Smile Slippers
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The next day at noon the train left Chicago. The station was crowded with people eager to see the new wonder of railroads. They were all there to see one person, a man named John Jacob Astor. He owned most of the stock in this line and had built this huge engine for it. In fact, he had paid for most of the construction costs.
Astor’s name was on every newspaper in America by that time. Many called him the wealthiest man in America because his fortune was estimated at $50 million dollars (about $1.2 billion today). His business interests included banks, steamships, railroad lines, and real estate.
“There are more millionaires in this country now than ever before,” said a reporter from the New York Herald. “And they are mostly men of wealth created by their own industry.”
That was true about many of these new railroad tycoons, but not Astor. He didn’t work hard for it; he simply inherited some money from his father. That’s what made him an oddity among the new rich.
A reporter for the Tribune said, “Mr. Astor is the only wealthy man in America who has made his fortune without any effort on his part.”
The newspapers also reported how Astor spent his fortune. Some called him the King of Pleasure. The Tribune wrote, “John Jacob Astor has been called ‘a king of pleasure’ more than once since his birth in 1833.”
Many of his purchases were lavish. One of them was an island off Norway where he built a palace and imported servants from Europe. When it came to women, he liked beautiful ones. And he did not mind paying handsomely for them.
One of his lovers was a young Swedish countess named Hedwig von Meerbach. She was a tall, willowy beauty. Astor bought her as a gift for his wife, but she soon became Mrs. Astor.
She was a famous pianist who played in concert halls around the world. She also sang opera and had a lovely voice, but Astor didn’t care much for music. He just enjoyed watching her perform. It pleased him when other people applauded, so he would tell her afterward, “You were wonderful.” Then he’d buy her another present.
He gave her a large house on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, where she had a private apartment. On Sunday afternoons she often entertained the wives and children of the rich men who lived nearby.
But Astor’s wife did not like Hedwig. She said she was jealous of the attention Astor lavished on her. So she told him to divorce her and marry the countess instead. But even Astor couldn’t do that. He loved his wife and wanted to stay married to her.
So he continued to have affairs with Hedwig despite the objections of his wife. The press was fascinated by the strange relationship between the two women. A writer in the Atlantic Monthly said, “It is a strange case, a romance of two women, each of whom loves the husband, but neither of whom can bear to lose him.”
By the end of the year, the Great Western was running through Kansas. By the following spring, it reached Colorado, Utah, and Nevada. There were still plenty of obstacles to overcome before it could reach California, but it was getting closer.
The first problem was the Grand Canyon and then the Sierra Nevadas, which were almost impassable mountains. These rugged areas required special equipment to build bridges over rivers, cut switchbacks, and tunnel under cliffs.
Another challenge was building the tunnels through the Sierra Nevadas. It took three years, but when the tracks reached California, a reporter said, “This is the greatest engineering feat of all time.”
On July 4, 1869, President Ulysses S. Grant dedicated the first transcontinental railroad in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. The crowd was so huge that it stretched for six miles along the park’s main road. People stood in long lines waiting for hours just to get into the park.
When the ribbon was cut, the president said, “Let us hope that our Union shall never again be severed and that this great line may bind together the people of our Republic forevermore.”
As the train pulled away, everyone cheered.
***
Walking Through Darkness
For a few days, we traveled westward across Kansas in a boxcar. We had no idea what lay ahead of us. All I knew was that it was going to be hard work.
After leaving Kansas, we went south and crossed the Colorado River. We had to climb up steep slopes and cross deep gorges, so the engineer slowed down and let us rest.
Our next stop was Fort Kearny, which was established by General George Custer at the beginning of the American Indian Wars. As we approached, we saw a sign saying, “Welcome to the Frontier, Your Friendliest Station.”
I wondered why it was called the frontier if it was friendly there. In fact, the name was a joke. No one who lived there ever thought of it as being friendly.
The station was surrounded by a wooden wall, but it was too small for a train to stop inside. Instead, it stopped outside and waited while the passengers got out.
Some of the buildings within the fort looked old and dilapidated, as though they had not been renovated or repaired in years. They have painted a dull gray color, and the roofs showed signs of age. The soldiers stationed there appeared to be living in squalor.
