(Thirap (Oift'V.ooh 5icu.<Kf, 
 
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 L I B R.AR.Y 
 
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 or ILLINOIS 
 
 Ra84- 
 
 ILLIT^OIS niSTGEICAZ SUBVET
 
 OF 
 
 GEORGE STEP1IE1V.S0M, 
 
 RAILWAY ENQINEER. 
 BY SAMUEL SMILES. 
 
 One Volume, Crown 8vo., 513 Pages, with Ilhistrations, and handsomely bound 
 in Cloth. Price, $1.25. Sold by subscription only. 
 
 From Miles Greenwood of Cincinnati. 
 
 JuLT 12, 1859. 
 Gentlemen : I received the " Life of George Stephenson," which you sent me, 
 and am glad you have taken upon yourselves the responsibility of bringing out 
 an American edition. This book should be read by every young man in the land, 
 and especially by Mechanics and Engineers. The example of a man who, with 
 no extraordinary talent, and without the advantages of the most common edu- 
 cation (for he could not write his name until he was eighteen years of age), raised 
 himself, by his own perseverance and industry, from the most humble position 
 in life to the very head and front of his profession, as a Mechanician and Engi- 
 neer, is worthy of being followed ; and, I doubt not, if this book could be gener- 
 ally read, it would be the means of stimulating our young men to more vigorous 
 action, and perhaps producing many a Stephenson among us. His own oft-re- 
 peated advice to young men laboring under difficulties, was alike illustrative of 
 lis character and the secret of his success : '' Persevere, do as I have done, and 
 yoa will surely succeed." M. GREENWOOD. 
 
 From Benjamin H. Latrobr, Civil Engineer, Sfc. 
 
 Pittsburgh, August 17, 1859. 
 Gentlemen: Tou have placed in my hands a copy of your new edition of the 
 " Life of George Stephenson," with a request that I would express an opinion of 
 its merits. There can be but one judgment in regard to them, among all who 
 have read the work : which is, undoubtedly, one of the vrry best nf its class, and 
 will, I trust, enjoy an extensive circulation, in the handsome edition which you 
 have issued ; and the moderate price of which, should bring it within the means 
 of the humblest engineer in the career of successful enterprise and labor which 
 the subject of the biography so signally illustrates. 
 
 I am, very respectfully, your obedient servant, 
 
 UEXJ. H. LATROBE. 
 
 ^V7lat Macavlay the Historian said. 
 Lord Macaulay said, in a late dinner speech at Edinburgh, that he would re- 
 joice to see the memoir of Stephenson in the hands of every young man who had 
 his own way in the world to make ; and that for himself, he knew of no greater 
 honor an author could claim, than to liave written a biography which depicted 
 so admirably, in every point, an example so worthy to be followed. 
 
 Notices from the English Press. 
 
 "Few romances possess so strong an interest as this life, so brave, so simple, 
 so strenuous in its faith. It is conceived in a spirit worthy of its subject — the 
 true history of a working-man, written with a fullness of style and clearness of 
 knowledge which render it invaluable to all working-men." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " The fame of George Stephenson spread slowly, and, great as it has at last 
 become, we cannot question that it will continue to increase with time. It is as 
 the fatlier of railway locomotion that he founds his highest claim to the grati- 
 tude of the world. There is scarcely a page of this biography which is not sug- 
 gestive. The whole ground is novel, and of the highest interest." — Qr. Review. 
 
 FOLLETT, FOSTER & COMPANY, PcBT,T.<^HERg, 
 
 Columbus, Ohio.
 
 THE ENGINEER 
 
 The publication of The Engineer commenced on the 
 11th of August, 18 GO. It is devoted to the discussion of 
 the principles and practice of Civil and Mechanical En- 
 gineering, as exemplified in the construction and opera- 
 tion of 
 
 Railroads, including Track, Bridges, Stations and Shops ; 
 
 Locomotive, Marine and Stationary Engines ; 
 
 And to most of those branches of the Arts, the practice 
 of which falls within the wide scope of the Civil and Me- 
 chanical Engineer. In its treatment of each of these 
 subjects, it will be the aim of The Engineer to indicate 
 the latest and best means of improvement ; having regard 
 both to the progress of discovery and invention, and the 
 interests of the capital whose application is confided to 
 the Engineering Profession. 
 
