Griggs Under Fire

Duluth, MN 30 May, 1894

Much to write. Have been terribly negligent with these pages. I should have no excuses, but things have been awfully busy.

When I wrote last, I was enroute to my current residence: Duluth, to assist the officers of the Great Northern Railroad. So much I had yet to learn. So much I didn’t know. Since then, a great deal has been revealed to me, and I may have gotten in over my head, as father would say. I won’t know until they send me out into the field.

And by field, of course, I mean out upon the rails. I’m scheduled to leave tomorrow mid-morning for my first investigation. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Since late April, I have been receiving training of such an interesting sort. The threats of riot and unionizing at Pullman have put all the railroad greats on-guard. They’re trying to be one step ahead of the mischievous masterminds, if not two or three. For the Great Northern, that’s involved unique recruitment of which I am but a single soul. In actuality, there are a half dozen of us. Tomorrow we will be sent in every direction a train is scheduled to run. What we’ve been tasked with is, chiefly, putting our powers of observation to use and reporting back here to the home office any scenes or characters suspected of unseemly, harmful behavior. It’s believed that the disquiet and disruption about to hit the Great Northern will come in the form of hindering trains as they travel through more remote tracks of the country. If we must, we’ve been provided with basic offensive and defensive tactics should there arise a crisis in which we must take desperate action.

To be up front, I’m rather troubled over the conflict management they’ve thrust upon us. A gentleman, such as myself, does not engage in physical altercations or, God forbid, violence unless honor is on the line. I am no officer of the law. My preparation is rudimentary, at best. I’m deciding to take them at their word that we will be at minimal risk of such ugly matters unfolding otherwise I’m liable to retract my agreement to assist in their covert, investigative measures. If they wanted a Griggs who wouldn’t shy away from a brawl, they ought to have been referred to my brother.

No matter, I will do my best and bear up in the face of what I’ve pledged. I’m sure nothing of the excitable sort will find me on the rails tomorrow.

I seem to be the only recruit averse to getting my knuckles bloody—or even to wearing and concealing the pistol they’ve trained us and equipped us with—and Great Northern has certainly acquired an interesting collection of agents.

I first met John Adams Ansley, as we have been boarding together all the while. Up from Chicago, he’s the son of a successful dry-goods store owner. Though he is shorter and slighter than me, John has a way of taking up more space in any and every room. I credit the striking shock of red atop his head and his ability to appear at your elbow with a laugh and a drink when you’d just seen him across the way chattering with another. His speech is steady, spoken in a deep tone you have to follow with an attentive ear or risk not discerning each word, which would be a shame as he’s a masterful storyteller. Where he’s picked up such tales is anyone’s best guess, for I’m not liable to believe he’s experienced everything he relays first-hand.

Thomas Mearle has become John’s closest chum over this month, and together they have kept us thoroughly entertained, even on the quieter days. Thomas’s origins remain unclear to us all (unless, in confidence, he’s revealed anything to John), and the best I’ve been able to piece together is that he hails from the Plains. Possibly Nebraska. Possibly belongs to a farming family. He certainly looks as though he could manage a day’s hard labor without so much as breaking a sweat or needing a rest. Not to mention, a fellow’s skin isn’t likely to bronze like his without a frequent acquaintance with the sun. For whatever purposes, he’s a man of privacy. Yet, he’s a sociable, agreeable creature.

Generally, all of us get along, though I much prefer Theodore Green’s conversation. Teddy, as he’s asked to be called, is an endless fount of locomotive facts. He knows more than I! A first, in my estimation! Turns out, he’s a well-respected mechanic they plucked out of a trainyard right here in Duluth. While his brothers sought work in mines along the Vermillion Range, a fascination with trains steered him to the city. He strikes a rather intimidating figure with his strong jaw, dark features, and hands the size of a bear’s paw. When left alone, his face settles into an expression such that, if I didn’t know better, I’d say he appears to be plotting a dark and sinister crime. Then, when you greet him and remark upon what a fine morning it may be, his whole face lightens and it is with the countenance of a friend he’ll reply with something like, “Oh, yes, lovely day. Won’t you join me for a cup of coffee?” I’m declaring now that he’ll never have to fight any trouble-makers out in the field; one look from him and they’ll desist at once.

The other two fellows in our party are both from Wisconsin, that boisterous land of freight and dairy. William Huxtable and Jebediah Frank became fast friends over their shared roots and they’re eager to hear every story the others cook up.William is the older of the two—oldest of us all, actually—and has made it no secret that he aspires to a career in law enforcement. He’s a studious man and reads two or three papers throughout the day. When he reads, a funny crinkle mars his forehead from concentration, and we’ve all placed bets on how long it might be before he outfits himself in a pair of spectacles. If he does purchase a pair, he’ll have to trim his hair to accommodate the frames. Really, I’ve no idea how a gentleman can let himself become so untidy.

