The Trainmasters (24 page)

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.”

“I won’t pursue it,” John said, “until after I’ve looked over the site of the accident. And I want to spend some time studying
this”—he held up the volume containing the report on the cave system—”before we reach Tyrone.”

Thomson was more intrigued by this hunch of John’s than he let on, but he decided then to leave it to John to follow up on
it.

They reached Tyrone shortly before eight. Since they had telegraphed ahead, horses were waiting to carry them the fifteen
miles from Tyrone and Gallitzin.

Though they passed through lovely, wild, and rugged country, it was a cold, wet, and dismal ride, for the rains that had started
the night before had continued. And they showed no sign of letting up. The two men hardly spoke to one another from the time
they mounted their horses until the moment they reached the camp.

As they climbed higher up the ridge, they found themselves first in mist and then in dense fog. But they pressed on as hard
as they could safely drive their horses in such weather. They arrived at the camp before late afternoon.

They left the horses at the camp’s stable and walked immediately the final three hundred yards to the tunnel shaft.

Thomson, however, did not want to descend instantly into the tunnel. He wanted beforehand the verbal reports of the various
engineers and foremen involved with the rescue attempt. He also wanted John Carlysle to start getting himself acquainted with
some of the men whom he would be supervising shortly.

The engineers and foremen were called together in a large, tin-roofed open space adjoining the shaft—it was actually the place
where the men lined up before descending in the cage—and Thomson called out the roll, introducing each man to John as he read
out the names.

Not all the men Thomson wanted to see made it to this meeting. A couple of them were working down in the tunnel. And a couple
of others were not at the site for one reason or another. But Francis Stockton, the one man Edgar Thomson wanted to talk to
most of all, was neither in the tunnel nor off the site on business. He simply did not respond to the call that had brought
all the other engineers and supervisors together.