CHAPTER XV.
THE 50TH REGIMENT, N. G. S. N. Y.
THE speed at which Myles was going when the accident happened was sogreat that both he and the hand-car were flung clear off the track.They landed in a pile of soft earth, but, as already related, Myleslay beneath the car with his arms so pinned down by it that he wasperfectly helpless and unable to move. As he lay there half-stunned,and panting for breath after his recent exertions, the roar of theapproaching train grew louder and louder, until it seemed close uponhim. He could hear the labored puffing of the locomotive as it toiledup the long grade. Now it came so distinctly that he knew the head ofthe train had rounded the sharp curve and was in sight of the placewhere he lay.
Oh for one moment of liberty in which to spring up and warn them of thedanger so close at hand! Where were their eyes? Could they not see thewreck of his car and be warned by it? Was he too late after all? Wouldthe train keep on until it, too, struck the treacherous rails that,with every spike drawn, had spread beneath him?
In this agony of helpless apprehension the seconds seemed minutes andthe minutes hours. Suddenly came the short, imperative blast of thewhistle that said as plainly as words, “Danger ahead! Down brakes!”It was instantly followed by the grinding sound of the powerfulair-brakes, and in another moment the train had stopped not fifty feetfrom where Myles lay.
He was in time. His “fool-hardiness,” as the corporal at MountainJunction had termed it, had prevailed, and the long train, with itsprecious human freight, was safe. With a great sigh of relief theburden of anxiety that he had borne for hours passed from him. Hebecame aware of a feeling of faintness, and wearily closed his eyes.
He did not lose consciousness, for he heard a voice exclaim:
“Hello! here’s a man under this car.”
“Well, get him out,” said another, with a sharp tone of authority. “Heis probably one of the rascally strikers who planned this mischief,and then got caught in his own trap. Carry him to the baggage-car andsee that he does not get away. I will investigate his case directly.Now look lively here with those spikes and hammers.”
Myles was lifted by half a dozen active young fellows clad in aclose-fitting gray uniform and carried back to the train, where hewas laid on the floor of the baggage-car, with his head on a roll ofblankets. Even as they started with him he heard the ringing blowsof the spike-hammers, and almost as soon as they laid him down theloosened rails were securely re-fastened and the train was ready toproceed.
Myles was surprised to find that he did not suffer any pain denotingbroken bones. He wondered if he were able to sit up, and, by trying,found that he was. In short, with the exception of feeling stiff andsore and bruised, and lame in every joint, he was all right. He wasonly a little shaky, and he next proceeded to stand up to assurehimself that he could do that also. Here the gray-jacketed soldier whoguarded him concluded that his prisoner was getting altogether tooactive, and sternly ordered him to sit still and keep quiet.
Myles looked at him with indignant amazement. Was this the kind oftreatment a fellow had to expect in return for risking his own lifeand limbs to save those of these chaps? He was about to expresshimself pretty forcibly on the subject, when the car door was openedand a soldierly-looking man, with an iron-gray mustache and wearingthe eagles of a colonel on his shoulder-straps, entered. The guardpresented arms and the colonel touched his cap in acknowledgment of thesalute. Then stepping briskly up to Myles he said:
“Well, sir, who are you? and what is the meaning of all this? Do youknow that you have committed a State-prison offense, and that hangingwould be no more than you deserve?”
“What is my offense?” asked Myles, quietly, still sitting on the rollof blankets.
“Don’t bandy words with me, sir; but answer my questions at once. Whoare you?”
Myles gazed calmly into the colonel’s face, but remained silent.
“Will you answer me, sir, or will you not?” cried the colonel, flushingangrily beneath the other’s steady stare.
“Perhaps I will and perhaps I will not,” replied Myles, whose verycalmness betrayed the tumult of his feelings. “It depends entirely uponwhat authority you can show for asking them, and the manner in whichthey are put. So long as you see fit to insult me I shall only answeryou with silence.”
The audacity of this speech fairly took away the colonel’s breath, andhe stared at Myles in speechless amazement. Before he could recoverhimself the car door again opened. The figure that entered this timewas not clad in uniform, but the guard allowed it to pass withouthesitation.
Turning, and recognizing the new-comer, the colonel exclaimed:
“Here is a case that will interest you, sir. It will make a capitalparagraph for your paper. Of all the strikers, train-wreckers, andother rascally characters I ever met this one has the most monumentalimpudence and brazen assurance. Why, what do you think—”
But the colonel never finished his remark, for Myles, who had gainedhis feet, here interrupted him with:
“Hello, Billings, old man!”
