Munroe Kirk
Cab and Caboose: The Story of a Railroad Boy
CHAPTER XVII.
ROD AS A BRAKEMAN
In the meantime Rod, who was happily ignorant of this conversation, had been warmly welcomed in caboose number 18. There Conductor Tobin and the two brakemen listened with intense interest to all he had to tell them of his recent experiences. They in turn informed him of Brakeman Joe’s condition, and of how the torpedoes had saved him from being run over by the night express.
He found his M. I. P. bag in the caboose where Conductor Tobin had been keeping it until he should hear from him. The conductor also handed Rod a ten dollar bill, that had been left for him by the brother of Juniper’s owner, as a reward for his gallant struggle with the terrified horse in the closed car, and the subsequent care of him.
Feeling very rich and independent with this amount of money, of his own earning, at his disposal, Rod at once bought for himself a blue checkered shirt and pair of overalls, a cap, a pair of buckskin gloves with which to handle brake wheels, one of the great tin lunch-pails such as railroad men carry, and a blanket. Thus equipped he felt he was ready for any emergency. To these purchases he added a supply of provisions, and a basket of fruit that he intended to leave for Brakeman Joe when they should pass the station at which he was.
The train that they were ordered to take came along shortly before sunset. When it again pulled out, drawing caboose number 18, and with Rod Blake, brake-stick in hand, standing on the “deck” of one of its rear cars, there was no happier nor prouder lad than he in the country. How he did enjoy the novelty of that first ride on top of a freight train, and what a fine thing it seemed, to be really a railroad man. The night was clear and cold; but the exercise of setting up brakes on down grades, and throwing them off for up grades or level stretches, kept him in a glow of warmth. Then how bright and cosy the interior of the caboose, that was now his home, seemed during the occasional visits that he paid it.
Before the night grew dark, Conductor Tobin showed him how to place the two red lanterns on its rear platform, and the lights that showed red behind, green in front, and green at the side, on its upper rear corners. Then he was asked to make a fire in the little round stove, and prepare a huge pot of coffee for the train crew to drink during the night. When there was nothing else to do he might sit up in the cupola, on the side opposite to that occupied by Conductor Tobin; but on this first night he preferred taking his own lantern, and going out on “deck,” as the top of the cars is called. Here he was too far from the locomotive to be annoyed by its smoke or cinders, and he loved to feel the cool night air rushing past him. He enjoyed rumbling through the depths of dark forests, and rattling over bridges or long trestles. It was strange to roll heavily through sleeping towns, where the only signs of life were the bright lights of the stations, and the twinkling red, green or white semaphore lights at the switches.
Some of the time he amused himself by holding his watch in hand, and counting the clicks of the car wheels over the rail joints; for he remembered having read that the number of rails passed in twenty seconds is almost exactly the number of miles run by a train in an hour. If it had been day time he might also have noted the number of telegraph poles passed in a minute, and calculated the speed of the train, by allowing thirty-five poles to the mile.
All this time, however, he was under orders to keep a watch on the movements of the brakemen ahead of him, and to set up, or throw off, brakes on at least two of the six cars under his charge, whenever he noticed them doing so. He was surprised to learn that it was by no means necessary to put on all the brakes of a train to check its speed, or even to stop it, and that the application of those on a third, or even a quarter of its cars answered every purpose. He also soon learned to jump quickly whenever brakes were called for by a single short whistle blast from the locomotive, and to throw them off at the order of the two short blasts that called for brakes to be loosened. At first he thought it curious that the other brakemen should run along the tops of the cars, and wondered why they were always in such a hurry. He soon discovered though that it was much easier to keep his footing running than walking, and safer to jump from car to car than to step deliberately across the open spaces between them.
Once, during the night, when he and Conductor Tobin were seated in the caboose eating their midnight lunch, the latter began to sniff the air suspiciously, and even to Rod’s unaccustomed nostrils, there came a most unpleasant smell. “Hot box!” said Conductor Tobin, and the next time they stopped, they found the packing in an iron box at the end of an axle, under one of the cars, blazing at a furious rate. The journals, or bearings, in which the axle turned, had become dry and so heated by friction as to set the oil-soaked cotton waste, or packing, with which the box was filled, on fire. The job of cooling the box with buckets of water, and repacking it with waste, and thick, black, evil-smelling oil was a dirty and disagreeable one, as Rod quickly learned from experience. He also realized from what he saw, that if it were not done in time, the car itself might be set on fire, or the axle broken off.
