CHAPTER IV.ON THE LOCOMOTIVE.After we had sufficiently discussed the explosion and my father’s financial affairs, Christy Holgate took from under the seat where he sat a curiously-shaped black bottle and a tumbler. I would rather have seen him take a living rattlesnake from the box, and place it at my feet—or rather at my father’s feet, for it was on his account that I shuddered when I heard the owner of the bottle declare that it contained “old rye whiskey.” Christy told a tedious story about the contents of this “vial of wrath”—where it was distilled in the State of Kentucky; how a particular friend of his had procured two quarts of it, and no more of that year’s manufacture could be had in the whole nation, either for love or for money.One would have supposed, from the eloquent descriptionof its virtues, that it was the nectar of the gods, instead of the fiery fluid which men put into their mouths to take their brains away. I was disgusted with the description, and I shuddered the more when I saw that my father was interested in it, and that he cast longing glances at the queer-shaped bottle. I had heard that my father lost his situation at the town on the Hudson by drinking to excess, and I trembled lest the old appetite should be revived in him. If he had been a man like Christy Holgate I should not have trembled, as I viewed the case, for hehad drunkliquor all his lifetime to moderation, and no one had ever known him to be intoxicated. It was not so with my father. He had struggled manfully against the insidious appetite, and, with only a couple of exceptions, he had always done so successfully. Twice, and twice only, had he been under the influence of liquor since he came to Centreport. I feared, if he tasted the contents of the strange-looking bottle, that the third time would have to be added to the list.Christy poured out a glass of the “old rye” and my father drank it. The engineer of the boat tookone himself; and both of them talked very fast then till the steamer arrived at her destination. I was alarmed for my father’s safety, and I tried to induce him to go on shore the moment we reached the wharf; but before we could leave Christy produced the bottle again, and both of them took a second dram, though I noticed that the engineer took a very light one himself.The effect upon my father was soon apparent, though he did not appear to be actually intoxicated. He did not stagger, but he talked in a loud and reckless manner. He gave me a dollar, and told me to spend it for anything I wanted. He said it was a holiday, and he wished me to have a good time. I put the dollar in my pocket, but I did not leave my father. I was mortified by his blustering speech and extravagant manner, but I still clung to him. I hoped my presence would prevent him from taking another dram; and I think it did; for though, on our way to the bank, we passed several bar-rooms, he did not offer to enter one of them. Two or three times he hinted to me that I had better go and enjoy myself alone, which assured me thathe desired to drink again, but did not wish to do so before me.I have since learned that a man will always be more circumspect before his children than when away from them. He feels his responsibility at such times, and is unwilling to degrade himself before those who are his natural dependents. I told my father I had no place to go to, that I did not wish to buy anything, and that I preferred to remain with him. He was vexed at my obstinacy, but he did not say anything. We went to the bank together, and he drew out his money, twenty-four hundred dollars—more than he had ever possessed at one time before. It would discharge the mortgage on the place, and leave him four hundred dollars to make certain improvements which he contemplated.The whiskey which hehad drunkmade him feel rich, and it pained me to see him manifest his feelings in a very ridiculous way. He put the money in a great leather pocket-book he carried, and placed it in his breast pocket. By various little devices I induced him to return to the steamer with me.When it was too late I was sorry I had done so, for Christy Holgate again placed the bottle to his lips, taking hardly a teaspoonful of its contents himself. It would be an hour before the train arrived, whose passengers the steamer was to convey up the lake, and I trembled for the safety of my father and of the large sum of money he had in his pocket.It seems very strange to me, and I dare say it has seemed so to others, that some men, when they have the greatest work of their lifetime in hand, or are pressed down by the heaviest responsibility that ever weighed upon them, choose this very time to get intoxicated. My father had certainly done so. With more than two thirds of his worldly wealth in his pocket, he had taken to drinking whiskey—a thing he had not done before for at least a year. Half of the hour we had to wait had passed away, and my poor father made himself very ridiculous. I had never felt so bad before in my life.