At eleven-fifty a penetrating whistle came through the night to be followed several minutes later by the blazing headlight of the westbound mail.
The long string of mail cars came to a halt in front of the station, the engine which had brought them in was cut off, and steamed down the yard on its way to the roundhouse. A lantern at the head end of the mail signalled for the 1064 to back down and Henshaw set the engine in motion again.
With a delicate handling of the air he nosed the tender of the 1064 against the head mail car. The work of coupling the engine to the train was a matter of seconds. Then Henshaw tested the air. It worked perfectly and the midnight mail was ready to continue its westward race across the continent.
The interior of the cab was lighted by a green-shaded bulb just above the gauges on the boiler. The sides were in the shadows and there was no reflection to bother the engineer as he stared into the night.
The conductor ran forward along the train and handed a sheaf of order tissues into the cab. Henshaw and his fireman read them together to make sure that they understood every order.
“Slow order for that new bridge at Raleigh is going to hurt,” was the only comment the engineer made as he climbed back on his box.
Mail trucks rumbled along the platform as extra crews hastened the work of unloading and loading the mail. Then they were through. The mail was ready for the open steel.
The conductor’s lantern at the back end of the train flashed in the “high ball” and Henshaw answered with two short, defiant blasts of the whistle.
The engineer dusted the rails with sand, opened the throttle, and the 1064 settled down to its night’s work. With nine steel cars of mail to hold it down, the giant engine plunged out of the yards.
Over the switches they clattered, the cab rocking and reeling as they struck the frogs. They had a straight shot through the yards to the main line and Henshaw wasted no time in getting the 1064 into its stride.