Opening the Iron Trail: Terry as a U. Pay. Man A Semi-Centennial Story
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Nobody knew who invented that song. Some said Paddy Miles, the track-laying bossÑand 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 oÕ 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 oÕ 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-layingÑa 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, theÑbut TerryÕs breather was cut short.
ÒAll right!Ó yelped the command, from the front.
TerryÕs 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. TerryÕs own car was tipped back upon the track again, one-legged Dennis, its Òconductor,Ó 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, TerryÕs 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 oÕ track, with his cargo of forty rails to be placed, lightning quick, upon the ties.
JimmieÕs 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 oÕ track the graded roadbed stretched straight into the west as far as eye could see, with a gradersÕ 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 oÕ track and shovel squads, there were the tie-layersÑseizing 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 Òfront.Ó
