ON THE RAIL.
“All the while the swaying cars
Kept rumbling o’er the rail,
And the frequent whistle sent
Shrieks of anguish to the gale;
And the cinders pattered down
On the grimy floor like hail.”
Early, very early the next morning, the fifth of July, Mrs. Lester was
aroused by the firing of cannon, to celebrate our national independence.
Norman and Willie had kept the third, by firing off crackers all day,
and winding up with wheels, Roman candles, and blue lights, exhibited to
an appreciating audience on the portico in the evening. After breakfast
Norman, his Aunt Clara, and his mother bade good-by, and got in the
carriage which was to convey them to Batavia, the spires of which were
visible from Mr. Clayton’s. It was a pleasant drive of two miles in the
Fox River valley. The man drove very fast, and they were sorry to arrive
so soon at the place of their destination, especially when they were
told that they were to wait two hours for the arrival of the train. The
hackman, who had come for them before the time, had many demands for the
carriage, for which he charged an extra price in honor of the holiday. A
number of passengers were waiting for the train; many of them going to
the celebration at Aurora, a pretty town, all astir with gaily dressed
people, and a procession marching to the grove where already a crowd was
gathered. It was a most lovely country, soft rolling prairie, with its
wealth of golden wheat, of waving corn, of graceful barley, bordered by
rich groves of timber, and dotted here and there with towns and
villages.
At Mendota they left their cars, and entered those of the Illinois
Central Railroad. There were several trains there, and a great number of
passengers hurrying to and fro, and rushing in to dinner. Norman ran
first into one store, and then into another, to buy some torpedoes, as
he was very anxious to make some noise, to give vent to his patriotic
feeling. He came back with a large box full, just in time, for the train
was soon in motion. And the passengers too, for the road was so rough
that the people went dancing up and down in the most violent manner.
Mrs. Lester asked the conductor if the road was so rough all the way?
No, he said; they had passed over the worst of it. And with that hope
Mrs. Lester tried to enjoy the beautiful prairies, and the noble view of
the Illinois River as seen from the high embankment over which the road
passes.
Norman would like to have seen the “Starved Rock,” somewhere on this
river, whither some Indians, pursued by their enemies, fled for refuge.
They were surrounded, and all escape from the rock prevented by their
encircling foes, who, day after day, waited for them to surrender. At
length they scaled the rock, and found the garrison all starved to death
but one squaw, who calmly awaited the entrance of her enemies.
The Starved Rock, however, was not in sight, nor was any rock recalling
thrilling legend and heroic story; but another prospect, not so
agreeable, from the rear of the car near which they were seated—a long
strait road, the rails of which were rather too much curved to suggest
ideas of safety. “Don’t you think this road very unsafe?” inquired Mrs.
Lester of a gentleman who was contemplating this retrospective view of
dangers passed.
“Not _very_, but it might be safer.”
Up and down jumped all that car-load of passengers, whose faces wore not
the calmest and brightest expression. Suddenly there was an explosion
that startled people rather ready to be startled, and Mrs. Lester,
remembering the torpedoes, turned to Norman, who was looking out of the
rear window, and said reproachfully, “Norman, how can you do so?”
Every eye was directed toward the blushing lad, as he earnestly
exclaimed, “Mother, it was not me.”
Returning to his seat he looked for the torpedoes, which he found had
been jolted off the seat on the floor under his mother’s feet, and a
sudden movement of her foot had caused the explosion of ten or twelve of
them. “There, mother, it was you after all,” said Norman, as he gathered
up his remaining torpedoes.
Again they were startled—a prolonged whistle, and a stoppage of the cars
on an embankment at a distance from any station. Every head went out of
the windows, and some enterprising passengers went out on the platform
to learn the cause of this ominous pause. Again and again that warning
whistle; what did it mean? At length the matter was explained. About
twenty horses were on the track, galloping on in front of the
locomotive, which was obliged to pause till they separated to the right
and the left.
