Im leaving for the work station today. Marshals going to pick me up at 8.

Im a God blessed
man to have Mr. Stafford give me this job, with work being so short all over. And to be going with
Marshall is a real comfort. Lily and the kids are staying with Tom while Im gone on the work crew. I
wish I didnt have to leave them, but we need the money! Its the only way I can bring us through the
winter. Marshall keeps telling me something to join the Union, but I dont see why I should go through
the trouble. Dont even know what that means. Ill be staying at the camp for a year, and sending money
back. Id bring my family with me, but Ive heard some real terrible things in the way of the living there.
It will be a long way to camp, so well be off any minute now, to make it before dark.
Wrote April 9, 1867

Lil,
We arrived at the camp late after dark last night, and I miss you already. Im to met with Mr.
Stafford at noon, but Marshall and I are settling in here. Wish I could see you soon.
Chander

Mr. Young! How good to see youve made it here alright, if late.
My apologies, sir. We got held up on the road to camp.
Not an excuse. Sit down. I invited you here to give you a job because of your father and my
friendship, but that doesnt mean youre anything but a worker here.
Yes, Mr. Stafford.
You and Marshall are on the piling crew in D camp. Ask to find the supply shack to pick up your
tent and tools there. The other workers will show you around.
Thank you, sir.
I left Mr. Staffords car at the end of the long trail of supply freights and storage holds that sat on
the finished tracks behind the construction sight with Marshall. As we walked down the the long row of

ties, Marshall paused. He had found the car where the Union leaders worked. He asked me once again to
consider joining. Why? I asked.
The Union protects its workers. The barons up top like Mr. Stafford dont care at all for their
workers as long as the work gets done. The Union ensures we dont get fired or cheated for no reason.
We stepped inside. The car was dingy, patched and dark inside. There were two men, sitting at a
shoddy table, talking quietly. Marshall inquired as to how to sign up. One pulled out a piece of paper and
said, Sign if you know how. Marshall scratched out his name in that long thin script of his, that he uses
only for the most important agreements. He took one for me and handed me a pen.
All was quiet. All three men just looked at me, expectantly. I stood there, and must have looked
real awkward because I stood there a solid thirty seconds. Well, sign! said one of the men.
He looked unkempt, as if he hadnt slept in days. Slowly I looked down and put the pen to paper.
My signature was nothing like Marshalls who was always very outspoken and brash. I am just the
opposite of him, quiet and slow. I sign dark and small.
D Camp was a large place, maybe 500 tents, and a few shacks thrown together near the center,
tucked all in a valley off the west of the trackbed. We walked down towards the biggest building.
This is D camp?
Sure is, Mister.
We arrived today and were sent here. Is there anyone we should see?
That would be Jenkins in the Hall two rows past Chinatown.
Chinatown?
Yeah, where all the immigrant workers stay. Christ, you boys are in for a nightmare of a surprise
if you didnt even know that were full of em. Stafford brings them on to work for cheap. Im Tom. Just
scream if you need anything.
Where is everyone?
Workin up at the front.
Thank you kindly, sir.

Marshall, come on.

Camp is a rough place. I got assigned a tent with Marshall right on the outside of Chinatown. The
guys Im with are rowdy, but fine enough. The only other building than Jenkins is the pub, which serves
watered down beer in brown cracked tankards. The food is the worst. Stale bread, raw meat, and a soup so
full of salt I gagged at first. I miss home, and the work hasnt even started. I wonder what to make of the
Union, and what do they even do? Ill ask in the morning. Tomorrow, I go to the front, so Ill need my
rest.
Wrote April 10, 1867

Lil,
I miss you. Life here is hard, and I think I've forgotten what real food tastes like. This is the first
payment I've received here. I know it's not much but it should help rent. Mr. Stafford is quite the
character. I don't know what to make of him yet. I wish you were here, but at the same time, I'm glad you
stayed. Life here is miserable, dirty and dangerous. Marshall sends his love to Molly, as I do to you.
Yours forever,
Chander