We stayed overnight in the train’s boxcar. It was cold and damp, with little space to stand. I was glad when morning arrived because we were moving on again.
In Texas, we had a change of guards. One of them was a man named John Henry Brown. His nickname was “the Steel-Driven Man.”
He was a strong, powerful black man who stood six feet seven inches tall. Like most blacks in the South, he had been born free. But he had grown up in Kentucky, where slavery was legal. He learned to read and write before many whites did.
He had fought Indians as a boy scout and later joined the army, where he rose quickly in rank. He became a corporal in the Black Cavalry.
A white colonel told him, “You’re a good soldier and you’ve done your duty well, but it would be better for you to give up this fighting and join me in my efforts to keep slaves in bondage.”
“Sir,” he replied, “I can’t do that. I’m fighting for freedom, not slavery.”
The colonel said, “Then I will promote you to sergeant and transfer you to another unit.”
John Henry refused. He resigned from the army rather than take a promotion that would make him a slave driver. The army gave up trying to force him to accept the promotion.
When war broke out in 1861, he enlisted in the Confederate Army. In the Battle of Shiloh, he led a charge against a large force of Union troops. When he reached the enemy ranks, he drew his sword and charged straight into them, shouting, “Come on!”
His men followed and routed the Union soldiers. Later that day, he was shot in both legs during an engagement with the Federals.
The bullet shattered his right knee and tore a hole in his left thigh. Blood poured from the wound and soaked his uniform, but he refused to quit. He kept advancing until he was surrounded by Union forces.
“Give me a musket,” he shouted to his officers. “If I die here, you’ll have to bury me.”
They gave him a gun, but the recoil was so violent that it knocked him back several steps. He tried to reload and shoot again, but he was too slow. The Union soldiers captured him. A doctor examined the wound and decided that it could not be stitched because the bone had pierced the flesh. If it wasn’t properly cared for, it might cause gangrene.
The doctor ordered John Henry to remain still and not move his leg. For two weeks, he was forced to lie in bed with his leg hanging over the edge.
During that time, he was unable to sleep or eat. He was delirious and hallucinated.
He heard voices calling him, “John Henry, John Henry.” After a while, he started to believe these were real people, even though he didn’t know their names.
One night he dreamed that his wife and children stood beside him. Then he woke up and felt his family near. His wife was crying and begging him to live. She told him she couldn’t bear losing her husband and the father of their children.
She begged him to stay alive. That same night, he heard a voice say, “Don’t worry about your leg, John Henry. You’ll be all right.”
That made him feel much better and calmed him down. The next day, he was able to get out of bed without assistance.
He walked with a limp for some time after that, but he recovered fully. He went to work for the railroad and eventually became a conductor.
On his way to Fort Sill, Oklahoma Territory, we passed through Indian country.
We traveled along a dirt road that had been built to connect the railroads. It was barely wide enough for our locomotive and freight cars to pass each other, and it was filled with deep ruts.
We had to stop at a small town called Waurika, where a group of Indians lived in tents and shacks. We stopped there for the night and were given permission to use the church for shelter and rest.
As we sat inside the church, we saw several Indians coming toward us. Two of them carried rifles and wore long black headdresses. Others had bows and arrows strapped to their backs. They had moccasins on their feet and feathers in their hair.
I wondered if they were going to attack us. I looked around for someone to tell them we weren’t going to harm anyone. But no one moved. Everyone seemed paralyzed. I didn’t want to leave the safety of the church, but I knew I had to go outside.
Somehow I got out in front of everyone else. I asked the Indians, “Why are you carrying guns?”
Their leader answered with a curse and then said, “This is how we kill men.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Are you threatening us? Are you trying to frighten us?”
“No,” he replied. “We just want to show you what we can do.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” I said. “I’ve seen a man killed with a knife before.”
The other Indians nodded in agreement. One of them said, “It’s true; you did see a man stabbed in the heart with a knife. You saw that happen once when you were a boy.”
I was stunned by that statement and could only think of one thing.
“Did my father kill that man?” I asked.
The Indians laughed and answered, “Your father didn’t kill that man. No one has ever killed a man like that. It took a lot of strength and skill.”
