A RAILROAD EXPERIENCE.
To Uncle Phin’s proposition the boy fully agreed. Even Rusty seemed to
comprehend that his young master’s fortunes had taken a turn for the
better; and, as they started up the street, in search of a place where
they might obtain food, he danced about them barking joyously.
Before long they discovered a very small and humble bake shop, kept by a
colored aunty, who looked almost as old as Uncle Phin; but who was as
stout as he was thin, and whose head was covered by a Madras kerchief of
vivid reds and yellows. She was not expecting any customers this stormy
evening, and at first regarded the new-comers with suspicion, evidently
fearing that they were about to appeal to her for charity. This, by the
way, as they afterwards learned, was her name, “Aunt Charity.” She was,
however, reassured by the sight of the five-dollar bill in Uncle Phin’s
hand, by the old man’s extreme politeness, and by Arthur’s honest blue
eyes. In spite of his clothes being rain-soaked and mud-stained, he was
so evidently a little gentleman, that she involuntarily dropped him a
curtsey when, in winning tones, he said: “Please, ma’am, get us
something to eat. We are nearly starved; but we have the money to pay
for it, and I think we would like to have a good deal of most everything
you have.”
“To be suttinly, sah! To be suttinly, my pore lamb. You shall hab de bes
Aunt Charity kin skeer up, dreckly,” answered the old woman, dropping
her curtsey, and gazing compassionately at the little fellow. “Ef you’d
like to dry yo’sefs, while I’se er gittin sumpin ready, yo’se welkum to
step inter de kitchun, an set by de fire, Misto——” Here she paused and
looked at Uncle Phin, as though waiting for him to complete her sentence
by introducing himself.
“Phin Dale ob Dalecourt, Ferginny,” said the old man, promptly, adding,
“and dis my lil Marse Arthur Dale Dustin. We is a trabblin to his
granpaw’s, an is to take de kyars fo Dalecourt, soon as we is eatin our
suppah.”
As Aunt Charity had also spent the earlier days of her life in Virginia,
a bond of sympathy was at once established between them, and she bustled
about, with surprising agility for one of her size, to make the
travellers comfortable. She had intended supplying their wants from the
counter and well-filled shelves of her little shop; but, after they were
comfortably seated in the friendly warmth of the kitchen stove, she
decided to make a pot of tea, and then to fry a rasher of bacon with
some eggs. Nor did she neglect their immediate wants, while preparing
these things. Hunger was so plainly stamped on their faces, that it
would have been cruel to keep them waiting a single minute before
beginning to satisfy it. So she gave them each a big, shiny-topped bun,
with currants in it, and when she saw Arthur breaking off a piece of his
for Rusty, she immediately got another for the hungry dog.
What a pleasant contrast this cheerful, low-ceiled kitchen, with its
glowing stove, presented to the cold, and wet, and darkness of the
streets through which they were wandering so hopelessly but a few
minutes before. How thoroughly Arthur and Uncle Phin appreciated its
comforts, and what glances, expressive of gratitude and complete
satisfaction, they exchanged as they sat on opposite sides of the stove,
well back so as not to interfere with the ponderous but bustling
movements of the mistress of the establishment.
In the darkest corner of the room was a high, calico-curtained bedstead,
from beneath which projected one end of a low trundle-bed. In this could
just be distinguished two little woolly heads, from which two pairs of
wide-open black eyes gazed wonderingly at the strangers, and the busy
scene about the stove.
When Uncle Phin inquired, with an air of well-feigned interest, if those
were her children, Aunt Charity paused in her work for a moment, and,
standing with arms akimbo, regarded them with great complacency, as she
answered: “No, Misto Phin Dale, deys not my ownly chillun; but deys my
gran’chillun, once remobed. You see deir maw, she my ole man’s fustes
wife’s gal, by her fustes husban’. So when dey came to be twins an’
orfuns at de same time, I wuz deir nex ob kin, an dey nacherly fell to
my sheer ob de estate. Now, I’se gwine gib ’em a eddicashun, and train
’em up fer de whitewash an kalsermine bizness.”
Warm and dry, strengthened and refreshed by their supper, of which
little Rusty had eaten his full share and would now have greatly
preferred lying under the stove to going out into the stormy night, our
travellers again set forth on their journey. Had Aunt Charity’s mite of
a house afforded a spare room she would have invited them to occupy it
until morning; but it did not, and she had no place to offer them. Then,
too, Uncle Phin was most anxious to start at once, now that they had
money, in hopes that it would last until they reached their journey’s
end. So interested had Aunt Charity become in the young lad who was so
bravely seeking a distant home in place of the one where he had been
cruelly and unjustly treated—for Uncle Phin had told her the whole of
Arthur’s history,—that she at first refused to receive any pay for their
supper. Both Arthur and Uncle Phin insisted so strongly that she should,
that at length she consented to take twenty-five cents, but no more. She
also forced into Uncle Phin’s hands a paper bag full of rolls and cakes
for Arthur just as they left, and stood in the doorway watching them
until they were lost to sight in the shadows of the dimly lighted
street.
