CHAPTER VI.
UNDER THE CYCLOPEAN EYE.
Ben had just knocked at a back door and a man was threatening to set the dogs on him if he did not take himself off, and he was in the midst of eloquent protest, that he was no tramp and was not doing this thing from necessity, when Tommy awoke him, and he started up with his protest but half uttered, to find the night air quite chilly, and countless stars in the coverlet of Earth winking and blinking at him in a most familiar manner.
"Get up," said Tommy. "It is ten o'clock! If you sleep that way much longer you will talk yourself to death."
"Have I been talking in my sleep?" he asked sitting up with a yawn.
"I should say so, indeed," replied Tom. "I've been listening to you for the past half an hour." He did not further state that during the half hour he had bent, like a timid girl, over Ben and kissed him on cheek and forehead—but not on the lips. But such was the fact.
"Come, it's ten o'clock and the freight is about due," said he.
"How do you know what time it is?"
"By my watch, of course. How else?"
"Have you a watch?" asked Ben, in surprise.
"To be sure. A splendid time piece. Been running these thousands of years, and never yet needed repairing. There it is," and he pointed to the Heavens.
"Where?"
"Why up there—the Big Dipper! You can tell time by the handle of it. Now youhavelearned something. Get up!"
Again on his feet he found himself quite stiff. It appeared to him as though all of his joints were soldered together.
"Oh you will soon get used to that," consolingly reflected Tommy. "Bump your back against a tree and that will shake you limber. Hi! Here she comes! Now for it! Hurry up!" And in the distance was seen the great Cyclopean eye of a locomotive, and the rumble of the approaching train filled the air.
"Hold on Tom! I can't get on my boots," exclaimed Ben, striving to force his swollen feet into them.
"We can't wait, Ben. Come on in your stockings. Carry your boots in your hand. Hurry up! Here she is!"
Thus urged he limped over the rough ground with his boots in his hand.
"Not this side," said Tommy. "Take the other side of the track; they'll see us here. Come, look sharp and get over before the headlight discovers us."
Ben hobbled over the track and both crouched down behind a pile of old rails on the opposite side from the tank. While cowering there the train drew up with a rush, and a roar, and a screeching of brakes, and stopped to fill its own tank.
Scarce had it come to a standstill when three figures glided like shadows from among the cars, and swiftly ran and hid behind the pile of rails where our friends were crouching. One of them observing them asked, in a hoarse whisper:
"Goin' to jump her?"
"Yes," whispered Tom in reply. "What's the show?"
"None at all," returned the other. "She's a loaded train. Every box locked. We've been making it on the drawheads from Newark. That's your only show."
Tom uttered an exclamation of disappointment.
"Ben, can you ride bumpers?"
"I think so. What are they?"
"Bumpers. Drawheads. The coupling between the cars. Here's three beats riding drawheads and they say it's our only show. If you think you can, we will try it."
Our hero answered that he had no experience in the business, but was willing to make the attempt.
"It's death, to fall," said Tommy; and then the boy cogitated a moment, and whispered:
"It won't do. You couldn't do it. Not in your stocking feet anyway. We'll have to let this train go."
At this time the whistle sounded "off brakes," and the engine wheels began to revolve. As the train got under headway, the three figures stealthily stole forth, and plunging between the cars, the long screeching, grinding chain of wheels, appear to roll over them and grind them out of existence.
Not so, however. As the train sped away, each of the three was dangling on that narrow, precarious, bumping, jerking little platform, made by the links and connecting drawheads of the cars. A most dangerous place truly, and many a tramp has left them for Eternity. A jolt! The foot slips! A yell! And all is over. The tramp is finished.
But Ben discovered before he reached New Orleans that the bumpers were not the most dangerous place about a train on which men attempted to steal rides. When no other opportunity offers, as in the case of a passenger train sometimes, the trucks beneath the cars are improved, where with a constant roar in their ears, a storm of dust and gravel in their faces, and a cramped position—like a contortionist in his box among the bottles—these knights of vagabondage cling on like squirrels.
Sometimes there is an extra heavy jolt, or a larger stone than usual strikes them on the head. In such cases the coroner's jury discover that the man was a tramp and came to his death by being run over by the cars. What would we do without coroner's juries?
Tommy watched the retreating train for some time, and then said to Ben:
"Never mind; better luck next time. I don't think you could have made it on the bumpers. Here's my knife. Cut your boots so that you can get them on. The lightning express will be along soon, and we can make fifty or sixty miles on it. If the express car has an open end, by thunder, we'lljump the pilot!"
"What did those men get off for?" asked Ben.
"Why," explained Tom, "when the train stops, they take to cover so that the train men will not see them."
"There were three making their way on that train."
"Hard telling," replied Tom. "There may have been a dozen; on the trucks, and bumpers, and hanging on the ladders; besides some that may have forced an end gate and locked themselves in a box. When I was at Albany, there came in a train from the west and I heard the conductor boast that he'd madeonetrip without a deadhead. Well, Ben, when they came to open one of the cars that had wheat in it they found a man inside dead as a herring. He had forced the end gate and then nailed himself in, and I expect the dust or something smothered him before he could get it open for fresh air."
"That was a deadhead, sure enough. Did they find out who he was?" asked Ben.
"Bless you, no. What does any one care about a deadtramp. I was in hopes there'd be an empty on that train that we could have jumped, and made it clean through to Philadelphia. Now we will have to give the Express a whirl."