“Then who killed him?”
Another Indian answered, “That man died because of his own foolishness and stupidity. There are many things wrong with the way he lived his life. That’s why he had to die.”
They were talking about Tom Sawyer, a notorious gambler who owned the saloon in which we’d stopped. Tom Sawyer was known as a hard drinker, gambler and womanizer. He was also a terrible drunk.
When I was young, I often heard my mother mention this man who had been murdered in a saloon. She always talked about the man’s death in hushed tones, as if it were a crime that would bring shame on the entire family.
But I never understood why she was so upset until now—until I saw his body lying dead in the street.
The Indians led us away from the church and showed us a large hole in the ground that had been dug for a grave. A rope was tied to a tree branch above the hole. The rope extended down into the hole and ended under the dirt.
A large wooden box rested on top of the grave. The Indians placed Tom Sawyer’s body inside the box and covered it with dirt.
We spent the night in town and continued our journey early the next morning.
Our train rolled into Denver, Colorado Territory, and we were greeted by a crowd of people. The newspapers had reported that we would arrive soon and sent reporters ahead to cover the arrival of the great engine.
We had stopped at a small station in the middle of a field and unloaded our cargo of coal. When the last load was off the train, we left for a larger city nearby. As we traveled farther west, we passed through towns that had been burned to the ground.
I learned a lesson in Indian country: Don’t take lightly what the Indians can do.
***
The train rolled onto a flat stretch of land surrounded by mountains and high peaks. On either side of the tracks, pine trees grew tall.
There were no houses or buildings in sight. It looked like a desert, an inhospitable place where even the most beautiful flowers couldn’t survive.
One day while we were traveling along this route, we saw a man walking across the prairie. We thought at first he was a wanderer, but then we realized he was leading a herd of cattle.
We stopped in our tracks and waited for him to pass by us.
As he walked past us, I noticed how dirty he looked. His clothes were filthy, and there was dried blood on the front of his shirt.
He was carrying two rifles over his shoulder. He walked with a limp as if something were bothering him below his left knee. I watched him until he disappeared beyond the mountain range.
The next day we reached a small town called Boulder. The population of this city was about 2,000 and included a few families from New York state. It was the kind of place where people came for a short time to make money, then went back home to their families.
We stopped in Boulder to unload a shipment of iron ore and then headed out again with some passengers. We made a good time and reached another town that was situated in the middle of nowhere. The train stopped in a small depot that was surrounded by a cluster of buildings.
I stepped off the train and looked around. The town’s main street was lined with stores and saloons. All the buildings were made of wood and painted white.
The town was so quiet and peaceful, I almost wanted to stay there. But instead, I got back on board the train and rode up to the roof of the passenger car where I sat in the open air and watched the scenery go by.
The railroad workers were friendly and offered to give me a tour of the engine and caboose. They showed me how to start and stop the train, how to maneuver it through tight tunnels and how to keep it running smoothly without any problems.
I thanked them for showing me all these things and told them they had done a fine job. Then I returned to the baggage car where I was sitting with my father.
“You did well today,” he said as he patted my hand. “I’m proud of you.”
After lunch, we continued our journey and stopped at a station where we picked up a cargo of lumber.
My father asked me if I would be interested in taking over the position of the fireman when one of the men left. I was surprised by his question. This was a very important position, and I had never considered being in charge of an engine crew.
But after thinking about it, I decided to accept the offer. It didn’t matter to me whether I was in a passenger car or an engine; the important thing was to get paid.
So on this day, I officially became a fireman and took over the duty of starting and stopping the train whenever needed.
On this trip, we also hauled a large amount of lumber and coal, which kept me busy most of the day. I had never worked with wood before, and I found it difficult to know how much each piece weighed and how long it would take to fill a freight car.
Some of the pieces were too heavy for me to lift alone so I had to ask someone to help me.
When we reached a station, we unloaded our cargo and then loaded it into the waiting freight cars. I helped my father unload and reload the train.
This part of the job required patience, careful timing, and plenty of coordination. If I started unloading the train before the signal sounded, I could cause an accident. I had to wait until the signal rang three times, which meant it was safe to move the train forward.
