But Mr. Hebron was firm and Daniels walked slowly and sadly away. By this time we had a good head of steam on, and Bennett gave me the signal to pull out. I shoved the reverse lever from the centre clear over forward, and grasping the throttle, tremblingly gave it a pull.
Longfellow says, in "The Building of the Ship:" "She starts, she moves, she seems to feel a thrill of life along her keel." I can fancy exactly how that ship felt, because just as the first hiss of steam greeted my ears and I felt that engine move, I felt a peculiar thrill run along my keel, and my heart was in my mouth. She did not start quite fast enough for me, so I gave the throttle another jerk, and whew! how those big drivers did fly around! I shut her off quickly, gave her a little sand, and started again. This time she took the rail beautifully, walking away like a thoroughbred.
There is a little divide just outside of the El Monte yard, and then for a stretch of about five miles, it is down grade. After this the road winds around the river banks, with level tracks to Johnsonville, where the double track commences. All I had to do was to get the train to the double track, and from there a belt line engine was to take it in. Thus my run was only thirty-five miles.
Our start was very auspicious, and when we were going along at a pretty good gait, I pulled the reverse lever back to within one point of the centre, and opened her up a little more. She stood up to her work just as if she had an old hand at the throttle instead of a novice. I wish I were able to describe my sensations as the engine swayed to and fro in her flight. The fireman was rather an intelligent chap, and had no trouble in keeping her hot, and twenty-three cars wasn't much of a train for old 341. We went up the grade a-flying. When we got over the divide, I let her get a good start before I shut her off for the down grade. And how she did go! I thought at times she would jump the track but she held on all right. At the foot of this grade is a very abrupt curve and when she struck it, I thought she bounded ten feet in the air. My hat was gone, my hair was flying in the wind, and all the first fright was lost in the feeling of exhilaration over the fact that I was the one who was controlling that great iron monster as she tore along the track. I—I was doing it all by myself. It was like the elixir of life to an invalid. My fireman came ever to me at one time and said in my ear that I'd better call for brakes or the first thing we knew we would land in the river. Brakes! Not on your life. I didn't want any brakes, because if she ever stopped I wasn't sure that I could get her started again. We made the run of thirty-five miles in less than an hour, and when we reached Johnsonville I received a message from Mr. Hebron, congratulating me on my success. But Bennett—well, the rating he gave me was worth going miles to hear. He said that never in his life had he taken such a ride, nor would he ever volunteer to ride behind a crazy engineer again. But I didn't care; I had pulled the train in as I said I would, and the engine was in good shape, barring a hot driving box. I may add, however, that I don't care to make any such trip again myself.
We went back on a mail train that night, that was run by a non-union engineer, and in a day or two the strike was declared off, the men returned to work, and peace once more reigned supreme. Daniels got his "old girl" in as good shape as ever, and once when he was up in my office he told me he had hoped that old 341 would get on the rampage that day I took her out and "kick the stuffin'" out of that train and every one on it. Poor old Daniels, he stuck to his "old girl" to the last, but one day he struck a washout, and as a result received a "right of track order," on the road that leads to the paradise of all railroaders.
CHAPTER XVII
CHIEF DESPATCHER—AN INSPECTION TOUR—BIG RIVER WRECK
I had always supposed that the higher up you ascended in any business, the easier would be your position and the happier your lot. What a fallacy, especially in the railroad service, where your responsibilities, work, care, and worries increase in direct proportion as you rise! The operator's responsibility is limited to the correct reception, transmission, delivery and repetition of his orders and messages; the despatcher's to the correct conception of the orders and their transmission at the proper time to the right train; but the chief despatcher's responsibilities combine not only these but many more. A despatcher's work is cut out for him, just as the tailor would cut his cloth for a journeyman workman, and when his eight hour trick is done, his work for the day is finished and his time is his own. Not so the chief. His work is never done; he works early and late, and even at night when he goes home utterly tired out from his long day, he is liable to be called up to go out on a wrecking outfit, or to perform some special duty. As soon as anything goes wrong on a division the first cry is, "Send for the chief despatcher." Almost everybody on the division is under his jurisdiction except the division superintendent, and sometimes I have seen that mighty dignitary take a back seat for his chief despatcher.