Golden Spike

by Robert Lee Murphy

  “Will, I’m going to go over to them.”

  “You sure you’ll be all right in this crowd?”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s only a few yards on the other side of the tracks. Most of the crowd has gone past us already. As soon as Papa finishes his business over there, I’ll bring them all back here.”

  “Be careful. Don’t let any of the drunks knock you down.”

  Jenny leaned up on her tiptoes, pecked a kiss on his cheek, and dashed across the tracks. Will felt his face turn warm. He forced himself to close his mouth.

  “Are you ready to start?” Russell winked at him.

  Will knew his face must be red. “Yes, sir.”

  Before Will and Russell could mount the steps into the coach, Doc Durant, wearing a black, velvet jacket, emerged from the rear door. He descended from the platform and brushed past Will without speaking. He paused when he saw Russell.

  “Be sure you take good photographs of all the events, Mr. Russell. This is an historic event, and the Union Pacific will want it recorded for posterity.”

  “Certainly, sir. I will do my best.”

  “See to it that you do.” Durant removed his low-crowned, brown hat, and ran his hand up across his forehead and back through his graying hair. “I have a splitting headache, and the noise from this crowd isn’t helping. I hope this ceremony doesn’t take long. I want to get back on board.”

  Will noticed Russell shake his head as Durant moved away. John Duff, Sidney Dillon, and Silas Seymour appeared on the rear platform. Will and Russell stepped aside again to let the two directors and the consulting engineer descend and follow after Durant.

  “I think the way’s clear, now, Mr. Braddock. Let’s gather up my gear.”

  Twenty minutes later, Russell ducked his head beneath the black curtain at the rear of his camera to make necessary adjustments. Will stood to one side holding a wet plate ready to hand to the photographer.

  “Will, I’m back . . . as promised.” Jenny’s voice drew his attention to her approach. Her father, Duncan, and Butch walked up with her.

  “Hello, Will,” Jenny’s father said. “She told me how you and Homer helped her serve the picnic. Thank you for that. I’ll bet that was a sight to see . . . white jacket and all.”

  Will smiled when Alistair McNabb laughed heartily.

  “I hope I don’t have to do that again any time soon,” Will said. “Welcome to the ceremonies, Mr. McNabb.”

  “Looks like they’re about ready to start, Pa,” Duncan said. “That’s Mr. Shilling, the telegrapher from Western Union’s Ogden office. He’s set up a special telegraph line next to the locomotives. I’d like to go see how he rigged it.”

  “Go ahead,” McNabb said. “Be careful, though. You don’t want to be trampled by that noisy throng.”

  Duncan ran off to where a single pole had been erected beside a table on which a telegraph key could be seen. A wire led from the pole to the main telegraph line on the other side of Engine No. 119. Another wire led from the telegraph key to a sledgehammer propped against the table. Some brave soul climbed the pole, stood on the cross bar, and tied an American flag to the top. The stiff breeze drove the fly horizontal, revealing thirty-seven white stars in the blue canton.

  A trumpeter with the Army band blared a flourish. From where Will stood near Russell’s camera, he could see that members of the group of dignitaries assembled in the space between the two facing locomotives were addressing the gathering. The noise from the crowd precluded him from hearing the words being spoken.

  Duncan raced back to rejoin his family, and Will listened to Duncan explain what was planned.

  “Mr. Shilling has wired his key to the head of that sledgehammer. The telegraph line has been cleared between here and Washington City, so President Grant will know immediately when the railroads are joined. Mr. Shilling will tap out three dots when they begin driving the spike, then the hammer will automatically signal each blow to the spike.”

  Will assumed the dignitaries were now listening to a prayer, because they had removed their hats and bowed their heads. The roar from the crowd continued to make it impossible to hear.

  A couple of minutes passed before the hats were returned to the heads of the group of men standing between the locomotives.

  “What are they doing, Will?” Alistair McNabb shouted his question.

  Will turned his head back toward McNabb and raised his voice to be heard. “That’s Mr. Reed and Mr. Strobridge placing the laurel tie. I saw it on Governor Stanford’s train. It has holes already drilled in it to accept the four special spikes.”