Ben had scarce got his boots on, after cutting them considerably, when the express was heard thundering in the distance.
"Look alive now!" cried Tom. "Follow me close. She hardly stops at all,—only just slacks up for that crossing ahead."
Down rushed the express on another track from the one occupied by the freight, and as it slacked its speed near the travellers, they sprang from their hiding place, and hugging tight to the side of the still moving train, ran along it toward the forward end. One look at the express car sufficed for Tom.
"No go!" he hurriedly whispered. "There's a door in the end. Make for the pilot. Quick! Quick!"
Expedition was necessary, for the air breaks had released their grip upon the wheels, and the train was again assuming speed.
Tom rushed in front of the locomotive and with a spring and a scramble, safely seated himself on the platform immediately above and in the rear of the pilot; or, as it is better known in schoolboy nomenclature, the "cow-catcher."
Ben was not so fortunate. With a scantier knowledge of their construction and the art of boarding them, his foot slipped from the inclined grating and struck the fast retreating rail beneath. Another instant and he would have been drawn down to death, had not Tommy's hand grasped his collar and aided him up.
"Thank you, Tommy," he said warmly, "I owe you one."
"You may be able to pay me sometime. Aint this old peaches!" And Tommy gazed on the great broad pathway of light in front, made by the Cyclopean eye over head.
The novelty of his new position was exhilarating to Ben. There was a spice of danger about it, that made it enchanting.
What if the locomotive should jump the track! Or should be ditched! Or run into another train! Or strike some stray animal! It rocked and swayed to and fro like a ship at sea. He could hardly satisfy himself that this rattling, rickety, rocking, jumping, sliding, groaning iron horse was the same metallic animal that pulled those easy riding, luxurious coaches he had so often rode in. It appeared to him—novice in locomotive riding as he was—that every moment the steel-shod steed was about to leave the track and take to the fields. Singular too, it was neither cold nor windy; for nestling close against the iron boiler head both felt quite comfortable.
"Tommy," said Ben, "suppose we should catch up a horse?"
"Then we'd be a horse ahead," replied Tom. "I met a tramp who had taken a ride on a cow-catcher on the New York Central. He was bound for Buffalo. Well sir, they caught up a big pig, and landed it all unhurt, but terribly scared, right into the tramp's lap. He hung on to it, and when he got the bounce, he took the pig with him and sold it for enough to pay his fare to Buffalo."
"And bought a ticket out of his hog speculation?" suggested Ben.
"Of course not. He went on a big spree, got broke again, and beat his way through."
Ben was about protesting against such a misappliance of the means good fortune had placed at the tramp's disposal, when the current of his thoughts was radically changed, by a lump of coal striking him on the foot.
"Hello! What's that?" he exclaimed.
"Wait a moment and I'll see," said Tommy, rising and peering over the rim of the boiler. Scarce had his head appeared above it however, when he quickly dodged back, and another lump flew whizzing down the broad avenue of light.
"Just as I suspected," said he; "they know we are here and the fireman is pegging coal at us to amuse himself."
"What will we do?"
"Why, we can't do any thing, only wrap our coats over our heads and let him peg away. They can't bounce us until the train stops."
But the fireman soon tired of his sport, and only an occasional missile reminded the voyagers that their presence was known in the cab. Once Ben in changing his position, arose to his feet and looked the Cyclopean eye square in the pupil. Tom hastily pulled him down; but none too soon, for a shower of coal announced the indignation he had excited behind them.
He really enjoyed the ride and could scarce credit his senses when his companion informed him that they had come forty miles. It was agreed to leave the pilot the moment the train slackened speed enough to permit their so doing, and Tommy thought that it would be impolitic to attempt to "jump" it again, as their presence was known. Therefore, when the train drew up on entering the depot at Trenton, our voyagers jumped from their perch and were greeted with a shower of coal and a volley of imprecations by the irate fireman, both missiles passing them harmlessly.
As they turned to look at the long line of passenger coaches, now slowly drawing to a stop in the depot, Ben uttered a cry of surprise. Seated at an open window he had seen the great, glorious, grey eyes, and their owner. Beside her sat an elderly gentleman, while in a seat, immediately in their rear, was his antagonist of the previous evening. His own surprise prevented him from noticing that Tommy's face had grown ashy white, and while the boy's teeth were clenched until his lips grew blue, his eyes glowed with an unnatural fire. Cleveland was about to move off toward the train, when Tommy caught him by the arm.
"Where are you going?" he asked, hotly.
"On that train, Tom; I must, I must!" answered he, little appreciating what he was saying.
"Don't be a fool. What are you going to do on that train without money?"
Ben immediately recovered his senses, and looked dejected.
"What's the matter with you, partner?" asked Tommy as he took him by the arm and the two turned away. "What ails you?"
"Tom," said Ben solemnly, "it may seem very foolish to you, but I should like to know that young lady, very much."
"What for?"
"I—I don't really know; but I should, indeed I should!" he repeated earnestly.
"Ben, I'll tell you something for your consolation," said the boy; "they are going to St. Louis, too!"
"Who?" asked Ben, in surprise.
"That young woman with the grey eyes."
Ben looked his amazement:
"Tom," he at last said, "who are you?"
"I'm myself," replied Tom. "There's no mystery about me, partner. That party is going to St. Louis, and I happened to overhear them say so in Jersey City. Perhaps you may meet them there; and," he added in a lower tone that Ben did not hear, "perhapsImay."