McNamara spun around and cracked his whip as he returned to where nine Irish workers waited beside a flatcar at the rear of the construction train. “Ye heard the man!” he shouted. “Hop to it. Ye gandy dancers pay attention to George Coley’s instructions. Ten miles . . . that’s all ye’ve got to do.”
Will had saddled the horses and now led them forward for his uncle and the other Union Pacific observers. Seymour had to ride a horse because Homer would stay behind to load the wagon with the tents and supplies.
“How many work trains have you assembled, Stro?” Will’s uncle asked.
“Five trains of sixteen cars each are lined up from here to the west. Each train consists of sixteen flatcars loaded with enough rails and materials to build two miles of track.”
“Now, gentlemen,” Crocker said, “let’s all follow along and watch a record being set for tracklaying.”
A swarm of Chinese workers clambered onto the flatcars of the first train and commenced throwing rails and other materials over the side.
Strobridge had been looking at his watch while this took place. “Eight minutes flat to empty that train.”
The first train reversed and left the scene, soon to be replaced by the next loaded train. While this exchange of trains took place, two dozen Chinese workers lifted half a dozen small handcars onto the track and transferred sixteen iron rails from the ground onto each handcar. They also loaded each car with a keg of spikes, a keg of bolts, and a bundle of fishplates—enough material to install the sixteen rails. While the handcar loading occurred, workers hitched two horses, each with a rider, to the handcar.
The horses pulled the handcar at a fast pace to the end of track, where the eight Irish gandy dancers, four on either side of the car, lifted each six-hundred-pound rail with tongs, walked it forward, and dropped it into place. An Irish supervisor with a wooden track gauge measured the distance between the thirty-foot rails to ensure they were exactly four feet, eight and one half inches apart. Meanwhile, on top of the handcar, a gang of six Chinese used picks to break open the kegs of spikes and bolts and cut the bindings on the fishplates. Another Chinese crew of six stepped in to distribute the bolts and fishplates alongside the rails, while the spikes were allowed to drop through the bottomless handcart directly onto the ties.
Will spotted Chung Huang in one of the crews engaged in distributing the spikes along the ties. Each thirty-foot rail lay on a total of twelve ties supporting it. After a spike had been dropped on either side of each rail on top of each tie, forty-eight new men with sledgehammers filed into position along that length of track. Twelve men on either side of each of the two rails hammered the same spike into place on each side of each rail on each tie. Then that crew of forty-eight shifted to the next thirty-foot section that had been placed by the gandy dancers, where they repeated the spike-driving process. There were so many workers clambering over each thirty-foot section of track that Will had trouble counting them.
Other crews swept in to place the fishplates into position, threading the bolts through predrilled holes to connect a length of rail to the preceding one. Following them, an additional crew swept in with picks and shovels to raise the end of each tie and distribute enough ballast beneath it to ensure it was level.
After the ballasting crew had completed its job, an Irishman whom Will thought resembled a preacher more than a railroad worker sighted along each rail and motioned members of another team to adjust the level of the track using shovels and tamping bars.
This breakneck speed continued all morning except when the tracks had to make a curve. Even this work was accomplished with what Will could tell was a record-setting pace. A crew of Irishmen supported a thirty-foot length of iron rail on wooden ties set near each end of the rail, then proceeded to beat the rail into the desired arc with sledgehammers.
A bell signaled a halt for the midday meal at one-thirty. The hundreds of Chinese drifted away to their individual gang shelters for their repast.
Will stayed close to his uncle and General Dodge as they trailed along with Crocker and Strobridge, who circulated among the work crews offering their congratulations. The eight Irish gandy dancers and their foreman were devouring their food when Crocker approached their table.
“Great work, men,” Crocker said. “You’ve laid six miles of track already! You’ve earned a rest. I’ll bring the next crew in for the afternoon shift.”
“No! No!” The objection was voiced by all of the Irishmen simultaneously.
“Mr. Crocker,” foreman George Coley said, “these men have voted and want to return for the afternoon work themselves.”
