LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2477, 15 March 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THE ENGINEER'S STORY.

( Continued,.)

Asi was fellin’, Charley was born to he 1 an engineer. By the time he had got to be six years old he knew the name of nigh all the parts of a machine. He’d learned all the ■ ignala that was used on the road. He knew ihat a red flag or red light meant danger. That a lanti-rn, at night, swung backward 'n forward slowly across the track, would bring a train up, all slandin’. All that sort o’ thing he jest picked tip hisself. Be knsw the sound of every whistle and bell on the road, ’n could tell waat ingine they belonged to, and I believe he knew the tread of No, 29 whenever she went by, night or day. No. 29, that was my ingine, I rnn her about three years, and there wasn’t nothin’ In God a world I couldn’t git cut of her wen she was in a good humor. We sort o’ understood one another, and she hardly ever wont back on me. Once in a while she did, and then she was a perfect cuss. Yes, he was seven that winter. Just seven years old a few daya bsfore Christmas. After Charley got a year or two old I alters made much of Christmas. Mostly I contrived to lay off that day so as to be home with my little pard. Some of the boys was allcs ready ’n willin’ to take my run that day—them as didn’t hev no wives or children. They’s come and say, ‘ Now, Latham, there’s your little pard, he’ll be a wantin’ of you to morrow, which is Christmas. So I’ll just tako yonr run down. An’ this ’ere basket, why, the boys, yon know, they ees, we ain’t got no chick nor child, and we’ll send this along to Latham’s little Charley.’ The first time they did that I was took back that way I stood and gaped, a lookin’ around like a natural, and couldn’t say a word; And the things they used to send Charley was aatonishin’; toys and so on. Why, one Christmas they sent 'im a real silver mug. Hh ! stranger, them days was such times as I’ve never hed since. There wasn’t no other children around for Charley to play with, but me ’n his mother was all he teemed to care for, ’n we’d carry on together all day just as if none of ns was more’n seven years old, Charley had a little room by hisself, where he slept, which had a window that looked down the track. I gave him a railroad 1c ntern, whioh ha trimmed and filled hisself after I showed him how, 'n wen it was my night down he’d light his lantern ’n put it in the window at the head of his bed. I could see it a long way before 1 got to the house, ’n you don’t know, stranger, what comfort it was won I was a cornin’ down to see that light and know that my little boy was lyin’ there fa i t asleep and dreamin’ that tbe roar of the train was the footsteps of his old pard Ilyin’ at forty mile an hour.

It was my rna down Thanksgiving eve. I was goin’ to stop off in the mornin’, and Bill Walker was to take my train goin’ back. We started from Altoona late in the evening and a good deal behind. It bad been a bad d«y. The weather had been warm for some time baok, and it began to rain in the mornin’, and had rained all day. ' y night the wind chopped around to the north 'n began to turn cold, so that when we started it was rainin’ and sleetin’, with an ontlook for n heavy storm. A darker night I never saw, ’n wen the conductor pulled the bell I ses to my fireman, • Crazy, this is gt.in’ to be an ugly run.’ My fireman was a crazy, harnmecarum sort of a boy, and so they had nicknamed him ‘Or»zy Jake.’ But they soon dropped the Jake ’n left him Crazy, and that’s the name he allers went by. So he S‘S to me, —

‘ Bose! I guess you’re right there. ’ Crazy was one o’ them boys that’s often in desperate tight nlaces, but I’ve never known’m was afeard o’ nothin’. I've never se n’m to show the white feather. I don’t believe man or devil could scare’m, but this night be seemed to be uneasy like. tiometimea there’s something makes yon think beforehand that something is goi ’ to happen—a kind of—of—presentiment ? Yes! that’s it. Presentiment, You can’t tell exactly how It Jis, but if there is speerits in accidents or disasters, seems like they was tryin’ some way to let folks know in time, and couldn’t qnito do it. Everythirgigamed to go wrong with ns that night. The passengers were all a growlin’ ’ocs we hurried ’em up at supper; and when I pulled out, my machine had the very old boy in her. No. 29, as I was tollin’ ye, was one of the surest engines on the road, bat when she did go into her didos she was more obstreperous ’n a government mule. Indues is like these things. They git out o’ kilter without no reason and yer can’t toll w’at’s the matter with ’em, only they jest won’t, and that’s all there is about it. She wouldn’t steam, she fretted and snorted and foamed, and wouldn’t do her work no ways at all. Me and Crazy fussed with her, and worked with her, and coaxed and cussed her. but it wasn’t no use. (Ve kept runnin’ behind all the time instead of makin’ up, ’n the conductor swore like a pirate He was a engineer hissel, and he came out into the cab, and for five or ten miles he fussed and worked and coaxed and cussed.

