Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1897-09-23

VhlnK tney coulu nave seen tnat Joe
was their superior in everything but
morals. Morally dredge men are
pretty much alike. He swore like the
rest, he talkedilliterately like the rest,
but now and then there would flash
into his conversation an expression
beautifully turned, some illusion foreign
to his surroundings, indicating life
and history not quite covered up by
the ooze of the river. But whatever
he might have been, it was evident
that he had shaped himself so long to
his environment that the adaptation
had become real life with him.
Joe's besetting sin was drink. In
this he did not differ any from the rest,
but one noticed it more in him because
the gentleman was not quite rubbed
out of him. Whenever the tug went
to the 500 in the day time, Joe went
along if he could get passage from ST.
berry, and he always came back with
gourd-like nose colored more pro-
nounced red. Joe had wife, too, who
lived in q little house in the 500, but
she did not see much of him. He went
to town over Sunday, but he spent
most of Saturday night with the bons
vivants of Water street, and he did
not rest Sundays. OF course he ought
not to have been able to find liquor on
Sunday, but whoever knows the river
and The river world, will see nothing
remarkable in this.
The men said Joe's wife took his
dissipation very much to heart for she
was young and an utter stranger in the
town. And of course wife who looks
forward through long week of lone
someness to seeing her husband Sat
urday night, is wretched and cries
from disappointment if he does not
come home till Sunday afternoon, and
drunk at that. Women are so peculiar
about such things.
The Fourth of July came that year
in the middle of the week, and at four
o'clock in the morning of the eventful
day Joe blew long blast of the
whistle, and the dredge stopped work
AS soon as the men could wash up the
tug took them down to Sibeery, where
few hoarse shrieks brought out the
"exiles" who could sleep nights "as
white orter," said Joe. Everybody
put ON his best clothes and took all
the money he had. The term "best
clothes" among dredge men does not
mean much; q $40 suit at most, q
white shirt with few tobacco stains
on the bosom, collar laundered once
or twice in the course of tho summer,
and necktie of glaring colors-such
it is to be we'll dressed on the river.
By six O'Clock the tug was putting
away toward the 500 with almost the
whole population OF No. aboard Of
her.
There is no need to particularize
specially as to the adventures of the
day. Everybody celebrated with n
will; celebrated ns only river men
whose minds are filled with the sig
ni6cance of the day can celebrate. The
night fireman OF the dredge was drunk
by ten o'clock. Bill Sykes, the day
cranesman, was in the lookup by
noon. Reddy, fireman of the tug,
took part in three fights in the course
of the day and was worsted in all of
them. But Joe Shepherd was unusu-
ally methodical and moderate in his
iollification. He drank copiously at
his own and other peoples expense;
but he combined exercise and pleasure
so carefully that he was "still on the
range at noon. But his nose showed
certain telltale signs. Joe's nose was
like the water gauge of a boiler. One
could tell about how he was filling up
by it. At four o'clock the day runner
went to the tug and blew few short
whistles, the rallying whistle for the
men. And soon they came-those
that were coming at all-but with steps
very measured and slow. Now and
then some Of them would be moved to
tears from patriotic fervor and stop to
embrace one another and thank heaven
they were citizens of our great repub-
lic--all of this within step of the
canal.
Last of all came Joe, somewhat per-
turbed in manner, but still enduring.
He was singing with all his might the
refrain of his favorite song, with some
variations:
"Rattle m creak O. the crane,
An up with e anchor post;
| On with the work again,
'Tis blamed hard life at most
'His blamed hard life at most"
He had just started on this for the
third or fourth time when little wo-
man turned the corner and came up
by the side of him. The song died on
his lips. "'Tis a blamed hard life, +"
was the end of it.
"Joe," said the woman, "you
haven't been home this week now
and" ''Mrs. Shepherd, inter-
rupted Joe oratorically, "this is the
day we celebrate, The nations well