Aunt Charity had given them directions for reaching the railway station,
so that they had no trouble in finding it. Here they were quickly
bewildered by the hurrying throngs of people and great trucks of baggage
that were being trundled up and down the platform, the puffing and
snorting of engines, and the dazzling white light of the electric lamps.
At last Uncle Phin ventured to address a man in a cap and blue coat,
whom he took to be one of the railway officials.
“Please, sah,” said the old man, bowing humbly and pulling at the brim
of his tattered hat, “which ob de kyars is er gwine to Ferginny?”
“Which way are you bound?” asked the official, sharply. “East or west?”
Uncle Phin did not know.
“Let me see your tickets?”
Uncle Phin had none. “De man haint passen ob ’em roun yet,” he said.
“Are you going to Richmond, Virginia?”
“Near by dar, sah! Clus on to it!” cried the old man, eagerly, delighted
at hearing the familiar name.
“Well, then you want to take the first through train going east, and it
won’t be along till midnight.”
With this the busy railroad man hurried on, leaving our friends gazing
at each other in dismay. Midnight! and now it was only seven o’clock.
What should they do and where should they go to pass those five hours?
They did not dare go very far from the railway station, and so they
wandered aimlessly about in the darkness near it, growing more weary,
more wet, cold, and uncomfortable with each moment.
At length they paused before an empty freight car, one door of which was
partly open. Why not seek shelter from the storm in it?
Nobody saw them as they climbed into the car, which they found to be
half filled with sacks of corn-meal. On these they made themselves quite
comfortable, and here they decided to wait patiently until the lighted
clock on a tower above the station which they could see from the car
door, should tell them that it was nearly midnight. Of course they had
no idea of going to sleep. That would never do; for they must watch the
clock. How slowly its hands crept round. Arthur resolutely turned his
eyes away from it, determined not to look again for at least half an
hour. When satisfied that that length of time had elapsed, he glanced at
its round yellow face, only to find that barely five minutes had passed.
He spoke of this to Uncle Phin, but received no answer. The old man was
fast asleep.
“Poor Uncle Phin!” said the boy to himself. “He must be very tired, and
I won’t wake him till it’s time to go.”
So Arthur watched the lighted clock until it looked like a moon, and
then he rubbed his eyes to make sure that it was not winking and
laughing at him. And then—and then he too was fast asleep, with one arm
thrown about Rusty’s neck, and the only sounds to be heard were the
patter of rain on the roof of the motionless freight car, and the
regular breathing of its three tired occupants.
An hour later two men, carrying lanterns and wearing rubber coats that
glistened with the wet, came along and paused before the freight car.
One of them consulted a way bill. “Yes, this is it,” he said. “No. 201,
corn-meal for Harrisburg. Six sacks to be left at Arden. That’s all
right. Shut her up, Joe. It was mighty careless of those fellows to
leave the door open.”
Then Joe pushed the heavy door to, with a slam. It fastened with a
spring lock, and the men with the lanterns walked away to look up the
rest of their train. A little later an engine came rolling softly along
the wet track to where the car stood. There was a bump, a rattle of
coupling pins and links, a swinging of lanterns, and the car was drawn
away, past the multitude of little red, and green, and yellow lights
twinkling through the rain and darkness like big fire-flies, and marking
the switches.
The car was hauled and pushed hither and thither, and others were
attached to it, until at length a long train was made up. The great
locomotive panted, eager to be off, and its hot breath made little
clouds of fleecy steam, that were edged with flame by the glow from its
open-mouthed furnace. The brakemen were at their posts on the slippery
tops of the cars; the caboose at the rear end of the train looked warm
and comfortable. The red lights, shining like angry eyes, were hung in
position on its sides near the rear end, and freight train No. 15 was in
readiness for a start.
The conductor came from the Train Despatcher’s office with a thin sheet
of yellow paper, on which were written his orders, in his hand.
“No tramps on board to-night, are there, Joe?” he said to his head
brakeman.
“No, sir, not a sign of one. I’ve looked carefully everywhere. It’s too
wet for ’em to travel, I reckon.”
“All right. Let her go.”
Then the conductor swung his glistening lantern, the engineer pulled the
throttle, and Freight No. 15 moved slowly out into the darkness. Its
first stop was at Arden, where it was to side-track and await the
passing of the New York Limited. Here too were to be left six sacks of
meal.
As Brakeman Joe unlocked and pushed open the door of car No. 201, and
the light of his lantern flashed into its dark interior, it fell upon
something that caused him to start and exclaim:
“Great Scott! the tramps are travelling after all, and here they are. A
dog too! Well, if that isn’t cold cheek!”