 In Engineering News, every effort will be made to pre- 
 sent in The Engineer the most complete, recent and 
 valuable intelligence upon all matters of interest to the 
 Profession — Railroad Men, Iron Masters, Manufacturers, 
 Operative Engineers, Machinists, Inventors, and others 
 having kindred interests. 
 
 ZERAH COLBURN, Editor and Proprietor, 
 North-East Cor. Fifth 8^ Walnut Sts., Phila.
 
 illl|l|i|iiii| Mp^i
 
 REMINISCENCES 
 
 LIFE OF A LOCOMOTIVE ENGINEER. 
 
 COLUMBUS: 
 
 FOLLETT, FOSTER AND COMPANY. 
 
 M DCCC LXI.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, 
 
 By FOLLETT, FOSTER & CO., 
 
 In the Clerk's OfBce of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 District of Ohio. 
 
 FOLLETT, POSTBE & CO., PRIMERS AND STEEE0TTPER3, 
 COluaiBUS, OHIO.
 
 I 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 TO THE 
 
 RAILROAD MEN OF THE UNITED STATES, 
 
 A CLASS 
 
 WITH WHOM MT INTERESTS WERE LONG IDENTIFIED, AND WHO I BVER 
 
 FOUND GENEROUS AND BRAVE, I DEDICATE THIS 
 
 UNPRETENDING VOLUME. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 ^ 
 
 i 
 ^ 

 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Bravery and heroism have in all times been extolled, and 
 the praises of the self-sacrificing men and women who have 
 risked their own in the saving of others' lives, been faithfully 
 chronicled. 
 
 Railroad men, too long looked upon as the rougher kind of 
 humanity, have been the subjects of severe condemnation and 
 reproach upon the occurrence of every disaster, while their 
 skill, bravery and presence of mind have scarcely ever found a 
 chronicler. The writer ventures to assert, that if the record of 
 their noble deeds were all gathered, and presented in their true 
 light, it would be found that these rough, and weather-worn 
 men were entitled to as high a place, and a fame as lofty, as 
 has been allotted to any other class who cope with disaster. 
 
 It has been the aim of the writer, who has shared their 
 dangerous lot, to present a few truthful sketches, trusting that 
 his labor may tend to a better knowledge of the dangers that 
 are passed, by those who drive, and ride behind the Iron 
 Horse. If he shall succeed in this, and make the time of his 
 reader not appear misspent, he will be satisfied.
 
 iMifff^
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 Running in a Fog, --.-..-n 
 A Close Shave, ....-.-17 
 
 A Collision, - - - - - - - 29 ' 
 
 Collision Extraordinary, - - - - - - 37 
 
 Burning of the Henry Clay, - - - - - 43 
 
 The Conductor, - - - - - - -51 
 
 Bravery of an Engineer, - - - - - - 59 
 
 The Fireman, - - - - - - -67 
 
 A Dream in the " Caboose,", - - - - - 83 
 
 The Bralieman, -.-.... 75 
 
 An Unmitigated Villain, - - - - - - 93 
 
 A Proposed Race between Steam and Lightning, - - - 101 
 
 An Abrupt Call, - - - - - - - 109 
 
 The Good Luck of being Obstinate, .... 115 
 
 Human Lives v. The Dollar, ..... 123 
 
 Forty-two Miles Per Hour, -....-. 131 
 
 Used up at Last, ....... 139 
 
 A Victim of Low Wages, ...... 145 
 
 Coroners' Juries v. Railroad Men, - - - . . 153 
 
 Adventures of an Irish Railroad Man, .... I6I 
 
 A Bad Bridge, ....... 159 
 
 A Warning, ....... 177 
 
 Singular Accidents, ..--... I85 
 Ludicrous Incidents, ....._ 191 
 
 Explosions, ....... 197 
 
 How a Friend was Killed, .-.--- 203 
 An Unromantic Hero, ...... 213 
 
 The Duties of an Engineer, ..... 219
 
 RUNNING IN A FOG.
 
