The Trainmasters Read online

  “Then in the crunch, you will take his side?”

  “Not if he has failed to live up to the terms of the contract. If the work is not done, then he will be replaced. But, according to the contract, he has some leeway. That’s where he is now, in the leeway. In the margins. He can claim that events outside his control prevent him from doing what he promised to do.”

  “Events like …?”

  “Like the men failing to work, or refusing to work.”

  “And?”

  “And he claims that by putting ever greater and greater pressure on the men, they will be forced to work.”

  “But it’s just the opposite.”

  “Yes! It’s just the opposite.”

  “So what do you want me to do? Spy for you? Is that going to help you get rid of him? How is a spy like me going to help the company?”

  “No. I don’t want you to spy for me, Egan. But finish hearing me out.” He paused for a time, gathering his thoughts. “An hour or so ago, like I said, I was with Collins and his man Henneberry.”

  “The bastard,” Egan said and spat.

  “I don’t think much of him either,” John admitted. “Anyhow, I met with them. And they told me a few things they hadn’t told me before.”

  “Such as?”

  “They want to get rid of the leaders of the workers.”

  “Meaning who?”

  “You know very well who… You’re the first name they mentioned.”

  “I’m honored,” Egan said ruefully. “And what did you say when they told you this?”

  “I said it’s Tom Collins’s decision.”

  “You what?” he snapped.

  “I said I would have no part in it. It was his decision.”

  “And you would just close your eyes and let it happen?” Egan asked. “Well, Jesus God, you’re a fine man. And you want me to trust you and cooperate with you—”

  “Damn it, Egan O’Rahilly. You are quick to come to conclusions. Would you listen for a moment?”

  “I have been listening; and everything I hear I dislike.”

  “I’m not sitting passively, Egan, and letting Tom Collins do his will. For one thing, I’m talking to you, and I’m telling you what he said to me. It might… it just might behoove you to guess that I might want to do something to prevent what he wants.”

  “Yes.”

  “He wanted me to speak for the company. He wanted me to support him. To give him the company’s approval. I refused. I told him that if he dismissed you and the others, he would have to do it on his own authority alone.”

  “What’s that do for me?”

  “I want him to break the contract.”

  “Yes?”

  “As long as the men are working, then he does not break the contract. And if the men stop working—if they strike— then he does not break the contract.”

  “So if the men work, they live in hell; and he wins. And if they don’t work, they live in hell; and he still wins. If that’s the way it is, we’ve got a devil’s bargain.”

  “I know,” John said sadly, his voice filled with tension. There was clearly a giant struggle going on inside the man. “It’s a terrible thing isn’t it?”

  “I thought you said you have some ideas about fixing it.”

  John looked at him. “We need to show that he is the cause of the delays.”

  “It’s as clear as the five fingers on my hand.”

  “Not as far as the company directors are concerned.”

  “So how will you try to prove it?”

  “That’s why I asked you earlier to keep me… well…appraised of the way the men are thinking. If some new piece of information came up from them, something that I don’t already have, something that would conclusively prove…”

  “But what’s in it for him? Why would he want to slow things down?”

  “Exactly, Egan! Exactly! That’s what I don’t know!”

  “You won’t find out that from me informing on the men.”

  “I’m not asking you to inform,” he said. “But I need to find out why Collins is doing it. On the face of it, he doesn’t have a good reason. It’s to his benefit to get the work done. That’s what he’s paid to do.”

  “What you want is to spy on Tom Collins,” Egan said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. In fact, the thought had never occurred to John Carlysle.

  “Well then, could you do that?” John asked, as the idea dawned on him and began to please him.

  “Me?” Egan laughed. “You don’t know the first thing about spying. Me? Why don’t you announce it with trumpets and drums? Jesus! You might as well try it yourself.”

  “But we have to do something with you.”

  “I thought you were all set to let Collins dismiss me.”

  “Yes. I couldn’t stop that. But then I would take care of you. You’d work for me, of course.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Of course.”

  “What would I do?”

  “I need an assistant. You’d make a superb assistant.”

  “And what about the others he’s going to let go?”

  “I’ll find places for them.”

  “No,” Egan said instantly and forcefully. “I… we… can’t accept that.”

  “Goddamn it, Egan O’Rahilly,” John flared, “you are an exasperating man. Can’t you ever act after you’ve reflected on something?”

  Egan didn’t say anything, for he was more than a little embarrassed. The man was on the edge of being right. Egan was also more than a little impressed by him. What he liked was the struggle going on inside him that was clearly visible in his expression and in his words.

  John Carlysle was a man who was not convinced that he had all the answers. Unlike the great majority of bosses Egan had seen, this man did not smugly believe in his own infallibility. He sifted evidence, he pondered, he was even in anguish sometimes. He worked to attain his solutions.

  But, in spite of his growing admiration for the man, Egan could not accept what John was now proposing. What was going to happen, Egan knew… what had to happen… if Tom Collins dismissed Egan and the other leaders was exactly the thing John Carlysle feared: There would surely be a strike.

