The Trainmasters Page 6

  To all this disturbing and challenging intelligence John added some fascinating pieces of history: The Pennsylvania Railroad was not the first attempt to build a modern transport system across Pennsylvania. Yet the other system would clearly not suffice in the future. Thirty years earlier, the state had embarked on an extensive canal building project. By 1852, the project was for the most part completed, but the canal system had not proved to be a satisfactory mode of transportation, for the waterways were closed throughout most of the winter. When spring arrived it was not unusual for the returning operators to find a large portion of the locks and other major machinery ruined by frost.

  Later, the state attempted to supplement the canals with connecting railroads.

  The result was an impressive achievement. A traveler who used the state system could journey from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh in greater comfort and convenience than ever before. He would take a state-owned train to Harrisburg, transfer to a canal boat, and travel up the Susquehanna and Juniata rivers—sometimes on the rivers and sometimes on canals—to the state-owned portage road that crossed the thirty miles of the highest ridge of the Alleghenies. The portage road was a system of inclined planes—rail cars that were hauled up steep mountain grades by means of steam winches—that were joined by connecting rail lines. At the western end of the portage road, the traveler transferred once again to a canal boat and proceeded to Pittsburgh.

  Even though the state system was an impressive achievement, and despite its greater comfort and convenience, the journey between Pittsburgh and Philadelphia remained cumbersome, time consuming, and expensive. And so the state system proved to be only a partial solution to the state’s massive transportation needs. And the canals still froze in winter.

  But because the state had invested so heavily in this system, many officials were ambivalent about the competition the Pennsylvania would soon offer. Nevertheless, from the moment the line was founded in 1847, the state had provided much of the financing of the line. And now Pennsylvania tracks, which more or less paralleled the state canal and portage road system, had been laid along most of its planned route, stretching eastward from Harrisburg to near the headwaters of the Juniata River, and westward from Pittsburgh to near Johnstown. The last, most difficult section of track to lay remained: the mountain division, which crossed the summit of the Alleghenies, and the 3,500-foot-long tunnel under the crest of the ridge.

  It was in this wild and rugged country that John hoped he would be working. And if all went well, Graham, who had the makings of a superior railroad man, would be working with him. Graham, at his father’s insistence, had obtained a university education. He had taken his engineering degree at the University of Glasgow, where he had studied under the great Scottish engineer William Rankine. And he had worked alongside his father for the past year.

  David and Alex, therefore, had to be provided for. John wasn’t yet sure what he would—or could—do about his two younger boys. Perhaps a summer in the wilderness would be good for them. Or perhaps he would be better off finding a governess who could care for them.

  When John and the boys had drawn near the rail yards on their journey to Fairmount Park, the boys picked up the pace of their walk. They had had their fill of trains and railroad yards. And since they knew all too well that their father would have a hard time resisting one more spin around the place, they did what they could to hurry him away from it.

  “Wait a minute, boys,” John said when he realized what they were up to. “I’d like to stop off at the yards one more time.”

  “Please, Father,” David said, “you promised us the park.”

  “And I’ll keep my promise. But I would like to take a walk through the yards again.”

  “You were here on Thursday,” Alex said. “It won’t have changed.”

  “You’re probably right. But I would still be interested in taking a look.”

  “Can we wait outside, then?” Alex said.

  John took a quick look around, and seeing nothing particularly hazardous nearby, he agreed. Then he walked into the yard.

  By this time, John was well known to the various watchmen who took care of the yards during off hours. Thus the current guard, whose name was Delancey, merely nodded and waved when he saw who it was crossing the tracks.

  What John saw this time was little different from what he had seen on his previous inspections. And what he saw now, as before, he liked. The roadbeds, the tracks, and the switches were well maintained; the passenger cars looked clean and comfortable; and more importantly, when he looked underneath the cars, the brakes appeared tight and solid and the wheel bearings looked well greased.

