THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF David Freedraan A- ROMANCE AND HUMOR OF THE RAIL. A BOOK FOR RAILWAY MEN AND TRAVELLERS, REPRESENTING EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAILROAD, IN <8>fccrg g*partmtnt of i\t $ailfoag Sbttbiu, WITH SKETCHES AND RHYMES OF ROMANCE, AND NUMEROUS ANECDOTES AND INCIDENTS. EDITED BY STEPHE SMITH. NEW YORK: G. W. Carleton &? Co., Publishers. LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO. M.DCCC.LXXIII. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by G. W. CARLETON & CO., In die Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Stereotyped at the women's printing house, 56, 58 and 60 Park Street, New York. URL TO Hon. FRANCIS G LT N , FORMERLY UNITED STATES OONWL TO VENICE, AND LATE GENERAL PASSENGER AGENT OF THB UNION PACIFIC RAI LWAY, THIS BOOK IS gnsrribrb, as an (Earnest Crilmte of gltspttt, TO A Warm J^riend AND COURTEOUS GENTLEMAN. 845993 CONTENTS. APTKR PACK I. Dedication ; II. Preface; or, Way-bill 9 III. Fogyville and the Branch 11 IV. The Poetry of the Rail 23 V. Everyday Life on the Rail Engineers, Firemen, etc. Rhymes, etc 28 VI. Guelden's Last Drink An Engineer's Confession 62 VII. The Maniac's Ride An Engineer's Story . .69 VIII. Everyday Life on the Rail Among the Passengers, Conductors, Baggage-men, etc. Rhymes, etc 80 IX. No One to Blame A Poem .... 128 X. The Railway Postal Service .... 130 XI. The Night Express A Station-agent's Rhyme . 134 XII. On the Night Train Prose Sketch . . .136 XIII The Little Cripple A Poem . . . .141 XIV. Everyday Life on the Rail Among the Freight- men, Conductors, and Brakemen Rhymes, etc 143 XV. Dead And no Name A Poem . . . .161 XVI "How to Detect Them" "On Commission" 165 XVII. Everyday Life on the Rail Among the Railway Telegraphists, etc 173 vni CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XVIII. "Come Home!" A Telegraphist's Story . . 190-^ XIX. The Phantom Conductor A Passenger's Story . 200 XX. The Railway at Home and Abroad, etc . . 213 XXI. The Rear Car A Commercial Traveller's Story . 226 XXII. The Snow Blockade Travellers Snowed-in They grunt, groan, and guzzle . . . .231 XXIII. The Colossus of Roads A Rhyme . . .251 XXIV. Five Minutes Behind A Switchman's Story . 254 ' XXV. Up and Down the Rail By an Office-man . . 269 XXVI. A Railway Detective's Confession . . . 276 XXVII. The Founder of the Railway System A Biographi- cal Sketch 279 XXVIII. Anecdotes and Incidents of the Rail . . . 2S4 XXIX. The Deaf Cove A Detective's Story. . .323 XXX. The Hotel Clerk of the Period A Confidential Note to Marmaduke Macomber, of the St. James 339 PREFACE. ii. WAY-BILL. USTOM has decided that no book can start safely upon its travels without a learned intro- duction. No experienced Engineer will " pull out" without first sounding his bell, nor will a prudent Conductor leave the depot without the final "all aboard." To this limit would the author confine his Preface. Having made up his train, and received his orders, he has only to give the signal, join his passen- gers, keep a "wild eye," and leave the rest with Provi- dence. If there should be a defective axle, a flaw in a wheel, or an imperfect box, he must endure the anxiety and suspense, from which the conscientious Conductor is never free, and be ready for the reproach and abuse which is his constant portion. The author presents this little volume to the Railroad public, believing that it will be of interest to employes IO PREFACE. in every department of the service. It is not designed as a book of horrors, hairbreadth escapes, or impossible adventures ; nor does it attempt to recount the fearful accidents and disasters which go to swell the record of every railroad year. Its mission is to entertain, rather than to instruct ; to represent Everyday Life on the Rail as the author has found it. To the Traveller, it presents scenes and incidents which may serve to recall his own experiences. A few of the- sketches, rhymes, and incidents, the au- thor has already given to the public in newspaper corre- spondence from different parts of this and other coun- tries ; but one never loses his relish for a palatable dish by having it twice served. Prepared in intervals of ac- tive duty upon the Daily Press, it makes no claim to lit- erary merit or elaborate polish. If it shall present the Railway employe to a prejudiced Public in a more fa- vorable light, or contribute in the slightest degree to the pleasure of the Railway Traveller, the author's object will have been fully attained. He feels honored in being permitted to dedicate his work to the successor of W. D. Howells and " Ik. Mar- vel " at the U. S. Consulate of Venice. A man of let- ters, an experienced Traveller, and a worthy type of that refined element which has elevated the Railway business in this country, his name deserves to be recorded on a worthier page. S. S. Smithville, Seft. i, 187a. Ill FOGYVILLE AND THE BRANCH. Fogyville, the last Anti-Railway Corporation Its prominent Char- acters Threatened Advance of the Branch Opposition in the Interest of the Stage Line 'Squire Jones The Man who couldn't see it ! How it became visible at last ! |EFORE introducing the reader to the Men of the Road, and the personal experiences that go to make up Everyday Life on the Rail, the au- thor begs permission to present the town of Fogyville, the last respectable village that opposed the advance of the inevitable Railway. Without describing its exact location, it will suffice to say, that it is situated in a thriving State, about forty miles distant from the metropolis in which I resided, and at the time of my frequent visits, it was in the hands of our dear old Stage-coach friends that we all loved so well. I liked the town because it was somewhat faded ; in an undecided state of transition ; uncertain whether to ac- cept the insidious advances of the proposed branch from a remote main line of railway in a friendly spirit, or si- multaneously close its shutters and emigrate West in a I2 FOGYVILLE AND THE BRANCH. compact body, to grow up with the place. It was attract- ive to me, because it was a sulky coaching chrysalis, de- termined not to develop into the railway butterfly without a severe struggle. It was a pleasure to take my pipe into the public room of the leading hotel of the place, and hear the proprietor of the " National Stage Line," hotel- keepers, liverymen, and other oracles converse upon the probability of the railway ever reaching Fogyville, and the injurious effects which it would have upon trade, if the infernal thing ever came so far. I could ask for noth- ing more refreshing than a discourse from such men upon the destiny of railway enterprise, its operation upon the country at large, and its final operation upon Fogyville itself. It was amusing, for instance, to see Thompson who owned three buggies, one gig, and a hearse driven almost mad at times, when some commercial traveller would arrive with fresh and strengthening rumors of the advancing iron road. And again, when inflated with an extra quantity of local beverages, he would draw himself up to his full height, expand to more than his full breadth, and resolve to oppose, single-handed, if need be, the tide of the threatened improvement. One portly gentleman, known as 'Squire Jones, gravely shook his head and ex- pressed a doubt whether, with all his capital, Thompson was equal to the task. Others I remember the brave fellows well expressed the hope that Fogyville would some day become a Railroad Station, but the dismal sentiment was soon crushed by a storm of doubts and misgivings. I went to Fogyville every season to angle for trout. The town boasted a trout stream that, as a true sports- man, I would not exchange to-day for the best-paying railroad in this broad land. I am not therefore bound to FOGYVILLE AND THE BRANCH. 