Wandering Minstrel
Following last month's selections on hobo verse I thought it would be appropriate to continue on the theme with some of Roberts own words on life on the road, and a couple his verses on the subject. The following is taken from Ploughman of the Moon, services autobiography published in 1945. They speak of Robert's need to wander and also of his love of music. Robert would be in his late 20s when he experienced the following adventures.
Although this selection speaks of life on the open road Robert's description of hobos is not entirely correct. Robert writes . . ."three hobos came along- at least I judged that because they carried no packs. In this, however I was mistaken. The genuine hobo despises work." Hobos are traditionally wandering workers who travel from job to job, making enough to sustain their life style. That said, enjoy Robert Service's recollection of life as a "Wandering Minstrel".
Having now thirty dollars between myself and the need to sell myself,
I decided to keep that barrier standing as long as possible. Be my days
full of penury, never would I be broken on the wheel of toil. Better than
bondage was vagabondage. Thus resolving I swung once more onto the open
road. But I had not bargained for the extra weight of the guitar; so, going
to the station I expressed one of my blankets to the left luggage office
in Los Angeles. Incidentally, I never had the price to retrieve it. I often
regretted that blanket, but it was worth while shivering of a night to be
able to play an hour or so before before going to sleep.
I was now able to arrange my pack and guitar, so that both were slung behind
me, and the weight was only thirty pounds. So I added to it by purchasing
a tin billy, a tin cup, a quarter pound of tea, half a pound of sugar, and
two pounds of ship's biscuit. With this I felt independent. For a few days
at least I would not starve. My last act was to sew in the pocket of my
black shirt five of the five-dollars gold pieces that the old lady had paid
me..This gave me a feeling of security, and it was with cheerful confidence
I started out. **
Later in this chapter after tramping across the the arid landscape of Southern California, Service recalls:
I stopped long enough in the little town to buy more hardtack and tea. I also bought steel strings for the guitar. I found the gut ones were affected by the damp of the road and hard to keep in tune. From then on I played cowboy fashion with a pick.
Heading north again I started out with a light heart. There was a full moon and, as the nights were so cold, I decided to rest during the day. The moon seemed to effect me strangely, giving me a crazy feeling, as if I were an unreal person walking in a world of dream. I have always been a minion of the moon. From the tropics to near the Pole I have worshipped it, deeming it the most beautiful sight in all creation. So in that tramp the white fire of fantasy glowed in me.
Click
for here a Service ballad about the moon, "Moon Lover".
Click
Here For another Moon Ballad, Moon Song.
Yet though the moon did its best to light my way, I had to give up night walking. For I had now taken to the railway track, and I had not bargained for trestle bridges. These spanned ravine and river at frequent intervals and even in daylight I dreaded them. As I stepped from tie to tie, I dared not look down at the abyss below. But in the moonlight, when each sleeper was a silver bar, and the moon mist swooned around me, even a minor trestle was more than I could face. So I had to travel by day again; but, as the the railway kept skirting the sea, I enjoyed myself immensely; and one evening, coming on a lonely beach, I decided to have a dip. There had been a sudden change in weather. The sky was cowled with cloud, all except a narrow chink where it met the horizon. The effect of the gunpowder sky and the shark-grey sea was strangely sinister.
As I stripped I saw a black hump rising and falling quite near to the shore. I wondered what manner of monster it might be, and how it could come so close to the beach. But no doubt the depth was sudden and profound. The stamp of the waves on the shingle was short and angry. However, I hadn't taken three paces when I was up to my knees in a quicksand. Another step, I was engulfed to the waist. With a quick twist I threw myself forward and desperately tried to disengage myself. A moment of panic and struggled, then by a great effort , I wrenched my legs free from the grip of the sand. So, half floating, half drifting, I regained the beach.
And as I lay there, panting but full of gratitude for my escape, the sun peered through that gap of cloud and sea. At first it was like molten gold on the waves, then it kindled to a fierce ruby. As the sun centre passed the gap, the effect was terrific. Furious blades of light smote sea and cloud, transforming them into ranging furnace. The intensity of the conflagration was almost unbearable. Half blinded by the garnet glare, I danced naked on the beach and yelled with joy. Then the barbaric splendor passe, and the glow that followed was baleful. And I thought that only I had seen that pyrotechnic splendor, that last frenzy of the dying sun was for me alone.
