Newspapers / The Charlotte Observer (Charlotte, … / Jan. 22, 1911, edition 1 / Page 15
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, 1 o \-1 a 1, reckless . Morgan lay r'.} in state upon his cot >5 in the dormitor\" up- '>iairs, and Scventv- ' r' -('vcn's crew mourned nil iffectodly. ••>!'''I the engine-house nice. a pusillanimous 1 n.c insulted the ; Mrii t*t‘ the crew by n air os behind their it weakly when ■ \ nu\ Xo man could r i> Tom and his I !’•. heroism w-ith which ' •I'' .i]..rm the cvenini^ •■•troots were a glare ■ - rubber-tired wheels ■ \ i upon the cobbles . ! 'v.itcd ]nilars on the ■ ' or.'^ine-house, Tom , ty and done it like a bl'K?ks away, when • ; :jrays were plunging • tli.'ir necks tight in ■ liars and the engine '••iiind with shrieking i:\Li valves, the most ■ tiroman can see ap- n. ' d” in affectionate • ’ t'lTanl tor danger in a ■\.'e encounters, and , jualities.Toni leaned '' '^oat, V)arehanded . ! iking to Jenny and i b V heard and answered, ^ ; !)ur>t of speed a!id ' he three-tou monster ;ike a toy. Tom was free/.inf; drizzle and I "j. when a young g’*rl ! ironi. of tht* grays ard c\er taught me anythin’. He shown me the difference between bein’ a damn fool an’ keepin’ cool. I can't forget it. He taught me to drive. God, look at him! ” He broke down again and' snivelled openly; his mates growled their sympathy. This was no child s sentinientai sillinessj law,” persisted Patrick, stubbornly, *‘it‘s wrong for a man who can do good to the community to give his life for a kid that’s ai a place where it ain’t got no business. Can the kid save lives? Can he save prop’ty? Can he swing three big horses, or hold a nozzle against a blazin’ tenement, w’iie his mates is on the sealin’ ladders?” Dagos trapped on the upper floors, crazy with fear. How'd they manage to get out before 63 could get up from her house? Wouldn't a lot o’ them be burnt or smoth ered w'ile old 77 was lyin’ in the road useless?” The men had not taken that view of the matter, and some of them nodded approv ingly, as they saw the crowded picture :'jiii the wind—frantic- ’ l.'ark--went dov.n II ec hoed al:)ove the ■ -‘’ng Elevated train. ■ i ■ Devil’’ hesitate. ' '-n ihe ;)ff rein, he :cr into die nearest ‘ , 7 'hiverofl with the er MM her siU\ The ■ . ino terror, fell. Ftrug- : v.a> picked ut) by iiiskcrs were grizzled ' ! t; ~.en back hurriedly t ,-r 'b jok his head and ■' silence fell upon the men mi^.a'd their • and went in silence, • !f!ly about, dreading to . Patrick, young, red- !'.L'rick, could stand the done iti” he cried a'la’t oughta done iti” ' 1 "Id Captain looked at rl( d: “Shut up! I'om anybody here. He had em, too, when your 'It go sayin’ he hadn’t ‘ nt rumbled approval ■ Jhe other men looked u'bstitute driver, who ■y something. He was ' ■ looking down at 'H.f head. ’ oughta done it,” he ■ ly. “He hadn't! My hat ’s a kid’s life com- ' I-;*.- Morgan?” '1 rnulHed tones. 'i ber when I come on ' du‘ rhool.an’thenthe ' 'o because o’ that . ) he was the first man year s raise, she should mov’C far up town and out of the danger zone. She knev/ he was right, but the golden head had sobbed upon his blue shoulder unrestrainedly, as they prayed he might ne\-er have to do his duty. Ihere seemed small chance of it as the fall wore away and winter came on, stern and uncompromising, bringing slowly with FEAR, srCH AS HE HAD NEVER KNOWN BEFORE, GRIPPED HIM ABOUT THE THROAT FROM BEHIND THE CAR STEPPED A CHILD—A GIRL-CHILD Patrick had proven his right to weep. Even the hard-headed Cap'tain, whose lips opened more frequently to undam a fiood of turgid objurgation than for any other pur pose, whimpered a little as he fro^^■ned over his desk. Patrick took up his argument again. “Tom, he told me he'd get it that way some night. He knev; it would, be at night. Told me so; but he wasn't scared of it on a first alarm. Said it'd come »n a second or third; dovvntown, not up. “But he said it was ivrong. I know it.'’ ‘‘Say, you—” broke in the Captain curtly, with more show of wrath than was really accessary, to concc?a his ov.n emotion. “Hoi' on. Cap. It’s in my system. I got to git it out. Lemme alone,” Patrick snuilled, without looking at him. “He was like my ov.n brother, on'y older. T wouldn’ lie drivin’ 77 now on’y for him. An', I sav it's all wron%—u'rong! W’y should a man kill himself an’ mangle up his bosses to save a kid that wall s out into the street? God, boys, ye can hear old 77 for blocks! W'y'd anybody walk out into the street in front of a noiic like she makes? Ain't that criminal carelessness? Is the driver to blame for runnin' down any fool like that?” “Cut it out, Patrick. Don't call no hard names. Ye prob’Iy run out in front o’ the engines yerself w'en ye was a kid, many a time. They can't help it. ^*iebbe some o’ them ain't never been taught nothin’, an’ mebbe some 0’ them don’t hear good.” The Captain v;as holding the match he had raised to light his pipe at arm's length, watching it scorch his fingers without feel ing it. “Xo, sir; a man's a man, an’ he’s just got to look out for them that can’t take care o’ themselves. Remember that!” “W'y don’t they make a law about it?” inquired the Lieutenant, slowly, as the idea took vague shape in his rather dull wits. “ I’d think they c’d make it a misde meanor to interfere with th’ engines that way.” “/5 a law!” retorted the Captain grulHy, feeling the smart of tne match. “But no law’s any good at a time like that. Think a man’s going to stop an’ holier for a cop to come an’ pull the kid off the track, w’en he’s got just time enough to swing his team or commit homicide?” “Don’t make no difference, law or no “Aw, shut up!” blustered the Captain. “ Don’t be a fool I ” “ Well, s'pose it liappens to be a girl, then, like it was for poor Tom. Hov,* about that? ]\Icbbe the boy could grow up an’ be a fire man or a cop. But how about the girl? How could she ever do the world any good like we can? ” “She could give birth to a dozen fire men," suggested one of the elder men, whose ideas of families seemed commensu rate with the importance of the profession. “Mebbe, if she got married. But don’t you fellers know there’s four limes as many women as the’ is men in X”ew York right now? What show has three girls out 6’ four got to git married an’ have kids?—tell me that!'’ The Lieutenant interrupted more slowly, more embarrassed than before. “Xow, boy, you're married yourself, an’ got kids. S'posin’ it was one o’ them ...” The crew sat breathless an instant. This was something they had not tlought of. What could the answer be? WTiat could a theory like Patrick’s do in the face of such a biov.’ but collapse? Yet they had reckoned without their man. The recruit v/ho had single-handed fought dov.-n the fire among the chlorate barrels in a sm.oke-fillcd base ment, when tjie building o\erhead was a furnace and the entire crev,* hr>d dese»-ted him, v\’as not the type of man to back away from anything. He answered p”omr,tly. “It couldn’t be, boys,” was the proud reply. “My family don't live near the engine-house for nothin’. I’ve learned them kids to keep out o’ the way. They’re taught, they are, both o’ them. Mary's old enough to take care o’ Tommy. But he’s old enough to mind, too. They won’t never trouble us.” “Yes; but s’posin’ they did happen to forget or somethin'?'’ persisted his superior, doggedly determined to pin him down to an answer that could leave no doubt. “W’at could you do then but smash things,' like Morgan done?’’ “No, sir, I wouldn't. If my kids break the law, they got to suffer. I’ve done my best. I can’t do no more than that. If they get in,77’s way, they got to get out of it. I’d try to get past if I could. But I wouldn’t smash up no bosses or engine,” was the Spartan declaration. “Ye’d kill yer own fiesh an’ blood!” gasped the Captain, too amazed at the heroism he did not comprehend to be pro fane. “Ye’d be a killer!” “Yes,” Patrick answered soberly. “If I had to, I would. It sounds awful, but just stop an’ think. S’posin’ I wrecked her w’ile we was goin’ to somethin’ real bad, like one o’ these here Ginny tenement fires, an’ there was a couple o’ hundred poor Patrick had drawn so simpl}\ But the Captain was obdurate. “W’at the hell’s a lot o’ Ginnys an^'way, compared with yer own kids? I’ll send 3'ou down to th’ surgeon for examination!” he exclaimed angrih’. “All right, sir, send me if you like, but I’m as right as any man here. If you don't like the idea o’ Dagos, w’y, take that big double-decker full o’ Jews an’ Irishmen three ])locks from here, just off’n the Avenue. Ain’t some o’ them people worth sa\ in’?