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From North Carolina to Southern California Without a Ticket and How I Did It

<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> "Look Out for Hoodlums"—Retribution for Deception—Stranded in New Orleans—Meet with Kind Hearts. I left the car at a point near the Clyde Line docks, and shortly after succeeded in finding William Marine—Archie Marine's brother—who informed me that the boats were no longer running between Jacksonville and Gulf points. "There's but one way I could help you, young fellow. If you desire, I'll get you on a boat, as a cook's assistant, that will take you to New York City, from which point you might be able to work your way to San Francisco on an ocean liner." "I thank you, but will risk working my way overland," I replied, and left the wharf. Sometime during the afternoon I smeared nearly a whole bottle of vaseline upon my face and neck, which had begun to burn like fire, as a result of my exposure to the sun while peddling the hand-car. At 9 p. m. that night I made my way to the Union Depot. Some five or six passenger trains were under the shed. A man in the crowd pointed out to me the train he thought was bound for New Orleans. Five minutes later I was in the express car. A pleasant looking young man, I should say[Pg 53] about twenty-two years of age, was checking off the express, assisted by an older gentleman. "Does this train go to New Orleans?" I asked, lowering my voice to a whisper. "No, it goes to Montgomery," replied the young man, eyeing me closely for a moment, and then turning to his work. "May I go with you to Montgomery?" I whispered. The young man again glanced at me, but vouchsafed no reply. Though not well known, it's no less a fact that most roads of the United States to-day employ numerous detectives—known as 'spotters'—who travel over the road in various disguises, and whose business it is to discover any employee of the road assisting some poor chap to beat the train. Sometimes the detective thus employed dresses himself like a tramp or hobo and appeals to the engineer, baggageman or conductor to help him get to a certain point. Woe be unto the kindhearted employee who does help him, for a few days later he is discharged almost without notice. Later on he finds that his goodness of heart was bestowed upon a railroad detective. Those who understand this can more easily appreciate my present difficulty. Desperate diseases require desperate remedies;[Pg 54] and I hereby admit that I told the express messenger a falsehood. There was little time to lose. Every moment the express packages were being hurled through the door, and the train would soon be ready to depart on its long four hundred mile journey. "I can show positive proof, in the way of letters, etc., that I'm no 'spotter,'" I whispered. "For Heaven's sake don't refuse, old man. My parents formerly lived in North Carolina, as the heading of this reference shows, but years ago they moved to Texas, and I went to New York. My parents are poor and I'm their only support. Having been robbed in New York and learning by letter that my mother is near death's door, I've decided to work my way to her. Pardon me saying it; you look to be a pretty square sort of fellow. Please don't refuse the chap who stands before you down and out this time." The work of checking up had been finished, and the elderly man, after whispering something in the young express messenger's ear, crawled out of the car door to the ground. A moment later the door shut with a bang. I had succeeded, and five minutes later was again traveling up the road without a ticket. I've confessed to telling a lie, and I must now confess to having acted the part of a fool. I had been sleeping on some express packages in the forward end of the car, and upon awakening glanced at my watch. It was 4 a. m. [Pg 55] Throughout the night the train had been running at a high rate of speed and I figured we ought to be somewhere near Montgomery. It'll be a great joke to tell him where my home really is, and to let him know how I fooled him, for being near Montgomery, he'll hardly trouble to put me down anyway now, I reasoned, and without thinking, I gave him the whole story of just how neatly I had deceived him. Instantly the young man's manner changed. "So you fooled me, eh! Well, the next stop is Valdosta, Ga. You'll have to get off there," was the sharp retort. A half hour later I was walking the streets of Valdosta, a much wiser man. How true is the old saying: "A wise man keeps his tongue in his heart, but a fool keeps it in his mouth." It was near daylight and bitter cold. A night cop directed me to a lodging house. After I had rung the bell several times the landlady appeared. She had hastily dressed and, with a frown on her face, stood shivering in the cold. "Madam, have you any vacant rooms?" "You might share a room with my son," she replied