BROWN’S MISFORTUNE.
Chase realized his situation, but he was not as badly frightened as he
would have been a few months before. One soon learns to bear up bravely
under almost any adverse circumstances, especially if he have an object
in view. Chase had an object to accomplish, and that was to reach home
and friends once more. He could do nothing toward it while he was
locked up there, so he at once began an examination of his prison with
a view to escaping from it. He waited until the landlord had descended
the stairs, and then, after listening a few minutes at the door, to
make sure that he did not come back, turned his attention to the
nearest window. He found there only the shattered remains of a sash,
and what he had supposed to be blinds were rough boards nailed on the
outside. These boards were further secured by two bars of iron, one at
the top and the other at the bottom. They had been forced out a little
at the bottom, as far as the bar would allow them to go, and there were
deep dents and scratches on them, showing that a lever of some kind had
been used against them.
“This room is a regular jail,” thought Chase. “That landlord takes in
all the sailors that come here, and after they have spent every cent of
their money, he locks them up here until he gets ready to ship them off
on some vessel. That’s what he intends to do with me, and he seems in a
fair way to accomplish his object.”
Talking thus to himself, Chase made a close examination of the
fastenings of the window. Some one who had been confined in that room
had made a desperate effort to push off the boards, that was evident,
for the marks of the lever he had used were there yet. But before the
boards could be pushed out far enough to draw the nails, they had
been stopped by the bar outside. The first thing was to get at these
nails and break them off. The bottom of one of the boards could then be
pushed aside, leaving an opening through which he could crawl out.
[Illustration: CHASE’S ESCAPE FROM THE SAILOR BOARDING HOUSE.]
Chase thought a moment, and then pulling out his knife, which
fortunately contained a large, strong blade, set to work to cut through
the soft wood of the window-sill, down to one of the nails which held
the outside board. This he did in a very few minutes. Then he placed
the point of his knife under the nail, and prying it up until he could
take hold of it with his fingers, bent it back and forth until he
broke it off. Three others were served in the same way, and then Chase
pushed the lower end of the board aside and looked out. The roof of the
adjoining house was six or eight feet lower than the window. It was
flat, and there was a woman upon it engaged in hanging out clothes. She
hung up the last article while Chase was looking at her, and picking up
her empty basket disappeared through a scuttle which she left open
behind her.
“I don’t much like the situation,” said the boy, wiping the big drops
of perspiration from his face. “My only way of escape is through
that house. Suppose that scuttle leads into the living-room of some
family, and I should find a big fellow there who would want to know my
business?”
Chase did not stop to answer this question, being resolved to trust to
luck. He was working his way through the window while he was talking to
himself, and hanging by his hands dropped down upon the roof. He ran at
once to the scuttle, and upon looking into it, saw that it led into a
hall which did not seem to be occupied. Without hesitation he descended
the ladder, hurried down the flight of steps he found at the end of the
hall, and in a moment more was safe in the street.
The very first man he saw when he got there was the landlord, John
McKay, who stood in the open door of his boarding-house, no doubt
looking out for an opportunity to take in some other unwary sailor
who had just landed from a long voyage. If the boy’s sudden appearance
caused him any surprise, he did not show it. He made no move, and
neither did he say anything. Chase walked away, looking back now and
then to make sure that the landlord did not follow him, and at the
first corner he found a policeman, to whom he hurriedly related all
that had passed since his arrival at the boarding-house. The officer
did not act as though he heard a word of the story. He kept looking up
and down the street, and when the boy ceased speaking walked slowly
toward the boarding-house, Chase following. The landlord saw them
coming, but, somewhat to Chase’s surprise, exhibited no signs of alarm.
He kept his place in the doorway, and when the two came up, said,
familiarly:
“Hallo, Jenkins!”
“How are you, Mack?” said the officer. “This boy says you’ve got a
bundle of his.”
“Well, that isn’t the only lie he’s told since I first seen him,”
returned the landlord. “He came to my house about two weeks ago,
without clothes or money, and I’ve been boarding him free gratis ever
since.”
“Why, I came to your house not more than an hour ago, and you took my
bundle away from me and robbed me of five dollars besides,” said Chase,
greatly amazed at the man’s impudence.
“Do you hear that, Jim?” said the landlord, turning partly around and
addressing some one in the house.
“I do,” replied a voice; and a burly fellow, whom Chase had not before
seen about the premises, came out from behind the bar and approached
the door. “That’s the return you always get for doing a sailor-man a
kindness. I can show on the books that he owes for two weeks’ board and
lodging.”
“I guess you had better move on,” said the officer, turning to Chase.
“And leave my clothes and money? I guess not. They’re mine and I want
them. I make a complaint against this man, and it is your business to
arrest him.”