13 give the true name of my retreat, nor does it concern the reader whether it lies at the East or the West. To reach this retreat in those days, it required a six hours' journey and an outlay of between five and ten dollars. I can run out now in less than two hours, at almost any period of the day, for the matter of a dollar and a half. It has not the same air of seclusion now that it wore in the old staging days ; and sometimes, as I lie upon the sloping grass watching my float, I fancy I can see the smoke cf the metropolis, rising and floating above the trees, and hear the roar cf the humming city life. In the evening I return to the little white hotel, take a fresh pipe, and lis- ten to the conversation of the wise men of the village. When I first went there, Fogyville was in the full pride, profit, and glory of the old Stage-coaching days. From ten to fifteen highly painted, well-horsed rolling stages passed through from an early hour in the morning until a late hour of the night. The principal hotel was then a sight to see. Horses standing outside in the road; porters rushing to and fro with baggage ; hostlers busy with bright and complicated harness ; passengers, both male and female, alighting from the vehicles, assisted by obliging drivers, the proprietor himself, or mine host of the "-Union Hotel." Buxom landlady and neat chamber- maids standing at the doors, under the broad whitewashed porch, ready to welcome the guests. The commercial traveller of those days was a stead)', easy-going, time-taking, pioneer of trade, who drove his own team, or rode his own horse. Not the bustling, high-pressure, watch-consulting, New York or Chicago maniac who is left to us now. He was known as an "Agent," with no authority beyond the task that had been given him to do, and he gloried in the appellation, 14 FOGYVILLE AND THE BRANCH. without having the ambition to be regarded as a com- mercial gentleman. To obtain the favor of a choice seat in .the coach, or indeed a seat of any kind, was an affair of many days' booking and quite a fee in silver or gold. The keepers of toll-gates were ready, obedient, and re- spectful ; hostlers at roadside houses, where we " changed horses," were filled with admiration approaching venera- tion. It was the height of their ambition, you see, to be called upon some day to fill a position of such imposing and heavy responsibility as that of a driver of a four-horse coach over a first-class road. Some such conversation as the following was frequently heard between the two men who led the relieved steeds up the yard : " Tom knows a thing or two about hosses, eh, Bill ? " "As well as any a man on the road, Jack." " There ain't the driver on the road as can git over him when he's a-mind." " Not exactly, Jack." Sometimes, if a driver happened to be new, or a little verdant and. ill liberal, the remarks were not so full of ad- miration. " Why, he's no more use for four on 'em, Bill, than my little finger." "No more he ain't, Jack. I'll bring a boy as will lick him any day, with his own team on his own run." " Ony boy, ony infant, Jack." This was about the status of things when I first began- to visit my country town. At this period the first rumors of a great railway enterprise began to dawn upon the world, and, after a decent interval, upon the town of Fogy- ville. It is not my purpose to call up the barber of this village ; the keeper of the corner grocery who dealt out fresh meat twice a week ; the dealer in dry -goods and FOGYVILLE AND THE BRANCH, ^ queen's-ware, and several important agriculturists, and the usual nightly visitors of a country hotel, in order to ridi- cule their opinions upon what was at that time the in comprehensible wonder of the age. They spoke accord- ing to their lights, and if these were not brilliant, they had many m authority whose intellects ought to have been sharpened by early training and intercourse with the world, to keep them in arguments for their nightly gather- ings. The local papers of my country town copied everything that was launched in type in the metropolis against the new gigantic scheme, and every citizen wan- dered about armed with these silent but formidable weapons. c Mr. Ross-Major Ross I believe they called him-the proprietor of the National Stage Line," was the central hgure in our little arena of tobacco-smoke and discussion. He owned nearly all the vehicles and horses running to and from my country town, as well as the necessary ar- rangement for traffic on the National road. A tall, pow- erful man with a red face, a loud voice, and a sp endid capaat y for the leading IocaI beverage- ^ ^ created his present position-he had been born in it Ihe frequenters of my country hotel gave the Major credit for possessing a vast fund of wisdom, but he kept i to himself. During the discussions on the great railway question I never heard him speak but a few words I record his favorite and oracular remarks here, because " Well T SmC , e bCen dlSt rted bt0 a VU] ^ 1* . Well, it may be very good, but I can't see it " Then after a little reflection, he would add, -No, I can't see In this way a few years rolled by, and I still paid my regular summer visits to my country town. The barber. 1 6 FOGYVILLE AND THE BRANCH. whom I had indoctrinated with my views upon railways, had died with opinions far in advance of his village and his age. He left his business to an only son, with these memorable words: "Joseph, my son, a great movement is a-comin', keep an eye on't ! " Major Ross still held fast to his coaches of the " Nation- al Line," in the face of several tempting offers. He drank, if anything, a little more of the local beverage, and could not see it. In another year the main line approached near- er, and as I said at the start, the enterprising directors had mapped out a branch to my country town. It was at this time that I saw one of the early surveyors seized by the indignant villagers and ducked in a horse-pond, but I dared not interfere. There was much excitement and an unusually strong muster at the hotel that evening, with a flattering disposi- tion to rally around Major Ross as the representative of the coaching interest. Saluting the sympathy expressed or implied, with a stage bow, the Major refreshed himself with another draught of the local beverage, and merely remarked that he couldn't see it. What he thought he would not say, but he rested his faith, I think, with other interested townspeople, upon 'Squire Jones, to turn back the advancing tide of railway encroachment. This gen- tleman was the largest land proprietor in the whole county. He indulged in profanity occasionally, patron- ized horse-races, got a little groggy every night, and visited the theatre on State occasions in the metropolis. He owned extensive acres and many farms. No branch line could possibly reach my country town, unless it passed for several miles through the property of the popu- lar 'Squire. The faith of the townspeople in the 'Squire's anti- railway sentiments was very great. The silent FOGYVILLE AND THE BRANCH. \j Major Ross shared in the general feeling. He knew, in- deed everybody knew, that the 'Squire's favorite recrea- tion was to meet Major Ross' " Lightning Express coach " and relieve the driver for a ten-mile dash, handling the ribbons with a grace and skill, that the drivers professed to believe was the height of perfection. Knowing this, no one could hesitate about the nature and extent of the 'Squire's opposition to the proposed branch railway. Another period of a few years. 'Squire Jones did op- pose the railway, and prevented the extension of the branch to my country town. A majority of the inhabi- tants believed that principle was at the bottom of this. Some of us thought that it was because the worthy gen- tleman had not been offered his price. Railway pioneers were very liberal in those days, but ancient home-places and family acres were not to be cut up to encourage rapid communication, like a common, plebeian farm. The 'Squire, therefore, remained shrewdly passive. In the meantime, the road came on apace. It had reached a point about five miles distant from my country town. At this point the directors also assumed a passive position. This had an injurious effect upon the National Line, still Major Ross couldn't see it. Two hours' walk, or one hour's drive, brought the traveller to the station, and two hours more by rail, with a trifling fee, carried him to the metropolis. For a time the people of Fogy- ville looked shyly upon this new and cheap mode of con- veyance. Exaggerated stories of dangers to be feared, and fearful accidents that had already occurred, began to circulate. I regret that I am compelled to believe that these horrors were peddled about through my country town in that gentleman's interest He