The Transcontinental Observer

On Wednesday, Mr. Leland Stafford of the Pacific Railroad Company declared that
celebrated coast to coast endeavor should be complete in time for Christmas travel. At a party on
Saturday he revealed that work was ahead of schedule. This brings much excitement to many of the
coastal companies who are eager to sell their products to the people of the Midwest. Many luxuries
will now be more readily available to the residents West of the Mississippi. The Transcontinental
Railway, a $50.000.000, 2.000 mile brainchild of President Lincoln, was planned and budgeted by
Mr. Theodore Judah. It has been advancing much quicker than the expected schedule, but there is a
concern about going over budget. Mr. Stafford dismissed these "rumors," explaining that, "The

only people worried here are the Unions, always fussing over the smallest trifles, but we are moving
forwards as planned- we have no concern about funds at all. The dream of many to connect the
continent is nearly complete! More on this story on pg 9.

I slammed the pick into the ground again. Sure is hot today, for April, Marshall said.
I nodded. It was hot. I had learned that the other workers counted on it being mild this time of
year, because thats when the most work got done. In the summer, the heat was scorching, and the men
prayed for winter. In the winter, there wasnt a soul in the camps that didnt pray for summer. There were
clouds hanging low in the sky, thick, dark, but it hadnt rained yet. It was so dry, dust blew across the
front where we worked. I had a feeling, that when it rained, the workers would complain that it ran in
their tents. I dont know what would make them happy.
Again, the I slammed the pick through a rock, watching it cleave in two. This was brutal work.
On the work front, we would do this heavy labor from sunup to sundown, in three hour shifts. Three hours
off, three on. Three off, three on. We switched around with C camp. B did the cleanup behind us, and A,
which was the biggest camp, laid the ties behind. E was far ahead of the caravan, clearing tunnels in the
mountains, ahead. It was late, and our last shift was about to end. I leaned on my pick for a moment's rest.
Thats when the man nearest to me collapsed.
Marshall was there in a flash, holding the mans head off the rocks. Hey! We need a cart over
here! I shouted.
I gently poured some water down the mans throat. He was conscious, but groggy. The man was
Asian, and I couldnt understand what he said. He felt like he was burning with fever. The men returned,
and we loaded him into the cart to return to his camp. A few minutes later, the whistle blew for shift, just
as thunder started to roll.

The man who Marshall and me picked up today died. The doctor said it was exhaustion. That
would explain why he was so hot to the touch. Marshall doesnt believe it, though. He says that there is a

sickness in the middle of the camp, and that its spreading fast. He wont go to the tavern for fear of it. We
will have to see.
The rain came, and I was absolutely right. The groans that came when it started to fall!
The Union men were in our camp today. Apparently, they were there to collect the dead workers
pay, for his family. Thats why we signed up for it, said Marshall. The Union has our backs.
Itll pick up our bodies? I said.
No, if we get hurt or sick or even Or even if the company stops paying. It makes sure we get
our money, no matter what, he explained.
Im beginning to understand, I think.
Wrote April 12, 1867.

Lil,
There is sickness in the camp. A fever started down by the tavern, and its spreading like fire in a
hay barn. There have been 14 deaths already, 13 of them immigrants. Mr. Stafford is refusing to do
anything about it, though. I come to see him as a coward, too scared to go to his own company. But
theres more! He is afraid that if word leaks out, then he will lose funding, or have to postpone the
schedule. He and that all important schedule. Im not the only one mad at him, though. Marshall thinks
he is a murderer to boot! A union worker went to see him, and came out fuming. The next night, they
found him dead in his bunk, apparently from the disease. The doctor said he had none of the signs though.
Things are heating up here. I will keep writing, if I can.
Chander