“Go on without another word,” said the policeman, “or I’ll make it my
business to run you in.”
Chase was not a city boy, but he knew what the officer meant. Filled
with surprise and bewilderment, he turned about and made his way around
a corner, out of sight. When he reached the next street he looked back,
and saw that the policeman was standing on the corner watching him.
“Now I am beaten,” thought Chase, turning down the first street he came
to, in order to leave the hated officer out of sight. “A landshark robs
me in broad daylight, and a policeman upholds him in it, and threatens
to arrest me if I say another word! I wonder if that is what city folks
call justice!”
Chase lost heart now, for the only time since his first night on board
the Petrel. With no clothing or money, alone in a strange city, where
the officers appeared to be in league with the rascals, and an honest
boy was followed and watched as if he were a suspicious character,
it was no wonder that he felt afraid and dispirited. He did not dare
remain in San Francisco now, for if, while in search of employment, he
should chance to wander back on policeman Jenkins’s beat, that officer
might arrest him and have him locked up as a vagrant. The bare thought
was horrifying to Chase, who hurried along as if he hoped to get away
from it, turning down every corner he came to, until at last he found
himself near the wharf again. Here he was accosted by a stalwart young
fellow with a pack on his back, who hurriedly asked if a boat, which
was lying close by with steam up, was the one that carried passengers
from Fr’isco to Vallejo.
“I am sure I don’t know,” answered Chase. “I am a stranger here. Where
is Vallejo?”
“It is on the other side of the bay,” replied the man. “It is the place
where they go to take the cars for the States.”
“Then I should like to go there,” said Chase, eagerly. “I am bound for
the States.”
“So am I, if I can ever get there. I came out here three years ago to
dig gold, and I had more money when I first got here than I have ever
had since. I shall never be able to scrape enough together to pay my
fare to Indiana, so I am going to work my way back. They want hands on
the railroad up here at Independence. They are paying three dollars a
day.”
“Now, I should like a chance like that,” said Chase. “Where is
Independence?”
“Up the road a piece.”
“How is one to get there?”
“That’s the question. If we were only at Vallejo, we could walk up the
railroad; but there are twenty-five miles of water between us and that
place.”
“Well, won’t the railroad company furnish transportation to those who
want to work for them?”
“I don’t know. Suppose we go back and look.”
Chase did not know what the man meant by going back and looking, but he
followed him without asking any questions, and presently found himself
in front of a large placard posted on a billboard and headed—
“_500 More Men Wanted to Work on the Central
Pacific Railroad._”
It was this notice that had first put it into the head of Chase’s new
acquaintance to work his way back to his home in Indiana; and near the
bottom was something that had escaped his eye:
“_For further particulars and transportation, apply at the
Company’s Office, No. 54 K street, Sacramento._”
“Humph! we are no better off now than we were before,” said Chase,
who remembered enough of his geography to know that Sacramento was
some distance from San Francisco. “How are we ever going to get to the
company’s office.”
“Go right aboard that steamer you see up there,” said a man, who was
standing near enough to them to overhear their conversation. “She goes
to Vallejo, and from there you can take the train to Sacramento.”
“Without a cent in our pockets?” asked Chase’s companion.
“Yes, if you will contract to work on the railroad for one month.”
“_I_ will, and be glad of the chance,” said Chase. “We are obliged to
you for the information.”
Chase and his friend hurried back to the steamer, and going on board
seated themselves near a group of men who were congregated on the
lower deck. They were rough-looking fellows, of all nationalities, and
as many of them were talking earnestly in their own tongue—although
nobody appeared to be listening to them—the hubbub that arose made
Chase wonder. Like himself, they were bound for the company’s office;
and he shovelled dirt and blasted rocks in company with some of them
for many a day afterward.
During the run up the bay Chase told his new friend, who said his name
was George Brown, something of his history, and in return Brown gave
him a sketch of his own life. It did not take him long to do it, for he
had nothing interesting or exciting to tell. He had left a comfortable
home in the States, hoping to acquire a fortune in a few days in
California. He had gone first to the mines, and, although he had seen
men take gold in paying quantities from holes almost by the side of
the one in which he was working, he had not been able to earn enough
to pay for his provisions. He had finally become a teamster, and on
more than one occasion had been glad to saw wood for his breakfast. He
was bound to get home now in some way, and when he once got there he
would stay. If he had worked half as hard on his farm as he had worked
in California for the last three years, he would have had money in the
bank.
The trip up the bay would, no doubt, have been a pleasant one to Chase
had he been in a frame of mind to enjoy it. But he was thinking of his
home off in Louisiana, and of his friends, who now seemed farther away
from him than ever before. If this man, who was accustomed to work and
to “roughing it,” had been three years trying to get back to his home,
how long at that rate would it take _him_, Chase asked himself.