couldn't see it, it is true, but he had been wise enough to reduce his 1 8 FOGYVILLE AND THE BRANCH. fares, to meet the new competition. One or two advent- urous spirits were finally induced to try the experiment of a railway journey to the metropolis. They returned uninjured, with a favorable report of the sensations they had experienced. Others followed, and the railroad rose steadily in popularity, in proportion as the novelty and the fear of danger wore off. Then came the severest trial to Major Ross. His own family began to turn against him. One morning the sad intelligence reached him, that his nephew on the wife's side, had started off without the knowledge of his parents, to make his first trip upon the railway. The mother came around with tears to explain and apologize to Mrs. Ross. This excellent lady in her turn conveyed the apologies and explanations to her solemn husband. He did not say much, he never did ; but it was plain that he felt the terrible affliction. His passengers dropped off, day by day, his baggage-carrying was entirely gone ; his daily consumption of the leading local beverage in- creased, and he was again induced by the advice of friends to reduce his fares. Major Ross, proprietor of the " National Line," began to see it ! I continued my trips to Fogyville, clinging with the tenacity of a first-love to the old " National Line." There were numerous melancholy changes for the worse. The horses were old, ill-fed, and slow. The toll-keepers were less admiring and respectful. Gradually the little hotels on the line began to close their shutters. This compelled an alteration in the arrangements for changing horses. The drives were made longer, and the relief- horses were brought to us from wretched way-side barns. The proud hostlers had given way to old men in dirty, fluttering blouses, who seemed as much in need of food FOGYVILLE AND THE BRANCH. Jg and rest as the worn-out horses. Things in the hotel had also vastly changed. It was still neat and clean, but lacked bustle, customers, and life. Death, bankruptcy, and emigration had thinned the company in the public room, but the same engrossing topic was discussed with the same earnestness, but with less obstinacy, and a little more knowledge and experience, than before. Many who had doubted with energy whether they would ever see a railroad within a hundred miles of Fogyville, now appealed to me to know if they had ever had the slight- est misgivings about the ultimate establishment and de- velopment of a railway enterprise. "Major Ross," said they, confidentially, " had not seen it, could not see it now, but they had seen it all along." Then came the sudden death of 'Squire Jones. It oc- curred just as he was on the point of acceding to the renewed offers of the railway directors, and allowing the road to come up to the town. Major Ross, after renewed draughts of the leading local beverage, declared the death of 'Squire Jones a splendid stroke of Providence. The eyes connected with the decaying, coaching interest were now turned with anxiety to young Jones, the 'Squire's son and heir. The anti-railway interest had its doubts about the young man, and they were well-founded. Before the remains of the late lamented 'Squire Jones were decently cov- ered, the pickaxes of the railway navigators were rooting up the turf of his sacred acres. Major Ross could not quite see it yet ! Another period passed by, and we arrived at last within a day of the opening of the railway from my country town to the metropolis. In the afternoon of the previous day I took my seat upon the box of the " Lightning 20 FOGYVILLE AND THE BRANCH. Express," the last coach of the "National Line." I desired to honor with my patronage the last journey it was intended to make. Major Ross mounted by my side to take the reins ; he had been his own coachman for many weary weeks. It was no ordinary journey. It was a funeral of a four- horse coach, performed by its ruined but obstinate pro- prietor. As we moved slowly out of Fogyville, persons stood looking at us with various expressions of triumph, pity, and contempt. Major Ross was well stimulated with the leading local beverage at starting, and refreshed himself at every opportunity. The harness was old, and Major Ross had frequently to get down to make repairs. We arrived in the metropolis three hours behind time. We had but two inside passengers, a pudding-faced boy and a dog. These were received at our journey's end by eight females of various ages, sizes, and shapes. They made some cruel remarks to Major Ross about the un- certainty of stage travelling compared with the railway, and I retired, just as symptoms broke out of a serious quarrel. I did not see or hear anything of Major Ross for some years. ' I still go down to fish in the outskirts of my country town. It is much altered, and has grown into a thriving, prosperous place. I get down at a small, clean, Gothic station-house, and give my check to the agent, who is baggage-man as well. I recognize in him an old coach- ing hanger-on, who has gone over to the enemy. I take a seat in the short, thick railway omnibus, and jolt up to my old hotel. One day, when I arrived as usual, I noticed a peculiar expression in the face of this agent As he took my check, he said to me confidentially : " He's come back, sir ! " FOGYVILLE AND THE BRANCH. 21 "Who, Dick?" I asked. "Mister Ross!" As he said this, he pointed to the driver's seat of the omnibus, and glancing up, I saw the Major, looking much older, with the reins in his hand. " He can see it now, sir," said the agent, quietly. " Yes," I replied, " he can see it now, Dick : so can we aU." IV. THE POETRY OF THE RAIL. Voices of Steam ' ' Darn your Nonsense ! ' 'The Wine-colored Gen- tleman A Corpulent Man's Idea of the Poetry of the Rail A Lady's Idea The Commercial Traveller's Idea, etc., etc. E used to hear Poetry sing in the hedges, among flowers, and on the bosom of rippling streams. Now it hisses in the boilers of Num. . ber Five, Erie Road. It is audible in that demon scream terrible as the shriek of death to tardy travellers, strolling animals, blundering old men, and rusty switches. Unconsciously seizing an angry fireman's hand at Turner's Junction, I exclaim "Voices of Steam ! Ye are many-tongued voices of a coming age, a golden one, perhaps ; maybe one dyed all crimson with bl " " Darn your nonsense ! " broke in the genius of Num- ber Five, "here's the one twenty-five starting" and I went for my ticket. This secured, I took a seat in a first-class coach. A wine-colored gentleman sat in front of me with a bow-window stomach. He was wrapped as if for a THE POETRY OF THE RAIL. 23 journey to the north pole, with an apoplectic voice that forbade all conversation. After a treaty of legs, I fell to musing on poetry by-gone and present. " You may talk as you like," I said to myself, " I believe it is all here, just as much as ever it was." " Listen ! friend of the redundant stomach ! " " Oh ! curse the noise; I want to go to sleep. Here's the Tribune, wonderful article on the Mexican War Great man, Polk splendid head of hair ! " " Snore, as thou wert wont to snore, O friend of the port-wine countenance ; but know that that sound of the engine is like the champ and trample of a thousand horse. It might be Tamerlane riding to conquest, or Alaric thundering at the gates of Rome. Look out, friend of the exuberant bowels, and tell me what you see ! " " A miserable, ugly country, and four iron rails, like black lines ruled in my ledger." " This, my friend, is the vision of the son of faith. We are gliding on golden rails, that the sunset shines on, and are just about to thread an arch. As we lean back, great clouds of smoke roll around us and grow crimson in the sunlight, and it seems as if we were in the car of the Indian Mythology, gliding away to Paradise." My friend here presented his flask, with the remark, " Stranger, I think you need another drink ! " That is a corpulent man's idea of the poetry of the road. I leave him to apoplexy and the Tribune newspaper, and move on to a seat nearer the engine. Away we go, with a battling tramp, and whistle and whiz past aston- ished laborers in green meadows ; past telegraph wires upon which sit wry-necked sparrows. The smoke of the 24 THE POETRY OF THE RAIL. engine flies like a white