“Wolf, my boy, I forgot to get my tobacco when I was up in town,” said he, handing me a quarter.“Run up to that store next to the hotel, and get me half a pound of his best plug.”I did not want to leave him, but I could not disobey without making a terrible scene. I went as fast as my legs would carry me, and returned out of breath with running. My fatherhad drunknothing during my absence, and I was startled when I beheld his changed appearance on my return. He was deadly pale, and was trembling with emotion. He was searching his pockets, and gazing nervously into every hole and corner in the engine-room, where I found him.“What is the matter, father?” I asked, alarmed at his appearance.“I have lost my pocket-book, Wolf,” gasped he, in an awful and impressive whisper.“Lost it!” I exclaimed, almost paralyzed by the intelligence.“Nonsense, Ralph!” added Christy, with a forced laugh. “You can’t have lost it, if you had it when you came here.”“I did have it; I know I did. I felt it in my pocket after I came on board.”“Then it must be in your pocket now. You haven’t been out of the engine-room since you came,” persisted Christy.I helped my father search his pockets; but the pocket-book was certainly gone.“You must have dropped it out on your way down from the bank,” said the engineer.“How could I drop it out?” groaned my father, as he pointed to the deep pocket in which he always kept it.I searched again in every part of my father’s clothing, but in vain. He was perfectly sober now, so far as I could judge, the grief and mortification attending his heavy loss having neutralized the effects of the liquor. On the seat stood the queer-shaped bottle from which my father had imbibed confusion. By its side was the tumbler, half filled with the whiskey. I concluded that it had been poured out for my father, and that the discovery of his loss had prevented him from drinking it. I put them on the floor and looked into the box; I examined every part of the engine-room again, but without success. The missing treasure could not be found.My father sat down upon the box again, and actually wept for grief and shame. I heard the whistle of the approaching train. It seemed to startle the victim of the whiskey bottle from his sad revery. He removed his hands from his face, and glanced at Christy, with a look which was full of meaning to me, and seemed to be quite intelligible to the engineer.“I guess I’ll take a look on the wharf,” said Christy, beginning to edge slowly out of the engine-room.“Christy Holgate,” cried my father, springing at the throat of the engineer, and clutching him like a madman, “you have got my money!”“Why, Ralph, what ails you? Do you think I’d take your money?” replied Christy; but his face was as pale as my father’s and his lip quivered.“I know you have! That’s what you made me drunk for,” continued my father savagely, as he began to claw into the garments of the engineer, insearchof his treasure.Christy started as though he had been stung by a serpent when my father placed his hand upon hisbreast pocket, and a violent struggle ensued. As my maddened parent tore open his coat, I distinctly saw enough of the well-known pocket-book to enable me to identify it. He had taken it from my father’s pocket and transferred it to his own while handing him the glass of whiskey.“He has it, father!” I shouted. “I see it in his pocket.”Christy was a powerful man, and with a desperate effort he shook off my father, hurling him upon the floor with much violence. Having shaken off his fierce assailant, he rushed from the engine-room to the gang-plank forward, by which the passengers were coming on board, and disappeared in the crowd. Without waiting to learn the condition of my father, I followed him. I lost sight of him in the throng, but I commenced an earnest search for him. Presently I discovered him skulking along by the train on the side opposite that at which the passengers were getting out.The engine had been detached from the train, and had moved forward to the water tank to have her tender filled. The engineer had left the locomotiveto speak with a friend on the wharf; and the fireman, after the tender was filled, helped the men throw in the wood. I went ahead of the engine, where I could observe the movements of Christy. I thought he would hide till the train started, and then jump on board. If he did, I meant to be a passenger on the same train.The tender was filled with wood, and the men walked away, including the fireman. The moment they had gone, Christy sneaked along by the woodsheds, and jumped upon the locomotive. He could not see me, for I was concealed by the smoke-stack. He started the engine. I jumped upon the cow-catcher. In a moment, as he let on the steam, the locomotive was flying like lightning over the rails. I clung to the cow-catcher till the motion was steady, and then climbed up to the side of the machine, exhibiting myself to the astonished villain. At this moment, I happened to think of Waddie’s revolver in my pocket. It was a useful plaything for an emergency like this, and I drew it forth.
ON THE LOCOMOTIVE.
