Through the amalgamation of many railroads, The Canterlot & North Western spawned a vast network of rails covering the Equestria's Midwest and extending all the way to the northwestern tip of the nation. This is one engineer's story
The Lake Shore division of the Canterlot & North Western cuts through the fertile farmlands and lush green pastures of the Great Plains. Dotted with beautiful lakes, the rolling landscape would seem to be an ideal country in which to railroad. The seasons were so definite that one never tired of the changing scenery; and yet the winters were so severe that only the stoutest could endure their hardships. This vigorous and interesting railroad is the background for this story, which witnesses steam at the height of its glory and sees the coming of the Diesel.
This story is based on my grandfather's experiences working for the Chicago & North Western Railroad out of Neenah (pronounced knee-nah), Wisconsin, so the scenery is based on my home state. I hope others from Wisconsin who read this will recognize the locations, even though some will have different names. Teen for language. Now humanized.
Throughout the amalagation of many railroads, the Canterlot & North Western spawned a vast network of rails covering the midwest and extending all the way to the nrothwestern tip of the nation. It became the fifth largest railroad in Equestria.
From its very inception, Griffin financiers held controlling interest; consequently, the equipment and its operation have been unique in many ways. The line earned the distinction of being one of the first railroads to voluntarily establish a pension system at no cost to its employees.
At a time when competitive roads were running in the red, the North Western continued to enjoy amazing financial success. The success was due in large part to wise management. The employees were constantly bombarded with reminders of safety and thrift. The purchase of new locomotives would never be considered unless the existing power was either worn beyond repair or proved inadequate for the job. Notwithstanding, the policy of the company was to equal or better the service of its competitors, a fact which resulted in unusual demands on the engine crews.
The Lake Shore division of the Canterlot & North Western cuts through the fertile farmlands and lush green pastures of the Great Plains. Dotted with beautiful lakes, the rolling landscape would seem to be an ideal country in which to railroad. The seasons were so definite that one never tired of the changing scenery; and yet the winters were so severe that only the stoutest could endure their hardships. This vigorous and interesting railroad is the background for this story, which witnesses steam at the height of its glory and sees the coming of the Diesel.
In 1862 Casey Trotterson, a locomotive engineer, hired his son Berkshire to fire for him at Trottingham. Berkshire was only 13, but he was strong and mature for his age. This partnership continued for three years. Quite suddenly, Casey became very sick, stricken with severe abdominal pains.
The following day there was no engineer to take over the job. One of the officials suggested that you Berkshire Trotterson could handle it if they could find somepony to do the firing. A clerk in the office, overhearing the conversation, volunteered, "Sir, I've had experience firing those wood burners."
When Berkshire reported for duty the next morning, the official called him into the office and informed him that he was being considered to replace his father. "Can you run the engine?" asked the official. Berkshire's eyes lit up. "Yes, sir," came his prompt reply. "My father instructed me how to operate the engine and I have many hours at the throttle." Berkshire's reputation as a level-headed, responsible young man influenced the final decision and he became a locomotive engineer at the age of 16.
The job continued on without a hitch, but Casey's condition grew steadily worse. One evening about two weeks after his father became sick, Berkshire was had just returned home and, as was his custom, he stopped in the woodshed for a load of kindling. As he entered the back door, Mother Trotterson was busy at the wood stove. "Wash up right away, dinner is almost ready," she told him. Berkshire went bent over and quietly placed the each stick in the bin. Lifting the lid to the reservoir, he filled the dipper with hot water and poured it into the wash basin. "How's Father?" he inquired as he removed his shirt and proceeded to wash the soot from his face. Keeping her back to her son in order to conceal her tears, she replied, "Better go on up an see him right away, he's been calling for you."
Berkshire finished drying and started up the stairs. "That you son?" asked his father in a weak voice. "Turn up the lamp and sit down beside me." As Berkshire turned up the wick on the coal oil lamp, his father's pale face became visible. Carefully, he sat on the bed.
"Berkshire, my boy, I am going to die."
