night. Our custom was to run by the siding that lay to the left of the main track and back in. If ever an engine reeled it off old 700 did that night. The telegraph poles looked like a fine-toothed comb." "O, Charlie, what makes you tell such whoppers? You may find somebody foolish enough to believe them some day and then what?" put in his wife. "Get that Malena, Dode. I knocked a bit of hide off my hand to-day. It feels kind o sore. There, that feels better. Thank you," and he settled back into his Morris. "As I was a-saying, we were making time and I passed the siding not noticing on it a lot of flat cars loaded with rails. In fact, it was on a left curve and I couldn t see them anyway in the dark ness. I sailed over the frog of the switch a hum- 236 On the Mountain Division. ming and stopped just as I heard the whistle of No. 9. I knew she would come in under control, and felt no danger along that line. The fireman watched the signals and I backed for all there was in the engine. The rear brakeman remained on the rear platform. While I came tearing backward, yet under control, he noticed the cars down the siding. Had he had his lantern then he could have signaled us in time to avoid danger, but his glim sat inside the door. By the time he got it out ready for use the moment had come for him to jump for his neck. The engine was slowing down and on the frog when we struck. Of course it wrecked the rear coach, but no one was hurt. The collision drove the flat cars back so that I got in off the main line in less than two minutes. Maybe the conductor didn t talk turkey to that brakeman. It was Aaron Simons, and you know he can spin it off by the mile. He fairly tore it off that night, probably as much because he had to get his back wet as for the blunder of the brakeman. We simply cut off the rear car it was empty any way left it there, and came on home. We were into Broad Street on time, and don t you forget it." "What do you think of the letter from your brother to-day? Are you going to lay off next Tuesday to greet him?" "Not s anybody knows of." "Haven t you the faintest hope that he is your brother?" "Not the faintest." A Philadelphia Home. 237 "You know he writes just as confident as if he knew you to be a brother and had visited you before" "Yes, I know all about it, and have about as much interest in the affair as. I would have in a rumored heritage from China. I do have a sort of curiosity, though, to see what sort of a visionary jigger he is. But it s time for bed," and, with a yawn, he picked up his shoes and started. 238 On the Mountain Division. CHAPTER XXIX. My Elder Brother. " 1 X O you know, Will," said my wife to me 1 on the morning of our start for Phila- *" ^ delphia, "wouldn t it be quite a coinci dence if you should find, and be united to, your brother in the City of Brotherly Love?" "That s as sure s the world," I replied. "I had not thought of that. But it really seems as if this Parson is a brother to me. I can t tell why, though. If he proves otherwise, I know my disappointment will be so great as to drive me crazy. I feel as con fident, however, as if it were a certainty. I ll never give up the chase anyway. My motto has long been : "There ain t no use in growlin An grumblin all the time, When music s ringin everywhere, An everything s a rhyme. Jus keep on smilin cheerfully, If hope is nearly gone, An bristle up, and grit your teeth, An keep on keepin on." We left Coalville on Monday morning Annie, Joe, Jennie, little Grace, and myself. At three in the afternoon we left the Pennsylvania at Iselin and, all feeling well and it being a beautiful day in October, My Elder Brother. 239 walked leisurely up the slopes to the Stoneman homestead. More than twenty years had passed since I had left the place left it in the darkness like a thief. Changes were evident. I recalled the abuse I had received there at the hands of a hard master, and the many bitter thoughts of resentment that had haunted my life; yet, on that autumnal afternoon, when the golden sun softened the familiar scenes through the shimmering haze, there came to me a spirit of tenderness fraught with pity rather than revenge. "How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view !" I stood on a knoll a few moments feasting my eyes, while wife and the children rested along the roadside or plucked the last flowers of the season. The door of the corn-house attic where I used to sleep hung on one hinge. The roof of the barn, re cently patched with new shingles, sagged in the center. The house had been remodeled, the repairs half completed, left unpainted, and now the home presented a variegated appearance of faded red, yellow ocher, and weather-beaten wood. Pickets were off the fence, gates stood ajar and dilapidated, wild carrot covered the meadows, and frost-bitten weeds lined the roadsides. Near by the corner of the pasture where lay my faithful friend, Shack, a half dozen cows and young cattle stood sleepily chewing their cuds. At the hatchway door stood an 240 On the Mountain Division. old team of horses hitched to a farm wagon from which a bent-with-years man unloaded apples. I watched him a moment. It was Jake Stoneman, rough, enfeebled, and apparently friendless. He filled a basket