THE DUMMY ENGINE.
My father and I had always been on the best of terms. He was very
considerate to me, and used to talk with me a great deal; indeed, he
treated me in such a way that I had very little reason to think I was a
boy. He discussed his plans with me, and often asked my advice, just as
though I had been a man of mature judgment. He was angry with me now,
almost for the first time in my remembrance; certainly he had never
before been so highly exasperated with me. But I consoled myself with
the reflection that he was partially intoxicated, and that, when the
fumes of the whiskey had worked off, he would be as kind and gentle to
me as ever.
Perhaps it was wrong for me to empty the bottle; but, as I can never
know what would have happened if I had not done so, I am content with
simply believing that I did it for the best. He was in charge of the
engine. There were fifty precious lives on the boat. My father had the
reputation of being a very steady and reliable man. If he had been a
little noisy and turbulent at Ucayga, the shock of losing his money
had wrought a sudden and wonderful change in his manner, so that few,
if any, had noticed him. After the steamer started, I alone was aware
of his condition; I alone knew of his resuming his cups; and I alone
knew that, left to himself, he would soon be intoxicated, and incapable
of managing the engine. I could not wish that I had not emptied the
bottle, even while I suffered intensely under the consciousness of his
displeasure.
While I was thinking of the wrath of my father, and of the consequences
which might follow the loss of the money, the steamer approached
Middleport, which was opposite Centreport, where we lived. My attention
was immediately attracted by a singular-looking object on the canal
boat at the wharf. My thoughts were partially diverted for a time
from the painful circumstances of our family affairs, and I gazed with
interest at the strange object. It looked like an immense omnibus, only
it had a smoke-stack passing through the roof at one end. I had never
seen such a thing before, and I did not know what to make of it.
“Ah, the dummy has arrived,” said a Middleport passenger, who had come
forward to look at the carriage.
“The what, sir?” I asked.
“The dummy.”
“What’s a dummy?” I inquired; for, with all my study of steam-engines,
I had never heard of one.
“It’s a railroad car with an engine in one end of it,” replied the
gentleman; and by this time I could make out the form of the thing.
“It is for the Lake Shore Railroad. I suppose you have heard that the
students of the Toppleton Institute are building a railroad on the
shore of the lake.”
“Yes, sir, I have heard of it.”
“This dummy was built to run on a horse railroad in Philadelphia; but
though they call it a dummy, it made so much noise, and frightened so
many horses, they could not use it in the streets. Major Toppleton saw
it, and bought it cheap, for the students, in order to get a little
ahead of the Wimpleton Institute, on the other side of the lake.”
As the boat approached the wharf, I examined the dummy very carefully.
It was a railway carriage, similar to those used on street roads,
having an engine in one end to propel it. It would be a rare plaything
for the Toppletonians, and I envied them the possession of such a
prize. I knew all about the Lake Shore Railroad, and many a pang of
jealousy had it caused the Wimpletonians, on our side of the lake; for
a stupendous rivalry existed between the two Institutes, which were
separated from each other by only a mile of fresh water.
Lake Ucayga is about forty-five miles long. At the foot of it was the
town of the same name, connected with the great centres of travel by
railroad. At the head of the lake was the large town of Hitaca. The
average width of the lake was three miles; but near the middle--or,
to be more accurate, twenty miles from Ucayga, and twenty-five from
Hitaca--a point of land jutted out on the west side, so as to leave a
passage only a mile in width. On this peninsula was located the town of
Middleport, and directly opposite was Centreport.
Below these towns the country was level, while above them it was
hilly, and even mountainous near the head of the lake. Middleport and
Centreport were of very modern origin, so far as their social and
commercial importance was concerned, and their growth and history were
somewhat remarkable. They are located on the verge of the hilly region,
and the scenery around them, without being grand or sublime, is very
beautiful.
Hardly twenty years before my story opens, two gentlemen had come
up to the lake to spend a week in hunting and fishing. They were
fast friends, and each of them had made an immense fortune in the
China trade. The narrow part of the lake--generally called “The
Narrows”--attracted their attention on account of its picturesque
scenery. They were delighted with the spot, and the result was that,
on retiring from business, they fixed their residences here.
