When the warning "Ready for Pine "--the next station, six miles
further on--came from behind the envelope of window-shade and blanket,
we were at our ease, and the record, "Three--forty-one--three," was
called and echoed and tossed across the car with confidence.
[Illustration: THE BROOKS ENGINE 599, WHICH DREW THE TRAIN FROM
ELKHART TO TOLEDO. ALL BUT ONE (THE LAST) OF THE FIVE ENGINES USED ON
THE RUN WERE OF THIS TYPE.]
By the time that Miller's--fifteen miles from the start--was passed,
the train was moving at a speed of over a mile a minute, and at every
mile the velocity increased. At La Porte, forty-five miles from the
start, the speed was 66 miles an hour; and fourteen miles further
on, at Terre Coupee, it reached to 70. It was fast running--while it
lasted; but it did not last long. The next station showed that the
speed was down to 67 miles an hour, and at the next it was barely
over sixty. A speed of a mile a minute, however, is high enough when
passing through the heart of a city like South Bend, Indiana. South
Bend is understood to have a city ordinance forbidding trains to run
within the city limits at a speed exceeding 15 miles an hour. But if
any good citizen of South Bend was shocked that morning at being waked
from his sleep by the roar of the flying train, it is to be hoped that
he forgot his resentment before evening. Then he knew that he had been
waked in a good cause, and that if the city ordinance had been broken
it was broken in good company--the world's record suffered with it.
To those inside the cars nothing but their watches told them of the
rate of speed. Of the party on board every man was familiar with
railway affairs; but there was not one who was not surprised at the
smoothness of the track and the complete absence of uncomfortable
motion. Only by lifting a window shade and straining the eyes into the
blackness of the night, to see the red sparks streaming by or the dim
outlines of house and tree loom up and disappear, was it possible to
appreciate the velocity at which the train was moving.
Fifteen miles from South Bend the first stop was made, at Elkhart, and
one-sixth of the run was over--87.4 miles in 85.4 minutes, or a speed
of 61.38 miles an hour.
That was good work; but it was not breaking records. It had not been
expected, however, that the best speed would be made on this first
stretch; and if there was any disappointment among those on the
train, it did not yet amount to discouragement. It had been dark (and
breaking records in the dark is not as easy as in daylight), there
had been curves and grades to surmount, and, above all, it was now
discovered that a heavy frost lay on the rails.
At Elkhart there was a change of engines, two minutes and eleven
seconds being consumed in the process, and at three minutes before
five o'clock (4 hours, 57 minutes, 4 seconds) the wheels were moving
again.
The frost that was on the rails was felt inside the cars. It was not
an occasion when an engineer would have steam to spare for heating
cars; and the group that were huddled in the glare of the gaslight
were muffled in blankets and heavy overcoats. Outside, the dawn was
coming up from the east to meet us--as lovely a dawn as ever broke in
rose-color and flame. As the daylight grew, we were able to see how
complete the arrangements were for the safety of the run. At every
crossing, whether of railway, highway, or farm road, a man was
posted--1,300 men in all, it is said, along the 510 miles of line.
Apart from these solitary figures, no one was yet astir to see the
wonderful sight of the brilliantly lighted train--for the shades were
lifted now--rushing through the dawn.
[Illustration: THE ENGINEERS WHO BROUGHT FROM CHICAGO TO CLEVELAND