These, and many other valuable lessons in railroading, did Rod Blake learn that night; and when in the gray dawn, the train pulled into the home yard, with its run completed, he was wiser, more sleepy and tired, than he had ever been before in all his life.
CHAPTER XVIII.
WORKING FOR A PROMOTION
For several weeks Rod Blake continued to lead the life of a brakeman on Conductor Tobin’s train. Although it was a very humble position, and though the life was one of constant danger and hard work, he thoroughly enjoyed it. Blessed with youth, health and a perfect physical condition, he even found pleasure in the stormy nights, when the running boards that formed his pathway over the roofs of the swaying cars were slippery with sleet, and fierce winds tried their best to hurl him from them. He experienced a wild joy in battling with, and conquering, gales that forced him to crawl along the storm-swept “deck” on hands and knees, clinging tightly to the running boards, often with lantern extinguished, and making the passage from car to car through pitchy darkness. On such nights how warm and cheerful was the interior of the caboose, when at rare intervals he found a chance to pay it dripping visits! How welcome were the cups of hot coffee from the steaming pot on the glowing stove, and how the appreciation of all its comforts was intensified by the wildness of the outside night!
By his unfailing cheerfulness of disposition, his promptness to answer any call, and on account of his splendid athletic training, the lad rapidly extended his circle of friendships, until there was not a trainman on the division but had a word of greeting, or a friendly wave of the hand for him, as they met at stations or were whirled past each other on the road. During the leisure “lay-off” hours at either end of the run, he gave them boxing lessons in the caboose. These proved so popular as entertainments that on such occasions the car was always crowded with eager pupils and enthusiastic spectators. In fact, before he had been a month on the road, Rod Blake had attained a popularity among the rough, but honest and manly, fellows who shared his labors, only approached by that of Smiler himself. With this wise animal he was also such a prime favorite that the dog was now more frequently to be seen on his train than on any other.
After working as rear brakeman, under Conductor Tobin’s especial care, long enough to become thoroughly acquainted with his duties, Rod was, at his own request, transferred to the forward end of the train. Here he had charge of the six or eight cars immediately following the locomotive. This was not nearly so pleasant a position as that at the rear end; for now, while running, he seldom had a chance to visit the caboose, and when on duty he was directly in the path of the very worst of the smoke and cinders. Then too the work here was harder than anywhere else on the train; for, in addition to his regular duties as brakeman, he was expected to assist the fireman at water stations, and by shovelling coal down from the rear end of the tender so that it was more easily within his reach. It was for this very reason though that Rod sought the place. He did not wish to remain a brakeman very long, nor even to become a conductor; but he did want to learn how to run a locomotive, and looked forward with longing anticipation to the day when he might fill the proud position of engineman. So he shovelled coal with a hearty good-will, and seized every opportunity for riding on the locomotive, and carefully watched the movements of the men who managed it. Sometimes he asked questions, but not often; when he did they were of such a nature that the answers were of practical value to him.
From many years of riding in a locomotive cab, where, with the constant rattle and roar, conversation is very difficult, the engineman, Truman Stump, had become a most reticent man, who rarely spoke unless it was necessary. He had thus gained the reputation of being ill-tempered and morose, which was exactly what he was not. Everybody admitted, though, that he was a first-class engine-driver, and one who could always be relied upon to do exactly the thing in an emergency.
This man took a liking to the bright-faced young brakeman from the very first; and, when Rod began to appear in his cab, he watched him with a real, but concealed interest. One day when it was announced that Milt Sturgis, the fireman, was about to be promoted and get his engine, everybody wondered who would take his place, and how a new man would get along with old True Stump. Another bit of news received on the train at the the same time, was that Brakeman Joe had fully recovered from his injuries, and was ready to resume his place. While Rod was glad, for Joe’s sake, that he was well enough to come back, he could not help feeling some anxiety on his own account, now that he would no longer be needed as brakeman. This anxiety was unexpectedly relieved by the engineman; who, while standing beside him at a water station, turned and said:
“Joe’s coming back.”
“Yes; to-morrow.”
“Milt’s going to leave.”
“So I hear.”
“How would you like to fire for me in his place?”
“I,” exclaimed Rod in astonishment. “Why, I should like it very much if you think I know enough for the job.”
“All right, I’ll fix it.”
CHAPTER XIX.
