Read Ebook: Harper's Round Table August 27 1895 by Various

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Ebook has 371 lines and 28928 words, and 8 pages

On the whole the trip proved most successful, and there is not much those boys don't know to-day about the handling of bicycles.

A PILOT'S STORY.

For a number of years I have been a traveller on the North River ferry-boats running between New York and Jersey City. One of the pleasures of these short trips has been in my interest and admiration for the skilful way in which such huge, unwieldy boats are handled by their pilots. The tides in the river are at times very strong, and especially so near the ferry slips. To prevent mishaps it requires the most careful manoeuvring, as a small error of judgment might send the heavily laden boat crashing into the bulkheads. Such an accident would endanger the lives of the people on board.

When the heavy gong sounds, and the rumble of the paddle-wheels stops, and the boat glides silently over the water, it is then that the pilot and his engineer are on the alert--one with his hand on the wheel, moving it this way and that, and the other with his hand on the lever bar, ready to back water or go ahead, according to his signals.

I remember a story that a pilot told me, of which he was the hero. He did not tell it boastingly, but in a simple, quiet way, and not before a great deal of persuasion was brought to bear upon him. We were standing at the time on the lower deck of a ferry-boat belonging to the line upon which he was then employed. Pointing to a grimy young bootblack who was industriously polishing away, he said: "At one time I polished boots the same as that youngster is doing there. I loved the boats and the crowds, but more especially I loved to watch the pilot and the engineer at work. To see the latter polishing and oiling his machinery as carefully as a mother would dress a baby was my chief enjoyment. I dare say I knew every part of the engine as well as he did, or at least I thought so, and many a shine I let pass simply to see him work the boat in and out of the slip. This curiosity, or rather interest, on my part stood me in good stead at one time, as you will see. We were unusually crowded on the trip when my stroke of good luck took place, both gangways running past the engine-room being choked up with horses and wagons.

"Of course the engine stopped, and the pilot, thinking everything was all right, commenced to send down his signals. I was a little frightened--more at the idea of my working the big engine than at making any mistakes, for I knew exactly what to do. Well, we had some trouble making the slip, and I had to back her out. I can tell you, working that lever bar was no easy job. Then came the sharp tinkle for full speed, and shortly I had her well out into the river. Then came the bells to stop her, and again to reverse and go ahead under half speed.

Hubert Earl.

CORPORAL FRED.

A Story of the Riots.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.

"Police report rioters gathering in force about the Amity Wagon-Works. Twelve loaded cars on their tracks there. Think they mean mischief."

"Hullo!" cried the Colonel. "Where's Corporal Wallace?"

And poor, sad-faced Fred, just back from unsuccessful searching, and now kneeling by his mother's side, promptly sprang to his feet and approached his commander.

"What's in those cars at the Amity Works, corporal?

"New wagons, sir. Loaded yesterday and ought to have started last night, but they couldn't get anything out."

"I can't bear to take you away from your mother, my lad, until we hear of your father; but I feel sure, somehow, that he is safe, and the doctors tell me your brother will recover, though he may be laid up some time. It is more than likely we'll be called on for more duty presently, and if we are"--and here he glanced keenly at the young fellow from under the brim of his scouting hat.

"I'm ready, sir," said our corporal, grimly. "I'd welcome a chance," he added, as he glanced back at the group about his brother's battered form, at his mother's white face, and Jessie's weeping eyes; and just then Jim feebly rolled his bandaged head from side to side, and his swollen lips were seen to be striving to form some words. Eagerly the mother bent her ear to catch them. All others ceased their low-toned chat; all eyes seemed fastened on them--anxious mother and stricken son. Only she to whom his earliest baby lispings were intelligible, inexpressible music could understand his meaning now.

"Did father--get home safe?"

Then Jessie's sobs broke forth afresh, and a young railway man, whose bruises the surgeon had been dressing, could stand it no longer. He was one of the striking trainmen, and knew Jim well.

"Mrs. Wallace," he cried, struggling to his feet and coming towards her, "I'm a Brotherhood man and bound to them in every way, but I can't stand this. I know what's happened, though I had no hand in it, as God's my judge! The old man's safe, ma'am--safe and out of harm's way, though I don't know where. Jim wrapped him in his own coat with our badge on it, and run him out through the south gate when they burst in here. I saw him. There were only a few fellows down there, and he got him out all right, and made him promise to keep away. I saw the old man cross the street into the lumber-yards, and gave Jim my word I wouldn't peach. I'm no traitor to our fellows, but I couldn't see the old man hurt." "I tried to keep 'em off from Jim, but he would go back and brave them, and there were men among them no one could influence after old Stoltz said his say. I got these," he added, half in shame, "battling against our own people, trying to save him, but they were far too many for both of us. They were madlike, and most of them were black-guards we'd not be seen with any other time. They downed him, and nearly kicked the life out of him, because he wouldn't say which way the old man went or where he'd hid him."

Then, at least, the old foreman was not in the ruins--might, indeed, have escaped from the rioters. Yet Mrs. Wallace was not much comforted. Again and again she implored Jim to say whether he had designated any particular place as his father's refuge; but Jim had drifted off again into the borderland between the other world and this. His ears were deaf to her appeal. If father had been spared, she said, surely he would have made his way home to reassure them. In vain Fred pointed out that to do so he must again venture through the mile-long yard of rioters, firing cars, and mad with glut and triumph. He would surely have been recognized, and by that time every striking switchman and trainman knew it was he who held the throttle of the first engine to essay to break the morning's blockade--more than enough to ruin him. They might not themselves use violence, but they or their women would point him out to the bloodhounds in the mob--men who were ready for any deed of violence, no matter how brutal or cowardly, and the brave old fellow would have met the martyr's fate at their hands.

