by Terry, Mark
Edison and Randolph bought several of each before they moved off the train. The two porters who had been assigned expressly to them followed behind.
Edison handed his food to Randolph. “Mr. Rockefeller’s office is keeping abreast of Mr. Tesla’s movements. No locomotive moves that they don’t know about. I’m going to find out what progress our ‘friend’ is making. Our benefactor should be able to give us a hand.”
When Edison finally found a foreman to confirm they had the right platform waiting for the Louisville, New Albany and Chicago Line, he went to find a telephone.
Interlude 39
Friday, March 17, 1893, 7:10 a.m.
Home of Albert Spalding, Chicago
The Gunslinger, sitting before the mammoth mahogany and ivory desk, sipped a cup of chamomile tea and smiled. The wealthy and famous baseball player and entrepreneur sat in the high backed chair behind the desk in the main office at the center of the sprawling estate, but the chair had been turned so that the Gunslinger could not see the occupant. The telegraph machine on the bureau behind the desk chittered softly.
“So considerate of you, Mr. Spalding. Truly I can’t tell you what a service you have been.” The clicks stopped, and the Gunslinger gently put the teacup on the desk. “Now, if you would be so kind as to make that phone call for me.”
“Certainly.” A hand reached out to the side and picked up the handset from the desk. There was a long moment’s pause. “Who am I calling again?” the flat voice asked.
Wedderburn sighed. “You are calling Ned Hanlon. George Wood, Jimmy Ryan, Ned — I met you all when you toured the Eiffel Tower. You were in Paris to show off your game of baseball to the Europeans. You’re going to call Ned. Ned calls the rest of them.”
“Yes.” The man tapped on the receiver a couple of times and then raised the handset to his ear. “Ned Hanlon, please.” After a moment, he continued, “This is Albert. Tell the boys we’re going.” He listened as Hanlon spoke, then asked, “Where are we going?”
The Gunslinger folded his hands in his lap. “To St. Louis,” the Gunslinger spit out. “President Cleveland is going to be in St. Louis and you want the touring club to be in town to meet him.”
“We’re going to St. Louis. That’s where we’re going. President Cleveland is going to be there.” Finally, the line went dead.
“Good,” smiled the Gunslinger, “hang up the phone.”
The hand reached out and replaced the handset.
“Fine. Now, you’ll be taking the No. 39. It shouldn’t be leaving for almost another hour. I’ve seen to it. You will board without question. You are Goodwill Ambassadors on your way to meet President Cleveland. No one will stop you.”
“No one will stop me,” Mr. Spalding repeated.
“Yes, and you’re going to enjoy every whistle-stop along the way. In every town with a train whistle, you’ll stop, sign autographs and kiss babies.” The Gunslinger pursed his lips. ”Then you’ll continue on to St. Louis.”
“On to St. Louis.”
“Correct. And Mr. Spalding, most importantly,” the Gunslinger stood up, “we didn’t have this conversation. When you leave this room, you won’t have a worry or a care. Understood?”
“You were never here.” Albert Spalding’s face had turned ashen white, and his eyes were pools of red. His mouth hung slack after mouthing the words that came like they began a long way off.
The Gunslinger left the room without looking back. The man in the chair didn’t move.
Interlude 40
Friday, March 17, 1893, 8:19 a.m.
The Burlington Line, West of Chicago
The Chicago-Denver sat ready and waiting to go on a side spur just outside Downers Grove. The combination buffet-smoker-library car that also featured a barber shop sat behind a baggage and mail car. Tesla’s personal coach brought up the rear.
Steam locomotives consist of basically two different parts—a huge boiler sitting atop a set of wheels. The boiler generates steam which is then converted into power to rotate the wheels which, in turn, support the boiler. At the rear of the boiler is the firebox where fuel is consumed to produce hot gas. The hot gas travels through steel tubes which heat the water next to them. The water turns to steam and passes into the throttle component, driving the motion of the train.
When the hot gas vents through the stack and into the air, it also creates a vacuum effect which draws more hot gas from the firebox behind it. In effect, the hotter the gas gets, the more steam created and vented, and the faster the process can go. Devices such as a release valve on top of the boiler should the pressure get too high, and a steam generator for running lights and other equipment on the train keep everything functioning.
The Cannonball represented the archetype steam locomotive, with the outline of locomotives which would be preserved for generations. It had an extended wheelbase which allowed for a wider boiler that extended beyond the width of the wheels. This gave the locomotives increased steam and heating capacity which provided increased power.
“Is called Wabash Cannonball,” Tesla said as he and Ida stepped from the carriage.
“And it’s waiting for us?” Ida asked, amazed.
“It’s certainly not more modern model, but will suffice our purposes. It is best Westinghouse could do on short notice. Is under contract with Great Western Railway of Illinois and is coming back with load of some lovely Colorado sandstone and zinc ore, I am told. Under circumstances, I am happy to have anything more than hand-car.”
Ida wagged a gloved finger at him.
“Still angry, even though I had your interests at heart?” Tesla asked, half-joking.
“A decision which I am more than capable of making on my own, I might remind you. Cross country travel is something women have been doing for more than half a century!”