I walked to the edge of camp with Marshall and a few others. We were headed to the Union car,
when we saw the crowd. A group of about 40 men, crowded around, as the two Union men addressed the

crowd. We are trying our hardest! They said. We know and are outraged at the unfairness they are
showing you, and we are doing our best to fix that.
What happened? cried one of the men we were with.
Havent you heard? said a voice. Stafford's lowering the pay again, and adding an hour of
work to each day!
What?! cried Marshall. This is outrageous!
The two men started again, Whats more, is that he is hiring police to enforce it! But now is not
the time to strike. I know some of you are calling for one right now, but wait. We may be able to reason
with the man. If the time comes to strike, you will know.
Marshall stalked away fuming.

Outrage in the Workline!

On April 14th, Mr. Stafford of the Pacific Railroad company announced that he would be
having to temporarily cut the pay and extend the working hours of workers on the tracks because
of, unexpected complications. What these complications may be is unknown at this point. With
the mass production of a new blasting powder called dynamite, many people are convinced that the
work should be going fine, even ahead of schedule, but Mr. Staffords sudden change in attitude
says otherwise. Dynamite, invented by chemist Alfred Nobel, is composed of peanut compounds and
phosphorus, as well as other chemicals and is extremely potent. More on dynamite on pg 13.
Today on the front, there were railway coppers overseeing the work being done. They all carry
clubs and pistols, and a few with heavier arms. I find it ridiculous, calling in an army for some angry
employees. The hours were long today, and the heat was brutal. Im shaking as I write this from
exhaustion. I got to see dynamite used. Modern science amazes me, it was brutally strong and fast and I
could feel it in my bones, even from the distance I stood. One man cleared away the granite boulder in a
minute in the time it would take ten men with picks an hour! What has this world become, so full of
wonders? Its a good thing that the stuff is under lock and key of the storage room. The fever has resided a

bit. The doctor believes it spread with the rainwater, because it stopped when drought set in. I need my
sleep so I have to stop writing.
Wrote May 4, 1867

The roar was deafening. We all woke with a start in our tents and tried to shake the ringing from
our ears. Whats happening? I cried.
A red glow was shining through our tent canvas, like all the fire in Hell had been thrown up onto
Earth. In truth, that wasnt too far fetched. As we stepped outside, we were surrounded by fire. The supply
building was ablaze, the the train parked on the newly laid tracks was now on its side, and the building
where the overseer of D camp stayed was smoldering. Workers were running about, shouting. Where
was Marshall? I thought.
I realized he wasnt with us in the tent. I had a bad feeling that he was somehow connected to the
fire. Looking around, I saw nobody actually going to help with the fire, they were just making sure their
own tents werent in harms way. Then, the police streamed in, and began putting out the fire. By the time
they had done all they could, there was a thick dark haze in the air, covering everything. We had gone
back into our tent and were trying to get back some sleep when all of a sudden, a figure burst into our
tent, covered in ash. Marshal, I cried. What-...
Shut up! he hissed quietly.
That was not like Marshal at all. He started getting washed off as best he could then dove said,
The police! Theyre coming! I have to hide! Look, you dont know me, I dont stay here, and I am most
definitely not here! as he dove into the space behind the trunks on the back wall.
I was right. It was Marshal. Sure enough, a few minutes later, a cop ducked into our tent, looked
around, then said, Is he here?
Whos here? said Tank, the biggest guy in the tent, and even in D camp, as he stood to face the
scrawny man who had burst in.

As Tank towered over him by at least two heads, the man said nothing but backed out of the tent
then scrambled away as fast as he could. Rumor was a cop had once beaten Tank, and Tank had
pummeled him to the point of bleeding out. All the cops were terrified of Tank. A long time after he had
left, Marshal came out.
In quiet whispers, he told us all what he and two other men had done. They had broken into the
storage building and made off with a pack of dynamite, split up, and set charges on the three targets. At
Midnight by the clock tower, they had lit the fuses, and ran. The overseer was now dead, along with five
cops, who had been in the building or in the train. I had no doubt that this was because of that man beaten
down on the front today. He knew the cops would be searching for him and his accomplices. The Union
men were all in on the plan, he explained. The time to strike was now.