“But aren’t you tired?” Crocker asked.
“No! No!”
Crocker reached under the brim of his hat and scratched his head. “You sure? We don’t want to fail to make the ten miles.”
“They’ll make it, Mr. Crocker,” Coley said. “I’ve been working with this gang for a long time. They can do it.”
Homer had packed Ruby and the wagon during the morning and had brought them forward. He had a meal ready for the Union Pacific observers at the same time the Central Pacific workers had broken for their midday one.
“I figured they’s no use making you gents go backward to find your meal,” Homer said. “When I seen they’s making right good progress laying track, I figured I’d best be moving the camp.”
“Good thinking, Homer,” Will’s uncle said. “They are going fast. Will, your bet with General Dodge is looking safer by the hour.”
“It seems so.” He hated to see the Central Pacific set the tracklaying record, although he did wish his Chinese friend well in the attempt. But, he also hated the thought of losing a month’s pay. General Dodge had really put him in a spot.
Crocker decided to let the morning crews continue working, and after the meal break the same Irishmen and Chinese returned to laying track.
At seven o’clock in the evening, Charles Crocker called a halt to the work. He looked at Strobridge and smiled. “I believe we’ve done it, Stro.”
“Ten miles and fifty-six feet, Charley,” Strobridge said.
“Now,” Crocker said, “I’ll have to pay all the men the four days’ pay I promised.”
“An expensive day’s work to be sure,” Strobridge said, “but we set the record, and that included slowing down to bend the rails for the curves. If the roadway had been straight all the way, I’ll bet we could have laid fifteen miles.”
“General Dodge,” Crocker said. “I’ve decided to call this place Camp Victory. What do you think of our accomplishment?”
“I offer my congratulations. It certainly proved to me that the Chinaman is a good worker. There’s only one problem.”
“What’s that?” Crocker asked.
“How do you talk to them? I can’t understand a word they say.”
Later, after Homer had fed the members of the Union Pacific party their evening meal, Will slipped away to find his friend.
“Congratulations, Chung Huang.” Will extended a hand.
The Chinese youth grasped Will’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you,” he said. “I surprised to have strength left to squeeze so hard.” A broad grin creased his lips.
“I understand you earned four days’ pay.” Will didn’t mention that he’d earned a month’s pay off his bet with Dodge.
“It will help pay passage to China, where I can tell them I know how to build railroad fast.”
After saying goodnight to Chung Huang, Will returned to the Union Pacific’s tents.
The next morning on the ride back to the Union Pacific’s end of track, General Dodge swung his horse up beside Will and Buck. “Well, Mr. Braddock, the CP laid their ten miles of track in one day. You won our bet.”
“Yes, sir. I guess so.”
“You’ll have to collect later though. The railroad still hasn’t paid the workers what they’re owed. And now, Doc Durant has to pay Crocker ten thousand dollars. Be interesting to see where he plans to find the money to
meet all his obligations.”
CHAPTER 40
“Miss McNabb,” Governor Stanford asked, “do you have all the provisions on board?”
“Yes, Governor.”
“Good. Our guests should be arriving any minute now. I want to depart the station promptly at six. Do you have refreshments ready to serve?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve prepared an assortment of canapés, and we have champagne chilling on ice.”
“You made canapés? What time did you arrive here this morning?”
“Five o’clock.”
“Very good, young lady. I’m pleased that you are prompt. And speaking of prompt, here they come.”
A conductor wearing a blue jacket and short-billed cap led a group of twenty people, all men except for one woman, out of the waiting room of the Sacramento depot. They filed down the platform past the locomotive Antelope and its tender, and a specially constructed subsistence car that resembled a short version of a baggage car, before reaching the Director’s passenger coach.
“Conductor Dennison is in charge of the train today, Miss McNabb. You met him when you first came on board?”
“Yes, sir. He helped me store the provisions in the ice chests in the subsistence car.”
“Do we have some chickens?” the governor asked.
“Yes, sir, a dozen laying hens in cages in the subsistence car.”