Tesla picked up his suitcase and walked off, smiling. “If marauding Indians and train robbers are all we have to brave, Miss Tarbell, we shall be very lucky indeed.”
“What else would we have to be afraid of, sir? Derailment? I know the risks.” She huffed, picked up her bag, and followed.
Tesla and Ida walked by the engine as the engineer checked the gauges to verify the steam pressure. Jets of white vapor escaped from gaskets and vents, hissing like an angry serpent.
The conductor stepped from the dining car and motioned to them. “Time to go, sir!” he shouted over the hissing steam.
Ida glanced across the clearing at the main track where a first class car would be passing. A makeshift hut, about eight-foot by eight-foot and missing its fourth wall, stood creaking slightly to one side. Under and around its shingled canopy, huddled a large family, or several families, of Russian Mennonites on their way to join thousands of their countrymen on the plains of Nebraska.
Ida glanced in the other direction and caught a fleeting glimpse of Simon—or is that Grgor—loading several crates from a second carriage onto a baggage car. A porter appeared silently, carrying their bags from the carriage and disappeared inside. Ida followed Nikola onto his personal car and stepped inside the stripped down Pullman Palace Car.
It had the normal, oversized windows and deep-cushioned sofas, but only four of them, whereas the average Palace car had ten or twelve. The sofas each had their own table and lamps. The trimmings were gold-leaf, and electric bulbs burned brightly every few feet. There were two luxury berths, each extended from the normal six feet, three inches long to more than eight feet long and each berth had deluxe windows.
Two-thirds of the car was transformed into a small version of a Tesla laboratory. An oscillating machine, a magnifying transmitter, and a small resonant transformer circuit sat on a table with dozens of different bulbs and tubes. The improvised laboratory even included a small machine shop with a lathe and an electric generator. In a far corner, sat a strange gun-like apparatus with electric cables connected to the generator.
“A symbol of American manufacturing supremacy, wouldn’t you say?” Tesla asked.
Ida nodded, then cocked her head slightly. She noticed a gun case and a stuffed turkey on the wall above one worktable. “What is that about?”
“Mr. Westinghouse kindly provided carriage car suitable for my uses, but is actually mobile hunting lodge. I believe he last used it on Dakota prairie. Underneath one of those tables is kennel and icebox they used for game,” Tesla said, pointing toward the tables.
Ida sank into one of the plush couches and let out a heavy breath, looking out the window at the passing scene for a moment.
Nikola removed his necktie and laid it over the back of the sofa. He too sank down into the comfortable sofa and leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“This line goes all the way to Denver and Billings, right?” Ida asked.
Tesla nodded.
“Did you know that this Chicago-Burlington Line made history in the Supreme Court?” Ida asked.
Tesla opened his eyes.
“Last year, Cook County petitioned the courts to have a right-of-way owned by the Chicago-Quincy-Burlington Line and surrounding properties condemned. They condemned the land and awarded the railroad a dollar for its right-of-way.”
“A dollar?” he asked, confused.
“Precisely. The railroad appealed. The Supreme Court held that the Fourteenth Amendment’s Due Process required that the Takings Clause of the Fifth Amendment be applied. The first time the court ruled that the Fourteenth Amendment requires applying the Bill of Rights to the states.”
“So the railroad won its appeal.”
Ida shrugged. “Not exactly. While the court recognized the Takings Clause—and the rest of the Bill of Rights—as applying to the states, it also ruled that the dollar represented just compensation. Basically, it means that someday, if a city wants to come along and find a better use for your home or your land than what you are using it for, it can take it. Unless something happens and people change the laws in their own states, no one’s home or property is really safe.”
The train shuddered as it moved. Steam from the boilers entered the steam chest, pushed a piston back which drove the locomotive wheels around one half-turn. The high-pressure steam then vented to the back end of the cylinder, pushing the piston forward, and bringing the wheels around another half-turn. At the end of the second stroke, the heat again vented, this time from the rear of the cylinder. These two venting mechanisms produced the choo-choo sound commonly associated with locomotives.
“Well, you could do something about it, then. The female mind has demonstrated a capacity for all the mental requirements and achievements of men, and as generations ensue, that capacity will be expanded,” Tesla said.
Ida stared at Tesla silently for several long moments before turning to stare out the window.
Interlude 41
Friday, March 17, 1893, 9:30 a.m.
Aboard the Cannonball,
East of St. Louis
Ida realized she had nodded off and came awake with a start when the train stopped for water and fuel. She looked around, but Tesla could not be found. She wandered through the covered transom and into the eating and smoking lounge car.
“Have you seen Mr. Tesla, George?” she asked the first porter she encountered.
“No, ma’am. I expect you’ll find him sleeping in his bunk.” The man smiled genuinely. “Not many places else to go on a train.”
Ida returned to Tesla’s Palace car and looked in both sleeping berths. Moving quicker, more fiercely now, she strode to the rear of the car and opened the door angrily expecting to find him standing on the rear platform.