The smoke hangs thick over camp tonight. Like the dirt, first being pushed into a shallow grave.
Marshall has been hiding out in our tent for four days now, with people slipping in to give him food or
water. The coppers are thirsty for blood, now that the chief has been killed, and they are always on the
lookout for someone to put the blame on.
Im worried theyll find him here. Nothing is stopping them from marching in, seizing him, and
taking him down to the tracks. Mr. Stafford went into a rage when he saw the destruction to his company.
The men who saw him swore he was mentally ill, the way he paced, cursed and screamed.
Down at the tracks he ordered a gallows to be built. It really was for show, but I have no doubt
that it is fully functional. That morbid scarecrow of a post stood watch over the camp, a sealed fate for the
perpetrators if they were found out. 20 feet tall of dark crooked wood, you can see it from anywhere you
go. Work is terrible. We work no matter the scorching heat, and men drop like flies, sick, dying even. The
coppers beat men mercilessly if they come too close, like dogs almost.
At night rebellion brews, and all of a sudden, I seem to be tangled up in it. Even though the cops
hold a strict curfew, men slip from tent to tent to get to ours, talking and scheming with Marshall in the

dark. In the day, people come find me for the latest news. When are we going to strike? they ask. Are
we going to rise? Is the Union doing anything?

I approached Marshall in the back of the tent. Hey, I said. Someone asked me today if we had
enough dynamite yet. What does this mean? What are you planning? From the sound of it, youre starting
a war! Tell me, please!
He was shaking. Pale as some ghostly specter he stood, sweating, tired, and scared. Yes, he
said. thats exactly what Im doing.
Then he disappeared behind the tent curtain in the back of the room without another word. I
hadnt known him to be this upset just by the pay cuts. No, I was wrong, it wasnt the pay cuts. It had
been the dying men that were given no help at all that had set him off. Back in my hometown, he had
always been adamant about making sure he was in line to help with fires and that if he could, hed jump
in a brawl to save a total stranger that needed help. I should have seen this coming. He never told anyone
what he was going to do, he just did it. Speak softly and carry a big stick, hed say.
Though I never dreamed hed go this far.
That night, a whole host of people came slinking into the tent. The Union men were there; along
with other faces I put together to be the men who who worked with Marshall that night in blowing up the
camp, and many more. The Union man sat and spoke. We are here! he whispered, because Leland
Stafford is a tyrant, abusing those of us with no power, and holding us with the shackles of the life giving,
sustaining dollar. What are we to eat, to send to our families? We have used all our power in the Union to
try and resolve this and continue with the work, but our pleas fall on deaf ears. The time to strike is now!
All of you, tonight, spread the word throughout the camps that there is to be no work to be done, not a
single tie laid, until the Stafford gives in to the list of demands we have given him. Now go! There is
work to be done.

