The Trainmasters (9 page)

“I am at the mercy of the winds,” Goddard apologized. “And yet in the air I am free,” he added poetically.

“But trains are faster.”

“Someday,” Goddard said, “there will be an engine made small enough to propel balloons through the sky. And then we will see
whether your trains are faster.”

John was about to counter this silly idea when David’s voice interrupted, ending the discussion.

“Look!” he called out. “Down there! A horse race!” His hand pointed to a racecourse that John had not previously seen. Two
gorgeous animals were galloping like the wind down the straightaway. As they approached the turn, the balloon’s descent brought
the passengers below the brow of a hill, concealing the race’s outcome.

And then the balloon touched down.

The Fairmount Park Pleasure Ground Association’s Sunday afternoon race meeting was almost over. Only the final race remained
to be run, a match race between Mr. William Patterson’s roan stallion Berber and a bay gelding called Emerald, which belonged
to Mr. Otis Todd of Frederick, Maryland. Emerald had handily taken all challengers in Maryland. And Berber had not lost in
eastern Pennsylvania. So the race promised to be a great one.

Patterson’s specially invited guests for this race were Daniel Drew and Cornelius Vanderbilt, both of New York City. William
Astor had also been invited, but he had pleaded religious obligations and was unable to attend.

Patterson, Drew, and Vanderbilt occupied a table, one of several that had been placed on the association’s outdoor veranda.
This wide and spacious porch was attached to the second floor of the association’s clubhouse, which overlooked the racetrack.
The view of the track was spectacular. Each of the three men held whiskey glasses, and there was a three-quarters full decanter
in the table’s center.

Drew and Vanderbilt, who were business friends, had hit it off famously with Patterson during the dinner the night before,
talking, laughing, and trading tales and gossip. And the high spirits of the night before had continued on into their gathering
here at the racecourse.

This pleased William Patterson more than a little, for he was unusually uneasy before and during his meetings with Vanderbilt
and Drew. If these discussions succeeded as he planned and hoped then he would be able to use part of their great wealth to
save not only the railroad, but his own fortune as well. If the conversation did not go well, however, Patterson would be
ruined.

William Patterson was a tall, well-built man, handsome in a vacant sort of way. Quick to smile, quick with an amusing word
or anecdote, he was well liked by his peers in the Philadelphia “aristocracy.” But he was more than a little over his head,
many felt, in his role as president of the Pennsylvania Railroad.

Daniel Drew was clearly an aristocrat. He was short and ugly, with a very limited education and an outrageously coarse tongue.
And he was not famous for honesty. Years earlier, he had gotten his start in upstate New York as a cattle drover. By feeding
large doses of salt to his stock just before selling them. Drew forced the cattle to drink great quantities of water, driving
up their weight and, consequently, Drew’s income from their sale. After this practice of Drew’s became well known, a new term
found its way into the language: watered stock.

Though in subsequent years Drew had changed his profession from drover to financier, he had changed his business practices
little. If the opportunity presented itself, he still sold watered stock. But the watered stock he sold nowadays was not cattle
but shares in corporations. He had even conspired to cheat his friend Vanderbilt on more than one occasion, yet—somewhat inexplicably—this
did not seem to have harmed their friendship. Indeed Vanderbilt had continued to deal with Drew as though nothing had happened,
most likely because Drew had never actually succeeded in his attempts at cheating Vanderbilt; thus Vanderbilt probably believed
he was impervious to the machinations of his friend.

Yet, for all his deviousness, Daniel Drew remained a wealthy man who liked to invest in struggling enterprises like railroads
and Nicaraguan canals. And because of this, he was courted by men like William Patterson who needed investment capital.

Also in his favor was his friendship with Cornelius Vanderbilt. Vanderbilt was a tough, hard man, often mean and niggardly.
But he was a man of considerable personal integrity. And he was, according to his own lights, honest; he was always true to
his own star. Vanderbilt and Drew could together be trusted, or so it was thought by those who had authorized William Patterson
to approach them. The plan was to try to tap their considerable wealth to fund the final push of the Pennsylvania Railroad
over the mountains.