"Now Father, you shouldn't talk like that," Berkshire complained.
"Don't interrupt, I haven't much time left." Though feeble, a stern tone in his father's voice bespoke authority. "I have many burdens on my heart and I need your help," continued his father.
"What do you want me do do?" asked Berkshire.
"Promise me you will take care of Mother, send your three sisters through school, and pay off the mortgage. Berkshire gave his solemn word. That night, Casey Trotterson passed on to his reward.
By the time Berkshire was 23, his mother had remarried, his sisters had completed their schooling, and the mortgage was paid. Having fulfilled his promise, Berkshire married Honey Drop. Ten children followed in quick succession. The fourth child from this union was named Casey Regulator Trotterson.
At four years of age Regulator imagined that the eccentric on his mother's sewing machine was the side rod* of his father's locomotive. While pumping the foot treadle, his big toe became lodged in a hole through the platform. The up and down motion nearly broke it off. It was a very painful experience, but his passion for the steam locomotive continued.
Though forbidden by his father to come near the tracks, Reggie would often slip down to the depot wand watch the engine as it glided up and down the rails. One day while the firepony was taking on water, Berkshire spotted Regulator hiding behind some bushes. Quickly, he climbed down and walked over.
"What are you doing here?" he said in a gruff voice. Expecting the worst, Regulator hung his head and started to cry. Father Trotterson took his boy in his arms and carried him up to the cab. Standing on the firepony's seat box, Regulator looked overhead at the dangling bell cord.
"Go ahead and pull it," said his father. Timidly, he reached up with both hands and pulled with all his might. The huge brass bell clanged and Regulator forgot his tears. The next hour was spent riding the engine with his father. In that short time, he nearly wore the bell out.
After carrying him off the engine, his father put him down on the platform and said, "Now you go home, right away."
From that day on, Berkshire had but one ambition in life: To be an engineer like his daddy.
Regulator's older brother Berkshire Jr turned 18 in the spring of 1905. He was his father's namesake, and four years older than Regulator. As is often the case, the big brother exercised considerable influence over him.
The railroad business was booming and the word came through that the North Western was hiring. Berkshire decided to hop a freight to Green Bay and hire out. When Regulator learned of his plans, he begged to go along. Both knew full well that their father was dead set against his children hopping trains. However, Brother Regulator assured Berkshire that he would keep their trip a secret, if only for his own preservation. Father Trotterson ruled his family with due regard to the injunction "Spare the rod and spoil the child."
They secretly packed a lunch and stole down to the depot. A northbound freight was sidetracked across from the depot awaiting a southbound passenger train. In order to avoid being detected, Berkshire lead Regulator by a route which brought them near the rear end of the train. After boosting Regulator into an empty boxcar, Berkshire leaped in and they both moved out of sight. When the passenger train departed, the freight started out on the main line and they were on their way to Green Bay.
Berkshire had ridden in boxcars before, but this was Regulator's first experience. As the train cleared the Trottingham yard, they sat with their feet dangling out the open doorway.
Berkshire figured his brother was going along for the ride, but Regulator had made up his mind to hire out firing, too. Somehow he would convince the man that did the hiring that he was big enough and old enough. After all, his father began firing for the North Western when he was only 13. The train made several stops and did some switching en route. It was around 6 PM when they pulled into a siding about half a mile from the Green Bay Depot. Arriving too late to apply for the job, Berkshire suggested they eat and then take a stroll around town.
Berkshire had made quite a name for himself as an amateur boxer. Regulator had a ringside seat at all his matches, and Berkshire won every fight with the exception of a disputed draw. In fact, most of his opponents wound up flat on their backs.
