JACKING UP A NEGLIGENT OPERATOR--A CONVICT OPERATOR--DICK, THE PLUCKY
CALL BOY
One of the most unpleasant duties I had to perform was that of "jacking
up" operators, and punishing them for their short-comings. Generally, if
the case was not a very bad one, and the man had a good reputation, I
would try and smooth it over with only a reprimand; but there are times
"when patience ceases to be a virtue," and punishment must be inflicted.
The train sheet is always the first indication that some operator is to
be "hauled up on the carpet." One morning I found the following entry on
the sheet:--
"No. 16 delayed forty-five minutes at Bentonville, account not being
able to raise the operator at Sicklen in that time. Called for
explanation and operator said 'he was over at hotel getting some
lunch.'"
That excuse "over at hotel getting some lunch," is as familiar to a
railroad operator as the creed is to a good churchman. A young man
named Charles Ferral was the night man at Sicklen, and his ability as
an operator was only exceeded by his inability to tell the truth when he
was in a tight place. I was too old an operator to be fooled by any such
a yarn as this; and besides, the conductor of No. 17 reported to me that
he had found Ferral stretched out on the table asleep, when he stopped
there for water. But he was a first-rate man and I didn't want to lose
him, so I wrote him a sharp letter and told him that a repetition of his
offense would cause him to receive his time instantly. He was as
penitent as the prodigal son, and promised never to so offend again; and
he kept his word--for just about ten days.
One morning he asked my permission to come up to "DS" on No. 2 and go
back on No. 3 in the afternoon. I gave it, but warned him to not lose
too much sleep. There are some men in the business that the sound of
their office call on a telegraph instrument will cause to awaken at once
no matter how soundly they may be sleeping, but Ferral was not one of
these. The night following his return to his station, I was kept at the
office until late, and about eleven o'clock No. 22 appeared at
Bakersville, and wanted to run to Ashton for No. 17. They were both
running a little late, and as 17 had a heavy train of coal and system
empties, I told Burke to let them go. But the only station at which we
could then get an order to 17 was Sicklen, Ferral's station. Burke began
to call, but Sicklen made no answer. He called for forty-five minutes at
a stretch, 22 all the time waiting at Bakersville. He stopped for five
minutes and then went at it again. In ten minutes Sicklen answered.
Burke started to give the order, but Ferral broke and gave the "OS"
report that 17 had just gone by.
That settled it; No. 22 was hung up another hour all on account of
Ferral's failure to attend to his duty. I opened up on him and said,
"Where have you been for the last fifteen minutes?" The same old excuse,
"Lunch," came back at me.
"Well, where were you for ten minutes before that?"
Then that dear old stereotyped expression, "Fixing my batteries,"
followed. But I was only too sure that he had been asleep, and No. 17
going by had awakened him. So I gently remarked that "I was not born
yesterday, and said that he would probably have ample time to fix his
batteries after this; that, in fact, I thought it would be a good thing
for him to take a long course in battery work, and I would assist him
all I could--I would provide him with the time for the work."
The next morning I laid the matter before Mr. Antwerp, and he wanted the
man discharged forthwith. But during the night my anger had cooled
somewhat and now I felt inclined to give him another chance; so I simply
urged that he be laid off for a while.
"All right, Bates, but make it a good stiff lay-off--not less than
fifteen days," said Mr. Antwerp.
I wrote Ferral accordingly; but I had scarcely finished when a letter
came from him to me, begging off, and promising anything if I would not
discharge him; but, instead would lay him off for _forty-five days_. I
took him at his word and gave him the forty-five days he asked for,
instead of the fifteen I had intended to give him. But, about two weeks
later he came up to "DS," and looked so woebegone, and pleaded so hard
to be taken back, that I remitted the remainder of his punishment. He
was greatly chagrined when he learned that he had trebled his own
sentence. He was never remiss again. Go over to the despatcher's office
any night and you will see him, bright and alert, sitting opposite the
despatcher doing the copying. He is in the direct line of promotion, and
some day will be a despatcher himself. I never regretted my leniency.
