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FreeThe Bow Flume Cable Car
Rudyard Kipling
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“See those things yonder?” He looked toward the Market Street cable cars, which, without any visible means of propulsion, were carrying the good people of San Francisco to a picnic somewhere across the bay. The stranger was not more than seven feet tall. His face was burnished copper, his hands and beard fiery red, and his eyes a baleful blue. He had crammed his large frame into a suit of black clothes that made no pretense of fitting him, and his cheek bulged with chewing tobacco. “Those cars,” he said, more to himself than to me, “run on a hidden cable worked by machinery—and that’s what broke our syndicate at Bow Flume.
Hidden machinery—no, hidden ropes. Don’t you get mixed up with them. They’re untrustworthy.”
“These cars work comfortably,” I ventured. “They run over people now and then, but that doesn’t matter.”
“Certainly not, not in ’Frisco—by no means. It’s different out yonder.” He waved a palm-leaf fan toward Mission Dolores among the sandhills. Then without a moment’s pause, in a low and melancholy voice, he continued, “Young fellow, all patented machinery is a monopoly, and don’t you try to bust it, or else it will bust you. About five years ago I was at Bow Flume—a mining town way back yonder, beyond the Sacramento. I ran a saloon there with O’Grady—Howling O’Grady, so called on account of the noise he made when drunk. I never gave my saloon any fancy name, but because I had a happy knack for throwing out men who were too full of bug-juice and tended to be disorderly, the boys called it ‘The Wake Up and Git Bar.’ O’Grady, my partner, was an unreasonable inventor. He invented a check on the whiskey barrels that was no good except letting the whiskey run off at odd times and shutting down when a man was thirstiest.
I remember half of Bow Flume City firing their six-shooters into a cask—and Bourbon at that—which refused to run because of O’Grady’s patented double-check tap. But that’s not what I started to tell you about—not by a long shot.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-85af22c4073a4e849eae51b51f3eb890
# book_title: The Bow Flume Cable Car
# chapter_id: 1-the-bow-flume-cable-car
# chapter_title: The Bow Flume Cable Car
# book_page: 1 / 5
# chapter_page: 1
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
“See those things yonder?” He looked toward the Market Street cable cars, which, without any visible means of propulsion, were carrying the good people of San Francisco to a picnic somewhere across the bay. The stranger was not more than seven feet tall. His face was burnished copper, his hands and beard fiery red, and his eyes a baleful blue. He had crammed his large frame into a suit of black clothes that made no pretense of fitting him, and his cheek bulged with chewing tobacco. “Those cars,” he said, more to himself than to me, “run on a hidden cable worked by machinery—and that’s what broke our syndicate at Bow Flume.
Hidden machinery—no, hidden ropes. Don’t you get mixed up with them. They’re untrustworthy.”
“These cars work comfortably,” I ventured. “They run over people now and then, but that doesn’t matter.”
“Certainly not, not in ’Frisco—by no means. It’s different out yonder.” He waved a palm-leaf fan toward Mission Dolores among the sandhills. Then without a moment’s pause, in a low and melancholy voice, he continued, “Young fellow, all patented machinery is a monopoly, and don’t you try to bust it, or else it will bust you. About five years ago I was at Bow Flume—a mining town way back yonder, beyond the Sacramento. I ran a saloon there with O’Grady—Howling O’Grady, so called on account of the noise he made when drunk. I never gave my saloon any fancy name, but because I had a happy knack for throwing out men who were too full of bug-juice and tended to be disorderly, the boys called it ‘The Wake Up and Git Bar.’ O’Grady, my partner, was an unreasonable inventor. He invented a check on the whiskey barrels that was no good except letting the whiskey run off at odd times and shutting down when a man was thirstiest.