  “Don’t say no yet, Egan, to my offer,” John said. “Will you think of it for a time? And then give me an answer?”

  “Yes, Mr. Carlysle,” Egan said. “I will do that. But I can tell you this. No matter what I decide, the men aren’t going to stand much more of Tom Collins.”

  “But we’ll talk again, Egan,” John said. He did not want to close off contact with this man. “And soon. Very soon.”

  “If you like,” Egan said.

  “Very soon,” John repeated vaguely.

  Egan gave him a questioning look, but John did not respond. He was deep in thought.

  He didn’t like what he had learned from Egan O’Rahilly about the imminence of labor trouble, for he could see that Tom Collins was instigating a crisis that he himself could do very little to stop.

  But a powerful idea was starting to build in his mind, an idea that was forming out of his growing realization that he had no choice but to accept the inevitability of that crisis. He was beginning to see, however, that if he could not stop the crisis, then at least he might be able to use it to his future advantage. If he could not prevent Tom Collins from carrying through his plans, then he might at least be able to discover what—or who—drove Collins to make the plans in the first place.

  How would he obtain that information?

  Egan O’Rahilly had suggested it: John needed spies.

  And who would be his spies?

  Faces were beginning to form slowly in his mind. John associated Egan O’Rahilly, his own son Graham, and Francis Stockton together. As these three faces appeared, excitement started to grow in him.

  He took another long drag on his cigar and smiled.

  Eleven

  Philadelphia

  Friday, June 25, 1852
>
  My dear John,

  Do please forgive me, for this letter will not be as long as the letters you are used to receiving from me. But I have had to rush through what I absolutely must tell you, at the cost of failing to tell you what would most please me to say. However, I am doing my very best to finish writing it in time to send to you on the morning train.

  As you can guess, I have news for you! Much news!

  During the past days Father has been more than unusually uncommunicative. He will ever be a quiet, contemplative kind of man, but now he has become to me very nearly a man who does not speak. And this has shocked me. For previously, even in his most silent moods, I could extract from him whatever I wanted to know … not all the time, of course, John, but usually. I am not infallible. But I am his daughter, and I know him better than anyone else in the world knows him.

  But his silence over the last few days has been so complete, and his face has been so taut with strain, so tortured, so fraught with hopelessness, that I have gone almost out of my own mind because of it.

  What could I do for him, John? I asked myself this question over and over and over. I even pretended to myself now and again that you were present and that I could go to you with my dilemma.

  However, I knew that I had only myself to fall back on. And I knew that 1 alone would be able to plumb the depths of this thing that was inflicting itself upon him, this thing that had brought on such profound changes in him. And I knew that he would be no help to me.

  And so yesterday evening, after the railway offices were closed and everyone was gone from them, I surreptitiously entered the building. I waited until the last lights were out and all the doors were locked. I have my own keys, of course, though everyone there, my father included, is unaware that I possess them. I searched through my father’s desk looking for evidence.

  And I found it, John! I found what has caused his anxiety.

  There are serious discrepancies in the account books of the railroad! If the books are to be believed, the railroad ought to have several hundred thousand dollars cash on hand that our bankers claim we do not have.

  In my father’s office safe, I found several secret and confidential communications between my father and senior officials of our banks.

  After I read these, I came to the conclusion that my father must have come to: The railroad’s books have been altered!.

  Those hundreds of thousands of dollars that we should have are now in some unknown person’s hands.

  Who? Why?

  There’s no answer to that, John.

  But there is a consequence. A fearsome consequence: Without that money, the railroad is in desperate trouble!!

  And then, on top of all this, I hear from you about the many incidents of unexplained damage to railroad property and equipment. And I hear also of your own fears about impending labor trouble. I know these things weigh as heavily on my father’s mind as the money troubles do!

  What does all this mean, John? Why are all these things happening at exactly the same time!

  It’s as though a malign force has been set against us.

  I know that you cannot come to Philadelphia now to help us. You have your own crises to attend to. But I felt that you should know what I do. Perhaps it will help you in some way.

  Do write to me, John, as soon as you receive this.

  Fondly,

  Kitty

  John Carlysle answered Kitty immediately.

  Gallitzin

  Saturday morning, June 26,1852

  My dear Kitty,

  I anticipate receiving every word from you with such pleasure and delight that you can imagine my consternation when I read yesterday’s letter. Your news is truly every bit as disturbing as my recent news must have been to you.

  And yet, having said that—and even allowing for both the letter’s urgency and your own concern—it was still a delight for me to see your words on the table in front of me. Simply because they were your words, set in ink on the paper by your hand. Seeing them was the next best thing to hearing your actual, living voice.

  But enough of this. I could go on like this for many pages.

  And we still must consider together our disturbing information.

  As for your news, I am truly not astonished to hear it, even though it is unexpected, and I never predicted it. But you have noticed, just as I have, that there has been an extraordinary cluster of misfortunes which can’t be explained unless we suppose them to have a single instigator.

