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FIRING FOR DEATH.

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FIRING FOR DEATH. Jim McCarthy was my friend, and we Were both firemen for the Chicago, Milwau- kee, and Saint Paul Railway in the year of '87. His run was from Davenport to Oxford Junction, and mine from the last-named place to Calmar, so that four nights of every week we spent together in a cosy room at a popular hotel. Jim's only fault was a fond- ness fur good liquor at tirsc I refused to join him in a glass, but it seemed so un- social that I began to sip, then to drink half rations, and finally to take my full share without hesitation. However, I only indulged my appetite when in h I, company, while lie was pouring whiskey down his thrort in liberal quantities at the other end of the line, though I did not realise it at the time. The truth came to me sharply enough when I missed him one night from our room, and learned that he had been taken to the hospital in a sud- den and violent attack of delirium tremens, ane ray next trip to Calmar was wretched Mid dreary in every detail. It was a picturesque route, and I usually enjoyed our passage through Fayette, a little zity on the line, situated on a plateau, and 3nrrounded on three sides by blutfs that towered above its highest buildings. Through one of these bluffs our company had cut its way at a great expenditure of money and time, and the open tunnel was a grand piece of work. a quarter of a mile in length, and nearly 250 feet in depth. Each entrance showed sides of earth and i'loose limestone, but the centre was a wall of solid rock flint-like, and dazzling to the eye in sun- light. As we passed through it on this particular day, my engineer, Burke, remarked to me,- 44 Did you ever tbin-k-, -.vhit would become of us if those embankments should take a slide when we are steaming along below?" I glanced up suddenly. "There's nt>-danger, Burke. They look golid enough." Yes," said he, but a long continuance of drought, causing the ground to open m seams, if followed by a violent storm and wash-out, might cause either end of the tunnel to give way when the vibration of a heavy train acted upon it." I did not relish this idea, and fell back en the statement that there had never been a wreck on our division since I had worked thero upon which Burke grimly replied I that when railroad accidents were as thick ts blackberries in Augusr, we couldn t ex- pect to escape them Pil our lives. I spent a wakeful night at Calmar, think- I spent i wa k eful n; ,(, ing about Jim's sickness and the possibility that I, too, might fall a victim to the same disease if I did not control my growing ap- petite for whiskey, and went back to Oxford with a nervous headache torturing me all the way. Before I had time to get a cup of tea I was summoned to the hospital to see my friend, who was considered in a critical condition, and who a-keel for me continually. I obeyed the call. A few words will de- scribe his appearance, but it is not in my power to explain or define its impression on my mind. A strong man with bloated I features, purple skin, unshorn beard, and wild eyes screaming, struggling, and pant- ing in the arms of his attendants, raving for me, but incapable of recognition, though I spoke to him repeatedly. I did not long remain a witness to his sufferings, but hur-I ried to my room and tried to put him out of my mental sight. There was a bottle of choice Bourbon whiskey in a corner cupboard—perhaps a glassful would strengthen and steady my I w -then an d steady my nerves. I opened the door and looked at it, but the thought of poor Jim kept me from going farther just then. I walked restlessly up and down the room, Jim's picture hung in the opposite corner, and it seemed to move in the frame. I stopped short, and it winked at me significantly, as if to say,— Go on, old fellow one glass can't hurt you. My system was under pressure, and I yielded. One glass was an aggravation I poured out a second, and placing the bottle on the centre table, dropped in a chair beside it to drink and forget my anxiety. I raised my eyes and they fell on a life- sized portrait of my dear mother. Sorrow- ful reproach was written on her face. I could not drink before her, and rising hastily I turned the painting coward cue wall; then twice I filled the little goblet and gulped down its contents. I felt stronger, and turned immediately to Jim's picture for approvaL This time he seemed to sneer, and with a feeling of dis- gust I reversed his face also. Now I am alone; I will finish the bottle," I thought, and stretched my hand toward it. The mellow liquid began to boil up to the neck, and I drew the cork, wondering what could have caused this sudden fermentation. To my surprise a man s head appeared, to be followed by his body, slowly working its way out of the small aperture. He stood for a moment with a foot on either side of the neck of the flask, and then, hanging to the rim. slipped down the smooth surface to the table, very much as Jack descended the beanstalk. I now saw that he had a pair of wintrs fitted to his shoulders, and carried a scythe, which he proceeded to place in the correct position, and taking a small emery stone from his pocket, began to sharpen it in an experienced way. The rasping noise was so painfully dis- tinct that I was glad when he finished the task. Hanging the instrument over the edge of an inkstand, he drew a closely printed book from another pocket, which he exam- ined with great interest. The noise made by an incoming train aroused him, for our hotel was near the depot, and my room overlooked the track. He regarded me attentively, and spoke in a thin, wiry voice,— "The signal is out, John, and the train waiting. Are you ready for the run 41 My work is finished for to-day," I an- swered, in some hesitation, One trip more, John—only one He pointed to the window, and I walked round the table and pushed back the inner shutters. Beneath the electric lamps a train had halted, and I could see that its make- up was different from any I had ever observed before. The head-light of the engine was a human skull illuminated by a weird, inner, flame that gave an intense ghastliness to each feature, and its smoke stack was a tall monument of marble, bearing this inscrip- tion 44 Sacred to the memory of the martyred train-men, who have laid down their lives that the world may move on at the rate of sixty miles an hour." The bell clanged, and I started in terror, for it was the wail of a dying voice. 