“These workers are all free men.” I said to the Confederate Officer escorting the group of Mercenary Agents searching for runaway slaves.
“Do they have papers?” Asks the leader of the Agents trying to catch my eye but I am still addressing the Army Officer hoping he can save me the trouble.
“We worked together in Martinsburg last year. You remember us don’t you Sir?” I am looking right in his eyes hoping that he will remember me though he may not and why should he if I can’t remember his name either. I pulled my hat off in respect along with a hope that the red hair might jog his memory, or mine.
“I can vouch for this man and those are his workers. They helped us dismantle and move the railroad engines we now use out of Petersburg.” Maybe he didn’t remember my name but at least he remembered the event. What was his name again…McKinney, McDaniel, McDonald?
“Officer MacDougal” I suddenly remembered. “Thank you Sir, for remembering us and the work we’ve done for General Jackson.” The Agent man was patient but unimpressed.
“You two can vouch for each other but the original question remains and that requires papers. Well, Sir?” In spite of his previous vouching Officer MacDougal had nothing more for us as shown by his shrugged shoulders and I had to admit that our previous cooperation with regard to the engines was mostly a matter of us staying out of his way than anything else.
I knew the papers would be the only solution now but also knew from experience that those who asked for papers rarely accepted them. I took one last stab at avoiding the paperwork by pointing out to the Agent directly now, “Could any runaway slave work as hard as that?” At this the men made the dirt fly even higher in the air and some of the Agents seemed to get the point but the leader didn’t even turn to look so I proceeded to my lock box.
The lock box is four layers deep. Accessible from inside or outside the wagon, it has an iron box on the outside with a wooden box inside that and finally the leather suitcase that holds all our papers. Mostly this is track charts and contracts but in a special section are the papers we use to prove who our people are to doubters like these.
Having papers is only half of the job. Presenting them properly and giving the other fellow something in return was the only way to get this situation resolved. I dug out the papers with a bit of a show and my lead foreman Rocky instinctively pulled the canvas over our heads to protect the contents of the box. Even though there was no chance of rain he still looked up for any potential threat. “Birds…” he offered as a possible suspect.
I started with my favorite offer, “Here is my contract with the State of Maryland to operate in this area along with my Reference from the Commissioner of the Transcontinental Railroad.” It didn’t always work but some people were impressed at the official document and my obvious excitement at the idea of a railroad to California. He handed them back and held his hand out waiting for what he had requested so I swapped him for the other papers and he took several minutes looking up at the workers in between pages.
Just then I turned to see a commotion in the distance and could vaguely make out one voice shouting above the others yelling "Runaway!" At first I thought it was another reference to the workers but this was no human runaway, it was a string of loaded rail cars we had moved up to the spur track earlier to make room in the rail yard. There's Ray Smith riding his horse as fast as he can stretching to his full length to wave his hat and get our attention but there is no way he can catch the cars and also no chance the army can move all the men waiting down at the station.
We took off fast as we could to the nearest point on the track with the intention of derailing the cars before they could run into the waiting troops at the platform and the explosives sitting on the loading dock. I grabbed some tie tongs from the tool car and hooked onto a wooden crosstie and headed out with Rocky pulling on the other handle of the tongs so we could both face forward. As we got close to the track I could see Charlie heading the other way on a course that will take longer but then I remember, we just worked there the other day and the gravel is loose, easier to jam the tie down between the tracks for the best chance at preventing disaster. Good old Charlie is always thinking ahead like that.
When we get to the spot I am surprised to realize it is a rail and not a tie that Charlie was dragging but then it made more sense of course; the tie alone could snap, and the rail by itself would bend but the two together would be our best chance. I shoved the tie in, saw the rail in place and turned my back to run knowing the derelict cars were only seconds away when I look back to see Charlie swapping the tie and rail from one side to the other to force the cars away from us but I am sure he is too late as the cars disappear in a cloud of dust. One thing for sure, those cars did derail. It wasn’t until the dust cleared that we could see Charlie still standing there with a dumb grin on his face. For an uneducated pig farmer he sure does come up with some good ideas.
By the time we got turned around again it was too late, the Agents were gone along with their soldiers and all the workers. Colored, Indians, Mexican and Chinamen alike were loaded up and taken away during the commotion. I had tried to be reasonable in dealing with these Authorities but now there was no choice left except to send word for the Commissioner to come from Baltimore and make the case to get those workers free again.
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