  The brakes posed a serious problem. But this was not the fault of the Pennsylvania. The engineering of the brakes was troublesome. The brakes on each train car were operated by members of the train crew. When it was time for the train to come to a stop, the engineer would make a signal, and the crew would man the large brake wheels at the end of the car and apply the brakes. Because this took quite some time to accomplish, the current system was responsible for more than a few bad wrecks. John knew that, ideally, the entire train should be under the control of the engineer in the locomotive cab; he should be able to brake the train with no assistance from his crew. He had an idea or two about how to accomplish this. And he hoped he could put his ideas to the service of the Pennsylvania.

  At that moment, John’s meditation was shattered by loud, excited screams and the sound of feet pounding on the gravel and ties near the place where he had stationed himself. The noise turned out to be coming from Alex and David. “Father! Father! Father! Come look! Quick!” they yelled with one voice.

  “David. Alex,” he said. “Calm down and tell me quietly what you have to say.”

  “No! No! Look!”

  The two boys were pointing up at the sky in the direction of the park. Floating there was an enormous air balloon. The colorfully painted American eagles and the red, white, and blue banners lifted serenely into the air and then dropped as silently as a handkerchief falling out of its owner’s hand. There were three or four people occupying the basket that hung below the sphere of the balloon.

  John Carlysle grew excited at the sight. Even more wondrous than the railroad was the ability to sail through the sky.

  “See, Father?” Alex implored.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” John asked.

  “Do you see the people in it?” Alex asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Can we fly in it like them?” David beseeched his father.

  “Fly?” John asked, wanting to give his assent. “How is that possible?”

  “It’s the Frenchman, sir,” said another, older voice. It belonged to the watchman Delancey, who had discreetly followed the boys at a distant and had now reached the place where the Carlysles were standing.

  “Hello, Mr. Delancey, I didn’t see you,” John said. “These are my sons,” he added so as to explain the boys’ presence.

  “Pleased,” Delancey said in greeting.

  “And so you know about that balloon up there?” John asked, pointing. “You heard us talking about it?”

  “Yes, sir. I did hear you; and I do know what it’s doing there. Like I was saying, it’s that Frenchman. His name is Goddard. And he takes people up in it for rides.”

  “Can we go?” the boys both shouted.

  John thought about that for half a second. “Let’s go have a look,” he said. “I’d like to fly in that balloon.”

  As soon as the words were spoken, the two boys were dashing in the direction of Callowhill Street and the park.

  “Thanks for your information, Mr. Delancey,” John said as he was leaving the yard.

  “Glad to help,” Delancey said.

  John Carlysle changed his thoughts to the present. The excited cries of his boys had continued through his reverie.

  “And I can see Ireland,” David was saying, pointing off into the distance. He was actually staring west, toward
the hills of eastern Pennsylvania.

  “Well I can see the dome of St. Paul’s,” Alex said, not to be outdone.

  “And then I can see the Tower!” David said.

  John looked at the neat grid of streets that made up the city of Philadelphia. Most of the buildings were three or four stories high. But every few blocks or so there were the taller punctuations of churches, with the exclamation marks of their spires.

  “We must now descend,” Goddard said, staring pointedly at the large, gold watch he had removed from his pocket.

  “So soon?” John asked. He was enjoying himself immensely and did not want to stop.

  “I’m afraid it is time.” As he said this, he signaled to a colleague on the ground who proceeded to reel in the line that tethered the balloon to the ground.

  “I’d like to fly again,” John said. “Do you take passengers on longer flights?”

  “Not often,” said the Frenchman. “But I could perhaps do that.”

  “How far was your longest flight?” Alex asked.

  “How far?” Goddard repeated. “Oh, I don’t know how far. Perhaps a hundred miles? Perhaps more.”

  “How long did that take?” Alex asked.

  “Seven hours. Eight hours,” the Frenchman said.

  “Eight hours? But that is incredibly slowl” Alex said, finding that hard to believe in this age of fast trains.

