Part 5 (2/2)

On his engine he invariably ran with his head out of the side window, rain or s.h.i.+ne, and always bareheaded. When he stepped upon the footboard, he put his hat away with his clothes, and there it stayed. He was never known to wear a cap, excepting in the coldest weather.

Once in a while, when I was firing, I have seen him come in, in winter, with his beard white with frost and ice, and some smoke-shoveling wit dubbed him Santa Claus.

'Lige had a way of looking straight ahead and thinking of his work, and, after he got to running express, would go through a town, where other trains were sidetracked for him, looking at the track ahead, and at the trains, but never seeming to care that they were there, never nodding or waving a hand. Once in a while he would blink his eyes,--that was all.

The wind tossed his mane and hair and made him look for all the world like a lion, who looks at, but appears to care nothing for the crowds around his den. Someone noticed the comparison, and dubbed him ”The Lion,” and the name clung to him. He was spoken of as ”Old 'Lige, the Lion.” Just why he was called old, I don't know--he was little more than forty then.

When the men on the road had any grievances, they always asked 'Lige to ”go and see the old man.” 'Lige always went to lodge and to meetings of the men, but was never known to speak. When the demands were drawn up and presented to him, he always got up and said: ”Them air declarations ain't right, an' I wouldn't ask any railroad to grant 'em;” or, ”The declarations are right. Of course I'll be glad to take 'em.”

When old 'Lige declined to bear a grievance it was modified or abandoned; and he never took a request to headquarters that was not granted--until the strike of '77.

When the war broke out, 'Lige was asked to go, and the railroad boys wanted him to be captain of a company of them; but he declined, saying that slavery was wrong and should be crushed, but that he had a sickly wife and four small children depending on his daily toil for bread, and it wouldn't be right to leave 'em unprovided for. They drafted him later, but he still said it ”wa'n't right” for him to go, and paid for a subst.i.tute. But three months later his father-in-law died, up in the country somewhere, and left his wife some three thousand dollars, and 'Lige enlisted the next, day, saying ”'Tain't right for any man to stay that can be spared; slavery ain't right; it must be stopped.” He served as a private until it was stopped.

Shortly after the war 'Lige was pulling the superintendent over the road, when he struck a wagon, killing the driver, who was a farmer, and hurting his wife. The woman afterward sued the road, and 'Lige was called as a witness for the company. He surprised everybody by stating that the accident was caused by mismanagement of the road, and explained as follows: ”I pull the regular Atlantic express, and should have been at the crossing where the accident occurred, an hour later than I was; but Mr. Doe, our superintendent, wanted to come over the road with his special car, and took my engine to pull him, leaving a freight engine to bring in the express. Mr. Doe could have rode on the regular train, or could have had his car put into the train, instead of putting the company to the expense of hauling a special, and kept the patrons of the road from slow and poor service. We ran faster than there was any use of, and Mr. Doe went home when he got in, showing that there was no urgent call for his presence at this end of the line. If there had been no extra train on the road this farmer wouldn't have been killed: 'twa'n't right.”

The widow got pretty heavy damages, and the superintendent tried to discharge 'Lige. But 'Lige said '”twa'n't right,” and the men on the road, the patrons and even the president agreed with him, so the irate super gave the job up for the time being.

A couple of weeks after this, I went to that super.'s office on some business, and had to wait in the outer pen until ”His Grace” got through with someone else. The transom over the door to the ”Holy of Holies” was open, and I heard the well-known voice of 'Lige ”the Lion”.

”Now, there's another matter, Mr. Doe, that perhaps you'll say is none of my business, but 'tain't right, and I'm going to speak about it.

You're hanging around the yards and standing in the shadows of cars and buildings half the night, watching employees. You've discharged several yardmen, and I want to tell you that a lot of the roughest of them are laying for you. My advice to you is to go home from the office. They'll hurt you yet. 'Tain't right for one man to know that another is in danger without warning him, so I've done it; 'twouldn't be right for them to hurt you. You're not particularly hunting them but me, but you won't catch me.”