‘’ The discussion waxed bitter, the dead hero on his cot forgotten as his fellows wrangled, Patrick's final clincher that “God's abvays been good v;it?i babies, an’ the man that's once had 'em can usually get more, but ye can’t always be sure o’ rc- placin’ a feller like jMorgan,” still further disquieting them. But at last the furious Captain crushed all argument and resistance by shouting: “I'm in command here—I'm responsible lor every mother's son of a gun of ye I I say my driver's got to be a man an’ v.’reck us, if a kid or a woman gits *in the way. Are ye goin’ to obey orders, or ’11 I have to send ye down to Headquarters for ins’bor- dination?". The young man did not answer, but bowed his head, though the rebellious glitter in his blue eyes spelled disobedience, even at the risk of \-\ hat he held most dear. The da\’s passed in the usual routine and no accident marred 77’s record, though the superstitious still expected the other two disasters that must inevitably come fill out the run of bad luck that always delivered its blov.’s by threes. They dreaded the strident voice of the brazen alarm gong. Even the grays, a strancer now fiiiing poor Smut's jjlr.ce 'oetwoen ihe [.parallel shafts, sprang to their work with expanded nostrils and nervous pavvings that told of their own sense of impending trouble. Yet it did not com^e. Weeks passed, one Vvith a terrific battle through v/hich 77’s men passed vic torious and unscathed to greater glory thaii ever, and gradually the strain of expectancy wore away and was forgotten. Morgan became only a name, a part of the heroic records of the Departmfent, a fabled knight, whose deeds were good to inspire young recruits when their spirits lagged, or the effortless routine of alarmless days dragged heavily. Patrick and Iiis com manding otBcer buried the hatchet, and the Captain, proud of the younger man’s record and of his dariiig with the ribbons, hoped he had forgotten all that weird non sense and would acquit himself as became a member of the stoutest-hearted engine- crew in the whole city. But Patrick had not forgotten, had not changed. He and terrified IMolly had talked it over more than once, at home inv his off hours. It was the specter haunting them both, and Patrick had promised her huskily that, as soon as he got the next it the final day of the old year—the anni- \ersary of “Devii” Morgan's last ride. Patrick, however, did not remember. Were not he and I\IolIy that very afternoon up in the Bronx, vrhere they chose a clean, new apartment on a side street, blocks away from the nearest engine-house? And so Patrick came vrhistling back to 77’s house, contented and happy, full of the anticipated joys of seeing his hopes fulfilled. Taking off his best coat and folding it away in his locker, he v;as getting into his working clothes when the huge gong below began to hammer out its furious appeal to speed and courage and daring. It drowned his cheery whistle vnth its tumultuous clangor, shot him across to the sliding pole and hurled him u]3 into his seat upon the apparatus as the great grays jumT)ed in their harness, the doors rolled 'back and 77, smoking and gurgling vv'ith tiie fire and water in her bov/els, rumbled out into the street. The avenue was clear. Urging on his team v:\ih word and rein, leaning forward until tlic heavy strap about his waist held his weight; Patrick peered ahead through the crisp moonlight that filtered down to bar the trollej^ tracks vdtk light and shadov.'. He had had no time for gloves, and the t)iiter air nipped his hands until the tingers tingled Vvitii the frost and the reins left red and white streaks across their backs. But he felt the exliilaration of speed and power; his \'oice trembled with deligni and the importance of his mission. liovv' many poor devils might not be in dire peril, awaiting the help he was thunder- ii-c: tovv-ard them? Under him 77 trembled and c}ui\’ered, eager with the tense eager ness of a leashed hound. The wind swept under her gratebars and sucked from her luriHel a crimson shower that spattered back from the tics of the Elevated; her v/histle shrieked wild alarum; her trail glowed orange and scarlet with bits of burning coal dropped behind for the wind to sport with. Suddenly the new horse in the center shied violently at a blown bit of paper, and Patrick spoke to him shaiply, glancing down at the flying cobbles with a start of ner\*- ousness, as he recognized the corner where Morgan had gone down a year before. Be fore him in the near distance a crowded trolley car paused, its lighted windows black with eager heads strained to see the poAverful apparatus shoot past on the gallop. Patrick tightened his grip. His heart contracted. Fear, such as he had never known before, gripped Tiim about the throat, blinded his eyes. From behind the car stepped a child— a girl-child. Out of the driver’s lips leaped a frantic, surging oath. His hands unconsciously heaved on the reins. But the grays were out of control, mad ^ith the fire-fury, knowing only