I believe that logins knew just as well that Satan was out loose that night as if she’d been a real human. Ingines is like women—they can’t tell yon why a thing is so, and can’t give no reason for it, but they jest know it Is so. ‘ Mebbe we’d made thirty mile or sioh matter. The rain and sleet and hail and snow was cornin’ down fearful. The water was pourin’ down the mountain and fillin’ the ditches and mnnin’ much as yon saw it last night. The wind was blowin’ a tornado, and come teatiu’ through the passes - gulches they call ’em in this country—in gnats that would strike the locomotive like a big wave striking a ship, and almost threw her over. It was eo dark, too, that I couldn’t hev seen Crazy on the other side of the cab but for the lantern, and wen he opened the fnrnace door. But I had to get along all I could. It wouldn’t do to slow up, as I was rnuuin’ for a meetin’ point. Just before you get to the curve at Devil's Ran there’s a short stretch of straight track. Soon as I struck that I began to look for the light in Charley’s window, which was the other side of the run. Strainin’ my eyes through the dark just at the point of the curve I saw a light swinging backward and forward slowly ecroas the track. You know I was a-telJin’ you as everything went crooked that night. Soon as I saw that light I knew what it ad was in a mloit. It came on me with a rush like. My hair stood on end. I blew brakes,,. I screams to the fireman, 1 Crazy 1 Devil’s'' Ran culvert’s gone, by the livin’Cod!’ He jumped ’n sot the tender brakes, and slid the wheels in a flash. The brakesmen behind didn’t answer. They was dozin’ In the cars, I reckon. I blew brakes agin with a blast to wake the dead, and threw her over. The drivers ground and groaned under me. but the rails were sleety and slippery, and I was forging ahead to a gulf 500 feet square down, and 150 human lives behind me. I was tellin’ ye as No. 29 that night was dead square ag’in goin’ ahead ; but when I threw her back seems like she knew her biz and how much laid on her doin’ of it well. Women, agin, is engines, Crabbed, crooked, cantankerous cusses won they don’t want to, but where its works of goodness or mercy call on ’em and they’re right there. No. 29*took hold on that reverse with a grit I never seen on no eng'ne afore. She put all there was in her Into every turn, and the whole aff air took Tea time than I’m a tellin’ of it till the danger was by. When we stopped within twenty feet of the light, which was swingin’ still, backward and forward, slowly across the track, I sez to Crazy, ‘Who’s got that lantern ?’ Knew it couldn’t be the trackman, for we’d just met him three miles below, and ’oept him there was nobody nearer’n ten miles at that time of night So I gits down from the machine and runs up the road. As I comes up I sees a little figure in white. It was stftl a swingin’ of the light backwards and forwards, slowing across the track. He was in hla nightgown, just as he got ont of bed, hadn’t no hat, and was barefoot. The sleet had froze in his hair and his nightgown was stiff with ice. I oomes up to ’lm—well, I I was took that way I couldn’t speak. An’ he kep’ swingin’ the light backwards and forwards, slowly across the track, and he sez tome, he says, ‘You and mo’s pards, isn’t we ?’ I looks at ’im a minit. His eyes was open and looked queer. He was dead fast asleep. Orazy ketches mo or I’d gone over, which It were my legs teemed wesk like. Then I seta down on the rail, and Crazy picks no the child, ’n’ huggln’ of 'lm up busted right out a oryin’, he did. The conductor and some of the men got. ont of the oars and come where he was. It

was electin' still, ’n’ growln’ bitter cold--1 ho boys carried the baby into the baggage car, where there waa a stove, and took oS hia night clothes and wrapped 'im up in blankets and great coats. There was a doctor on the train, and he sea if we km git 'im back to bed without wakin’ of ’im up p’raps It wouldn’t hurt ’im; bat if he wan to wake, what with the wet, ’n’ the cold, ’n’ the fright, like as not It might kill 'im. So the boys takes ’im up to carry ’im to the house, and I follered along, but I couldn’t hev carried a kitten. The doctor he tells 'em to be keerful and not wake ’im, for It was as much as bis life waa worth. So Crazy takes ’im and two of ’em holds a blanket over’m to keep the sleet off ’n one goes ahead with the lantern, and two or three more about with lanterns, so’s to light the way. When we got to the break it was just as I expected, track, road, culvert, everything gone, clean as if cut out with a knife. The water waa pitchin’ round the run six feet deep, carryin’ big rocks and boulders that bounced and bumped from aide to side, and up into the air, clear out of the water. It was awful to look at. How the child got over the gap, which was at least twenty feet wide, I don’t know. A tree had come down an* lodged crossways, and I suppose he must have got over on that

When wo coma to It we was moat afraid to try it, for if you slipped off the log it was all day with you. I didn’t like to trust the boys, and 1 aes to Jake,— ‘Crazy, yon won’t drop the baby, will yon ? ’ He points down into the break and boss, — ‘ Latham, we’d all be down there, every mother’s son of ns bat for your little pard. I’d drop my soul first. ’ Well! we got 'im home safe at last. Mary waa asleep when we got to the house, and waa scared as bad as me when she heard what waa up. We put ’lm back in his bed and sure enough he never waked up. Next mornin’ they threw a tressle over the break and trains were running agin. But the doctor stayed with ns. Just out of his own head, you know, but ha seemed anxious. Seemed as though he took to the child. Don’t wonder at that neither. Meat everybody did.

I watched by ’lm all that night, and toward day I got out all his Christmas things and set ’em on to a table near the bed, where he could see ’em the first thing. But a fever came on ’im‘ ’n’ when he woke up he waa out of his head. I speaks to him and fes, — {To ho continued )