At one of the desert stations in the Humboldt Valley a physician boarded
the train under telegraphic orders from the company and went some
distance up the road.
He had brought lint and bandages and soothing lotions, but in several
cases said no change was advisable, that with handkerchiefs contributed
by the passengers and bandages made from surplus shirts, little Miss Ray
had extemporized well and had skilfully treated her bewildered patients.
Questioned and complimented both, Miss Ray blushingly admitted that she
had studied "First Aid to the Wounded" and had had some instructions in
the post hospitals of more than one big frontier fort. Passengers had
ransacked bags and trunks and presented spare clothing to the few
recruits whom the garments would fit. But most of the men were shoeless
and blanketed when morning dawned, and all were thankful when served
with coffee and a light breakfast, though many even then were too much
excited and some in too much pain to eat.
Mellen, the laughing and joyous lad of yesterday, was nursing a
blistered hand and arm and stalking about the car in stocking feet and a
pair of trousers two sizes too big for him. Murray, now that the
corporal was no longer able to retain active command, had resumed his
truculent and swaggering manner. Almost the first thing he did was to
demand more money of Foster, and call him a liar when told that every
dollar was burned. Then he sought to pick a fight with Hunt, who had, as
he expressed it, "roped him like a steer," but the carload by this time
had had too much of his bluster and made common cause against him.
Two brawny lads gave him fair warning that if he laid a finger on Hunt
they would "lay him out." Then he insisted on seeing the corporal and
complaining of ill-treatment. And with such diversion the long day wore
on.
Stuyvesant, refreshed by several hours of sleep, yet looking somewhat
singed and blistered, went through the car to see the sufferers along
towards eleven o'clock. He had inquired of the porter for Miss Ray, who
was not visible when he had finished his toilet, and was told that she
had remained up until after the doctor came aboard, and was now
sleeping. Finding three of the men stretched in the berths with comrades
fanning them, he ordered cooling drinks compounded by the steward, and
later, as they began the climb of the Sierras and the men grew hungry,
he sought to get a substantial luncheon for them on the diner, but was
told their supply on hand was barely sufficient for the regular
passengers.
So when the train stopped at Truckee he tumbled off with three of the
party, bought up a quantity of bread and cheese, soda crackers and
fruit, and after consultation with the conductor wired ahead to
Sacramento for a hot dinner for eighteen men to be ready at the
restaurant in the station, it being now certain that they could not
reach San Francisco before midnight. "The company ought to do that,"
said the trainmen, and "the company" had authorized the light breakfast
tendered earlier in the day. In view of the fact that every item of
personal property in possession of the recruits had been destroyed,
together with every crumb of their rations, nobody questioned that the
company would only be too glad to do that much for the men so nearly
burned alive in their travelling holocaust.
Not a doubt was entertained among either passengers or trainmen as to
the origin of the fire. It had started underneath, and the dry woodwork
burned like tinder, and what was there to cause it but those blazing
boxes on the forward truck? The conductor knew there had been no smoking
aboard the car, and that every man was asleep when he went through at
two o'clock. The brakeman had prophesied disaster and danger. It was
God's mercy that warned the poor fellows in time.
Not until along in the afternoon, as they were spinning swiftly down
through the marvellous scenery about Blue Canon and Cape Horn, did Miss
Ray again appear. Stuyvesant had been sitting awhile by Connelly, and
had arranged with him to wire to the Presidio for ambulances to meet the
party at Oakland Pier, for two at least would be unable to walk, and,
until provided with shoes and clothing, few could march the distance.
Then he had spent a few minutes with the other patients.
When he returned to the sleeper there at last was the object of so many
of his thoughts. But she was reclining wearily, her head upon a pillow,
and the austere maid and two other women stood guard over her. "A severe
headache," was the explanation, and Stuyvesant felt that he must defer
his intrusion until later.
Somewhere down the western slope of the Sierras he found at a station
some delicious cherries, and a little basket of the choicest he made
bold to send with his compliments and the hope that her indisposition
would soon disappear. The porter came back with the lady's thanks. The
cherries were "lovely," but Stuyvesant observed that not more than one
or two found their way to those pearly teeth, the rest being devoured by
her too devoted attendants.
It was after nine at night when he marshalled his motley party into the
dining-room at Sacramento and they were made glad by substantial,
well-cooked food, with abundant hot coffee. They thanked him gratefully,
did many of the young fellows, and hoped they might meet more such
officers. An elderly passenger who had quietly noted the outlay of money
to which Mr. Stuyvesant had been subjected strolled up to the manager.
"That young gentleman has had to pay too much to-day. Just receipt the
bill if you please," said he, and drew forth a roll of treasury notes.
Stuyvesant went in search of this new benefactor when he heard of it.
"There was really no necessity, sir," said he, "though I fully
appreciate your kindness. The company will doubtless reimburse me for
any such outlay."
"If they will reimburse you, my young friend," said the veteran
traveller drily, "they'll reimburse me. At all events, I know them
better than you do, and I don't intend to let you bear all the risk."
The lieutenant argued, but the elder was firm. As the men shuffled back
to the train with full stomachs and brightened faces, Murray hulking by
them with averted eyes and Mellen tendering a grinning salute, the
manager came forward. "There's one man shy, sir, even counting the
dinners sent aboard," said he, and Hunt, hearing it, turned back and
explained.
"It is Foster, sir. He said he wasn't hungry and couldn't eat. I reckon
it's because he wouldn't turn out in such looking clothes as were given
him."