hurriedly. "Thank you ever so much. What will it cost?" I asked. "Twenty-five cents," was the pistol-like retort. "Do you want the room?" [Pg 56] "I now got to the point. "Madam, the night is most over, and my money is low; would you accept 15 cents for the rest of the night?" "I suppose I shall have to let you in," she said. Five minutes later I had waked up her son, who began saying uncomfortable things about some people coming in at all times of the night; but the remainder of his remarks fell on deaf ears, for I was fast asleep. It was the first bed I had been in since leaving home. About 10 a. m. I awoke much refreshed. The depot was close by, and the ticket agent informed me that the train bound for Madison, Fla., would pull out in a few minutes. The fare from Valdosta to Madison is eighty-five cents, and I only had sixty cents. Acting upon the impulse I boarded the train without purchasing a ticket. Madison is on the main line between Jacksonville and Pensacola, and would, therefore, afford a better opportunity to catch a west-bound train than if I went to Montgomery. In due time I was confronted by the conductor. "How much to Madison?" I asked, feeling in my pockets. "Eighty-five cents," said the conductor. "I haven't but 60 cents, conductor; carry me as far as you can for that, and I'll walk the rest of the distance." [Pg 57] A well-dressed young man looked up. "If you'll pardon me, I'll loan you 50 cents," said he. "If you'll provide me with an address to which I can return the amount, I'll accept with thanks," I replied. Taking my book he wrote down, J. M. Turner, Jr., Gainesville, Fla. "I'm cigar salesman for a Gainesville house," he said. About this time another passenger spoke out. "I'll loan you twenty-five cents myself," said he, "if you need it." Without loss of time I handed over my book, and he wrote down R. T. Davis, Hopewell, Fla., and handed me twenty-five cents. (As yet I have been unable to locate one of these gentlemen since returning home.) Madison is the Southern terminal of the road, and at this point I left the train in company with the conductor, who invited me to lunch. The freight bound for Tallahassee pulled into Madison at 4 p. m. I had no trouble in enlisting the sympathy of the conductor, a very genial sort of fellow, who told me to go back to the caboose and keep out of sight until we reached Tallahassee. We reached the capital city sometime after dark. Here are a few points about Tallahassee which are in great contrast to Jacksonville. [Pg 58] There are no paved streets in Tallahassee; if so, I didn't see them. They are all ill-lighted—one greasy street lamp post about every six blocks. Little business. In fact, one store out of every three was vacant—those that were open were not selling anything. All the stores are on one big Main street. A street car line was started, but the town couldn't support it, and it went to smash. The leaves and other rubbish had collected upon the sidewalks in great drifts. The fine dust floating in the air came near giving me the asthma, and with a feeling of relief I wended my way back to the railroad yards. To keep warm that night I helped the darkey fire the engine at the ice factory, which is located near the depot, until 10 p. m., when I boarded a freight train bound for Grand River Junction, ninety-nine miles away, at which place I landed about 3 a. m. The next division was a stretch of a hundred miles or more from the Junction to Pensacola. This was the L. & N. road. I have since learned that it is about the hardest road in the United States to beat. No long freights pass over the road—most of the trains are "mixed," that is to say, a few box-cars and a few passenger cars. On this night the train for Pensacola had[Pg 59] already made up. It consisted of two or three box-cars and the same number of passenger coaches. The conductor was in the depot working on some freight bills, when I approached him, requesting permission to ride on the "blind baggage" to Pensacola. "The same old story," said he, looking up. "Sorry, young man, but we can't carry you on this road." I next went to the engineer, and there met with the same refusal. Then to the express car I hurried, for the train would soon start; but again, I was met with a rebuff. There were no stores in sight, and few houses. Surely Grand River Junction would be a most dismal place to get left in, especially in my condition—only fifty cents, and that borrowed money. In desperation I ran to the front part of the engine. In the intense darkness, both fireman and engineer failed to observe a silent form spring upon the cow-catcher. The wheels began to revolve, and barring all accidents, I was due to reach Pensacola in time for dinner. Being thinly dressed and facing the damp night winds at a fifty-mile an hour rate is certainly not an enviable position. [Pg 60] In a short time my body was so benumbed with cold I could scarcely