_BOOKS BY EDWIN L. SABIN_
WILD MEN OF THE WILD WEST
“OLD” JIM BRIDGER ON THE MOCCASIN TRAIL
PLUCK ON THE LONG TRAIL; OR, BOY SCOUTS IN THE ROCKIES
_GREAT WEST SERIES_
“THE GREAT PIKE’S PEAK RUSH”; OR, TERRY IN THE NEW GOLD FIELDS
ON THE OVERLAND STAGE; OR, TERRY AS A KING WHIP CUB
OPENING THE IRON TRAIL
_RANGE AND TRAIL SERIES_
BAR B BOYS; OR, THE YOUNG COW-PUNCHERS
RANGE AND TRAIL; OR, THE BAR B’S GREAT DRIVE
OLD FOUR-TOES; OR, HUNTERS OF THE PEAKS
TREASURE MOUNTAIN; OR, THE YOUNG PROSPECTORS
SCARFACE RANCH; OR, THE YOUNG HOMESTEADERS
THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY
NEW YORK
[Illustration: _Frontis._
THE WEDDING OF THE RAILS]
OPENING THE IRON TRAIL
OR
TERRY AS A “U. PAY.” MAN
(A SEMI-CENTENNIAL STORY)
BY
EDWIN L. SABIN
AUTHOR OF “THE BOY SETTLER,” “THE GREAT PIKES
PEAK RUSH,” “ON THE OVERLAND STAGE,” ETC.
“Drill, my paddies, drill!
Drill, you tarriers, drill!
Oh, it’s work all day,
No sugar in your tay--
Wor-rkin’ on th’ U. Pay. Ra-a-ailway!”
_Song of the “U. Pay.” Men_
NEW YORK
THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY
FOURTH PRINTING
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO THE READER
It is fifty years ago, this year 1919, that the first of the iron
trails across the United States, between the East and the West, was
finally completed. At noon of May 10, 1869, the last four rails in the
new Pacific Railway were laid, and upon Promontory Point, Utah, about
fifty miles westward from Ogden, the locomotive of the Union Pacific
and the locomotive of the Central Pacific touched noses. That was
indeed a great event.
The Union Pacific, coming from Omaha at the Missouri River, had built
over one thousand miles of track in three years; the Central Pacific,
coming from Sacramento at the Pacific Ocean, had built over six hundred
miles in the same space. Altogether, in seven years there had been
built one thousand, seven hundred and seventy-five miles of main track,
and the side-tracks, stations, water-tanks, and so forth.
In one year the Union Pacific had laid four hundred and twenty-five
miles of track; in the same year the Central Pacific had laid three
hundred and sixty-three miles. In one day the Union Pacific had laid
seven and three-quarters miles; in one day the Central Pacific had laid
a full ten miles. These records have never been beaten.
The whole thing was a feat equaled again only when America speeded up
in the war against Germany; for when they once get started, Americans
astonish the world.
Twenty-five thousand men, including boys, were working at one time, on
the twain roads. This book tells of the experiences of Terry Richards
and George Stanton, who were two out of the twenty-five thousand; and
of their friends.
THE AUTHOR.
AT THE UNION PACIFIC END
TERRY RICHARDS On the Job
GEORGE STANTON Likewise on the Job
TERRY’S FATHER }
STOKER BILL SWEENY } The Crew of No. 119
GEORGE’S FATHER Out on Survey
MOTHER RICHARDS }
MOTHER STANTON } Heroines of the U. P.
VIRGIE STANTON First Passenger Across
HARRY REVERE Expert Lightning Shooter
JENNY THE YELLOW MULE Dead in Line of Duty
SHEP THE BLACK DOG “Killed in Action”
JIMMIE MULDOON Who “Stays Wid the Irish”
MAJOR-GENERAL GREENVILLE M. DODGE The Big Chief
COLONEL SILAS SEYMOUR His New York Assistant
PADDY MILES Boss of the Track “Tarriers”
GENERAL “JACK” CASEMENT The Scrappy Hustler
MR. SAM REED Construction Superintendent
MAJOR FRANK M. NORTH White Chief of the Pawnees
LINEMAN WILLIAM THOMPSON Who Rescues his own Scalp
GENERAL GRANT, General Sherman, U. P. Vice-President Thomas C.