I remember half of Bow Flume City firing their six-shooters into a cask—and Bourbon at that—which refused to run because of O’Grady’s patented double-check tap. But that’s not what I started to tell you about—not by a long shot.“O’Grady went to ’Frisco when the Bow Flume saloon was booming. He had a good time in ’Frisco, because he came back with a very bad head and no clothes worth talking about. He had been jailed most of the time, but he had studied the machinery of those cars yonder—when he wasn’t in the lockup. He came back with the liquor for the saloon, and the boys whooped around him for half a day, singing songs of glory. ‘Boys,’ says O’Grady, when half of Bow Flume were lying on the floor kissing the spittoons and singing ‘Way Down the Swanee River,’ being full of some new stuff O’Grady had brought up from ’Frisco—‘boys,’ says O’Grady, ‘I’ve got the makings of a company in me. You know the road from this saloon to Bow Flume is bad and almost perpendicular.’ That was the exact state of the case. Bow Flume City was three hundred feet above our saloon.
The boys used to roll down and get drunk, and any who happened to be sober rolled them back up when it was time to get more. Some dropped into the canyon that way—mostly bad payers. You see, a man held all the hill Bow Flume was built on, and he wanted forty thousand dollars for a forty-five by hundred lot of ground. We kept the whiskey, and the boys came down for it. The exercise made them thirsty. ‘Boys,’ says O’Grady, ‘as you know, I have visited the great metropolis of ’Frisco.’ Then they had drinks all around for ’Frisco. ‘And I have been jailed a spell while enjoying the sights.’ Then they had drinks all around for the jail that held O’Grady. ‘But,’ he says, ‘I have a proposal to make.’ More drinks on account of the proposal. ‘I have got hold of the idea of those ’Frisco cable cars. Some of the idea I got in ’Frisco. The rest I have invented,’ says O’Grady. Then they drank all around for the invention.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-85af22c4073a4e849eae51b51f3eb890
# book_title: The Bow Flume Cable Car
# chapter_id: 1-the-bow-flume-cable-car
# chapter_title: The Bow Flume Cable Car
# book_page: 2 / 5
# chapter_page: 2
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
“O’Grady went to ’Frisco when the Bow Flume saloon was booming. He had a good time in ’Frisco, because he came back with a very bad head and no clothes worth talking about. He had been jailed most of the time, but he had studied the machinery of those cars yonder—when he wasn’t in the lockup. He came back with the liquor for the saloon, and the boys whooped around him for half a day, singing songs of glory. ‘Boys,’ says O’Grady, when half of Bow Flume were lying on the floor kissing the spittoons and singing ‘Way Down the Swanee River,’ being full of some new stuff O’Grady had brought up from ’Frisco—‘boys,’ says O’Grady, ‘I’ve got the makings of a company in me. You know the road from this saloon to Bow Flume is bad and almost perpendicular.’ That was the exact state of the case. Bow Flume City was three hundred feet above our saloon.
The boys used to roll down and get drunk, and any who happened to be sober rolled them back up when it was time to get more. Some dropped into the canyon that way—mostly bad payers. You see, a man held all the hill Bow Flume was built on, and he wanted forty thousand dollars for a forty-five by hundred lot of ground. We kept the whiskey, and the boys came down for it. The exercise made them thirsty. ‘Boys,’ says O’Grady, ‘as you know, I have visited the great metropolis of ’Frisco.’ Then they had drinks all around for ’Frisco. ‘And I have been jailed a spell while enjoying the sights.’ Then they had drinks all around for the jail that held O’Grady. ‘But,’ he says, ‘I have a proposal to make.’ More drinks on account of the proposal. ‘I have got hold of the idea of those ’Frisco cable cars. Some of the idea I got in ’Frisco. The rest I have invented,’ says O’Grady. Then they drank all around for the invention.“I’m coming to the point. O’Grady formed a company—the drunkest I ever saw—to run a cable car on the ’Frisco model from the Wake Up and Git Saloon to Bow Flume. The boys put in about four thousand dollars, for Bow Flume was spitting gold then. There’s not a shack there now. O’Grady put in four thousand dollars of his own, and I was roped in for as much. O’Grady wanted the concern to represent the resources of Bow Flume. We got a car built in ’Frisco for two thousand dollars, with an elegant bar at one end—nickel-plated fittings and ruby glass.