move. Another thing, it would soon break day, and unless I could hide myself better, a discovery would follow and I would be put off. There's an old saying, which I afterwards learned: "To hobo the roads successfully, one has to give up all thought of life or death." That continued hardship lessens a man's fears of death, I have certainly learned by personal experience. With slow deliberation, I worked my way under the boiler of the engine, and among the machinery. At last I was stretched out full length under the boiler, with only one foot sticking out, which I must risk being seen. The boiler was rather warm, of course, and every moment I stayed under it it was becoming warmer. Perspiration started out in huge drops. In running from the extreme of cold I had met the extreme of heat. Only a few moments sufficed to thaw me out and then a warm, hot time began in earnest. My clothes, pressed almost against the boiler, would become so hot every few minutes I was forced to turn over upon my side and ride for a while; only to revert to the original position and torture again. Things were getting unbearable. I had heard of hobos riding under the cow-catcher. [Pg 61] Yes, I would risk it! The train came to a standstill. The delay would hardly be a long one, for it was only a cross-roads station. I would have to work with lightning-like rapidity. About midway the boiler was an opening in the machinery, barely large enough to admit the passage of a man. Squeezing through this opening, I dropped upon the cross-ties under the engine. On all-fours I made my way along the track to the front axle of the engine, which I passed under. I had now reached the cow-catcher, but my trouble had been for naught. For some unexplainable reason the space under the cow-catcher had been nailed full of cross-beams, thus effectually barring further progress. Now, fully realizing the danger of my position, a sudden fear assailed me, and I began trembling from head to foot. It had required scarcely thirty seconds to make the discovery, and within the same minute I had turned and was again squeezing under the terrible looking axle. Clang! clang! sounded the engine bell. Considerably bruised about the hands and knees, I reached the opening just as the engine pushed off. Securing a firm grip upon a piece of machinery above the opening, and taking a step forward with the slowly moving engine, I drew myself up to safety. [Pg 62] About 8 a. m. we reached Chipley, Fla. Here the station agent saw me, and I was pulled down. I was greasy and black, and my clothes were torn, but no limbs were missing. The conductor, agent and others came hurrying to the engine to see the man who had dared hobo under the boiler. Chipley is a fine little town of about 1,200 inhabitants, and a more sociable lot of people I've never met. It was soon mouthed about the streets how I reached the town, and for a time I was the cynosure of all eyes, though no one offered to arrest me. There are some five or six saw-mills around Chipley. About two miles from the town is a large saw-mill and brick kiln owned by J. D. Hall. A young merchant of the town informed me that Mr. Hall was badly in need of labor and was paying good prices. Even to hobo the roads, a man needs money, and I decided to stake up a bit before continuing my way. Sometime before noon I arrived at the mill. Mr. Hall looked me over quite critically. "Did you ever do any hard labor?" he asked. "Yes, sir," I untruthfully replied, for, to be candid, I had never done a day's hard work in my life. [Pg 63] "Well, you don't look it," was the compliment. "However, I'll give you a trial at $1.50 per day. You can board with Mr. ...... for thirty cents a day." "That's unusually cheap for board," I said. "A man doing hard labor needs plenty to eat and I'm perfectly willing to pay at least $3.50 per week." Evidently he misconstrued my meaning. "My men furnish plenty to eat for any man," said he, "but you won't get any pie or cake," he retorted, eyeing me with undisguised disapproval. "O, that's all right! I can eat anything," I hastened to say. "Very well, Mr. Peele, you may come to work this afternoon. It's not far to your boarding place. Just keep the straight path through the woods there, and its the first house you get to." I'll not expose my landlord's name, but for the sake of convenience we'll call him Mr. Black. In due time I reached the Black household. The scene which met my gaze was altogether uninviting and unappetizing. I can't describe the house. There was one living room, a kitchen, and a shed room. The day was warm and several Black children were in the yard playing as I reached the gate. Upon seeing a stranger approach there was a[Pg 64] general stampede for the back yard, some of the smaller children taking refuge behind Mrs. Black, who at that moment appeared in the open doorway. If appearances count for anything, Mrs. Black had certainly