Date: Sun, 17 Sep 2000 19:39:09 EDT
From: SWarri1349@aol.com
Subject: High Iron Chapter 1 Gay Historical

        Fifteen year old Sean Davis sat in the door of a Western Maryland
boxcar, having just awakened from his dreams. Everything was normal for him
two days ago. Then he was happy, he still had a family, then the fire
happened. Salty tears began to run down his face as he remembered his dream
and his past. The smoke and cinders of the big steam locomotive up front
blew past him and the dust flowed through the open door. He was headed
north, the city had passed while he slept. Now he remembered as the boxcar
swayed around a curve.

        Well, as normal as it could be in 1930 New Orleans - long lines of
men out of work begging on the streets, the soup kitchens dishing out watery
soup and stale bread, the mournful cry of the steamboat whistles along the
levee, the chuff and clangs of the steam engines in the railroad yards.
Everything was OK then, but that night two nights ago changed it all for
him.

        He had come home from walking the stinking trash-littered streets,
looking for any kind of work, it did not matter, from sweeping floors to
chopping stove wood to the backbreaking job of shoveling coal at the
railroad yards; nothing again. He trudged up the rickety wooden steps to the
third floor of the slum tenant house. A dim yellow light burned in the
hallway landing as he walked three doors down and entered the two room
apartment shared with his mother and father and 3 year old baby brother Jon.
Everything was fine. His father sat in an old chair, reading a newspaper
while his mom cooked a supper of potatoes and greens with some fatty pork
meat that he stole the day before from a reefer car sitting in the rail
yard. The cinder dick almost caught him but he managed to outrun the 180-
pound railroad cop and sneak between the loose boards of the wooden fence.
Now, once again home, he sat down on the dirty hardwood floor. His father
glanced down at him, his graying blond hair falling in front of his blue-
gray eyes. "Did you find any work today, son?"

        "No, Papa," Sean replied, his greenish-brown eyes were dim and cast
down, showing his failure. "I tried really hard; I even went to the
railroad yards again. Not even the steamboat captains had anything for me
to do. Papa, what are we going to do?"

        "Oh, my son, not to worry. We will make it somehow. The roundhouse
and yards are still working and I still have my job there. I know it is hard
when the bosses cut back on the hourly wage, but at least I am not standing
in the bread lines yet, my boy. Stand up, Sean, and come here."

        Sean Davis stood up off the hardwood floor, his olive colored skin
darkened by the hot Louisiana sun, his muscular body free from all fat, all
120 pounds was muscle. The strong tendons stretched as he stood, rippling
under his skin, and his thin cotton shirt outlined every detail, his short
curly brown hair slick with sweat like the rest of him. Sean was a handsome
boy, not quite as tall as his father; he was only 5'6, while his father
stood about 6 foot even. Sean walked across the small room to his father's
chair, and his papa put down the newspaper and stood, towering over him.
His papa's blue-gray eyes looked down upon his oldest son, then he took Sean
into his powerful arms. "My boy, you make me proud of just who you are. No
need to fret over what is going to happen next. Saint Christopher is looking
down on you. You are a proud son of a proud set of parents. We love you, no
matter what happens next in life. I loved Father and I thanked him many
times for bringing us up right. I only wish he could see his grandson, so
proud and such a hard worker. Just like your grandpa. He loved his job, he
loved his family. You don't remember him because he was killed when you were
just a baby. Sean's father sat back down in the chair after releasing his
son from his powerful arms. "Sit, my son," and Charles pulled his son onto
his knee, "it is time I told you about your grandfather." Katie walked into
the room, carrying a small framed photograph. She passed it to Charles and
returned to the small gas stove where the smells of the meal were drifting
into the living area, and the hot baked bread cooking in the oven. "Sean,
here is a photograph of your grandfather taken a year or so before his
death. The engine in the photograph is the same one he was running the day
he died, #99."