Durant, Director Sidney Dillon, and other distinguished visitors;
Major Marshall Hurd, John Evans, Tom Bates, Francis Appleton, and
other daring survey engineers; General John A. Rawlins, young Mr.
Duff, Mr. John Corwith, tourists; Mr. David Van Lennep, geologist;
Sol Judy and old Jim Bridger, scouts; Chief Petalesharo’s Pawnees;
United States soldiers; the Irish “tarriers” who built the road;
Jack Slade’s “roaring town” toughs; and bad Injuns.
AT THE CENTRAL PACIFIC END
GOVERNOR LELAND STANFORD A President in Broadcloth
VICE-PRESIDENT COLLIS P. HUNTINGTON Who Raises the Money
MR. CHARLES CROCKER Commanding “Crocker’s Pets”
MR. SAM S. MONTAGUE Chief Engineer
MR. J. H. STROWBRIDGE Construction Superintendent
MR. HI MINKLER Who Opens Paddy Miles’ Eyes
MIKE SHAY, Pat Joyce, Tom Dailey, Mike Kennedy, Fred McNamara, Ed
Killeen, George Wyatt, Mike Sullivan, the ten-miles-a-day “cracks”;
and the 10,000 Chinks who saved the Central.
TIME AND PLACE: 1867-1869, upon the great plains, through the deserts
and over the mountains, during the famous railroad-building race to
cross the continent.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. TERRY RICHARDS ON THE JOB 1
II. A LITTLE INTERRUPTION 12
III. “TRACK’S CLEAR” 24
IV. DOWN THE LINE--AND BACK 39
V. THE CHEYENNES HAVE SOME FUN 60
VI. MOVING DAY ALONG THE LINE 74
VII. OUT INTO THE SURVEY COUNTRY 83
VIII. GENERAL DODGE SHOWS THE WAY 99
IX. MORE BAD NEWS 111
X. A MEETING IN THE DESERT 122
XI. MAJOR HURD IN A FIX 138
XII. TWO ON THE SCOUT TRAIL 148
XIII. SET FOR THE GREAT RACE 166
XIV. THE “TARRIERS” MAKE A RECORD 178
XV. A FIGHT FOR A FINISH 197
XVI. FAST TIME DOWN ECHO CANYON 207
XVII. THE LAST STRETCH 217
XVIII. THE U. P. BREASTS THE TAPE 229
XIX. THE C. P. SHOW THEIR METTLE 238
XX. THE WEDDING OF THE RAILS 251
OPENING THE IRON TRAIL
CHAPTER I
TERRY RICHARDS ON THE JOB
“Drill, my paddies, drill!
Drill, you tarriers, drill!
O, it’s work all day,
No sugar in your tay--
Wor-rkin’ on th’ U. Pay. Ra-a-ailway!”
THE rousing chant rang gaily upon the thin air of Western spring.
Sitting Jenny, the old yellow mule, for a moment’s breather while the
load of rails was being swept from his flat-car truck, Terry Richards
had to smile.
Nobody knew who invented that song. Some said Paddy Miles, the
track-laying boss--and it did sound like Pat. At any rate, the lines
had made a hit, until already their words were echoing from the Omaha
yards, the beginning of track, past end o’ track and on through the
grading-camps clear to the mountains where the surveying parties were
spying out the trail, for this new Union Pacific Railroad across
continent.
Time, early in May, 1867. Place, end o’ track, on the Great Plains
just north of the Platte River, between North Platte Station of west
central Nebraska and Julesburg, the old Overland Stage Station,
of northeastern Colorado. Scene, track-laying--a bevy of sweaty,
flannel-shirted, cowhide-booted men working like beavers, but with
spades, picks, sledges, wrenches and hands, while far before were the
graders, keeping ahead, and behind were the boarding-train and the
construction-train, puffing back and forth.
Aye, this was a bustling scene, here where a few weeks ago there had
been open country traveled by only the emigrant wagons, the stages and
the Indians.
And yonder, farther than the graders and out of sight in the northwest,
there were still more workers on the big job: the location surveyors,
the path-finding surveyors, the--but Terry’s breather was cut short.