Jeb, in contrast, is the neatest fellow one might imagine. It’s as if he’s just come from a finishing school where he did nothing but excel at everything etiquette and comportment. There’s not an out-of-place button, not a crease or wrinkle in his attire. His brown hair, a color of autumn, is everything the other Wisconsin lad’s is not: exceptionally clean and kempt. Jeb is rather tight-lipped, too, ready to laugh at one of John’s jokes but more reserved when it comes to contributing to a conversation. Sharpest eye in our cohort, though. He never misses any detail, no matter how trivial, when tested.

I’d meant to write a bit more, but it’s getting late and I wish to be well-rested for tomorrow’s journey.

In-transit, 4-4-0                                                                                                                                                                                31 May, 1894

A change of plans, which I only learned upon boarding this train and settling into a seat. I wasn’t about to waste a moment and had begun looking—discretely, mind you—about. I couldn’t imagine there’d be many passengers embarking on a journey west to the sparse, untamed country of North Dakota and Montana, and I was right in that assumption. This car is hardly full even now as we chug along toward Grand Forks. I’m delighted by the smart, comely hats upon the present ladies. Springs of flowers and modest strips of ribbon adorn each one in their particular arrangement. 

But the attire of lovely ladies wasn’t enough to keep me from putting my newly honed skills to use before we started on our way, and that was precisely why I spotted a familiar face coming closer and closer to my train. I knew very well I’d been assigned this locomotive and route, so why was the singular Mr. William Huxtable boarding this very same one with a ticket of his very own?

He, upon entering the car I already occupied, caught sight of me immediately and took the liberty of claiming the spot opposite me. 

“No baggage?” was what I asked first. A silly initial inquiry, now that I think of it.

And now that I’m relating it all down here, he responded by saying, “The porter’s managing it,” but that, too, doesn’t seem right. I’d watched him approach the train, all the while empty-handed.

Well, whatever the case, we made small talk while waiting to be off. My observations hadn’t ceased simply because I was no longer alone, though William’s presence was the only unusual thing of note. Apparently, the train he’d been assigned to had been taken off the schedule last-minute. These things do happen from time to time, usually due to difficulties having been reported from somewhere further down the line or mechanical issues that need to be attended to without delay right there in the train shed. He was supposed to be aboard a route that ended in Sioux City, and I can only hope there hasn’t been an accident somewhere along that set of rails.

Having seen all there was to see where we were, I suggested we move to the dining car, which William was agreeable to. Though he certainly seemed to have his eye on a young lady seated behind me. He’d been looking over my shoulder off and on with some intensity that, when we rose to make our way into the other car, I glanced back. Curiously enough, it was the back of a woman’s head he’d been peering at all the while. She possessed one of those beflowered hats, and her hair was secured into a coiled bun at the base of her neck. A lovely chestnut color, were her neatly arranged tresses. But nothing, that I saw, to command his attention. 

It’s for the best that we’ve sought out a strong pot of tea. What with the alteration in his assignment and, I’ve learned, skipping the breakfasting refreshments offered to us before our departure from the training headquarters, William must be out of sorts. In fact, he’s wandered off to, in his words, “assess another compartment” before so much as taking a sip of tea. I’ll be well into my second cup before he makes his way back. 

I do say, I’ve had time to jot all this down and quench my thirst. I ought to see if everything’s all right with him.

Grand Forks, North Dakota                                                                                                                                                     2 June, 1894

Had I known what excitement awaited me upon departing from Duluth, who knows if I’d have left at all. Here we are, though, with an unexpected tale! A mighty fine thing it turned out to be that my teachers equipped me with a small firearm to face down danger with. I hadn’t thought I’d need it, but more fool me.

These past few days have been severely exhausting, and I’ve been in one meeting after another, offering what insight I have and retelling my unexpected tale time and time again. I’ve offered to write the thing down so it can be copied and dispersed to whomsoever needs the particulars. Alas, they’d rather drag me along from one office to another, to dialogue with one railway agent then another, until I am quite dead on my feet. At least, they’ve supplied me with refreshment at nearly every opportunity, so I may be tired but I’ve not been undernourished.

I’ve come at last to a point where it’s time to write events down, and I wonder if, as an older man, I’ll read this journal and wonder that I—the most unassuming of the Griggs order—should have become involved with betrayal and violent schemes on the rail. Will my heart race, as it does now, reflecting on the sharp eyes of the mistress behind the madness?