        "Your Grandfather Samuel was born in New Orleans during the War
Between The States. He grew up a poor boy that no one seemed to like because
his father, your great-grandfather, was German, but he grew up on the
streets just like you, his father teaching him how to read and write just
like I did you. When he was 15, in April of 1875, he went to work as a
fireman on the New Orleans, Jackson, and Great Northern Railroad. He had
the worst job one could want on an engine, throwing stick after stick of
wood into the red-hot firebox, crawling out onto the running boards of the
speeding locomotive to pour oil onto the bearings. But he did, my boy, and
he learned the trade. By the time he was 20, he was married to my mother,
your grandmother, and I was born in a shack not far from here, in the
railyard. I learned to work at 10 years old, sweeping out the shops or
wiping down the locomotives when they were being refueled and rewatered
after a long trip. Then at 15 I started to work in the railroad roundhouse,
making parts and building locomotives. You see, my boy, there is a pride in
your step, there is a pride in your family, and most of all, my boy, you
were born to continue what we have started; you were born to ride the rails.
Your grandfather was an engineer after he passed his test in 1900, pulling
long hours and hundreds of cars of freight to Jackson, Mississippi, then
sleeping for only a few hours before returning home.  In 1915 your
grandfather was killed on April 30th, three days after you were born. Also,
my boy, on April 30th, 1900, was the wreck of Casey Jones at Vaughn,
Mississippi. Your grandfather was coming home in a driving rain, pulling 30
cars of sandbags for the levee crews north of the city, the train was
unloaded, and he and his crew - the fireman, two brakemen, and the conductor
- had just eased out upon the spillway bridge when there was a roar of water
flooding through the levee, the tracks began to sink under the weight of
your grandfather's engine when the bridge collapsed. He was trapped between
the throttle and his seat and drowned. The railroad gave your grandmother a
gold watch in honor of your grandpa and they even paid for the burial."

        Tears were streaming down Sean's face, mixing with the dirt and dust
already there. "Hop up, Sean." Sean got up off his father's lap. Charles
walked over to a beaten-up dresser and pulled a gold pocket watch from it.
Then he returned to Sean. "Son, hold out your hand," and Sean held out his
dirty hand, but the long fingers were straight and proud. Charles took the
gold watch and placed it softly into Sean's hand. Sean just looked at it,
feeling its weight, its meaning.

        "Son, this watch is now yours forever. Hold it close to your heart.
My mother told me to give it you when I felt you were a ready, willing young
man to take a bold step, and you are ready now."

        "Charles, Sean, food's on the table. Come and eat while it is hot."

        "Yes, Ma."

        "Coming, Katie."

        Father and son washed their hands in a tin wash bowl and dried off
on a ragged piece of cotton cloth. They then walked over to the small wooden
table that had borne its share of a hard life, scratches and dents and one
leg propped up with a brick. Sean and his father took their seats at the
ends of the small table while his mother sat on the right side of his father
and little Jon was in his high chair. The food was steaming, sitting on the
wooden table, a faded linen tablecloth draped over the edges. Charles looked
at his son. "Sean, would you please ask the Lord for his blessings of this
food?"

        "Yes, Papa, it will be my honor. Our father who art in heaven,
hallowed be your name. We thank you for our blessings showered down upon my
family. We thank you for the food upon our humble table. We can ask for no
more. Bless my mother and father and little Jon. Amen."

        Sean looked up and opened his eyes. His mom and dad both were
smiling at him. "Very nicely done, son." The pride in his father's voice
showed it better than any other way. They began to eat supper with few words
being said. Katie was feeding Jon in his high chair and softly talking to
him. Supper passed and Sean helped his mother clean away the few dishes
while Charles bounced Jon on his knee. They were far from rich but they were
happy. Soon they were ready to head to bed. Charles and Katie slept in the
other room with little Jon, and Sean slept on a pallet in the living room.
Sean slipped out of his shirt, the olive smooth skin shining dimly in the
light of the full moon drifting through the open window, the curtains tied
back, letting in as much of the night air as possible. Sean removed his worn
jeans and stood in a pair of briefs. He smiled at himself, remembering when
he first saw the new kind of underwear in a shop downtown when he and mom
were shopping one day and they walked in, looking for him some new clothes.
That was when they could afford it and before they had to sell grandmother's
house to survive the first year of the hard times that now gripped the whole
country.