“Good. We’ll have fresh eggs for breakfast.”
Stanford stepped onto the rear platform, lifted his top hat, and waved it at the approaching passengers. “Welcome. I am pleased you can all join me in this momentous occasion. Come on aboard.”
Jenny stood in the background where she could hear Governor Stanford greet the arrivals by name as they mounted the steps of the platform and entered the coach.
“Governor Safford,” Stanford said. “Congratulations on your appointment by President Grant to be the new governor of the Arizona Territory. On behalf of the Central Pacific Railroad, I thank you for the special spike you are providing. We will pick it up on our way through Reno.”
“Thank you for inviting me, Governor,” Safford said. “Actually, J. W. Haines had the spike made with a gold head and silver shaft.” He pointed to the man behind him.
Stanford welcomed Haines, one of the three federal commissioners of inspection of the Central Pacific Railroad, as well as his two associates, Frederick A. Tritle, who was also a candidate for governor of Nevada, and W. G. Sherman, the brother of General William T. Sherman.
Jenny continued to watch as other guests filed into the coach and greeted Stanford.
“Judge Sanderson, welcome.” Stanford shook hands with the judge. “I trust the Supreme Court of California can still function during your brief absence, Silas?”
“I’m sure they will do fine, Leland.” The judge nodded at Jenny as he moved toward a cushioned seat in the rear of the coach.
Jenny shook herself away from the fascination of seeing so many dignitaries and scurried back to the tiny kitchen. She pulled the cork from a champagne bottle, placed it on a tray with a dozen crystal glasses, and returned to the seating area where she offered the bubbly drink to each of the arriving passengers.
“Mr. Hart.” Jenny heard Stanford greet the last boarder. “I expect you to document this entire occasion with splendid photographs.”
“I shall do my best, Governor.”
Jenny knew Alfred Hart by reputation. He served as the Central Pacific’s official photographer. She wondered if he knew Andrew Russell, the Union Pacific’s photographer whom she had met last year at Green River.
“Governor,” Conductor Dennison said, “everyone is present. The Antelope is ready to get under way with your permission, sir. We will follow the regular six o’clock eastbound train.”
“Have we taken the necessary precautions to alert others that we will be passing today?”
“Yes, Governor. The Jupiter, pulling the regular, carries the green flag on her boiler to signal to everyone that a special is following close behind.”
“Very well,” Stanford said. “Let us depart.”
As the train worked its way up the slope out of Sacramento and into the High Sierras, Jenny served her canapés, along with more champagne. The passengers closed the windows one by one as the warm air of the riverfront city turned cooler with the climb of the train into the forested mountains.
On particularly sharp curves, Jenny caught glimpses from the windows of the Director’s coach of the regular train leading the way up the steep grade. Every ten miles or so, both trains stopped at a water tank and refueling station. The regular train gradually pulled farther ahead of the special as each engine took its turn at the resupply of wood and water. By the time they passed beyond Summit Tunnel and headed through the snowshed-covered tracks and intervening tunnels leading down the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains toward Truckee, she could no longer see the regular train.
Jenny busied herself preparing the noonday meal for the guests. When she had everything ready to serve, Conductor Dennison invited the passengers to gather in the dining area. Jenny served Governor Stanford first, and he smiled and nodded his appreciation.
The passengers completed their midday repast and returned to the coach seats while the train paused at the Truckee station taking on water and wood.
Dr. Harvey Harkness, editor and publisher of the Sacramento Press, and Stanford’s personal physician, announced he planned to ride on the cowcatcher down the Truckee Canyon and enjoy the beauty of the river and the surrounding hills covered with pine and fir trees.
“What are you going to do if there’s a cow on the tracks, Harvey?” Judge Sanderson teased. “Aren’t you going to be cold?”
“No, Mr. Dennison has given me a buffalo robe.” Dr. Harkness wrapped the heavy, furry robe around his shoulders with a flourish and exited the coach.