banner, rolling away, stooping at last to join the white fog, that wingless sits and broods about the damp autumn fields. We rush through the dark caves of the tunnels through the barrenness of high and bare embankments, with the force of a steam catapult, or a huge case-shot that is never spent ; like a battering-ram on a long race, for this steam-horse with fire for blood never tires. Swift round curves, up low hills swift by village church, farm-house and wood, over the river, through fat and lean, rich and poor, meadow and street for this mad horse never wearies, never tires. I try another car, containing what seems to be a less aristocratic class. I find merriment here, and wayfaring people who are less afraid to show their honest feelings. They have more feeling, perhaps, and see more of the poetry of the Road. Are they listening with rapt ears, and gazing with steadfast eyes ? No ; a party with high cheek-bones, red, hungry whiskers, and a Western accent, is reading, " Dreadful railway accident near ; fifteen lives lost ; list of killed and wounded." I look out and wonder at the lightning fashion in which we rush into the tunnel ! " This train going east, agent ? " "No; goin' west, ma'am; there's the bell." "Why didn't you say so before ? Oh, my bundle, give me my bundle ! " "Too late, marm ; next train west at 2.40; three hours to wait. Ladies' waiting-room this way, marm." That is a lady's ideal of railway poetry. On we go again ; and presently the baggage-man, in half-overalls, enters our car, and approaches the spruce- looking gentleman in the seat adjoining my own. THE POETRY OF THE RAIL. 2$ "Over a hundred pounds, sir; have to charge you extra baggage on that box." " Extra charges ! why, I've carried that box of samples with a trunk check over every road in the country." "See here; that's too thin; you hand over the extra dollar, or I'll dump that box into the ditch." That's the commercial traveller's idea of the poetry of the Road. " Damp seats, Lord help us ! dusty, too this a first- class coach it's a stock car. Here, brakeman, do you call this a coach ? Curse such a line give me the nar- row-gauge ! Window won't go up ; d n the window door won't shut; curse the door draught above my head enough to drive a windmill. Here say what does the company mean by such a draught? Can't smoke here, eh ? Give me the old stage-coach, say I." That is the old gentleman's ideal of the poetry of the Road. " Lord bless us, Betty ! such a hissing and squeaking and clatter ! and that whistle like a devil's baby ! Lor* sakes, how it went through my poor head. An' then getting out at the wrong station to wait four hours for the next train. Say, Betty, give me the old oxen and wagon at home ! " That is the rural lady's idea of the poetry of the Road. "Ah, sir," said an old gentleman, roaring the words in my ear, "ah, sir, I remember, when I was a boy, being three days and nights on a journey that you do now in four hours. Those were the times, sir, the happy times. No hurry-scurry; no chopping up decent people with trains ; no gambling in railway shares, with all the bully- ing and bearing you hear of to-day ; no dear me such jolting one can neither sit nor stand " and the sudden 8 2 6 THE POETRY OF THE RAIL. stoppage actually threw the old gentleman into the lap of a spinster near by. "Sakes alive! Mercy on us! Conductor! brake- man ! take him off; the villain is crushing a poor, inno- cent female ! " And this is the ideal of the poetry of the Road these ancient people take to their homes. They will not hear me, if I say I saw poetry in the life of the engineer or fireman. On rough days, say, when he cowers behind his screen, and looks out long and steadily through the rain and storm. A divinity ? Bless you, no ! No Diomed or Hector, but plain Mart Mason, of Number Five, Erie Road. Every crimson star that shines at stations is as familiar to him as the shining taps his fireman keeps so bright and clean. Every emerald fire, and white circle, and red globe, and all the silent voices that speak from headquarters to the brave men on the Road. When the great wind blows, and the lightnings flash, he grasps that handle or throttle there, and you know that power and courage and skill are at the helm. Firmly he holds that helm on those noisy nights, and drives his strong, swift steam-ship on its flam- ing path, scattering the red-hot ashes of its wrath, as it ploughs on and on. If the rain drives its liquid arrows at him, while you survey the storm from a comfortable seat, he only wipes his great spectacles, and looks out ahead. Then he screws the engine up till it gives a shriek of pain a long, startling scream, that wakes up the sleepers in the next town, makes them mutter, only to turn again to slumber. Perhaps the sense of novelty and poetry has left rail- roads forever, and the humble pen that attempts to re- cord it now may have only its labor for its pains. The THE POETRY OF THE RAIL. 27 sight of a train growing out of a cloud of smoke, the terror of its march, and the battling of its rush, have grown familiar now. The obedient readiness of a train is now a thing of course. The propulsion of lightning, the comet speed, the strange contrast of such spiritual power, controlled by a soiled fellow in overalls Caliban ruling Ariel is lost sight of now by the great busy world that is so grossly sunk in its six per cents. Would it not be better for us to do good, to be kindly and open-hearted ; to see some poetry in life, and not call the air blue fog, and the rose a vegetable? If that railway whistle could have been interpreted to you by an angel, you might have known that its meaning was as prophetic and dreadful as the Judgment trumpet. Wake up, then ! unlock your cellar, and send a dozen of port to the brave engineer who risked his life to save the train that was bearing you to wife and little ones. And a substantial tribute to the brakeman, who leaped from the train and turned the switch on that awful night in September. Do something for the widow's son, while the father lies a mangled corpse at the scene of the re- cent accident. Above all, look reverently henceforth at all railroad men, of whatever station and peace be with you. V. EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAIL. AMONG THE ENGINEERS AND FIREMEN. A Much-abused Class At the Round House Engineers' Gossip Anecdotes and Incidents Personal Adventures Romance and Humor A Joke on Bristol Manning and the Deaf Man Carter and the Collector A Narrow Escape "Me Pay Pilot, 'ven you Pay Pig " Two Disciples of Munchausen Stedman's Black Cat Mort Thompson Charlie Burlingame's Sermon "Dutch Jake" and Princeton Bill Patty on the Pilot A Ride for Life A Song A Female Fireman A Rhyme of the Rail The Dying Engineer Flow Buxton got up Steam The English Engineer The Locomotive An Acrostic. CONFESS that I have long entertained an in- dulgent feeling towards several classes of men who are dealt hardly with by common report ; these are hackmen, baggage-men, conductors of street-cars, and railroad men generally. While I am willing to admit that these fraternities contain their pro- portion of black sheep, I am not aware of any peculiar contagion attaching to their dinginess. I cannot believe that the extra coat of soot so freely laid on by that ex- travagant colorist Public Opinion can be justified by appeal to any ordinary models. Few realize, perhaps, the extent to which they think evil of good neighbors EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAIL. 29 and industrious public servants. Hackman 1006 oc- casionally uses language which he regards as merely- vigorous and forcible rhetoric or endeavors on strictly commercial principles to enhance the price paid for his exertions. A railway conductor invites an impecunious passenger to leave the car at a certain station, and learns with horror that he has insulted a village alderman returning from a metropolitan debauch. Or a brakeman refuses a single gentleman admission to the ladies' car, and is reported for rudeness to an embryo Congressman. An engineer, running a "wild" engine out to some wreck, refuses to take a brace of pedestrians into his cab, and he is called up to answer the complaints of some agricul- tural committee. Devotion to rules and instructions brings these persons before their self-constituted enemies in an unenviable light, and straightway all hackmen and railway men are condemned. I once attended a popular lecture upon temperance, illustrated by numerous highly colored prints represent- ing, or professing to represent, the stomachs of drunkards. The theory appeared to be, that redness is the greatest of all evils, and the stomachs depicted became redder and redder from the rose-colored blush attached to that bane of teetotalism, the moderate drinker, up to the rubicundity, at once deep and bright, discovered in a man who had died of delirium tremens. At this point there still remained a stomach unaccounted for one far redder than the rest. The intensely vivid scarlet of its centre passed gradually into maroon on one side, into purple on the other. There was no inscription to show the potatory sins which had been followed by such signal punishment. 