Most of them were green, awkward-appearing young men, who had joined the company solely that they might wear its uniform. As has been said, this uniform was a remarkably gorgeous one, and it represented the taste of its wearers; for they had voted to adopt it at one of the very first meetings of their organization. It was of scarlet, black, and gold, and above the stiff beaver caps nodded scarlet and black plumes of cocks’ feathers. These were the particular joy and pride of Lieutenant Easter’s men, and were regarded by them as the most truly military and warlike portion of their equipment. If these fiercely nodding plumes did not inspire terror in the hearts of the strikers, what would?
The whole business of the strike was looked upon as a picnic by these gorgeous militiamen. They had no idea that it might mean fight. Oh, no, that was too absurd. No body of strikers with a grain of sense among them would be so foolhardy as to await their coming. Their mere appearance on the scene would be the signal for flight. Did they not have law and muskets on their side?
Thus they talked and boasted as the train rolled slowly out of town without meeting the slightest form of opposition. Nobody in the car in which Myles had found a seat spoke to him or paid the least attention to him, except to wonder who he was and what right he had there. He might be a striker, for all they knew. At any rate he did not wear a uniform, was evidently only an ordinary, every-day civilian, and was consequently unworthy of their notice.
Every thing went on smoothly and comfortably for an hour or so. The track was in perfect order, no strikers were to be seen, and the citizen soldiery were boisterously happy. As many of their muskets as could be were crowded into and snugly stowed in the package-racks above their heads, while the rest were shoved under the seats so as to be well out of the way. Their owners loosened their belts for greater comfort, played cards, smoked, ate, drank, and were merry. This state of affairs continued until they had gone about twelve miles. Then the train began to climb a long grade. Its speed was of course slackened by this, but not enough to attract the notice of the card-players.
All at once the great driving-wheels of the locomotive began to spin furiously, but without taking any hold of the rails. The engineer knew in a moment what the trouble was—the track had been soaped!—and shut off steam. The train slid a few rods farther, and then stopped. As it did so a wild yell was heard in the bushes that at this point grew thickly close to the track. Then a crowd of men leaped from them and charged upon the motionless train. Half a dozen of them sprang to the locomotive, taking complete possession of it, and dragging its three occupants to the ground before they had time to offer the least resistance.
In less than a minute after it stopped the train was in undisputed possession of the strikers, and its passengers were their prisoners.
Myles was greatly startled and not a little alarmed by these summary proceedings. He sprang to his feet with the rest when the train stopped, and had nearly reached the rear door of the car when the strikers rushed in and commanded everybody to sit down. He obeyed the order at once, slipping into a little corner seat behind the open door. Here, as he was not in uniform, he escaped attention for a few minutes. Then a burly fellow, who seemed a sort of leader among the strikers, pulled back the door so as to reveal him fully, and asked gruffly:
“Who are you, and what are you doing here? What’s your position on the road?”
“I haven’t any,” answered Myles, who did not know whether to say he was a reporter or not.