In addition to the main line, I had a branch of thirty-eight miles,
running from Bentonville up to Sandia. The despatching for this branch
was done from my office, and when we wanted anyone there Bentonville
would cut us through. This was seldom necessary, however, because there
were only two trains daily, a combination freight and passenger each
way. The last station this side of Sandia was Alexis. The state
penitentiary was located there, and the telegraphing was done by a
convict "trusty"--a man who, having been appointed cashier of a big
freight office in the western part of the state, couldn't stand
prosperity, and, in consequence, had been sent up for six years. His
conduct had been so good that, after he had served four years inside of
the walls, he was made a "trusty." His ability as an operator was
extraordinary. He had a smooth easy way of sending that made his sending
as plain as a circus bill.
The two branch trains on the branch were known as 61 and 62, and one day
62, running north in the morning, had jumped the track laying herself
out about ten hours. When she left Sandia as 61 on her return trip
south, she again went off the track and the result was sixteen hours'
more delay. We wouldn't send a wrecker up from the main line, and they
had to work out their own salvation. When they finally appeared at
Alexis they were running on the time of 62. That would never do, and the
conductor asked the operator at Alexis to get him orders to run to
Bentonville regardless of No. 62. Burke, my second trick man, was on
duty at the time, and it so chanced that he did not know the Alexis man
was a convict. He was about to give the order asked for when something
on the main line diverted him for a moment. When he was ready again,
Alexis broke him and said, "Wait a minute."
To tell a despatcher to wait a minute when he is sending a train order
is to court sudden death, and Burke said, "Wait for what?"
"For whatever you blame please, I'm going out to weigh this coal."
Burke's Irish blood was all up in his head by this time, and he said:
"What do you mean by talking that way to me? No. 61 is waiting for this
'9'; now you copy and I'll get your time sent you in the morning."
"Oh! will you? I guess my time is all fixed so you can't touch it. I
only wish you could; I'd like mighty well to be fired from this job; I
wouldn't even wait for my pay."
I had been sitting at my desk taking it all in, and was just about
ready to expire with laughter, when Burke called over to me: "Did you
hear that young fellow's impudence?"
"Yes, I heard."
"Well, what are you going to do about it? I've never had an operator
talk to me like that before. I must certainly insist that you dismiss
him at once. He and I can't work on the same road."
"Unfortunately, Burke," said I, "the State has a claim on his services
for two years yet, and I am afraid they won't waive it."
At this it dawned upon Burke, who and what the man really was; but I
cannot say that his humor was improved at once by the discovery.
One morning shortly after this I was sitting in my office making up an
annual train report, and was cussing out anything and everybody, because
this train report is one of the worst things in the whole business. It
was figures till you couldn't rest, and I had already been working at it
for three days, and my head was in a perfect whirl. That morning one of
our call boys had turned up missing and that fact also irritated me. It
would seem that a call boy was a pretty insignificant chap in a big
railroad, but such is not the case. In a perfect system every employee
is like a cog in a big wheel, and as soon as one cog is broken there is
a jar in the otherwise smooth symmetrical movement of the machine. The
call boy is quite an important personage, because, upon him depends the
prompt calling of the various crews in time to take out their trains. He
must keep a keen watch on the call board for the marking up of trains;
he must know who is the first to go out, and he must know the dwelling
place of every engineer, fireman, conductor and brakeman in the city. On
a big division like ours, this, in itself, was not a small job. On some
roads men are employed for this work, but I had always been partial to
the boys, and kept four of them, two on days and two on nights. When my
day boy left, I promoted a night boy to the second day job, and was
cudgeling my brain for a good chap to go on nights. In a little while I
heard a sharp rap on the office door, and in response to my "come in,"
uttered in a tone that was anything but pleasant, a sturdy looking
little chap about fourteen years old stood before me. He had a shock of
jet black hair, tumbled all over his head, a pair of bright eyes, round
full face, not over clean, strong limbs and a well knit body. His
clothes hung on him like gunny sacks, and the crudity of the many
various patches indicated that they had not been put on by woman's deft
fingers. He didn't wait for me to speak, but blurted out:
"Say, mister, I have just heard tell as how you wants a call boy. Do
you?"
He took my breath away by his bluntness; he looked so honest and
sincere, so I simply replied, "Yes," and waited.