their one duty—to gallop, and gallop, and gallop. On the footboard behind, the austere Captain had seen—77 shrieked and wailed and bellowed. The child stood stock-still, petrified with terror. The grays saw noth ing, heard only the whistle screaming to them for more speed. Patrick had not seen it like this. His theory had presented itself for test. If he swerved a foot to the right, there were the pillars—iron. If he kept on, he must crush the child—flesh. Which should it be? Behind him the Captain was cursing foamily. “Turn out! Turn! ” he yelled through the shattering din of the whistle’s wild terror. “Turn out! Quick! For God’s sake, turn I” yelled the black, hazy dots in the trolley car windows. , Red-headed, fresh-faced, blue-eyed Pat rick ceased to be a boy in that instant. His face blanched to gray. “Devil” Morgan's sad brown eyes peered at him remorselessly out of the wild past. , It was an agonizing moment of indecision. He had never supposed it would be like this.^ His duty to his helpless mates, to thi; public, to himself, swept by in lightning review. The thought of the fire far ahead shot after them. His duty—he squared himself, the powerful muscles in his shoul ders and arms tightened. ^ Two thoughts, two distinct sensations raced parallel in his whirling brain. He knew how he should decide-—yet he hesi tated. The agony unnerved him. Only a second more remained. Every instant the thundering team came nearer the motion less figure of the child before him. Patrick was beyond reason; his actions had resolved themselves mercifully into the primitive. Surging up in him at the last yard of distance, just as the child found tongue in a heart-rending cry of more than human despair, came the intuitive spirit of Man. Once more 77, hissing and shrieking and belching fire, hurled herself into the iron— passed by the flesh. It was his profane, fire-scarred,'kindly old martinet of a Captain who stood fidgeting with his clumsy helmet at the white bedside as Patrick opened his eyes som.e hours later in the Mercy Hospital. The veteran’s face was anxious, his bristling mustache thrust ing out hedge wise as he bent above the still figure on the cot. Patrick stared at him from an immeas urable distance, through a veil of haze that softened and blurred the familiar features. “W^ha—? W’^hat happened?” he whis pered weakly, wincing at the pain his cracked ribs shot through him. “Back- draught . . . ?” “Sh, now—you mustn’t talk. Every thing’s all right,” the nurse replied. And the interne, who had patched him up with swift skill, added: “Only a couple of cracked ribs, my man. You’ll be back on the job in a day or so.” “But what happened—floor go down?” persisted the wounded fireman in feeble petulance. “I don’t understand.” “Course you don’t, lad-” broke in the Captain grimly. “Nobody does—but they all do it, just the same. I’m proud o’ ye!” Patrick sighed his annoyance and frowned. It was all a puzzle. He knew he was in the hospital—that much was clear. But how or why. he could not imagine. Memory ran back to the morning, to afternoon, to the httie flat in Harlem—and ceased. Why couldn’t they be decent and tell him? The surgeon saw his trouble and whis pered to the Captain: “It may do *hlr:i good; you had better explain. This sus pense isn’t doing him good now. Tell him.” The veteran nodded, and told him, bit by bit, helping out his paralyzed memory with a rapid patchwork of narrative that brought intelligence back into the blank eyes. When he had finished, and the three stood quietly by the bedside, Patrick closed his eyes, his face set rigidly in lines whose pain was not mere agony of the body. The watchers stepped a little closer. Slowly he looked out at them again, and his lips moved. They bent forward. “I didn’t understand when I said I wouldn’t do it,” he muttered, in scarcely audible accents. And after a pause for the breath, whose coming and going tortured him but faintly in comparison with his thoughts: “My God! Suppose it had been one o’my kids . . . ?” “I knew, lad! I knew!” exclaimed the Captain, bending down and pushing some- thing indistinct into the range of his \ision. ' “I knew ye was a man, boy. Here’s the kid ... ” Patrick opened his eyes again languidly, too exhausted to wish for a sight of the life he had saved—sat bolt upright, regardless of pain and plaster cast— “ Marv My Mary—God 1
The Charlotte Observer (Charlotte, N.C.)
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Jan. 22, 1911, edition 1
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