Cornelius Vanderbilt was the most interesting of the three men. He was over six feet two inches tall, with a rugged, lined,
handsome face. And he was as powerful as he was large. Some years earlier he had knocked unconscious the heavyweight boxing
champion of New York City, who thought he could tangle with Vanderbilt in a street brawl. Though he was older now, and somewhat
less pugnacious, Vanderbilt was still a man of extraordinary vitality and verve. He made an impact like the onrush of a cavalry
charge upon both friends and enemies. He was also a famous admirer of fine horseflesh, though he preferred trotters to Thoroughbreds.

Vanderbilt had examined each of the two horses involved in today’s match race, and he privately believed that Mr. Patterson’s
was the better animal. He had backed this judgment by making a wager of $100 on Berber with Daniel Drew.

William Patterson was, of course, delighted to have Vanderbilt’s support. But that did not calm his worries. And the fact
that he was troubled became apparent to Vanderbilt after a while. Vanderbilt’s acute sensitivity partly explained his enormous
success with people and in business. So, as the horses were led out onto the track, he wondered about the clamminess of Patterson’s
palm and brow. He broke into the laughter at moments when laughter was not expected. What was this man Patterson afraid of?
he asked himself. And how can I use it?

The horses were now approaching the starting line, and the crowd of people who stood beside the rail was growing noisier.

The trumpet sounded, and then the crowd grew quiet.

Patterson, Vanderbilt, and Drew rose from their chairs and went to stand next to the rail overlooking the racecourse.

“They’re off!” Cornelius Vanderbilt cried out.

“Come on, Berber!” Patterson yelled. “Win going away!”

“Never!” Daniel Drew yelled in retaliation. “On Emerald! Beat the bastard!”

The racecourse was a half mile in length; in this race the horses would run around it three times. Todd’s horse, Emeraid,
had the better start. And by the first tum, he was three lengths ahead of Berber.

Patterson was clearly uneasy. As the other horse’s lead increased to four lengths, his disquiet increased. And the amount
of his chatter increased with it.

“Do you see that? Do you see that?” he asked Vanderbilt and Drew. “No. No. Fletcher is not using the whip. That damned fool
idiot. I should never have hired that jockey, Fletcher.”

Cornelius Vanderbilt had also noted that Fletcher was not using his whip. But he was not at all disturbed by this. He thought
the jockey was smart in conserving his horse’s energy.

The horses were now approaching the far turn, and Fletcher was still letting his horse run loose and free.

“Do you see? Now! Use it! Use it!” Patterson screamed. “Did I tell you what I paid for that glorious piece of horseflesh?”
he said to his companions and then sighed. “Did I tell you what I paid for that animal my jockey is destroying?”

“Yes, you did,” Daniel Drew said under his breath. “Ten times.”

But Patterson ignored the remark and went on, delirious with anxiety. For by the end of the far turn, his horse had dropped
behind Emerald by six lengths. “I paid five thousand dollars for that horse. And it was worth every penny. He has won every
race I’ve entered him in; and he’s already sired three fine foals. And now!”

“Worth every penny,” Drew said. There was sarcasm in his voice, but Patterson either didn’t notice or else didn’t pay attention
to it.

When the horses passed the clubhouse veranda, Vanderbilt took a close look at both of them. Emerald was straining, he noticed;
but Berber was moving smoothly and easily. He smiled, then leaned over close to Daniel Drew and whispered in his ear. “I’m
going to win, Dan’l. I’m sure of it.”

“You’re mad, my friend,” Drew answered. “And you know it.”

Vanderbilt laughed. Then he twisted around and lifted his glass from the table and took a long sip.

Patterson, meanwhile, was urging his horse ahead with his hands. “Faster! Faster! Faster!” he screamed. “Hit him, Fletcher,
you bastard. Whip him!”