not combed her hair within several weeks, and the grime on her face and clothes was a sickening sight to contemplate. "Good morning, madam; my name is Peele; I'm to work at the saw-mill, and Mr. Hall says you'll furnish me board." "All right, just make yourself at home," she invited bashfully, and the next moment she disappeared into the dark recess of the only living room. Strictly on time, Mr. Black arrived for the noonday meal, and forthwith we proceeded to the dining-room. Both Mr. and Mrs. Black began making apologies, but, with a few jokes, I set them at ease, assuring them that I wouldn't be hard to please. To see the hard side of life would make a better man of me anyway, I reflected. There was no attempt to have clean dishes, for two sets or more of children had already eaten, and others were yet coming in. The meal consisted of rice, honey and bread. So far as I could see there was nothing else. I now saw how a man could be boarded for thirty cents a day. [Pg 65] They'll have something more substantial for supper, I thought, beginning to crust the top of a black-looking, half-done biscuit. The biscuits were unusually large ones, weighing nearly two pounds each. A little rice and honey and the huge top of the biscuit formed my meal. There was no denying the fact, I was hungry and was enjoying my portion quite well, when Mr. Black took a sudden notion to either become funny, or spoil my appetite, I don't know which. He had been kicking up a great fuss drinking his coffee, when all at once the noise ceased. He had caught a fly in his cup. Holding up the fly by the hind leg high into the air, he smilingly announced: "I've caught a sucker!" To my astonishment Mrs. Black took it as a great joke, and began laughing heartily. Thoroughly disgusted I kept silent. It was not long before Mr. Black caught another fly. Holding up the unfortunate fly between his thumb and forefinger, and with true Florida slowness, he drawled: "Well, darlin', I've caught another sucker." I'll not dwell upon all the funny things that happened during my short stay with the Blacks. I slept in the little shed room, and every night went to bed at dark, for there was no way of obtaining anything to read. [Pg 66] Rice and honey continued in evidence on the table throughout. Only twice was the menu changed. On these two occasions Mrs. Black's ten-year-old son varied the diet by visiting the lakes, which were near the house, and fairly teeming with fish. Wild honey and fresh fish are both good, but at the end of a hard week's work at the saw-mill, I was ready for other fields of adventure, and settling my board bill, bade Mr. and Mrs. Black good-bye. As a result of my week's labor I now had the sum of seven dollars. Mr. Hall seemed sorry at my leaving. "You'd better be careful if you intend to beat to Pensacola," said he, "for I hear there are twenty-two white men working the county roads there for hoboing." "Well, I can only wish for better luck, sir, and I must now bid you good-bye." It was late Saturday afternoon when I reached Chipley. Straightway I proceeded to the only restaurant in the little town, and my next half hour was indeed a busy one. The bill was sixty cents, but I had no regrets. The passenger train bound for Pensacola was due in Chipley just before dark. Someone told me that I could catch the train at a long trestle about four miles from the town.[Pg 67] I set out on foot at a rapid gait for the trestle and reached it slightly in advance of the train. Having but three or four coaches and running at full speed, the engineer was unable to check the train's flight before running almost midway of the bridge. Just in the nick of time I reached the brass handles, and swung upon the lower steps of the rear car, as the train once more resumed its journey. The top part of the rear door had been let down—I suppose for ventilation. Every moment, fearing discovery, my eyes were fastened in a steady stare upon the door. I had been crouching upon the steps scarcely five minutes ere a lady passenger peered out into the fast gathering darkness. For the space of a second the head was framed in the open doorway, when, with a quick jerk, it disappeared into the brilliantly lighted car. There was no doubt she had seen me and was very much frightened. "Hey! what the —— are you doing there?" shouted the conductor a moment later. "Going to Pensacola, if you'll allow me, sir. I'll always appreciate it, Captain, if——" "I'll wire to Caryville and allow you to be arrested if you don't either get down off this train or pay your fare," shouted the conductor. As will be remembered, I was still on the L. [Pg 68]& N. Road, and remembering Mr. Hall's caution, decided to pay my fare. Ten minutes later I was riding on a first-class ticket to Pensacola. Out of the $5.00 bill I handed the conductor I received only twenty cents. He had taken out the full fare from Chipley, charging me for the