"Well then, I wants the job. See!"
"What's your name, youngster, and where is your home?"
"My name's Dick Durstine; I hain't got no home, no father, no mother, no
nothin', just me, and I wants to learn the tick tick business. It looks
dead easy."
This was really funny, but I liked his impudence, and, while I had no
intention of hiring him, I determined to draw him out, so I said:
"Where were you born, when did you come here, and do you know where any
of the crews live?"
"I was born in St. Louis; mother died when I was a kid, and Dad was such
a drunken worthless old cuss and beat me so much, that I brought up in a
foundling asylum. I come in here riding on the trucks of your mail train
about three weeks ago, and the fellers up in the roundhouse have been
lettin' me feed and snooze there. I know where all the crews live
exceptin' some of your kid glove engineers wot pulls the fast trains,
but I can soon find them out. Please give me the job, mister; I'm honest
and I'll work hard."
Something in his blunt straightforward way appealed to me and I
determined to try him. Handled right I imagined he would be a good man;
handled wrong, he would probably become a bright and shining light of
the _genus_ hobo. So I hired him, telling him his salary would be forty
dollars per month.
"Hully gee!" he exclaimed, "forty plunks a month! Well say! I won't do a
ting wid all dat mun; I'll just buy a road. Thank you mister, I'll work
so hard for you that you'll not be sorry you gave me the job. But don't
you forget that I wants to learn the tick tick business."
That night at seven o'clock he went to work, and it didn't take long to
see that he was as bright as a new dollar. He knew everything about the
division, knew all the crews and where they lived. Days went by and
still he held up his end and was a great favorite with all the force.
There was a local instrument in the office, and one of the operators
wrote the Morse alphabet for him, and ever after that he kept pegging
away at the key. He practiced writing and it wasn't many weeks before
he was getting to be something of an operator. I went out to the main
line battery room one evening to give some instructions to the man in
charge and there I discovered Master Dick with a battery syringe in one
hand and a brush in the other deeply engrossed in monkeying with the
jars.
"Look here, you young rascal," I said sharply, "what are you doing in
here? First thing you know you will short circuit some of these
batteries and then there'll be the de'il to pay: Don't you ever let me
catch you out here again, or I'll fire you bodily."
"I hain't been doing nothin', Mister Bates, I just wanted to see what
made the old thing go tick tick. Wot's all them glass jars for wid the
green water and the tin in?"
I explained to him as well as I could the construction of the gravity
battery. He had been forbidden to monkey with any of the instruments or
the switch board in the main office, but his infernal inquisitiveness
soon ran away with his sense, and it wasn't long before he was in
trouble. He pulled a plug out of the switch board one evening, and Burke
threatened to kill him. Another evening, he went into my office and
monkeyed with an instrument that I kept there connected to the
despatcher's wire, and left it open. There was no report from any of the
offices on either side, and investigation soon revealed the culprit. The
wire was open for ten minutes and Burke was as mad as a March hare, when
he reported it to me the next morning. I sent for Master Dick and
informed him that another such a report against him would cause his
instant dismissal. He seemed penitent enough, but two nights afterwards
he short circuited all the main line batteries by his foolishness, and
raised Cain in the office for a while. The next morning his time was
presented to him and he was told to get out. He pleaded hard but his
offenses had been too numerous, and I had to let him go. I must confess,
however, that we all missed him greatly, because, in spite of his
troublesome nature, he was a prime favorite with all the force.
Our road ran through some wild unsettled country, and a few years
previous, a Mr. Bob Forney and some distinguished gentlemen of the road,
had paid us a visit, with the result that the express company lost about
forty thousand dollars and their messenger his life. The country became
too warm for them and they fled.
Our flyer left two nights after this, having on board about a hundred
thousand dollars of government money, and I remarked to Bob Stanton,
the conductor, that it was a fine chance for a hold up, but he laughed
it off and said that civilization was too far advanced for that kind of
work just now.