By the time the horses reached the near turn again, Emerald was ten lengths ahead. But Berber was still moving easily and
smoothly.

At the far turn, Emerald had maintained his lead, but Berber had lost no more ground. Their status was the same when the two
horses passed the starting line for the second time. Vanderbilt saw then that Emerald was breathing hard and raggedly, but
this didn’t surprise him. Nevertheless, he began to stamp his foot nervously.

At the near turn, Berber had shortened Emerald’s lead to eight lengths. And along the straightaway he crawled up another two.
At last, Fletcher was using his whip.

Patterson was white with screaming. “Now you do it! Now! Now! At last! Please God you’re not too late.”

“Give it to him! Trounce that mare,” Daniel Drew screamed at Emerald. “I have a hundred dollars on you!”

Vanderbilt took another sip of whiskey. Except for the stamping of his foot, he looked calm and detached, but his hand gripped
the glass like a vise. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the great, colorful balloon that had been carrying passengers
up and down for most of the afternoon.

“Berber! Berber!” Patterson yelled. “Come on! On!”

By this time, Vanderbilt’s feet stamping had turned into a little, nervous jig. And he was muttering something that was audible
only to himself.

The horses were three lengths apart at the far turn.

Then Cornelius Vanderbilt finally spoke out. “All right. Now! Give it to him, Berber, you bastard! Win!”

And now the two horses were neck and neck … with an eighth of a mile to go.

Berber crossed the finish line two and a half lengths ahead of Emerald.

“Goddamn!” Vanderbilt hollered in triumph. “That is
some
extraordinary horse!”

“The
best
. The
very
best!” Patterson screamed in reply, whooping like an Indian. “BERBER!” he continued, even louder than before, for the crowd
below the veranda had gone wild. “You’ve done it, in spite of that ass of a jockey.”

Daniel Drew, meanwhile, simply turned toward Vanderbilt and gave him a rueful wink.

“That idiot,” Patterson went on, “no longer has a job with me.”

After the tumult of the crowd died down enough for normal conversation, Vanderbilt spoke to Patterson. “You know, Will,” he
said, “if I were you, I would not dismiss Fletcher, your jockey. “

“What?”

“You thought he ran a poor race?”

“Yes!” Patterson said. “Absolutely. He very nearly
lost.
”

“I’m not one to intrude in other people’s affairs,” Vanderbilt said. “And I certainly wouldn’t presume to tell you what to
do…”

Daniel Drew snorted at that and gave him another wink.

“Dan’l, you
know
I’m telling the truth now.”

To which Drew gave another snort. “My friend Vanderbilt never intrudes in the affairs of others,” he said to Patterson in
a stage whisper, “unless those affairs interest him. If he is not interested in your affairs, Will, then you are safe from
him.”

“Would you let me continue please, Dan’l?” he asked in mock exasperation. And then he cocked his head and laughed. “Why don’t
you shut your mouth and count your losses?”

“What were you going to say about the jockey?” Patterson asked.

“The jockey?”

“You were going to tell me why I should not dismiss him,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Oh, yes, certainly, now I remember what I was doing,” Vanderbilt said. “Dan’l Drew always does this to me. He leaves me in
a state of utter bafflement and confusion.”

“Bullshit,” Daniel Drew said.

“But, about the jockey,” Vanderbilt continued. “He ran a superb race. A perfect race. His timing could not have been better.”

“And yet he let Berber fall behind by as many as twelve lengths. If my horse had not had—”

“That’s my point,” Vanderbilt broke in. “Your man Fletcher knew exactly what Berber had in him. And he timed the race to take
that into account.”

“You know he’s right, don’t you?” Daniel Drew said to Patterson. “He almost always is, the clever bastard.”

“Well…” Patterson said doubtfully. “Perhaps.”

“Come on, man,” Vanderbilt said, laughing, “you’ve won! Why the long face?”