“All right!” yelped the command, from the front.
Terry’s empty truck was tipped sideways from the single track. A second
little flat-car, hauled by a galloping white horse ridden by small
red-headed Jimmie Muldoon, passed full speed, bound to the fray with
more rails. Terry’s own car was tipped back upon the track again,
one-legged Dennis, its “conductor,” hopped aboard, to the brakes, and
uttering a whoop Terry started, to get another load, himself.
Old Jenny headed down track, by the path that she had worn; the fifty
feet of rope tautened; with the truck rumbling after and Shep, Terry’s
shaggy black dog, romping alongside, they tore for the fresh supplies.
Sitting bareback, Terry rode like an Indian.
At the waiting pile of rails dumped from the construction-train he
swerved Jenny out, and halted. The light flat-car rolled on until
Dennis (who had been crippled in the war) stopped it with the brake.
Instantly the rail-slingers there began to load it. And presently
Terry was launched once more for end o’ track, with his cargo of forty
rails to be placed, lightning quick, upon the ties.
Jimmie’s emptied truck was tipped aside, to give clearance. Then Jimmie
pelted rearward, for iron ammunition, and Terry had another breather.
That was a great system by which at the rate of a mile and a half to
two miles and a half and sometimes three miles a day the rails for the
Iron Horse were being laid to the land of the setting sun.
Beyond end o’ track the graded roadbed stretched straight into the
west as far as eye could see, with a graders’ camp of sodded dug-outs
and dingy tents breaking the distance. At the tapering-off place the
ploughs and scrapers were busy, building the roadbed. Next there came
the shovel and pick squads, leveling the roadbed. Next, between end
o’ track and shovel squads, there were the tie-layers--seizing the
ties from the piles, throwing them upon the roadbed, tamping them and
straightening them and constantly asking for more, while six-horse and
six-mule wagons toiled up and down, hauling all kinds of material to
the “front.”
Already the row of ties laid yesterday and this very morning extended
like a rippling stream for three miles, inviting the rails.
At end o’ track itself there were the track-builders--the rail-layers,
the gaugers, the spikers, the bolters, the ballasters. And upon the new
track there were the boarding-train and the construction-train.
The boarding-train, for the track-gang, held the advance. It was a
long train of box-cars fitted up with bunks and dining tables and
kitchen--with hammocks slung underneath to the cross-rods and beds
made up on top, for the over-flow; and with one car used as an office
by General “Jack” Casement and his brother, Dan Casement, who were
building the road for the U. P.
The construction-train of flat-cars and caboose plied back and forth
between end o’ track and the last supply depot, twenty miles back.
These supply depots, linked by construction-trains, were located every
twenty miles, on the plains beside the track, back to North Platte, the
supply base.
From its depot the train for end o’ track brought up rails, ties,
spikes, fish-plate joints--everything. It backed in until its caboose
almost touched the rear car of the boarding-train. Overboard went the
loads from the flat-cars; with a shrill whistle, away for another
outfit of track stuff puffed the construction-train; with answering
whistle the boarding-train (Terry’s father at the throttle) followed, a
short distance, to clear the path for the rail-trucks.
The rail-truck, Terry’s or Jimmie Muldoon’s, according to whose turn,
loaded at the farthest pile. Then up track it scampered, to the very
end, where two lines of track-layers, five on a side, were waiting.
Each squad grabbed a rail, man after man, and hustled it forward at
a run; dropped it so skillfully that the rear end fell into the last
fish-plate. They forced the end down, and held the rail straight.
“Down!” signaled the squad bosses. The gaugers had measured the width
between the pair of rails: four feet eight and one-half inches. The
spikers and bolters sprang with spikes and bolts and sledges. “Whang!
Whang! Whangity-whang!” pealed the sledges--a rhythmic chorus. By the
time that the first spikes had been driven two more rails were in
position. Now and again the little car was shoved forward a few yards,
on the new track, to keep up with the work.
A pair of rails were laid--“Down! Down!”--every thirty seconds! Two
hundred pairs of rails were reckoned to the mile; there were ten spikes
to each rail, three sledge blows to each spike. A pair of rails were
laid and spiked fast every minute, which meant a mile of track in three
hours and a third--or say three and a half. In fifteen minutes the
fish-plate joints had been bolted and everything made taut.
