The Trainmasters (8 page)

Earlier that day, John had asked the hotel to pack a basket lunch for himself, David, and Alex, so that the three of them
could take a Sunday afternoon picnic and ramble in Fair-mount Park.

John had chosen a route to the park that took them north on Broad Street as far as Callowhill Street. This way they passed
the huge Baldwin locomotive plant on Broad and Callowhill and the rail yards the Pennsylvania had built next to it. It was
no accident that John chose to go that route.

He had in fact grown familiar with the journey from Sturdivant’s Hotel to the locomotive works and the train yards during
the two weeks that he and the boys had spent in Philadelphia. He had come out to the yards three or four times after working
hours and quietly walked around, making an informal inspection of the facilities and equipment there.

Before John had arrived in Philadelphia, Sir Charles Elliot had prepared the line’s executives for his coming. Because of
that, John knew he would have a position with the railroad. But he did not know whether the line’s officials would welcome
him. They could resent Sir Charles for using his influence, thinking it was interference. Nor in fact did he know what work
they would give him.

John was a careful man. He did not like to leave two such large unknowns out of his control. So he had delayed his initial
meeting with Mr. Edgar Thomson, the man who would be his immediate superior, in order to give himself time to learn all he
could about the line, about its competition, and about American railroading in general. In this way he hoped to go to the
meeting with knowledge that would prove to Thomson that he was not an intruding outsider but a competent railroad man who
was as familiar with American as he was with British railroading.

On the strength of his thousand shares of Pennsylvania stock, he had sought and was granted interviews with a number of high-ranking
bankers, businessmen, and government officials who were not connected with the railroad. From these conversations as well
as from his own personal observations, he was able to put together an informative assessment of the Pennsylvania Railroad.

What he concluded verified what Sir Charles had already told him: The Pennsylvania was indeed the best-run railroad in the
country. As soon as the main line was completed over the Alleghenies, it would carry a large portion of the passengers and
freight between the eastern seaboard and the western interior, and it would earn a substantial profit.

But the very quality of the line’s operation had caused it to capture more than its share of attention from its rivals. The
other railways spreading west to the north and south of it were worried by the overwhelming competition the Pennsylvania system
would pose.

And the other sellers of long distance transport—the teamsters with their great Conestoga wagons, and the canal operators,
whose canals had only recently been dug at great expense—were howling ever more loudly. They feared the railroad would render
their livelihood dated. The teamsters and the canal operators were a rough lot who were not used to surrendering when their
incomes were threatened. They would not take the arrival of the railroad quietly.

And then there were the various financial wolves and jackals, the predatory capitalists who played such an important part
in American business. They had been known to destroy more than one fledgling enterprise in order to gain immediate profits.

The intelligence that John gleaned from his two weeks of investigations did not indicate which of these forces would attack
the railroad, or how the attack might be made. But there was little doubt that something would happen. Young America was a
raw and violent land. Many men who called themselves businessmen were not gentlemen but bandits and desperadoes. Rivalries
were often settled by direct force and violence rather than overt competition in the marketplace.

Thus the upcoming period in the railroad’s existence would probably prove to be its most vulnerable time, for, although the
line appeared to be as well financed as Sir Charles had indicated, cash was needed nevertheless, and investment capital in
this fast growing young nation was limited. What all this information would mean for him in the coming months, John had no
idea. But he knew that the officers and managers of the Pennsylvania would have to be ready for a number of eventualities
ranging from financial chicanery to sabotage and physical attacks. If John was going to play the kind of part in the completion
of the line that both he and Sir Charles had envisioned for him, he would have to be prepared.

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.