 RUNNING IN A FOG. 
 
 In the year 185- I was running an engine on the 
 road. My engine was named the Racer, and a 
 
 " racer " she was, too ; her driving-wheels were seven 
 feet in diameter, and she could turn them about as fast as 
 was necessary, I can assure you. My regular train was the 
 " Morning Express," leaving the upper terminus of the 
 road at half past four, running sixty-nine miles in an hour 
 and forty-five minutes, which, as I had to make three 
 stops, might with justice be considered pretty fast travel- 
 ing. 
 
 I liked this run amazingly — for, mounted on my " iron 
 steed," as I sped in the dawn of day along the banks of 
 the river which ran beside the road, I saw all nature wake ; 
 the sun would begin to deck the eastern clouds with rose- 
 
 (11)
 
 12 RUNNING IN A FOG. 
 
 ate hues — rising higher, it would tip the mountain-tops 
 with its glorj — higher still, it would shed its radiance over 
 every hill -side and in every valley. It would illumine the 
 broad bosom of the river, before flowing so dark and drear, 
 now sparkling and glittering with radiant beauty, seeming 
 to run rejoicing in its course to the sea. The little vessels 
 that had lain at anchor all night, swinging idly with the 
 tide, would, as day came on, shake out their broad white 
 sails, and, gracefully careening to the morning breeze, 
 sweep away over the water, looking so ethereal that I no 
 longer wondered at the innocent Mexicans supposing the 
 ships of Cortez were gigantic birds from the spirit-land. 
 Some mornings were not so pleasant, for frequently a 
 dense fog would rise and envelop in its damp, unwholesome 
 folds the river, the road, and all things near them. This 
 was rendered doubly unpleasant from the fact that there 
 were on the line numerous drawbridges which were liable 
 to be opened at all hours, but more especially about day- 
 break. To be sure there were men stationed at every 
 bridge, and in fact every half-mile along the road, whose 
 special duty it was to warn approaching trains of danger 
 from open drawbridges, obstructions on the track, etc., 
 but the class of men employed in such duty was not
 
 RUNNING IN A FOG. 13 
 
 noted for sobriety, and the wages paid were not sufficient 
 to secure a peculiarly intelligent or careful class. So the 
 confidence I was compelled to place in them was necessa- 
 rily burdened with much distrust. 
 
 These men were provided with white and red signal 
 lanterns, detonating torpedoes and colored flags, and the 
 rules of the road required them to place a torpedo on the 
 rail and show a red signal both on the bridge and at a 
 " fog station," distant half a mile from the bridge, before 
 they opened the draw. At all times when the draw was 
 closed they were to show a white light or flag at this " fog 
 station." This explanation will, I trust, be sufficient to 
 enable every reader to understand the position in which I 
 found myself in the " gray " of one September morning. 
 
 I left the starting-point of my route that morning ten 
 minutes behind time. The fog was more dense than I 
 ever remembered having seen it. It enveloped every 
 thing. I could not see the end of my train, which con- 
 sisted of five cars filled with passengers. The " head- 
 light" which I carried on my engine illumined the fleecy 
 cloud only a few feet, so that I was running into the most 
 utter darkness. I did not like the look of things at all, 
 but my " orders " were positive to use all due exertions to
 
