Daily Globe

Jim Lane's Last Message.

You see that Jim Lane of the office
Had the keeping at Panama Creek;
As fine and as noble a fellow
As ever translated the "click."

We were chums in the army together--
His signal I knew like a book,
And his nervous quick manner of working
A message could not be mistook.

Poor Jim! he was the first to go under
When the Yellow Jack happened this way:
When we laid him away in the clay
The boys the whole length of the line here
Made a purse for the widow and "chick,"
But we missed Jimmy Lane and his signal
And the sharp nervous way of his click.

Well, one midnight or near it last season,
I was timing the mail from the West,
Sweeping on through the long narrow valley
Like a thunderbolt doing its best,
Till the signal came from the last station,
And I knew in ten minutes the "mail"
Would be past me and climbing the grading
Between here and Cumberland vale--

When quick on the heels of the message
Came a signal with sharp, nervous click;
I'd swore that Jim Lane was a-working
The wires up at Panama Creek,
Back my answer, and on came a message;
"Quick, quick, change the further branch switch!"

I was out in a moment and tearing
Down the track by that ornery ditch,
Where I found that some wretch had been turning
The switch to demolish the train;
And a spike driven in the timber
To render my efforts in vain.

I tell you now, stranger, no mortal
Ever worked as I did that night--
I believe other hands were a-helping,
Though you may conclude it was fright.
But that spike was pulled out in some manner,
And the switch-lever swung to its place
Just as past swept the train on her metal,
Nip and Tuck with her time in the race.

And as I reeled back in my weakness,
In the last flying coach of the train
I saw Jimmy's widow and baby
Looking out through a bright-lighted pane.