A workman came up at this moment, and, with a half-smile, asked if I knew their motto, the motto of the bridge-men.
"No," said I; "what is it?"
"'We never die,'" said he, with a grim glance at the notice; "we don't have to." Then, pointing overhead: "Come up and see us. I'll introduce you to the boys."
II
THE EXPERIENCE OF TWO NOVICES IN BALANCING ALONG NARROW GIRDERS AND WATCHING THE "TRAVELER" GANG
NOT that day, but later on, when I had arranged it. I accepted this bluff invitation and became acquainted with "the boys," the ones who "never die," and took in the fears and wonders of the bridge at closer view. My permit was granted on the express understanding that I hold nobody responsible for any harm that might befall. I was fortunate in having with me as companion in this climb Mr. Varian, the artist, who had faced perils of many sorts, but none like these.
First we clambered, pyramid fashion, up the pile of granite, big as a church, that will hold the cable-ends; they call it the anchorage. From the top of this we could look along the iron street that stretched away in a slight up-grade toward the tower. We were on a level with the roadway of the bridge, and far below us spread the housetops of Brooklyn. Between our stone precipice and the iron street-end yawned a gulf that we drew back from, with water in its deepest bottom. Here the cables would be buried some day, sealed and cemented, piled over with masonry, to hold for centuries.
Standing in the lee of a block that kept off the wind, we looked across at the bridge, and planned how presently we might reach it by skirting the moat-walls and drawing ourselves up at yonder corner where the end-span rested.