University of Virginia Library

Search this document 

expand section 

UNDER THE WHEELS.

Superintendent.
I have had many hard things to do in my day,
For the life of “the boss” isn't constructed of play;
We've a hundred new things every hour to annoy,
And we work more than any one in our employ.

141

But the hardest day's work I remember to-night,
Was to visit a cottage, clean, cosey, and bright,
Where flowers, birds, and music were strewn without lack,
And to carry some news that should drape it with black.
A sweet-faced old lady my door-signal met,
And gave me these words—I shall never forget,
If I live till Time's wheel has crushed all things at last,
And railroads and progress are things of the past:
“You've called to see Jack, I suppose, sir; sit down;
I'm sorry to say 't, but the boy's out of town.
He'll be back in an hour, if his train is not late,
And perhaps you'd be willing to sit here and wait,
While I give you a cup of his favorite tea,
Almost ready to pour.—Oh!—you called to see me?
You—called—to—see—me? Strange—I didn't understand;
But, you know, we old ladies aren't much in demand;
“You—called—to—see—me. And your business is—Say!
Let me know now at once! Do not keep it away
For an instant! Oh!—pardon! You wanted to buy
Our poor little house here? Now thank God on high
That it wasn't something else that you came for!—shake hands;
I'm so glad!—and forgive an old woman's ado,
While I tell you the facts, till your heart understands
The reason I spoke up so brusquely to you:
“My life lives with Jack!—a plain boy, I confess—
He's a young engineer on the lightning express;
But he loves me so true! and though often we part,
He never ‘pulls out’ of one station—my heart.
Poor Jack! how he works! He sinks into this chair,
When he comes home, so tired with the jar and the whirl;
But he fondles my hands and caresses my hair,
And he calls me his ‘love,’ and his ‘darling best girl.’
Poor Jack! but to-morrow is Christmas, you know,
And here is his present: a gown of fine wool,
Embroidered with silk; my old fingers ran slow,
But my heart filled the stitches with love over-full!

142

“So, when Jack is gone out on his dangerous trip,
On that hot, hissing furnace that flies through the air,
Over bridges that tremble, past sidings that slip,
Through tunnels that grasp for his life with their snare,
I think of him always—I'm never at rest.
And last night—O God's mercy!—the dreams made me see
My boy lying crushed, with a wheel on his breast,
And a face full of agony beck'ning to me!
Now, to-day, every step that I hear on the street,
Seems to bring me a tiding of woe and despair;
Each ring at the door-bell my poor heart will beat,
As if Jack, the dear boy, in his grave-clothes were there!
And I thought, when I saw you—I'm nervous and queer—
You had brought me some news it would kill me to hear.
Please don't be concerned, sir. I'm bound, that in spite
Of my foolish old fancies, the boy is all right.
“No, I don't think we'd sell. For it's this way, you see:
Jack says that he never will care for the smile
Of a girl, till he knows she's in love, too, with me;
And I tell him—ha! ha!—that will be a long while.
So we'll doubtless bide here a long time. And there's some
Little chance of Jack's leaving the engine, ere long,
For a place in the shops, where they say he'll become
A master mechanic—good sir, what is wrong?
“You are death-pale and trembling! Here! drink some more tea!
Say! why are you looking your pity at me?
What's that word in your face?—you've a message!—now find
Your tongue!—No?—I'll tear the truth out of your mind!
Jack's hurt! Oh, how hard that you could not at first
Let me know this black news! Say, where is he, and when
Can he come home with me? But my poor heart will burst,
If you do not speak out! Speak, I pray you, again!
I can stand it; why, yonder 's his own cosey bed;
I will get it all fixed;—oh, but I'm a good nurse!
His hospital's home! Here I'll pillow his head;
I will bring him to life, be he better or worse!

145

Oh, I tell you, however disfigured he be,
What is left of the boy shall be saved, sir, for me!
Thank God for the chance, even! Oh, won't I work
For my poor wounded child! And now let me be led
Where he is. Do not fear! I'll not falter or shrink!
Turn your face to the light, sir.—O God! Jack is dead!