Ralph Arrives at Savannah.
The warning was too late to be effectual. It might not have done any
good, anyhow, as under the pressure of five frightened mules, the one
Ralph bestrode was pushed to the very verge of the high embankment
leading up to the bridge.
The boy saw the inevitable catastrophe that was coming. He released
his feet from the stirrups, unwound the halter from the saddle bow and
threw himself on the back of the next mule just as the one he had been
riding toppled over the embankment, down which it rolled clumsily to
the bottom.
Ralph spurred the other on vigorously towards the bridge, while the two
negroes, who were responsible for the disaster, seized the rope that
held the animals and between the three further mischief was averted.
But it was a very close shave. Had the whole bunch gone, Ralph's life
might have been sacrificed, to say nothing of damage to the mules.
Emmons now came cantering back with his charges just as the fallen mule
regained its feet with the saddle between its legs.
"What d'ye mean?" he scolded. "Hain't you learned to ride yet?"
Ralph, rather provoked and much out of breath, was silent, but the
darkies gave loud and voluble explanations, tending mostly to exculpate
themselves. Then they brought up the fallen mule, fixed the saddle and
looked as if they would not have objected to a small reward.
"Hurry, Ralph!" exclaimed Emmons, tossing them a dime. "We got no time
to lose. Glad there's no bones broken, but you must look sharp."
Ralph remounted and they were soon on the way again. For the next two
or three days they passed through a mostly level country, where great
cotton plantations, with stretches of swamp between, alternated with
broad pine barrens.
In these last the wind sighed mournfully, and the soil looked so poor
that the mountain boy felt that there was a section worse off than his
own steep and gravelly native land.
They arrived in Augusta by way of a ferry across the dirty, narrow
river that flows near the city. The mules were duly delivered to the
proper parties and the two at last felt at leisure to do as they
pleased.
Emmons took Ralph to a soda fountain.
"What will you have?" he asked.
"I don't know; whatever you like," said the boy, once more at sea as to
what he might expect.
When the effervescent liquid foamed and fizzed, Ralph stared in
amazement.
"Must I drink it?" he faltered, noticing the ease with which Emmons
swallowed his.
"Of course, you must. Did you think it was to wash with?"
Ralph afterward averred that it tasted better than it sounded, but
again pondered over the--to him--increasing mysteries of civilization.
They had a late dinner, then made their way to the railroad depot,
where Emmons bought and gave to Ralph his ticket for Savannah by the
train which was to leave in an hour.
"I'll be goin' back to see about the money for them mules," said Emmons
at length. "Well, good by. Swing tight to your cash, and write to us
when ye get to Savanny."
As the foreman took his big beard out of sight somebody out where the
cars were shouted:
"All aboard! All aboard!"
Ralph saw people rushing out and jumping on the train that was on the
point of starting. He suddenly was seized by an idea that he was about
to be left. So he ran out with the crowd and was about to climb into a
drawing room coach, when a trim colored man dressed in blue, who was
standing at the steps, stopped him.
"Let's see your ticket please."
Ralph drew it forth and was about to hurry on in, when the porter
handed it back.
"Dis ain't your train, boy," said he with a somewhat contemptuous
accent. "Dis yere's a parlor coach fo' Atlanty."
"Wh--where is my train then?" asked Ralph, not knowing what to do next.
"Ain't made up yet," called the porter as the cars moved away, leaving
the lad looking about him rather foolishly.
"Made a jack of myself again," said he, as he remembered that the agent
had told Emmons when they bought their tickets, that the Savannah train
would not leave for an hour.
He returned to the waiting room and sat there very quietly until the
time was nearly up, then went out and found the proper car without
further difficulty.
That long night's ride was interesting though tiresome. Ralph tried to
count the telegraph poles without understanding much about their uses.
The low, level country, the tall trunks of the pines, the ever present
negroes, the sparks from the engine, and the occasional interruptions
from the conductor, kept him from sleep until long after midnight.
Finally, however, he coiled himself up on the seat and knew nothing
more until some one shook him by the shoulder.
"Is yo' gwine ter stay in yere all day?" asked a voice.
Ralph sat up and rubbed his eyes. The sun was shining and the car
empty, with the exception of himself and a negro brakeman, who had
awakened him from an unusually sound slumber.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"We'se in Savanny. Been yere nigh 'bout an hour. I seed yo' was
tired, an' I 'lowed I'd let yer sleep. But I'se got ter sweep out now."
When Ralph emerged from the depot he found himself on a sandy unpaved
street, with many half shabby frame houses about and a number of tall
pines in the distance.
He followed a line of trucks and drays towards the business part of the
city, and presently dropped into a cheap eating house for breakfast.
After that he began to inquire for the Marshall House, which he found
to be a large, red brick hostelry, with a broad second story veranda in
front. The sidewalk beneath was sprinkled with chairs partially
occupied by men reading their morning papers or smoking.
A few glanced curiously at the roughly dressed boy, who made his way
into a large hall and office combined, where trunks and grips were
stacked up by the score, and trim porters and waiters were gliding to
and fro.
He instantly felt himself out of place amid those well dressed people,
and smart servants. It was his first experience with a first class
city hotel.
So low did his courage ebb at first that he very nearly made up his
mind to retreat without attempting to see Captain Gary. In his
unwashed, uncombed condition, the contrast between himself and those
around was embarrassing enough even to his crude conception.
He stood gazing about in a half helpless manner, not knowing to whom to
apply for information.
"Where can I find Captain Gary?" he asked at length of a porter who
happened to be lounging near.
The negro inspected Ralph from head to foot, then demanded: "Do he stop
yere?"
"Yes. I have a letter for him."
"Oh! Dat all is it?" The porter had found it hard to reconcile
Ralph's appearance with any other connection with a guest of the hotel
than a menial one. "Yo' go right up to de office over dar and gin it
to the clerk. He see Cap'n Gary gits um."
"But--but I have to see the captain myself," urged Ralph.
"What yo' reckon a gen'lemun like he wanter sech a boy as you? Huh?"
Ralph felt that his clothes were against him, but he did not propose to
be bullied by a servant and a negro at that.
"Look here," said he. "I want to see Captain Gary and I'm going to see
him, too. I've got business with him--d'ye understand?"
"Well den," replied the porter insolently, "s'posen yo' find where he
is yo'self."
Ralph, without another word, marched straight to the clerk's desk.