“The idea was to serve drinks along the way. A Bow Flume man could put away two drinks in a minute and a half, not being pressed for urgent business. The boys graded the road for love, and we ran a rope in a little trough in the middle. That rope ran fast, and any damned fool who had his foot cut off while playing in the middle of the road might have found salvation by using our Bow Flume Palace Car. The boys said that was fair. O’Grady took the contract for building the engine to wind the rope. He called his contraption a mule—it was a cross between a threshing machine and an elevator ram. I don’t think he had followed the ’Frisco patterns. He put all our dollars into that damned bar on the car, knowing what would please the boys best. They didn’t care much about the machinery, as long as the car hummed.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-85af22c4073a4e849eae51b51f3eb890
# book_title: The Bow Flume Cable Car
# chapter_id: 1-the-bow-flume-cable-car
# chapter_title: The Bow Flume Cable Car
# book_page: 3 / 5
# chapter_page: 3
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
“I’m coming to the point. O’Grady formed a company—the drunkest I ever saw—to run a cable car on the ’Frisco model from the Wake Up and Git Saloon to Bow Flume. The boys put in about four thousand dollars, for Bow Flume was spitting gold then. There’s not a shack there now. O’Grady put in four thousand dollars of his own, and I was roped in for as much. O’Grady wanted the concern to represent the resources of Bow Flume. We got a car built in ’Frisco for two thousand dollars, with an elegant bar at one end—nickel-plated fittings and ruby glass.
“The idea was to serve drinks along the way. A Bow Flume man could put away two drinks in a minute and a half, not being pressed for urgent business. The boys graded the road for love, and we ran a rope in a little trough in the middle. That rope ran fast, and any damned fool who had his foot cut off while playing in the middle of the road might have found salvation by using our Bow Flume Palace Car. The boys said that was fair. O’Grady took the contract for building the engine to wind the rope. He called his contraption a mule—it was a cross between a threshing machine and an elevator ram. I don’t think he had followed the ’Frisco patterns. He put all our dollars into that damned bar on the car, knowing what would please the boys best. They didn’t care much about the machinery, as long as the car hummed.“We charged the boys a dollar a head per trip. One free drink included. That paid—paid like—Paradise. They loved the motion. O’Grady was the engineer, and another man tended the rope engine when he wasn’t otherwise engaged. Those cable cars run by gripping onto the rope. You know that. When the grip is off, the car is braked and stands still. There should have been two cars, one to go up and the other down. But O’Grady had a blasted invention for reversing the engine, so the cable ran both ways—up to Bow Flume and down to the saloon—the terminus being in front of our door. A man could kick a friend straight from the bar into the car. The boys appreciated that. The Bow Flume Palace Car Company earned twenty percent in three months, besides the profits from the drinks. We might have lasted to this day if O’Grady hadn’t tinkered with his blasted engine up on top of Bow Flume Hill. The boys complained the car didn’t hum enough.
They demanded railroad speed.
O’Grady ran them up and down at fourteen miles an hour; and his latest improvement was to touch twenty-four. The strain on the brakes was terrible—quite terrible. But every time O’Grady raised the record, the boys gave him a testimonial. It wasn’t in human nature not to crowd ahead after that. Testimonials demoralize even the most public-spirited of men.
“I rode on the car that memorial day. Just as we started with a double load of boys and a razzle-dazzle assortment of drinks, something went zip under the car bottom. We shot forward. All the prominent members of the company were aboard. ‘The grip has snubbed on the rope,’ says O’Grady quite quietly. ‘Boys, this will be the biggest smash on record. Something’s going to happen.’
