The Trainmasters Page 17

  “Good-bye, darlin’,” Teresa said.

  “You can’t go alone, Egan,” Ferdy O’Dowd said.

  “Why not?” Egan asked. “And who is to go with me?”

  “I am,” Ferdy said. “I’m doing it with you.”

  “How do you figure to do that, injured as you are?”

  “I could be worse,” Ferdy said. “And I’m rested. And digging this hole out hasn’t stopped me.”

  The two of them had managed to expand and prop up the tiny opening that Egan had found so that a man could slip through it. He hoped the passage beyond the opening would lead into a cave system that would exit out of the mountain. It was their only chance of escape.

  Egan decided not to protest Ferdy’s desire to accompany him any more. In fact, he wanted Ferdy with him very much, but he didn’t want to be responsible for him if his injuries proved to be too severe to allow him to complete what was sure to be a strenuous and hazardous journey.

  “And,” Ferdy concluded with his final, and most telling argument, “will I be any better off here?”

  “No, you won’t,” Egan admitted.

  “So then I’m coming.”

  “Yes, you’re coming.”

  I wish the others were coming, too, Egan thought. I hate to leave them. One has a separated shoulder. The other has a broken arm. And the last is Tom Henneberry. I will never go with Tom. But I’ll be back for them if I make it out. By God, I’ll come back!

  They gathered what supplies they could carry, leaving what they could spare for the three who were to remain.. They took the lantern, even though that left the others in darkness. They had two coils of rope, a pick, and a shovel. What remained of their food they left with the three who were to stay … Egan and Ferdy hoped to be out in the open air before they starved.

  “All right, then,” Egan said, when they had finished putting together what little they had to help them survive. “I guess we had better go.” He crawled over to Francis Quig-ley. “Good-bye, Francis,” he said, “stay well. And safe.”

  “So long, Egan,” Quigley said, and then he reached out and pulled Egan close to him. “Do it, all right, Egan? You do it.”

  “I’ll try,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”

  Then he turned to Geraghty. “I’m on my way then, old man.”

  And Geraghty also reached out for him and wrapped his arms around Egan in a strong embrace. “Bye, Egan. I’ll pray for you.”

  “Good-bye, Ferdy,” they both said.

  “Safe journey,” Geraghty said. “And successful.”

  “Good-bye, Tom,” Egan said to Henneberry.

  “Good-bye, Egan,” Henneberry said.

  “Will you shake my hand before I go, Tom?”

  “I will not.”

  Egan’s face grew pained, even though he expected nothing else from Tom. “Then I’m off.”

  And Egan led Ferdy through the opening they had made into the dark.

  Eight

  When John Carlysle first opened his eyes on Tuesday morning, he was more than a little disoriented. The bed he was lying in was only a narrow cot—it swayed and jerked, though not altogether unpleasantly—and the building around him was rattling. And when he raised his head to look out of the window at the foot of the cot, the landscape outside was moving

  But then he caught on to what was happening: He was in one of the tiny cabins in Edgar Thomson’s private railway car. And the car was now moving westward through the midsection of Pennsylvania. He looked out of the window, but he didn’t see a great deal, only misty rain, moisture-shrouded trees, and a rocky hillside. So he lay back against his pillow and closed his eyes for a moment, in order to clear his head.

  A few minutes later he checked his pocket watch, which he had placed, as was his habit, beneath his pillow: Five thirty-six, it read—close to the usual time he woke up. And now that he had gotten over his initial disorientation, he realized that he felt quite refreshed after a good night’s sleep, in spite of the jostling of the train car.

  He sat up on the bed and looked out of the window once more. This time they were passing through farm country, lush and fecund land. Since it was April, the fields were freshly plowed and planted; but there was already a haze of green covering them, which would become wheat or Indian com in two or three months. They were now in the valley of the Juniata, he guessed (under the assumption that the train had kept to its schedule). In another couple of hours they should reach Tyrone and the end of the line.

  John rose out of the cot, slipped on his trousers, and opened the door to his little cabin. A moment later a servant appeared. His name, John knew, was Horace. Horace was wearing a crisply pressed white jacket and a military-style cap, and his wide, clear eyes showed that he must have been awake for at least an hour.

  “Can I bring you a cup of coffee, Mr. Carlysle?” he asked. “Or some hot water for you to wash and shave?”

  “I’ll take the water, and then the coffee,” John said.

  “Yes, sir,” Horace said, nodding, and he walked off.

  John watched him as he left, admiring the quality of the service. Edgar Thomson knew how to do things right, he thought. Even the smallest of details, such as the uniforms of the servants, were well done. John was impressed with the way Edgar Thomson had set up his own personal car, not only because he was pleased to have his own immediate needs so capably handled, but because so much thought had been put into the design of the car itself. In years to come, considerable intelligence and effort needed to be directed toward the design of American railway cars. And this particular car, John felt, ought to become a kind of model for the train service of the future—with sleeping cabins and parlor rooms and space for enjoyable dining.

  Horse drawn coaches had been the primary means of transportation before the railroad. The first railway carriages had imitated the hard bench seats jammed closely together characteristic of coaches. But with locomotives growing more powerful, larger cars and longer trains would offer comfort—and even pleasure—to passengers.