        Sean walked over to his pallet and lay down, his youthful cock
snuggled against his body in the tight briefs. He slipped his right hand
under the tight band and began to rub his limp cock and feel his loose
balls, enjoying this simple pleasure when there was so much pain and so
little left. He knew that he would have to find work to help his family in
this dark time, but how would he tell his father about the 10 dollar gold
coin in his pocket without his father ever finding the truth?

        Sean lay there, stroking himself, thinking of the well-dressed man
in the suit who approached him on Canal Street. The dark haired man had
walked up to him while he was asking a baker if he needed help around his
shop. The baker, like all the rest, had nothing for him. As he turned to
leave, the stranger spoke to him in a clipped British accent. "Young man,
what kind of work are you looking for?"

        "Anything right now," Sean replied. "I must do something to help my
pa make ends meet."

        The tall dark-haired stranger gripped his shoulder and led him out
the shop. "Well, my young friend, I might be able to help. I am in need of
some help and I find young boys the best way to cure that problem, you see.
I will pay you well, my boy, ten dollars sound good to you?"

        Lord Oliver stood and looked at the boy in front of him, the
greenish-brown eyes, the smooth cheeks on the boyish face, the curly brown
hair, the pink lips, and the strong muscular chest beneath the flimsy cotton
shirt and the olive skin showing through the open neck. Lord Oliver scanned
further down the teen in front of him to the worn, tight jeans that the boy
was wearing, highlighting the boy's well defined basket hidden by the faded
denim. The legs of the jeans were rolled up right below the knees, showing
some of the fine black hairs on his legs. Lord Oliver smiled at what stood
before him, this handsome innocent boy, not like the others he had met and
thrown them a few coins for some rough fun in whatever hotel he was staying
at during that time. He had met boys all over England and Ireland, most of
them pale, milky white lads. But here stood a bronze god worthy of a statue.
Oh, what fun it would be to explore every inch of this bronze god with his
hands and mouth, licking the bronze flesh and exploring into the boyish
secrets hidden by the faded jeans. A light grin formed as he thought of the
number of boys he had deflowered on his travels. Some remembered his
thrusts for a long time afterward as their virgin needy holes were
deflowered and as the pale pink blood ran down the smooth pale cheeks. Ah,
this boy was better than all the others before. Just looking at him brought
his cock to a throbbing rod inside his trousers. This made the smile
broaden a little more. Oh, what a pleasure it would be to deflower this
bronze god. It may cause the boy some pain but he did not care. The boy was
young and he would get over it. He might walk funny for a day or so but
that would be his problem. Then the boy asked his innocent question.

        Sean stood there, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. "Ten
dollars to do what, sir?"

        "I need some assistance back at my hotel room at the Lafayette."
The stranger smiled, "So, my boy, do you want the job or not?"

        "Yes, sir. I will take it."

        "Follow along with me, then." The finely dressed gentleman picked
up his cane that he had propped against the door jamb of the bakery and
placed his derby on top of his head. The man turned toward Sean and nodded
for him to follow along beside him on the brick sidewalk. Sean stepped
beside the man as they walked toward the center of the city and the 10-
story hotel, one of the finest in the city. The gentleman turned once again
to speak to Sean. "What is your name, boy?"

        Sean was still trying to get used to the clipped words spoken in
almost perfect English. "Sean, sir."

        "Very fine, Sean. You may address me as Lord Oliver, no need for
you to hear the name of my family at this time."

        "Lord Oliver?" questioned Sean.