  “I am at the mercy of the winds,” Goddard apologized. “And yet in the air I am free,” he added poetically.

  “But trains are faster.”

  “Someday,” Goddard said, “there will be an engine made small enough to propel balloons through the sky. And then we will see whether your trains are faster.”

  John was about to counter this silly idea when David’s voice interrupted, ending the discussion.

  “Look!” he called out. “Down there! A horse race!” His hand pointed to a racecourse that John had not previously seen. Two gorgeous animals were galloping like the wind down the straightaway. As they approached the turn, the balloon’s descent brought the passengers below the brow of a hill, concealing the race’s outcome.

  And then the balloon touched down.

  The Fairmount Park Pleasure Ground Association’s Sunday afternoon race meeting was almost over. Only the final race remained to be run, a match race between Mr. William Patterson’s roan stallion Berber and a bay gelding called Emerald, which belonged to Mr. Otis Todd of Frederick, Maryland. Emerald had handily taken all challengers in Maryland. And Berber had not lost in eastern Pennsylvania. So the race promised to be a great one.

  Patterson’s specially invited guests for this race were Daniel Drew and Cornelius Vanderbilt, both of New York City. William Astor had also been invited, but he had pleaded religious obligations and was unable to attend.

  Patterson, Drew, and Vanderbilt occupied a table, one of several that had been placed on the association’s outdoor veranda. This wide and spacious porch was attached to the second floor of the association’s clubhouse, which overlooked the racetrack. The view of the track was spectacular. Each of the three men held whiskey glasses, and there was a three-quarters full decanter in the table’s center.

  Drew and Vanderbilt, who were business friends, had hit it off famously with Patterson during the dinner the night before, talking, laughing, and trading tales and gossip. And the high spirits of the night before had continued on into their gathering here at the racecourse.

  This pleased William Patterson more than a little, for he was unusually uneasy before and during his meetings with Vanderbilt and Drew. If these discussions succeeded as he planned and hoped then he would be able to use part of their great wealth to save not only the railroad, but his own fortune as well. If the conversation did not go well, however, Patterson would be ruined.

  William Patterson was a tall, well-built man, handsome in a vacant sort of way. Quick to smile, quick with an amusing word or anecdote, he was well liked by his peers in the Philadelphia “aristocracy.” But he was more than a little over his head, many felt, in his role as president of the Pennsylvania Railroad.

  Daniel Drew was clearly an aristocrat. He was short and ugly, with a very limited education and an outrageously coarse tongue. And he was not famous for honesty. Years earlier, he had gotten his start in upstate New York as a cattle drover. By feeding large doses of salt to his stock just before selling them. Drew forced the cattle to drink great quantities of water, driving up their weight and, consequently, Drew’s income from their sale. After this practice of Drew’s became well known, a new term found its way into the language: watered stock.

  Though in subsequent years Drew had changed his profession from drover to financier, he had changed his business practices little. If the opportunity presented itself, he still sold watered stock. But the watered stock he sold nowadays was not cattle but shares in corporations. He had even conspired to cheat his friend Vanderbilt on more than one occasion, yet—somewhat inexplicably—this did not seem to have harmed their friendship. Indeed Vanderbilt had continued to deal with Drew as though nothing had happened, most likely because Drew had never actually succeeded in his attempts at cheating Vanderbilt; thus Vanderbilt probably believed he was impervious to the machinations of his friend.

  Yet, for all his deviousness, Daniel Drew remained a wealthy man who liked to invest in struggling enterprises like railroads and Nicaraguan canals. And because of this, he was courted by men like William Patterson who needed investment capital.

  Also in his favor was his friendship with Cornelius Vanderbilt. Vanderbilt was a tough, hard man, often mean and niggardly. But he was a man of considerable personal integrity. And he was, according to his own lights, honest; he was always true to his own star. Vanderbilt and Drew could together be trusted, or so it was thought by those who had authorized William Patterson to approach them. The plan was to try to tap their considerable wealth to fund the final push of the Pennsylvania Railroad over the mountains.