3Q EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAIL. At last the lecturer pointed his wand towards this ap- palling object. The expectant audience was hushed into breathless silence. A pin might have been heard to drop. "This, ladies and gentlemen" very slowly and delib- erately uttered, as if in enjoyment of our suspense; "this, as I may say, heart-rending diagram presents to you a faithful and accurate delineation of" pausing again, " a railroad-man's stomach ! " And then, giving time only for the expiatory sounds, and for the rustle of subdued but general movement which accompany the release of an assembly from highly wrought attention, he proceeded to denounce those persons who, by riding on railways, af- forded to the attaches thereof the means of rubifying their digestive organs. I am not prepared to say as to the effect he produced upon others, but for myself, I was sufficiently struck by the injustice of the sweeping accusation which the words conveyed, to turn with no small disgust from the glib fa- natic through whose lips they passed. From this small incident, I date the origin of an involuntary regard, since confirmed by many incidents, for a worthy class who have suffered unduly in the estimation of their fellow-men. I am always ready to defend them from so silly a charge, for it should be known, that no person given to excessive indulgence in any of the small vices, can find employ- ment to-day in any department of the railway service. There are black sheep now and then, as we confess fur- ther on in these pages, but these are exceptions to the rule. There are traces of the Divine hand of the Creator in us all. Whether we look upward or downward in so- ciety, if we will only see each other rightly, we can come to no truer conclusion, than that men are good fellows EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAIL. in the main The bond of fellowship clips all society together and is a law of Nature, much more power J than all the laws of all the lands. With these paragraphs by way of introduction, the reader 1S invited to mingle with the men of the Road at heir various places of rendezvous. We will hear them utf n T ^ Ven ; UreS . and s P in th ^ir yarns in the vernac ^^^*^*^" Engineers and firemen are wont to sun themselves, when off duty, at the Turn-Table or in the Round-House and it is not uncommon to find a score of these brave fellows gathered at a single sitting. A majority are off duty, a few may be waiting to go on," but there is al- ways time for a yarn, and some one to tell it If there are no t bl tQ ^ a ^ ^ .^ ^ ^ The better class of engineers begin life as apprentices in the shop, and developing into master machinists, go into he cab familiar with every part of a locomotive, and thoroughly trained in the method of its construction. They are regular subscribers to the various publica- tions that issue in the interest of their branch of the ser vice, and, as a general thing, keep themselves well un- formed as to current events. The fireman, who goes through a severe apprenticeship, with the hope of some day getting an engine of his own, is usually much attach- ed to Ins engineer, and the two are inseparable compan- ions. He has little time for intellectual cultivation, and ^ given to reading at all, rarely gets beyond his local paper, or the cheap sensational novel. But his brasses must shine, and his rods glisten, though even food and rest have to be ignored. Both engineer and fireman be- come much attached to their engine, and usually christen 32 EVERYDAY LIFE ON" THE RAIL. it with some pet name, by which it becomes known all over the line. They vest it with human faculties, and not unfrequently expect it to give evidence of reciprocal affection. The confidence of the engineer in his loco- motive is of the same character as that which binds the lover to his sweetheart, and he will follow it, in time of danger, with the most heroic devotion. The author finds human nature very much the same on all roads, and everyday life on the Road strikingly similar on all the leading lines. The groups, therefore, that he has gathered, are composed of representative men of many leading lines of railway, the names and charac- ters being genuine in every instance. " I used to run a locomotive," said Bristol,^" on a road branching out from the C, H. & D. at Hamilton, Ohio, and running into Indiana. John Lincoln was superintend- ent, but I've forgotten what they called that line. Po- dunk was on that road, a town in Posey County, not un- known to fame. Stopping there one night, I noticed two green-looking countrymen inspecting the locomotive, and giving vent to expressions of astonishment. Finally, one of them looked up to me, and said : "'Stranger, are this a lokymotive ?' " ' Yes ; didn't you ever see one before ? ' "'Haven't never seed one afore. Me 'n Tom come down to the station to-night, puppuss to see one. This is the feller, ain't he?' " ' Certainly.' " ' What yer call that yer in now ? ' " 'We call this the cab, and that's the driving wheel.' " ' That black thing yonder 's the chimney, 'spose ? ' " ' Yes, that's the chimney.' " ' Be you the engineer what runs the merchine ? ' EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAIL. 33 " ' I am the engineer.' " ' Tom,' said the fellow to his mate, after eying me closely for a few minutes, * it don't take much of a man to be an engineer, do it ? ' "That joke was on me." " I came over from Liverpool," said Manning, when the laughter had subsided, "and gets a engine on the York Central. A bit of a accident 'appened at the other end of the line one day ; that is to say, I run my engine over a very respectable gentleman of the neighborhood. When I gits to the end of my run, seems like everybody in the town was at the depot to bother me with ques- tions. I don't say what town it was, as how I don't want to offend no man's feelins. One old gentleman 'arassed me very much, and wouldn't take no hexcuse, so, good-natured like, I told him as how it was. "'I seed the old gentleman upon the line,' says I, 1 walking along with his hands in his pockets, about 'alf a mile ahead, quite comfortable, and I dare say thinking o' nothink like certainly, not of me, behind him, coming along with a couple of thousand tons at forty miles the hour. So I whistles away merrily ' " 'Good heavens!' cried my listener, 'do you tell me that you whistled when a fellow-creature was placed in circumstances of such imminent peril ? ' " I made my engine whistle,' I hexplained. * I often speaks of the engine as if it was me, sir. I shrieked, I say, in a manner as was a caution to cats ; but not a bit would the old gent get out of the way or turn his head, by which means, I can't help thinking ever since, that he was somehow deaf. We reversed, put our brake on, and turned off our steam, but bless ye, it was ne'er a morsel of use, for we couldn't have pulled up under a 3* 34 EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAIL. mile at least, and just as we neared him, the poor old gent turned round and threw up his arms like this ' " ' Gracious goodness, my good man,' says my listener, ' do you mean to say that you ran hover 'im ? ' " ' Lof bless ye, sir, why of course we did. We was down upon 'im in a minute, like one o'clock ! ' " The crowd was awful still now till a young commer- cial traveller observed quite dryly " ' Yes, sir ; the incident as which you have so graphi- cally described, 