After we had sufficiently discussed the explosion and my father’s financial affairs, Christy Holgate took from under the seat where he sat a curiously-shaped black bottle and a tumbler. I would rather have seen him take a living rattlesnake from the box, and place it at my feet—or rather at my father’s feet, for it was on his account that I shuddered when I heard the owner of the bottle declare that it contained “old rye whiskey.” Christy told a tedious story about the contents of this “vial of wrath”—where it was distilled in the State of Kentucky; how a particular friend of his had procured two quarts of it, and no more of that year’s manufacture could be had in the whole nation, either for love or for money.
One would have supposed, from the eloquent descriptionof its virtues, that it was the nectar of the gods, instead of the fiery fluid which men put into their mouths to take their brains away. I was disgusted with the description, and I shuddered the more when I saw that my father was interested in it, and that he cast longing glances at the queer-shaped bottle. I had heard that my father lost his situation at the town on the Hudson by drinking to excess, and I trembled lest the old appetite should be revived in him. If he had been a man like Christy Holgate I should not have trembled, as I viewed the case, for hehad drunkliquor all his lifetime to moderation, and no one had ever known him to be intoxicated. It was not so with my father. He had struggled manfully against the insidious appetite, and, with only a couple of exceptions, he had always done so successfully. Twice, and twice only, had he been under the influence of liquor since he came to Centreport. I feared, if he tasted the contents of the strange-looking bottle, that the third time would have to be added to the list.
Christy poured out a glass of the “old rye” and my father drank it. The engineer of the boat tookone himself; and both of them talked very fast then till the steamer arrived at her destination. I was alarmed for my father’s safety, and I tried to induce him to go on shore the moment we reached the wharf; but before we could leave Christy produced the bottle again, and both of them took a second dram, though I noticed that the engineer took a very light one himself.
The effect upon my father was soon apparent, though he did not appear to be actually intoxicated. He did not stagger, but he talked in a loud and reckless manner. He gave me a dollar, and told me to spend it for anything I wanted. He said it was a holiday, and he wished me to have a good time. I put the dollar in my pocket, but I did not leave my father. I was mortified by his blustering speech and extravagant manner, but I still clung to him. I hoped my presence would prevent him from taking another dram; and I think it did; for though, on our way to the bank, we passed several bar-rooms, he did not offer to enter one of them. Two or three times he hinted to me that I had better go and enjoy myself alone, which assured me thathe desired to drink again, but did not wish to do so before me.
I have since learned that a man will always be more circumspect before his children than when away from them. He feels his responsibility at such times, and is unwilling to degrade himself before those who are his natural dependents. I told my father I had no place to go to, that I did not wish to buy anything, and that I preferred to remain with him. He was vexed at my obstinacy, but he did not say anything. We went to the bank together, and he drew out his money, twenty-four hundred dollars—more than he had ever possessed at one time before. It would discharge the mortgage on the place, and leave him four hundred dollars to make certain improvements which he contemplated.
The whiskey which hehad drunkmade him feel rich, and it pained me to see him manifest his feelings in a very ridiculous way. He put the money in a great leather pocket-book he carried, and placed it in his breast pocket. By various little devices I induced him to return to the steamer with me.When it was too late I was sorry I had done so, for Christy Holgate again placed the bottle to his lips, taking hardly a teaspoonful of its contents himself. It would be an hour before the train arrived, whose passengers the steamer was to convey up the lake, and I trembled for the safety of my father and of the large sum of money he had in his pocket.
It seems very strange to me, and I dare say it has seemed so to others, that some men, when they have the greatest work of their lifetime in hand, or are pressed down by the heaviest responsibility that ever weighed upon them, choose this very time to get intoxicated. My father had certainly done so. With more than two thirds of his worldly wealth in his pocket, he had taken to drinking whiskey—a thing he had not done before for at least a year. Half of the hour we had to wait had passed away, and my poor father made himself very ridiculous. I had never felt so bad before in my life.
“Wolf, my boy, I forgot to get my tobacco when I was up in town,” said he, handing me a quarter.“Run up to that store next to the hotel, and get me half a pound of his best plug.”