After several hours of whispered conversation, the men slipped out one by one to return to their
camps and spread the word. When all had gone, Marshall and I looked at each other. Well, he said, the
party has started.
The next day, all was quiet in the camp. I found it odd that the sun sat up in the sky and nobody
was out yet. Everyone had slept in. Marshall was nowhere to be seen. A stream of people walked slowly
past the tent, looks of refreshment on everyones face. This was the first night in weeks that they had all
gotten sleep. I heard shouting from up by the tracks, where the new train sat gleaming in the sun. That
was where everyone was heading.
A large crowd was standing in front of the cabin where Stafford stayed. A line of cops with guns
in their hands stood between the workers and a fuming Mr. Stafford. Marshall and the Union men stood in
front of the crowd, and as I made my way up to them, I heard one of them say, The things we ask for are
nothing great, just what we deem to be fair. What you are demanding is insanity, and nothing will come of
it but trouble, and ruin for your company. Listen to reason. This strike will last as long as it needs to, and
it wont stop until you give in. Please! This doesnt have to end in a bad way.
End in a bad way! screamed Stafford I swear, I will drag each and every one of your pathetic
souls to the bloody gates of Hell before were through! And I will have you in a noose even before then!
He pointed at Marshall as he said this. You allre greedy, lazy, and evil to your very souls!
Whats a man to do to run a company! Why if I ever lay hands on you, I will rip you limb from limb for
the murders and damage youve made, I swear to God! I will ensure this work gets done by the end of this
year. May the devil help anybody who gets in my way! he raved, shaking as he spoke.
And with that, he turned on his heel, marched into his car, and slammed the door behind him. The
crowd dispersed, but for a group that lingered around the Union men and Marshall. Keep up your
spirits! they said. All strikes come to pass soon. But in the meantime, rest, and regain your strength.

BREAKING NEWS

The Pacific Railroad company is currently bearing through a massive strike. Union leaders
and workers alike approached Mr. Stafford on Friday, demanding a higher wage, and two hours
less work time every day. One striker says, We were worked to exhaustion sense Stafford changed
the hours. 15 hours a day, and paid only $2.50 for each one. We need to feed our families! I dont
think its too much to ask, we are people, too.Although the world was under the impression that
proceedings were in good standings with the construction of the Continental Railroad, we now find
out that tension has been mounting to the point where there was an attack on company buildings,
killing one and injuring eighteen. Mr. Stafford refuses to comment on the recent situation, but a
spokesperson has informed us that he will be hiring the renowned Pinkerton detectives and other
private services to try to end the strike and proceed with the work. More on this story on page 3.

It was a cold damp morning. It had rained just enough to dampen everything, but not enough to
collect for drinking. Clouds covered the sky, but it was a bright gray, that awkward transition between the
two battling weathers. I sat in my tent looking at the sky, thinking about all that had happened these few
days. I remember when I first lost my job at the boot factory, that had made me come to look for a job
here. The sky was just like this. It had been a long time since I had seen my family, or my beloved town
of Spadeshead, a little town north of New York City. Tears welled up in my eyes at the thought of that
place. I left the same day I got let down from my old job. More than anything I wish I could go back. But
what could I do? I needed to provide for my family, and I was lucky to catch the last position available.
We cried, Lil and I, for the long hours before I left.
My daydreaming was awakened abruptly by Tank, who came barreling into the tent. Weve got
trouble, he said.
The streets were loud for being so empty. We didnt see a soul as we made our way through the
maze of tents, but crying and screaming filled the air. Straight to the bar we went, where we found a small
group of people gathered around, the source of the morose noises that hung heavy in the air. As we were

approaching, I saw something that would remain burned into my memory forever. Mr. McDarlen, the
bartender lay dead in the streets.
I gagged, and choked on my own breath. A red black hole tore right through his face, the source
of the dry blood pooled on the ground. I knew it right away; he had been shot from behind. Everybody
knew that bullets went in clean, but out dirty. The cop did it! someone said, addressing me.
It was Marshall speaking. Of course. The cop shot him as he came out of his room last night
because he thought he was up to no good. Poor man, was just letting his dog in. No warning, no
provocation. Then he left him here in the street. Murder.
His voice was low and steady. A dangerous sign. I cant take more of this. Eight days and
Stafford hasnt shown face. Literally hasnt left his train car. And they continue to abuse us. Did you hear
about the three men that got mugged? They werent mugged, they were just picked off and beaten by the
police because they could do it, if they had fought back, they would have shot them. I have to do
something I cant just sit here!
No. Dont do it.
I have to. Leave if you want to, but Im going tonight.
You know I cant do that.
Do you want in, then?
Just tell me what to do.