'appened to my uncle.' "My old listener wiped the spersperation from the top o' his 'ead. " ' He was killed, of course ? ' he says. " ' No. The hentire train passed over 'im, merely re- moving the skin from the top of his nose. The engine threw him on his back between the rails, into a hollow part of the ballast. If he hadn't been deaf, he would perhaps have gone mad with the noise.' " "My name is Carter, and I am an engineer on the Rondout and Oswego Road. I was bringing in the east- ward-bound train not long since, and stopped at Shokan. I don't know what was up, but the Collector of the town was on hand with a. posse of men and a chain, to prevent the train proceeding any further. The chain was passed through the back end of the rear car, but before it could be fastened to anything substantial, I got wind of how matters stood. I threw the throttle wide open and started the train with a jump. The effect on that Col- lector's posse was the same as that on the Indians who attempted to capture a train on the Pacific Road with a lariat." " On a certain Tuesday in the year 1871, the down train on the Bangor and Piscataquis Road was being EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAIL. 35 made up at Oldtown for connection with the E. and N. A. train. A locomotive of the former line was moving quite swiftly at a short distance from the depot. My name is Watford Jack Watford, and I was in charge of that locomotive. A lad about seven years of age walked into the centre of the track, unconscious of the- approach- ing engine. Busy with my inside brasses at the time, and moving, as I thought, merely at a depot pace, I failed to keep an eye ahead. The locomotive came rushing along, and the bystanders, horrified at the peril of the boy, shouted wildly to him to run. The discovery of his peril seemed to paralyze his limbs, and terror seemed to root him to the spot. I looked out now saw the trouble, and shut off, but it was too late. Just as the engine reached the lad, a young man rushed from the crowd to the rescue. He seized the boy as the pilot of the locomotive was within a few feet of the spot ; threw him by main force to the platform beside the rails, and by a mighty effort sprang, almost at the same time, clear of the track, apparently grazing the front of the engine as it thundered by. The cheers which greeted his humane achievement were well deserved. The brave fellow who performed this noble act is a young man named Luther Soaper, still living in Oldtown, Maine, about eighteen years of age. I need not tell you why I shall never forget either his name or the brave deed." " Talking about pilots," says Crotter, " that reminds me of one. Jauriet is master mechanic of the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy Road, stationed at Chicago, Illi- nois. He is of French extraction, one of the most ac- complished machinists in the country, and the inventor of many valuable improvements in the locomotive. 'Ditto' is the pet name of an engineer on the road, 36 EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAIL. also of French descent. One time ' Ditto ' sold two pigs to Jauriet, but never received his pay. Well, along came Jauriet' s order that every engineer should pay for every pilot he broke. Two years after the sale of the pigs, ' Ditto ' went into Chicago with a broken pilot, and the ' old man ' hinted at the pay. ' Ditto,' who was al- ways able to pilot his own canoe, replied " ' Me pay pilot ven you pay pig ! ' " Two of the most incorrigible disciples of Munchausen the author has met in his travels, are now to be found on this same C, B. & Q. Road. These are the engineers Stedman and " Doc." Merriman. These men have had many a tilt in the way of spinning yarns, but the boys are as yet unable to decide to whom the ribbon belongs. " Doc, how about that fast time on the B. & M. ? I heard of it, when I was running into Albany." " Well, the ' old man '* came to me, and says he, ' Cap, can you make it ? ' " " ' I kin, if the wheels '11 stick on,' says I. " ' Go ahead then,' says he, ' and I'll get on the way- car.' " I looked behind after I let her out, and saw his coat- tails sticking straight out, and he standing on the hind steps. When we reached the down grade, the trucks came off the hind end of the way-car, but we never stopped ! I made it, and the old man said it was the best time ever made on that road ! " " What kept the hind end of that car up, boy ? " asked Stedman. " Well, you see, we was going so fast, that the wind held her up all the way ! " * This term is always applied to the head of any department. EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAIL. 37 " Just so," rejoined ' Sted ; ' " that reminds me of our old black cat. She had twenty-two lives. She used to go down in the cellar and lick up all the old woman's cream. I thought I had her killed once or twice, but she managed to come round again." " Which? " inquired Doc; " the old woman ? " " No, you limping fool ! the old black cat. Well, finally I broke her to pieces one day against the cellar wall, so, she couldn't come together again, and buried her in an old pile of rotten hay, near where some corn and punkins were planted. Next spring the corn came up and the punkins got ripe. One morning the old woman went down in the cellar for her cream, and there was the black cat, licking away as though she hadn't lost a day ! There was a little of the rotten hay sticking to her yet, and out of her body there protruded " " There what ? " interrupted Doc. " Out of her body hung a punkinvine, and a little ways off was a punkin. Further along on that vine was another punkin, and then another, and so on all the way out to that hay pile ! " " Say, Sted, how fur was it to that hay pile ?" "Well, I didn't measure, but I should judge about a mile / " " Doc." got down on his game leg, pulled off his cap, and said with warmth "Sted, that's an infernal lie /J '" Charlie Clark, an old U. P. man, but now on the North Missouri, said they used to have " Doc's " match out that way. He wouldn't locate him exactly, now that the poor fellow was off, but if the boys had no objection, he would read them a rhyme, from which they could judge for themselves. 38 EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAIL MORT THOMPSON. AN ENGINEER'S RHYME. " Time against the Pass'nger ! No, but what's the odds ; Fifteen minutes yet, you know, I'll make it, by the gods. Throw off the brakes, my Sanders, Fill us a quart, my lout ; Isn't old Sixty lovely, She'll jerk it for all that's out. " You're mighty right, old pardner, She's never gin out as yet ; ' Up grade,' you say, my hearty, Well, what have you got to bet ? 'Orders,' damn the orders; The fifteen ticks is mine ; Fill up her belly, Sanders, And fetch us a drink o' brine.* "Bully for you, that's lightning, Engineer's steam, you know; Afeerd ! get up, you scoundrel, Or I'll split you through and througl . Here's to you, my old sweetheart, Now take a good long breath ; More fire, my lovely Sanders, Why, you look as pale as death. " That's business, eh ? my Sanders, Hear, how she counts the rails ; 'Five minutes,' well, we'll make it, Old Sixty never fails. Here, take your brine, you coward, How far to the crossing now ? All right ; we'll take the chances For a fun'ral or a row. * Brine. The slang name for liquor. EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAIL. 39 " What ! only one more minute ! Well, I've got another notch ; You say you heard 'em whistle- More fire, you onery botch- There now, old Sixty's got it, Got the throttle, sleek and'clean ; Yer shove us that ere bottle; What's the use in bein' mean? " We picked him up, some dozen rods From where the two trains struck, Some twenty killed, I think ; and me, Well, that, you see, was luck. I got his place, as was the rule, When Mort went on the she'lf ; A splendid Engineer he was, But couldn't gauge himself." " If it's a sermon, Charlie, make it short r nr ; . . minutes I must take old no North ^ Olno and Mississippi n J TSedfo^ ZLZZ and he taught me all I know about a locomotive It was common to drink at every station in those davs :. tttte ,m o f W L Very He n ta s f 'f "T ^ ~ *>*-, hoth ^ one ZZ?