  John had so far traveled only twice before on an American train; he had gone from Philadelphia to New York City and back. Actually, he had traveled to the New Jersey side of the New York harbor, and from there he had taken the ferry to Manhattan. He had not been impressed with the experience. The cars were drafty, cramped, uncomfortable, and filthy. And the railway personnel had been as slovenly as the cars had been foul; they had been seemingly indifferent to the passengers in their care.

  On a trip so short—only sixty miles—perhaps one could shrug off, if not forgive, such lack of attention to the comfort of travelers. But many train journeys in this vast nation would soon be of distances surpassing five hundred or even a thousand miles. On such journeys, travelers would require and expect comfort and convenience—and even luxury— unheard of in previous times. Trains traveling across this huge continent would have to become steamships on wheels; they would have to offer the same quality of service as first-class hotels.

  But it was not only greater comfort that was coming to train travel; it was greater speed. And that was what thrilled John Carlysle’s engineer’s heart beyond all else. In England, distances between cities were much shorter compared with those in this country. There were about two hundred miles separating Philadelphia and Tyrone—nearly twice as far as the distance between London and Liverpool. And when the railway was completed to Pittsburgh, another hundred miles of line would be added. The three hundred miles dividing Philadelphia and Pittsburgh was about the same space that separated London from Glasgow, the two most distant major British cities. But beyond Pittsburgh were still other cities— Cincinnati and St. Louis, and the new city growing up on Lake Michigan, Chicago… St. Louis was more than a thousand miles from Philadelphia!

  People would not only want to travel to St. Louis in comfort; they would want to go there fast! Not twenty, thirty, or forty miles per hour, but sixty! or even eighty!

  That is what engineers like Carlysle faced. He had to design and
lay the very foundations for such impressive velocities. Not only would there have to be larger and more powerful locomotives, but harder and stronger track; better, firmer roadbeds; gentler curves and grades; longer tunnels; and higher bridges spanning wider valleys. It was a dizzying thought which greatly occupied John’s attention.

  After he finished dressing, John decided to take his coffee with Edgar Thomson. He walked back to Thomson’s office. Coffee had been laid out on a side table, in a silver service with china cups and saucers.

  Thomson was already up and at work at his desk. But as soon as John arrived, he gave Horace orders to clear off the desk. While John drank a cup of well-brewed, delicious coffee, a linen cloth was placed over the desk top, and places were set for a breakfast of ham, eggs, and freshly baked bread.

  During breakfast, the two men continued the conversation they had started yesterday evening and that had gone on, over coffee and brandy and cigars, late into the night. It was a conversation ostensibly about the two things both men knew best: railroads and engineering. But the real matter of the conversation was the bond that was starting to grow between both of them. And so the two men talked about their railroad experiences, about their mutual acquaintances, and about their hopes and dreams for themselves and for railroading in general. As they talked, trust and respect was building between them.

  Their talk the night before had been wide ranging and impressionistic. But their talk over breakfast became quite specific: Edgar Thomson wanted to brief John about what was actually going on at the top levels of the railroad.

  He did this partly because he was coming to see John Carlysle as an ally, an ally who held on his own a fair amount of Pennsylvania stock. Carlysle’s stock could carry some force in the current and still developing struggle between Thomson and William Patterson. But, more importantly,throughhisconnectionwithSir Charles Elliot, Carlysle had the potential to influence a huge block of stock that could prove to be decisive when the crisis came to a head.

  However, it wasn’t just the stock that he owned or the stock that he might help to sway that drew Thomson to John Carlysle. Thomson knew that no matter what happened in the current struggle within the board of directors, he himself was going to have to relinquish the day-to-day field duties of chief engineer. And specifically, the line was going to require a man who could directly watch over the mountain division. Over breakfast, Thomson let John Carlysle know that he wanted him to take over that job.

  He showed no false modesty in declaring his hope that he would soon be the president of the railroad. Thomson was sure that this was not only in his own best interests, but that it was also in the best interests of the Pennsylvania. Thomson was convinced that if William Patterson continued as president of the railroad, the line would never reach its full potential as the dominant transportation enterprise in the country. If Patterson were not removed, the line would inevitably find itself restricted by the limits of Patterson’s imagination. It would become—solely—a Pennsylvania company. It would not grow and spread westward to St. Louis, north to New York, and south to Baltimore and Washington…

  Or beyond, to the Pacific and Florida and Canada.

  The current struggle for control of the railroad was being fought on the issue of financing: The line required at least five million dollars more in order to pay for the work needed to complete it. If Patterson managed to come up with the money, he would retain the confidence of the majority of the board of directors. If he did not come up with the money, Edgar Thomson would become president and he would inherit the five-million-dollar deficit.

  Whether he won or lost this battle, he knew he would have to spend most of his coming time and energy in Philadelphia. And thus he knew he needed someone who could handle the work that he had until now managed by himself in the field.

  Thus, for more than a few reasons, John Carlysle’s arrival on American shores was a gift of God to Edgar Thomson.