When the steamer reached Vallejo he followed the others to the train,
and was packed away in a box-car for Sacramento. At the company’s
office he went through certain forms of agreement, which he could not
have repeated when he came out if he had tried, and was then ordered
into another box-car that was to take him to Independence. He travelled
night and day, and, although he had no bed to sleep on, he had plenty
to eat, and kept up his spirits by telling himself over and over again
that every turn of the wheels brought him nearer to his home.
Arriving at Independence, he was put to work at once, and during the
next month led a life of toil and hardship to which his experience on
board the Petrel was mere boy’s play. The first thing he did when he
had a few minutes’ leisure, was to hunt up the superintendent, or the
“boss,” as the men called him, to whom he stated his troubles, and of
whom he begged a stamped envelope, and a sheet of paper, and borrowed
a lead-pencil. With these he wrote a long letter to his father,
telling what he had done since leaving Bellville and what he intended
to do, not forgetting to mention the amount which he thought would be
necessary to take him home; and having given the letter into the hands
of the superintendent, who promised to see that it was duly sent off,
he went to work with a lighter heart than he had carried for many a
day, believing that by the time his month had expired, the assistance
he so much needed would be at hand.
“And when it does come, Brown,” said Chase, who had learned to look
upon his new acquaintance with almost a brother’s affection, “you shall
not be left out in the cold. If it hadn’t been for you I wouldn’t be
here now, and I’ll see you through as far as my money will take us.”
It was well for the boy’s peace of mind that he did not know what
became of that letter. The superintendent put it carefully away in his
pocket, and took it out again—nearly eight weeks afterward, when the
one who wrote it was hopelessly lost in the mountains near Fort Bolton.
Although Chase expected a happy deliverance out of all his troubles
without any effort on his part to bring it about, neither he nor Brown
neglected to post himself in everything that it might be necessary
for them to know, in case they should be compelled to continue their
journey without money to pay their fare on the stages. Among other
things, they learned that the Union Pacific, which was slowly advancing
to meet the road on which they were at work, had progressed beyond
Cheyenne, and that between that point and Independence there were
several trails and stage-routes, some longer and some shorter, but any
one of which would lead them in the direction they wished to go. Their
fellow-workmen assured them that it would not be much of a tramp across
the country for a couple of healthy youngsters, and if at any time they
got out of food, the first man they met would be willing to supply
them, no matter whether they had money or not.
The month for which Chase and his friend had contracted wore slowly
away, but the expected letter from Bellville did not arrive. Chase grew
more and more impatient and anxious as the days passed, and when he was
paid off at the end of the month, he would have been glad to renew his
contract, but Brown would not listen. “Let’s put out and go to work
when we reach the other road,” said he. “You can write to your father
just as well from Cheyenne as you can from here. Your letter must have
miscarried.”
Brown emphasized his advice by declaring that he was going whether
Chase did or not. Cold weather was coming on, he said; the snow had
fallen, during the previous winter, sixty feet deep over seven miles
of the road-bed on which the rails had since been laid, and he did not
like the idea of being shut out from home by any such barrier as that.
He was bound to get through to the other side of the mountains before
winter set in, come what might. So Chase reluctantly made up the small
bundle of clothing and bedding he had purchased from the stores, put
carefully away the slender stock of money that he had remaining after
paying his board-bill and other debts he had contracted, and followed
Brown, who stepped off with a light heart. The latter’s face was turned
toward home once more, and that was enough to put him in the best of
spirits.
“If we were in the settlements now,” said he, making an effort to bring
Chase’s usual smile back to his face, “the folks would say of us: ‘Look
at those two tramps; lock the dog in the hen-house.’ But out here,
where there are better fellows than ourselves as poor as we, we are
‘emigrants,’ and people don’t think it necessary to watch us, lest we
should steal everything they’ve got.”
Keeping up a fire of small-talk, Brown enlivened many a mile of their
first day’s journey, and finally succeeded in making his companion take
a brighter view of their prospects. They made about twenty miles by
dark, and then built a fire beside the road and went into camp.
Chase awoke once during the night and saw Brown sitting by the fire,
engaged in tying his money up in his handkerchief. He simply noted
the fact, and would never have thought of it again, had it not been
brought to his mind by an incident that happened the next day. They
were walking along toward the close of the afternoon, when Brown, who
had kept up a constant singing and story-telling, suddenly paused and
put his hand into his pocket. He opened his eyes, felt in his other
pocket, then threw down his bundle and began a thorough examination of
his clothing.
“What’s the matter?” asked Chase.
“Matter enough,” replied his companion, glancing back along the road.
“I’ve lost my money.”