Once in a while he would blink his eyes,--that was all.
The wind tossed his mane and hair and made him look for all the world
like a lion, who looks at, but appears to care nothing for the crowds
around his den. Someone noticed the comparison, and dubbed him "The
Lion," and the name clung to him. He was spoken of as "Old 'Lige, the
Lion." Just why he was called old, I don't know--he was little more than
forty then.
When the men on the road had any grievances, they always asked 'Lige to
"go and see the old man." 'Lige always went to lodge and to meetings of
the men, but was never known to speak. When the demands were drawn up
and presented to him, he always got up and said: "Them air declarations
ain't right, an' I wouldn't ask any railroad to grant 'em;" or, "The
declarations are right. Of course I'll be glad to take 'em."
When old 'Lige declined to bear a grievance it was modified or
abandoned; and he never took a request to headquarters that was not
granted--until the strike of '77.
When the war broke out, 'Lige was asked to go, and the railroad boys
wanted him to be captain of a company of them; but he declined, saying
that slavery was wrong and should be crushed, but that he had a sickly
wife and four small children depending on his daily toil for bread, and
it wouldn't be right to leave 'em unprovided for.
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