with apples and set it up on the wagon box. As he leaned wearily against the wagon his right hand pushed back the slouch hat, displaying a shining crown. While he scratched the ringlet of gray hair his eyes fell on us. He gazed in monu mental quietude. With a final scratch he pulled the greasy felt over his shaggy brows and went into the cellar with the fruit. We sauntered on toward the house. The second time he came from the cellar I stood by the wagon to meet him. "How are you, Mr. Stoneman?" I said, extending my hand. He shoved his hat to the back of his head, stood on one foot as if the empty basket in his left hand overbalanced him, and awkwardly reached toward me with, "By Jocks! You ve got the best o me. My s ain t s good s they onct was. Can t jest zactly place ye." His left eye squinted in the same old leering style. "Don t you recollect a lad by the name of Barson running away from you a few years ago?" The basket fell to the ground, and his left eye opened in astonishment as he exclaimed, "Yew don t say ! Be yew that little Will Barson what uset tew work so like a tiger, an run away more n twenty year ago?" My Elder Brother. 241 "I m the lad, and this is my wife and these are my children." He shook them all by the hand with a swing that would have done credit to a windmill. His speech left him. Looking up at the sun, he turned to his work, but before he could touch an apple a tear stole down his cheek. Then he came to the tailboard of the wagon again and began: "I don t know what tew say ner dew. I m shamed tew say I m glad tew see yew, but I be. I ve seen some trouble sense then, an I see things a leetle diffenter. Th ole woman died a dozen year ago " He glanced at the setting sun again and drew his dirty sleeve across his eyes. "Me n th ole woman was purty middlin hash tew yew, an I guess we re gittin our punishment fur it. She was an awful sufferer fore she died an an we often talked o what a good boy you was and wondered what had become o yew. Guess you ve prospered by yer looks, an I m glad on it, tew." "I m sorry to hear that Mrs. Stoneman is dead," I put in, for the conversation was growing lax. "You are not living here alone are you?" "O no! My son what run away fore yew came here guess yew never knowed that why, he came back with a wife an has lived with me ever sense. He s got the property all away from me an treats me like a slave," speaking lower and looking around toward the kitchen door. "Guess it s jedgment on me." Turning uneasily and hesitating a moment, he went into the house. 16 242 On the Mountain Division. "Papa, aren t these apples just fine?" exclaimed Joe, who had got to the core of one of the red- cheeked Kings. Jennie bashfully crowded into her mother s skirts as she whispered cautiously: "He s an awful funny man, mamma! What makes his eye look so ugly. I don t want to stay here all night." Mr. Stoneman reappeared with his face the pleas- antest I ever saw it. "We want yew all tew stay over night with us. Cy s away on jury, but me nd Lizy 11 dew the best we ken fur ye. I ll jest unhook the hosses an dew the chores. Go right in t the house, an I ll come soon s I kin." Annie and the girls went in ; Joe and I remained outside. While our host hustled up the chores I wandered around in the old nooks and corners so familiar to the boy and so precious in the memories of the man. In the evening we gathered about the dim lamp and in the musty-smelling best room. There was nothing connected with our former relations that would furnish a pleasing theme for conversation to any of us, consequently I launched out on reminis cences of my railroad life. Mr. Stoneman was a very attentive and enthusiastic listener. He occa sionally interrupted me with "Dew tell !" or "I want o know !" concluding with "Waal, you ve had quite some exper ence an done fust-rate, an* I m glad on it." He insisted on taking us to the station the next My Elder Brother. 243 morning. He dressed up in his best, which was not as nearly up-to-date as his garb of twenty years be fore. The slow horses shacked along the dusty road, the trace chains clanked against the tongue, the dry spokes squeaked in the hubs, and the rickety two-seated market wagon rattled like an empty hay rigging. Yet the driver was happy and doing his best to make amends for the wrongs he had com mitted. We were all happy. At the station I was the last to bid him good-bye. He took me by the hand, saying : "Will, I m awful glad ye come tew see me" he drew his sleeve across his eyes. "I want ye tew furgive me fur my past meannesses I d swat myself, ind over ind, if t u d dew iny good, but it won t" a faded bandanna came across his eyes as he blew his nose that re sounded much like the honk of a wild goose "but it don t dew no good ter nobody tew cry over spilt milk. I hope God 11 furgive me. Good-bye !" The old man climbed up into his rig and drove away with the assurance that no enmity existed between him and me. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart; nevertheless, I remembered that "with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again. * Though I did not meet the son, I was confident that in him the father had a hard master. My reader, you have already been introduced into the Philadelphia home, which we entered at eleven- thirty. We had a warm reception. Mrs. Parson and Annie loved each other at sight. The children, 244 On the Mountain Division. too, fell into frolicking and prattle, like old play mates. I alone was uneasy, yet more confident than ever. Still, what if he were not my brother! The very thought chilled me, and I cast it aside. "Charlie will be in at four-sixteen," Mrs. Parson assured me, knowing that my minutes passed like hours. I could remain within doors no longer. Tak ing my coat and hat, I hailed a passing car and fetched up at the Broad Street station. After my exit Mrs. Parson remarked to Annie, not wishing to say it in my presence for fear of raising my hopes higher than they already were: "How much your husband looks like Charlie ! The shape of his head, his gait, and the trim of his shoulders are exactly like his ; even his voice is fa miliar. I really do hope and believe they are brothers." Promptly at four-sixteen I saw the Atlantic City flyer coming into the Broad Street station. My heart thumped like a trip hammer. All the weary years of longing crowded into that one moment. I could not wait for the train to come to a standstill. Climbing into the tender and creeping over the foot board, I opened the cab door just as the engineer rose from his seat. I had caught the profile of his face when the engine passed me. "You re my brother !" I said, breathless from ex citement, as he faced me with his right hand on the engineer s brake handle. He gave me one searching look that went through You re my brother !" I said. Page 244. My Elder Brother. 245 and through me. The penetrating, cold expression in his eyes faded like pictures on a screen thrown from a dissolving light, and was replaced by one of brotherly love. But a moment more of silence and he threw his arms about me. The passengers and bystanders were treated to a novel sight that after noon two long-separated brothers locked in each other s embrace like lovers. My elder brother was speechless, feasting his eyes upon me the while; both of us were oblivious to the faces and noise be low. We were not strikingly alike in features, yet sufficiently so that each instantly recognized himself in the other. Not a shadow of a doubt crossed either of our minds as to the identity of the other. Happy by reason of our reunion, and forgetful of our sur roundings, we walked home together carrying my brother s dinner basket between us like two school boys. Arriving at home, Charlie found his wife pre pared to accept the situation, for she had concluded we were brothers. That not a discord occurred in our family circles was remarkable. Our tastes had been so alike, even to the selecting of our life part ners, that perfect harmony reigned. Annie and Dorothy seemed like reunited sisters after a long separation. 246 On the Mountain Division. CHAPTER XXX. His Story* ""V TOW, Charlie! how about our names, and I \j how were we separated?" I questioned, as * ^ we sat by the glowing grate .after tea, while Annie, Dorothy, and the children came, one by one, mute listeners, into our circle. "I ve been turning the subject over in my mind and am quite sure now I have the right end of the string. Guess I ll proceed to unravel the tangle. I ve a faint recollection of a story-and-a-half, wood- colored house not very far from this city. It was my home once. I was about five, I should say, when father died. I can see him vividly, in a plain coffin in that little, low room." As he said this, his eyes seemed to pierce the shadowy past slowly bringing to mind incidents, such as a steady gaze slowly re veals, one by one, objects in a darkened room. "He was a cripple a big gash and a sore were on one of his legs wounds, mother said, he got in the war. There was a little baby there then, my brother, whom my mother called Kirk. Not many months afterward I was taken away to a soldiers orphan school, where I remained about two or three years. I got homesick for mother and Kirk, and ran away. I arrived home to find the house empty. I went to His Story.; 247 a neighbor s and inquired what had become of you and mother. I remember the answer as distinctly as if it had been said yesterday, Yer ma s dead died o smallpox an was buried yisterd y. Kirk s dead by this time o the same disease over at Widder Van Reichter s. There hain t nothing here fur you. You d better go back to school, and I went." Here Mattie broke in by saying, "Papa, the name of the widow who kept Uncle Kirk is Dutch, isn t it? You know lots of them pronounce b for p?" "That s it! That s fust it," exclaimed Charlie. "The old woman said Barson instead of Parson, and the authorities at the orphanage where you were received spelled the name as she pronounced it. That mystery is cleared up." He continued after hitching in his chair: "Thoughtless boy that I was, I went back to the orphan school without further inquiry and remained there until discharged at sixteen. Older and less giddy then, I naturally made a pilgrimage to the home of my childhood. I found no trace of you, but I did identify father s and mother s graves. A few years ago I placed a slab there to mark their resting place. I found nothing of your grave, and it s no wonder" looking up with a