Munroe Kirk
Cab and Caboose: The Story of a Railroad Boy
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE ONLY CHANCE OF SAVING THE SPECIAL
So well did Truman Stump and his young fireman understand each other, that, as locomotive number 10 sprang away on her race after the special, there was no necessity for words between them. Only after Rod had done everything in his power to ensure a full head of steam and paused for a moment’s breathing-spell, did he step up behind the engineman and ask, “What is it, True?”
“Minkskill bridge gone! We are trying to catch the special,” answered the driver, briefly, without turning his head. It was enough; and Rod instantly comprehended the situation. There was a choking sensation in his throat, as he remembered the face disclosed by the lightning a few moments before, and realized the awful danger that now threatened the sunny-haired girl who had been his playmate, and was still his friend. With a desperate energy he flung open the furnace-door, and toiled to feed the roaring flames behind it. They almost licked his face in their mad leapings, as their scorching breath mingled with his. He was bathed in perspiration; and, when the front windows of the cab were forced open by the fierce pressure of the gale, he welcomed the cold blast and hissing rain that swept through it.
Number 10 had now attained a fearful speed, and rocked so violently from side to side that its occupants were obliged to brace themselves and cling to the solid framework. It was a miracle that she kept the track. At each curve, and there were many of them on this section, Rod held his breath, fully expecting the mighty mass of iron to leap from the rails and plunge headlong into the yawning blackness. But she clung to them, and the steady hand at the throttle opened it wider, and still a little wider, until the handle had passed any limit that even the old engineman had ever seen. Still the young fireman, with set teeth and nerves like steel, watched the dial on the steam-gauge, and flung coal to the raging flames behind the glowing furnace-door.
Mile after mile was passed in half the same number of minutes, and outside objects were whirled backward in one continuous, undistinguishable blur. The limb of a tree, flung to the track by the mighty wind, was caught up by the pilot and dashed against the head-light, instantly extinguishing it. So they rushed blindly on, through a blackness intensified by gleams of electric light, that every now and then ran like fiery serpents along the rails, or bathed the flying engine with its pallid flames.
They were not more than two miles from the deadly bridge when they first saw the red lights on the rear of the special. The engineman’s hand clutched the whistle lever; and, high above the shriek of the storm, sounded the quick, sharp blasts of the danger signal. A moment later they swept past a glare of red fire blazing beside the track. The enginemen of the special had not understood their signal, and had thrown out a fusee to warn them of his presence immediately in front of them.
“I’ll have to set you aboard, Rod,” shouted Truman Stump, and the young fireman knew what he meant. He did not answer; but crawling through the broken window and along the reeling foot-board, using his strength and agility as he had never used them before, the boy made his way to the pilot of the locomotive. Crouching there, and clinging to its slippery braces, he made ready for the desperate spring that should save or lose everything.
Foot by foot, in reality very quickly, but seemingly at a laggard pace, he was borne closer and closer to the red lights, until they shone full in his face. Then, with all his energies concentrated into one mighty effort, he launched himself forward, and caught, with outstretched hands, the iron railing of the platform on which were the lights. Drawing himself up on it, he dashed into the astonished group standing in the glass-surrounded observation-room, that occupied the rear of the car, crying:
“Stop the train! Stop it for your lives!”
“HE LAUNCHED HIMSELF FORWARD.”—(PAGE 240.)
Prompt obedience to orders, without pausing to question them, comes so naturally to a railroad man, that President Vanderveer himself now obeyed this grimy-faced young fireman as readily as though their positions had been reversed. With a quick movement he touched a button at one side of the car, and instantly a clear-voiced electric bell, in the cab of the locomotive that was dragging his train toward destruction, rang out an imperative call for brakes. The engineman’s right hand sought the little brass “air” lever as he heard the sound. With his left he shut off steam. Ten seconds later the special stood motionless, with its pilot pointing out over the Minkskill bridge.
President Vanderveer had not recognized the panting, coal-begrimed, oil-stained young fireman who had so mysteriously boarded his car while it was running at full speed; but Eltje knew his voice. Now, as her father turned from the electric button to demand an explanation, he saw the girl seize the stranger’s hand. “It’s Rod, father! It’s Rodman Blake!” she cried.