        "Yes, Sean, Lord Oliver. I find 'Sir' just too common for my high
standing with the Court of London. Also, my title deserves more attention
than just the way you Americans throw around 'sir' to anyone who has a
little bit of age over them. I find this country of yours a disgrace to
the rest of the world. Just because they helped us to beat the infernal
Germans in the Great War does not give you the right to try and walk over
the rest of the world." Sean continued to listen to Lord Oliver but could
not understand how this outsider could just cut down the greatest country
on earth. They soon reached the hotel and he followed Lord Oliver inside.
They walked through the lobby and the clerk behind the desk looked at him
through his wire framed glasses, then returned to his work. They continued
walking until they came to gilt elevator and they entered. Lord Oliver
pressed the button with a number 5 and he closed the cage. The elevator
hummed as it began to rise; soon it stopped. Sean had glanced over at the
gentleman, noticing at that every few moments he would brush his hand
against his crotch and rub it. Sean thought he might have a rash down there,
and the way the gentleman acted, he deserved it. The elevator jerked to a
stop on the 5th floor and Lord Oliver opened the gilt cage and they
stepped out. Once again Lord Oliver nodded for Sean to follow and he did.
They walked down the long hall, the gaslights hissing as they passed. Lord
Oliver led him to a corner room and pulled out a brass key. He inserted it
into the keyhole located below the doorknob and turned the key. Sean heard
the slight click as the lock opened. Lord Oliver opened the door and they
entered the room. Once inside, Lord Oliver closed and locked the door to
the outside.

        Thirty minutes later Sean did not know what to think or what to say.
His brain said run and that is what he did. He turned from the stranger and
ran as fast as his legs would carry him out the door and into the hallway.
He raced down the stairs, out the lobby, and down the street to his little
safe place. He had to think about what just happened. He had thought about
sex with other boys; girls did not interest him one bit. This scared him.
Was it normal to like other boys at his age? Was it right to want to have
sex with other boys? Would he be condemned to hell for his actions? His mind
raced as he ran toward the railyards of the Illinois Central Railroad and to
his place. Sean's special place was on a low hill overlooking the massive
yards and the loading docks for the steamboats and ocean-going ships.  Once
there, he collapsed into the grass and lay on his stomach, thinking about
what just happened outside the bakery. He thought only for a few moments
until his eyes diverted his thoughts. Now he was in his happy place as a
2-8-0 steam engine tooted her whistle as it entered the yards, pulling a
long string of freight cars from all over the USA. He enjoyed reading the
names of the lines - Santa Fe, Union Pacific, Southern Pacific, Atlantic
Coast Line, Atlanta and Western, Baltimore and Ohio, Pennsylvania, Norfolk
Western, New York Central, Seaboard Air Line, Cotton Belt, Great Northern,
Southern, Yazoo Mississippi Valley, Mississippi Central, Gulf Mobile and
Ohio with its slogan in bright white on the side of the red cars, 'The Route
of the Rebel.' Then all the others, a rainbow of colors from boxcar red to
blue, green, and gold. Ah, the sights and sounds of the long train removed
some of the sadness he felt at times in his heart. The thoughts of his
father working overtime to pay the bills but the pride of his father and
his work made him understand, even though it was hard work, there was a joy
behind it. Like the saying his dad would sometimes say, "once a railroader,
forever a railroader", passed down to him from his grandfather. The little
switcher soon passed with the long line of cars, and on the end was a little
red wood caboose. The conductor up top in the cupola saw him and waved; Sean
waved back and smiled. He heard the air brakes engage and the train stopped,
with the clank of the couplers clashing together combined with the hiss and
panting of the steam engine as steam jetted out from her stack and pistons.
Sean perked up when he heard the long blast from a steamer getting ready to
leave the yards; this was no switcher, this was a big one. He looked down
into the yards and soon saw the shimmering headlight mounted high up on the
smokebox and the clanging bell of the big engine. It passed the little
switcher sitting on the yard track; the big engine blasted a long warning
that it was passing by. The 2-8-0 replied back with a short toot to signal
all was clear. To Sean it seemed like, though he knew men were blowing those
whistle calls to each other, but to Sean it was as if the engines were
speaking to each other, telling each other to have a safe journey. The scene
being played out below looked like one large happy family of machines and
men. The little switch engine saying 'safe trip' to his big brother heading
north. He knew most of his friends would laugh their asses off if he ever
mentioned things like this to them. They did not understand. One night when
he was younger, around 10 years old, he thought he told his father about
these things. His father smiled and told him it was in his blood. Railroad
men loved their engines as much as they loved their wives and kids. Charles
called it, "Iron Fever, my boy. Every time we build a locomotive and fill it
with water and coal for the first time, it is like when a mother gives birth
to her child. We breathe life into a machine and when the first smoke begins
to billow from her stack and that whistle sounds for the first time, it is a
proud moment. We took thousands of parts and built a machine and gave it a
life of its own. The engineer will get to know his engine, listening to
every sound it makes, and respond with the throttle, the brakes. The fireman
knows when the engine is thirsty and needs more water or hungry for more
coal. For, you see, son, that locomotive is theirs. Treat it with care and
it will bring you home." Sean remembered those words and he saw what his
father meant as the big 2-10-2 Central pulled out of the yards, her bronze
bell clanging the warning, the big driving wheels gripping the iron rail,
and the heavy pant of the engine as it struggled to pick up speed. Soon the
long line of yellow Illinois Central reefers filled with fresh strawberries
and bananas would be bound for Memphis and other points on the line. The
cars passed slowly at first, then building up speed as the wheels clicked
and clacked over the joints in the rail, click-clack click-clack as they
picked up speed. The big Central rounded the curve and only the long line of
black smoke hovering over the cars was left as a sign of her passing. Sean
looked back toward the yard and saw the caboose bringing up the rear and the
conductor and brakemen riding the rear platform. They saw Sean and waved; he
waved back. Soon it too disappeared around the bend and only the little
switcher was left.