THE EXPRESS SPECIAL
Nothing further was said at the time concerning Rod’s most cherished scheme and as Brakeman Joe reported for duty that very day Rod was at a loss to know what he should do next. He doubted if Truman Stump could command sufficient influence to secure his appointment as fireman before he had undergone a preliminary training as wiper and hostler in the round-house, though he felt that he already possessed experience as valuable as any to be gained in those positions. Still it was a rule that firemen should be taken from the round-house and Rod knew by this time that railroad rules are rarely broken.
Of course he could not retain Joe’s position now that the latter had returned to it, and he would not if he could. No indeed! Joe’s face still pale from his long confinement was too radiant with happiness at once more getting back among his old friends and associations for Rod to dim it by the faintest suggestion that the honest fellow’s return to duty was likely to throw him out of a job. So he congratulated Joe upon his recovery, as heartily as any one, and retold the story of his plucky fight with the thieving tramps to the little group of railroad men gathered in caboose number 18 to welcome him back.
As they were all talking at once and making a hero of Brakeman Joe they were hushed into a sudden silence by the unexpected entrance of Mr. Hill the Superintendent. Merely nodding to the others this gentleman stepped up to Brakeman Joe with extended hand, saying cordially:
“Good evening, conductor. I am glad to see you back among us again. I hope you are all right and will be able to take your train out on time to-night.”
“Sir! I–” stammered the astonished Joe.
“You must be mistaking me for Conductor Tobin, sir.”
“Tobin? oh no! I know him too well ever to mistake any one else for him. I take you to be Conductor Joseph Miller of the through freight, whose promotion has just been posted, to take effect immediately. I have also assigned two new men to your train, with orders to report at once. Here they come now.”
This announcement fell like a bomb-shell; and the cheer of congratulation that Joe’s friends attempted to raise was checked, half-uttered, by the distressed look on Conductor Tobin’s face. Could it be that he had heard aright? Was it possible that he was thus unceremoniously thrown out of work to make a place for his former brakeman? His expression was quite as bewildered as that of Brakeman Joe, and the Superintendent, noticing it, allowed an amused smile to flit across his own face.
“Don’t be alarmed, Tobin,” he said, reassuringly; “the Company can’t very well spare your services, and have no idea of doing so. If you can make it convenient I should like to have you take out number 29 to-night, and, as you will need an extra hand, I have decided to send young Blake on the same train; that is, if it will be agreeable to you to have him.”
Number 29! The Continental Express Company’s Special! Why, only passenger conductors had that train! What could Mr. Hill mean?
“It’s all right, Tobin,” continued that gentleman, noting the other’s embarrassment; “your name has gone on to the passenger list, and if you do as well there as you have with your freights I shall be more than satisfied. I hope this change strikes you as being one for the better also?” he added, turning to Rod.
“Yes, sir, only–” began Rodman, who was about to say something concerning his desire to be made a fireman, when he suddenly remembered that Truman Stump had requested him not to speak of it just yet.
“Only what?” asked Mr. Hill, a little sharply.
“I was afraid I hadn’t experience enough,” answered Rod.
“That is a matter of which I claim to be the best judge,” replied the Superintendent, with a smile. “And if I am satisfied of your fitness for the position you certainly ought to be. Now, Tobin, look lively. Number 29 must be ready to leave in half an hour. Good-night and good luck to you.”
Thus Conductor Tobin’s long and faithful service, and Brakeman Joe’s suffering, and Rod Blake’s strict attention to duty were all rewarded at once, though in Rodman’s case the reward had not taken exactly the shape he desired. Still, a promotion was a promotion, and where there were so many competitors for each upward step, as there always are on a railroad, it was not for him to grumble at the form in which it came.
So as the young railroad man gathered up his few belongings, he gratefully accepted the congratulations of his friends. A few minutes later he bade freight conductor Joe good-by, and in company with passenger conductor Tobin he left caboose number 18 with much the same feeling that a young scholar leaves his primary school for one a grade higher.