  As for your father, Kitty, I can well understand how his recent behavior could upset you. And it’s not my place to apologize or excuse what he has done. But I might be able to help you to understand it.

  As you see him, your father is ignoring and rejecting you. As I see him, your father may simply be unable to prevent himself from betraying those passions to you that he must now show in his dealings with others. It’s because he is certain of your love and regard for him, and equally certain of your own strength of character and capacity for endurance, that he shows himself to you in this unaccustomed way.

  In other words, Kitty, I’m convinced that your father believes in you, believes that you’ll stand by him now, even if his own behavior seems questionable, or even impossible.

  And, if this is any consolation to you, your father’s communications with me have remained what they have always been: models of clarity and incisiveness.

  For example, we are almost certain to have serious labor trouble here very soon. It could even come within the next few days. I have, of course, sent your father a number of memoranda detailing the issues and describing the events. I’ve told him as clearly as I could what is at stake here.

  He has responded with calm and alacrity. He has made it clear that he trusts my judgment. But he has made it equally clear that he is the one who is ultimately responsible, that he is the man in charge.

  I could not have hoped for better understanding or for direction that could be firmer or clearer.

  In the matter of the labor trouble itself: Mister Tom Collins, the man whom you so admired when you brought my son and the O’Rahillys to Gallitzin, is on the point of dismissing from his employ a large number of the best of the workingmen. He is letting go not the men who impede the work. Rather, he is in pursuit of the ones who have become the head and the heart of the laborers, the ones who give inspiration and direction to the other men. He’s labeling these the mischief makers, and he blames them for the delays that have beset us recently.

  One of the most prominent among those to be dismissed is Teresa O’Rahilly’s brother Egan.

  This large-scale dismissal, mind you, comes on top of Collins’s recent imposition of ever more stringent and onerous work rules—impossibly arduous regulations that have only brought the men to greater resistance and restlessness.

  I have decided to turn to drastic, perhaps even shocking, tactics. I’ve decided that if I can’t put the fire out, then I will add oil to it.

  To be specific:

  If all goes according to my hopes, I plan to first knock Mr. Collins off balance, then I hope to drive him into a state of panic. Once he’s panicked, I believe he will lead us to the people who are giving him his orders.

  In order to effect this plan, I must appear to place myself in his power. I must seem to strip away my objections and go along with him, even in his dismissal of the fifty odd men. He will then believe that the railroad supports him and that I am weak and easy to manipulate.

  And so, later this morning, I will talk to him. I’ll tell him that I’ve repented my past follies. This is a man who comprehends repentance, as long as it is in other people! I’ll explain that I’ve consulted with my superiors by telegraph and that they have made me see the light.

  Meanwhile, Collins has posted notice. He is calling an assembly on Sunday afternoon of all the men who work for him. In that meeting, he is going to publicly dismiss O’Rahilly and the others. What the workers do after that is anybody’s guess, though it’s likely
that most of them will go out on strike.

  Collins, however, publicly maintains that they will not do that. He claims that construction work will in fact return to normal. But I think there could be violence. In fact, Kitty, I’m counting on violence—or at least the near approach of violence—to push Collins into the panic I need him to fall into.

  We’ll see what happens then…

  Naturally, I have kept your father informed about the situation that I’m facing. But I have purposefully kept him in the dark about my own plans of dealing with it. I’ve decided that if things go wrong, I don’t want him to be blamed for my acts. If there is violence, he should not be responsible.

  Indeed, if violence does occur, I don’t know what I will do. But, paradoxically, the violence may be the only way to bring us to the authors of the evil that besets us.

  These are bad times, Kitty. Very bad times.

  And yet I remain, warmly,

  Yours,

  John Carlysle

  Four rocking chairs had been placed on the porch of the administration building at Gallitzin for the use of the engineers and superintendents. John Carlysle was sitting in one of these when Tom Collins and Tom Henneberry came to see him. The noon whistle had just finished its long and mournful blast when Collins mounted the steps that led to the porch. He was, as ever, precisely punctual. It was one of the virtues he’d learned in the seminary, one of the few he had not shaken off.

  As he climbed the step, he removed his hat. He gave John a wary smile.

  John rose for him. And after as polite a greeting as he could manage, he motioned him to the rocking chair adjoining the one he was using. Henneberry took the one beyond Collins’s.

  Since it was the noon hour and a Saturday, any men not working on a shift were out and about. Those who passed by were curious to see Collins and Carlysle together, for it was well known that they did not like one another.

  “Mr. Carlysle,” Collins said carefully, once he was seated in his chair, “you asked to see me. What’s on your mind, then?”

  John looked at him earnestly. He hoped his expression was full of innocence and naïveté.

  “I’m a direct and open man,” he said. “I’m an engineering man and not a political man. When something breaks, I fix it. When I can’t fix it, I replace it.” He spoke these words in a tone of sad resignation.