  After breakfast the dishes were cleared away, the cloth was removed, and the desk was once again functioning as a desk. Thomson spread out on it the plans and design sketches for the tunnel, as well as the engineer’s progress reports and the reports telegraphed the day before describing the cave-in and the efforts to do something about it. The two men pored over these while the train climbed ever higher into the mountains.

  “John,” Thomson said after a while, “I think I’ve come up with the probable cause of the cave-in.” The two men raised their eyes and faced one another. “But I don’t want to tell you yet what it is. I’d like to see if you arrive at the same answer independently.”

  John continued looking at him. “Is this a kind of test of my competence,” he asked with a tight, but playful, smile, “to see whether I agree with you?”

  Though Thomson displayed at times a droll sense of humor, he was usually a serious man, and so he did not at first realize that he was being teased. But before he could voice his initial, negative reaction to John, he caught the meaning of Carlysle’s smile, and he chuckled in return. “Yes, John, that’s exactly what’s on my mind,” Thomson said, now going along with the joke. “I want to discover how soon you arrive at the truth. I will, meanwhile, await your response.” He paused for the space of a breath. “Your final score,” he resumed in a professorial tone, “will depend upon how quickly and accurately you come to agree with me.”

  “I’ll try not to waste too much of your time,” John said, smiling. Then he reached over and took the documents Thomson was holding out for him.

  A few minutes later, John caught Thomson’s attention, much sooner than Thomson had expected. “These reports bother me,” John said. He was holding up a set of telegraph flimsies.

  “How so?” Thomson asked, looking up.

  “Cave-ins don’t behave the way this one has behaved. There’s something wrong with the way this tunnel collapsed.”

  Edgar Thomson gave John a grave nod. “I agree,” he said. “I think you may be on to the same question that bothered me. Tell me more.”

  “I’d like to see the survey reports on this mountain before I make any guesses.”

  “They’re here behind me,” Thomson said. There was a bookcase against the wall behind his desk. Reaching up to one of the shelves, he pulled down a bound volume and handed it over to John.

  John opened it up and started reading. Soon after, he found what he expected to find.

  “Here,” he said. He placed the open volume in front of Thomson and pointed to a paragraph. “Caves!” he said. “This mountain is full of caves… What must have happened to our tunnel is that one of the headings crossed above some portion of the cave network, and then collapsed into it.”

  Thomson closed his eyes and then inclined his head once more into a grave nod. “That sounds very likely to me now,” he said, “this very morning, that is. Though if you would have asked me before yesterday about the probability or even possibility that our digs would encounter part of the cave system, I would have said close to nil.”

  “These caves have been mapped?”

  “No. But there are one or two places where they extend to the surface. I had a team enter the caves and examine them … The report is here.” He pointed to another volume—this one was not on the shelf; it was open on his desk. “But the team concluded that the system did not extend as far as the route of our digging.”

  “I think the report is probably not accurate,” John said.

  Thomson nodded again. Then he closed his eyes, and his mouth curled into a sad, rueful smile. “I think it is certainly not accurate.”

  John looked at him. “Why do you say that?”

  Thomson flipped through the report on his desk until he found the title page. “Here.” He pointed, turning the report so John could see it right side up. “Do you see that name, the author of the report?”

  John leaned over and read, “Francis Stockton.” “Who is he?”

  “An engineer and surveyor,” Thomson said. “… And one of my sins, damn him.”


  “One of your sins?”

  Thomson groaned. “I don’t want to go into that right now. It’s a long story. It will suffice for you to know now that I gave Stockton the job of examining the caves because I thought it was a job that even he could handle. In the event, I’m sure I was wrong. Goddamn it.”

  “But I should read Stockton’s report?”

  “By all means. That’s exactly what I have been doing,” Thomson said, passing the volume over to John.

  John read through the report. When he finished, he looked up and spoke to Thomson. “Well,” he said, “that’s it. That has to be it… Or at least, I’m as certain of it as I can be before I actually examine the scene. This is a very fuzzy piece of writing. I can’t tell from it whether your Mr. Stockton actually even looked at the caves.”

  “I’m rather certain he didn’t,” Thomson said, with another sad, rueful smile.

  “In which case, that opens up the likelihood that the caves do in fact extend up to the vicinity of the tunnel,” John said.

  “I can’t think of a more plausible explanation.”

  “Then we’ll see what things actually look like when we arrive at the tunnel,” John said.

  “Exactly. We’ll have to wait to see if the facts confirm that explanation.”

  As Thomson said that, however, an idea was starting to form in John’s head. “And yet,” he said in a near whisper; he was speaking more to himself than to Thomson. “And yet… I wonder.” He stopped, and then he took a long, deep breath. After he let it out, he spoke again. “You know, Mr. Thomson, there’s a chance, maybe, for some of the men who might have been trapped in the tunnel. There’s a chance, that is, that they are still alive… and that they can be reached.”

  “What are you thinking, John?” Thomson asked, intrigued. “You mean to reach them through the caves?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That seems more than a little farfetched.”

  “Possibly,” John said, “but what is there to lose?”

  “It’s still farfetched, John,” Thomson said, shaking his head, “though an admittedly attractive idea.”