  Cornelius Vanderbilt was the most interesting of the three men. He was over six feet two inches tall, with a rugged, lined, handsome face. And he was as powerful as he was large. Some years earlier he had knocked unconscious the heavyweight boxing champion of New York City, who thought he could tangle with Vanderbilt in a street brawl. Though he was older now, and somewhat less pugnacious, Vanderbilt was still a man of extraordinary vitality and verve. He made an impact like the onrush of a cavalry charge upon both friends and enemies. He was also a famous admirer of fine horseflesh, though he preferred trotters to Thoroughbreds.

  Vanderbilt had examined each of the two horses involved in today’s match race, and he privately believed that Mr. Patterson’s was the better animal. He had backed this judgment by making a wager of $100 on Berber with Daniel Drew.

  William Patterson was, of course, delighted to have Vanderbilt’s support. But that did not calm his worries. And the fact that he was troubled became apparent to Vanderbilt after a while. Vanderbilt’s acute sensitivity partly explained his enormous success with people and in business. So, as the horses were led out onto the track, he wondered about the clamminess of Patterson’s palm and brow. He broke into the laughter at moments when laughter was not expected. What was this man Patterson afraid of? he asked himself. And how can I use it?

  The horses were now approaching the starting line, and the crowd of people who stood beside the rail was growing noisier.

  The trumpet sounded, and then the crowd grew quiet.

  Patterson, Vanderbilt, and Drew rose from their chairs and went to stand next to the rail overlooking the racecourse.

  “They’re off!” Cornelius Vanderbilt cried out.

  “Come on, Berber!” Patterson yelled. “Win going away!”

  “Never!” Daniel Drew yelled in retaliation. “On Emerald! Beat the bastard!”

  The racecourse was a half mile in length; in this race the horses would run around it three times. Todd’s horse, Emeraid, had the better start. And by the first tum, he was three lengths
ahead of Berber.

  Patterson was clearly uneasy. As the other horse’s lead increased to four lengths, his disquiet increased. And the amount of his chatter increased with it.

  “Do you see that? Do you see that?” he asked Vanderbilt and Drew. “No. No. Fletcher is not using the whip. That damned fool idiot. I should never have hired that jockey, Fletcher.”

  Cornelius Vanderbilt had also noted that Fletcher was not using his whip. But he was not at all disturbed by this. He thought the jockey was smart in conserving his horse’s energy.

  The horses were now approaching the far turn, and Fletcher was still letting his horse run loose and free.

  “Do you see? Now! Use it! Use it!” Patterson screamed. “Did I tell you what I paid for that glorious piece of horseflesh?” he said to his companions and then sighed. “Did I tell you what I paid for that animal my jockey is destroying?”

  “Yes, you did,” Daniel Drew said under his breath. “Ten times.”

  But Patterson ignored the remark and went on, delirious with anxiety. For by the end of the far turn, his horse had dropped behind Emerald by six lengths. “I paid five thousand dollars for that horse. And it was worth every penny. He has won every race I’ve entered him in; and he’s already sired three fine foals. And now!”

  “Worth every penny,” Drew said. There was sarcasm in his voice, but Patterson either didn’t notice or else didn’t pay attention to it.

  When the horses passed the clubhouse veranda, Vanderbilt took a close look at both of them. Emerald was straining, he noticed; but Berber was moving smoothly and easily. He smiled, then leaned over close to Daniel Drew and whispered in his ear. “I’m going to win, Dan’l. I’m sure of it.”

  “You’re mad, my friend,” Drew answered. “And you know it.”

  Vanderbilt laughed. Then he twisted around and lifted his glass from the table and took a long sip.

  Patterson, meanwhile, was urging his horse ahead with his hands. “Faster! Faster! Faster!” he screamed. “Hit him, Fletcher, you bastard. Whip him!”