        Sean stood up and brushed off his pants and headed for home. So much
he thought of the day. The sights in the rail yard erased the bad feelings
of the stranger wanting him for pleasure. At the same time there was a
secret desire for another boy or man to feel his smooth flesh, to love him.
Sean was now rock hard in his briefs as he continued to rub his boyhood
trapped in the cotton cloth as he lay there, dreaming of the High Iron and
the Steamers racing across the US, with brave handsome engineers at the
throttles and muscular boys spinning the brake wheels on top of the cars or
perched high up top in the caboose, looking as the world passed their
windows. He dreamed of man and machine as one. He felt his heavy balls begin
to draw up and the jerking of his cock. He released it from its prison as
the cum boiled to the top and jetted across his smooth stomach. 'AHHH,' he
moaned, his hand now covered in his juices. He felt his whole body relax. He
lay there in the light of the moon for a few moments, then stood and walked
over to the water basin and took a rag and wet it, then he carefully washed
himself off and returned to his pallet as a lonesome whistle blew in the
freight yard as he drifted off to sleep.

        Sean was deep asleep in his dream world. He did not know that on the
first floor a drunken man had just knocked over a kerosene lamp in his sleep
and now it burned brightly on the floor. The flames began to lick at the
oiled dry floor, the oil-spread flames following cheerfully. Soon the bed
covers started to burn as well, then the entire bed. The drunken man woke
with a scream but he did not know what was happening. Then he began to burn
and was no longer able to give out a warning to the rest of the people in
the building. The flames burned brighter as the wall behind the bed ignited.
They licked at the wallpaper and the dry wood behind it. The small table
beside the bed began to burn also and soon the entire room was engulfed in
flames. Smoke started to drift out in the hall but everyone was asleep.
Soon the flames followed suit in the small kitchen. The old gas stove which
had not been used in over a month because the man could not pay the bill sat
there, turning red from the heat of the flames. The floor burned, the table
burned, and bottles of whiskey burst in the heat, the liquid adding more
fuel to the hungry flames. The smoke and flames roared out into the hallway,
catching it ablaze. The old ratty carpet blazed brightly as the flames raced
down the hall. A man began to cough and got out of his bed farther down the
hall and walked to his door in his robe. He opened it as the flames licked
the walls of the hall. He screamed and ran out, knocking on doors to awaken
the other residents as the people began to stir. Realizing what was going
on, they scrambled for the doorway to the outside.

