Jungle Joe/Chapter 9
One of the great bugaboos of the circus man is a railroad wreck.
Nearly every night during the circus season, from one o'clock in the morning until about daylight, the circus trains are on the move.
These trains are always run as specials, and for that reason alone are more liable to accidents. Trains which are run upon regular schedule get to be a part of the system, and almost run themselves, but with specials it is different, for much traffic is often sidetracked to make way for them.
A man who had been twenty years with one of the largest and best-handled circuses said that he had been in twenty-six railroad wrecks, and had come through safe and sound, although he had experienced many bad shake-ups and had had many close calls.
In the spring-time, when the heavy rains are falling, and streams and rivers are all swollen, this danger is the greatest. The spring freshets are sources of great annoyance to the circus man, for in moving the heavy wagons to and from the depot, mud is the driver's greatest obstacle. It is not an uncommon sight when one enters the great tent for the evening show to see all serene, and when one comes out, to find the circus grounds covered with pools of water. This spells mud, and all sorts of trouble for the circus people.
Many a night Ali had stood in the pouring rain watching Sahib Anderson's rainsoaked figure as he stood at a commanding position and superintended the hauling of the wagons from the muddy circus field.
As a last resort, when all the horses had failed, the elephants had their large harnesses put on them, and they would always quickly extricate the wagons, their strength being enormous.
But to Ali the wonderful thing about these wrestles with the mud was the masterly way in which the Sahib handled his men and teams.
He was always cheerful, laughing and joking, and seemingly everywhere at once.
Nothing escaped his keen eyes, and he always knew just how to get out of a hard place. The men all loved and admired the Sahib, whom they did not call by that name, but the Big Boss.
There was a saying among the drivers to the effect that a thing the Big Boss could not do was impossible, but they had never yet seen him admit that a thing was impossible.
He would always laugh or smile when they told him that they were up against the impossible, and say cheerily, "There ain't no such animal in this circus. Go at it, boys; I am with you."
One rainy night in June during the tenth summer of Ali's connection with the circus, the city where Ringden's Great Circus was showing experienced a rainstorm which was almost a cloudburst.
Getting the heavy wagons off the circus lot was almost an impossibility. There were as many as six wagons stuck in the mud up to the hubs at once. So it was very late in the night when the circus was finally loaded, and the men were a tired, sweaty, and muddy lot as they clambered into their respective cars and washed up for the night's sleep.
It was two o'clock before the section bearing Ali and Joie finally pulled out. This meant that the train was an hour later all along the line than it had been expected by the railroad officials. Freights trains were waiting for the circus-trains upon many sidings.
The night was as dark as a stack of black cats, as old railroad men say. The engineers and firemen could see very little ahead of them.
It was just a case of rushing along through the darkness, depending wholly upon the roadbed and the good steel rails. This is really what the trainmen always depend upon, but they do also depend upon seeing dangers ahead when conditions are normal.
So on that black night the engineer of the section carrying Ali and Joie sat grimly at his post, with his hand upon the throttle, gazing with straining eyes at the shaft of light along the rails ahead. But this light did not penetrate a quarter as far into the gloom as usual.
Ali heard the cars bump over the switches, one after another, and then glide out upon the straight track. Gradually, the train gathered momentum, until it was finally rattling along at the usual rate, with the car-wheels singing their usual song of the singing rails, the lullaby that always put Ali to sleep nowadays. In fact he had gotten used to this lullaby of singing rails, and he could hardly sleep without it.
So the train thundered along in the darkness. It raced joyously over stretches of level track. It climbed laboriously up steep grades, the two heavy engines panting like human things at the great strain upon their powers. It rushed exultantly down long steep grades in the opposite direction. It thundered over long bridges and across short culverts. On, on, on, it sped through the darkness, and the man at the throttle still kept his hand upon the lever, and his eyes peering along the cylinder of light sweeping the rails from the headlight.
But little could he do save keep his hand upon the throttle, and his eyes and his mind upon the job. For the rest, they had to trust to the tracks, and to Providence.
The great danger this night was from washouts, and they could not guard against them.
The car in which Ali and Joie were riding was the last car in the section. Usually it had been in the middle of the train, but this night for some reason it was put on last.
The first section had crossed the long bridge over a well-known river in central New York State five minutes before the middle section had reached it. Even then all the section but the last car passed safely. An investigation of the wreck afterwards did not for a certainty determine just what was the cause of the accident, but just as the last car, the car carrying Ali and Joie, reached the middle of the bridge, it jumped the track and plunged from the bridge, falling forty feet into the raging water beneath, where it sank from sight in twenty feet of water, almost as though it had been a stone.
The commission said it might have been a broken coupling, or an imperfect rail, or a broken axle, but no one ever really knew. The only thing that was certain was that the car carrying Ali and Joie was lying in the mud at the bottom of the river in twenty feet of water.
As it was a very hot night, and Ali had been sleeping lightly when the car which carried himself, along with Joie and two other elephants, toppled upon the bridge and hurtled into the river, he was awake almost before it struck the water. When the car finally settled at a slant of perhaps thirty degrees, and the water came pouring in up to Ali's knees, he knew what had happened.
But he was a child of the jungle, inured to hardship and danger. Self-preservation was strong in him, just as it is in all people who live near to nature. In that respect they are always like the wild animals.
So Ali scrambled like a cat up the inclined floor of the car and felt for the hasp that fastened the door on the inside. With a jerk he pulled out the toggle that held it, and then with all his strength began to slide back the great door.
