But besides the fun and the exercise and healthfulness of the journey, a good deal of useful information was absorbed. On the run out from Chicago the road followed the line of the new drainage canal, giving all a good opportunity to witness the blasting and the working of the giant machine shovels. At Springfield the corps visited the Legislature, then in session, and the home of President Lincoln. They were also received by the Governor. At Joliet they were taken through the penitentiary, and among other souvenirs of the place, each one carried away a piece of striped cloth from the tailor shops. These pieces did important duty later in the journey, most of them returning to Chicago in the form of patches to the well worn uniforms.
On the whole the trip proved most successful, and there is not much those boys don't know to-day about the handling of bicycles.
THE BICYCLE CORPS AT DRESS PARADE.
A PILOT'S STORY.
For a number of years I have been a traveller on the North River ferry-boats running between New York and Jersey City. One of the pleasures of these short trips has been in my interest and admiration for the skilful way in which such huge, unwieldy boats are handled by their pilots. The tides in the river are at times very strong, and especially so near the ferry slips. To prevent mishaps it requires the most careful manœuvring, as a small error of judgment might send the heavily laden boat crashing into the bulkheads. Such an accident would endanger the lives of the people on board.
When the heavy gong sounds, and the rumble of the paddle-wheels stops, and the boat glides silently over the water, it is then that the pilot and his engineer are on the alert—one with his hand on the wheel, moving it this way and that, and the other with his hand on the lever bar, ready to back water or go ahead, according to his signals.
I remember a story that a pilot told me, of which he was the hero. He did not tell it boastingly, but in a simple, quiet way, and not before a great deal of persuasion was brought to bear upon him. We were standing at the time on the lower deck of a ferry-boat belonging to the line upon which he was then employed. Pointing to a grimy young bootblack who was industriously polishing away, he said: "At one time I polished boots the same as that youngster is doing there. I loved the boats and the crowds, but more especially I loved to watch the pilot and the engineer at work. To see the latter polishing and oiling his machinery as carefully as a mother would dress a baby was my chief enjoyment. I dare say I knew every part of the engine as well as he did, or at least I thought so, and many a shine I let pass simply to see him work the boat in and out of the slip. This curiosity, or rather interest, on my part stood me in good stead at one time, as you will see. We were unusually crowded on the trip when my stroke of good luck took place, both gangways running past the engine-room being choked up with horses and wagons.
"Most of the drivers had gone forward, and I sat in my usual place on the ledge at the engine-room door alone. Bang! the first bell sounded to reduce her to half speed, and I glanced around to watch the engineer shut off steam. He was sitting facing the engine in his arm-chair, his chin in his hand, and his arm resting on the side of the chair. I was surprised to see that he made no move, and, thinking he was asleep, I ran in to shake him. By this time the pilot evidently thought something was wrong, and the big bell sounded twice, meaning, as you probably know, to stop the engine. I could not make the engineer move, and, without hesitating, I stepped across to the engine, and grasping the wheel, I shut off the steam and disconnected the eccentrics.