The Young Section-Hand

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

“Bill,” began Jack, “this is Allan West, th’ boy thet I took on section with me.”

Bill nodded, and looked at Allan with friendly eyes.

“Yes,” he said, “I’ve heerd o’ him.”

“Well,” continued Jack, “he’s gittin’ purty tired ridin’ back there with nothin’ t’ do but watch th’ track, an’ I thought mebbe you’d let him ride in th’ cab th’ rest o’ th’ trip.”

“Why, sure!” agreed Bill, instantly. “Climb right up, sonny.”

Allan needed no second invitation, but clambered up and took his place on one of the long seats which ran along either side of the cab. Right in front of him was a narrow window through which he could see the track stretching far ahead to meet the horizon. Below him was the door to the fire-box, into which the fireman was at that moment shovelling coal. At his side, mounted on the end of the boiler, was a maze of gauges, cocks, wheels, and levers, whose uses he could not even guess.

The engineer clambered up into the cab a moment later, glanced at the steam and water gauges, to see that all was right, and then took his place on his seat. He got out his “flimsy”—the thin, manifolded telegraphic train order from headquarters, a copy of which had also been given to the conductor—and read it carefully, noting the points at which he was to meet certain trains and the time he was expected to make to each. Then he passed it over to his fireman, who also read it, according to the rules of the road. One man might forget some point in the orders, but it was not probable that two would.

There came a long whistle far down the line, and Allan saw the through passenger train leap into view and came speeding toward them. It passed with a rush and a roar, and a minute later the conductor raised his hand. The engineer settled himself on his seat, pushed his lever forward, and opened the throttle gently, pulling it wider and wider as the engine gathered speed. Never for an instant did his glance waver from the track before him—a moment’s inattention might mean death for him and for the men entrusted to his care.

There was something fascinating in watching the mighty engine eat up mile after mile of track. There were other things to watch, too. At every crossing there was the danger of an accident, and Allan was astonished at the chances people took in driving across the track, without stopping to look up and down to see if there was any danger. Deep in talk they were sometimes, until roused by a fierce blast from the whistle; or sometimes the curtains of the buggy hid them entirely from view. And although the right of way was private ground and carefully fenced in on either side, there were many stragglers along it,—a group of tramps boiling coffee in a fence corner, a horse or cow that had managed to get across a cattle-guard, children playing carelessly about or walking the rails in imitation of a tight-rope performer. All these had to be watched and warned of their danger. Never once did the engineer lift his hand from the throttle, for that gave him the “feel” of the engine, almost as the reins give the driver the “feel” of a spirited horse. Now and then he glanced at the steam-gauge, but turned back instantly to watch the track ahead.

Nor was the fireman idle. His first duty was to keep up steam, and he noted every variation of the needle which showed the pressure, shaking down his fire, and coaling up, as occasion demanded; raking the coal down from the tender, so as to have it within easy reach; sweeping off the “deck,” as the narrow passage from engine to tender is called; and occasionally mounting the seat-box to ring the bell, as they passed through a little village.