“Then why don’t you take them into the house and thaw them out?” shouted the Despatcher.
“There’s no roof on the house, and I’m too busy to-day to put one on,” was the quick retort.
Faith and loyalty—we did not call it morale in those days, but it was, just the same. Here was Conductor William Schram with a brisk little job, handling the way freight on the old Cape branch: He had just spent three days bringing a big Russell plow through from the Cape to Watertown. On getting into Watertown it was needed to open up the road between that city and Philadelphia. Schram had been on duty three days without rest. Another conductor was called to relieve him. William Schram protested. He said that he did not feel that he could desert the road when it was in a fix.
Three other conductors, well famed in the days of the Parsons’ régime of the Rome road, were Andrew Dixon, Tom Cooper and Daniel Eggleston—and a fourth was the well-known Jacob Herman, of Watertown. Jake was a warm personal friend of both Parsons and Britton. Finally, it came to a point where the President would have no other man in charge of his train when he made his inspection trips over the property, and he advanced and protected him in every conceivable way. He insisted even upon Jake accompanying him back and forth from New York on the occasion of his frequent visits into the North Country.
In an earlier chapter I referred to the easy traditions of the long-agos in regard to the passenger receipts from the average American railroad. The R. W. & O. had been no exception to this general rule. Along about 1888 or 1889 Parsons decided that he would make it an exception henceforth. He violated the old traditions and sent “spotters” out upon the passenger trains. As a direct result of their observations some thirteen or fourteen of the oldest men on the line were dropped from its service. Not only this, but several months’ pay was withheld from the envelopes of each of them as they were discharged. Just prior to this volcano-like eruption on the part of “the old man” Parsons sent Herman up to Watertown as station master—a position which he has continued to hold until comparatively recent months.
The “stove committees” “joshed” Jake pretty well over his boss’s strategy, knowing full well all the while, that if there was one honest conductor on the whole line, it was that selfsame Jacob Herman. Not only honest, but courageous. It was in a slightly earlier era that the road had a good deal of trouble on the Rome branch with what they called “bark peelers”—woodsmen, who would come down out of the forest and in their boisterous fashion make a deal of trouble for the train-crew.
Jake Herman was told off to end that nuisance. It was a regular honest-to-goodness-carry-the-message-to-Garcia sort of a job. Well, Jake got the message through to Garcia. He picked out six brakemen as assistant messengers, any one of whom would have made a real Cornell center-rush. They were the “flower of the flock.”
At Richland the gang boarded the evening train down from Watertown. Somewhere between that station and Kasoag they detrained—as a military man might put it. But not in a military fashion. Along the right-of-way Captain Jake and his lieutenants distributed “bark-peelers,” with a fair degree of regularity of interval. Up to that time it had been no sinecure, being a conductor or a trainman on the old Rome road. After that it became as easy as running an infant class in a Sunday School.
John D. Tapley was another well known conductor of those days, and so was W. S. Hammond, who afterwards became division superintendent at Carthage. These men were U. & B. R. graduates, and it was but logical that when Hammond came to his promotion reward, it should be upon the corner of the property on which he had been schooled and with which he was most familiar. He was a man of tremendous popularity among his men.