four miles I had walked. At 10 p. m. the train pulled into the station at Pensacola. "Is there a night freight from here to Mobile?" The question was directed to a young man about my own age, who had just come out of a barber shop. "No, but there's a midnight freight to Flomaton, Ala., which is about half way, I believe. Going to hobo it?" "Yes, I may do so." "Then I'd advise you to be careful in this town, my friend. You're likely to get a job making "little rocks out of big ones." There are twenty-two of 'em at it now, and a night cop at the depot waiting to catch others. Now, the best thing you can do," he continued, "would be to walk from this town to Flomaton, and if you're going on to New Orleans, you'd better walk through all of Southern Mississippi to the State line of Louisiana, for if you're caught 'hoboing' in Mississippi, you'll get eleven months and twenty-nine days in prison. Upon being released you're allowed one day to get out of the town, and upon failing to do[Pg 69] so, you're again arrested and thrown into jail for a like term for vagrancy." Upon hearing this I admit that I was considerably frightened; but it would never do to give up in this manner, for the trip was hardly begun yet, and if I had heeded all the advice of this nature I had received since leaving Wilmington, the probabilities are I would not yet have reached Jacksonville. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained," and I decided to either leave Pensacola on the next train or get thrown into jail for the attempt. Accordingly I started for the depot at which I had recently been landed as a first-class passenger, and reached it just as the Flomaton freight was pulling out. There was no cop in sight, for which I was deeply thankful. The train was an extremely short one and was rapidly getting under headway when I arrived. A quick glance up and down the train sufficed to show that there were no empty or flat cars along. My ride must be either in the cold winds on top or between the cars. I chose the latter place. In this position a man has to stick close to the end of only one of the two cars he is riding between, for there is always danger of the cars breaking loose and dashing him to instant death upon the tracks beneath. He can hold on to the[Pg 70] break rod with his hands and the car bumper affords him a narrow standing room. It was six long, weary hours later—just sunrise—when, more dead than alive, I stepped from the train in Flomaton, or rather I fell off the train in Flomaton. My limbs had become cramped and stiff from standing in one position during the night's long ride, and in trying to jump off the train in the suburbs of the town, I was thrown violently to the ground, sustaining a badly bruised hand and several smaller hurts. A negro who lived near by furnished me with soap and water, though I was minus a handkerchief and was compelled to dry my face with old newspapers. Flomaton is a small town, not more than a mile from the Florida State line, and derives most of its importance from being a railroad center. I started down town in search of a restaurant, but had not proceeded far when I was overtaken by a man who inquired: "Have you heard the news?" "What news?" I asked. "Why, a railroad man was shot and instantly killed near the depot this morning, just before light." "Who shot him?" I asked. [Pg 71] "As yet they have no clew," replied the man, looking at me keenly, "but it is thought he was shot by a stranger." We were now near the depot. A passenger train was steamed up. "Where does that train go," I asked. "It leaves in a few minutes for Mobile," he replied, parting with me at a nearby street corner. No sooner was he out of sight than I started on a 2:40 pace for the engine. All thoughts of breakfast fled. A man had been shot dead in the town, and as yet there was no clue as to the identity of the murderer. The citizens of the place would soon be up and astir on the streets, and I stood a fine chance of being arrested on suspicion. With a single bound I was in the engine cab, and the next moment I was pleading with the engineer to take me to Mobile. That my pleading was earnest need not be said, for I won the case. "Wait until we get a good start and then swing the 'blind baggage.' I won't see you," he grinned, "but its rather risky going into Mobile on a passenger train in broad open day, for there's generally two or three cops hanging 'round the depot, and the yard is full of detectives." The word "detective" as used here is what is termed in North Carolina a town constable. In making arrests of this kind the constable is not required by the State to show a warrant. [Pg 72] Southern Alabama and Mississippi are full of these detectives; and seldom it is that a man gets through without a scratch. Sometime between 11 and 12 o'clock that day we ran into the suburbs of Mobile. Darting from the closed doorway, in which I had been