        A kid ran down the street, shouting "FIRE! FIRE! FIIERRRRE!" He
raced to the fire station and inside where he awoke the crew with his shouts
and calls. The middle-aged man dozing behind the desk jumped up and pulled
the alarm. Bells began to clang the warning as men raced from their bunks to
grab their gear. The firefighters scrambled down the pole from the 2nd floor
sleeping quarters, another firefighter raced to harness the horses and hitch
them to the pumper wagon. Minutes passed. As soon as the pumper, ladder, and
hose wagons were hitched to the horses and men aboard, they raced down the
brick street as the blaze burned in the darkened skies. Steam began to rise
from the pumper as the kerosene burner heated the water, and the bell
clanged the warning as the horses galloped down the street to the tenant
building.

        Meanwhile, at the tenant building, everyone was out safely on the
first floor but no one thought to awaken the few families on the second and
third floors, including the sleeping Davis family. The fire burned
everything in sight on the first floor, the walls, the ceilings, the stairs
leading to the second floor.

        Sean was sweating in the heat, now intensified by the fire on the
first floor. The smoke clogged his nose and he began to cough. He opened his
eyes and smelt the smoke and felt the hot floor beneath him. He jumped up
from his pallet and raced to the bedroom door. He entered the room, shaking
his father awake. Charles rolled over. His eyes fluttered open. "Wha' the
hell is wrong, Sean?"

        "Papa, the building is on fire!" Charles smelled the smoke and shook
Katie awake. She stirred awake. "Get dressed now, there is a fire." Katie
was instantly awake and she jumped out of bed, feeling the hot floor under
her bare feet.

        "Sean, go get some damned clothes on now!"

        "Yes, Papa." He just realized that he was standing only in briefs.
As he came down from out of his fog, he jumped at the heat on his bare feet
and he ran into the other room, grabbed his pants and pulled them on,
followed by his socks and shoes. He grabbed the gold pocket watch off the
table and hit his knee against a chair. "OWW." He grabbed his knee and held
it for a moment. Charles and Katie ran out of their bedroom with Jon in
Charles' strong arms. They ran to the open window and looked out. Someone
on the street shouted, "OH MY GOD, we forgot to warn the Davis family."

        The horse-drawn fire pumper was heard coming down the street, bell
clanging loudly. The tenants spread at the sound of the bell. The
firefighters jumped off the pumper and began to unroll the fire hoses from
the hose wagon as others grabbed the long ladders from the ladder wagon.
The firefighters saw the frightened faces in the third story window and
the little blonde kid in his father's arms.

        The ladder crew grabbed a forty-foot ladder from the wagon as the
hoses were hooked up to the pumper. A firefighter ran with a wrench in hand
to the fire hydrant located across the street as the other men dragged the
heavy hoses behind them. "John, get that damned hydrant open now, we need
water NOW!" shouted Captain Ross.

        "Yes, sir, Captain Ross!" John was fighting with the stubborn cap on
the hydrant as the flames burned higher and brighter. "God damned thing
won't budge!" John kicked the wrench that was hanging off the rusty cap. The
cap turned with a snap as the rust broke free. Sam and the other hose men
coupled the 1-1/2 hose onto the hydrant and John turned the square fitting
on top and the hose began to swell as the water flowed through it.