twinkle in his eye; then he assumed a sober mien "and con cluded it was among the scores in the potter s field. From that moment till I saw you in my cab this afternoon I had no doubt in the least but you were dead" 248 On the Mountain Division. He closed his narration for a moment, his eyes riveted to the ceiling and the toe of his slipper tap ping lightly against a rung of my rocker. A tear stole down his sunburnt face. He drew a long breath, twisted again in his chair, and went on : "From my search for home I went onto the rail road and have been there ever since. I was married when quite young, but we never have lived in a rented house in our lives. The good Lord has been very gracious to us. We have more than we really need, have given away a tenth or more of our in come every year, and have a little nest-egg left. Did you say you were running on the C. O. & B. ?" I answered in the affirmative. "You know, a few years ago our company struck that road at Sandy Junction with a through solid vestibule train. I had the honor to pull it. We must have been together then, sometime, or very near it, if you run on the Mountain Division. I was not on the run very long. The deal did not pay our company, and the train was discontinued." Again he shifted his position. "An incident hap pened there one day that I ll never forget. An ac cident on your road delayed one of your west-bound trains. That train lay there while we waited for the east-bound. Two men got into conversation; one of them, who had come up on our train, was crazy drunk. I judge that the sober one had been hauling the other over the coals for his dissipation. At any rate, something touched his conscience, and, His Story. 249 jumping to his feet, he hurled his bottle at random, declaring that he d never touch another drop. Well, the bottle struck a little girl in the head. As she fell I caught her in my arms What s the matter, Kirk?" he stammered, in surprise. The whole incident so vividly impressed upon my memory passed before me. The fact that we had been so closely together and unrecognized had broken up the fountains of my heart, and I burst into tears. I wiped them from my face, pulled my self together, and answered : "I saw it all and took notice of you, but I was so engrossed with the two men, an engineer and conductor, with whom I had previously run, that you escaped my critical eye, and for once in my life I was not thinking of you. At that same instant orders were handed me to leave." It was his turn then to be silent. "The past is o er Waste not thy days in vain regret, Grieve thou no more. "Look now before, And not behind thee ; do not fret The past is o er. "There are in store For thee still happy days. Forget ! Grieve thou no more." 250 On the Mountain Division. CHAPTER XXXI. Aw Revoir* "On the road of life one milestone more, In the book of life one leaf turned o er." NEARLY a year has passed since Charlie and I met. I am at my old post. Charlie rides in the cab pulling my train. At every stop he sees the wave of my hand or hears the air whistle when I pull the rope. He obeys me, though ahead of me, where he keeps his "hand upon the throttle And his eyes upon the rail." No conductor on the line feels prouder of, nor safer behind, his engineer than I do. I often watch him from the lower step of the rear platform as the train takes a right curve. In the summer days with his head partially out of the window the breeze floats his golden hair from under his cap, while on the down grade his left hand rests upon the engineer s brake handle, on the up grade it is on the throttle. On a straight line his eyes glance up at the steam gauge and air indicator, and his hand cuffs the steam cock to test the amount of water in the boiler. All the while the engine rolls back and forth and Au Revoif. 251 his lithe body sways to and fro as he whistles away like a singing canary swinging in its trapeze. In the darkness of night I can see the same figure moving here and there under the dim light. He is small, but "a man for a that," my elder brother, too. Those who once said that my intuition of an elder brother was all twaddle and moonshine now wave a salute to the Parson brothers as their train sweeps by. It is all daylight these days. Not quite, either, for Annie and the children are up at grandpa s enjoying the summer mountain air. In a week or two I m going up and be a boy again. Uncle Joe and Aunt Jane are growing old. Little Joe and Jennie like to feed the chickens, pick the berries, get the cows, and run errands of all kinds. Grandpa s is paradise. Hark ! Toot-toot-toot-toot-toot-toot-toot ! Some thing serious is ahead, for Charlie never pulls the whistle rope unless it means something. Yes, it is fearful. I feel the brakes strike the wheels and the train fetches up so rapidly that the passengers pitch forward. We are near Sandy Junction. The road is level. The engine was steaming hard, hauling a heavy load at the rate of sixty miles an hour. I spring to the door as soon as I gain my equilibrium. Charlie is already on the ground as I get to the lower steps and drop off. "Man !" he cries running toward the rear of the train. The fireman has charge of the locomotive. We hurry on. "Here e is !" exclaims my brother plunging