The Middleburgh post. [volume] (Middleburgh, Snyder Co., Pa.) 1883-1916, 1897-09-02

night men called 1t from the time it
had been so christened by Joe Shep-
herd in fit of melancholy and despair,
was anchored in little sandy cove on
the Canadian side of the river near the
Point. The gouge in the shore line
here was due wholly to the removal of
sand by "sand sucker" a contrivance
fitted up by the Canadians to get sand
for their new locks at the 500. How
ever much the night men said they
disliked the constant wheeling and
puffings of the sucker, and the un-
couth machine itself, which they
claimed had set fire to their last year 5
quarter-boat and compelled them to
crawl out of sound sleep in the mid
die of the forenoon, leaving watches
and clothes behind, still, in reality,
they did not object very much to the
sucker after all. 1t was their only re-
taxation, their only excitement in the
lonesome hours of their quarter-boat
life.
mighty hot Sibeery, amt it, boys2"
Joe would remark, when about 10
o'clock the men came down from their
hot rooms to sit in disconsolate groups
in the shade of the house on broken
anchor chains and dredge machinery
"Might jest about as we'll be a Canuck
and run a sand-sucker," he would
grumble on, peering through clouds
of smoke from his corn-cob pipe out
into the clear water, where, forty or
fifty feet away, the long pipe of the
sucker was feeling about on the bot
tom and pulling a steady stream of
sand and water up into the big scow
which served as sort OF stomach for
it. And then some late conner would
appear with suspenders dragging, and
after contemplating the progress of the
pumping, would call out to the imper-
turbable sand-sucker men, "That's
right, fellers, dig away; you need sand,
you fellers dol" And, in spite of Joe s
expostulating snort that the night crew
needed sand, too, this continued to be
the regular daily joke which the for
saken party on Sibeery hurled at her
majesty's subjects on the sucker.
It was strange sort Of regimen
which prevailed on the dredge. When
there were places to be filled anybody
who offered himself was accepted. No
questions were asked. 1t was, how
ever, expected that no one would get
drunk while on duty. What one did
when off duty was of no consequence.
The great channel between Duluth
and Buffalo was strictly international,
and anybody could help dig it, be he
Jew or Gentle, white or black. Per-
sonal history counted for nothing, for
pedigree and past life were never made
subjects Of study on the river. The
river is one place in this democratic
land, at any rate, where, as the poet
says, "There amt no ancient history
to bother you nor me-"
The makeup of the night crew was
remarkable, and it had some striking
characters in it, But the most re-
markable man Of all who sat down to
midnight dinner on No. 4 was Joe
Shepherd. He was tall and slim, al
most lathy indeed, and not very old.
He stopped slightly with the languor,
GUS stoop of a scholar, but was not
one. His face, turned dusky brown
by the wind and weather Of the chan
mel, was marked by nose, large and
plump, and burned still fiercer red
than the rest of his face. Joe's nose
was flaming promontory in parched
sahara. Surmount his face by a soft
wool hat, and imagine him dressed in
fairly good clothes, and you have Joe
Shepherd, the person. But it would
take long acquaintance to know Joe
Shepherd, the man, the real personal
ity, which was at once the life and
soul-what little there was-of the
night crew.
Joe was the boss at night, the "run
ner" in the vernacular Of the dredge
He presided over the machinery in the