I slept that night on the lonely beach, making a fire of drift wood and boiling water from a brook. As I drank the sweet scalding tea and munched at the hard biscuit, I had a queer feeling of unreality that often came to me in those days, I was going forward in a dream in which I seemed to have lost all contact with the past. I was an automatic being, impelled by a destiny beyond my control. For a long time I smoked my pipe and brooded by the light of the campfire I mused: "If you try to play with life, life will end up playing with you. You waste your youth in foolish adventure, and soon you will have nothing to show for your youth. You turn your back on society, and society refuses to take you back." That was what I was doing and sitting there I had a hopeless moment before I lay down. The sand was soft but cold, the salt air raw and damp. I slept little, and in the morning I found my blanket soggy and chill.
Soon, however the sun warmed me, and I went on my way cheerfully, though there was little to be cheerful about. As I trudged the ties I took some comfort from the scenery, with the ocean on one hand, and on the other green cattle country. There were forests of live oaks and park like lands; then rugged draws and ranges of sage brush. Once I passed a gang of section men who looked at me contemptuously, sizing me up as hobo. 'This was not true. I might be a tramp, but I had money in my pocket. And in all my wanderings I must confess that I have never begged a meal nor stolen a ride. I admit frankly that I never achieved my ambition to be a pukka .hobo.
That night I slept by the side of track, though I should have moved further back; for three times I was shaken out of my sleep by the roar of the train. The sensation was as if the monster was on top of me. So the following night I camped by a water tank. I could have made more mileage but was afraid I could not get water further on. Much as I liked my tea, I did not relish the idea of packing water for it. And as I sat by the tank, three hobos came along- at least I judged that because they carried no packs. In this, however I was mistaken. The genuine hobo despises work. These three were willing to labour, though not over-enthusiastic about it. As I walked many miles with them, let me briefly described them:
Cap was a tall rangy man of fine physique, with a florid face and rusty hair. He was of the soldier type, having served as a trooper in the Mexican army. With reminiscent eyes, he would tell strange stories of his life odyssey. He was not averse to work, but strong liquor was his stumbling block. As soon as he got a sizable stake he would throw up the best job and go off on a prolonged drinking bout. He lived between job and jag. His chief peculiarity was that he shaved scrupulously.
Shorty was a chunky fellow with stubbly face. Like myself he would only work long enough to get money for a spell of idleness. To him, work meant leisure and laziness, while to me it meant time to read and dream. He was not vicious, but he had a perfectly reasonable objection to animal toil.
Slim was well dressed, compared to the others. He had a town-made suit which he conserved anxiously, and fine boots, which were not suited to stepping on the ties. He was willing to work too, but it had to be a white-collar job, He called himself a feed store clerk, although anything in the light labour line was meat. When we drew near to town he put on white collar and spruced himself up. Thus arrayed, he vowed he could talk any housewife into handing him a square meal.
I offered these three musketeers of the road a cup of tea, which only Cap accepted. He had been in Australia and learned to like it. The others would have preferred coffee, but all would have preferred beer. Then we cot to talking. Although they looked wonderingly at the guitar, they assumed I was a sailor who had jumped ship, and once called me Jack. But presently Slim took out of his pocket a recent newspaper.
"There's a killer on the road," he said, looking at me. "A guy's got to be careful these days." He then read a paragraph to the effect that near Santa Anna an unknown man had been found with his head bashed in. Though evidently a tramp, an empty wallet had been found near him. Robbery was suspected as the motive of the crime.
"Well, we've come from the South so that lets us out,: said Cap. "But if a man's traveling alone he ought to be mighty leery of the company he meets up with. Especially if he's got a bit of dough."
"Who would be hitting the ties if he had dough?" said shorty. Anyway, if the cops are after a man, the jungle's the safest place I know."