Lil,
I am terribly sorry. I love you so much and Im sorry. Marshall met the end of his fuse, and hes
planning something for tonight. I have to go with him. If I dont see you again, Im sorry. I love you, and
tell the kids I love them too. Hopefully see you soon.
Chander

The men trickled into our tent as per usual, but throughout the day. That night as the sun skimmed
the edge of the mountain behind us, we were all there, all seven of us who would do the deed. We planned
our movements carefully, and had backup plans for our backup plans. There were seven guns in the trunk,
the only ones I had ever seen in the camp that werent in the hands of a cop. No wonder where they came
from. One for each of us. There were also clubs, and a few knives as well.
The plan was not that complex. Three men would club down the two cops that guarded the
storage shed, and steal gunpowder, fuses, ignition strips, guns and other weapons. We had two more men
outside ready to carry, and to keep watch. Wed split up, bring the gunpowder up to the cops car, and up
to the engine and to Staffords car, and to the end of the train as well. All the rest would be brought to the
bar, ready for the rest of camp. Not a bullet was to be fired, lest we be found out. If all went well, it would
be completely unpredictable.
At midnight, we started out. Keeping to the tents and shadows, we made our way ever closer to
the storage shed. The guards were taken down without a sound, and with no trouble at all. Quickly we
entered the shed and made our way to our prize, the barrels, stamped with a large FLAMMABLE
warning. I went with Marshall and the gunpowder as two of the men went away with the first assortment
of torches, guns, ammunition, knives, axes, picks, and chains. Up to the train we crept. Slinking close to
the train, and ducking the dark windows, we planted the barrels as one of the others laid long fuses. Eight
barrels we placed overall, enough to blow the whole camp to the gates of heaven. Last fuse laid, I nodded
to Marshall and away we went.
Down we went back to camp to be prepared for the imminent fight. This is when things started to
go wrong. We saw the cop just as he saw us, forty feet away, there was no way we could make it to him in
time to stop him from blowing the whistle he raised to his lips. I cringed as I heard the crisp short crack
ring out. Not the sound of a whistle. Marshalls pistol smoked from the barrel, steady in his hand as we all
stood in shock. The man lay dead, the breath soundlessly pouring out of him. Light it. Now! he said
urgently.

The blast was deafening as it tore through the valley, rebounded off the walls and pounded into
our ears as we fell to the ground, fingers in ears. The light was a blinding red white that burned through
my eyelids and the heat engulfed me in a suffocating grip. The heat was immense, my entire body felt on
fire. The world ceased to exist.
When finally, I had enough life in me to move again, I opened my eyes and turned to face the
train. There was no train. There was a smoldering metal frame some fifty feet away from the tracks. As
the others came to, and dragged themselves up, wiping soot off their faces, we took off down towards the
camp to no sound but the fire burning, and the creak of the dying skeleton of a train. The smoke hung low
over everything. We took of for the camp at a run, triumphant. Thats when the whistles started. The
whistles from the remaining three dozen cops left in camp. The cry rose up, To Arms! To Arms! the
police are opening fire!
We ran into the square where the battle had already begun. Fifty or so of the men had grabbed
guns and were crouching behind the bar and buildings nearby, firing back on the advancing Pinkertons
who had formed ranks across the way. Men lay dead on both sides. The ring of guns was loud, but the
yelling was even louder. The rich coppery smell of blood hung in the air, noticeable even under the
sulfuric smoke of the blast. The battle was not short, but in the end the cops were the first to surrender.
Blood covered the ground where they threw down their guns.
I looked at Marshall. It was time to come out. We gathered the rest of the militant workers and
moved out to meet them. We walked behind Marshall, who had clearly become the leader of our ragtag
group. Twenty feet away we stopped. Marshall opened his mouth to speak. He never got to.
The blood spurted from his side like a firework, covering me and the others. The cop who had
fired was already on the ground, bleeding out from a bullet to his shoulder, but he was quickly silenced by
about twenty more.
The world slowed to a stop. It must have ended, I must be dead, I thought. How could Marshall
be dead? No he wasnt, he was somewhere else, this person on the ground wasnt him, It couldnt be.

