JUMPING TRAINS.

Otago Witness, Issue 3148, 15 July 1914, Page 75

JUMPING TRAINS.

(By Baet Kennedy.)

Jumping a train means taking a ride upon it without going through the prosaic formality of buying a ticket. It is not practised much in England, because of the smallness of the country, and because the trains do- not carry blind baggage cars. The blind baggage car—or luggage van, as it. would be called in England—is peculiar to the United States. It has no door in front of it. The front is just a blank wooden wall. It was invented by some genius or another for the purpose of being inhospitable to the merry trainrobbers when they came to borrow ■ the gold that was carried in the car. The van, or car, has in front of its blank wooden wall a platform with steps leading up to it from either side. And the person 6r persons who,are going to jump the train' stand by, as the sailors ss.«, iust as the train is about to start. The instant she starts they jump on to the stens and up to the platform. And they ride on with a conscience of the clearest kind, for they feel that the Railway Trust will get nothing out of them. When the train stops again they get off with suddenness. If they did not the conductor would come round and politely request them to get oft .with a club. Again they stand by, and again they jump on as the train starts. An American conductor is a spry kind of bird; but it is just as difficult for him to be in two places at once as it is for anyone else. He can’t at once be at the side of the blind baggage car, keeping off the train jumper’s, and inside it. too. So the jumpers ride merrily -on. The loss of the trainrobber is the jumper’s gain. I have ridden 200 miles in this way over a prairie on the samei train. It is one of the most glorious sports I ever indulged in. The wind hits you hard, and you feel cold; but it is most exhilarating. It is a thousand times more exciting than riding inside as a passenger. You feel as that true sportsman the poacher feels when he is gathering in the pheasant at night. Night time is, of course, the most favourable for the jumping of trains. For the conductor is then more apt to take vour presence o# the blind baggage with philosophy. Sometimes a fireman will turn the, hose upon you from the engine. I have been drenched more than ence with cold, unrefreshing water. But this does not often happen. The engine-driver and his mate are usually sportsmen.

Travelling on the blind baggage of a passenger train is, I may say, the travelling de luxe of those who jump trains. In one way, it is the most dangerous. You are more apt to get free board ano lodgings for a clearly defined period if yon are caught at it. One has to be careful not to attempt it in a town of any size. The best place to take it on is at a lone water-tank on the prairie, or in the mountains. Here you stand by and wait, and, when the train starts, after the qngine has had its fill of water, on you jump. The most dangerous way of jumping a train, as far as risking one’s life is concerned, is to get on to the truck beneath the engine. This way, though dreadful, has its advantage. To get you out is too much trouble, even if the train makes a longer stop than usual. And, besides, it is doubtless ffelt. that a man who will take such a risk to steal a ride must need it very badly. As a rule, the venturesome person who takes to the truck is usually allowed to ride the length of the whole division. I saw a tramp once who had ridden close to a couple of hundred miles on the truck beneath. He was blackened all over, and his hair was singed and holes burned in his clothes from sparks. He was an awful-looking object. And, curiously enough, he seemed to he proud-of his feat. I never tried this method of jumping a train. It was too much like risking a pound to win a penny. I would sooner stop in the middle of a prairie or a desert than take it on. Though freight trains were much slower than passenger trains, they were far surer. If you once got safely into an empty box-car, without the brakesman seeing you, you had a good chance of getting to ithe end of the division. At the end of the division cars were shunted off the train, others were put on, another engine was requisitioned, and -a fresh crew took hold. You —the traveller without leave — had to get out and wait your chance to get aboard again. This time of waiting about was the most awkward time of all. If seen by the plain-clothes policemen, who were always hovering about the yard, yon were liable to be arrested, and your sentence would bo from very often the policemen would take no notice. One could never bo sure, however. One met all kinds of people jump-

ing trains. All nationalities and all classes were represented. Though I am bound to confess that in all my trainjumping experience I never met a Chinaman. I met wanderers, hoAvever, from all the nations of Europe, and all the classes of Europe. As far as the high-toned end of it—as the Americans would put it—is concerned, I can only say that we trainjumpers did not fall short. We were

honoured by the presence of the aristocracy of, various nations, England well included. The great and ancient seats of learning also favoured us by sending us representatives. I once rode in a box-car with a young felloAV who carried around with him the fearsome weight of an Oxford draAvl. Poor 'lad! Everything was gone from him save that drawl. He was homeless, friendless; and hungry—right under the wheel!

I can’t put it very vvell into words why, but there Avas a wonderful fascination about jumping trains. I, personally, not. only liked it, but I liked very much the men I met. As I have suggested, they Avere, of course, all down and out. It is not my desire to argue the matter, but I must say that after a somewhat full experience of men and life, I have come to the conclusion that in some ways men are at their best Avhen they are down and out. They are- more sociable with each other and nfbre kindly to each other, and more humane to each other. As to the reason of this attitude, it is not for me now to enter into it. I only put on record the fact that it exists. Failure seems to develop a certain fine quality in the characters of men.

I was travelling in an underworld. And all the dwellers therein were comrades. Not friends, but comrades. • I like the word comrade best," for it means far more. We all shared up together. What one

had the other had. Very rarely, indeed, did a man act selfishly towards another. This may not be credited, but I can only say that it is true. Indeed, I may also add that I don’t expect people to quite credit what I say in this connection. No one could really credit it, no one could really appreciate it but’ one who is a vagrant, or has been a vagrant. ■ Yes, we jumped trains. We went hither and thither, bound for no place in particular. And we didn’t have a bad time.—T. l J .’s Weekly/