Yet when Stuyvesant went to the car to see whether the young soldier
could not be induced to change his mind, it was discovered that he had
turned out. His berth was empty. Nor did he appear until just as the
train was starting. He explained that he had stepped off on the outer
side away from the crowd for a little fresh air. There was plenty of
bread and cheese left from luncheon. He didn't care for anything,
really. And, indeed, he seemed most anxious to get back to his berth and
away from the lieutenant, in whose presence he was obviously and
painfully ill at ease.
Stuyvesant turned away, feeling a trifle annoyed or hurt, he couldn't
tell which, and swung himself to the platform of the sleeper as it came
gliding by. At last he could hope to find opportunity to thank Miss Ray
for her attention to the injured men and incidentally her ministrations
on his own account. Then, once arrived at San Francisco, where he had
friends of rank and position in the army, he would surely meet someone
who knew her father well and possibly herself, some one to present him
in due form, but for the present he could only hope to say a
conventional word or two of gratitude, and he was striving to frame his
thoughts as he hastened into the brightly lighted car and towards the
section where last he had seen her.
It was occupied by a new-comer, a total stranger, and the three women
recently sharing her section and more than sharing her cherries were now
in animated chat across the aisle. In blank surprise and disappointment,
Stuyvesant turned and sought the porter.
"Miss Ray! Yes, suh. She done got off at Sacramento, suh. Dere was
friends come to meet her, and took her away in the carriage."
Once more Stuyvesant found himself constrained to seek the society of
the maiden of uncertain years. Her presence was forbidding, her
countenance severe, and her voice and intonation something appalling.
But she might know Miss Ray's address; he could at least write his
thanks; but he found the vice-president of the Order of the Patriotic
Daughters of America in evil mood. She didn't know Miss Ray's address,
and in the further assertion that she didn't want to know too readily
betrayed the fact that her petulance was due to her not having been
favored therewith.
"After all I did for her last night and to-day 'twould have been a
mighty little thing to tell where she was going to stop, but just soon's
her fine friends came aboard she dropped us like as if we weren't fit to
notice."
The irate lady, however, seemed to find scant sympathy and support in
the faces of her listeners, some of whom had long since wearied of her
strident voice and oracular ways. It was well remembered that so far
from being of aid or value in caring for the injured men, she had
pestered people with undesired advice and interference, had made much
noise and no bandages, and later, when an official of the company
boarded the train, had constituted herself spokeswoman for the
passengers, not at all to their advantage and much to his disgust. Then,
finding that Miss Ray was looked upon as the only heroine of the
occasion, she had assumed a guardianship, so to speak, over that young
lady which became almost possessive in form, so passively was it
tolerated.
She had plied the girl with questions as to the friends who were to meet
her on arrival in San Francisco, and Miss Ray had smilingly given
evasive answers.
When, therefore, they neared Sacramento and the vice-president announced
her intention of sallying forth to see to it that proper victuals were
provided for her soldier boys, Miss Ray had a few minutes in which to
make her preparations, and the next thing the vice-president saw of her
supposed ward and dependant, that young lady was in the embrace of a
richly dressed and most distinguished looking woman, whose gray hair
only served to heighten the refinement of her features. Just behind the
elder lady stood a silk-hatted dignitary in the prime of life, and
behind him a footman or valet, to whom the porter was handing Miss Ray's
belongings.
And what the vice-president so much resented was that Miss Ray had not
only never mentioned her purpose of leaving the train at Sacramento, but
never so much as introduced her friends, at whom the vice-president
smiled invitingly while accepting Miss Ray's courteous but brief thanks
for "so much attention during the afternoon," but who merely bowed in
acknowledgment when she would have addressed them on the subject of Miss
Ray's being of so much help to her when help was so much needed, and who
spirited the young lady away to the handsome carriage awaiting her.
The vice-president was distinctly of the opinion that folks didn't need
to slink off in that way unless they were ashamed of where they were
going or afraid of being found out, whereat Stuyvesant found himself
gritting his teeth with wrath, and so whirled about and left her.
It was after midnight when they reached the pier at Oakland. There,
under the great train-shed, track after track was covered with troop
cars and a full regiment lay sleeping.
An alert young officer of the guard raised his hand in salute as
Stuyvesant addressed him. No, there were no ambulances, no soldiers from
the Presidio. They might be waiting across the ferry.
But how was he to get the injured men across the ferry, thought
Stuyvesant. Two of them would have to be carried.
The long train, except that recruit car, was now emptied. The throng of
passengers had gone on through the waiting-rooms and up the stairway to
the saloon deck of the huge ferry-boat. If he purposed going, no time
was to be lost, and the porter bearing his hand-luggage ventured a word
to that effect.
Stuyvesant looked back. There were protruding heads at many of the
windows of the recruit car, but, obedient to the instructions given by
Connelly, no man, apparently, had left his place, and Connelly, though
suffering, had evidently resumed control, much benefited by the services
of another physician who had boarded the train in the late afternoon and
renewed the bandages and dressings of the injured men. Then Stuyvesant
became suddenly aware of a messenger-boy with a telegram. It was
addressed to "Lieutenant Stuyvesant, A. D. C., Train No. 2, Oakland."
Tearing it open, he read as follows:
"Report by wire condition of Recruit Foster. If serious, have him
conveyed to St. Paul's Hospital. Commission as lieutenant and signal
officer awaits him here."
It was signed by the adjutant-general at department head-quarters, San
Francisco.
But the boy had still another. This too he held forth to Stuyvesant, and
the latter, not noticing that it was addressed "Commanding Officer U. S.
Troops, Train No. 2," mechanically opened and read and made a spring for
the car.
The message was from Port Costa, barely thirty miles away, and briefly
said: "Any your men missing? Soldier left car here believed jumped
overboard return trip ferry-boat."
One man was missing. Recruit Foster, for whom a commission as lieutenant
and signal officer was waiting at department head-quarters, could not be
found.