Bernard Churchill loved being a locomotive engineer. He was fond of all the engines whose controls came under his fingers, but his favourite was a little coal-fired steam engine, Number 2, a Baldwin, that everyone called "Deuce." Eventually, Bernard spent less time with the other engines and more with Deuce.
She weighed just 50 tons, but Bernard felt that Deuce could more than pull her weight. He knew her history. Instinct told him that Deuce's success bore little relation to her size. Deuce was already thirty years old when she became Bernard’s regular responsibility. She had worked for fifteen years on Comox Logging and Railway Company’s level mainline—or what the local people called the CLR—hauling logs to the dump at Royston, near Courtenay. She had also been a “bullcook” engine, bringing supplies and crew cars to logging camps and equipment to fight forest fires. For fifteen more years Bernard and Deuce steamed up and down the Comox line.
 The Deuce in her shelter, Courtenay ~ Manuel Erickson photograph |
Bernard delighted everyone with tall stories about running Deuce full tilt through the timber stands. In one of these, she encountered a cougar. "We—Deuce and me—was goin' full blast haulin' a load of logs to Royston, an' all of a sudden a real big black cat come outta the trees, makin' t'cross the tracks. It was real close to us an’ I had no chance t'blow the whistle. We hit the thing, of course. The cow-catcher caught it an' it went up an' over the cab. I looked out as we rounded a bend, an' that cat was runnin' like fury into the trees. Y'know how they always land on their feet? I dunno who was more surprised, the cat or me!"
By 1960 Deuce was fifty years old. Bernard had retired. Times were changing and so was the CLR's equipment. A new behemoth, a diesel, came onto the scene, and Number 2 was scheduled to become scrap metal.
Courtenay's city council heard of Deuce's impending demise. A councillor raised his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor," he said. "This city would not have become what it is today without the Comox Logging and Railway Company. The age of steam is now drawing to a close. I move that we commemorate both the CLR and the power of steam by acquiring old Number 2, the Deuce!"
A discussion followed. "We have better things to do with these funds than put a beat-up old relic on display," said one councillor. "We need two secretaries," said another. "Such money could get us that help."
The Mayor finally called for a vote. "All those in favour, please raise your hands."
"Against?" He glanced along the line of councillors, none of whom had raised his hand. The Mayor smiled because he knew those who objected did not want to be in a minority. "Carried."
And so it was.
Deuce, her paint shining and whistle blowing, ran once more under her own power along the E & N Railway from Ladysmith to Courtenay. Those who loved steam, and there were quite a few, wore broad smiles, and some wore tears, too. As she pulled in to her new home they did not talk. They stood, listening to the escaping steam softly whispering hiss-s-s.
The engineer extinguished the fire in her boiler and the engine became quiet. He climbed down from the cab and stood there for a minute, looking at Deuce. He took off his cap and wiped his eyes with a shirt sleeve.
It was the end of an era for Deuce. She was displayed beside the highway where the townsfolk admired her, but she had become cold and lifeless.
By 1989 Deuce had stayed in one spot for twenty-nine years as a proud representative of a past era: admired, photographed-and vandalized. Her paint faded and peeled and rust showed among the bird droppings.
In the 1990s the City of Courtenay recognized that Deuce deserved better treatment. Council passed a motion to make funds available to repaint and build a shelter for her.
Today she rests comfortably inside the shelter, protected from vandals, birds and children's climbing feet by a locked chain-link fence and a permanent roof. She is still beside the highway, kept company by the tourist bureau and a colourful First Nations totem pole.
Deuce is now over ninety years old. She doesn't-she cannot-move. Her taps and levers are rusted in place as if encased in ice.
The age of steam is gone, but Deuce speaks to those who visit her. Despite the rust and her controls frozen in time, she is still a feisty lady.
Stand in her cab with your hand on a lever. Feel the driving wheels click-clacking along the rails. Hear her gleaming brass bell clanging and her shrill whistle cutting the air. Look behind: it is 1950 once again and her smoke trails back.
Deuce was a faithful engine. Rebuilding her would awaken the age of steam, if only a little. It has been done before.
She could run on a part of the Comox line. Her shiny brass bell, sharp whistle and chuffing smoke stack would thrill everyone who saw her or rode with her. She would put happy smiles on the faces of new generations and pull delighted tourists gawking from restored passenger car windows. Perhaps Deuce could even deliver occasional cargo such as surface mail.
Why, some say Bernard Churchill is with her still.
~ Manuel Erickson
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