 14 RUNNING IN A FOG. 
 
 make time. So, blindly putting my trust in Providence 
 and the miserable twenty-dollars-a-month-men who were 
 its agents along the road, I darted headlong into and 
 through the thick and, to all mortal vision, impenetrable 
 fog. The Racer behaved nobly that morning ; she 
 seemed gifted with the " wings of the wind," and 
 rushed thunderingly on, making such " time " as aston- 
 ished even me, almost " native and to the manor born." 
 Every thing passed oflF right. I had "made up" seven 
 minutes of my time, and was within ten miles of my jour- 
 ney's end. The tremendous speed at which I had been 
 running had exhilarated and excited me. That pitching 
 into darkness, blindly trusting to men that I had at best 
 but weak faith in, had given my nerves an unnatural ten- 
 sion, so I resolved to run the remaining ten miles at what- 
 ever rate of speed the Racer was capable of making. 
 I gave her steam, and away we flew. The fog was so 
 thick that I could not tell by passing objects how fast we 
 ran, but the dull, heavy and oppressive roar, as we shot 
 through rock cuttings and tunnels, the rocking and strain- 
 ing of my engine, and the almost inconceivable velocity at 
 which the driving-wheels revolved, told me that my speed 
 was something absolutely awful. I did not care, though.
 
 RUNNING IN A FOG. 16 
 
 I was used to that, and the rules bore me out ; besides, I 
 wanted to win for mj engine the title of the fastest engine 
 on the road, which I knew she deserved. So I cried, 
 ''On! on!!'' 
 
 I had to cross one drawbridge which, owing to the 
 intervention of a high hill, could not be seen from the 
 time we passed the " fog station " until we were within 
 three or four rods of it. I watched closely for the " fog 
 station " signal. It was white. " All right ! go ahead my 
 beauty ! " shouted I, giving at the same time another jerk 
 at the " throttle," and we shot into the " cut." In less 
 time than it takes me to write it, we were through, and 
 there on the top of the " draw," dimly seen through a rift in 
 the fog, glimmered with to me actual ghastliness the danger 
 signal — a red light. It seemed to glare at me with almost 
 fiendish malignancy. Stopping was out of the question, 
 even had I been running at a quarter of my actual speed. 
 As I was running, I had not even time to grasp the whis- 
 tle-cord before we would be in. So giving one longing, 
 lingering thought to the bright world, whose duration to 
 me could not be reckoned in seconds even, I shut my 
 eyes and waited my death, which seemed as absolute and 
 inevitable as inglorious. It was but an instant of time,
 
 16 RUNNING IN A FOG. 
 
 but an age of thought and dread — and then — I was over 
 the bridge. A drunken bridge-tender had, with accursed 
 stupidity, hoisted the wrong light, and my adventure was 
 but a "scare," — but half a dozen such were as bad as 
 death. 
 
 It was three weeks before I ran again, and I never 
 after " made up time " in a fog.
 
 A CLOSE SHAVE
 
 A CLOSE SHAYE. 
 
 Several times during my life I have felt the emotions 
 so often told of, so seldom felt by any man, when, ^^•ith 
 death apparently absolute and inevitable, immediate and 
 inglorious, staring me full in the face, I forgot all fears 
 for myself — dreamed not of shuddering at the thought 
 that I soon must die — that the gates of death were swung 
 wide open before me, and that, with a speed and force 
 against which all human resistance was useless, I was 
 rushing into them. I knew that I was fated with the 
 rest ; but I thought only of those behind me in my 
 charge, under my supervision, then chatting gaily, watch- 
 ing the swift-receding scenery, thinking perhaps how 
 quickly they would be at home with their dear ones, and 
 not dreaming of the hideous panorama of death so soon 
 
 (19)
 
 20 A CLOSE SHAVE. 
 
 to unroll, the tinkle of the bell for the starting of Avhich 
 I seemed to hear; the first sad scene, the opening 
 crash of which was sickening my soul with terror and blind- 
 ing me with despair. For I knew that those voices, now 
 so gay, now so happy, would soon be shrieking in agony, 
 or muttering the dying groan. I knew that those faces, 
 now so smiling, would soon be distorted with pain, or 
 crushed out of all semblance to humanity ; and I was 
 powerless to avert the catastrophe. All human force 
 was powerless. Nothing but the hand of God, stretched 
 forth in its Omnipotence, could avert it ; and there was 
 scarce time for a prayer for that ; for such scenes last 
 but a moment, though their memory endures for all time. 
 I remember well one instance of this kind. I was 
 running on the R. & W. road, in the East. A great 
 Sabbath-school excursion and picnic was gotten up, and 
 I was detailed to run the train. The children of all the 
 towns on the road were assembled ; and, when we got 
 to the grove in which the picnic was to be held, we had 
 eighteen cars full as they could hold of the little ones, 
 all dressed in their holiday attire, and brimful of mirth 
 and gayety. I drew the train in upon the switch, out of 
 the way of passing trains, let the engine cool down, and
 
