CHAPTER XVI.
ON THE RAIL.
Early, very early the next morning, the fifth of July, Mrs. Lester was aroused by the firing of cannon, to celebrate our national independence. Norman and Willie had kept the third, by firing off crackers all day, and winding up with wheels, Roman candles, and blue lights, exhibited to an appreciating audience on the portico in the evening. After breakfast Norman, his Aunt Clara, and his mother bade good-by, and got in the carriage which was to convey them to Batavia, the spires of which were visible from Mr. Clayton’s. It was a pleasant drive of two miles in the Fox River valley. The man drove very fast, and they were sorry to arrive so soon at the place of their destination, especially when they were told that they were to wait two hours for the arrival of the train. The hackman, who had come for them before the time, had many demands for the carriage, for which he charged an extra price in honor of the holiday. A number of passengers were waiting for the train; many of them going to the celebration at Aurora, a pretty town, all astir with gaily dressed people, and a procession marching to the grove where already a crowd was gathered. It was a most lovely country, soft rolling prairie, with its wealth of golden wheat, of waving corn, of graceful barley, bordered by rich groves of timber, and dotted here and there with towns and villages.
At Mendota they left their cars, and entered those of the Illinois Central Railroad. There were several trains there, and a great number of passengers hurrying to and fro, and rushing in to dinner. Norman ran first into one store, and then into another, to buy some torpedoes, as he was very anxious to make some noise, to give vent to his patriotic feeling. He came back with a large box full, just in time, for the train was soon in motion. And the passengers too, for the road was so rough that the people went dancing up and down in the most violent manner. Mrs. Lester asked the conductor if the road was so rough all the way? No, he said; they had passed over the worst of it. And with that hope Mrs. Lester tried to enjoy the beautiful prairies, and the noble view of the Illinois River as seen from the high embankment over which the road passes.
Norman would like to have seen the “Starved Rock,” somewhere on this river, whither some Indians, pursued by their enemies, fled for refuge. They were surrounded, and all escape from the rock prevented by their encircling foes, who, day after day, waited for them to surrender. At length they scaled the rock, and found the garrison all starved to death but one squaw, who calmly awaited the entrance of her enemies.
The Starved Rock, however, was not in sight, nor was any rock recalling thrilling legend and heroic story; but another prospect, not so agreeable, from the rear of the car near which they were seated—a long strait road, the rails of which were rather too much curved to suggest ideas of safety. “Don’t you think this road very unsafe?” inquired Mrs. Lester of a gentleman who was contemplating this retrospective view of dangers passed.
“Not very, but it might be safer.”
Up and down jumped all that car-load of passengers, whose faces wore not the calmest and brightest expression. Suddenly there was an explosion that startled people rather ready to be startled, and Mrs. Lester, remembering the torpedoes, turned to Norman, who was looking out of the rear window, and said reproachfully, “Norman, how can you do so?”
Every eye was directed toward the blushing lad, as he earnestly exclaimed, “Mother, it was not me.”
Returning to his seat he looked for the torpedoes, which he found had been jolted off the seat on the floor under his mother’s feet, and a sudden movement of her foot had caused the explosion of ten or twelve of them. “There, mother, it was you after all,” said Norman, as he gathered up his remaining torpedoes.
Again they were startled—a prolonged whistle, and a stoppage of the cars on an embankment at a distance from any station. Every head went out of the windows, and some enterprising passengers went out on the platform to learn the cause of this ominous pause. Again and again that warning whistle; what did it mean? At length the matter was explained. About twenty horses were on the track, galloping on in front of the locomotive, which was obliged to pause till they separated to the right and the left.
Right glad were the party when they arrived at Bloomington. Mrs. Lester wished to go to a very handsome hotel, the photograph of which had been shown to her on the Grey Eagle by the proprietor thereof. A large unfinished building seemed to her very like the photograph she had seen; but that could not be, as the photograph must have been taken from the hotel in its finished, occupied state, with handsome stores beneath. On inquiry she found this was the hotel in question, which stood there, an arrested monument of western enterprise. They went to the hotel opposite, and after tea some friends of Aunt Clara’s called to see them, and to ask them to walk.