Berkshire seemed to know where he was going, so Regulator was content to follow. On their way to the center of town, they were passing through what appeared to be the skid row area. Berkshire stopped in front of a penny arcade. The place had a carnival-like atmosphere and Regulator was eager to look things over. Right at the entrance, Regulator spotted an intriguing machine which dispensed colored gumballs. He pulled out a penny and dropped it in the slot. Nothing happened. Berkshire walked over and gave the box a sharp rap on the side. This seemed to activate the mechanism and a cute little figure of a clown pivoted around and a gumball fell into his outstretched hand. Returning to his former position, the clown dropped the gumball into a trough which lead to an opening in the front of the box. It was worth a penny to see the performance. Berkshire stuck his coin into the slot. Nothing happened. So he gave it another rap, but no response. Then he banged it really hard with the side of his hand, but the clown just jiggled. While all this was going on, Regulator spotted a tough looking character approaching Berkshire from inside the arcade.
"Watch it Berkshire," he warned.
Berkshire looked up and saw the situation. He motioned for Regulator to get behind him.
"What do you think you are doing?" The man asked.
"Just trying to get the gum I paid for," was Berkshire's answer.
"Well, move along or I'll give you something you didn't pay for." As he spoke, he advanced with his arm extended as if to push Berkshire backwards.
Like a flash, Berkshire stepped aside and unleashed a terrific right that landed on the point of the man's chin. The man collapsed on the sidewalk, unconscious. Two more big bruisers emerged from the arcade and came directly at him. Berkshire moved to meet the one in the lead and caught him flush on the mouth with a haymaker. After staggering backward, he went down. Seeing what had happened to his friends, the third started backing up with his arms in the air.
"I'm neutral!" he shouted. The first victim was shaking his head and trying to figure out what was going on. A small crowd was beginning to gather. Berkshire decided that he had better clear out before a guard arrived.
Taking Regulator by his hand, he said, "Let's go, we got our money's worth."
They both slipped off down an alley. As they came out the other side, they slowed to a walk.
"Two up and two down, that's not bad pitching," Regulator said proudly.
"I would like to have retired the sides," said Berkshire, 'but the last fellow wouldn't go to bat."
As they strolled down the main street, taking in the sights, Regulator followed along and counted himself lucky to have such a big brother.
Just before heading back to the railroad yard, they passed a soda fountain. Berkshire ordered two ice cream cones and handed on to Regulator.
They found an empty boxcar with a quantity of clean, loose paper, which they used to soften the hard, rough floor. Regulator's mind was filled with the excitement of the day and the prospect of getting a job. It wasn't long before sleep overcame both of them.
Early the next morning, the boxcar gave a noisy lurch and started to move. "Let's get out of here!" shouted Berkshire as he started for the door. Regulator followed instinctively. Berkshire jumped clear, but Regulator was half asleep and he hesitated for a moment. The train was picking up speed.
"Hurry up and jump!" Berkshire shouted.
Regulator leaped to the ground and the momentum caused him to stumble forward. Berkshire caught him before he went down.
Let's go," said Berkshire, as he trotted off in the direction of the depot. Over a flatcar, through an open boxcar, and across a dozen tracks, by the time they reached the clearing, Regulator was winded.
"Wait up for me," he yelled. Berkshire slowed his pace and motioned with a swing of his arm for him to hurry.
They entered the depot by the back door and headed for the stallion's room. After washing up, they brushed off their clothes and combed their manes. As Regulator looked in the mirror, he realized that Berkshire was a head taller than him and had a day's growth of beard. Regulator considered giving up the idea of being hired out. He knew his chances were slim, but he reasoned, "I have nothing to lose by trying." So he squared his shoulders and stood a little taller. Somehow, that seemed to improve his hope.
Berkshire asked the ticket agent about whom he should contact in order to apply for a job.
"The traveling engineer is the fellow you want to see," replied the unicorn behind the desk. "He's located in the yard office about a mile down the track." As he spoke, he pointed in the direction from which they had just come.
"Let's go," said Berkshire. By the time they reached the yard office, Regulator was pretty tuckered out. Berkshire instructed Regulator to wait outside while he applied for the job. Usually he obeyed his big brother, and though he nodded assent, he followed quickly right behind.
A unicorn clerk opened a low, swinging gate and directed Berkshire down the hall. Regulator hesitated just long enough to watch Berkshire disappear into a room. Then he slipped in through the open door right behind him.