One of these gentlemen was Colonel Wimpleton, and the other was Major
Toppleton. They had won their military titles in the same regiment of
militia in their early life, and had clung together like brothers for
many years. They built their elegant mansions on the banks of the lake,
facing each other, and formerly gayly-painted barges were continually
plying between them. Certainly their houses looked like palaces of
enchantment, so elegantly were the grounds laid out, and so picturesque
were the surroundings. In front of each, on the lake, was a wall of
dressed stone, from the quarries in the neighborhood. From these walls,
the grounds, covered with the richest green in summer, sloped gradually
up to the houses. They were adorned with smooth walks and avenues,
shaded with a variety of trees. Indeed, I think nothing more lovely was
ever seen or imagined.
Major Toppleton, on the Middleport side, built a flour mill; the
village began to grow, and soon became a place of considerable
commercial importance. At the same time, Centreport increased in
population and wealth, though not so rapidly as its neighbor on
the other side of the lake. Both the gentlemen had sons; and they
were alive to the importance of giving them a good education. This
consideration induced them to discuss the propriety of establishing
an academy, and both agreed that such an institution was desirable,
especially as there was not one of high standing within fifty miles of
the place. Then the difficult and delicate question of the location of
the proposed academy came up for settlement. Each of them wanted it on
his side of the lake; and on this rock the two friends, who had been
almost brothers for forty years, split; and the warmth of their former
friendship seemed to be the gauge of their present enmity.
The feud waxed fierce and bitter; and henceforth Middleport and
Centreport, which had always been twin sisters, were savage foes. The
major built a lofty edifice and called it the Toppleton Institute. The
colonel, not to be thwarted or outdone, built another on a grander
scale, and called it the Wimpleton Institute. Everything that could
add to the efficiency and the popularity of the two institutions was
liberally supplied; and, as competition is the life of trade, as well
in literary as in commercial affairs, both thrived splendidly. All the
principal cities and towns of the Union were represented among the
students. The patron _millionnaire_ of each, with his principal and
teachers, labored and studied to devise some new schemes which would
add to the popularity of his institution. Military drill, gymnastics,
games, boating, English, French, and German systems were introduced,
and dispensed with as fresher novelties were presented.
The rival academies numbered about a hundred students each, and neither
seemed to obtain any permanent advantage over the other. “Like master
like man;” and, as the major and the colonel quarrelled, the pupils
could hardly help following their illustrious example; so that it was
fortunate a mile of deep water lay between the two.
The rivalry of the _millionnaires_ was not confined to the schools;
it extended to the towns themselves. Colonel Wimpleton built a flour
mill on the Centreport side, and fought boldly and cunningly for
the commercial salvation of his side of the lake. If a bank, an
insurance company, or a sawmill was established in Middleport, another
immediately appeared in Centreport; and the converse of the proposition
was equally true.
In the midst of this rivalry the Toppleton Institute was vivified by a
new idea. The mania for building railroads which pervaded the Northern
States invaded the quiet haunts of learning. Many of the students were
the sons of prominent railroad men, and Major Toppleton hit upon the
magnificent scheme of giving the young gentlemen a railroad education.
A company had been organized; certificates of stocks and bonds--of
which the munificent patron of the institution was the largest
holder--were issued. A president, directors, treasurer, and clerk were
elected; superintendents, track-masters, baggage-masters, conductors,
brakemen, engineers, firemen, switch-tenders, and other officials were
duly appointed. At first the railroad was to be an imaginary concern;
but the wealthy patron was not content to have the business done on
paper only. He purchased sleepers and rails, and the students had
actually built five miles of road on the level border of the lake. The
dummy engine had been bought, and had been sent by railroad to the head
of the lake, and thence to Middleport by a canal boat.
This splendid project of the Toppletonians was viewed with
consternation by the Wimpletonians. I was warmly interested in the
scheme, and watched its progress with the deepest interest. The dummy
was a miracle to me, and I regarded it with the most intense delight.
All the Toppletonians, assisted by a few men, were on the shore, busy
as bees in transferring the machine to the wharf. Planks had been laid
down on which to roll it from the boat, and rigging manned by the
students was attached to it, by which it was to be hauled on shore.
The steamer was to make a landing alongside the canal boat. I stood at
the bow watching the operation of moving the dummy. They had rolled it
two or three feet up the skids; but “too many cooks spoil the broth.”
A rope broke, the machine slipped back, and, canting the boat by its
impetus, the thing rolled off, with a tremendous splash, into the
lake. The steamer backed just in season to avoid smashing it into a
hopeless wreck.
If Centreport had been there it would have rejoiced exceedingly at this
mishap.
[Illustration: THE ACCIDENT TO THE DUMMY.--Page 93.]