standing, to the car platform, I cautiously peeped out. Several men standing on the sidewalk near a large factory saw me, and motioned violently with their hands for me to jump off, but the train was running too fast for that, and with a feeling of indescribable fear, I quickly sprang back and jammed myself tightly against the closed door—careful even to turn my feet sideways, with my face pressed flat against the door. All hopes of safely alighting in the suburbs was given out. The houses were fast getting thicker and stores began to flash by. Presently, to my surprise, the train turned into one of the principal business streets of Mobile. Large mercantile houses towered above me on every side. The train ran several blocks down this street before stopping at the depot. A man stepped in front of me to uncouple the engine. Not daring to move, I whispered: "Which side is the depot on?" "Get off on your right, quick!" he whispered, without glancing up. [Pg 73] In an instant I was upon the ground and walking towards the boat wharves, but a few blocks distant. Only by prompt action in getting off the train, and knowing which side to alight on, had I been able to escape the wide-awake officials at Mobile. I felt like laughing as I reached the wharves and noted that no one had pursued me. Evidently, I was getting to be an expert "hobo"—but my joy was of short duration, for now I was as anxious to reach New Orleans as I had been to reach Mobile—and what if I was thrown in jail for a long term in Southern Mississippi? Well, my people should never hear of it, I resolved. Going on a small vessel I asked for soap and water. I was given a big cake of dirty looking soap, half as large as my head, and told to draw my own water. Seizing a water bucket to which a long rope was attached, I cast overboard and soon drew into view a big bucketful of slimy looking water, that at home my own dog would have sniffed at contemptuously. But a chap buffeting against the world, as I was now doing, soon learns not to be too choice. After awhile he forgets the luxuries that were once his, and in most respects life assumes a different aspect. Having washed up, I thanked the boatman and left the wharves. [Pg 74] A good dinner made me feel better, and I decided to stay in town over night and rest up. I noticed but few automobiles in Mobile. After dinner I found a nice room and paid for a night's lodging in advance. About one o'clock in the afternoon I retired to sleep, determined to get as much rest as possible for my money before next morning. I slept probably two hours, and then awoke with an uncomfortable feeling. I had been dreaming of beating trains and of several narrow escapes from death. A cop chasing me dangerously close had awakened me. The bed seemed moving and the whole room whirling around. As soon as my eyes became accustomed to objects in the room and I saw that I was really safe from harm, I again tried to go to sleep, but it was no use, for the bed now seemed literally flying through space, and though lying in the middle, it seemed all I could do to maintain my position. In disgust I arose and dressed. The train for New Orleans would leave at 4:30, and I yet had over an hour to reach the depot. The man who uncoupled the engine of the Flomaton passenger that morning showed up just before train time. I told him I intended trying to beat the train to New Orleans. [Pg 75] He promised he would fix it up with the engineer for me, but that I must look out myself for the conductor, as he didn't know him. "You'd better look out going through Mississippi, though," he said. "The train makes but three regular stops—Scranton, Biloxi and Gulf Port. If you are not sharp you'll get run in at one of those places." "Don't turn your head!" he suddenly whispered, "there's a detective under the depot looking at you now. We'd better not be seen talking together." "Good-bye, young fellow, and I hope you may get through safe." The 4:30 passenger arrived in Mobile on time, and a few moments later pulled out bound on its long journey to New Orleans. Hidden between two box-cars farther up the road, I waited for the engine to pass. The train was going at a rapid clip when I sprang out and made a headlong dash for the "blind baggage," which I caught safely. Either the conductor had not seen me or was waiting for me to get picked up down the road. The train's speed was increasing every moment, and Mobile was soon left miles behind. Sunday evening just before dark we pulled into Scranton, Miss. A great throng of people, including a good many beautiful young girls, had turned out to[Pg 76] see the train. Their voices told me which side the depot was on. No sooner had the train stopped than I was upon the ground on the opposite side. I heard someone running towards the engine on the other side of the track. Trembling with fear for a moment I stood still. Another train filled to overflowing with