The official was seated with his legs crossed on the corner of his desk. The stub of a black cigar was clenched between his teeth. "What can I do for you," he asked.
"I want a job firing," was Berkshire's answer.
"And what about him?" the man said, directing his question toward Regulator. Up till now, Berkshire was not aware that his brother was standing right behind him.
Stepping forward with his shoulders back, Regulator stood as tall as he could and said, "Sir, I want a job firing, too."
"Just how old are you, son?" inquired the official.
"I became 18 the 14th of this month," was the reply.
Slowly, the official removed his legs from the desk, leaned forward and said, "Tell me the truth, are you 13 or 14?"
Regulator looked straight ahead and was about to repeat the lie when Berkshire interrupted, "Reggie*, you can't fool him. Now get back outside and wait like I told you."
Regulator was crestfallen and he just stood there looking down. The official, sensing his deep disappointment, got out of his chair, walked over and put his hand his shoulder, and said, "Son, you come back when you're 18 and I'll give you a job."
Too embarrassed to look up, Regulator thanked him and went outside. After about half an hour, Berkshire came out with a handful of papers and a big grin on his face.
"Did you get the job?" Regulator asked.
"Yeah, no thanks to you," returned Berkshire. "I've go half a notion to give ya a good beating. They want me to start my student trips** right away, so I'll have to get my physical exam and report right back. I'm sending you home on the next freight," he continued.
"But what will I tell Father when he asks me where I've been?"
Berkshire felt sorry for him because he would have to face the music. "Well," he said, "I guess the only thing you can do is go and tell Mother the truth and hope she will persuade Father to go easy on you. Now come along, I've got to get you on the train."
Regulator followed him back to the freight yard. There was a southbound about to leave. Berkshire helped him into and empty boxcar and said, "Tell Mother I'll be home first chance I get off. Now stay out of sight until you're out of town." With that, Berkshire trotted off.
Regulator's hopes of a job were gone and now he was faced with the prospect of severe discipline. After leaving Green Bay, he stood in the doorway and reflecting on his misfortune. The beautiful green pastures with grazing cattle helped to ease his troubled mind. It was only 32 miles to Trottingham and soon he would be home. With that thought in mind, he suddenly realized he was hungry.
It was about noon when the train crossed the long bridge and he could see the Trottington depot. There was his father's switch engine parked in front of the switchpony's shanty***. Regulator figured his father was at home having dinner, therefore he planned to hop off at the crossing and lay low until his dad returned for the afternoon switching. Then he would slip home unnoticed. When the train slowed down, he jumped clear and started to run. As he darted past the gatetender's shack****, a voice with the ring of authority sounded loud and clear. "Casey Regulator Trotterson! Come here!"
Regulator froze in his tracks. As he turned, he saw his father leaning out the window of the little shanty. Slowly, he walked back.
"Didn't I just see you hop off a boxcar?" The tone of his voice betrayed precariously controlled emotion.
Without looking up, he answered, "Yes, Father."
"You get on home and I'll tend to you when I get off work," As he finished the sentence, his arm and forefinger were pointing in the direction of home.
Mother Trotterson was in the process of finishing the noon dishes when he came through the back door. "Where have you been?" she exclaimed, almost in tears.
Painfully, he told her the whole story. "I know it was wrong," he added, "but I wanted that job so badly."
"Your father was very upset, and I'm afraid you'll be in for it."
As she spoke, she brushed back his thick hair and drew his head down against her breast.
"There is no getting out of it. Father caught me getting off a freight train."
Mrs. Trotterson was a little mare and though she had ten children, her concern for each was as though she had but one. "Go fix up," she said, "and I'll fix you something to eat."
While his mother stirred the wood stove and added a few sticks, Regulator pumped some water into a basin and proceeded to clean up. When he had finished the meal, Regulator felt much better. He grabbed a towel and was helping his mother when Jewel, his younger sister, came bounding through the door. After kissing her mother on the cheek, she looked at Regulator and said, "Where have you been?"