Jenny cleared away the dishes and washed them in preparation for the evening meal service. She secured the china and glassware in cupboards equipped with retaining rails that prevented items from falling—similar to what would be found on a ship.
She finished the cleanup task and wiped her hands on her apron. She looked forward to sitting for a time before she had to start her chores again.
Wham! Bang! Bang!
The deafening noise ricocheted down the side of the coach. Shouts and cries from the seating area added to the clamor.
Jenny grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter to keep from being thrown off her feet. She slid to the floor anyway. Several pans clattered from the stove and landed beside her. She was fortunate to have stored the breakable items before the accident.
The train slammed to a stop. Jenny’s head banged the cabinet behind her.
She’d managed to climb back to her feet when Stanford and Dennison rushed past and exited the car onto the platform separating the coach from the subsistence car. Jenny saw the conductor surveying the right side of the train.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Dennison?” Stanford asked.
“It’s a huge log, Governor. It’s lying in the ditch behind us, but when it slammed down the side of the coach it tore the steps loose on this side.”
Conductor Dennison squeezed past Stanford to reach the other side of the platform. “We’ll descend on this side. We need to check the engine to see what damage was done to it.”
Dennison jumped to reach the roadbed from the bottom step. He reached up to help Stanford make the leap down, struggling to keep his balance when the weight of the CP’s president fell against him.
Jenny watched the two men hurry up the side of the baggage car toward the locomotive. She stepped onto the platform and leaned as far out as she could to see up the tracks. Dr. Harkness, who’d been riding on the cowcatcher, climbed up out of the ditch, brushing dirt and twigs from his clothes.
In a few minutes, Stanford, Dennison, and Harkness hustled back into the coach. Jenny followed them into the seating area so she could hear what had happened.
“Folks,” Sta
nford said, “I apologize for this. I hope none of you were injured.” The governor looked from one passenger to another to ensure they were all right.
Dr. Harkness continued to brush dust and debris from his clothing.
“Harvey,” Stanford said, “I trust you are not seriously hurt.”
“No,” Harkness answered. “Just shaken up. I jumped when that log hurtled down the slope onto the tracks. The buffalo robe cushioned my landing. This is going to make a terrific story for my newspaper.” He laughed.
“We let the regular train travel too far ahead of us,” Stanford said, “and the Chinese woodcutters upslope either didn’t see the green flag or ignored it. They should never have loosed that log from above if they’d known we were coming along. We’ll get to the bottom of this matter later, but for now we need a new locomotive. The engineer says the Antelope can drag us into Reno, but it’s damaged too badly to pull us all the way to Utah.”
“What do you plan to do, Governor?” Judge Sanderson asked.
“The fireman’s shinnying up a telegraph pole to make a connection for our key. Mr. Ryan, my personal secretary, has prepared a telegraph message to send down the line to stop the regular train. We’ll take their engine onward from Reno or Wadsworth . . . wherever we can stop it. What locomotive did you say they have, Mr. Dennison?”
The conductor stepped farther into the seating area. “Number sixty. The Jupiter.”
CHAPTER 41
Paddy had gradually worked his way east from Echo City after Mort Kavanagh had fired him. He’d walked or hitched rides on Mormon farmers’ wagons moving along the Union Pacific’s right-of-way. He begged or stole food from the Mormon settlers wherever he could. On rare occasions, he performed chores in exchange for a meal.
When he’d reached Wahsatch a month ago, he sold his Bowie knife to a tracklayer for enough money to join in a card game. He played a reasonably good hand of poker, and after a few days he’d doubled his funds.
One evening, after tracking down the saloon frequented by the worker who’d bought his knife, Paddy laid low in a nearby alleyway. When the fellow staggered out drunk, Paddy enticed him into the dim space between two buildings and brained him with the butt of his revolver. After retrieving his knife, he stuck it into the man’s rib cage. No need leaving a witness behind who could identify him. Not only had he gotten the Bowie knife back, but a search of his victim revealed a pocketful of coins that added to Paddy’s growing stash of cash.
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