It was a clock-work job, at top speed, with maybe 1,000 miles yet to go
in this race to beat the Central Pacific.
The Central Pacific was the road being built eastward from Sacramento
of California. The Government had ordered the Union Pacific to meet it
and join end o’ track with it, somewhere west of the Rocky Mountains.
That would make a railroad clear across continent between the Missouri
River and the Pacific Ocean!
The Union Pacific had much the longer trail: 1,000 miles across the
plains and the Rockies and as much farther as it could get. The Central
Pacific had started in to build only about 150 miles, and then as much
farther as it could get, east from the California border.
The C. P. had commenced first. By the time the U. P. had built eleven
miles of track, the C. P. had completed over fifty. But while the
Central was completing 100 miles, the Union Pacific had completed 300.
Now the Central was still fighting the snowy Sierra Nevada Mountains of
eastern California, and the U. P. had open going on the plains. The C.
P. had plenty of timber for ties and culverts and bridges, and plenty
of cheap Chinese labor; the U. P. had no timber, all its ties were cut
up and down the Missouri River or as far east as Wisconsin, and hauled
to end o’ track from Omaha, and by the time that they were laid they
cost two dollars apiece. Its workmen were mainly Irish, gathered from
everywhere and pretty hard to manage.
The C. P. began at Sacramento on the Sacramento River, up from San
Francisco, but its rails and locomotives had to be shipped clear around
Cape Horn, from the Pennsylvania factories--or else across the Isthmus
of Panama. The U. P. began at Omaha, on the Missouri River, but Omaha
was 100 miles from any eastern railroad and all the iron and other
supplies had to be shipped by steamboat up from St. Louis or by wagon
from central Iowa.
It was nip and tuck. Just the same, General G. M. Dodge, the Union
Pacific chief engineer (and a mighty fine man), was bound to reach Salt
Lake of Utah first, where big business from the Mormons only waited
for a railroad. This year he had set out to build 288 more miles of
track between April 1 and November 1. That would take the U. P. to the
Black Hills of the Rocky Mountains. The C. P. had still forty miles to
go, before it was out of its mountains and down into the Nevada desert;
and this looked like a year’s work, also.
Then the U. P. would be tackling the mountains, while the C. P. had the
desert, with Salt Lake as the prize for both.
But 288 miles, this year, against the Central’s forty! Phew! No matter.
General Dodge was the man to do it, and the U. P. gangs believed that
they could beat the C. P. gangs to a frazzle.
“B’ gorry, ’tis the Paddies ag’in the Chinks, it is?” growled Pat
Miles, the track-laying boss. “Ould Ireland foriver! Shall the like of
us let a lot o’ pig-tailed, rice-’atin’ haythen wid shovels an’ picks
hoist the yaller above the grane? Niver! Not whilst we have a man
who can spit on his hands. Away yonder on that desert over ferninst
Californy won’t there be a shindig, though, when the shillaly meets the
chop-stick! For ’tis not at Salt Lake we’ll stop; we’ll kape right on
into Nevady, glory be!”
So----
“Drill, my paddies, drill!
Drill, you tarriers, drill!
O, it’s work all day,
No sugar in your tay--
Wor-rkin’ on th’ U. Pay. Ra-a-ailway!”
And--“Down! Down!” “Whang! Whang! Whangity-whang!”
The track-laying and the grading gangs were red-shirted, blue-shirted,
gray-shirted; with trousers tucked into heavy boots--and many of the
trousers were the army blue. For though the men were mainly Irish, they
were Americans and two-thirds had fought in the Union armies during the
Civil War. Some also had fought in the Confederate armies.
There were ex-sergeants, ex-corporals, and ex-privates by the scores,
working shoulder to shoulder. In fact, the whole U. P. corps was
like an army corps. Chief Engineer Dodge had been a major-general
in the East and on the Plains; Chief Contractor “Jack” Casement had
been brigadier general; about all the way-up men had been generals,
colonels, majors, what-not; while the workers under them were ready
at a moment to drop picks and shovels and sledges and transits, and
grabbing guns “fall in” as regular soldiers.