"He never would have gone and left poor Jim to go back and face them all alone," cried Mrs. Wallace, breaking down at last; and then Fred had to tell her that Jim was himself a leader in the strike, a personal friend of Steinman, and completely influenced by him. Neither father nor Jim believed that they would assault one of their own Brotherhood, the man whose contributions had exceeded those of any other, and whose heart had been hot for action days before. They did not realize that men are turned to tigers at the touch of blood or riot, and that for lack of other material--just as the mob of Paris guillotined their own leaders when gentler blood was all expended--so would these mad dogs turn for victims upon their kind.

"Go you and search," said Inspector Morrissey to two of his bluecoats. "You know every hiding-place about here. Find him, or trace of him quick as you can."

And the wearied officers turned away. They had had a wretched time of it, for over thirty hours, and not a wink of sleep. Scattered by twos and threes they had been expected to preserve the peace even though repeatedly cautioned not to use force. An important election was close at hand. The city officials, now seeking re-election, had forfeited long since the respect of the educated classes of the community, and their only hopes lay now with the great mass of the populace in which the strikers were largely represented, and from which their supporters and sympathizers were without exception drawn. It would not do to club or intimidate, and thereby offend these thousands of voters, and the police, brave and determined individually, and long schooled in handling the "tough" element, now found themselves absolutely crippled and hampered, first by a feeling of personal friendship for many of the railway men themselves, second by absence of either support or approval when it came to handling the rioters. Not until the mob had burst all bounds, and the safety of the great city was at stake did the officials realize the tone of the torrent they had turned loose, and then gave reluctant, half-hearted orders to suppress the riot even though somebody had to be hurt. When at last the city troops were marched to the several scenes, the wearied police took heart again, and many of them went to work with their old-time vim.

Just before eleven o'clock Jim was tenderly lifted into one of the regimental ambulances, and with his mother and Jess carefully driven over home, where sympathizing neighbors gathered and ministered to one and all. Half a dozen of Jim's associates, strikers themselves, but appalled and disgusted now at the contemplation of the result of their folly, established themselves as a guard at the cottage, while others eagerly, fearfully joined in the search for the honored old Scotchman who, with too good reason, many feared, had fallen a victim to the fury of the rioters. Farley, Jim's brakeman, had not been seen for hours, and this was significant. Fred, leaving his brother safely stowed away in bed, with all possible comfort secured for the night, kissed his mother's tear-stained face and told her he must go. She clung to him shuddering a moment, yet could not say no. He was a man now, just twenty-one, and knew his duty. Had not the Colonel said there was further work ahead?

It came, quickly enough. A man in a buggy with a prancing, frightened horse, was eagerly importuning the imperturbable gray-mustached Colonel, as Corporal Fred returned to his post, and the conversation was more than interesting.

"How many rioters are there, Mr.--Mr. Manners?"

"There must be five hundred; five hundred at least, and they've set fire to the cars twice, and driven off the firemen and police."

"Don't kick a man when he's down, Colonel. I may have said something foolish--any man's liable to make mistakes; but four hundred thousand dollars' worth of property is burning up there, and my watchmen are being stoned and killed. We discharged some bad characters last week, and they're heading the mob now."

"Yes, this does seem to give your discharged men a chance. Now there were two or three given their walking papers to-day," continued the Colonel, with provoking coolness, his lips twitching under his handsome gray mustache.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Colonel, don't rub it in! I'll make it all right with those men. Just think what's happened to the Amity Works all the time you've been keeping me waiting and begging."

And despite sorrow for Jim and anxiety about his father, Corporal Fred couldn't help feeling, as he drove with his abashed employer swiftly through the dim yet familiar streets, that life had some compensation after all.

FOOTNOTES:

Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 821.

FIGHTING THE ELEMENTS.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.

"I tell you the steamship is a wonderful machine."

"No buffeting head winds and head seas for months at a time now," exclaimed Mr. Powers. "Steam is invincible."

"Um--yes, generally," said Captain Ferris, who was going over as a passenger to bring out from Gourock a new yacht.

"Why not always?" asked Mr. Powers.

"Well, in order to answer that question," replied the Captain, thoughtfully, "I must tell you that some steamers are not as large and powerful as others."

"Of course I know that," said Mr. Powers, rather impatiently, "but they all manage to get across in defiance of the winds."

"Perhaps I'd better tell you of an instance I have in mind," said the Captain.

"Do so by all means," answered Mr. Powers; and Harry leaned forward attentively, because he perceived that a yarn of the sea was forth-coming. Captain Ferris settled himself comfortably in his chair, cast a look around the horizon, and then launched into his story.

"'Thank you, sir; and please make the ship hurry, because mamma is waiting for us.'

"'Will the ship sink, Captain?' asked the boy.

"'Oh no,' I answered; 'she's all right.'

"'But we sha'n't get home to mamma so soon,' murmured the boy, mournfully."

"'Captain,' said he, 'I am sorry to tell you that the coal in our bunkers is getting very low, and that unless we make better headway it will run out before we make port.'

"'Cut up all the spare wood in the hold,' I said, 'and feed that to the furnaces.'

"The engineer went away shaking his head, and then the boy came up to me and said,

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