She looked around for some sign that perhaps he had fallen off the locomotive. She peered out around the train, and grimaced at the stupidity of that idea. What? Would he be hanging on the side of the train? But then she stopped. She leaned out and looked again. On the roof of the dining car, she could just make out a pair of legs and shoes.
Climbing up on the ladder on the rear platform, Ida made her way onto the Palace car’s roof and then forward to the buffet car. Crates of fruit had been tied to the roof, and Tesla sat with several apple peels and orange rinds lying next to him. He stared off in the horizon.
Ida grabbed an apple and crossed over his legs. Only then did he see her, with a start. She sat down with her back to him. He pursed his lips approvingly and nodded silently. They rode like that for many miles. Occasionally the odd dot in the foreground would become a barn, or several dots would become a wagon train, and then the dots would dwindle into the distance behind them.
The latter part of the nineteenth century had become St. Louis’ Golden Age. The Civil War had had a slowing effect on the city’s economy as the river traffic from the south had ceased, but in the last quarter century, the river shipments returned to near pre-war levels. As a result, in 1890, St. Louis reclaimed fourth place among American cities for population.
Construction remained fierce and many buildings of ten stories or more could be seen as the Cannonball approached the city limits. The city that began life as a fur-trading outpost had exploded into a major manufacturing, rail, and waterway hub.
Nikola and Ida stood on the roof of the baggage car as the city came into view in the distance.
Tesla smiled at Ida. “Ask me how wide American railroad tracks are.”
Ida looked at him, confused. Then she smirked. “How wide are American railroad tracks?”
“Standard gauge we are riding today is four feet, eight and half inches.”
“Why such a random measurement?”
“Because of horse’s ass,” Tesla said, seriously.
Ida slapped him on the shoulder. “Really! Such vulgarities!”
Tesla cocked an eyebrow. “Is serious answer.”
“Really? A horse’s ass?”
“Okay,” he said, holding his hands wide apart, “four feet and eight and half inches. That’s standard gauge in England. They brought it over here.”
“So go on. You are going to explain your remark?”
Tesla nodded. “Certainly. Men who built rails used same tools to build wagons. Same for wheel spacing on wagons.”
Ida crossed her arms and cocked her head slyly, turning to Tesla.
Tesla cleared his throat and paused, enjoying the moment. “Wagons were built to fit wheel ruts in roads, which across Europe were first formed by Roman war chariots. Everyone else built wagons to match chariot specifications.”
Ida shook her head in frustration.
Tesla put up a hand for patience. “Since Imperial Rome dictated wheel spacing, every chariot in Roman Empire had to be built same.”
Ida’s eyes grew large and her jaw clenched.
“Four feet, eight and half inches is exact space needed to accommodate rear of horse. Two, to be more exact.” Nikola took a half bow.
Realization dawned on Ida’s face and her eyes crinkled in a smile. “So the width of the track a train runs on in America is because—”
“Of horse’s ass,” Tesla finished, nodding. “Now, we will be riding along narrow gauge track once we get to Colorado. Narrow gauge track is more suitable for mountain terrain, narrow turns, hauling mining ore. We’d better get down. Getting close to town.”
The Burlington Line pulled into the recently completed Union Depot, and Nikola and Ida leaned out a window to watch the scene. With its sweeping archways and Tiffany stained glass windows, it heralded St. Louis’ urgency to be recognized as an up-and-coming city for the new century.
Tesla saw Harvey’s eatery come into view and his stomach grumbled. “We forgot to wire our meal into Harvey’s,” he muttered.
“I’m sure the Harvey Girls won’t mind taking your order, Nikola.”
Tesla rolled his eyes, but then cocked an eyebrow. “Their Midwestern hospitality is world famous.”
Ida watched in fascination as a train heading west sounded its all-clear horn. She noted the foreman did not even shout out the nominal “all aboard!” Then she saw the great conflagration of people rush from
the station, carrying bags and children, many still trying to wolf down their remaining food. They were immigrants. Irish, Swedish, Russians, and Italians who had come in search of the great land deals the railroads were offering.
Needing to justify the massive expansion of rail across the American continent, the government had given some fifteen million acres of land to the railroad to sell along its routes. The railroad went out to every corner of the globe offering acres of land so cheaply, and the promise of a better life so glibly, that many peasants around the world took the plunge.
But the land of milk and honey did not always treat newcomers so pleasantly. Ida had already seen more than one train full of immigrants headed east, back towards the cities. They had obviously gotten to the middle of wherever the railroad had sent them and found they couldn’t survive. The immigrants who had been headed west had seen them too, she assumed. The faces she saw were not full of expectation and adventure. They were resigned. Some were sickly. All were tired.
And no wonder. The passenger cars the immigrants were boarding were much smaller and shabbier than the one she and Tesla were riding. Several of the cars were even freight cars, and Ida saw mothers handing young children up to waiting arms and climbing or being dragged on board moving trains.
As the train moved out and Ida watched the last of the straggling immigrants leap onto it bound for a life of which they knew little, she turned back toward Nikola who argued with a railroad manager. Their train’s engineers and porters were all off the train, standing nearby, confused.
“I don’t understand,” Tesla said, holding his hands up.