This meant a great deal, when the Indians were fighting the road. This
past winter the engineers doing advance survey work had been told by
Chief Red Cloud of the Sioux that they must get out and stay out of
the country--but there they were there again. Nobody could bluff those
surveyors: fellows like “Major” Marshall Hurd who had served as a
private of engineers through the war, and Tom Bates, and young Percy
Browne, and their parties.
All the survey parties--some of them 500 miles in the lead--moved and
worked, carrying guns; the graders’ camps were little forts; the
track-builders marched to their jobs, and stacked their rifles while
they plied their tools. At night the guns were arranged in racks in
the boarding-cars, to be handy. The construction-trains’ cabooses were
padded with sand between double walls, and loop-holed, and even the
passenger trains were supplied with rifles and revolvers, in cars and
cabs. General Dodge called his private car, in which he shuttled up and
down the line, his “traveling arsenal.”
This was the arrangement, from the end o’ track back to beginning, 360
miles, and on ahead to the last survey camp. The Central Pacific was
not having such trouble.
“An’ lucky for it, too,” as said Paddy Miles. “For betwixt the yaller
an’ the red, sure I’d bet on the red. Wan Injun could lick all the
Chinymen on this side the Paycific. But there’s niver an Injun who can
lick an Irishman, b’ gosh!”
However, today everything seemed peaceful. Usually a detachment of
soldiers, or a company of the Pawnee Indian scouts under Major Frank M.
North, their white-scout commander, were camped near by, guarding the
track-laying. But the soldiers were elsewhere, on a short cross-country
trip, and the Pawnees (Company A) were up at Fort Sedgwick, near old
Julesburg, fifteen or twenty miles west.
The air was very clear. The graders working on the roadbed five miles
away might be seen. The long trains of huge wagons, hauling supplies,
wended slowly out to refit them. On this section there were 100 teams
and 2,000 men, scattered along; on the next section there were another
thousand men, doing the first grading according to the stakes set by
the engineers. And eastward there were the trains and the stations, all
manned, and other gangs fixing the rough places in the track.
Of all this Terry felt himself to be rather a small part--just riding
old Jenny back and forth, with the little rail-truck, while his
father imitated with the engine of the boarding-train. Of course, his
father had a bad knee (which the war had made worse), and driving an
engine was important; but he himself envied his chum, George Stanton.
George was out with his father on railroad survey under Mr. Tom
Bates--probably fighting Injuns and shooting buffalo and bear, too.
That also was man’s work, while riding an old yellow mule over the
track was boy’s work.
Every truck-load of forty rails carried the track forward about 560
feet. To that steady “Down! Down!” and “Whangity-whang!” end o’ track
reached out farther and farther from the piles of iron thrown off by
the construction-train, and from the boarding-train that waited for the
construction-train to back in with another supply.
So while cleaning up the piles, Terry and little Jimmie Muldoon had
to travel farther and farther with their loads. Then in due time the
construction-train would come puffing up, the boarding-train, with
Terry’s father leaning from the cab, would move on as close to end
o’ track as it dared, the construction-train would follow and with a
great noise dump its cargo of jangling iron, and retreat again; the
boarding-train would back out, to clear the track for the trucks; and
Terry and Jimmie would start in on short hauls, for a spell.
The supply of iron at the last dump was almost exhausted. The
construction-train was hurrying in, with more. Engine Driver Ralph
Richards and his stoker, Bill Sweeny, were climbing lazily into the cab
of old No. 119, ready to pull on up as soon as Jimmie Muldoon’s truck
left with the final load. Terry had his eye upon the track, to see it
emptied----
“Drill, my paddies, drill!
Drill, you tarriers, drill!
O, it’s work all day,
No sug----”
Hark! A sudden spatter of shots sounded--a series of shouts and
whoops--the whistle of the boarding-train was wide open--up the grade
the graders were diving to cover like frightened prairie-dogs--and out
from the sandhills not a quarter of a mile to the right there boiled a
bevy of wild horsemen, charging full tilt to join with another bevy who
tore down diagonally past the graders themselves.
Sioux? Or Cheyennes? The war had begun, for 1867!