Regulator was in no mood to rehash the whole story, but his mother explained briefly what had been done, including the promised discipline. Jewel flinched at the thought.
"Mama, what can we do?"
"There is nothing we can do. However, I'll ask your father not to be too severe. But you know that hopping trains is a very grave offense, not to mention taking off without even telling anyone."
Jewel sat down at the table with her chin propped up on her hands. For a while, she seemed to be in deep concentration. Suddenly, she jumped up and said, "I've got it!"
"Got what?" asked her mother.
"I know how we can save Reggie!"
Regulator appreciated her our concern, but any hope of getting out of it seemed so remote that he felt no interest.
"Maybe we can't get him out of it, but we can put padding under his overalls so it won't hurt so much."
Father Trotterson had a heavy razor strap; one that could deliver the message through clothes quite adequately. "Padding would certainly reduce the effect," her mother added.
"Oh, Mother, you know Father would catch on and maybe make me take off all my clothes."
There was a short silence. Then his mother went upstairs and came back with two pairs of brother Berkshire's heavy woolen pants.
"Get upstairs and put these on under your overalls and we'll see how it looks."
As she finished the instructions, she tossed him the pants. Regulator figured it was a lost cause, but he did as she said and came down the stars waddling like a duck. When his mother first saw him she had to cover her mouth in order to hide a big grin.
Jewel spoke up, "Reggie, Father won't even know the difference."
"Oh, it's no use," he said, as he darted back upstairs to remove the pants.
"Just a minute," said Jewel, as she raced off. When she reappeared, she was carrying that mean-looking razor strap. "Bend over, Reggie, and we'll see how effective that padding really is."
Jewel seemed to enjoy the the prospect of laying it on her big brother. As she raised the strap and took the proper stance, Regulator shouted his objections... "Just a darn minute!"
At this point, his mother sensed that Jewel might well convince brother Regulator that the results may be worth the risk. "Go ahead. Bend over, Reggie. Let's see if it will help."
The whole thing seemed so ridiculous, but at the same time, he couldn't forget how that strap had stung in the past. After a brief reflection on the subject, he said, "Okay, whack me just once."
WHACK!!
Regulator straightened up and rubbed his rear vigorously. "Did you have to lay it on so hard?" he complained.
"Well, how about it? Did it reduce the pain?"
"Well, I guess it helped some, but after 10 or 15 of them on the same cheek it won't matter much. Maybe we better forget the whole idea."
Once again, Jewel darted out and came back with one of her mother's oversized pie tins.
"Oh, no you don't," he protested, but Jewel grabbed hold of his overalls and his mother helped jam the pit tin in the appropriate location.
Now, let's try that again," Jewel said. The overalls were so tight that he had difficulty bending over.
Once more she got that gleam in her eye as she wound up.
BLAM!!
Regulator straightened up slowly with a big grin. "I didn't even feel it," he said.
The whole operation had used up precious time and shortly Father Trotterson would be home from work. Regulator made a final adjustment to the pie tin and sand down on the rocker to await his fate. Soon, he heard familiar heavy steps.
Where is Regulator?" his father demanded.
"Now, Berkshire," said Mother Trotterson, as she helped her husband remove his overall jacket. Then she continued to speak in low tones. Jewel and Regulator knew she was pleading for leniency. Father Trotterson pumped some water and began to wash off the coal dust. Mother Trotterson handed him the towel.
While he was drying he said, "Now you listen to me. That colt needs a good lesson and I'm going to see that he gets it." With that he shouted, "Regulator!"
Regulator jumped up and answered, "Yes, Father."
"Get upstairs to my room, and I'll tend to you directly."
Regulator started for the stairs and as he reached for that first step, his father noticed the unusual contour of his lower half. The overalls were so tight that Regulator feared each step might expose the whole plot. After reaching the room his father told him to bend over. His rear end stuck out like a bustle. Only then did Father Trotterson realize what had been done. Slowly, he raised the strap for the first swat. As Regulator braced himself he could see sister Jewel at the top of the stairs, peeking around the corner of the bannister. When nothing happened he looked around fearfully. There was his dad with his hand over his mouth. Soon, Father Trotterson could contain himself no longer. Dropping the strap, her burst out laughing until the tears rolled down his cheeks. Slowly, Regulator straightened up with a puzzled look on his face. Never before had his father failed to carry out a threat of punishment.