 A CLOSE SHAVE. 21 
 
 then went into the woods to participate in the innocent 
 pleasures of the day. The children very soon found out 
 that I was the engineer; and, as I liked children, and 
 tried to amuse them, it was not long before I had a 
 perfect troop at my heels, all laughing and chatting 
 gaily to " Mr. Engineer," as they called me. They 
 asked me a thousand questions about the engine ; and 
 one and all tried to extort a promise from me to let 
 them ride with me, several declaring to me in the 
 strictest confidence, their intention of becoming engi- 
 neers, and their desire, above all things, that I should 
 teach them how. 
 
 So the day passed most happily. The children swung 
 in the swings, romped on the grass, picked the flowers, 
 and wandered at their own sweet will all over the 
 woods. A splendid collation was prepared for them, at 
 which I, too, sat down, and liked to have made my- 
 self sick eating philopenas with the Billys, Freddys, 
 Mollies, and Matties, whose acquaintance I had made 
 that day, and whose pretty faces and sweet voices 
 would urge me, in a style that I could not find heart 
 to resist, to eat a philopena with them, or "just to
 
 22 A CLOSE SHAVE. 
 
 taste their cake and see if it wasn't the goodest I ever 
 saw." 
 
 But the day passed, as happy or unhappy days will, 
 and time to start came round. We had some trouble 
 getting so many little folks together, and it was only 
 by dint of a great deal of whistling that all my load 
 was collected. I was much amused to see some of 
 the little fellows' contempt at others more timid than 
 they, who shut their ears to the sound of the whistle, 
 and ran to hide in the cars. Innumerable were the 
 entreaties that I had from some of them, to let them 
 ride on the engine, " only this once ; " but I was inex- 
 orable. The superintendent of the road, who conducted 
 the train, came to me as I was about ready to start, 
 and told me that, as we had lost so much time collecting 
 our load, I had better not stop at the first station, from 
 whence we had taken but a few children, but push on to 
 the next, where we would meet the down train, and send 
 them back from there. Another reason for this was, that 
 I had a heavy train, and it was a very bad stop to make, 
 lying right in a valley, at the foot of two very heavy 
 grades. So, off I started, the children in the cars
 
 A CLOSE SHAVE. 23 
 
 swinging a dozen handkerchiefs from every window, all 
 happy. 
 
 As I had good running-ground, and unless I hurried, 
 was going to be quite late in reaching my journey's 
 end, I pulled out, and let the engine do her best. So 
 we were running very fast — about forty-eight miles an 
 hour. Before arriving at the station at which I was not 
 to stop, I passed through a piece of heavy wood, in the 
 midst of which was a long curve. On emerging from 
 the woods, we left the curve, and struck a straight 
 track, which extended toward the station some forty 
 rods from the woods. I sounded my whistle a half 
 mile from the station, giving a long blow to signify my 
 intention of passing without a stop, and never shut off; 
 for I had a grade of fifty feet to the mile to surmount 
 just as I passed the station, and I wanted pretty good 
 headway to do it with eighteen cars. I turned the 
 curve, shot out into sight of the station, and there 
 saw what almost curdled the blood in my veins, and 
 made me tremble with terror: a dozen cars, heavily 
 laden with stone, stood on the side track, and the 
 switch at this end was wide open ! I knew it was 
 useless, but I whistled for brakes, and reversed my
 
