Grand River times. [volume] (Grand Haven, Mich.) 1851-18??, 1857-09-23
The Phantom Pressman.
BY VICTOR GALBRAITH.

The old office was deserted for the night; /;
the typos, "devils " and pressmen had quit
ted their labors; and the silence and dark
ness which now reigned were in bold con-
trast with the sounds of the clanking press
and the Gathering and Kissing of the steam
engine, which had all day dinned their loud
noise in the ears of the occupants of the Of
fice-building.
1t was relic of past age--that old prin-
ting ofiice-and many years had rolled into
the gulfof Time since it WAS. Many "pren-
tice p" had sprung up into man within its
walls; and many an editor and publisher had
there been fitted for the great battle against
ignorance and wrong.
Old, disabled cases--containing older type,
bruised, battered, worn, old-fashioned and
obsole;e-were piled in the corners and in
the garret; and heaps of nondescript articles
of by-gone period, were to be found in all
of the out-of-the-way places, reminding one
of the fast" age we live in, and throwing
a gloomy air over the office.
Adjoining the composing was the
press-rcom, with its mammoth cylinder press,
which-although not SO old as the rest of the
establshment-had time-worn appearance.
| thought of the many workmen who had
run the machine, with its rusty clanking, and
dilapidated old boiler and engine; of those
who had sprung up and passed away since it
was made there slave, doing their bidding
with faithful grim, and mighty power.
was soon lost in reverie. | sat in my
armchair, by the stove in the composing
room, pondering on the many changes, for
good and for evil, that had passed over the
programme of my Office life; coming over
the list, in my memory, of those who had
been through the school of apprenticeship
beneath that ancient roof. Boys had become
men in the room where | was sitting, had
lived and died, flourished or failed, according
to their destiny; and many are yet living to
obtain their bread by the use of the imple-
ments and machinery around me.
There, in the corner by the window, is
the case and stand where poor Jack Bangs
used to set type, before he was killed by the
steam-demon in the press room. He was q
fine young fellow as ever handled compos.
ing stick; he used to run the old press occa-
sionally, and always at the top notch of its
speed; and one night he was at his post
with full head of steam, running at light
ming speed, being impatient to end his labor
when he was accidently tripped from off his
feet and fell Immediately upon the bed o.
the press, and was carried under the enor
NOUS cylinder. AS the bed ran through, he
was thrown off upon the floor, lifeless and
cold. The press continued its motion all the
long night, laundering, jarring aud rumbling
and when the hands came to their work ir
the morning, they found poor Jack there
mangled and dead, the demon of steam and
iron still urging the machinery on its din
They took him up reverently and sadly; ant
he was borne TO his grave in the churchyarc
by his sorrowing companions.
This eve was the twelfth anniversary o
his death, and | shuddered as / remembered
the fact, for had heard dim hints to th,
effect, that the office was visited every year
on the night, by" The Phantom Pressman! =
There was the print of skeleton hand OF
the dingy wall of the press room, said to hav,
been made by him on one Of his visits, which
had often seen and shuddered at. Being
however, of bold, resolute nature, did no
allow myself to be frightened by silly super
stitious, and tried to feel comfortable and a
ease. 4 Pei!
The coal burned brightly in the CRATE, an'
shed light around the room sufficient t
discern objects dimly; and / felt chill com
over me in spite Of all my philosophy
Suddenly ] imagined / saw a bright flash Q
light from the crack Of the press room doo1
and heard slight kissing as of escapes
steam. Istarted nervously, and watched an