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-85af22c4073a4e849eae51b51f3eb890
# book_title: The Bow Flume Cable Car
# chapter_id: 1-the-bow-flume-cable-car
# chapter_title: The Bow Flume Cable Car
# book_page: 4 / 5
# chapter_page: 4
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
“We charged the boys a dollar a head per trip. One free drink included. That paid—paid like—Paradise. They loved the motion. O’Grady was the engineer, and another man tended the rope engine when he wasn’t otherwise engaged. Those cable cars run by gripping onto the rope. You know that. When the grip is off, the car is braked and stands still. There should have been two cars, one to go up and the other down. But O’Grady had a blasted invention for reversing the engine, so the cable ran both ways—up to Bow Flume and down to the saloon—the terminus being in front of our door. A man could kick a friend straight from the bar into the car. The boys appreciated that. The Bow Flume Palace Car Company earned twenty percent in three months, besides the profits from the drinks. We might have lasted to this day if O’Grady hadn’t tinkered with his blasted engine up on top of Bow Flume Hill. The boys complained the car didn’t hum enough.
They demanded railroad speed.
O’Grady ran them up and down at fourteen miles an hour; and his latest improvement was to touch twenty-four. The strain on the brakes was terrible—quite terrible. But every time O’Grady raised the record, the boys gave him a testimonial. It wasn’t in human nature not to crowd ahead after that. Testimonials demoralize even the most public-spirited of men.
“I rode on the car that memorial day. Just as we started with a double load of boys and a razzle-dazzle assortment of drinks, something went *zip* under the car bottom. We shot forward. All the prominent members of the company were aboard. ‘The grip has snubbed on the rope,’ says O’Grady quite quietly. ‘Boys, this will be the biggest smash on record. Something’s going to happen.’
We hurtled at twenty-four miles an hour until the end of our journey. I don’t know what happened there. We could get clear of the rope at the point where it turned around a pulley to start uphill again. We struck—struck the steps of the Wake Up and Git Saloon—my saloon—and the next thing I knew I was feeling my legs under a pile of matchwood and broken glass, representing liquor and fixtures to the tune of eight thousand dollars. The car had been flung through the saloon, bringing down the entire roof onto the floor. It had then bucked out into the open air, describing a parabola over the bluff behind the saloon, and lay at the foot of that bluff, three hundred feet below, like a smashed kaleidoscope—all nickel, shavings, and bits of red glass.
O’Grady and most of the prominent members of the company were dead—very dead—and there wasn’t enough left of the saloon to pay for a drink. I took in the situation, lying on my stomach at the edge of the bluff, and I suspected that any lawsuits that might arise would be complicated by shooting. So I left Bow Flume by the back trail. I guess the coroner decided there were no summons—at least I never heard any more about it. Since that time I’ve had a distrust of cable cars. The rope breaking is no great odds, because you can stop the car, but it’s getting the grip tangled with the running rope that spreads ruin and desolation over thriving communities and prevents the development of local resources.”
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-85af22c4073a4e849eae51b51f3eb890
# book_title: The Bow Flume Cable Car
# chapter_id: 1-the-bow-flume-cable-car
# chapter_title: The Bow Flume Cable Car
# book_page: 5 / 5
# chapter_page: 5
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
We hurtled at twenty-four miles an hour until the end of our journey. I don’t know what happened there. We could get clear of the rope at the point where it turned around a pulley to start uphill again. We struck—struck the steps of the Wake Up and Git Saloon—*my* saloon—and the next thing I knew I was feeling my legs under a pile of matchwood and broken glass, representing liquor and fixtures to the tune of eight thousand dollars. The car had been flung through the saloon, bringing down the entire roof onto the floor. It had then bucked out into the open air, describing a parabola over the bluff behind the saloon, and lay at the foot of that bluff, three hundred feet below, like a smashed kaleidoscope—all nickel, shavings, and bits of red glass.
O’Grady and most of the prominent members of the company were dead—very dead—and there wasn’t enough left of the saloon to pay for a drink. I took in the situation, lying on my stomach at the edge of the bluff, and I suspected that any lawsuits that might arise would be complicated by shooting. So I left Bow Flume by the back trail. I guess the coroner decided there were no summons—at least I never heard any more about it. Since that time I’ve had a distrust of cable cars. The rope breaking is no great odds, because you can stop the car, but it’s getting the grip tangled with the running rope that spreads ruin and desolation over thriving communities and prevents the development of local resources.”
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