ENGINEERING LOAN, OR STAKING OUT A RAILWAY.
“Beau” Caldwell was a sporting genius of an extremely versatile character. Like all his fraternity, he was possessed
of a pliancy of adaptation to circumstances that enabled him to succumb with true philosophy to misfortunes, and also to grace the more exalted sphere of prosperity with that natural ease attributed to gentlemen with bloated bank accounts.
Fertile in ingenuity and resources, Beau was rarely at his wit’s end for that nest egg of the gambler, a stake. His providence, when in luck, was such as to keep him continually on the qui vive for a nucleus to build upon.
Beau, having exhausted the pockets and liberality of his contemporaries in Charleston, S.C., was constrained to “pitch his tent” in fresh pastures. He therefore selected Abbeville, whither he was immediately expedited by the agency of a “free pass.”
Snugly ensconced in his hotel, Beau ruminated over the means to raise the “plate.” The bar-keeper was assailed, but he was discovered to have scruples (anomalous barkeeper!) The landlord was a “grum wretch,” with no soul for speculation. The cornered “sport” was finally reduced to the alternative of “confidence of operation.” Having arranged his scheme, he rented him a precious negro boy, and borrowed an old theodolite. Thus equipped, Beau betook himself to the abode of a neighbouring planter, notorious for his wealth, obstinacy, and ignorance. Operations were commenced by sending the nigger into the planter’s barn-yard with a flagpole. Beau got himself up into a charming tableau, directly in front of the house. He now roared at the top of his voice, “72,000,000—51—8—11.”
After which he went to driving small stakes, in a very promiscuous manner, about the premises.
The planter hearing the shouting, and curious to ascertain the cause, put his head out of the window.
“Now,” said Beau, again assuming his civil engineering pose, “go to the right a little further—there, that’ll do. 47,000—92—5.”
“What the d---l are you doing in my barn-yard?” roared the planter.
Beau would not consent to answer this interrogation, but pursuing his business, hallooed out to his “nigger”—
“Now go to the house, place your pole against the kitchen door, higher—stop at that. 86—45—6.”
“I say there,” again vociferated the planter, “get out of my yard.”
“I’m afraid we will have to go right through the house,” soliloquized Beau.
“I’m d--d if you do,” exclaimed the planter.
Beau now looked up for the first time, accosting the planter with a courteous—
“Good day, sir.”
“Good d---l, sir; you are committing a trespass.”
“My dear friend,” replied Beau, “public duty, imperative—no trespass—surveying railroad—State job—your house in the way. Must take off one corner, sir,—the kitchen part—least value—leave the parlour—delightful room to see the cars rush by twelve times a day—make you accessible to market.”
Beau, turning to the nigger, cried out—
“Put the pole against the kitchen door again—so, 85.”
“I say, stranger,” interrupted the planter, “I guess you ain’t dined. As dinner’s up, suppose you come in, and we’ll talk the matter over.”
Beau, delighted with the proposition, immediately acceded, not having tasted cooked provisions that day.
“Now,” said the planter, while Beau was paying marked attention to a young turkey, “it’s mighty inconvenient to have one’s homestead smashed up, without so much as asking the liberty. And more than that, if there’s law to be had, it shan’t be did either.”
“Pooh! nonsense, my dear friend,” replied Beau, “it’s the law that says the railroad must be laid through kitchens. Why, we have gone through seventeen kitchens and eight parlours in the last eight miles—people don’t like it, but then it’s law, and there’s no alternative, except the party persuades the surveyor to move a little to the left, and as curves costs money most folks let it go through the kitchen.”
“Cost something, eh?” said the planter, eagerly catching at the bait thrown out for him. “Would not mind a trifle. You see I don’t oppose the road, but if you’ll turn to the left and it won’t be much expense, why I’ll stand it.”
“Let me see,” said Beau, counting his fingers, “forty and forty is eighty, and one hundred. Yes, two hundred
dollars will do it.” Unrolling a large map, intersected with lines running in every direction, he continued—“There is your house, and here’s the road. Air line. You see to move to the left we must excavate this hill. As we are desirous of retaining the goodwill of parties residing on the route, I’ll agree on the part of the company to secure the alteration, and prevent your house from being molested.”
The planter revolved the matter in his mind for a moment and exclaimed:—
“You’ll guarantee the alteration?”
“Give a written document.”
“Then it’s a bargain.”
The planter without more delay gave Beau an order on his city factor for the stipulated sum, and received in exchange a written document, guaranteeing the freedom of the kitchen from any encroachment by the C. L. R. R. Co.
Before leaving, Beau took the planter on one side and requested him not to disclose their bargain until after the railroad was built.
“You see, it mightn’t exactly suit the views of some people—partiality, you know.”
The last remark, accompanied by a suggestive wink, was returned by the planter in a similar demonstration of owlishness.
Beau resumed his theodolite, drove a few stakes on the hill opposite, and proceeded onward in the fulfilment of his duties. As his light figure receded into obscurity and the distance, the planter caught a sound vastly like 40—40—120—200.—And that was the last he ever heard of the railroad.
Appleton’s American Railway Anecdote Book.