  As soon as Reed and Strobridge stepped away from the special tie, a Chinese team dropped a thirty-foot iron rail into place and an Irish team dropped the opposite one. Then, both tracklaying teams moved back into the crowd.

  “That’s Dr. Harkness,” Jenny said, “presenting the two golden spikes from California to Doc Durant.”

  Durant bent and slid the spikes into holes in the tie on each side of the near rail.

  “Who’re those men, Jenny?” Will asked. “I recognize them from the picnic, but I don’t know who they are.”

  “The one on the left is Mr. Tritle. He’s one of the government’s railroad inspectors. The other man is Governor Safford of Arizona. They’re presenting the gold and silver spikes from Nevada and Arizona to Governor Stanford.”

  Stanford knelt and slipped the remaining ceremonial spikes into the predrilled holes on either side of the far rail. Stanford lifted the silver-headed maul and touched the tops of each of the four precious metal spikes. He passed the hammer to Durant, who repeated the process.

  Both engineers blew their respective locomotive’s whistles and clanged their bells. The spectators tossed hats into the hair, slapped one another on the back, and shouted louder.

  A worker extracted the special spikes and placed them back in their boxes, while a couple of workers removed the laurel tie and replaced it with a regular pine tie. Two other workers dropped ordinary iron spikes into holes that had been drilled into the regular wooden tie.

  “Here’s where the telegraph will signal the driving of the final spike,” Duncan said.

  Stanford lifted the wired sledgehammer and swung at the spike. He missed. A roar of laughter emerged from the crowd nearest the ceremony. Those farther away could see nothing. Next, Durant picked up the hammer and took a swing. He missed. A louder roar of laughter erupted. Reed and Strobridge stepped forward with their own sledgehammers and took alternating swings at the spike, driving it home.

  “I was watching Mr. Shilling,” Duncan said. “When they missed hitting the spike, I saw him tap out D-O-N-E on his key.”

  “So,” his father said, “the fancy wiring job didn’t work?”

  “No, sir,” Duncan answered, “but the word was sent anyway.”

  Will saw Alistair McNabb pull his pocket watch from his vest pocket, flip open the face, and check the time. “Twelve forty-seven p.m.,” he said.

  The engineers on both locomotives blasted their whistles and rang their bells repeatedly. The crowd opened up while the Jupiter backed away a few feet and Engine No. 119 moved forward to cross the final tie. Then, the two locomotives reversed the action and the Jupiter crossed the joining. With final, mutual whistle blasts, both engines eased forward to touch pilots over the final tie. The tracklayers shouted, jumped, and yelled.

  “Now, Mr. Braddock,” Andrew Russell said, “take this plate—”

  Before Will could grasp the plate, a drunk staggered against the photographer causing him to drop it. The glass plate shattered.

  “Oh, no,” Russell said. “That was the shot of Stanford swinging at the spike.”

  Will bent to retrieve the remains of the photographic plate.

  “Leave it,” Russell said. “Can’t save it. We’ll set up a better shot. I want to expose a couple of this one, at least.”

  General Jack Casement, swishing his riding crop, cleared a swath in front of Russell’s camera. Russell coaxe
d Samuel Montague to represent the Central Pacific and Grenville Dodge the Union Pacific and placed the two chief construction engineers clasping hands in front of the two locomotives. While Russell made final adjustments to his camera settings, locomotive engineers George Booth of the CP’s Jupiter and Sam Bradford of the UP’s Engine No. 119 climbed onto their respective cowcatchers and extended champagne bottles toward each other across the intervening space. Before Russell could expose his plate, dozens of workers crowded back into the picture.

  “Oh, that will make a great picture,” Jenny said. “I’ll want a copy of that to show my children someday.”

  “Your children,” Will said. “Are you getting married?”

  “Well, not right away. No one’s asked me.”

  CHAPTER 52

  Following the ceremony of driving the final spike, Will found himself wandering around alone. Jenny had returned to Stanford’s train to serve a champagne luncheon to the dignitaries. Will had helped Russell haul his camera equipment back on board the train and had said goodbye to the photographer.