        The ladder men lifted the heavy wood ladder against the building.
Jeff began to climb up the ladder to the 2nd floor window to pull out an
elderly lady who was coughing severely from the smoke. Jeff heard the
building groaning as the flames ate away the lower floor and the supports.
They did not have any time to spare. A second ladder was brought up while
the others sprayed water into the flames. Jeff grabbed the lady and slowly
descended the ladder. He heard the crash of the 2nd floor caving in on top
of the first. Would he have time to save the family on the 3rd? Ladder men
struggled with the 2nd ladder; it was jammed and would not extend to the
full height of 50 feet. Captain Ross looked on in despair as the flames
burned and the family on the 3rd began to cough louder and hang further out
the open window. "GOD DAMN! WE'RE LOSING WATER PRESSURE!" Captain Ross spun
around. "What is wrong, Williams?" "We do not know, Captain" The men looked
across the street to the hydrant and the hoses connected to it. They did
not see a kink in the hoses. "Increase steam pressure on the pumper,"
ordered Captain Ross. As the hose crew tried to increase pressure to the
hoses, Jeff had just reached the ground with the elderly lady and laid her
on the grass by the street. The other ladder crew still could not get their
ladder to extend. Jeff, panting and sweating in his heavy suit and rubber
boots, looked up at the 3rd floor and raced back to the ladder. He climbed
higher and higher to the 3rd floor while the other members looked on. The
hose crew finally was able to raise the pressure in the hoses but it would
not do any good now. The raging fire was out of control. Jeff had almost
reached the 3rd floor when he heard the cracking of the floor, beginning to
give way. Then he heard the scream above all else.

        "MOMMA," Sean cried as the floor beneath her gave away and she fell
into the burning fire below. "Oh Katie, my dear Katie, NO!" cried Charles as
he watched his wife fall. Little Jon was coughing from the smoke but he
reached out his arms toward where his mother had fallen. Jeff climbed faster
as a 2nd fire fighter followed close on his heels, trying to reach the
father and two sons. "Oh, my Dear Lord," shouted Jeff as he climbed.
Little Jon had fallen limp in his father's arms and Charles wept tears for
both his wife and young child. Was he still alive? He could not tell. Sean
looked on with large red watery eyes at his father and younger brother. Jeff
reached the window ledge and Charles passed his little boy to him. Jeff
eased around and handed Jon to the 2nd fire fighter and he slowly descended
the ladder. "Sean, go now, my son, be careful. I will be right behind you,"
shouted Charles. Sean stepped over the ledge and into the space Jeff had
provided for him. They slowly began to ease down the ladder when a larger
crack was heard and the rest of the floor gave away. "AHHHHHHHHH!" shouted
Charles as he began to fall. Sean looked up and saw the empty window and
realized that he was now alone. Sean burst into heavy sobbing tears as
Jeff tried to drag him down the ladder and away from the inferno. Flames
were shooting out all the windows now as the hose crews turned their
nozzles on the surrounding buildings to keep them from bursting into flames.
Jeff finally had to climb back up the ladder and grip Sean around the waist
and put him over his shoulder. Jeff thought, 'Thank God, he is a slender
boy', as he climbed down to the safety of the ground. As he stepped off the
ladder, another crew member grabbed Sean and laid him down in the wet grass
by the sidewalk. A doctor raced over to check him out. 'Thank God,' thought
one of the people on the street, 'that New Orleans had more than its share
of doctors.'

        Sean tried to raise his head but it was pounding from all the smoke,
and his vision blurred by the tears and smoke that did not seem to go away.
The doctor moved in closer. "Where...is...Jon? Where...is my brother...?" He
turned his head and saw Jon's fragile frame being covered with one of the
firefighters' heavy duck cloth coats. "Oh, my God," and Sean burst into hot
salty tears. He stood on unsteady legs and tried to reach his little brother
but his strength failed and he fainted; his body thudded to the ground. The
doctor raced over and checked Sean's pulse. It was still strong. He stood
and walked away, shaking his head. The boy was fine, but what about when he
wakes up?

