CHAPTER XIII.
THE STRIKERS CAPTURE A TRAIN.
AT THE railway station Myles found the train nearly ready to start andits military passengers on board. A foreman of the locomotive workswas to act as engineer, and Ben Watkins was to be fireman. LieutenantEaster found a seat in the locomotive cab, where Myles would have likedto join him but for the presence of Ben, with whom he wished to holdno communication. The two cars of the train were well filled, for thetown was so quiet and so absolutely deserted by the strikers that thelieutenant did not think it necessary to leave more than half a dozenof his men in charge of a corporal to guard the jail and the railroadbuildings. So he took nearly the whole of his command with him, and aninteresting lot they were to Myles, who now, for the first time, sawthem all together.
Most of them were green, awkward-appearing young men, who had joinedthe company solely that they might wear its uniform. As has been said,this uniform was a remarkably gorgeous one, and it represented thetaste of its wearers; for they had voted to adopt it at one of thevery first meetings of their organization. It was of scarlet, black,and gold, and above the stiff beaver caps nodded scarlet and blackplumes of cocks’ feathers. These were the particular joy and pride ofLieutenant Easter’s men, and were regarded by them as the most trulymilitary and warlike portion of their equipment. If these fiercelynodding plumes did not inspire terror in the hearts of the strikers,what would?
The whole business of the strike was looked upon as a picnic by thesegorgeous militiamen. They had no idea that it might mean fight. Oh,no, that was too absurd. No body of strikers with a grain of senseamong them would be so foolhardy as to await their coming. Their mereappearance on the scene would be the signal for flight. Did they nothave law and muskets on their side?
Thus they talked and boasted as the train rolled slowly out of townwithout meeting the slightest form of opposition. Nobody in the car inwhich Myles had found a seat spoke to him or paid the least attentionto him, except to wonder who he was and what right he had there. Hemight be a striker, for all they knew. At any rate he did not wear auniform, was evidently only an ordinary, every-day civilian, and wasconsequently unworthy of their notice.
Every thing went on smoothly and comfortably for an hour or so. Thetrack was in perfect order, no strikers were to be seen, and thecitizen soldiery were boisterously happy. As many of their musketsas could be were crowded into and snugly stowed in the package-racksabove their heads, while the rest were shoved under the seats so as tobe well out of the way. Their owners loosened their belts for greatercomfort, played cards, smoked, ate, drank, and were merry. This stateof affairs continued until they had gone about twelve miles. Then thetrain began to climb a long grade. Its speed was of course slackened bythis, but not enough to attract the notice of the card-players.
All at once the great driving-wheels of the locomotive began to spinfuriously, but without taking any hold of the rails. The engineer knewin a moment what the trouble was—the track had been soaped!—andshut off steam. The train slid a few rods farther, and then stopped.As it did so a wild yell was heard in the bushes that at this pointgrew thickly close to the track. Then a crowd of men leaped from themand charged upon the motionless train. Half a dozen of them sprang tothe locomotive, taking complete possession of it, and dragging itsthree occupants to the ground before they had time to offer the leastresistance.
In less than a minute after it stopped the train was in undisputedpossession of the strikers, and its passengers were their prisoners.
Myles was greatly startled and not a little alarmed by these summaryproceedings. He sprang to his feet with the rest when the trainstopped, and had nearly reached the rear door of the car when thestrikers rushed in and commanded everybody to sit down. He obeyed theorder at once, slipping into a little corner seat behind the open door.Here, as he was not in uniform, he escaped attention for a few minutes.Then a burly fellow, who seemed a sort of leader among the strikers,pulled back the door so as to reveal him fully, and asked gruffly:
“Who are you, and what are you doing here? What’s your position on theroad?”
“I haven’t any,” answered Myles, who did not know whether to say he wasa reporter or not.
“Well, who are you, then? Come, spit it out quick! We haven’t any timefor fooling.”
“I am a friend of Jacob Allen’s,” replied Myles, with a happy thought.