 24 A CLOSE SHAVE. 
 
 engine. I might as well have thrown out a fish-hook 
 and line, and tried to stop bj catching the hook in a 
 tree ; for, running as I was, and so near the switch, a 
 feather laid on the wheels would have stopped us just 
 as soon as the brakes. I gave up all. I did not think 
 for a moment of the painful death so close to me ; I 
 thought only of the load behind me. I thought of their 
 sweet faces, which had so lately smiled on me, now to 
 be distorted with agony, or pale in death. I thought 
 of their lithe limbs, so full of animation, now to be 
 crushed, and mangled, and dabbled in gore. I thought 
 of the anxious parents watching to welcome their smil- 
 ing, romping darlings home again; doomed, though, to 
 caress only a mangled, crushed, and stiflfened corpse, 
 or else to see the fair promises of their young lives 
 blasted forever, and to watch their darlings through a 
 crippled life. 'Twas too horrible. I stood with stiffened 
 limbs and eyeballs almost bursting from their sockets, 
 frozen with terror, and stared stonily and fixedly, as we 
 rushed on — when a man, gifted, it seemed, with super- 
 human strength and activity, darted across the track 
 right in front of the train, turned the switch, and we 
 were saved. I could take those little ones home iu
 
 A CLOSE SHAVE. 2o 
 
 safety ! I never run an engine over that road after- 
 wards. The whole thing transpired in a moment ; but 
 a dozen such moments were worse than death, and 
 would furnish terror and agony enough for a lifetime. 
 
 ■t
 
 A COLLISION
 
 A COLLISION. 
 
 Of the various kinds of accidents that may befall a 
 railroad-man, a collision is the most dreaded, because, 
 generally, the most fatal. The man who is in the wreck 
 of matter that follows the terrible shock of two trains 
 colliding, stands indeed but a poor chance to escape with 
 either life or limb. No combination of metal or wood 
 can be formed strong enough to resist the tremendous 
 momentum of a locomotive at full or even half speed, 
 suddenly brought to a stand -still ; and when two trains 
 meet the result is even more frightful, for the momentum 
 is not only doubled, but the scene of the wreck is length- 
 ened, and the amount of matter is twice as great. The 
 two locomotives are jammed and twisted together, and the 
 wrecked cars stretch behind, bringing up the rear of the 
 
 (29)
 
 30 A COLLISION. 
 
 procession of destruction. I, myself, never had a collipion 
 with another engine, but I did collide with the hind end of 
 another train of forty cars, which was standing still, at the 
 foot of a heavy grade, and into which I ran at about thir- 
 ty-five miles an hour, and from the ninth car of which I 
 made my way, for the engine had run right into it. The 
 roof of the car was extended over the engine, and the 
 sides had bulged out, and were on either side of me. The 
 cars were all loaded with flour. The shock of the colli- 
 sion broke the barrels open and diffused the " Double 
 Extra Genesee " all over ; it mingled with the smoke and 
 steam and floated all round, so that when, during the sev- 
 eral minutes I was confined there, I essayed to breathe, I 
 inhaled a compound of flour, dust, hot steam and chok- 
 ing smoke. Take it altogether, that car from which, as 
 soon as I could, I crawled, was a little the hottest, 
 most dusty, and cramped position into which I was ever 
 thrown. To add to the terror-producing elements of the 
 scene, my fireman lay at my feet, caught between the ten- 
 der and the head of the boiler, and so crushed that he 
 never breathed from the instant he was caught. He was 
 crushed the whole length of his body, from the left hip to 
 the right shoulder, and compressed to the thinness of
 
