It was Christmas Eve in 1842, when a locomotive and a single car pulled out of the city of Atlanta on the first historic journey of the state-owned Western & Atlantic Railroad. The locomotive on that historic journey was named the Florida and was on her second life. Having been purchased second hand earlier that month. Standing firmly at the throttle in a coat and tophat, no doubt dusted in embers, was Mr. William F. Adair. Who the fireman was in unknown, although some sources indicate the man chucking wood was a Mr. Jim Rustin.
The Western & Atlantic was, on paper, a functioning railroad. Although it would be another three years before some real semblance of regular operations would began. For starters, a great big hole existed on the map...or really, the lack of one. But for those riding out of Atlanta on that misty day, they were as much explorers as Jason and his Argonauts. One passenger on this maiden voyage wrote of Atlanta; “The place appears to be well selected for the connecting of other roads with it,” the letter writer also noted that “…There is some magnificent scenery along this State Road, natural as well as artificial. To see a steam car walking like ‘a thing of life,’ through these mountains, and over rivers and creeks and ravines, is grand to look upon.”
The locomotive at the head of this train, the Florida, was built by Matthias Baldwin in 1837. She was of the 4-2-0 design, with a haystack firebox and large balloon stack for burning cord-wood. She initially served on the Georgia Railroad and Banking Company. When the Western & Atlantic needed motive power for their line, they purchased the little steamer. She entered service on the latter in December 1842. Of course, things couldn't be that simple. There was a little problem in that there was no way to relocate the locomotive to Atlanta by rail. The Georgia Railroad itself having yet to reach Atlanta. So, The Georgia Road ran her to their terminus in Madison, Georgia. There, workers dissembled the locomotive and loaded her on a cart. Where in a scene from Gulliver's Travels, a team of 16 mules hauled her to Atlanta where she could enter service on the Western & Atlantic.
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| The "Florida" and the "Alabama" were similarly arranged. |
When the train reached the wooden bridge over the Chattahoochee River, it stopped. Passengers disembarked because they feared the bridge, which was a mad affair that seemed to be made of spider's silk then firm timbers, would not support the train. They walked across the trestle; and took watch on the far bank, some expecting to see the Florida take a drink and Mr. Adair get some swim practice. Yet the locomotive glided across “like a being of the clouds,” a letter writer to a local newspaper recalled in February 1843. The bridge held, and the iron scamp's adventure continued.
A gentle mist fell as the train pulled out of Dalton, Georgia, en route for Tunnel Hill. It must be noted that on these early journeys, the very act of riding on a train was itself spellbinding. It would be a while before the spell wore off and passengers would request some basic comforts...like seats. It's unknown if the single car hitched to the tender of the Florida was even a coach. Some indications are that it was either a boxcar, or an open flatcar with men and women clinging to it for dear like like some perverted Aladdin's carpet.
When the train reached Tunnel Hill, passengers discovered the great gap in the map. It would be another five months before the Tunnel through Chetoogeta Mountain would be ready for travel. However, like proper Victorians who are enamored by things like a half dug hole in the earth, those gathered spent an hour exploring the “wonderful structure and passing through its entire length,” as a correspondent for the Daily Constitutionalist of Augusta, Ga., wrote of the event.
They ostensibly boarded a second train on the other side of the gap. At the head of this train huffed another Baldwin-built 4-2-0, the Alabama. This locomotive was built in 1838 and entered service on the State Road in September of 1845. She was used primarily in construction on the other side of the tunnel, having been shipped in pieces up the Tennessee River. By the 1850 report, however, the Alabama was used for ditching and was running out her final miles. She was abandoned by the latter half of 1852, according to records.
Before too long, the locomotive Alabama began steaming toward Chattanooga with Jon. G. Eckman at the throttle. With much wheel-slip, and throwing of sparks and thick clouds of wood smoke, the train passed through the rainy North Georgia countryside and slipped like a apocalyptic horse into the little town of Ringgold. There people like Col. Edward R. Harden, editor of the Ringgold Republican newspaper joined the cavalcade.
He wrote: “Here too, additional passengers crowded on the cars, and no room was left for the vast multitudes who, in despite of the rain, thronged the wayside to enjoy the ride and witness the ceremonies about to be solemnized at the opening of the Road to Chattanooga,”
The atmosphere on the train became rather party like. From somewhere bottles and flasks appeared, and not even the cool chill of the rain could dampen the heat of the dancing mosh-pit riding the flatcar behind the Alabama. The close quarters allowing an excusable amount of brushing of both male and female instigation. Someone's ankles may have even been exposed! No longer concerned for their safety and perhaps in need of a cold bath, “Every bridge that was passed called forth expressions of admiration and loud cheering,” Mr. Harden reported. “Upon passing the last bridge, the ladies joined in cheering, and the welkin rang with loud applause.”
At noon, the train pulled into Chattanooga, with more than 300 people somehow clinging to locomotive and cars alike. Once the Alabama shook of her infestation of liquored humans, the group then made its way to the Tennessee River to participate in the Victorian tradition of long self congratulatory speeches. Including one by Mark A. Cooper, a prominent industrialist whose smelters along the Etowah River were just starting to fire off, and William L. Mitchell, the chief engineer of the Western & Atlantic. During his speech, Long ceremoniously mixed water from South Carolina, Georgia and Tennessee in a symbol of unity.
The riders gave three cheers for the Western & Atlantic. It would be five months before the railroad officially opened, but on that chill Christmas Eve, what would become the State Road of Georgia hiccuped into life.
As for the Florida, By the end of the decade, the locomotive was used more sparingly. Between 1847 and 1848, she was used for passenger service, but only reported 8,800 miles in service. In the 1848 report, she was listed simply as “laid up”. She then saw no miles in service between 1848, and 1849, and was similarly listed as “laid up for repairs” in the 1849 report.
By the 1850 report, the old Florida was listed as 'on the road in complete order,' yet she saw just 926 miles in service between 1849, and 1850. She returned to the shop in 1851, 1852, 1854 and 1857. She was listed as 'condemned' in 1858 and 1859 and 'worn out' in 1860. Where she vanished from the records and into railroad history.
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