About nine o'clock I was sitting in the despatcher's office smoking a
cigar before going home for the night, when all at once the despatcher's
wire and the railroad line opened. Sicklen reported south of him and
then took off his ground. Pretty soon the sounder began to open and
close in a peculiar shaky manner, and then I heard the following:
"To 'DS,' gang of robbers goin' to hold up the flyer in Ashley's cut
to-night. They will place rails and ties on the track to wreck train if
they don't heed signal. Warn train to watch out and bring gang out from
Sicklen. This is Dick Durstine."
All was quiet for a minute and then he started again, but soon he
stopped short and we heard no more. The line remained open.
We raised Sicklen on a commercial wire and told him to turn his
red-light and hold everything. I was in somewhat of a quandary; the
sending had been miserable, sounding unlike any stuff Dick had ever
sent, and then the stopping of the whole business made it seem rather
suspicious. Still Ashley's cut was an ideal place for a hold up, and the
weather was dark and stormy. Everything was propitious for just such a
job.
In the meantime, Ashton, the first office south of Sicklen, had reported
on the commercial line that the despatcher's wire was open north of him.
That would place it near the cut in all probability. Anyway I didn't
intend to take any chance, so I sent a message to Sicklen telling him to
notify the sheriff of all the facts and ask him to send out a posse on
the flyer, and, also, for him to get the day man to go out and patch the
lines up until a line man could get there in the morning. About twenty
minutes afterwards the flyer left Sicklen nicely fixed with a strong
posse, and an order to approach the cut with caution. It was only three
miles from Sicklen to the cut, and I knew it would be but a matter of a
short while until something was heard. Sure enough, forty minutes later
the despatcher's wire closed and this message came:
"To Bates, DS:
"Attempt to hold up No. 21 in Ashley's cut was frustrated by the
sheriff's posse. Outlaws had placed ties on the track in case we
did not heed the signal to stop. Two of them killed, three captured
and one escaped. Dick Durstine is here, badly shot through the
right lung. Will have him sent in from Sicklen on 22 in the
morning.
"Stanton, Conductor."
The next morning when 22 pulled in I went down and there, laid out on a
litter in the baggage car, was Dick Durstine, my former call boy, weak,
pale, and just living. He was conscious, and when I leaned over him his
eyes glistened for a minute, he smiled and feebly said:
"Say, Mister Bates, didn't I do them fellers up in good shape? When I
gets well again will you gimme back my job so I can learn some more
about the tick tick? I'll never monkey any more, honest to God, I
won't."
A queer lump came in my throat and there was a suspicion of moisture in
my eyes as I contemplated this brave little hero, and I said:
"God bless your brave little heart, Dick, you can have anything on this
division."
Mr. Antwerp had appeared and was visibly affected. We had Dick removed
to the company hospital, and then for some days he lay hovering between
life and death, but youth, and a strong constitution finally won out and
he began to mend.
When he was able to sit up I heard his story. It appeared that when I
dismissed him he laid around the place for a day, and then jumping a
freight, started south. At Sicklen he had been put off by a heartless
brakeman and had started to walk to Ashton. It was evening and he became
tired. After walking as far as the north end of the cut he laid down and
went to sleep behind a pile of old ties. He was awakened by the sound of
voices near by, and listening intently, he learned that the men were
outlaws and intended to hold up the flyer that night. They intended to
flag her down as she entered the cut and do the business in the usual
smooth manner. In case she wouldn't stop, they would have a pile of ties
on the track that would soon put a quietus on her flight. Poor little
Dick was horrified and stealing quietly away some distance he stopped
and cogitated. Time was becoming precious. How was he to send a warning?
Oh! if he could only get into a telegraph office! Suddenly an idea
struck him. He went a little farther up the track, and shinning up a
pole he took his heavy jack-knife, and after a hard effort, succeeded in
cutting two wires. Another pole was climbed and only one wire cut from
it. With this strand he made a joint so that the two ends of the
despatcher's wire could be brought in easy contact. Then by knocking the
two ends together he sent the warning. His cutting of the wire had made
a peculiar loud twang and one of the outlaws heard it. Becoming
suspicious, he and his partner started up the track to investigate. They
came upon Dick, kneeling on one knee, engrossed in his work, and without
one word of warning shot him in the back. They left him for dead, but
thank God he did not die, and to-day he is on a road that before many
years will land him on top of the heap.