I yawned, stretched my rested limbs, rubbed my eyes, and crawled out of my warm, cozy nest into the sunlight. Strapping on the sweater, with its contents, I struck across the field for the railroad, and hit a slow pace over the cross-ties down the track.
Boys are always hungry, and justly so when they haven't had breakfast. Sighting a little cottage which sat back only a few rods from the railroad, I strolled up to the back door and rapped. A lady opened it to me, and when I told my tale, she invited me into the kitchen, where I sat down at a table, and relished a nice breakfast. Goodness! but it did taste good. As I sat there devouring my food, she asked me many questions concerning myself. This put me in a serious mood, and when she began talking about home and those I had left behind, a great lump formed in my throat, and a big cruel tear rolled down my cheek. I did not wish to let her know she had touched a tender cord, so I said, "There is something in my eye," at the same time rubbing it and drying the tears with my handkerchief. She was a good woman, and those soft, tender words would have brought tears to the eyes of a hardened criminal, much less a very youthful modern soldier of fortune.
She became interested in me, and related the sad story of her son. Only a few months previous, he had run away from home and had been killed while riding on a freight train in Georgia. She pointed out to me his lonely grave, which was at the edge of a little clump of pines, just across the field. My heart went out to her in warm-felt sympathy, and bowing my head, I uncovered and went out into the lonely world, thinking of that poor heart-stricken mother.
About noon I walked into a typical swamp town, the one room station being the principal building, and drew myself up on a pile of cross ties, just across the track. There I sat in deep meditation. Two or three little children who were playing in the station yard came over and stood looking and jeering at me. They ran, however, when I muttered several mild threats, and made as though I was going to pursue them. It was not long before I heard the whistle of a locomotive in the still distance.
Presently, the big engine, with its train of passenger cars, pulled into the station and drew up at the water tank. When it stopped, I descended from my perch and walked down the track. I was afraid to board the blind baggage, the space between the mail coach and the coal car, for a number of the train crew were standing around. When the tank had been filled and the engine began to draw away, my heart sank within me, for I thought I had lost an opportunity to ride.
As the big engine puffed by, the engineer saw me, a poor little kid away out in the wilderness, standing by the track, and he motioned me to jump aboard. I ran, caught the rod on the side of the mail coach, and swung myself into a seat on the platform, right behind the coal car.
It was one hundred miles to Sanford, so the mile posts read, and I was determined to stay aboard. I unbuckled the sweater from my shoulder and threw it up on the coal. Around my neck I wore a big blue kerchief and on approaching a station, I would turn my black felt hat up in the front, perch myself on the coal car in full view, there escaping the observation of any one, for officers at every station would pass me by believing me to be one of the train crew.
About five o'clock that afternoon, the big locomotive drew us safely into Sanford. Before pulling fairly into the station I yelled good-by to the engineer and swung lightly to the ground. He looked back and I waved again.
Realizing that town folks are not wont to help one in search of food and shelter, I began my march towards the outskirts and into the country. At a farmhouse about two miles out, just as dusk was clothing the world in darkness, I secured shelter for the night. I told the man of the place I was in search of work, so he took me in, with the provision that I should do a few odd jobs the next morning. With a hot steaming supper under my belt, I sought my bed and was soon wrapped in slumber.