I did not want to leave him, but I could not disobey without making a terrible scene. I went as fast as my legs would carry me, and returned out of breath with running. My fatherhad drunknothing during my absence, and I was startled when I beheld his changed appearance on my return. He was deadly pale, and was trembling with emotion. He was searching his pockets, and gazing nervously into every hole and corner in the engine-room, where I found him.
“What is the matter, father?” I asked, alarmed at his appearance.
“I have lost my pocket-book, Wolf,” gasped he, in an awful and impressive whisper.
“Lost it!” I exclaimed, almost paralyzed by the intelligence.
“Nonsense, Ralph!” added Christy, with a forced laugh. “You can’t have lost it, if you had it when you came here.”
“I did have it; I know I did. I felt it in my pocket after I came on board.”
“Then it must be in your pocket now. You haven’t been out of the engine-room since you came,” persisted Christy.
I helped my father search his pockets; but the pocket-book was certainly gone.
“You must have dropped it out on your way down from the bank,” said the engineer.
“How could I drop it out?” groaned my father, as he pointed to the deep pocket in which he always kept it.
I searched again in every part of my father’s clothing, but in vain. He was perfectly sober now, so far as I could judge, the grief and mortification attending his heavy loss having neutralized the effects of the liquor. On the seat stood the queer-shaped bottle from which my father had imbibed confusion. By its side was the tumbler, half filled with the whiskey. I concluded that it had been poured out for my father, and that the discovery of his loss had prevented him from drinking it. I put them on the floor and looked into the box; I examined every part of the engine-room again, but without success. The missing treasure could not be found.
My father sat down upon the box again, and actually wept for grief and shame. I heard the whistle of the approaching train. It seemed to startle the victim of the whiskey bottle from his sad revery. He removed his hands from his face, and glanced at Christy, with a look which was full of meaning to me, and seemed to be quite intelligible to the engineer.
“I guess I’ll take a look on the wharf,” said Christy, beginning to edge slowly out of the engine-room.
“Christy Holgate,” cried my father, springing at the throat of the engineer, and clutching him like a madman, “you have got my money!”
“Why, Ralph, what ails you? Do you think I’d take your money?” replied Christy; but his face was as pale as my father’s and his lip quivered.
“I know you have! That’s what you made me drunk for,” continued my father savagely, as he began to claw into the garments of the engineer, insearchof his treasure.
Christy started as though he had been stung by a serpent when my father placed his hand upon hisbreast pocket, and a violent struggle ensued. As my maddened parent tore open his coat, I distinctly saw enough of the well-known pocket-book to enable me to identify it. He had taken it from my father’s pocket and transferred it to his own while handing him the glass of whiskey.
“He has it, father!” I shouted. “I see it in his pocket.”
Christy was a powerful man, and with a desperate effort he shook off my father, hurling him upon the floor with much violence. Having shaken off his fierce assailant, he rushed from the engine-room to the gang-plank forward, by which the passengers were coming on board, and disappeared in the crowd. Without waiting to learn the condition of my father, I followed him. I lost sight of him in the throng, but I commenced an earnest search for him. Presently I discovered him skulking along by the train on the side opposite that at which the passengers were getting out.
The engine had been detached from the train, and had moved forward to the water tank to have her tender filled. The engineer had left the locomotiveto speak with a friend on the wharf; and the fireman, after the tender was filled, helped the men throw in the wood. I went ahead of the engine, where I could observe the movements of Christy. I thought he would hide till the train started, and then jump on board. If he did, I meant to be a passenger on the same train.
The tender was filled with wood, and the men walked away, including the fireman. The moment they had gone, Christy sneaked along by the woodsheds, and jumped upon the locomotive. He could not see me, for I was concealed by the smoke-stack. He started the engine. I jumped upon the cow-catcher. In a moment, as he let on the steam, the locomotive was flying like lightning over the rails. I clung to the cow-catcher till the motion was steady, and then climbed up to the side of the machine, exhibiting myself to the astonished villain. At this moment, I happened to think of Waddie’s revolver in my pocket. It was a useful plaything for an emergency like this, and I drew it forth.