“Am I a Dutchman or am I not!” cried Billings, for it was indeed he,as he sprang past the colonel and grasped his friend’s hand. “The voiceis that of Myles Manning, while the face and general get-up is that ofa mud-lark. What are you doing here? and what is the meaning of thismelancholy aspect?”
“That is what this military gentleman with the unfortunate manner hasbeen trying to find out,” replied Myles, with a grim smile.
“Military gentleman? Unfortunate manner?” repeated Billings, in aperplexed tone. “Perhaps there is some misunderstanding between youtwo. Colonel Pepper, allow me to present my friend, Mr. Manning, of the_Phonograph_. Colonel Pepper is in command of the 50th Regiment, N. G.S. N. Y. X. Z., etc., and, if I do say it to his face, as I shouldn’t,is one of the best fellows to be found outside of a newspaper office.”
“A friend of yours, did you say, Mr. Billings?” asked the colonel,doubtfully.
“Of course he is, and, what is more, a fellow-reporter. Why, he is outhere doing the strike for the _Phono_.”
“Well, Mr. Manning,” said the colonel, heartily, and extending hishand, “I sincerely beg your pardon for mistaking you for a striker—anda mischievous one at that—and treating you accordingly. But why in thename of common-sense didn’t you disclose your identity at once?”
“Partly because you didn’t give me a chance, sir, and partly because Ifelt hurt—”
“Felt hurt!” interrupted Billings, to whom the conversation seemed tobe taking altogether too serious a tone. “Well, your feelings mustcorrespond with your looks then. For a more torn, tattered, battered,mud-bespattered, blood-stained, and generally seedy-looking individualthan you are at this moment I never saw.”
“Then you consider me excusable for mistaking Mr. Manning for astriker?” asked the colonel, with a smile.
“Excusable, colonel? Certainly I do! You would be excusable formistaking him for any thing, from a relation to a politician,” answeredBillings, laughing. “But, look here, Manning, you haven’t told us aword yet of how you happened to be a total wreck out here in the woods.I heard something about a car off the track and a striker found underit, but I was eating a sort of a make-believe ham-sandwich breakfastjust then. We have stopped so often for wrecked cars and missing railsthat I didn’t consider it worth while to let up on the Sam Handwichjust to look after it. Thus I only just this moment found time to comeand spy out the villain, and, behold, you are he.”
“Your mention of missing rails,” said Myles, “reminds me that two aregone from the track just about where we now are. I passed over theplace not half an hour ago.”
“Then excuse me for a moment,” said the colonel, while I go and order asharp lookout.”
As he left the car the locomotive uttered its warning call for brakes.In another minute the train was at a stand-still, and several menwere stripping off their clothing preparatory to diving in the streamalongside the track to search for the missing rails.
r /> “That’s the way it goes,” sighed Billings, resignedly. “We’ve donenothing but make tracks for the last two days. But come, old man, now’sthe chance to spin your yarn; out with it. All communications with astamp enclosed regarded as strictly confidential, you understand.”
So Myles told his story in as few words as possible, beginning withthe capture of Lieutenant Easter’s command and ending with his ownthrilling ride of that morning.
As he finished Billings sprang to his feet, and, seizing his friend’shand, shook it warmly, exclaiming with a seriousness unusual to him:
“My dear fellow, you are a perfect trump; a full-fledged hero—withwings and tail-feathers well developed! And to think that these duffersshould have taken you for a striker after what you did for them. It’sno wonder you look tough after what you’ve gone through; but it’s anhonorable toughness, and every splotch of mud on your face is honorablemud. You just wait till I tell the boys of the 50th what a _Phonograph_reporter has done for them. If they don’t give you three fizz-booms anda Bengal tiger, then I’m a brass monkey, that’s all.”
“Oh, no,” protested Myles, “don’t tell them. It isn’t any thing to makea fuss about.”
“Isn’t it? Well, we’ll just give the boys a chance to express anopinion about that,” laughed Billings, with a touch of his old drawlingmanner as he left the car.
Myles still remained in the baggage-car, and the guard posted therewhen he was first brought in, but not yet relieved, now stepped up tohim and said in a manly fashion:
“I could not help overhearing what you were talking about just now, Mr.Manning, and, if you will let me, I shall be proud to shake hands withyou. It isn’t every day that I meet with the fellow who is willing torisk his own life for mine, and when I do I like to know him.”
What Billings told of his exploits Myles never knew, but while he wasshaking hands with his guard the car door flew open and the “boys” camerushing in. Privates and men with shoulder-straps, all were eager for alook at and a word with the _Phonograph_ reporter who had rendered themso great a service that morning.