“Oh, you are, are you? Well, how do I know that? It’s easy enough tosay you are a friend of Jake Allen’s, but how can you prove it?”
“By this,” said Myles, producing a folded bit of note-paper that Allenhad given him the night before. The man read aloud:
The bearer, Mr. Manning, is my friend; and I wish all my friends to treat him as a friend of—Jacob Allen.
“That’s all right,” said the man, returning the note to Myles, “thoughsome of those that Jake Allen thought were his friends have gone backon him lately. Still, I guess we’ll have to pass you this time. Imust say, though, that for a friend of Allen’s you are in mighty poorcompany just now.” Then he walked away, and Myles left the car to seewhat was going on outside.
Now it happened that a soldier occupying the next seat in front of thereporter overheard the reading of this note, and was struck by itscurious wording. He afterward told Lieutenant Easter of it, and theLieutenant told Ben Watkins, adding his own suspicions that this friendof Jacob Allen-must be the very one who had conveyed to the strikersthe news of this attempt to run a train through. “Otherwise,” he said,“they could not possibly have known of it in time to plan the stoppingand capture of the train as they did.”
In thus laying suspicion upon Myles the Lieutenant entirely forgot thatthe reporter had a companion, the telegraph operator, the night before,when he himself gave away this information.
After leaving the car Myles was witness of some very funny scenes.First the strikers inside the cars secured all the guns they couldfind and passed them to their comrades outside. Then, two at a time,so guarded that there was no chance of escape, and solemnly assuredthat they were about to be hanged, the disgusted soldiers were made toleave the cars. As they appeared on the platforms in all the splendorof their gorgeous uniforms they were greeted with howls of derision.The nodding cocks’ plumes received their full share of attention,and at the cry of “Scalp ’em! scalp ’em! give us their scalps!” thegaudy feathers were shorn from the beaver caps or plucked out by theroots and distributed to all who wanted them. Then the prisoners weremarched back into the bushes, struggling, protesting, pleading, makingall sorts of promises, or, in some cases, laughing, and treating itall as a joke. As each couple reached a point beyond sight of theircompanions, to whom their fate was thus a mystery, they were strippedof their cherished uniforms with the exception of their shorn beavers,and made to put on pairs of greasy or coal-blackened overalls in placeof them. Then the dejected-looking couple was allowed to step to oneside and witness the similar treatment of the next two who were broughtout.
Myles, who had no occasion to feel particularly sorry for thehumiliation of these boastful soldiers, could not help joining in themerriment caused by their comical appearance. Even pompous littleLieutenant Easter had been deprived of his sword and shorn of hisplumes, though he was permitted to retain his uniform. Beside him stoodBen Watkins, scowling savagely, and muttering threats that he dared notutter aloud.
THE STRIKERS REORGANIZING THE MILITIA. (_Page 192._)]
A little later Myles overheard a conversation between two of thestrikers, from which he learned that all the men captured with thetrain were to be put on board again and taken to within a shortdistance of the town to which they belonged, some thirty miles westward.
Now this would not suit him at all. His orders were to remain atMountain Junction until recalled, and he proposed to obey them justas long as possible. So, fearing that Jacob Allen’s note might notagain avail him, and, watching for a chance when the attention of thestrikers was fully occupied with the mock review of Lieutenant Easter’sco
mpany, he quietly slipped back among the bushes, and in anothermoment was lost to sight.
From a well concealed hiding-place he saw all the captured men,including Ben Watkins, for whom the strikers had no love, put on boardthe cars strongly guarded. The track was then well sanded to overcomethe effect of the soap, and finally he saw the train move slowly awayand disappear over the crest of the long up grade. Still he kept hishiding-place, until the crowd of strikers who remained had gatheredup and shouldered the captured muskets, stuck the scarlet and blackcocks’ plumes in their hat-bands, and also departed. As they marchedon the railroad toward Mountain Junction, in the very direction hewished to go, he waited until they were out of sight and hearing. Afterthese prolonged waitings it wanted less than an hour of sunset whenhe returned to regain the track. Then, assuring himself that no humanbeing was in sight in either direction, he set out bravely and at arapid pace to walk back over the twelve miles to the town in which hehad been ordered to stay.