  The throng of workers thinned quickly, many of the Irish drifting back to the row of tents and shanties offering libations and entertainment. The noise had diminished only slightly, simply coming from a different direction. Will searched the dissolving crowd of Central Pacific workers for Chung Huang. He found him preparing to board Strobridge’s work train for the trip back to Victory.

  “Chung Huang!” Will waved his slouch hat above his head.

  His Chinese friend heard his call and turned back to meet him. “Will Braddock, you come with me to China to build railroads?”

  Will pushed his windblown hair out of his face and returned his hat to his head. “No. I would like to build more railroads, but I won’t be going to China.”

  Chung Huang smiled. “I not thinking you would. But I glad you want to build railroads. There be much need.”

  “Yes, I agree. The Pacific Railroad is only the first of many that will cross this continent, as there will be many to cross China. I must say goodbye and wish you good luck.”

  “I preased to have met you, Will. I say goodbye, too.”

  The locomotive attached to the work train sounded two short blasts of its whistle signaling depart time.

  “Board! All aboard what’s going.” A conductor shouted the call from the rear of the train.

  Will shook hands with Chung Huang, and his friend ran to climb onto one of the flatcars loaded with workers dressed in similar blue frocks and straw hats. The CP’s Irish workers were not visible. They undoubtedly had seats in one of the passenger coaches.

  Will walked to where Alistair McNabb stood with Duncan and Butch near Durant’s train. “Jenny not back yet?” Will asked.

  “No,” McNabb said. “Durant, Dodge, and several others entered the Director’s car on Stanford’s train some time ago. Hopefully, they won’t be much longer.”

  “What will you do now, Mr. McNabb?” Will asked.

  “Wells Fargo has offered me an office position in Sacramento. I’ve decided to accept. It will be better than being a one-armed farmer.” McNabb laughed.

  Will did not feel comfortable joining Jenny’s father in laughter. He wasn’t sure how sensitive the former Confederate cavalry officer was about losing his arm during the war.

  “California was the original destination for our family,” McNabb said. “We will finally reach there, although it didn’t quite work out the way we’d planned when we left Virginia two years ago. We’ll make the best of what we have and be thankful. Jenny and Elspeth will have work in their millinery shop. Duncan can enroll in a regular school. But, before we can head farther west, I have to go put the mail on one of the Central Pacific trains and close Wells Fargo’s Promontory station.”

  “What are your plans, Butch?” Will asked.

  “I’m staying in Utah. Wells Fargo will be running feeder lines north and south all along the length of the railroad. I’m going to work the line from Ogden up into Idaho and Montana. There’s still work for a stagecoach driver.”

  “Good luck to you, Will.” Alistair McNabb extended his hand. “It has been a pleasure knowing you.”

  “Good luck to all of you, too,” Will said. He shook everybody’s hands, and McNabb, Duncan, and Butch crossed the tracks, back to the small tent that served as Wells Fargo’s station.

  A clatter of hooves attracted Will’s attention. A detachment of cavalry approached with Lieutenant Luigi Moretti riding at its head. Trotting alongside Luey rode Will’s mixed-blood Cheyenne friend, Lone Eagle. Will raised his hat and waved it, allowing the stiff breeze to ruffle his long hair again.

  “Ho!” called Moretti. The detachment halted in front of Will. “Sergeant Winter!”

  From the rear of the column, Moretti’s sergeant rode forward. Sergeant Winter halted and saluted. “Sir!”

  “Take charge and find food for the men and the horses, then make camp away from this rowdy place. We’ll be heading back in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir,” Winter said. He nodded to Will and smiled before he swung his mount around and issued orders for the detachment to follow him.

  Moretti and Lone Eagle dismounted. Moretti twisted the ends of his mustache to sharpen their points.

  “Welcome to Promontory Summit, Luey,” Will said. “You missed all the excitement.”

  “I was afraid of that. General Casement’s train didn’t have room for our horses, so we had to ride from the big cut.”

  “I’m sorry you missed the ceremonies. What are you going to do now?”