Oh, but I’m getting ahead of myself. 

Upon deciding that William would sooner let the tea get cold than return and enjoy a cup, I left our small table to determine where it was he’d gotten off to and if he’d spotted trouble along the way. Surely, that would explain what was keeping him. I, myself, didn’t move at such a quick pace because I wanted to make sure all was right in the dining car. My strategy was to pretend I was under official business. That was my guise. My journal-keeping was the easy way with which I did this. I carried my journal obviously, making unimportant notes on aspects of the car like I was affiliated with the railway and simply wanted to report back on the interior design and comfortability of it all. This was to be my cover-up, if a steward or some such were to ask me why I was wandering about.

Slipping from the dining car, I passed through other passenger cars that were as sparsely littered with patrons as the first one I’d sat in. No one paid me much mind, even as I took my time making notes about the carpeting and the wood veneer overhead and along the sides of the ceiling. The lacquering, I must say, was exquisitely done.

I finally happened upon William not among the other passengers, though. Only when I began poking around where it was clearly only meant for members of the crew to go did I catch sight of him. It was that scruffy coat of his that caught my attention because he was half squished into a private compartment. Perhaps everything about him was more than a touch dirty and fraying, just as untidy as his appearance. It all makes sense now.

At the time, I wasn’t thinking about how he ought to purchase new outerwear once we arrived in our next city and had time to attend to such matters. Rather, I marched right up to where he was leaning in through the compartments half-opened door and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

“Say, William—”

I never got the rest of my words out because he pulled back, and I no longer was acquainted with this man whose face I’d grown accustomed to seeing over the last month yet who’d pulled a pistol. The barrel was but a foot from my face. All words dried up. Even my breathing halted momentarily.

And then, as my gaze darted past him into the compartment he’d been blocking the way into, I caught sight of a feminine creature. That of the chestnut hair from before. More than that, she of eyes I’d also been seeing for a month. For I’d recognize the piercing stare of the meticulous Jebediah Frank anywhere, I believe. 

My first thought was that such a striking resemblance meant this was Jeb’s sister or some such family member, but then I peered closer at the cheekbones and fine turn of the nose and wondered at how fooled the very lot of us had been. She’d been amongst our small cohort the entire time, receiving training with us and posing as a friend.

“What’s the meaning of this?” I asked, once I could speak again.

“The meaning is,” William replied gruffly, “is that you better return to your car, sit quietly, and stay out of this.”

Indignation arose within me because I believed that somehow, in some way, he meant this woman harm. I didn’t need to understand that she’d pulled a fast one on us to know that she was still a lady. So, I said, “I won’t let you hurt her.”

That was when he laughed, and she scowled. In a disappointed tone, she shook her head and said, “You were supposed to be the most clueless of them all. Certainly the least prone to fighting back.”

“He hasn’t stopped us yet, Jen,” William said. 

I couldn’t help but notice he’d yet to lower his gun.

“Stopped you from what?” I asked, and I lifted this very journal open, like I was about to take their statement. For the life of me, I can’t say why I adopted such a stance.

It so surprised them, too, that, for a moment, I had the advantage. One, swift kick to William’s belly had him stumbling backwards into the compartment. The feminine yelp accompanying that told me Jeb-now-Jen had also lost her footing. So much the better. I reached out to slam the compartment door closed and took off back the way I’d come. 

I didn’t need to glance behind me to know I was pursued; the great clomping of footfalls told me as much. There was nothing subtle about William. Nothing in the way he chased after me, hollering with every step, and nothing in the vulgar threats he projected. I’d clearly interrupted a heist, of some variety. An act of burglary? A plot to do away with the conductor or one of the stewards? I’m not entirely sure the extent of all their dastardly plans, but it became evident that my murder was now top of their list.

So, I ran. Into the next car, startling and upsetting every fine lady upon the way. Making brief attempts at apologies as I skipped past them. Followed energetically by the one and only William, who evoked shrieks from the tender-hearted and even some fainting spells. It was only him, though. Jen was not with him. Where had she gone off to?

I got my answer when I dipped out of a car and stood on the in-between platform, outside with trees and wilderness streaming by. A hasty shadow passed overhead, and I craned my head back in time to catch the flutter of Jen’s long skirt and glimpse of a black boot. Then off she ran atop the train. 