Walking on a railroad track is by no means easy work, and before he hadaccomplished more than half the distance to the town the young reporterwished that a train, or, at least, a hand-car, would come along andgive him a lift. The sun had set, it was rapidly growing dark, andMyles was as rapidly growing very hungry. His way lay through aparticularly rough and lonesome stretch of country. It was mountainousand heavily wooded. He had not seen a house, unless one or two distanthuts of charcoal-burners could be called such, since he started. Nowthe solitude and the silence, only broken by the melancholy cries ofa whippoorwill or the weird hootings of an occasional owl, becamedrearily oppressive, and Myles longed for human companionship. If onlyhe had his jolly comrade of the night before, the telegraph operator.But he had not, and he tried to cheer his lonely way by whistling ashe trudged wearily along. He kept a sharp lookout for lights on eitherside of the way, determined to go to the first one he saw in the hopeof finding food. He also decided that if he found any sort of shelterfor the night he would remain there until morning, for the thoughtof crossing, in the dark, the several trestle-bridges over mountaintorrents that lay between him and the town was by no means pleasant.
At last he saw a faint gleam, apparently that of a candle, at somelittle distance on his left. Whether it was far away or near at handMyles could not tell. It at least betokened the presence of humanbeings, and he determined to try and reach it. He did not find any roador path leading to it, but worked his way slowly, with many a stumbleamid rocks, trees, stumps, and bushes, toward the light. He often lostsight of it, but always found it again, until, all of a sudden, he wasclose upon it.
It came from a cabin, apparently that of a charcoal-burner, onlysomewhat larger than most of those he had seen. In order to announcehis presence he gave a shout, which was answered by the savage barkingof a dog that came bounding toward him. As Myles felt for a stick or arock with which to defend himself, the door of the cabin was opened anda harsh voice shouted:
“Tige! you Tige! Be quiet, sir. Who’s there?”
“I am,” answered Myles.
“Well, who’s I?”
“A stranger in search of something to eat and a place to sleep in.”
“Step up here and let’s take a look at you. Tige, be quiet!”
The dog obeyed his master so far as keeping quiet was concerned, buthe followed the new-comer and sniffed at his heels in a manner bothsuggestive and extremely unpleasant.
The figure that confronted Myles in the door-way was that of a tall,broad-shouldered, rough-looking man, clad in a flannel shirt and a pairof coarse trousers tucked into cowhide boots.
“Well, you be a stranger, sure enough,” said he, holding a candle sothat its light shone in the other’s face; “leastways I never see you inthese parts before. An’ you’ve struck a mighty poor place. This ain’tno hotel, and I reckon you’d better travel a bit further on.”
“Where to?” asked Myles.
“To the Junction, I expect. There ain’t no place short of that, as Iknow of, where you could be took in.”
“But that is a long way off,” objected Myles, “and I don’t believe Icould cross the bridges in the dark.”
“No more do I believe you could,” replied the man.
“Besides, I am willing to pay, and pay well, for whatever food andshelter you will give me,” added Myles.
“Will you pay a dollar?”
“With pleasure.”
“In advance?”
“Yes, if you insist upon it.”
“Let’s see your money, stranger, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Now Myles had no money with him except the change from the fiftydollars that he had tucked into the envelope in which the bill hadcome to him that morning. So he was obliged to produce this in order toget out the required dollar.
Upon receiving his pay in advance and discovering his would-be guestto be a person of means the man’s manner softened. Saying, “Step in,stranger, and I’ll see what I can do for you,” he led the way into thecabin. Myles followed him, glad to accept even so poor a shelter, andlittle dreaming that before morning he would be ten times more anxiousto escape from it than he was now to be admitted.