passengers and headed towards Mobile had side-tracked for the New Orleans train. Jumping aboard the Mobile train, I mingled with the passengers. In a few moments, by looking through the car window, I noted with satisfaction that the New Orleans train was again on the move. One, two, three car lengths passed. With a single bound I sprang from the Mobile train, and a never-to-be-forgotten race for the "blind baggage" ensued. I soon passed from between the two trains, and now it was an open track race. As I passed the last coach of the Mobile train two forms loomed up on the side-track. "There he is! He is the fellow!" cried one of the men. "Yes, I'm the fellow," and stiffening my forearm, I delivered the sheriff, who stepped out to intercept me, a right swing under the chin——crack! The man received the full benefit of the motion of my body and went to the ground like a ten pin.[Pg 77] It was a blow I had been taught at the Ardell Club while taking boxing lessons under Cy Flinn, a pugilist of considerable local fame in Buffalo. The engineer, sitting backwards in his cab, had witnessed the trouble, and as I vanished between two mail cars, the whole train jumped with a sudden burst of speed. Evidently the kindhearted engineer was keeping up his part of the contract to take me through. It was dark when we reached Biloxi and Gulf Port, and by careful dodging I escaped the men who had searched the train at these points. The biggest part of the journey was now over the Gulf waters, and at an extremely slow rate of speed. At nine o'clock that night we crossed the Mississippi, and the train came to a standstill at the depot on Canal street, New Orleans. I stayed in New Orleans one week. I arrived in the Crescent City with less than a dollar, and on the second night my money was gone and I was forced to sleep upon one of the wharves near the foot of Canal street. The next day I got a job unloading bananas off the boats at the I. C. wharves at two bits an hour. I found a room now at No. 1006 Iberville street, in a lodging house run by a Mrs. M. P. Westmoreland. Mrs. Westmoreland is a well-to-do widow, and also a very kind-hearted lady. She refused to accept anything for my lodging, saying she[Pg 78] would be amply repaid if I would write her a letter when I got to Tucson. "I shall always think you were accidentally killed if I never hear from you," she said. I was always a poor writer, and have never sent her the letter, but if this little pamphlet is ever published, I shall take pleasure in sending her a copy, together with my best greetings. Only three banana steamers arrived while I was in the city. The fruit is loaded in the West Indies. I made $4.50 at this job. New Orleans is a fascinating town and the easiest place in the world to spend your money. A few days later, when I made preparations to leave for Texas, my $4.50 had dwindled to $0. There are more beautiful yellow girls to be seen on the streets of New Orleans in one day than one would see in most cities in a lifetime. They are called Creoles, or something of the kind, and can be seen walking around, all over the town, in every direction. Even down at the wharves every afternoon about boat time you'll see them lined up in great numbers. There was a lot of talk about the "Hoodlums" while I was in New Orleans. All the city newspapers, as well as some of the State papers, had long articles concerning the doings of this remarkable organization. Nearly every section of the city had been visited at one time or another and terrorized by them. [Pg 79] I recalled the words of the engine coupler at Mobile. When I parted with him, his last remark was, "Look out for the Hoodlums." They are a set of young city bloods and toughs of the worst stripe, banded together to rob, murder and steal. I met a well dressed young man in a large park there one night, who told me confidentially that he was a "Hoodlum"; said he thought he and I would make good friends, and that he might be able to get me in as a member, but I declined the invitation with thanks. Yes, New Orleans is a great place in many ways. On the day I left, while standing on the street corner taking a last view of the place, a man bearing a large basket, carefully covered over, approached me and said: "Crawfish? Crawfish?" "What about crawfish?" I asked. He looked at me in surprise. "Good to eat," he said; "only five cents a pint." I told him they were used down home for fish bait, whereupon he got mad and went strutting up the street. I had caught a glimpse of the crawfish, though. There was no mistaking it; they were real crawfish all right, and were what we term "little teenie" ones. The man said they had been cooked very carefully and were well done. Of course the head is thrown away, and it is only the tail part that is eaten. <hr /> [Pg 80] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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