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.
It was some ten years after I had begun to pound brass, that I awoke one
fine morning to find myself offered the position of chief despatcher on
the central division of the C. N. & Q. Railway, with headquarters at
Selbyville. I was very well satisfied at El Monte, had been promoted to
the first trick and had many friends whom I did not like to leave, but
then, I was as high as I could get in a good many years, because Fred
Bennett, the chief, was a stayer from away back, and there wouldn't be a
vacancy there for a long time to come. The district of which I was to
take charge was about three hundred miles long, and consisted of three
freight divisions of one hundred miles each. That meant a whole lot of
hard confining work, but who wouldn't accept a promotion; so after
carefully considering the matter, I gratefully accepted, and was duly
installed in my new position. As I did not know anything about the road
or the operators thereon, one of my first acts was to take a trip of
inspection over the road. I rode on freight trains or anything that came
along, and dropped off as I wanted to, in order that I might become
thoroughly acquainted with the road and the men.
One of the time card rules was that no person was to be allowed to enter
any of the telegraph offices except those on duty there; even the train
men were supposed to receive their orders and transact their business at
the window or counter. Generally, however, this rule was not enforced
very rigidly. When I was a night operator I never paid any attention to
it at all. I dropped off No. 6 at eleven-thirty one night at
Bakersville. A night office was kept there because it was a good order
point and had a water tank. I had never met the night man and knew
nothing of him, except that he was a fiery-tempered Irishman named
Barry, and a most excellent operator. It had been told me that the
despatchers had, on more than one occasion, complained of his impudence,
but his ability was so marked and he was so prompt in answering and
transacting business, that he was allowed to remain. As No. 6 pulled out
he went into the office, closed the door and then shut the window. He
had apparently not seen me, or if he had he paid no attention to me, so
I went into the waiting-room and rapped on the ticket window. He shoved
it up, stared at me and gruffly said, "Well! what's wanted?"
I answered pretty sharply, that I desired to come into his office.
"Well then you can take it out in wanting, because you don't get in
here, see!"
I started to reason with him, when he slammed the window in my face.
That made me madder than a March hare, and I told him if he didn't let
me in that office mighty quick, I'd smash that window into smithereens
and come in anyhow.
Biff! Up went that window, and Mr. Barry's face looking like a boiled
beet appeared, "Smash that window will you? You just try it and I'll
smash your blamed old red head with this poker. Get out of that
waiting-room. Tramps are not allowed."
Just then it occurred to me that he did not know me from the sight of
sole leather; so I said: "Hold on there, young man; I'm Mr. Bates, the
newly appointed chief despatcher of this division, and I'm out on a tour
of inspection. Now stop your monkeying and open up."
"Bates thunder! Bates would never come sneaking out over the road in
this manner. You pack up and get. It will take more than your word to
make me believe you are Bates."
I saw that remonstrance with him was useless, and, besides I had an idea
that he might carry out his threat to smash my head with the poker, so I
went over to a mean little hotel and stayed all night, vowing to have
vengeance on his head in the morning. When daylight came, I went back to
the station, and Dayton, the day man, knew me at once, having worked
with me on the K. M. & O. Barry had told him of the trouble, and he was
having a great laugh at my expense. Barry, himself, showed up in a
little while, but he didn't seem the least bit disturbed, when he found
out who I really was. He said there was a time card rule, that forbade
him allowing any unauthorized person in his office; he thought I was
some semi-respectable "hobo," who wanted a place to stay all night; how
in the world was he to know? Suppose some one else had come out and said
he was the chief despatcher, was he going to let them in the office
without some proof? I saw that this was mighty good reasoning and that
he was right. Did I fire him? Not much. Men on railroads who so
implicitly obey orders are too valuable to lose; and before I left the
road he was working the third trick.
Things ran along very smoothly for a while and I was having a good time.
The winter passed and with the advent of spring came the heavy rains for
which that part of the country was justly noted. Then the work
commenced.
One Friday evening after four or five days of the steadiest and hardest
kind of rain, I received a message from the section foreman at Truxton,
saying that Big River was beginning to come up pretty high, and that the
constant rains were making the track quite soft. I immediately sent him
an order to put out a track walker at once, and told the despatcher on
duty to make a "slow order" for five miles this side of the Big River;
the track on the other, or south side, was all right, being on high
ground.
Our fast mail came in just then, and after the engines were changed, the
engineer and conductor came into my office for their orders. I told them
about the soft track, and in a spirit of pure fun, remarked to Ben
Roberts, the engineer, that he had better look out or he would be taking
a bath in Big River that night. He facetiously replied: "Well, I don't
much mind. I'm generally so dirty when I get that far out that a bath
would do me good."
They received their orders, and as Roberts went out the door, he
laughingly said, "I reckon, Bates, you'd better send the wrecker out
right after us to fish me out of Big River to-night."
I stepped over to the window, saw him climb up on engine 232, a
beautiful McQueen, and pull out, and just as he started, he turned and
waved his hand to me as if in token of farewell.
Truxton, five miles from the river, was not a stop for the mail, but I
had them flagged there, to give them another special warning about
approaching Big River with caution. Just then the track walker came into
Truxton, and reported that he had come from the river on a velocipede,
and that while the track was soft it was not unsafe and the bridge
appeared to be all right. Presently, I heard, "OS, OS, XN, No. 21, a
7:45, d 7:51" and I knew the mail had gone on.
