CHAPTER II.
Run Out of Town by the Chadbourn Police—Cash Running Low—Getting Schedules Mixed—The First Blush of Shame.
It would be hard to describe my feelings as I started up town. I was hungry and ate a good supper, though I felt like crying as the cashier took my twenty-five cents, for I had never been penniless in a strange town in my life, and now my stock of nerve was weighed exactly by just what money I had left; but the worst thing that hindered my progress, I was heartily ashamed of what I was going to attempt to do.
Arriving at Market Square, I experienced no difficulty shortly afterwards in striking an acquaintance with a rather shabbily dressed young man, who seemed to know all about the trains.
Finding that I was eager to leave at once, he remarked:
"You have just about fifteen minutes to leave Wilmington on a freight train to-night. The last freight train pulls out at 8:15 to-night, and it is now 8 o'clock."
Luckily what little baggage I owned was with me, and in another moment I was rapidly walking to the place named. I quickly saw this wouldn't do, though, for it was nearly a mile to the depot, and turning into a residence street, I broke into a run.
Panting for breath I reached the railroad yards.
There was no sign of a train pulling out, nor was there one making up, and so far as I could see there was not the slightest evidence of life about the yards, and it began to look like another practical joke had been played on me.
Just across the tracks at this point are a good many small tenement houses, for the most part occupied by colored people, who are employed by the railroad company.
Calling out one of the occupants of these houses, I asked him if the 8:15 freight had gone.
"The schedule's been changed, and there ain't no 8:15 freight," said the darkey. "The last night freight for Florence left about an hour ago."
To reach Jacksonville, I would have to go through Florence, S. C., and Savannah, Ga.
"If you'll go to Hilton Bridge to-morrow evening," said the darkey, "you might be able to catch a passenger train that passes about 3 p. m. on Sundays."
Hilton Bridge spans the Cape Fear River near this point, and all trains are required by the law to slow up before crossing.
For this information the man received a buttonless khaki suit.
The next morning was Sunday, and after paying my lodging I had but $1.35.
Hardship was certainly beginning to stare me in the face at an early stage of the trip.
Oh! how I wished now I had stayed at home, where my every wish had been gratified by tender, loving hands, but it was too late! My pride was up in arms, and I would see the game through to the bitter end.
On this day I ate neither breakfast nor dinner, and early in the afternoon I repaired to the bridge to wait.
The man who runs a small "pop shop" on the Wilmington side of the bridge amused me with stories of the many young men he had seen beat their way from this point, and I got him to tell me just how the others had done, and was becoming quite brave, till he began describing how he had seen one man miss his footing, and showed me the spot where the cars had run over both legs.
The train was coming! And the supreme test of the trip was at hand.
I took up a position at the curve, which is about two hundred yards from the bridge.
The engineer bestowed a quick glance at me as he passed, then his gaze wandered ahead.
Grabbing up the two bundles, which were hidden behind a telegraph pole, I made a quick dash forward and succeeded in boarding the first coach from the engine, commonly known as the "blind baggage."
I didn't stop on the car platform, as is usually done, but crawled to the top of the tender, which was well loaded with coal.
As near as possible I made things comfortable by placing the largest lumps of coal out of reach, thus enabling me to partly conceal myself by lying down.
Exultation was now mingled with excitement.
I had just begun to congratulate myself when, to my dismay, I noted that the train was slackening speed. A moment later it stopped.
Footsteps now sounded, hurriedly approaching the engine.
I lay quite still, almost afraid to breathe, as the conductor and porter came up.
"Come down from there! Come down!" cried the conductor.
I raised up intending to ask him to let me go.
"Come down, quick!" he cried. "Tramps and hobos are not allowed on this train."
This was quite enough for John Reginald Peele, and without any more ado he crawled down.
My first impulse was to knock out my insulter with a lump of hard coal, but better judgment prevailed, and I soon reached the ground by his side.
After all, I reasoned, he was only performing his duty in putting me down, and he was fully justified in calling me a tramp and a hobo, for I was not only acting both these parts very well, but was now looking the part.
"Come down quick!" he cried. "Tramps and hobos are not
allowed on this train."
Before boarding the train I had been spotlessly clean. Now my hands were black, my white collar soiled, and my new clothes nearly ruined.
This was the picture I presented to a score or more of curious passengers, who had poked their heads out of the car windows to ascertain the cause of the delay.
In deep shame I hung my head, and it seemed that everyone of those passengers had recognized me. This was mere fancy, of course, for I was then over a hundred miles from home. At any rate, there was one thing certain. I had been left and the train was now belching forth black smoke far up the road.
Those who had witnessed my defeat from the "pop shop" on the other side were now eagerly awaiting me as I recrossed the bridge, and they were ready with sympathy as I told them how I had been put down.
"That train goes to Charlotte, anyway," said the storekeeper. "I think the next one, which is due in about twenty minutes, is the Florence train."
A good many men will live half their life in a place and yet never know the exact time a certain train is due, nor where it is bound, and I would have to rely on my own luck, for it was quickly apparent that he was one of the class who are never profoundly sure of anything.
Had I gone to Charlotte I would have been taken completely out of my way, at the very outset, causing all kinds of trouble, and this served a good deal to show me the exact size of the job I had undertaken.
Most of my fear had now vanished. No real harm had resulted in my first attempt at beating a train, and the tinge of excitement had proven quite fascinating.
Of course the local authorities of the hundreds of towns I must pass through had to be considered, and indeed this was now my greatest fear, for, in a good many towns, as the reader is perhaps aware, a man caught beating a train suffers the penalty of from one to twelve months hard labor on the county roads.
A second train was coming; and now was the time for me to make good!
This time I boarded the train without exciting suspicion. A repetition of my former antics quickly followed, and I was soon lying flat upon the coal, gripping the top of the tender now, though, for my uncomfortable bed of coal had suddenly assumed the motion of a cradle, as the result of the train's sudden increase of speed.
Wilmington rapidly receded from view, and with a feeling of joy, savored with suppressed excitement, I closed my eyes for a moment.
Where I was going and what I would do when I got there were thoughts that chased through my brain.
I tried to picture far off Arizona, with its mountains and barren deserts, and wondered if it would cure or benefit my asthma—I would go direct to Solomonsville, Arizona, where our State Treasurer, Lacy, had been cured.
Suddenly I sat up.
"What a fool I am," I muttered. "Sitting here in plain view, to be arrested at the first station we stop."
In a few moments I had dug out a large hole in the coal and crawled into it, placing the largest lumps around the edge of the opening to help shield me from view.
Every thing went well until about dark, when we reached the small town of Chadbourn, N. C., fifty-seven miles from Wilmington.
Here the man at the pump house, which is located close to the depot, had seen an uncovered foot, and called the conductor's attention to it.
The conductor, who was a good sort of a man, had discovered my presence on the train long before reaching Chadbourn, and so had others of the train's crew. The man in the baggage car was even taking care of my bundles, which he had allowed me to deposit in a corner of the car.
Unaware of the fact that I had been discovered, I lay perfectly still, afraid to move hand or foot, and it seemed to me the train would never start.
Several people approached the engine, including a policeman of the town and the conductor.
"Come down off that coal pile," cried the conductor.
There was no mistaking the command, and I crawled down.
If I was a sight before, I was a whole show now, for I was smutty from head to foot.
"I didn't know he was up there," said the conductor.
Inwardly I thanked the conductor, whom I knew had been trying to help me along.
"I'll take charge of this young man," said the policeman.
"Please get my things," I said. "I hid them in the baggage car."
"I'll take charge of this young man," said the policeman.