Mr. and Mrs. Morris stayed at home. Fairport was a lovely place in summer, and many people came there to visit.
The children took some of their pets with them, and the others they left at home for their mother to take care of. She never allowed them to take a pet animal anywhere, unless she knew it would be perfectly welcome.
"Don"t let your pets be a worry to other people," she often said to them, "or they will dislike them and you too."
Miss Laura went away earlier than the others, for she had run down through the spring, and was pale and thin. One day, early in June, we set out. I say "we," for after my adventure with Jenkins, Miss Laura said that I should never be parted from her. If any one invited her to come and see them and didn"t want me, she would stay at home.
The whole family went to the station to see us off. They put a chain on my collar and took me to the baggage office and got two tickets for me.
One was tied to my collar and the other Miss Laura put in her purse.
Then I was put in a baggage car and chained in a corner. I heard Mr.
Morris say that as we were only going a short distance, it was not worth while to get an express ticket for me.
There was a dreadful noise and bustle at the station. Whistles were blowing and people were rushing up and down the platform. Some men were tumbling baggage so fast into the car where I was, that I was afraid some of it would fall on me.
For a few minutes Miss Laura stood by the door and looked in, but soon the men had piled up so many boxes and trunks that she could not see me.
Then she went away. Mr. Morris asked one of the men to see that I did not get hurt, and I heard some money rattle. Then he went away too.
It was the beginning of June and the weather had suddenly become very hot. We had a long, cold spring, and not being used to the heat, it seemed very hard to bear.
Before the train started, the doors of the baggage car were closed, and it became quite dark inside. The darkness, and the heat, and the close smell, and the noise, as we went rushing along, made me feel sick and frightened.
I did not dare to lie down, but sat up trembling and wishing that we might soon come to Riverdale Station. But we did not get there for some time, and I was to have a great fright.
I was thinking of all the stories that I knew of animals traveling. In February, the Drurys" Newfoundland watch-dog, Pluto, had arrived from New York, and he told Jim and me that he had a miserable journey.
A gentleman friend of Mr. Drury"s had brought him from New York. He saw him chained up in his car, and he went into his Pullman, first tipping the baggage-master handsomely to look after him. Pluto said that the baggage-master had a very red nose, and he was always getting drinks for himself when they stopped at a station, but he never once gave him a drink or anything to eat, from the time they left New York till they got to Fairport. When the train stopped there, and Pluto"s chain was unfastened, he sprang out on the platform and nearly knocked Mr. Drury down. He saw some snow that had sifted through the station roof and he was so thirsty that he began to lick it up. When the snow was all gone, he jumped up and licked the frost on the windows.
Mr. Drury"s friend was so angry. He found the baggage-master, and said to him: "What did you mean, by coming into my car every few hours, to tell me that the dog was fed, and watered, and comfortable? I shall report you."
He went into the office at the station, and complained of the man, and was told that he was a drinking man, and was going to be dismissed.
I was not afraid of suffering like Pluto, because it was only going to take us a few hours to get to Riverdale. I found that we always went slowly before we came in to a station, and one time when we began to slacken speed I thought that surely we must be at our journey"s end.
However, it was not Riverdale. The car gave a kind of jump, then there was a crashing sound ahead, and we stopped.
I heard men shouting and running up and down, and I wondered what had happened. It was all dark and still in the car, and n.o.body came in, but the noise kept up outside, and I knew something had gone wrong with the train. Perhaps Miss Laura had got hurt. Something must have happened to her or she would come to me.
I barked and pulled at my chain till my neck was sore, but for a long, long time I was there alone. The men running about outside must have heard me. If ever I hear a man in trouble and crying for help I go to him and see what he wants.
After such a long time that it seemed to me it must be the middle of the night, the door at the end of the car opened, and a man looked in. "This is all through baggage for New York, miss," I heard him say; "they wouldn"t put your dog in here."
"Yes, they did--I am sure this is the car," I heard in the voice I knew so well; "and won"t you get him out, please? He must be terribly frightened."
The man stooped down and unfastened my chain, grumbling to himself because I had not been put in another car. "Some folks tumble a dog round as if he was a junk of coal," he said, patting me kindly.
I was nearly wild with delight to get with Miss Laura again, but I had barked so much, and pressed my neck so hard with my collar that my voice was all gone. I fawned on her, and wagged myself about, and opened and shut my mouth, but no sound came out of it.
It made Miss Laura nervous. She tried to laugh and cry at the same time, and then bit her lip hard, and said: "Oh, Joe, don"t."
"He"s lost his bark, hasn"t he?" said the man, looking at me curiously.
"It is a wicked thing to confine an animal in a dark and closed car,"
said Miss Laura, trying to see her way down the steps through her tears.