If I was in the process of loading the train and it rained, I had to work quickly to finish before the rain washed away the ashes that held the coal together. Otherwise, I risked having the coal fall apart in the hold of the locomotive.
At night, when the sunset, I stayed behind in the engine room and worked on keeping our engine clean and shiny. It was a tedious task, but I liked working in the engine room because it was quiet and I could spend time alone.
It took several days of hard labor for us to reach the city of Kansas City. We spent two nights in the station yard, then moved on toward Denver.
Denver!
That was the name of the big city I was looking for.
During our journey, we stopped at a station where we picked up a load of cattle. I was surprised that there were only five of them. The others must have belonged to some ranchers who owned a ranch near there, and they brought their animals to Denver for sale.
The next morning, we left Denver bound for Cheyenne, Wyoming.
Cheyenne!
By now, I knew exactly what was going on with my brother and his gang. I was certain that Tom was trying to find out more information about the mine, and I suspected that he was using me to do it. After all, I had been hired as a detective by the mine owners.
But why? Why was Tom doing this to me? Was it just a game between brothers—a way to tease and torment me because he hated me? Or was it something else? Perhaps it was something he felt compelled to do.
As I thought about it, I realized that Tom and I were very much alike: stubborn, independent, and always ready to defend ourselves against anyone who might try to harm us. And maybe that is why he was determined to get me out of the mine. He wanted to protect me from getting hurt, even though he couldn’t save himself.
There were two trains traveling in opposite directions on the same track. When one of them came close, we heard a loud bang. A collision occurred and both engines were thrown off balance.
I jumped out of the train and rushed to see if there was any damage done to either engine. But nothing seemed wrong except for a few sparks coming from one of the tracks.
While I was inspecting the damaged area, my father joined me and asked if everything was okay.
“Yes,” I replied. “Everything’s fine.”
He looked at me in surprise and then shook his head. “No, it isn’t,” he said in a low voice. “One of these days—”
I turned to face him. “What?” I demanded, angry at his remark. “You mean to say we’ll be involved in another wreck like the one in Chicago?”
His eyes burned with anger. “Maybe not,” he answered. “But we won’t always be lucky enough to have an engineer with such a good sense of direction.”
He stared at me for a moment, then turned back to look at the damaged area. I followed his gaze. The rails had bent inward, making it impossible for the train to move forward.
“We can fix it,” I told him. “Just give me a few minutes to work on it.”
My father didn’t answer. He stood there with his arms crossed and glared at me.
“Father!” I shouted. “Please don’t worry about the train; it’s all right.”
I was surprised at his reaction, as he usually let me handle things on my own. He had no reason to worry unless it was something that could potentially lead to an accident or injury.
I went over to the engine and began to work on straightening the rails. The problem was that I couldn’t bend the steel easily because it was so cold. So I heated it with a torch and tried again, but the metal refused to cooperate.
After a while, I got frustrated and put down the tools and sat on the floor of the engine room. I had never failed to accomplish anything before, but this time was different. My father’s words haunted me.
Was this a test? Or was someone watching me and waiting to see how I would react?
I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the problem. If I worked hard enough, perhaps the metal would soften and bend. Maybe I could make it move without any trouble.
A short time later, I heard the sound of hoofbeats and then Tom rode up on a horse and pulled up beside me. His expression was grim as if he had a bad feeling about something. “What happened?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you moving?”
I ignored him and kept working.
Tom grabbed hold of the hoses and pulled them free from the valves.
“What are you doing?” I cried. “Don’t take it away! It will ruin the engine.”
He tossed it aside and walked into the engine room. I hurried after him, and he threw me back against the wall. Then he pushed me onto the floor and straddled my legs. “What did I tell you about messing around with machinery?”
“Father…” I whispered.
“Your father has nothing to do with this,” Tom said quietly. “This is your fault. You ruined our chance to make money.”
“It wasn’t my—” I started to argue.
“Didn’t you hear what I told you?” he interrupted. “That’s all over now.”
“Yes, it is,” I responded. “And I’m sorry that you’re upset. But this was a mistake, and I should have known better than to do something like this.”
The End