"I dunno," said Slim. "If a guy's hot, the wilds of the city seem to me the best hideaway." Then followed a conversation on crime and its evasion, to which Cap listened contemptuously. With his blond moustache and regular features, he made the others look like rats. I wondered if either of them would rob or kill. I was sure Shorty would not, for the eyes that gleamed from under his shaggy eyebrows had the brown honesty of a terrier's. But Slim was of the vulpine type, sneaking and furtive. Still, I did not think that, even at his worst, he would go so far as to bash in a mans head.
And as I talked to myself: "Ah! if they knew of the twenty-five dollars wrapped in wool in the breast pocket of my old sateen shirt." It made a bulge against which I could feel the tapping of my heart. Formerly it had been a comforting feeling, but know it gave me a vague sense of fear. Evidently my safety on the road depended on my poverty. Not only must I be broke, I must be flat broke. I must not be seen spending a dime. These five gold pieces would make me seem a bloated capitalist and give them, as members of the proletariat, the right to despoil me. Well, I would try to forget them myself until the day they were needed.
I was relieved, however, when the three rose and went their way. They aimed to be reaching the next village by nightfall. "It's a good burg to batter, " said Slim. "I smell ham and eggs and a nice kip in the straw of a barn. Well, so long Jack. Mind the Killer.
So with plea of sore feet I watched my musketeers depart, and remained a dejected D'Artagnan under the water tank. I, too, would have enjoyed a square meal and a warm place to sleep. The fact that the section bunkhouse was near the tank was my reason for camping there. If I was attacked during the night, I hoped my yells for help would bring the hands to my rescue, though I doubt if they would have broken their sleep to go to the aid of a lousy hobo.
After my usual breakfast of tea and hardtack, the genial sun tried to cheer my drooping spirits, and the lovely scenery conspired to raise my heavy heart. the railway often skirted the fringe of ocean, while on the land side valleys mantled with purple sage rose to grey-green ranges. Although without adventure, the day was memorable for a feed that set me back a quarter. For I bought a can of corned beef at a village store, and oh, how I did enjoy it! Vegetarianism may be beautiful for the soul, but a good chunk of meat rejoices the belly. As I ate with gusto, I wished my can had been twice as big.
That evening I was attracted by a pile of old railway ties along side the track, and the idea came to me to make a hut. It took about a dozen for each side. I left the front open , and over my framework I laid ties to form a room. The erection looked so shaky I viewed it with concern. If it collapsed on me I would be somewhat crushed. As I crawled in gingerly I felt like a big dog in a giant doghouse.
I had not been long resting when I roused with a jerk. A man was stooped in the doorway of my kennel. At first I thought it was the section boss, and he would be giving me hell for using his ties; then I saw it was a thin man of the hobo fraternity.
"Hullo Mate," I said, but he made no reply. As further amiabilities seemed misplaced, I crawled cautiously out, lit my pipe and watched him. First he made a big fire of brushwood , then piled railway ties on it. They were dry and primed with tar, so that they burned fiercely. Soon he had a roaring blaze. Then he fetched a single tie and l;aid it alongside the fire. His next action was to carry a big round stone from the beach. This he placed on one end of the tie. Then he stretched himself full length on the wood, and laid his head on the stone. Folding his arms he seemed to fall asleep instantly.
Puffing my pipe I watched him, a long, lank figure, with his hat drawn over his eyes. He had not spoken a word, nor even answered my greeting. He had not given a look in my direction. I felt uneasy . Rigid and stark, he seemed to be a part of the log on which he lay. His head and the stone seemed one. The huge bonfire lit him luridly. After a little I crawled into my hut again, but I could not sleep. That gold in my pocket seemed a heavy weight on my chest.I got to thinking all kinds of horrors, and finally fear came to me.
It may have been foolish, but silently I packed my stuff in my blankets, and stealthily sneaked out of my shelter. On rising ground just beyond was a little grove of chestnut trees, There in a hollow full of dried leaves, I dozed till dawn.