down 252 On the Mountain Division. the bank into the bushes. There was a slight stir of the dried leaves. We pulled him out into the opening. "Ah-h-h, Billy !" gurgled a familiar voice through the blood that flowed freely from mouth and nose. "I m done fur now, sure." It was Phil Schleaser, mangled and dying. "Come ere, boy ah-h ! Want o tell ye some- thin . Didn t never think o this, Billy ah-h yas done!" He gasped and cleared his throat, while I removed a half-filled bottle from his coat, that he might rest easier on that side. "That s it ah-h! That did the business! Not you !" rolling his glazing eyes up at Charlie. "Billy, I was tough tough s a knot ah-h-h! I m done up !" He rolled heavily, while a physician passenger attempted to stanch the flow of blood. "No use, doc! Ah-h! Tain t no use. Billy, come ere." I bent low, for he now spoke only in a whisper. "I kicked Hank oo-oo-oo!" he shud dered with the chill of death "like a brute. I broke my e-e-e-e promise, too. He s the man n I the foo-ool-1 oo-oo-oo ! God !" and the deep gurgle closed his lips forever. A tremor and another shud der. It was all over. We put the broken body on a stretcher, placed it in the baggage car, and left it at Bryson. Days and days I pondered; the burden of my thought was: r A moderate drinker cannot be found. Some begin Au Revoir. 253 excess sooner than others, but "the end thereof is death." Ot Neely and I stood side by side while others removed the remains of Schleaser from the car. Our thoughts were too active for speech. I remem bered Neely s prophetic words. He was too much of a Christian gentleman to say now, "I told you so." As we pulled out from the station he grasped my hand and with tears in his eyes said, "Billy, the way of the transgressor is hard. Still stand ing on the lower step when the train swept around the next curve, I saw the swaying head of my brother as his right hand mopped the sweat from his brow. The accident had broken him all up, but "His hand was on the throttle, And his eyes upon the rail." I knew he was sober. Assured that "a thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee," I entered the coach and began collecting the tickets. But I have two weeks off now. Scarcely five hours of that time have elapsed and I stand on a little eminence where I can look down on the blue smoke curling from the summer kitchen of Uncle joe sI suppose I should say, "Father Horton." They must be kindling a fire to get dinner, and I am just in time. "I crossed the old bridge ere the minute had passed. I looked: lo! my love stood before me at last, Her eyes, how they sparkled, her cheeks, how they glowed, As we met face to face, at the turn of the road!" 254 On the Mountain Division. A kiss from all the inmates of the home, a swig of water from the old cocoanut shell on the well- curb; hat, coat, cuffs, collar, and tie flung into a promiscuous heap on the floor ; a stretch and roll on the lawn, and my vacation begins in earnest. Did you say anything about an appetite? Don t mention it again. You may get a subject too large for you to handle. In the gloaming ! The "beef ! beef ! beef !" call of the nighthawk soaring far up in the deepening blue, and its "p-o-r-k !" as it swooped down nearly to the ground and almost touched its wheeling mate, aroused in me those tender, sweet memories that are better felt than told. The whistle of the whip- poor-will came up from the lower woods, and trilled away in harmony with the tinkling notes of the wood robin, until I fancied myself a boy again. As dark ness deepened and the choir from the duck pond down in the pasture struck up a lively song, I turned my eyes toward the deeper valley in the distance. Above the tree tops I saw the mist gathering in its sinuous course, marking the flow of the Delaware. The familiar sounds hushed me to sleep in the old place. Did you say September ? Yes, that is the month, and we are back in our Coalville home. "The generous earth spreads out her fruitful store, And all the fields are decked with ripened sheaves; While in the woods at autumn s rustling step The maples blush through all their trembling leaves." -Au Revolr. 255 My elder brother and Dorothy have just gone home after spending the evening with us. The chil dren are all in bed. The crickets are chirping their plaintive note this autumnal night as Annie and I draw up to the open grate to toast our toes before the fire. As we watched the gray, dying coals I pondered: Once I was homeless, brotherless. A change came home, wife, children, brother. The fire is almost out, and the crickets have ceased their chirping. It is ten by the clock and the story of my elder brother is told. "Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill Which severs those it should unite; Let us remain together still, Then it will be good-night "To hearts which near each other move From evening close to morning light, The night is good; because, my love, They never say good-night." THE END. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped below DEC 4 1952 Form L-9-15m-3, 34 UNIVERSITY of CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES LIBRARY PS 3531 Parson- P25o On the mountain (JC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY A 000 927 478 8