“So it is!” exclaimed the President, grasping the lad’s other hand, and scanning him closely. “But what is the matter, Rodman? How came you here? Why have you stopped us, and what is the meaning of this disguise?”
A few words served to explain the situation.
Then the President, with Rod and the conductor of the special, left the car, lanterns in hand, to go ahead and discover how far they were from the treacherous bridge. As they reached the ground they were joined by Truman Stump, who had slowed the terrific speed of his locomotive at the moment of his fireman’s leap from its pilot, and brought it to a standstill close behind the special. In a voice trembling with emotion the old engineman said:
“It was the finest thing I’ve seen done in thirty years of running, Rod, and I thank God for your nerve.”
A minute later, when President Vanderveer realized the full extent of the threatened danger, and the narrowness of their escape, he again held the young fireman’s hand, as he said:
“And I thank God, Rodman, not only for your nerve, but that he permitted you to be on time. A few seconds later and our run on this line would have been ended forever.”
After a short consultation it was decided that the special should remain where it was, while locomotive number 10 should run back to the station, where its train still waited, bearing a message to be telegraphed to the nearest gang of bridge carpenters.
How different was that backward ride from the mad, breathless race, with all its dreadful uncertainties, that Truman Stump and Rod Blake had just made over the same track. How silent they had been then, and how they talked now. How cheerily their whistle sounded as they approached the station! How lustily Rod pulled at the bell-rope, that the glad tidings of number 10’s glorious run might the sooner be guessed by the anxious watchers, who awaited their coming. What an eager throng gathered round the old locomotive as it rolled proudly up to the station. It almost seemed conscious of having performed a splendid deed. Long afterwards, in cab and caboose, or wherever the men of the N. Y. and W. road gathered, all fast time was compared with the great run made by number 10 on that memorable night.
The storm had passed and the moon was shining when the station was reached. Already men were at work repairing the telegraph line, and an hour later a bridge gang, with a train of timber-laden flats, was on its way to the Minkskill bridge. Number 10 drew this train, and Rod was delighted to have this opportunity to learn something of bridge building. He was glad, too, to escape from the praises of the railroad men; for Truman Stump insisted on telling the story of his young fireman’s brave deed to each new crew as it reached the station, and they were equally determined to make a hero of him.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
INDEPENDENCE OR PRIDE
Smiler, the railroad dog, appeared on the scene with the bridge gang, though no one knew where he came from; and, quickly discovering Rod, he followed him into the cab of locomotive number 10. Here he took possession of the cushion on the fireman’s side of the cab, and sat on it with a wise expression on his honest face, that said as plainly as words: “This is an important bit of work, and it is clearly my duty to superintend it.” Rod was delighted to have this opportunity of introducing the dear dog to Eltje, and they became friends immediately. As for the President, Smiler not only condescended to recognize him, but treated him with quite as much cordiality as though he had been a fireman or a brakeman on a through freight.
Rod got a few hours’ sleep that night after all, and in the morning he and Engineman Stump accepted an invitation to take breakfast with President Vanderveer, his daughter, and Smiler, in the President’s private car. This car had just returned from the extended western trip on which it had started two months before, when Rod was seeking employment on the road. As neither Eltje nor her father had heard a word concerning him in all that time, they now plied him with questions. When he finished his story Eltje exclaimed:
“I think it is perfectly splendid, Rod, and if I were only a boy I would do just as you have done! Wouldn’t you, papa?”
“I am not quite sure that I would, my dear,” answered her father, with a smile. “While I heartily approve of a boy who wishes to become a railroad man, beginning at the very bottom of the ladder and working his way up, I cannot approve of his leaving his home with the slightest suspicion of a stain resting on his honor if he can possibly help it. Don’t you think, Rodman,” he added kindly, turning to the lad, “that the more manly course would have been to have stayed in Euston until you had solved the problem of who really did disable your cousin’s bicycle?”
“I don’t know but what it would,” replied the young man, thoughtfully; “but it would have been an awfully hard thing to do.”
“Yes, I know it would. It would have been much harder than going hungry or fighting tramps or capturing express robbers; still it seems to me that it would have been more honorable.”
“But Uncle turned me out of the house.”
“Did he order you to leave that very night, or did he ask you to make arrangements to do so at some future time, and promise to provide for you when you did go?”