William, when I spared his progress a look, was gaining ground, so I scurried to latch onto a rung of the ladder leading up the exterior of the next car. Faster than I realized I could move, I climbed and was nearly blown back by the wind that hit me in the face upon reaching the top. How had Jen made such quick work of this distance? For she was away up ahead, and I’d really have to hustle to catch her. 

I also had to avoid being shot when William, too, chose this same route.

Bang! Bang! 

Two shots made. If they hit anything, it wasn’t me nor his partner in this business. Up ahead, said partner reached the end of the car and disappeared down onto the connecting platform. Where was she going now?

I wasn’t catching her any time soon, so I braced myself and made the uncomfortable decision to deal with the scoundrel tailing me. Also taking out my pistol—and, sadly, not wielding it nearly as confidently as my ex-associate was—I stood my ground.

“Drop your weapon, William!” I shouted.

“You can’t stop me, Henry! You weren’t even that good of a shot in training!”

An intense male bravado rose within me at that statement. Who was he to make a jab at my pride? He, who couldn’t even brush his hair or consult a barber regularly? I kept my gun raised and said, “Is that so?”

I pulled the trigger.

I’ll admit, though I was aiming for his dominant shoulder, I hit quite a bit lower. But I hit him!

“Ah, damn it to hell!” was the best William could come up with in his pain, and he dropped to the roof of the car, clutching at his knee. Blood seeped between his fingers and ran down the back of his hand. 

The neighing of a horse made my attention shoot to the forestry we were traveling past. Out of the woods rode two men as embarrassingly dressed as William. They led two rider-less horses and called out to our wounded man. I can only think that the men of their company simply never learned how to outfit themselves appropriately or put stock in habitual hygiene. Was the lady the only one who aspired to cleanliness?

Very quickly it became apparent the men down below wanted William to put himself in a position—a much lower one, probably down upon the platform connecting the cars—to disembark from the train at haste and join them, riding away to who knew where. I didn’t hesitate in moving with no small amount of energy to stand in front of William. When he thought enough to try and lift his pistol again, I swooped and swiped out to knock it out of his hold. It flew off into the weeds and underbrush. 

“If you know what’s good for you,” I said, sternest tone employed, “you’ll go down with me and face the consequences of your actions like a gentleman.”

He sneered up at me. “Surely, you alone have known since the start that I’m no man of class.”

And with that he curled into himself, like he was trying to morph into a sphere, and rolled. Tumbling off the side of the roof was a risky move, but he, most likely having read the weather report from that morning and remembering that it’d rained all through here leaving the mossy soil springy and soft, was gone with no hesitation over the action. Even with his injured knee, which, as he hit the ground in a tight ball, I could tell caused him great agony.

What a surprising turn of events! Yet, not as surprising as it was to hear, from right behind me, that voice of young Jeb turned Jen, who said, “I don’t like to be proved wrong, Henry Griggs.”

I turned to stand face-to-face with steely eyes and impeccable posture and arms that held a canvas sack filled with what I could only imagine were the precious jewels and keepsakes of the travelers down below. I cleared my throat. “I don’t like to being chased at gunpoint, Miss Frank. Perhaps it’s true we’ve both had unpleasant experiences this morning.”

“Jen!” one of the men on horseback yelled up to her, having drawn close to the train with one of the unoccupied horses. “Let’s go!”

“Until we meet again, Griggs.” She inclined her head at me before tossing the sack down to her compatriot and letting herself be the next thing to go over the side.

I hurried to see what would become of her and watched as she landed with more expertise than William had exhibited with his exit into the open saddle. As soon as she was in the leather, the two of them veered away from the tracks. Off into the trees they went. I seemed to be perpetually wondering where exactly she was going.

Even now, I’m left wondering. About more than where they’d gone or what they’d stolen from the train. Had they been acting independently from the rabble rousers irritating Pullman and the other great men? Or were they part of that bigger plot, assigned the role of infiltrating a covert operation and disrupting it? I may never know, but I’ve been in conversations with various authorities and leaders for the past two days, discussing the matter to death. The truth is we don’t yet know.

I had to pause right then to attend to a knock at my door. The concierge here at this hotel—a fine establishment, though I am ready to be heading home soon—has just brought me a parcel. Funny, as I couldn’t imagine who knew I was temporarily residing here. More than that, who would need to send something in the first place?

Well, I’ve unwrapped the packaging, and what should I find inside?

It’s a train ticket for a ride on the Northern out to Great Falls by way of Minot. A lovely, silver locket came with it. When I opened it to see whose portrait must be inside, I wasn’t expecting a chestnut curl to fall out. 

I can’t imagine why Miss Frank should want to renew our acquaintance, but, I suppose, I’m going to find out.