44 What does this mean V I whispered with faltering lips, as I turned, bewildered, co the little man. But my door was ajar, and he was gone. Thank heaven I exclaimed, looking again through the window. There he was, walking across the platform below, and at every step he grew taller and larger till when he reached the cars he was a man of ordinary size, J The engineer stepped from his cab to meet him. He was a calm old fellow, with stooping figure, long, white beard and bony bands; and as he walked forward he beckoned, and from the darkness that hovered about the rear coaches a thousand pale, shadowy forms came slowly forth. I recognized Charley Burns, of the Illinois Central, who went down through a bridge with his engine Will Porter, cf the Bur- lington, who met death at the throttle that two hundred passengers might live Riley, of the Northern Pacific Shields, of the Union and many more whose faces were familiar. Without echo of footstep, or sound of voice, the great procession filed past the engineer, and he raised his wan forefinger and counted every man. Quietly they moved on, marched to the front of the engine, and paused before the monument with uncovered heads to salute the burning skull beneath it. Then they passed down the other side of the long train, and I saw them no more. When the last form had disappeared, the engineer and the man of the bottle clasped hands with solemn cordiality, and held a brief consultation together. Looking up at my window they crossed the street. A moment later, they were in my room. The hero of the bottle walked to the table for hi." scythe, which was now as large as any aveiage implement bearing that name. Last call, John," said he seriously. 44 All aboard for work I looked at him in wonder. He was dressed in the uniform of a conductor, and his cap bore the railway initials.. 44 Are yoi employed by our company 1" I inquired. He smiled faintly. 44 I wear your livery for this trip, because I shall make it over your line. Bat Sttielj you ought to know me, John. I am Time. I The engineer beckoned to me without speaking, and I followed him with no thought of disobedience. The calmness of resignation had wrapped itself about me like a cloak. As we descended the stairs I was overtaken by a great weakness, but the old man took my arm and assisted me across the street and into the cab. The fire smoul- dered and cast a blue light about us, and my head whirled as we received our signal for the star-L but I was passive, and willing to go out into the darkness with the gray- bearded man for my guide. You are a proficient engineer," I said in a tone of awe, as I watched his movements. Ay, my boy, I have taken many of your comrades on their final run, and they are all willing to trust me. I stand at the wheel when the last breath flickers upon their lips, and ply the lever that guides them home. You are young, but I have decided that it is better for you to die a hero than to live a drunkard—to go in your strength than to drag through a long existence of besotted weakness. To your work, then, John Gilbert, and remember that this is your last night on the Old Reliable Road, for you must fire for death." I shovelled coal into the furnace, and turned the faucet of the tank for oil to feed the flames more rapidly. I realised now that life, with all its grand opportunities, I was fast slipping away, and that the arm of the old engineer was my last support. My years were few, but stained by dissipation, and warped by wasted energies. At nine- teen I was tal,-Ln, niy last run, an d firing for ) teen I was taking my last run, and firing for I .h  Winding around the bluffs to the south- east of pretty little Fayette, we came in sight of the depot, and I thought of the old ex-major. who had so long been agent at that place. I knew just how he would look, standing at his desk in his dark blue uni- form, with his glasses perched upon his nose. I could see his pleasant face in imagination as I never should see it again in this world, for we gave the long whistle and passed on to the open tunnel. A cool breeze swept over my forehead the engineer gathered me close to his heart, and softly stroked my cold hands and stiffening lips the headlight leaped, danced and wavered an d, lying on the bosom of death, I was swept out into a sea of inky blackness I came to the things of this world once mora in the gray light of a cloudy morning. I was in my chair by the table in my own room, with the bottle containing one more drink of whiskey directly before me. Draw- ing myself up on my cramped and stiffened limbs, I grasped it, and removing the cover of my cou1 stove, hurled it inside with a crash. The next moment a knock brought me to the door, and a messenger from the hospital save me the news of Jim McCarthy's death. He had ceased to suffer at three o'clock, while I was passing through my dreadful experience. I braced up under my bitter reflections as well as I could, but when I met Burke, I could not refrain from telling him of that night's run. Is it a real warning, old fellow ?" I asked him irt conclusion. "It is an attack that is akin to the tremens," said he, promptly. "Take a course of quinine and dandelion, and let whiskey alone after this." We started on our usual trip at the regular hour, with twenty-three freight cars and a passenger coach, as ours was a mixed train. Burke saw that I was depressed, and tried in his jovial way to cheer me, but my uneasi- ness increased as we drew near Fayette, and grew to be actual alarm when we saw that the heaviest rain of the season had struck that vicinity the evening before, and every ad jacent stream was at its highest mark. Before we entered the long gorge, I saw little rills of water oozing from its sides and pattering dolefully on the rails below. We made our way cautiously along till we had passed the solid rock centre, and could look out to the grade beyond. Suddenly Burke gave an upward glance from his window and sprung forward. We slacked our speed an instant, and then with a wide open throttle, leaped forward like a live steed. The coupling parted and we were spinning ahead with a loud roar and a rumble behind us, and small rocks and dirt flying about our tender. When we slowed down again and looked back with horror-stricken faces, we saw a hundred tons of soil and limestone still sli, i 'g down about the cars we had left, and Burke remarked coolly,— There is your warning, John and if Death hasn't carried you in his arms, he has long been looking over your shoulder." Reversing the engine, we worked slowly back to the wreck, and in a short time shouts of delight from the rear coach told us that the avalanche had crushed only the centre of our train, and no lives were lost, But it was my last run on any railway, for a slow nervous fever attacked me, and when I was able to work again, I chose a less dangerous occupation. Physicians call my experience that night at Oxford a singular hallucination, but my little mother says it was a temperance lesson, and I will add that I am not likely to forget it.

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