“I believe he did say something of that kind,” replied Rod, hesitatingly.
“Do you believe he would have said even that the next morning!”
“Perhaps not, sir.”
“You know he wouldn’t, Rodman. You know, as well as I do, that Major Appleby says a great many things on the impulse of the moment that he sincerely regrets upon reflection. He told me himself the morning I left Euston how badly he felt that you should have taken his hasty words so literally. He said that he should do everything in his power to cause you to forget them the moment you returned, as he hoped you would in a day or two. He gave Snyder instructions to use every effort to discover you in the city, where it was supposed you had gone, and provided him liberally with money to be expended in searching for you. I am surprised that Snyder has not found you out before this, especially as you are both in the employ of the same company. Didn’t you know that he was private secretary to our superintendent?”
“Yes, sir; I did,” replied Rod, “and–” He was about to add, “And he knows where I am”; but obeying a more generous impulse, he changed it to “and I have taken pains to avoid him.”
“I am sorry for that,” said the President; “for if he had only met you and delivered your uncle’s message you would have been reconciled to that most impetuous but most kindly-hearted of gentlemen long ago. Now, however, you will go home with us and have a full explanation with him, will you not?”
“I think not, sir,” replied Rod, with a smile. “In the first place, I can’t leave Mr. Stump, here, to run number 10 without a fireman, and in the second I would a great deal rather wait until I hear directly from my uncle that he wants me. Besides, I don’t want to give up being a railroad man; for, after the experience I have gained, I am more determined than ever to be one.”
“It would be a great pity, sir, to have so promising a young railroader lost to the business,” said Truman Stump, earnestly, “and I do hope you won’t think of taking him from us.”
“I should think, papa, that you would be glad to have anybody on the road who can do such splendid things as Rod can,” said Eltje, warmly. “I’m sure if I were president, I’d promote him at once, and make him conductor, or master of something, instead of trying to get rid of him. Why, it’s a perfect shame!”
“I’ve no doubt, dear, that if you were president, the road would be managed just as it should be. As you are not, and I am, I beg leave to say that I have no intention of letting Rodman leave our employ, now that he has got into it, and proved himself such a valuable railroad man. He sha’n’t go, even if I have to make him ‘master of something,’ as you suggest, in order to retain his services. All that I want him to do is to visit Euston and become reconciled to his uncle. I am certain the dear old gentleman has forgotten by this time that he ever spoke an unkind word to his nephew, and is deeply grieved that he does not return to him. However, so long as Rodman’s pride will not permit him to make the first advances towards a reconciliation, I will do my best to act as mediator between them. Then I shall expect our young fireman to appear in Euston as quickly as possible after receiving Major Appleby’s invitation, even if he has to leave his beloved number 10 for a time to do so.”
“All right, sir, I will,” laughed Rod, “and I thank you ever so much for taking such an interest in me and my affairs.”
“My dear boy,” replied the President, earnestly, “you need never thank me for anything I may do for you. I shall not do more than you deserve; and no matter what I may do, it can never cancel the obligation under which you and Truman Stump placed me last night.”
“It looks as though you and I were pretty solid on this road, doesn’t it, Rod?” remarked the engineman, after the bridge had been repaired, and they were once more seated in the cab of locomotive number 10, which was again on its way toward the city.
“It does so,” replied the young fireman.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
A MORAL VICTORY
The special was the first train to cross the Minkskill bridge after it was repaired and pronounced safe, and as it was followed by all the delayed passenger trains, the through freight did not pull out for more than an hour later. As the special moved at the rate of nearly three miles to the freight’s one, and as it made but one stop, which was at Euston, where Eltje was left, President Vanderveer reached the terminus of the road in the evening; while Rod Blake did not get there until the following morning.
After devoting some time to the discussion of important business matters with Superintendent Hill, the President suddenly asked: “By the way, Hill, do you happen to have a personal acquaintance with a young fireman in our employ named Rodman Blake?”
“Yes, indeed I have,” replied the Superintendent, and he related the incidents connected with the first meeting between himself and Rod. He also told of the imputation cast upon the lad’s character by his private secretary. “In regard to this,” he said, “I have been awaiting your return, before taking any action, because my secretary came to me with your recommendation. After Brown finished with the matter of the freight thieves, I sent him to Euston to make a thorough investigation of this charge against young Blake, and here is his report.”