The next station south was Burton, three miles beyond the bridge, and I
thought I would wait until I had the "OS" report from there before going
home for the night. Thirty minutes passed and no sign of her. This did
not worry me much, because I knew Roberts would be extremely careful and
run slow until he passed the bridge. In a minute Truxton opened up and
said, "Raining like blazes now." I asked him where the track walker
was, and he said he had gone out towards the bridge just after the mail
had left.
Fifty minutes of the most intense anxiety passed, and all of a sudden
every instrument in the office ceased clicking. As soon as a wire opens,
all the operators are instructed to try their ground wires, and in that
way the break is soon located. Bentonville, Bakersville, Muncy, Ashton,
all in quick succession tried their grounds, and reported "All wires
open south." Presently the despatchers' wire closed again, and "DS, DS,
XN." There! that was Truxton calling us now. I answered and he said,
"Wires all open south. Heavy rain now falling; violent wind storm has
just passed over us; lots of lightning; looks like the storm would last
all night."
I told him to hustle out and get the section foreman, and gave him an
order to take his gang and car and go to the bridge and back at once and
make a full report.
But where was 21 all this time? Stuck in the mud, I hoped, but all the
same I was beginning to have a great many misgivings. Mr. Antwerp, the
division superintendent, came in just then, and I reported all the facts
of the case to him. He was very much worried, but said he hoped it would
turn out all right. Getting nothing from Burton, on the south, I told
Truxton to keep on his ground until the section gang or track walker
came back with a report. Twenty minutes later he began to call "DS" with
all his might. I answered and this is what the despatcher's copy
operator took:
Truxton, 5 | 21, 188--.
"M. N. B. "DS.
"No. 21 went through Big River bridge to-night; track was soft all
the way over from Truxton; engine, mail, baggage and one coach on
the bridge when it gave way; three Pullmans stayed on the track.
Roberts, engineer; Carter, fireman, and Sampson, conductor, all
missing. Need doctors.
"O'HARA,
"Brakeman."
My God! wasn't it awful! I sent one caller to get out the wrecking crew
and another for a doctor. I then instructed Burke to prepare orders for
the wrecker, pulling everything off and giving her a clean sweep; told
Truxton to keep on his ground wire and stay close; and pulling on my
rain coat, I bounded down the steps and up to the roundhouse to hurry up
the engine. Engine 122, with Ed Stokes at the throttle, was just backing
down as I came out, so I ran back, signed the orders, and as soon as
the doctors arrived, Mr. Antwerp told me to pull out and take charge,
saying he would come out if necessary on a special.
It was scarcely five minutes from the time I received the first message
until we pulled out and started on our wild ride of rescue. Forty miles
in forty minutes, with one slow down was our time. The old derrick and
wreck outfit swayed to and fro like reeds in the wind, as we went down
the track like a thunderbolt, but fortunately we held to the rails.
There was scarcely a word spoken in the caboose, every one being intent
upon holding on and thinking of the horrible scene we were soon to view.
When we reached Truxton we found the track walker there, and after
hearing his story in brief, we pulled out for the bridge. Our ride from
Truxton over to the wreck was frightful. It was still raining torrents,
the wind was coming up again, lightning flashed, thunder rolled and the
track was so soft in some places that it seemed as if we would topple
over; but we finally reached there--and then what a scene to behold!
The bridge, a long wooden trestle, was completely gone, nothing being
left but twisted iron and a few broken stringers hanging in the air.
Four mail clerks, the express messenger, and the baggage man were
drowned like rats in a trap. Poor Ben Roberts had hung to his post like
the hero, that he was, and was lost. Sampson, the conductor, and Carter,
the fireman, were both missing, and in the forward coach, which was not
entirely submerged, having fallen on one end of the baggage car, were
many passengers, a number of whom were killed, and the rest all more or
less injured.
The river was not very wide, and I had the headlight taken off of our
engine and placed on the bank; and presently a wrecker came up from the
south, and her headlight was similarly placed, casting a ghastly weird,
white light over the scene of suffering and desolation. I cut in a
wrecking office, Truxton took off his ground, I put on mine, and Mr.
Antwerp was soon in possession of all the facts. A little later I was
standing up to my knees in mud and water, and I heard a weak voice say:
"Mr. Bates, for God's sake let me speak to you a minute."
I looked around and beheld the most woebegone, bedraggled specimen of
humanity I had ever seen in my life. "Well, who under the sun are you?"
I asked.
"I'm Carter, the fireman of No. 21. When I felt the bridge going I
jumped. I was half stunned, but managed to keep afloat, being carried
rapidly down the stream. I struck the bank about a mile and a half below
here, and I've had one almighty big struggle to get back. For the love
of the Virgin give me a drink; I'm half dead;" and with that the poor
fellow fell over senseless.
I called one of the doctors and had him taken to the caboose of the
wrecker, and when I had time I went in and heard the rest of his story.
The poor chap was badly hurt, having one ankle broken, besides being
bruised up generally. He said when No. 21 left Truxton, Roberts
proceeded at a snail-like pace, keeping a sharp lookout for a wash out.
He slowed almost to a standstill before going on the bridge, but
everything appearing all safe and sound he started again, remarking to
Carter, "Here's where I get the bath that Bates spoke about."
[Illustration: "See here, who is going to pull this train?"]
The engine was half way over when there came a deafening roar; the train
quivered, and--then Carter jumped. That was all he knew. It was enough,
and we sent him back with the rest of the wounded the next morning. He
is pulling a passenger train there to-day. The engine was lost in the
quicksands, and was never recovered, and Ben Roberts stayed with her to
the last. He had more than his bath in Big River that night; he had his
funeral; the river was his grave, and the engine his shroud.