The man put out his hand and helped her. "He"s not suffered much, miss,"
he said; "don"t you distress yourself. Now if you"d been a brakeman on a Chicago train, as I was a few years ago, and seen the animals run in for the stock yards, you might talk about cruelty. Cars that ought to hold a certain number of pigs, or sheep, or cattle, jammed full with twice as many, and half of "em thrown out choked and smothered to death. I"ve seen a man running up and down, raging and swearing because the railway people hadn"t let him get in to tend to his pigs on the road."
Miss Laura turned and looked at the man with a very white face. "Is it like that now?" she asked.
"No, no," he said, hastily. "It"s better now. They"ve got new regulations about taking care of the stock; but mind you, miss, the cruelty to animals isn"t all done on the railways. There"s a great lot of dumb creatures suffering all round everywhere, and if they could speak, "twould be a hard showing for some other people besides the railway men."
He lifted his cap and hurried down the platform, and Miss Laura, her face very much troubled, picked her way among the bits of coal and wood scattered about the platform, and went into the waiting room of the little station.
She took me up to the filter and let some water run in her hand, and gave it to me to lap. Then she sat down and I leaned my head against her knees, and she stroked my throat gently.
There were some people sitting about the room, and, from their talk, I found out what had taken place. There had been a freight train on a side track at this station, waiting for us to get by. The switchman had carelessly left the switch open after this train went by, and when we came along afterward, our train, instead of running in by the platform, went crashing into the freight train. If we had been going fast, great damage might have been done. As it was, our engine was smashed so badly that it could not take us on; the pa.s.sengers were frightened; and we were having a tedious time waiting for another engine to come and take us to Riverdale.
After the accident, the trainmen were so busy that Miss Laura could get no one to release me.
While I sat by her, I noticed an old gentleman staring at us. He was such a queer-looking old gentleman. He looked like a poodle. He had bright brown eyes, and a pointed face, and a shock of white hair that he shook every few minutes. He sat with his hands clasped on the top of his cane, and he scarcely took his eyes from Miss Laura"s face. Suddenly he jumped up and came and sat down beside her.
"An ugly dog, that," he said, pointing to me.
Most young ladies would have resented this, but Miss Laura only looked amused. "He seems beautiful to me," she said, gently.
"H"m, because he"s your dog," said the old man, darting a sharp look at me. "What"s the matter with him?"
"This is his first journey by rail, and he"s a little frightened."
"No wonder. The Lord only knows the suffering of animals in transportation," said the old gentleman. "My dear young lady, if you could see what I have seen, you"d never eat another bit of meat all the days of your life."
Miss Laura wrinkled her forehead. "I know--I have heard," she faltered.
"It must be terrible."
"Terrible--it"s awful," said the gentleman. "Think of the cattle on the western plains. Choked with thirst in summer, and starved and frozen in winter. Dehorned and goaded on to trains and steamers. Tossed about and wounded and suffering on voyages. Many of them dying and being thrown into the sea. Others landed sick and frightened. Some of them slaughtered on docks and wharves to keep them from dropping dead in their tracks. What kind of food does their flesh make? It"s rank poison.
Three of my family have died of cancer. I am a vegetarian."
The strange old gentleman darted from his seat, and began to pace up and down the room. I was very glad he had gone, for Miss Laura hated to hear of cruelty of any kind, and her tears were dropping thick and fast on my brown coat.
The gentleman had spoken very loudly, and every one in the room had listened to what he said. Among them, was a very young man, with a cold, handsome face. He looked as if he was annoyed that the older man should have made Miss Laura cry.
"Don"t you think, sir," he said, as the old gentleman pa.s.sed near him in walking up and down the floor, "that there is a great deal of mock sentiment about this business of taking care of the dumb creation? They were made for us. They"ve got to suffer and be killed to supply our wants. The cattle and sheep, and other animals would over-run the earth, if we didn"t kill them."
"Granted," said the old man, stopping right in front of him. "Granted, young man, if you take out that word suffer. The Lord made the sheep, and the cattle, and the pigs. They are his creatures just as much as we are. We can kill them, but we"ve no right to make them suffer."
"But we can"t help it, sir."
"Yes, we can, my young man. It"s a possible thing to raise healthy stock, treat it kindly, kill it mercifully, eat it decently. When men do that I, for one, will cease to be a vegetarian. You"re only a boy. You haven"t traveled as I have. I"ve been from one end of this country to the other. Up north, down south, and out west, I"ve seen sights that made me shudder, and I tell you the Lord will punish this great American nation if it doesn"t change its treatment of the dumb animals committed to its care."
The young man looked thoughtful, and did not reply. A very sweet faced old lady sitting near him answered the old gentleman. I don"t think I have ever seen such a fine-looking old lady as she was. Her hair was snowy white, and her face was deeply wrinkled, yet she was tall and stately, and her expression was as pleasing as my dear Miss Laura"s.