Number 29 was a peculiar train, and one that Rod had often watched rush past his side-tracked freight with feelings of deep interest, not unmixed with envy. It always followed the “Limited,” with all the latter’s privileges of precedence and right of way. Thus it was such a flyer that the contrast between it and the freight, which always had to get out of the way, was as great as that between a thoroughbred racer and a farm-horse. It was made up of express cars, loaded with money, jewelry, plate, and other valuable packages, which caused it to be known along the road as the “gold mine.” In its money-car was carried specie and bank notes from the United States Treasury, and from Eastern banks to Western cities. Thus it was no unusual thing for this one car to carry a million dollars’ worth of such express matter. Each car was in charge of a trusted and well-armed messenger, who locked himself in from one end of his run to the other, and was prepared to defend the valuables entrusted to his care with his life. Thus number 29 was one of the most important as well as one of the very fastest trains on the road; while to run on it was considered such an honor that many envious glances were cast at Rod as he stood on the platform beside it awaiting the starting-signal.
There had been no time for him to procure the blue uniform suit, such as the crews of passenger trains, with whom he now ranked, are required to wear; and as the jumper and overalls of a freight brakeman would have been decidedly out of place on an express special, Rod had hastily donned his best suit of every-day clothes. Thus as he stood near the steps of the single passenger coach that was attached to the train in place of a caboose for the accommodation of its conductor and brakemen, he was not to be distinguished from the throng of passengers hastening aboard the “Limited” on the opposite side of the platform.
For this reason a young man, with a stout leather travelling bag slung on his shoulder, paid no attention to the young brakeman, as after a hurried glance up and down the platform, he sprang aboard and entered the coach.
With a bound Rod was after him. “Hello, sir!” he cried; “you must have made a mistake. This is not a passenger train.”
“No?” said the other coolly, and Rod now noticed that he wore a pair of smoked glasses. I thought it was the “Limited.”
“That is the ‘Limited,’ across the platform,” explained Rod politely.
“Are you sure of it?”
“Certainly I am.”
“What makes you think this is not it?” asked the other with a provoking slowness of speech as though time was no object to him, and he did not care whether the “Limited” started without him or not.
ROD ASSISTS THE YOUNG MAN TO THE “LIMITED.”—(PAGE 133.)
“Because I belong on this train and it is my business to be sure of things connected with it,” replied Rod, still speaking pleasantly.
“Oh, you do, do you. Are you its conductor?”
“No, sir, but I am one of its brakemen.”
“Are there any more like you?”
“Yes, sir, there is another like me. I sha’n’t need his help though to put you off this train if you don’t get off, and in a hurry too,” answered Rod hotly, for he began to suspect that the young man was making fun of him.
“Oh, come now!” said the passenger mildly, “don’t get excited, I’m perfectly willing to go. It was a very natural mistake for a blind man to make. You may be blind yourself some day, and then you’ll find out.”
“I didn’t know you were blind, sir,” exclaimed Rod apologetically and instantly regretting his harshness toward one so cruelly afflicted. “I am very sorry, and if you will allow me, I will see you safely aboard the ‘Limited.’”
The young man accepted this offer, explaining at the same time that while he was not totally blind, his sight was very dim. So Rod helped him off one train and into the other, striving by every attention to atone for the abruptness with which he had spoken before learning of the other’s infirmity. As he took the stranger’s hand to guide him down the steps of the coach he noticed that the large diamond of a ring worn by the latter, had cut its way through the back of one of his kid gloves.
A moment later the “Limited” pulled out, and in a few minutes the express special, laden that night with a freight of unusual value, followed it.
CHAPTER XX.
TROUBLE IN THE MONEY CAR
Until after midnight the run of the express special was without interruption or incident. Thus far it had made but two stops. The second of these was at the end of the freight division where Conductor Tobin had been accustomed to turn over his train to a relieving crew and spend the day. With such a flyer as the special, however, his run was now to be twice as long as formerly, so that he and Rod looked forward to doing a hundred and fifty miles more before being relieved. There was but one other brakeman besides Rod, and as there was little for either of them to do, save to see that the rear end lights burned brightly, and always to be prepared for emergencies, time hung rather heavily on their hands.
Thanks to automatic air brakes, the life of a passenger brakeman is now a very easy one as compared with the same life a few years ago. The brakeman of those days, almost as greasy and smoke begrimed as a fireman, spent most of his time on the swaying platforms between cars amid showers of cinders and clouds of blinding dust. At every call for brakes he was obliged to spring to the wheels of the two entrusted to his care and set them up by hand with the utmost exercise of his strength. He was not allowed to remain inside the cars between stations, and the only glimpses he got of their scant comfort was when he flung open their doors to call out the names of stations in his own undistinguishable jargon. He was invariably a well-grown powerfully built fellow, as rough in manner as in appearance.