  “Our job is finished. All I have to do is report to General Dodge and turn this detachment around. As soon as I can find transportation for the horses, we’ll return to Fort Fred Steele. From there I imagine I’ll go to chasing hostile Indians.”

  “And you, Lone Eagle?” Will asked.

  “I will stay with Lieutenant Moretti. Perhaps I can help the Army tell the difference between a good Indian and a bad one. Save a few lives at least.” Lone Eagle smiled. “Besides, Butterfly Morning will have the baby soon, and I need a job to take care of the family.”

  Will’s conversation with his friends was interrupted when a group of men approached from Stanford’s train. Will recognized General Dodge, Doc Durant, the Casement brothers, Silas Seymour, John Duff, and Sidney Dillon.

  “That was some luncheon,” Durant said. He walked past Will, Luey, and Lone Eagle without acknowledging them. “But all that champagne didn’t help my headache. It’s worse than ever. I’ll be glad to get back aboard my own car and be on my way home.”

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Dodge said. “I have to give some instructions to my men before we leave.”

  Durant waved a hand to indicate he’d heard Dodge. Seymour, Duff, and Dillon followed Durant in silence down the length of his special train.

  Dodge stopped Jack and Dan Casement and shook their hands. “You go on, General Jack. You’ll have to get your train on the way before Durant’s can move. I wish I could ride with you, but unfortunately, I have to go with Durant to Omaha.”

  The Casements shook hands with Dodge and Will and returned to their work train.

  “Luey, you’re late,” Dodge said.

  Luey explained about the necessity for his detachment to ride from the big cut, resulting in their late arrival. He explained about his orders to return his men to Fort Fred Steele.

  “Very good, Luey,” Dodge said. “Thank you for all your good work. It helped me keep my sanity knowing you were close at hand to protect me, if necessary.”

  Luey saluted. He and Dodge then exchanged handshakes and Luey extended his hand to Will. “I’ll say goodbye for now,” he said. “Be sure to look me up when you pass through Fort Fred Steele the next time.”

  Luey and Lone Eagle turned to leave.

  “Lone Eagle,” Will said. “Can you wait a minute? I’d like a word with you, and Jenny would like to see you before you leave, I’m sure.”

  Lone Eagle looked to the l
ieutenant. Luey nodded his approval and led his horse in the direction they’d seen Sergeant Winter take the detachment.

  Homer and Will’s uncle walked up. A broad grin on the black man’s face confirmed that Will’s uncle had accepted Homer’s reason for leaving the team. Will had told his uncle about killing Paddy O’Hannigan. Along with Homer and Jenny, now four living people knew what had almost caused the ceremony to take place without the special spikes.

  “General Dodge,” Will’s uncle said. “What are your instructions for the survey inspection team? What’s left of it. Homer’s decided to head to Texas to search for his family. That leaves me . . . and Will, of course.” His uncle reached out a hand and clasped Will on the shoulder.

  “I’d like you to draw up plans for what General Jack has constructed here at Promontory, then come to Omaha. I want to plan for the expansion of the Union Pacific. First, we’ll head up across Oregon from here and strike the Pacific Ocean without having to share the route with the Central Pacific. After that, it’s hard to tell what we might build.”

  Jenny hurried over from General Stanford’s train. She held the strings of her bonnet to keep the breeze from lifting it off her head.

  “Ah, Miss McNabb,” Dodge said. “That was certainly a nice luncheon you served. Even Doc Durant was impressed.”

  “Thank you, General,” Jenny said. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I came to say goodbye. I only have a few minutes. Governor Stanford is anxious to start back to Sacramento.”

  Lone Eagle stepped out from behind the others where he had stood in silence.

  “Oh, Lone Eagle,” Jenny said, “I didn’t see you there. What a pleasant surprise.”

  Lone Eagle nodded, but did not speak.

  Engine No. 119’s whistle blasted twice, indicating Durant’s train prepared to depart.

  “Now, I have to go,” Dodge said. “Durant’s in a hurry to get away from here, too. But, before I go, I have a question for Mr. Braddock.”

  “Sir?”

  “What do you plan to do with the rest of your life, Will?” Dodge asked.