SOUTHWARD BOUND.

New Zealand Herald, Volume L, Issue 15263, 29 March 1913, Page 9

SOUTHWARD BOUND.

PILOTING THE MAIN TRUNK

TRAIN.

A RIDE ON THE FOOTPLATE.

Eighty tons of steel, strained by the pressure of steam, shimmering with heat, j humming like a kettle on a hob. and panting, ' the " class A" locomotive which hauls the night express South is as full; of energy as a. 12-inch gun charged for firing. This great steel affair, with its fire and boiling water, its flying rods, its whirling wheels and its coughed-up smoke, is the humble and obedient servant of a man who, after being for 'years' its attendant slave, giving it fuel and water and watching its every whim, has taken its" bridle-levers in hand and commands it as he will. Night after night he and his mate the fireman stand on the footplate and wait for the " right-away.'*-Night after night they career over the miles, in moonlight, in pitch darkness, in pelting rain, in keen, biting frost, in pungent bush-smoke. Night after night they run to schedule. Night after night they go to rest, thinking no more of their peculiar work than a bricklayer or a lawyer does of his. Locomotives are almost forbidden ground for those who are riot of the locomotive trade. The man in the street cannot board them when lie wishes or travel upon them for sensation's eake. The driver and the fireman have their little world to themselves. But a Herald representative, favoured with a special permit, was -allowed to travel on the express engine southward from Auckland. A Vast Hunger for Coal. When the driver pulls on the throttlevalve, and the big engine moves slowly off, the hot but lazy flames in the furnace become suddenly vicious. The exhausted steam flies explosively through the funnel, dragging the furnace gases with it, . and instantly the heat and the fierceness of the fire increases enormously. There is no other grate which, for a given area, burns more fuel than that of a locomotive, and the fireman's billet is no sinecure. - The first thing he does when the engine starts is to shovel in coal. He spreads 'it carefully— left, and centre. Then he looks at the gauge-glass for the level of the water in the boiler. By that time it is almost time for him to shovel more coal. Imagine the train leaving Auckland, a long string of cars, shining from every window with a golden glow of light, and carrying a host of people, some sleepy, some talkative, all southward-bound. Not a thought to the passengers does the engine give. If it can be thought of as a sentient thing, it must. be figured as conI cent-rating all its intelligence upon a narrow track of steel rails, very_ small from the frreat engine's point of view, and as racked by a. great hunger for coal and a great thirst for water. It runs smoothly enough upon its narrow track, though vast power is expended between its framework and its wheels. As it runs, the furnace door, opened for the reception of coal,, lets out a gaudy blaze of light that stains the trailing smoke into a simulation of flame itself. Now and then the fireman, between shovellings, pulls the lever controlling the injector, and the waterlevel in the boiler rises slowly to the accompaniment of a loud shrill singing.

The Guarantee of the Tablet. A station, indicated by a glimmering green light, is ahead; and the driver reaches out of his window to fix upon a bracket the tablet, without which he will nst run, and which assures him he has a clear track as long as he holds it. The Station passes like a flash. There is a click and'a rattle; the tablet has gone, and another, giving the right of way over a further section of track, dangles from the bracket. The trip is punctuated by the clatter of changing tablets. No driver gives more than a passing thought to collisions while he runs with one of these round, notched discs dangling upon . a hook close to his head. A Fresh Point of View. On a fine night the engine is a car of pleasure* It ia warm 4 and comfortable, sheltered and easy-going, unless the engine is, as some are. a rough-rider. Only m a tunnel with an Up-grade— Parnell, for instance—there is a keen discomfort and a suffocation to which veterans never get accustomed. There is, in the open country, a fine view from the cab, unequalled by any known to the ordinary passenger, for . the viewpoint is higher and the outlook scarcely restricted at all. The trailing, winding train is but a small factor in the view; ahead the rocking engine only adds a picturesqueness. If one leans out to the side and looks ahead, the fine lines of the track lose themselves ahead in the half-lit darkness, for the headlight does not show very much in advance. The engine is a great black mass, with a base composed of plunging rods that seem only half material. The track, the sides of cuttings, the embankments, pass almost unnoticed. ■} Alone in the Front. One outstanding thing thete is about the engine crew's work. It is done alone. In a carriage, the passenger has companionship. He is in a train, knowing where he is going and when he will get there. There is something ahead, leading him. But the driver and his mate are in front, all alone. Roughly they can outline their existence with certainty for ten secondsnot more. At any moment they can see ten seconds of track. Five seconds beyond that there may be a yawning abyss, and nothing can warn them. And their speed-gauge tells off the miles 30, 40 an hourrecording for the morrow a full story of the consistency of the speed and the timetable, with its stops and starts, accelerations and retardations. The driver, with his hands among levers, controls the machine with a great faith in its mechanism and in the clear way. The fireman shovels coal. Little is said between the two there is so little to say. It is not a business that needs discussion. The driver is a specialist, holding the whole train, one may say, in his two hands, starting and stopping it as he needs. The fireman has his own work of feeding the hungry locomotive. N6w and then, as the train is approaching a -station, he who first sees the green light murmurs "Right!" Arrival at a stop-ping-place means only a variation of work, for there is the filling of the tender with water to be done and . a ' long routine of oiling to .be attended to. Each has his own duties at all times. The men alternate, more or less, in handling the tablets, for the stations are sometimes one one side of the line, sometimes on the other • but there is no need for conversation even in this matter. After all, it is the sort of work that makes a still tongue. One cannot navigate the darkness and be loquacious. There comes an end to the run. Nineteen hours the train runs on its way to Wellington, and eight hours is a fair day's work. So at Taumarunui, at a quarterpast four in the morning, the driver and the firemen get ' down from the cab and entrust the train to others. Later they bring another train ■ back to Auckland, traverse the same line, in a new darkness, with always ten seconds of life and reputation in their view.