Jewel ran over and planted a kiss on her father's cheek and gave him a big hug. After recovering his composure, Father Trotterson sat down on the bed, and said, "You can take off that armor plate, now. I'm not going too whip you. But don't let me ever hear of you hopping trains again. Do you understand me?"
Regulator nodded and answered, "Yes, Father."
The outcome of Regulator's reprieve resulted in an evening of unusual merriment in the Trotterson household. Maybe somewhat akin to the fable The Prodigal Son's Return.
Three years had passed since Regulator's unsuccessful attempt to go firing, and during this time he became a strong young stallion. The clanging of the school bell never did appeal to him. After passing his 17th birthday, the call of that lonesome whistle drew him irresistibly to his chosen work.
The year was 1908 and once again the North Western was hiring. Occasionally, his father took his engine tot he shops in North Fond du Lac for repairs. It was a little over 30 miles south and in order to keep from interrupting the weekly workload, these trips were made on a Sunday. Regulator decided to ask to go along on the next trip. While his father would be supervising the work, he planned to inquire about a job. The next time the switcher made its way to North Fond du Lac, he was sharing the firepony's seat box.
After the engine entered the roundhouse at North Fond du Lac, Regulator made his way over to the yard office to see Herb Carkins, the traveling engineer. Regulator paused to adjust his belt and brush back his mane, then, with a firm step he entered the official's office.
Herb, a tall lean stallion with a soft voice and a kind face, was seated at a desk. Looking up over his horn-rimmed glasses, he studied Regulator for a moment and said, "What can I do for you?"
"I would like to have a job firing," he replied.
"You're a bit small for the job aren't you?"
Regulator was 5 foot, 7 inches and weighted around 140lbs, but it never occurred to him that his size would be a handicap.
"Oh no, sir!" he answered, and with that he quickly rolled up his sleeve, bent his arm at the elbow and leaned over the desk.
"Take a hold of that and judge for yourself," he added.
Herb pressed firmly on his biceps; a faint smile came over his face as he leaned back. Regulator felt confident he made his point.
"What year were you born?" asked the official. The question caught Regulator flatfooted. He lost his first chance for a job because he was too young. This time he planned to claim he was 21 years old and he had actually practiced saying,
"I'm 21 years old, sir!"
But without thinking, he answered with the true date of his birth, "Born in 1890."
"Let's see now, that makes you how old?" said Herb as he started to reach for his pencil.
"Twenty-one years old, sir!" Regulators answer came back so fast and with such conviction that the official put the pencil down. If Mr. Carkins noticed the discrepancy, he never let on.
"You see, son," he said, "the working conditions under which a firepony must operate demand the utmost in physical stamina." And then he went on to describe the hardships and hazards involved. After a pause. he looked up and asked, "Do you feel you are able to accept the responsibilities of a locomotive firepony?"
Regulator detected that he wanted to emphasize the seriousness of this decision.
"Thank you for your concern, but I am somewhat familiar with the duties of the job and I feel confident of success." Then he added, "I want a job firing more than anything else in the world."
The official leaned back in his swivel chair and removed his glasses. Pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket he proceeded to wipe off the lenses. Regulator feared he was stalling to formulate a way of letting him down easy. The suspense was agonizing.
Then suddenly, Carkins scooted his chair back from the desk, reached in his drawer, pulled out a form and shoved it in front of Regulator. "Here, fill this out."
The questionnaire was brief and he completed it within a few minutes. After reading the application, Mr. Carkins looked up an asked, "Aren't you Berkshire Trotterson's boy, our engineer from Trottingham?"
"Yes, sir!" replied Regulator.