Godammit it couldnt be! In a haze, I stumbled to his side. The commotion all around me was nothing, it
was in another world, far from me. I blacked out.

CHAOS SHUTS DOWN PACIFIC CO

A bloody night at the Railway Co.s working grounds left fifty eight dead, including owner
Mr. Leland Stafford. Late last night, dissatisfied Union workers overpowered two Pinkerton
detectives and broke into the supply of dynamite, rigging the executives train to blow. In the chaos
that ensued, a shootout between armed workers and coppers resulted in the surrender of the
detectives. Work has been put on hold until further notice. Reportedly, a downed detective
sacrificed himself, shooting upon the alleged ringleader of the group, injuring him. He is now under
medical protection, until the case is brought before court.

Marshall asks me to wrote this for him, he cant write right now. Im so sorry.
Chelsy,
I dont know what to say. I
Chelsy,
Marshall is dead and its al
Chelsy,
I am so sorry. Im the one in the news right now, I led them onto this. I made a terrible mistake. All I
wanted to do was make sure the family got what they needed, and now Ive crippled it. Ive wronged you.
You shouldnt forgive me. I led the men blindly, exploiting the little power that the Union had to try and
make more money here, but when things escalated, I got swept away in anger, forgetting the reason I was
there. I was here for you, and I should have kept that in sight. Im sorry. They say I might be okay, but I
can see it in their eyes, Ive gone. More than anything I want to see you, but theres just no way. If I dont
see you, I love you. Chander promised he would look after you, hes a saint, that man.
Forever yours,
Marshall

There were tears on the page, I wrote as he lay in bed, bandages soaked fresh red even after
twelve hours. He was going to die, and there was nothing that could be done now. The company, now
under Staffords son, simply fired all the workers who had done anything, or belonged to the Union, and
hired new hands. There was no trial, Stafford Jr. had pressed no charges; his fathers killer was dying
slowly and he reveled in it. I stayed with Marshall until he stopped breathing. A shallow grave was dug,
and we laid him down alone.
I was shipped back to New York, an hour later, by, how ironic, train. No words spoken, no
goodbyes just the long monotonous rattling of passing railroad ties. Just a departure, and this part of my
life was over; or so I thought. Maybe I hoped, I thought, as the train went rumbling down the tracks.

Coming home to my Spadeshead was the second most beautiful thing I had ever experienced.
Seeing my Lil was the first. It may have been the happiest day of my life, if not for the shadow of
Marshalls death that was cast as I approached Chelsy. I gave her the letter, and cried with her and
remembered all the good times we had ever had with him. Now I am responsible for providing for both
families, and that means I now have six mouths to feed. I need a job, desperately. I cannot go back to the
Railway, and I would not, unless as a last means. I intend to go out on the town looking for work, maybe I
can find a few odd jobs until something more permanent comes along.
Writ this day, the 28th of October, 1867

I found a job, I announced.

