After the close of the Civil War, from 1865 to a much later date, a great many men had been soldiers and were discharged, had grown fond of a wandering life and were unable to resist its charms. It was about this time that the army of tramps gained so many recruits as to become a great national nuisance. Many of these men were still clad, in whole or in part, in army blue uniforms; and some of the army overcoats survived several winters. There were many of these hoboes on the road, moving from place to place, sometimes afoot, sometimes beating their way on the railroads, where they finally became a menace to the trainmen and to the communities along the right of way.
Most of the subsistence of these tramps was lifted from the charitable by the process known as “slamming gates.” Not a few of the tramps were very soft spoken when men or cross dogs were about but became bold and saucy when the women folks were alone. The food gained by begging was supplemented by petty thefts of chickens, eggs, green corn and other produce and the snaring of rabbits and other small game.
Just above Milford, New Jersey, the Delaware River breaks through a ridge of New Red Sandstone, forming a cliff of red rock, the color of which is due to peroxid of iron, facing the south. Along these cliffs there are many ledges; and in the winter, as the sun beats against these ledges, it heats the rocks and creates an atmosphere several degrees warmer than that of the surrounding country.
On one of these ledges overhanging the railroad, which follows the New Jersey shore of the river, a band of hoboes had established their camp. There had been a heavy fall of snow the night before as two tramps were released from the county prison at Flemington where they had been spending a sad week breaking stone.
“Better not come this way again,” said the Sheriff as he released them; “we’ve got your numbers here, and next time you’ll get a heavy dose.”
“I’m going to head for Milford camp,” said Harvard Jim to Deadwood Ike, his companion, “I am getting tired of Jersey.”
“This here beats cock fightin,” replied Ike. “Every darn muscle in my body aches to beat the band, and here we’re turned out in the snow. Lucky we had breakfast.”
All day they plodded doggedly along toward Milford, cold and with wet feet. At noon they had several “hand outs” which fended off starvation, and that night they camped in a wood where the bushes sheltered them and their fire. The next day was warmer and the sun shone, melting the snow. They reached the camp with wet feet, tired and hungry and were greeted with jeers and laughter. The pot was boiling over a wood fire and they were soon fed and warmed. The ground was bare and not too dry as they hunted a place to rest. Finally, Ike curled down and tried to go to sleep, but was kept awake by an intolerable prickling sensation in his back. This grew worse until it became intolerable.
“Say boys!” said he, “Something’s the matter with my back.” So saying, he started to strip off his coat.
“Wait a minute,” said Harvard Jim, “you have something hanging to your coat.” So saying, he pulled it off but immediately began to dance and swear.