& 40 EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAIL. I was a little sweet on the big one, and I believe Jim thought the road was clear, but well, let me tell it my own way. " We got to thinking seriously about this brine business at last, and one evening the little girl asked Jim and me to go to a temperance meeting in the town where we both lived. We laughed at the idea at first, but to humor his little pet, the father took her by the hand, and we were all soon seated in the church. "The address was about individual influence, and point- ing right at us he said : ' The little girl sitting on the workingman's knee in front of me, even she has influ- ence ! ' Jim, as if acting under some sort of a spell, jumped on his legs, put the child on the floor, and then striking his hand against his thigh, exclaimed, ' Thats true I ' Then, embarrassed at what he had done, took his seat, put the little girl again on his knee, and listened atten- tively to the speaker. Everybody was taken aback, of course, and some thought he was drunk, but I knew they would never have a chance to say that of Jim Styles again. "Well, the meeting broke up, and a good many ladies came to kiss Jim's little girl. I pulled out a- ways, for, to tell you the truth, boys, I wasn't used to such scenes. After a bit, the lecturer came to Jim, and asked him what made him act so in the meeting. " ' I am an engineer on your road here,' said Jim ; 'and when I had -the South run, I used to go for my brine every night, and seldom returned sober. I had a daughter then, about eighteen years old, a dutiful child, with a warm and affectionate heart. She used to come after me to the beer-shop, and wait outside the door in the cold and wet until I came out, that she might conduct EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE RAIL. 4| m tT She TOS afraM ' if kft to m T*lf, that I migh , a, s edied'^nff T J ? ^ < ^ went to rt, dea * Ve,y mUch > th0 gh I stil vent to the saloon. But somehow or other, I never liked go that way alone after she died, especiali; in h , t and for he sake of company, I se d to take with mete toe glrI whom you sw e the *= httlegul, she holding by my coat-tail ; and when we fn rS ' he , S f 0n : '""ag-t "hta into I" 1 Ug,U him ' ,is en iM xt morning he aot into the cab with n / ; 1 , , JllllJ g> "e got he 'take fhf ai P S hand and shoe-strings, and cheered the old soul by paying well for them. As my companion and myself watched her doing this, we thought what a sweet face she had, though it seemed very plain before. We felt much ashamed of ourselves, that we had grimly shaken our heads when the basket had been offered us, only a moment before. As I saw a look of interest, sympathy, and kindness come into the faces around me, I wished that I had been the magician to call it out. It was only a kind word and a friendly act, but somehow it brightened that dingy room. It changed the faces of a dozen women, and I think it touched a dozen hearts, for I saw many eyes follow the pale, plain lady with sudden respect. When the old woman with many thanks got up to go, several persons beckoned to her and bought something, as if they wanted to repair their negligence. I was the only gentleman present to be impressed by 13* 298 ANECDOTES AND INCIDENTS OF THE RAIL. the lady's kind act ; so it was not done for effect. No possible reward could be received for it, save the thank's of a poor old woman. But that simple little charity was as good as a sermon, and I think each traveller resumed the journey better for that half-hour in the dreary sta- tion. The 10.40 morning train on the New York Central is the express, and on this occasion it was in charge of Mr. Frank Klock. Two men got on board at Canastota, and one of them had his face so muffled up, that it was im- possible to catch a glimpse of any portion of his visage, save his eyes. He took his seat, and after awhile, paid his fare to Utica. Just in the rear of the muffled individ- ual, sat a gentleman occupied with his newspaper. As Klock took the fare the reader looked up and asked : " Conductor, what is it that smells so ? " " I don't smell anything yet, sir," was the reply. " But I do. Perhaps it is this paper just bought of the newsboy." (And he smells the paper.) " It smells as if if some one were sick ! " The conductor left the car, and thought little more of the matter, but the passengers took the suggestion, and commenced snuff, snuff, snuff, and the most uneasy one of all was the inquiring gentleman who sat in the rear of the muffled passenger. The conductor returned, and as he opened the door, he too was struck with the singular odor that now pervaded the car. The small-pox was then raging in some of the Eastern cities, and the un- pleasant suggestion at once flashed upon him : " Possibly that muffled man has the disease." The car was very warm, yet the fellow never disturbed his wrappings. The train was just leaving Oneida, and the odor grew stronger. Klock approached the man and inquired : ANECDOTES AND INCIDENTS OF THE RAIL. 299 " What ails you, sir ? " "Nothing, sir." " Are you not sick ? " " No, sir ! " " But your face is broken out," continued Klock, " and I believe you have the small-pox, and that you are the cause of this sickening smell in the car. It is my duty to inform the passengers that I think you have the small-pox, that they may protect themselves." And he sang out " I think this passenger has the small-pox, and gentle- men had better obtain seats in the other cars." This was enough. The inquiring man who had "snuffed" the most cleared the back of his seat at a single bound. In his haste and terror he attempted to take a bee-line for the door through a very fat old lady who was aiming in the same direction. The remainder of the passengers also hurried to the doors, and some thirty seconds elapsed before Klock and his patient were left alone. At Rome Mr. Klock telegraphed to Utica that the city authorities might arrange to receive their distinguished visitor with proper attention. But none of the authorities appeared, and the Central cut the Gordian knot by switching the car from the train on a side-track, where Mr. Small-pox was left alone. The Board of Health finally took him in charge. At a point about 280 miles east of Kansas City, an elderly and clerical-looking individual engaged a sleep- ing berth on our train for that city. He selected the lower berth of a section, the upper half of which had been engaged by two dapper-looking individuals, who, shortly after the train started, came back from the smoking-car and took seats in their section. The trio soon struck 3o ANECDOTES AND INCIDENTS OF THE RAIL. up a travelling acquaintance, and judging from the pleas - ant expression of the three countenances, this acquaint- ance was mutually agreeable and profitable, as will pres- ently be seen. The elderly gentleman, who may be known here as Mr. Greene, was a retired merchant from Central New York, on his way West to invest in corner-lots and Kan- sas lands. He was one of those benignant old sun-flowers whose smiles beam alike upon the just and the unjust ; whose well-filled pocket-book is always forthcoming to change a ten or a twenty for some casual companion who doesn't happen to have any small bills about him ; and whose worldly goods are but as legitimate spoils for the confidence gentry that is to say, judging from the way he appeared to me. His companions, whom I will call Sharpe and Ketchum, were of that class to be met with all over the railroad world, fashionable vagrants, who travel on their shape. By and by the conductor of the Pullman Palace Car came around to collect his fare for berths. The elderly gentleman, being first in order, produced a pocket-book, at once well-worn and well-filled, and paid his little fare, and then came the turn of the other two. Now, Sharpe had plenty of money, while Ketchum, though laden with exchange on New York and Buffalo, had run out of currency. Sharpe paid his small bill, but Ketchum ransacked his pocket-book and vest pockets in vain. Sharpe very generously offered to pay his com- panion's bill, but the latter wouldn't hear of any such sacrifices on the part of his friend. He would, however, gladly accept cash for one of his drafts, if Sharpe would be so kind, but under no circumstances would he accept any other favor. It transpired that Sharpe would be so ANECDOTES AND INCIDENTS OF THE RAIL. 30I kind. So Ketchum produced a