All six of us at the table stirred excitedly. I had been looking for six days now, without success.
It isnt great, and the hours will be long, but I will be working the desk at the shoe repair and store, and it
will put food on the table for now. I also found that the manager there needs a fence painted, so Ill be
painting that in the meantime.
This was welcomed news, and we needed it. We had been scrounging for food and money since
my check had dried up surprisingly early.
I sat down on the bed in our bedroom and held my head in my hands, the clinking of breakfast
plates low in the kitchen. Looking down, I saw a copy of Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. I laughed
to myself quietly as I remembered the story. The past year had been just like falling down the rabbit hole.
Signing onto that team brought me into a cruel twisted world, and it seemed all of Alices troubling
ordeals became my own. Taking that gun and that stick of dynamite was the first step on the way to
waking up from that twisted dream, just as Alice started to.
My dreaming was interrupted by my child slipping into my room, asking what was for dinner
tonight. Half cursing under my breath, I got up and left the house to go search for something that would
hold the families over until my paycheck came in the next day. Walking down the streets to the store on
the corner, I missed Marshall, who used to take this walk with me every saturday morning. He always
joked and laughed and picked fights with the gang in the vacant lot. Shoot. I had forgotten about them.
Just as I rounded the corner realizing my mistake, I was pulled backwards by the collar into the
alley behind the store. I had forgotten about the gang. For years they had hung back in the lot behind the
store jumping anybody who came by unaware of the impending danger. Though I could hold my own
against one at a time in the few brawls I had jumped in, Marshall was more than a match for all of them. I
remembered he had taken on four of them as they jumped an older man and left them all blacked out on
the ground. Against all of them, I would be slaughtered. They started their attack, seven at once coming at
me.

The railroad line had made me tough, and I discovered my strength and size must have doubled in
my line of work. A few punches thrown and many broken ribs later, those that were still on their feet
scampered away, leaving me just a little short of breath at the worst. Tears came to my eyes as I would
have loved for Marshall to see that.
In the store, all I had the money for was a loaf of wheat bread, and canned beef. Again. I was
grateful, but it was a sickening reminder of what it was like supporting two families with a small income.
Tomorrow, I would go down to the town clerk to look for job openings and maybe make a few cents. I ate
nothing that night, as there was little as it was.
On the green in the square I helped building a gazebo for the morning and made enough for two
days of food. Then I made myself up and went down to look for a second job. There was nothing but I
waited for a few hours to see if anything turned up. Nothing did, so I went to the green again and picked
up another couple of hours working there.
That night I was so frustrated I made my way down to the pub. The bartender, another friend of
mine, cleared my tab and gave me free drinks all the night long. That helped a lot. Only God knew that
drinking in a bar would solve all my problems. Sitting at the bar, I noticed the men who had tried to jump
me come in and order drinks. They caused no trouble all night, so I let them be. Closing time was a
different story, though. All six of them turned to leave without paying and flipping tables and chairs on
the way out. The man at the door and the bartender confronted them, and thats when I smelled things
heating up.
The first punch was thrown and the bartender dropped like a stone. Thats when I stood up. It was
probably all the drinks that made me think I could take on six but they were drunk too and that put us on
level ground. The rumble was quick and it ended with all six of them groaning on the floor. Not one made
it out the door. We called for the deputy and soon all of them were in the jailhouse to dry out. As I stopped
to help clean up the mess, the man at the door, who apparently was the owner, thanked me for saving his
place, and his barkeeper. If theres anything I can do for you, just say the word, he said.

The next night I was sitting in the bar, sober, as a bouncer. Those boys never did come back.
Working two jobs was more than enough to get both my family and Marshalls through all of this. We
could start saving now, something we hadnt done since before I got fired and had to go to get a job on the
railroad. Bouncing was easy. I could sit and read all during my shift and only ever once in a while have to
get up to calm down an argument. Life looks good.

This year year flew by. I worked and made enough to put some money into the bank downtown. I
remembered Marshall every day. Life goes on. God must have willed it for me to make it through that
camp. I say this because for the first time in a long time I have felt happiness, so welcome that emotion
was received. I have learned to change, to adapt, to bend with the wind, and that is the only reason I have
made it this far. No longer am I going to write in this diary; this time of my life is over and done. I carry
with me what I have learned, no more, for it is too painful.
Writ this day, the 31st, Hallows Eve, 1868\

Works Cited

"Completing the Transcontinental Railroad, 1869" EyeWitness to History,

www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2004).
History.com Staff. "Transcontinental Railroad." History.com. A&E Television Networks, 2010.
Web. 04 June 2015.