Mr. Doe a.s.sured ”the Lion” that he could take care of himself, and two nights later got sand-bagged, and had about half his ribs kicked loose, over back of the scale house.

When the trouble commenced in '77, old 'Lige refused to take up a request for increase of pay, to headquarters; said the road could afford to keep us just where we were, which was more than some roads were doing, and ”'twa'n't right” to ask for more. Two months later they cut us ten per cent., and offered to pay half script. Old 'Lige said '”twa'n't right,” and he'd strike afore he'd stand it;--and, in the end, we all struck.

The fourth day after the strike commenced I met 'Lige, and he asked me where I was going to hunt work. I told him I was going back when we won.

He laughed, and said there wa'n't much danger of any of us going back; we were beat; mail trains all running, etc. '”Tain't right, Brother John, to loaf longer'n you can help. I'm goin' out West to-morrer”--and he went.

Some weeks afterward Joe Johnson and I concluded that, contrary to all precedent, the road was going to run without us, and we also went West; but by that time the country was full of men just like us. When I did get a job, it was drying sand away out at the front on one of the new roads. The first engine that come up to the sand house had a familiar look, even with a boot-leg stack that was fearfully and wonderfully made. There was a s.h.a.ggy head sticking out of the side window, and two cool grey eyes blinked at me, but didn't seem to see me; yet a cheery voice from under the beard said: ”h.e.l.lo, Brother John, you're late, but guess you'll catch on pretty quick. There's lots of 'em here that don't know nothin' about railroading, as far as I can see, and they're running engines, too. 'Tain't right.”

The little town was booming, and 'Lige invested in lots, and became interested in many schemes to benefit the place and make money. He had been a widower for some years, and with one exception his children were doing for themselves, and that one was with his sister, and well cared for. 'Lige had considerable means, and he brought it all West. He personally laid the corner-stone of the courthouse, subscribed more than any other working man to the first church, and was treasurer of half the inst.i.tutions in the village. He ought to have quit the road, but he wouldn't; but did compromise on taking an easy run on a branch.

'Lige was behind a benevolent scheme to build a hospital, to be under the auspices of the church society, and to it devoted not a little time and energy. When the const.i.tution and by-laws were drawn up, the more liberal of the trustees struck a snag in old 'Lige. He was bound that the hospital should not harbor people under the influence of liquor, or fallen women. 'Lige was very bitter against prost.i.tution. ”It is the curse of civilization,” he often said. ”Prost.i.tutes ruin ten men where whiskey ruins one. They stand in the path of every young man in the country, gilded tempters of virtue, honesty and manhood; 'tain't right that they should be allowed in the country.” If you attributed their existence to man's pa.s.sions, inhumanity or cruelty, or woman's weakness, he checked you at once.

”Every woman that becomes a crooked woman does so from choice; she needn't to if she didn't want to. The way to stop prost.i.tution is for every honest man and woman to refuse to have anything to do with them in any way, or with those who do recognize them. 'Tain't right.”

In this matter 'Lige Clark had no sympathy nor charity. ”'Twa'n't right”--and that settled it as far as he was concerned.

The ladies of the church sided with old 'Lige in his stand on the hospital board, but the other two men wanted the doors of the inst.i.tution to be opened to all in need of medical attention or care, regardless of who they were or what caused their ailment. 'Lige gave in on the whiskey, but stood out resolutely against the soiled doves, and so matters stood until midwinter.

Half the women in the town were outcasts from society--two dance-houses were in full blast--and 'Lige soon became known to them and their friends as the ”Prophet Elijah, second edition.”

The mining town over the hills, at the end of 'Lige's branch, was booming, too, and wanted to be the county seat. It had its church, dance-halls, etc., and the discovery of coal within a few miles bid fair to make it a formidable rival.

The boom called for more power and I went over there to pull freight, and 'Lige pulled pa.s.sengers only. Then they put more coaches on his train and put my engine on to help him, thus saving a crew's wages.

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