"Why, I made my student trips firing for your father," commented Mr. Carkins. After a pause during which he studied Regulator with renewed interest, the official grabbed the phone and called the company physician.
"Hello, Doc Pullian? This is Carkins. I'm sending Berkshire Trotterson's boy down for an examination so we can give him a job. Can you handle him this morning?" Carkins listened for a moment. "Good, I'll send him right down."
With that, he took a form out of his desk, signed it, and handed it to Regulator. "Take this to Doctor Pullian and get back here as soon as you can."
Regulator darted off. Everything went like clockwork and he was back from the Doc's before noon. Carkins met him at the door, glanced at the medical report and said, "Follow me."
They walked into an adjacent office where a stallion sat busy at his desk. "Wallie, I want you to meet Berkshire Trotterson's boy, Regulator. I've just put him on firing. Regulator, this is Walter Hoofman, our division forepony."
"Put 'er there," said Mr. Hoofman as he stuck out his hand. "If you're anything like your dad the North Western will be fortunate to have you."
"By the way, Herb, who has been firing for Berkshire?"
"That new fellow named Butski," Carkins replied.
"Ain't it about time for him to get some expierence on the main line?" inquired Hoofman. As he finished the sentence, he gave Carkins a sly wink.
Carkins developed a broad grin and answered, "That's just what I was thinking."
Firepony Butski was having dinner at the McGivern Hotel. Carkins picked up Hoofman's phone and called him.
"Hello, Butski? This is Carkins. I've decided you should get out on the main line and learn the road. So, I'm relieving you from the Trottingham switcher and marking you up on the extra board."
As he put down the phone, he turned to Regulator and said, "I'm assigning you to the Trottingham switcher to fire for your father. Now, they are just about finished with his engine, so I suggest you get out there and go to work."
Things seemed to happen so fast that Regulator was a bit overwhelmed, but the words "GO TO WORK" snapped him out of it. Both stallions shook his hand and Regulator started for the roundhouse.
As he arrived at the engine, one of the mechanics shouted, "She's all ready for you, Berk.*"
Climbing up into the cab, Regulator noticed the steam was back to 90 pounds, so he spread a layer of coal over the remaining fire.
While his father was inspecting the work that was done, Regulator jogged over to get a fresh jug of water. Upon returning, he saw heavy black smoke rising from the stack. A couple of twists on the blower valve, cleared it up. When his father returned to the cab, he looked around and said, "Where's my firepony, Butski?"
Regulator was busy cleaning the water gauge and pretended not to hear him.
"Regulator!"
"Yes, Dad?"
"Have you seen my firepony?" At this point, Berkshire knew nothing about his son hiring out.
Moving over to the engineer's side, Regulator directed an extended thumb toward his chest, and replied in an authoritative tone, "I'm your new fireman. What are you waiting for?"
Berkshire was one of those stallions who rarely ever showed any emotion. His father responded by reaching in his overall jacked for a package of chewing tobacco. Meticulously he prepared a good size quid and crammed it in his mouth. After two or three chews, he looked down at his son and said, "Well, have you got her ready?"
Regulator detected a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. "I've got 'er all set Dad," he answered.
With that, Regulator went back to his seat box and checked on his side to be sure all personnel were clear.
"All clear!" he shouted as he gave the bell cord a yank.
The little switcher moved out onto the turntable and lined up for the track in front of the coal shed. Regulator was starting to climb over the coal gate by the time the tank** was spotted*** under the chute.
"Be sure to stand clear before you dump the coal," shouted his father.
Regulator reached up and gave the handle a jerk and the coal came rumbling down with a cloud of dust. When the tender became full, he jumped down to the deck and proceeded to clean up the chunks that had spilled over the gate. Berkshire noticed Regulator's face was more black than white.
Better wash your face before we get home or Mother won't recognize you."
The engine moved up to the penstock and Regulator climbed back up on the tank to take water. When he returned, his father was studying the timetable.
"We can meet 216 at tower DX and check there with the dispatcher for a lineup," explained his father. "Let's get going," he added as he opened the throttle.