Right glad were the party when they arrived at Bloomington. Mrs. Lester
wished to go to a very handsome hotel, the photograph of which had been
shown to her on the Grey Eagle by the proprietor thereof. A large
unfinished building seemed to her very like the photograph she had seen;
but that could not be, as the photograph must have been taken from the
hotel in its finished, occupied state, with handsome stores beneath. On
inquiry she found this was the hotel in question, which stood there, an
arrested monument of western enterprise. They went to the hotel
opposite, and after tea some friends of Aunt Clara’s called to see them,
and to ask them to walk.
Bloomington is a large, finely situated town, on the rising prairie, not
far from the fine groves that mark the course of Sugar Creek. The
president of the Illinois University (situated in a grove near the town)
walked with them, and took them to the observatory on the Female
College, where they had a lovely sunset view of the town, the prairie,
and the distant woods. How cool and refreshing were those prairie
breezes after the intense heat of the day; but they were warned by the
fading light that it was time to return. No mountains or hills to
prolong the twilight in these regions. The sun sinks, and speedily the
darkness comes on. Miss Allen, Aunt Clara’s friend, insisted upon their
coming in to see her. With kindly hospitality she had sent for several
of Aunt Clara’s friends to meet her; and while Norman was amused with
some fireworks in the court-yard, they were refreshed with cake and
ice-cream. Miss Allen, her brothers, and Mrs. Lester had very pleasant
conversation about some mutual friends, and thus passed the evening to
an hour rather late for travelers who were to rise at two o’clock in the
morning.
At that early hour they were aroused, and the omnibus conveyed them to
the station at three o’clock, where they had the satisfaction of being
told that the cars had stopped above the junction, cause unknown.
Probably they had run off the track, and they might not arrive before
eight o’clock.
“There is the locomotive that is to take us,” said a gentleman, pointing
to the expectant iron horse, panting and snorting, and rushing to and
fro, as if impatient at the delay. “I saw him in the bank on Saturday,
just below here. But he has suffered no harm from running off the
track.”
“Near them stood an engineer with his arm in a sling. He had been
returning to his post, as he had been off duty, when he threw himself
forward to rescue a man who, having missed his footing on the step,
would have been under the wheel of the car. As it was, his struggles
loosened the footing of his deliverer, who succeeded in dragging him on
the truck, from which precarious position they were rescued as soon as
the train could be stopped. The engineer’s arm was badly broken, but the
man whose life he had saved never came to thank him. “I have no money to
give him, why should I go?” said he to the conductor, who told him to
thank the man who had periled life and limb to save him.”
“Men do not risk their lives for money,” replied the conductor, turning
away from the ungrateful man.
“The prospect looks rather dim,” said Aunt Clara, the first discouraging
word she had spoken.
“How calm and quiet she was,” said Norman, “when we were so frightened
in the rail car.”
The waiting-room of the station-house was not very comfortable for weary
passengers; Norman established himself on three chairs, and was soon
fast asleep on his hard bed; nor was he wakened when his mother slipped
her carpet-bag under his head.
A group near the door was more picturesque. It was a German family whom
they had seen the day before at the cars, and who had passed all night
at the station. One little girl lay across a bag, her head tending
toward the floor. The younger brother was on his knees, resting his head
on a chair, fast asleep; while near them, her head erect, as if watching
over her goods and chattels, sat the elder sister, a quaint,
prim-looking girl of thirteen, with a short waist, and a little shawl
pinned round it, and a broad flat over her braids of light hair; while
round her were bags, and boxes, and bundles, an incongruous heap, in
which it was at first somewhat difficult to distinguish the sleeping
children. The little boy at length, weary of his constrained position on
his knees, had pillowed his head on his sleeping sister’s foot, which,
by sundry twitches, and a few energetic kicks, freed itself from the
encumbering weight. But still the children slept on. The mother was
sitting outside of the door, silent, because none knew her language. At
length a telegram announced that the cars would be there at five. The
locomotive had been stopped because the rails were slippery.
The early twilight brightened into day, the train arrived, the
passengers stepped in, and a very short time brought Norman, his mother
and aunt to their point of destination; a few houses had been dropped
down on the prairie, as the nucleus of a town; not very promising as a
resting-place. Soon, however, a buggy and a wagon drove up for the
travelers, who, after a short drive, were welcomed by their relatives.