If he had opened the flood-gates of heaven the results would not have been worse. As Ali felt the waters surge in upon him, to overwhelm him, like the good swimmer that he was he took in a deep breath to fill his lungs to their capacity. Then he pushed again upon the door, and in another second he was outside in the open river.
The current swept him about as though he had been a chip. It buffeted him this way and that. But with three or four strong strokes he came to the surface, and popped up out of the water like a cork.
Then the strong current seized him and bore him rapidly downstream. He did not try to breast it, but lay floating for at least a minute, trying to get his breath and his senses back, and to determine what to do. Then as he lay in the total darkness with this unknown river bearing him rapidly away from the bridge, a thought came to him that filled him with such dismay and grief as he had never felt before in his whole life. For a moment it paralyzed him so that he could not even think.
In his great haste to save his own life he had forgotten Joie. Faithful, loving Joie that had always stuck so faithfully by him.
Like a mean, selfish brute he had scrambled to safety and left his friend to drown. He felt sure that Joie would not push the door open and thus escape to freedom. If he had been outside, he would have been all right, but there he was like a rat in a trap. Oh, Joie, Joie, Joie! He must surely drown.
As the full significance of this thought came home to Ali, he wheeled about in the swift current and started to swim back upstream. But he made slow headway. Besides he did not know whether he had drifted straight downstream or not. He could not tell within a hundred feet when he had gotten back to where the car sank. Even if he could reach the exact spot, he probably could not find the car by diving.
Oh, no, no, no! It was hopeless. He had forsaken Joie, and Joie was drowned. There was not a ghost of a chance that he could have escaped.
At this thought, Ali's strength gave way, and he lay upon the dark current, sobbing as though his heart would break.
He had been false. He had been a traitor. He had forsaken Joie.
He was so taken up with his grief that he did not mind where the current took him. He did not care. He might as well drown, too, if Joie was gone. Oh, why had he been so selfish and so thoughtless! Joie had always been so good to him. How he loved Joie! He and the Sahib were all he had in the whole world that he really cared about. Joie! Joie!
Then the current took the tortured body of poor Ali and whirled it about and about, and he only paddled feebly. Just enough to keep afloat.
Then he felt a sharp pain in his head. He saw stars. He felt sick and queer. Something had hit him on his head. It had nearly knocked his brains out. For a second he lay lifeless upon the dark rushing waters. Then he began slowly to sink. Good swimmer that he was, he knew full well what was about to happen. He had lost his nerve and his strength, and was going to the bottom. He was going to drown.
There is, deep-seated in all animals and in men, a sense of self-preservation, that in that last dreadful instant man instinctively turns to the great power over all, to God. This causes the animal to cry out in a last appealing cry for help, and the man to cry out as well; the man's cry is more in the form of a prayer. A cry for help from God.
So as the dark waters drew him down, Ali lifted up his voice in a wild cry that pierced the night like a bolt of lightning, yet he knew there was no one near to hear or to help. But the cry had hardly died upon his lips and his head had not yet disappeared beneath the water when a great bulky form rushed towards him in the water, and a strong subtle something that seemed very familiar was wound about his waist with a strong grip, and placed him gently upon a broad back. A back that no mere flood could submerge.
For a second Ali sat gasping and feeling frantically about him. Then the great arm that had saved him came feeling gently for his face and hands.
"Oh, Joie, Joie," sobbed the bewildered, yet delighted boy. "You have saved me. You have saved me."
Ali himself might swim helplessly about in the water because he did not know where the shore was, but not Joie. He struck out as straight for the nearest shore as though it had been full daylight, and five minutes later clambered upon the bank.
Ali did not try to guide Joie, because he knew that Joie was much wiser in the dark than he, so Joie presently headed directly into a deep woods which fringed the river.
Although it was as dark as dark could be in the forest, yet Joie did not seem to mind it. He went without running into anything, and almost without noise. He was a wild animal again, threading the Malay jungles, and Ali, perhaps he also was a Malay boy, back in the old jungle.
After about ten minutes of travel, Joie found a spot that suited him and he stopped. It was a dense pine grove, with little underbrush. The air was fragrant with the pine needles. Ali took in a deep breath, and then slid from the back of Joie.
He found in feeling around that the ground was nearly dry because of the thick cover overhead. So he lay down upon the pine needles while Joie lay down beside him, and they slept the sleep of great exhaustion.
When Ali awoke the birds were singing in the tree-tops, and the rays of the morning sun were falling aslant through the branches. So he got up hastily, and gave Joie the sign to lift him upon his back. Then they headed towards the river.
To Ali's great astonishment, when they appeared upon the bank just below the bridge they discovered Sahib Anderson and two other men with a boat, dragging the river. For a moment Ali could not think what they were doing, but when the solemn import of their labors came home to him, he returned thanks to Allah for his marvelous escape.
Then a broad grin overspread his face; and he called, "Hello, Sahib, are you fishing for crocodiles?"
It was a joyous boat-party that came ashore and greeted Ali and Joie.
When the excitement of the glad meeting had passed, Ali told his story, and all petted Joie, and he was quite the hero of the occasion.
"Gracious," said Sahib Anderson, presently, looking at his watch. "I shall have to hire an engine and a freight-car to take you to our next stand, Ali. Your act is due at twothirty."
"How far is it?" asked Ali.
"Thirty miles," said the Sahib.
"We shall not need a freight-car," said Ali. "Joie and I can make it all right. Here, Joie, give me a lift."
So Joie again reached down with his strong trunk and lifted Ali to his broad back.
"Think you can make it, lad?" asked the Sahib doubtfully.
"Sure, Sahib. Don't you worry. Joie and I will be there." And he was as good as his word.
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