To-day, on all passenger trains and on many freights as well, the automatic brakes are operated by compressed air controlled by the engineman. By a single pull of a small brass lever within easy reach he can instantly apply every brake on his train with such force as to bring it to a standstill inside of a few seconds. The two small cylinders connected by a piston-rod on the right hand side of every locomotive just in front of the cab form the air-pump. It is always at work while a train is standing still, forcing air through lengths of rubber hose between the cars and into the reservoirs located beneath each one. As brakes are applied by the reduction of this air the engineman’s lever merely opens a valve that allows the imprisoned force to escape with a sharp hissing sound. If a train should break in two the connecting lengths of rubber hose would be torn asunder, and the outrushing air would instantly apply brakes to the cars of both sections bringing them to a speedy standstill.
Thus the brakeman of to-day, instead of being the powerful, cinder-coated and rough-voiced fellow of a few years back, may be as slim and elegant as any of the passengers under his care provided he is polite, wide-awake, and attentive to his duty. Clad in a natty uniform, he now spends his time inside the car instead of on its platform. He has reports to make out, lamps and flags to look after, and in cases of unexpected delay must run back to protect his train from any other that may be approaching it. Formerly it was necessary to have as many brakemen on a passenger train as there were cars, while now it is rare to find more than two on each train.
So Rod had very little to do in his new position, and soon after leaving the second stopping-place of his train, was sitting near the forward end of the coach with his head resting on the back of a seat, gazing at the ceiling and buried in deep thought. Conductor Tobin and the other brakeman were seated some distance behind him engaged in conversation.
Rod was thinking of what an awful thing it was to be blind, and this chain of thought was suggested by a glimpse of the young man with smoked glasses, whom he had assisted on board the “Limited” some hours before, standing on the platform of the station they had just left. He had evidently reached his journey’s end and was patiently waiting for some one to come and lead him away—or at least this was what Rod imagined the situation to be. In reality, that same young man, with unimpaired eyesight and no longer wearing smoked glasses, was on board the express special at that very moment. He had sprung on to the forward platform of the money car undetected in the darkness as the train left the circle of station lights and was now on its roof fastening a light rope ladder to a ledge just above one of the middle and half-glazed doors of the car. A red flannel mask concealed the lower half of his face, and as he swung himself down on his frail and fearfully swaying support he held a powerful navy revolver in his right hand. He was taking frightful risks to win a desperate game. Failing in his effort to conceal himself aboard the very train he intended to rob, he had taken passage on the “Limited” as far as its first stopping-place and had there awaited the coming of the Express Special. Thus far his reckless venture had succeeded, and as Rod sat in the coach thinking pityingly of him, he was covering the unsuspecting messenger in the money car with his revolver.
“What would I do if I were blind?” thought Rod. “I suppose uncle would take care of me; but how humiliating it would be to have to go back to him helpless and dependent. How thankful I should be that I can see besides being well and strong and able to care for myself. I will do it too without asking help from any one, and I’ll win such a name for honesty and faithfulness on this road that even Uncle Arms will be compelled to believe whatever I may tell him. I wonder if Snyder could have put that emery into the oil-cup himself? It doesn’t seem as though any one could be so mean.”
Just here a slight incident interrupted the lad’s thoughts so suddenly that he sprang to his feet—unconsciously his eyes had been fixed on the bell-cord that ran through the entire train to the cab of the locomotive. It had hung a little slack, but all at once this slack was jerked up as though some one had pulled the cord. This would have been a signal to stop the train, and if the train were to be stopped at that point something must be wrong. A backward glance showed Conductor Tobin and the other brakeman to be still quietly engaged in conversation. Neither of them could have pulled the cord. Rod stepped to the door and looked out. The train was tearing along at a terrific speed, and the rush of air nearly took away his breath. There was no sign of slackening speed and everything appeared to be all right. The next car ahead of the coach was the money car. At least Conductor Tobin had thought so, though none of the trainmen was ever quite sure which one of the half dozen or more express cars it was. Its rear door was of course closed and locked, but some impulse moved Rod to clamber up on its platform railing and peer through the little hole by which the bell-cord entered. He could not see much, but that which was disclosed in a single glimpse almost caused his heart to cease its beating. Within his range of vision came the heads of two men evidently engaged in a struggle and one of them wore a mask over the lower part of his face. The next instant Rod had sprung down from his perilous perch and dashed back into the coach shouting breathlessly:
“There’s a masked man fighting the messenger in the money car!”