draft purporting to be drawn to his order on the " Commercial National Bank" of Buffalo, amounting to $157.40. But Sharpe could not make the change. Would the elderly gentleman be so unutterably gracious as to break a fifty for him. Of course he would but he couldn't. But a happy thought struck Sharpe. If his companion had such delicate scruples about permitting him to pay his bill, perhaps the elderly gentleman would purchase the draft. Certainly he would do that, but investigation revealed that he had nothing smaller than a one-hundred-dollar bill, except some desultory change the conductor had given him for a five when he paid his bill. Finally Sharpe and Ketchum laid their heads and their finances together, and suc- ceeded in making up a purse of $203.40, including the draft for $157.40, and $40 currency, whereat the elderly gentleman gave them two $100 notes and his $3 in change they generously "throwing in" the 40 cents wherewith Ketchum paid his bill, and the conductor went on his way rejoicing, while the financiers prepared to re- tire by having their bunks " made up." Morning revealed the fact that Sharpe and Ketchum had found it convenient to step off at some casual station during the night, though the elderly gentleman quietly enjoyed his regular rest. The conductor, fearing from indications that his passenger had been swindled, ap- proached him and said : " I am afraid that draft you got last night was a fraud." " Well," was the bland response of the imperturbable Greene, "I presume it is, but if it's any bigger fraud than the two $100 notes were, why then I ain't $53 in good money ahead, which I think I am." 302 ANECDOTES AND INCIDENTS OF THE RAIL. He added that he was not in the habit of passing coun- terfeit money, but he happened to have them with him, and having measured the two chaps who had attempted to swindle him, he had quietly determined to beat them at their own game. " If you want anything more," said he, " to make this affair satisfactory, I can give you good references, either in Kansas City or New York, where I reside." We didn't demand the references. This was on the Omaha express, east, on the Chicago and Northwestern Railway. As the train stopped at Round Grove, a small station about ten miles west of Sterling, Illinois, two ladies, one of them carrying a baby about eight months old, got aboard the train, and took seats in the ladies' car. As the train was about starting again, a German, whom we subsequently learned was named Henry Bohlman, the husband of the woman with the child, stepped aboard, and entered the ladies' car. Pass- ing along the aisle, until opposite the two ladies, he sud- denly drew a revolver, and fired at his wife, who still held the child in her arms. Fearing he had not succeeded in his hellish work, he attempted to fire the second time, but was seized by one of the passengers and a brakeman, and the revolver taken from him. He was secured and taken into the baggage-car, where he was carefully guarded until the train reached Sterling, when he was handed over to the proper authorities. On examination it was found that the lady was uninjured, but the murder- ous ball had pierced and gone entirely through both thighs of the unfortunate child, causing a very serious, though not fatal wound. The man expressed himself as very sorry that he had missed his wife and hit the child. Conductor Wilcox afterwards informed us that ANECDOTES AND INCIDENTS OF THE RAIL. 303 Bohlman was actuated by jealousy and the usual sus- picion. A young friend in Paris was telling me how he came by his German wife. While travelling in that country, he took the road from Strasbourg to Berlin. In the car- riage he selected were four other persons, two mammas and two daughters. The two mothers were face to face in one corner ; the young man took the opposite, and found himself face to face with the young ladies. He put on a careless and absent air. The collector came to demand the tickets. The young man paid no attention at all, when the request was many times repeated. Roused at last from his reverie in presence of the ladies, he had recourse to a ruse, to avoid exciting ridicule. "What are you saying," said he. "Why do you not speak French?" The collector then explained by signs, the ticket was examined, and the young man returned to his reverie ; but not to enjoy it long, for this time the young ladies roused him. They began in full voice : "This young man is a very handsome one," said one. " Hist, Bertha ! " said the other, in a sort of affright. " Why, he doesn't know a word of German," said Ber- tha. " We can talk freely. What do you think of him ? " " Only ordinary," was the reply. "You are difficult to please. He has a charming figure and genteel air." " He is too pale, and besides, you know I do not like dark men." " And you know I prefer dark to fair. We have noth- ing but fair faces in Germany. It is monotonous and commonplace." " You forget that you are a blonde." 304 ANECDOTES AND INCIDENTS OF THE RAIL. ' " Oh, for woman it is different. He has nice mus- taches." " Bertha, if your mother should hear you ! " " She is busy with her talk to your mother ; besides, it is no harm to speak of mustaches." " I prefer the light mustaches of Albert." "I understand you and Albert are engaged; but I, who am without a lover, am free to exercise my opinions, and as free to say that this young man has beautiful eyes." " They have no expression," returned the other. " You do not know. I am sure he has much spirit; and it is a pity he does not speak German ; he would chat with us." "Would you marry a Frenchman? " " Why not, if he looks like this one, and was spirited, well-born, and amiable? But I can hardly keep from laughing. See, he doesn't dream what we are saying." The young traveller was endowed with a great power of self-control, and he had preserved his absent and inat- tentive air all the time ; and while the dialogue continued he thought what curious results his attempts to avert a laugh, by pretending not to know German, had brought about. He looked carefully at Bertha, and his resolu- tion was taken. At the next station the collector came again for the tickets, when the young man, with extra elaboration, and in excellent German, said : "Ah J you want my ticket. Veiy well let me see : I believe it is in my porte?nonnaie. Oh, yes ; here it is ! " The effect was startling. Bertha became nearly sense- less, but soon recovered under the polite apologies of the young Frenchman. They were pleased with each other ; and in a few weeks Bertha ratified her good opinion of ANECDOTES AND INCIDENTS OF THE RAIL. 305 the young man, and gave a practical proof of her willing- ness to wed a Frenchman. I found that they have a queer way of doing things matrimonial, down in Cave City, where, just before our arrival, the Grand Duke had taken his Kentucky hash. David Brown is a rollicking son of Kentucky, a true type of the independent village or country youth, who is just entering upon his maturity. Maria Martin is, or was, a village maiden of some charms, and a good deal of spirit and Kentucky grit. David and Maria courted and loved and agreed to marry ; for the fair lady told us all about it herself. For some reason, David put off the sol- emnization of the nuptials from time to time, until Maria's patience became exhausted. Meeting her lover one day, she said to him, with more emphasis than elegance : " I tell you what it is, Dave ; you've got to dry up this nonsense, and quit this foolin.' It's about time we was married ; and I want you to come to time." "Dave" thought he would come to time; but as the parties had met on the platform of the depot at Cave City, David was at a loss to know where he and Maria would have the ceremony performed. Maria's wits were sharp enough for the emergency, and so she told David she would provide a place, and started him off to the county clerk for the necessary license. During his absence, Maria entered the depot, and asked the station-agent for the privilege of being married on the platform in front of the depot. " Certainly," replied the polite agent ; " or right here in the depot, if you prefer. But here comes the passen- ger ; hadn't you better wait till it goes by ? " " No, not if ' Dave ' hurries up ; can't wait for nothing. We'll take the platform here." 3