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After the close of the Civil War, from 1865 to a much later date, a
great many men had been soldiers and were discharged, had grown fond of
a wandering life and were unable to resist its charms. It was about this
time that the army of tramps gained so many recruits as to become a
great national nuisance. Many of these men were still clad, in whole or
in part, in army blue uniforms; and some of the army overcoats survived
several winters. There were many of these hoboes on the road, moving
from place to place, sometimes afoot, sometimes beating their way on the
railroads, where they finally became a menace to the trainmen and to the
communities along the right of way.
Most of the subsistence of these tramps was lifted from the charitable
by the process known as “slamming gates.” Not a few of the tramps were
very soft spoken when men or cross dogs were about but became bold and
saucy when the women folks were alone. The food gained by begging was
supplemented by petty thefts of chickens, eggs, green corn and other
produce and the snaring of rabbits and other small game.
Just above Milford, New Jersey, the Delaware River breaks through a
ridge of New Red Sandstone, forming a cliff of red rock, the color of
which is due to peroxid of iron, facing the south. Along these cliffs
there are many ledges; and in the winter, as the sun beats against these
ledges, it heats the rocks and creates an atmosphere several degrees
warmer than that of the surrounding country.
On one of these ledges overhanging the railroad, which follows the New
Jersey shore of the river, a band of hoboes had established their camp.
There had been a heavy fall of snow the night before as two tramps were
released from the county prison at Flemington where they had been
spending a sad week breaking stone.
“Better not come this way again,” said the Sheriff as he released them;
“we’ve got your numbers here, and next time you’ll get a heavy dose.”
“I’m going to head for Milford camp,” said Harvard Jim to Deadwood Ike,
his companion, “I am getting tired of Jersey.”
“This here beats cock fightin,” replied Ike. “Every darn muscle in my
body aches to beat the band, and here we’re turned out in the snow.
Lucky we had breakfast.”
All day they plodded doggedly along toward Milford, cold and with wet
feet. At noon they had several “hand outs” which fended off starvation,
and that night they camped in a wood where the bushes sheltered them and
their fire. The next day was warmer and the sun shone, melting the snow.
They reached the camp with wet feet, tired and hungry and were greeted
with jeers and laughter. The pot was boiling over a wood fire and they
were soon fed and warmed. The ground was bare and not too dry as they
hunted a place to rest. Finally, Ike curled down and tried to go to
sleep, but was kept awake by an intolerable prickling sensation in his
back. This grew worse until it became intolerable.
“Say boys!” said he, “Something’s the matter with my back.” So saying,
he started to strip off his coat.
“Wait a minute,” said Harvard Jim, “you have something hanging to your
coat.” So saying, he pulled it off but immediately began to dance and
swear.
“That’s a cactus,” said another tramp. “I forgot to tell you they’re
thick around here.”
The best part of an hour was spent in picking spines from their
respective hides, and then they once more went to rest, this time
carefully inspecting the premises to avoid the cactus.
Next morning they started for the Milford Bridge resolved to quit Jersey
forever; but at the bridge they were met by the toll-keeper who declined
to allow them to pass without the customary two cents each. This they
did not have but were forced to beg with poor success—plenty to eat but
no money. Just at this point they were stopped by the constable who put
them under arrest for begging.
“Say, friend,” said Harvard Jim, “if you will find us a place where we
can saw some wood for a quarter we will pay our way over the bridge and
stay away from Jersey.”
“All right,” said the constable, “I have some wood myself.”
For two hours they toiled, one with the saw, the other with the axe,
sawing and splitting a huge pile of firewood, inspected meanwhile by the
constable. At the end of this time they struck work and were offered ten
cents each.
“Have a heart, brother,” said Ike, “that’s no way to treat us.”
“Beat it, or I’ll put you in the jug,” said he, “and none of your lip,
either.”
They were silent until they reached the middle of the bridge; then Ike
shook his fist at Jersey and swore furiously.
“Breakin stone, trampin in snow, sleepin on cactus, sawin wood, an
cheatin constables. Damn such a State!”
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