President Vanderveer read the report carefully, and without comment, to the end; but a pained expression gradually settled on his face. As he handed it back, he said, “So Brown thinks Appleby did it himself?”
“He has not a doubt of it,” replied Mr. Hill.
“Well,” said the President, “I am deeply grieved and disappointed; but justice is justice, and the innocent must not be allowed to suffer for the guilty, if it can be helped. I am going to Euston to-night, and I wish that, without mentioning this affair to him, you would send Appleby out there to see me in the morning.”
“Very well, sir,” replied the Superintendent, and then they talked of other matters.
In the meantime, during the long run in from the Minkskill bridge, Rod had plenty of time to think over his recent interview with President Vanderveer. He recalled all the kindness shown him by his uncle, and realized now, what he had not allowed himself even to suspect before, that a selfish pride had been the motive of his whole course of action, ever since that unfortunate bicycle race. Pride had driven him from his uncle’s house. Pride had restrained him from letting that uncle know where he was, or what he was doing. Even now, though he knew that his dear mother’s only brother was willing and anxious to receive him again, pride forbade him to go to him. Should he continue to be the slave of pride, and submit to its dictates? or should he boldly throw off its yoke and declare himself free and independent? “Yes, I will,” he said aloud; “I won’t give in to it any longer.”
“Will what, and won’t what?” asked the engineman, whose curiosity was aroused by these words. Then Rod told him of the struggle that had been going on in his mind, and of the decision he had just reached. When he finished, the other exclaimed: “Right, you are, lad! and True Stump thinks more of you for expressing those sentiments than he did when he saw you board the special last night, and that is saying a good deal. To fight with one’s own pride and whip it, is a blamed sight harder thing to do than anything else that I know of in this world.”
They had already passed Euston, and Rod could not have left his post of duty then, even if they had not; but he determined to return on the very first train from the city, and seek a complete reconciliation with his uncle.
The day express had already left when the freight got in, and so he was obliged to wait for an excursion train that was to go out an hour later. It was made up of several coaches and a baggage car; but Rod did not care to ride in any of these. He already felt more at home on the locomotive than on any other part of the train, and so he swung himself into the cab, where he was cordially welcomed by the engineman and his assistant. They were glad of the chance to learn from him all the particulars of what had happened up the road during the great storm, and plied him with questions.
In spite of their friendliness, and of his recent resolution, Rod could not help feeling some uneasiness at the sight of Snyder Appleby sauntering down the platform and stepping aboard the train just as it started. He hoped his adopted cousin was not going to Euston. That is just where Snyder was going, though; and, having missed the express which he had been ordered to take, by his failure to be on time for it, he was obliged to proceed by the “excursion extra.” He was feeling particularly self-important that morning, in consequence of having been sent for on business by the President, and he sauntered through the train with an offensive air of proprietorship and authority. Not choosing to remain in one of the ordinary coaches, with ordinary excursionists, he walked into the empty baggage car, and stood looking through the window in its forward door. The moment he spied Rod, comfortably seated in the cab of the locomotive, all his old feeling of jealousy was aroused. He had applied to the engineman for permission to ride there a few minutes before Rod appeared, and it had been refused. Now to see the person whom he had most deeply injured, and consequently most thoroughly disliked, riding where he could not, was particularly galling to his pride.
During the first stop made by the train, he walked to the locomotive, and, in a most disagreeable tone, asked Rod if he had a written order permitting him to ride there.
“I have not,” answered the young fireman.
“Then I shall consider it my duty to report both you and the engineman, for a violation of rule 116, which provides that no person, except those employed upon it, shall be permitted to ride on a locomotive without a written order from the proper authority,” said Snyder, as he turned away.
This unwarranted assumption of authority made Rod furious; and, as he looked back and saw Snyder regarding him from the baggage car, he longed for an opportunity of giving the young man a piece of his mind. His feelings were fully shared by the other occupants of the cab. While they were still discussing the incident, the train plunged into a tunnel, just east of the Euston grade. Here, before it quite reached the other end, it became involved in one of the most curious and startling accidents known in the history of railroads.