        The people stood there in horror as the building began to collapse,
timbers groaning as they fell in, and as heavy metal appliances fell to the
ground from the upper floors.

        No one thought to thank a man who was slowly walking away with a
wrench in his hand. His cap had 'New Orleans Gas Utilities' written across
it in gold. The gas man lived two buildings down and heard the clanging bell
so he grabbed his wrench and had run to the gas main and shut it off to the
entire block; now he trudged home. The gas-man everyone knew was Saul
Hamilton, fifty-three years old and a trusted deacon at the First Baptist
Church five blocks down on Water Street. He walked, he thought about what he
had just done in the dim lamp light as he turned the gas valve off and the
gas lights along the block dimmed slowly and went out. He knew just about
all the families along this section of town, including the Davis family and
their handsome lad Sean. He loved to watch that boy as he played or just
walked down the street, the perfect butt in the worn jeans. Saul cried as he
thought of the deaths of Charles, Katie, and little Jon. If only more could
have been done to save the family. He watched from the shadows, propped
against a lamppost as the firefighter covered the frail body of Jon, the
beautiful boy with the golden hair and the sparkling blue eyes. The little
boy would never know the joys of life, the joy of growing old. He would be
forever 3 years old and buried in an unmarked grave in the city cemetery. He
wondered about Sean and what he would now do without his family. He knew how
much Sean looked up to his father. "Damn it all." He leaned against a dark
lamppost and let his tears flow. He knew what it was like to be alone. He
lost his wife six years before in a steamboat explosion twenty-six miles
north of Natchez, Mississippi.

        Captain Ross continued to shout orders as the men sprayed water onto
the surrounding buildings. The ladder men had replaced their long wooden
ladders, both of them. They had spaces for eight but the city supplied them
with two, and one of them did not work. They realized tonight, maybe if it
did, there would not be just one child lying on the ground, fainted, but the
whole family safe.  The flames began to die down as the water flowed upon
the wreckage of the building, ladder men and pike men all helping the hose
crew by taking turns with the heavy brass nozzles.  The people on the street
began to scatter like leaves in a wind, the families of the burning tenant
building walking slowly toward Saint Paul's Catholic church where the parish
priest offered them shelter. Not one of them in their shock thought to check
on Sean to see if the boy was even alive or not. Their shock of what just
happened was too great as they walked, leaning on each other for support as
their grief set in.

        The hot Louisiana sun began to rise as the weary firefighters began
to roll their hoses back up and load them onto the hose wagon. Vapors of
steam drifted from the cooling steam pump as the funeral wagon stopped and
the undertaker picked up the lifeless body of little Jon. Sean was just
beginning to awaken from his faint when he saw his now dead brother being
loaded into the back of the wagon. At the sight he fainted again. One of the
firefighters saw Sean and sadly shook his head - all alone in the world
after watching his family die. 'God, how he hated his job sometimes.'
Captain Ross looked over at Sean and walked over. He felt the boy's head and
felt the soft breath coming from his nose. "Williams, would you please pick
the lad up and place him in as comfortable a spot as possible on the ladder
wagon?"

        "Yes, Captain," Williams picked Sean up and carried him to the
ladder wagon and placed him on the driver's bench and held him against his
chest as he climbed aboard beside the driver. Williams sat Sean on his lap
and placed the boy's head on his shoulder. The fire department headed back
to the station.


*  *  *  *  *

This first chapter is dedicated to all the brave men who ride the rails
every day. Both now and in the past, they helped to make America what it is
today. Hats off to the Engineers of America's main lines and short lines.
May the traditions continue.

I would like to thank Ed for his assistance on this chapter.
I would like to thank Willy and Chris for their support of the idea and
putting up with my BS about it sometimes.

Most of all, I would like to thank my readers for their support of me and my
other stories, No Greater Love in Historical and My Little Stowaway in the
Adult-Youth section.

Please E- Mail me your comments at Swarri1349@aol.com
Thanks,
Stephen