Bloomington is a large, finely situated town, on the rising prairie, not far from the fine groves that mark the course of Sugar Creek. The president of the Illinois University (situated in a grove near the town) walked with them, and took them to the observatory on the Female College, where they had a lovely sunset view of the town, the prairie, and the distant woods. How cool and refreshing were those prairie breezes after the intense heat of the day; but they were warned by the fading light that it was time to return. No mountains or hills to prolong the twilight in these regions. The sun sinks, and speedily the darkness comes on. Miss Allen, Aunt Clara’s friend, insisted upon their coming in to see her. With kindly hospitality she had sent for several of Aunt Clara’s friends to meet her; and while Norman was amused with some fireworks in the court-yard, they were refreshed with cake and ice-cream. Miss Allen, her brothers, and Mrs. Lester had very pleasant conversation about some mutual friends, and thus passed the evening to an hour rather late for travelers who were to rise at two o’clock in the morning.
At that early hour they were aroused, and the omnibus conveyed them to the station at three o’clock, where they had the satisfaction of being told that the cars had stopped above the junction, cause unknown. Probably they had run off the track, and they might not arrive before eight o’clock.
“There is the locomotive that is to take us,” said a gentleman, pointing to the expectant iron horse, panting and snorting, and rushing to and fro, as if impatient at the delay. “I saw him in the bank on Saturday, just below here. But he has suffered no harm from running off the track.”
“Near them stood an engineer with his arm in a sling. He had been returning to his post, as he had been off duty, when he threw himself forward to rescue a man who, having missed his footing on the step, would have been under the wheel of the car. As it was, his struggles loosened the footing of his deliverer, who succeeded in dragging him on the truck, from which precarious position they were rescued as soon as the train could be stopped. The engineer’s arm was badly broken, but the man whose life he had saved never came to thank him. “I have no money to give him, why should I go?” said he to the conductor, who told him to thank the man who had periled life and limb to save him.”
“Men do not risk their lives for money,” replied the conductor, turning away from the ungrateful man.
“The prospect looks rather dim,” said Aunt Clara, the first discouraging word she had spoken.
“How calm and quiet she was,” said Norman, “when we were so frightened in the rail car.”
The waiting-room of the station-house was not very comfortable for weary passengers; Norman established himself on three chairs, and was soon fast asleep on his hard bed; nor was he wakened when his mother slipped her carpet-bag under his head.
A group near the door was more picturesque. It was a German family whom they had seen the day before at the cars, and who had passed all night at the station. One little girl lay across a bag, her head tending toward the floor. The younger brother was on his knees, resting his head on a chair, fast asleep; while near them, her head erect, as if watching over her goods and chattels, sat the elder sister, a quaint, prim-looking girl of thirteen, with a short waist, and a little shawl pinned round it, and a broad flat over her braids of light hair; while round her were bags, and boxes, and bundles, an incongruous heap, in which it was at first somewhat difficult to distinguish the sleeping children. The little boy at length, weary of his constrained position on his knees, had pillowed his head on his sleeping sister’s foot, which, by sundry twitches, and a few energetic kicks, freed itself from the encumbering weight. But still the children slept on. The mother was sitting outside of the door, silent, because none knew her language. At length a telegram announced that the cars would be there at five. The locomotive had been stopped because the rails were slippery.
The early twilight brightened into day, the train arrived, the passengers stepped in, and a very short time brought Norman, his mother and aunt to their point of destination; a few houses had been dropped down on the prairie, as the nucleus of a town; not very promising as a resting-place. Soon, however, a buggy and a wagon drove up for the travelers, who, after a short drive, were welcomed by their relatives.