It was about three-fourths of a mile uphill to Tower DX. The little switch engine moved out gracefully and covered the distance in short time.
Personnel operating with a switch engine are in extreme danger. On two separate occasions when Berkshire Trotterson laid off, a pony in the crew was killed, but during his 56 years of service on a switch engine, nopony ever lost their life while he was at the throttle.
As the engine came to a stop directly across from the tower, Berkshire moved the reverse lever to high center**** and started to get off. Facing the gangway in order to climb down, he hesitated long enough to give Regulator some instructions. "Keep a watch on the engine while I get a lineup from the dispatcher. In the meantime, check your water level and get your fire in shape. I want to be ready to pull out when 216 gets by."
Firing a switch engine was not entirely new to Regulator. Frequently his father had let his fireman take off early on Saturday afternoon so that he could catch 216 to Fond du Lac. On those occasions, Regulator would have the opportunity to fire the last two or three hours of the day.
Regulator prepared his fire carefully and put on the injector. While waiting for his father's return he grabbed the squirt hose and washed down the deck.
When Berkshire climbed back up into the cab he announced, "The railroad is all ours after 216 passes."
A whistle sounded in the distance. Looking ahead, Regulator could see 216 rocking along at toward them at a good clip.
Lon Sage, the engineer on 216, fired for Berkshire many times and they were good friends. When the passenger approached, Berkshire gave him a couple of toots. The ground shook as the train sped on by. When the tail end of the last car passed, the fading sound of an answering toot-toot could be heard.
Berkshire moved the engine up to the north end of the siding. Regulator ran ahead and threw the switch. When the engine passed he closed it again and climbed back on. Soon they were rocking along about 35 mph and Regulator settled down to the routine of firing.
Running light, that is without a train, the little engine was easy on steam and didn't require much attention. While enjoying the scenery, Regulator was mentally figuring up what his first paycheck would be.
The swing bridge over the channel at South Oshkosh was aligned. As they slowed down for the city, Regulator got busy on the bell cord. His father gave a low whistle for each crossing. Leaving Oshkosh he widened the throttle. Them moved right along. Soon they were coming into Trottingham. As they crossed the main intersection of town, Regulator hoped that he might be seen by some of his friends, but a delivery wagon with a tired looking mare was the only spectator.
Easing past the depot they stopped for the lead which headed for the roundhouse. Again, Regulator took care of the switch.
The engine came to a halt over the ashpit and his father helped him to knock the fire. After his father backed the the engine into the roundhouse, Regulator opened the blower valve in order to exhaust the remaining steam out the stack. Berkshire shut off the air pumps and closed the valves on the feed water lubricators*****. While this was being done, Regulator climbed off and closed the huge doors to the roundhouse.
On the way home, his father outlined some of the things he would need.
"You'll hafta have some heavy duty shoes, and gauntlet gloves. Mother can get those for you. First day we get off in time, we'll go down and pick out a good 21-jewel watch."
Regulator respected his father and he was anxious to be a worthy son. He had hoped to see some external sign of approval, but Berkshire was a very austere individual and though he was proud of Regulator, he purposely concealed it. As they entered the house through the back door, his mother was busy at the wood stove and Regulator could smell onions frying.
"Honey!" said his father, "our boy got a job firing today."
Her face almost glowed with joy. Wiping her hands on her apron, she extended her arms toward her son. As they embraced, Regulator lifted her off the floor and made a complete turn.
"This calls for a celebration, Berk," said his mother excitedly.
Berkshire pulled out his pocketbook, handed Jewel a half dollar, and said, "Run down to the the store and get a couple quarts of cream."
Regulator brought the freezer up from the basement. After chipping off a good sized chunk from the icebox, he proceeded to chop it and spread it around the container. Meanwhile, Mother Trotterson got busy and stirred up a batch of mix. By the time Jewel returned, Regulator had sprinkled rock salt on the ice ans was ready to crank the handle. Ice cream was a rarity in the Trotterson's household.
Regulator was in the spotlight for the remainder of the evening and he enjoyed every minute of it.