When I peered down on my recent camp, the fire was still smoldering. Like a grey wraith, I saw the man rise and with his feet he pushed over my unstable hut. Only a heap of jumbled ties was left to mark my labour of the night before. Did he know I had gone? Would he have done that if I had been inside? I will never know. From the comfort and security of my leafy hollow I watched him vanish in the morning mist.
Next morning I caught up with my musketeers. I felt relieved to meet them and we walked on together. I told them of my experience of the night, and again all three warned me: Don't sleep near the track.: So in future I determined I would select a camp that was not in the pathway of crazy hobos or potential killers.
Then that afternoon something happened to give me a great deal of pleasure. We were passing a gang of construction labourers who were mending a culvert. These are superior to section hands, even ranking as carpenters.Cap was looking at them with a wistful light in his blue eyes. Suddenly he said: "I think I'll brace the boss for a job." We watched him go forward and speak to the foreman. Presently he came back, his eyes shining with delight.
"I'm taken on, boys. Well goodbye and good luck." A few minutes later we saw him his coat off. working with the gang as if he had been one of them all along.
"Cap's lucky," said shorty sadly. "Wish they'd give me a job too." Slim did not share his wish. His virtuosity was not in that line. So we went on our way, happy that our big comrade was being given the chance to make a strike again.
And what of that Guitar, described in the next chapter "Drifter" Service describes the loss of his guitar and his decision to end his trampings.
So I wandered many months, happily, on the whole. My zigzag progress took me over much of the West. Finally I got that I sated with scenery, and it took something really magnificent to give me a thrill. Much of my wayfaring was monotonous and is now vague in my memory. I enjoyed my freedom, but sometimes I wondered if it was not leading me to the enslavement I was trying to evade. I had moment s too, when wet and weary, I would feel very wretched. Then I would say: "If only my mother could look on me now, it's sorry she'd feel for her boy." Or there were hot, dry days of torment and exhaustion when I would tell myself: "Well, at least your alive. That ought to hold you for a bit." What finally took the heart out of me was the loss of my guitar. It happened this way.
I was crossing the Tehachapi Mountains,*** and for once I deserted the road and took to the track. On a long trestle I was overtaken by a train. I tried to make the end of the bridge but was afraid the engine would catch me in a standing position. Every twenty ties or so there was a beam that jutted over the abyss. I was going to crawl out and wrap myself around one of these when I remembered the burden on my back. In a panicky way I detached myself from it and let it drop. I dared not look but I knew my pack and guitar were on the bottom of the ravine. I had just time to crawl out and cling to the projecting timber. On the underside was a crevice into which I dug my fingers. Then, with head down and eyes closed, I waited. I wished I could have closed my ears too. A thunder deafened me, and a vibration almost made me lose my grip. That must have been the longest train in the world. For what seemed an eternity it went on. Then, suddenly, all was strangely still. Not daring to look down I crawled back to the rails.
I regained firm ground and descended into the ravine. A sluggish stream ran through it, and a little way down I found my pack, wet but none the worse. Further on was the guitar. It had been smashed to matchwood and was immersed in water. I almost cried as I looked at the faithful old thing. Well I left it there, and with something gone out of me I took up the trail. But I was about through. After that I had no more zest for wandering, so by devious ways I returned to Los Angelas. There in the square were the same old crocks and misfits. Would I become like them? As I surveyed myself, I thought bitterly: Heir of all ages, in the foremost files of time. The man next to me on the bench arose and left his paper. The first thing i read was: Join the Marines and see the world." That might not be a bad idea. It might help me to rehabilitate myself, and there was a recruiting station a few blocks away. But something seemed to restrain me. I turned to the paper again and my eyes fell on a bit of news about British Columbia. Suddenly I decided I would return there, and that very night I took the boat for the North.
## Lucky for us Service fans Robert chose the north to amble to. It would lead him to ranching, a job as a storekeeper, a stint as a student, bank clerk and the rest is history!
** The guitar and the money Robert described were earned by way a short stint as a laborer at a bordello, the Villa Lilla in San Diego.
*** The Tehachapi Mountains can be found in Southern California at the edge of the Mohave Desert.