They crowded the car almost to suffocation, and still not a tenth partof those who wished to get in could do so. Everybody wanted to shakehands with him. Everybody wanted in some way to thank him. Among themwere several old X—— College men, proud to claim him as a fellow.They had been proud of Myles Manning, captain of the ’Varsity crew;now they were still prouder of Myles Manning, the _Phonograph_ reporter.
Poor Myles was overwhelmed and bewildered. He knew not what to say norhow to act. His embarrassment was becoming painful, when way was madefor the colonel. He said:
“Come, boys, this will do for the present. Clear out now and give thebrave fellow room to breathe. The 50th shall have a chance to show himwhat they feel on this subject, I give you my word on it.”
When the last one had gone the colonel turned to Myles, and said:
“Mr. Manning, it would be useless for me to attempt to thank you foryour splendid action this morning, either on my own behalf or that ofthe regiment I have the honor to command. There are no words to expresssuch a gratitude as we feel. What you did any soldier might be proudto have done, and its results will follow you through life. You havewithin an hour made a thousand life-long friends. Now, sir, if you willhonor the 50th by becoming its guest we shall be proud to entertain youas such during our stay in this part of the country.”
Myles had no idea of what he said in reply to these kind words; but itmust have been the right thing, for the colonel thanked him and seemedmuch pleased.
Then the whistle announced their approach to Mountain Junction, and thecolonel, exacting a promise from Myles that he would not leave the caruntil he came for him, bowed and hurried away.
The town that had been so silent and deserted when Myles left it afew hours before was now filled with people, and a great crowd ofsullen-faced strikers, grimy miners, men, women, and children, weregathered about the railway-station to witness the arrival of thefamous New York regiment. As the train rolled slowly up to the stationit presented a fine sight, and one calculated to impress the boldeststrikers as a picture of disciplined force that was not to be trifledwith.
The locomotive seemed covered with erect, resolute-looking youngfellows in gray. They stood thick on the running-boards. They crowdedthe cab, and each held his musket in a sturdy grasp, with its gleamingbayonet pointed at an angle downward. The enemy need be many and boldwho would dare charge that thick-set hedge of prickly steel. Eachplatform of every car in the long train was guarded in a similarmanner. It was, as Billings, who had returned to the baggage-car,quaintly expressed it to Myles, “A sign that read, ‘No boarders needapply.’”
Through the open windows the crowd could see that every seat was filledwith men in gray, each grasping a ready musket. It was fearful toimagine what a withering, death-dealing sheet of flame and storm ofbullets might in an instant leap from those open windows at a singleword of command. The crowd instinctively recoiled from them, and agreat silence fell upon it.
As the train stopped a squad of men sprang from each car and clearedspaces in which the companies might form. Then the gray columns pouredforth quietly, steadily, and without a break until the ten companieswere full and the regiment stood in line, rigid, motionless, andexpectant.
When all was in readiness the colonel came to the door of the car, froma window of which Myles and Billings had watched the forming troops,and said:
“Now, Mr. Manning, will you let me introduce you to my boys?”
THE NEXT MOMENT HE FOUND HIMSELF STANDING ON THEPLATFORM BESIDE THE COLONEL. (_Page 227._)]
Myles hesitated. He had dared face death in the heat of that excitingrace against time; but to face a thousand men was quite another thing.
It was Billings who urged him on by saying:
“Come, old man, don’t keep the music waiting. They’ve got to toot orburst.”
The next moment he found himself standing on the platform beside thecolonel, while on that of the adjoining car stood Billings, smilingaffably, and evidently prepared to receive any honors that might beshowered upon him.
“Men of the 50th,” said the colonel, in a loud, clear voice, that wasdistinctly heard by every one of those before him, “I have the honor ofpresenting to you a New York reporter who has rendered to us this daythe greatest service one human being may render unto his fellows. Hisname is—” the colonel paused, lifted his hand, and with a mighty roar,startling in its suddenness and volume, the thousand throats of theregiment took the words from his mouth and shouted as one man.
“M-y-l-e-s M-a-n-n-i-n-g. Fizz-fizz-fizz, boom-boom-boom, Ti-_gah!_”
As the great shout rolled away among the listening mountains a sharpword of command rang out, and was echoed from company to company alongthe whole line. The band struck up “For he’s a jolly good fellow,”and, marching as proudly as though under the eyes of the President ofthe United States, the superb, glittering regiment passed in reviewbefore bruised, ragged, mud-stained Myles Manning. Each company as itpassed him presented arms, and the gleaming sword of each officer wasraised in salute. It was not until they had all gone by that poor Mylesremembered that in his bewilderment he had not acknowledged a singlesalute.
Billings had, though; and for whatever his fellow-reporter left undonethe little man’s appreciative smiles and graceful hat-liftings amplyatoned.