 A COLLISION. 31 
 
 my hand. In fact, an indentation was made in the boiler 
 where the tender struck it, and his body was between 
 boiler and tender ! The way this accident happened was 
 simple, and easily explained. The freight train which I 
 was to pass with the express at the next station, broke 
 down while on this grade. The breakage was trifling and 
 could easily be repaired, so the conductor dispatched a 
 man (a green hand, that they paid twenty-two dollars a 
 month) to the rear with orders, as the night was very 
 dark and rainy, to go clear to the top of the grade, a full 
 mile off, and swing his red light from the time he saw 
 my head Hght, which he could see for a mile, as the track 
 was straight, until I saw it and stopped, and then he was 
 to tell me what was the matter, and I, of course, would 
 proceed with caution until I passed the train. The con- 
 ductor was thus particular, for he knew he was a green 
 hand, and sent him back only because he could be 
 spared, in case the train proceeded, better than the other 
 man ; and he was allowed only two brakemen. Well, with 
 these apparently clear instructions, the brakeman went 
 back to the top of the grade. I was then in sight ; he gave, 
 according to his own statement, one swing of the lamp, 
 and it went out. He had no matches, and what to do he
 
 32 A COLLISIOX. 
 
 didn't know. He had in his pocket, to be sure, a half a 
 dozen torpedoes, given to him expressly for such emergen- 
 cies, but if he ever knew their use, he was too big a fool 
 to use the knowledge when it was needed. He might, to 
 be sure, have stood right in the track, and, by swinging his 
 arms, have attracted my attention, for on dark nights and 
 on roads where they hire cheap men, I generally kept a 
 close lookout ; and if I saw a man swinging his arms, and, 
 apparently trying to see how like a madman he could act, 
 I stopped quick, for there was no telling what was the mat- 
 ter. But this fellow was too big a fool for that even. He 
 turned from me and made towards his own train, bellow- 
 ing lustily, no doubt, for them to go ahead, but they were 
 at the engine, and its hissing steam made too much noise 
 for them to hear, even had he been within ten rods of them. 
 But a mile away, that chance was pretty slim, and yet 
 on it hung a good many lives. I came on, running about 
 forty-five miles an hour, for the next station was a wood 
 and water station, and I wanted time there. 
 
 I discovered the red light, held at the rear of the train, 
 when within about fifteen rods of it. I had barely time 
 to shut off, and was in the very act of reversing when the 
 collision took place. The tender jumped up on the foot-
 
 A COLLISION. 33 
 
 board, somehow I was raised at the same time, so that it 
 did not catch my feet, but the end of the tank caught my 
 hand on the " reverse lever," which I had not time to let 
 go, and there I was fast. The first five cars were thrown 
 clear to one side of the track, by the impetus of my train ; 
 the other four were crushed like egg-shells, and in the 
 ninth, the engine brought up. I was fast ; it all occurred 
 in a second, and the scene was so confusing and rapid that 
 I hardly knew when my hand was caught ; I certainly 
 should not have known where but for the locality of the 
 piece of it afterwards found. My pain was awful, for not 
 only was my hand caught, but the wood from the tender, 
 as I crouched behind the dome, gave my body a most hor- 
 rible pummeling, and the blinding smoke and scalding 
 steam added to the misery of my position. I really be- 
 gan to fear that I should have to stay there and undergo the 
 slow, protracted torture of being scalded to death ; but with 
 a final effort I jerked my hand loose, and groped my way 
 out. My clothes were saturated with moisture. The 
 place had been so hot that my hands peeled, and my face 
 was blistered. I did not fully recover for months. But 
 at last I did and went at it again, to run into the doors 
 of death, which are wide open all along every mile of a
 
 34 A COLLISION. 
 
 railroad, and into which, even if nature does not let you 
 go, some fool of a man, who is willing to risk his own 
 worthless neck in such scenes for twenty-five dollars a 
 month, will contrive, ten chances against one, by his stupid 
 blundering to push you.
 
 COLLISION EXTRAORDINARY.
 
 COLLISION EXTRAORDINARY. 
 
 One morning, in the year 185-, I was running the 
 Morning Express, or the Shanghae run, as it was called, on 
 the H. road in New York state. The morning was foggy, 
 damp and uncomfortable, and by its influence I was de- 
 pressed so that I had the " blues" very badly ; I felt weary 
 and tired of the life I was leading, dull and monotonous 
 always, save when varied by horror. I got to thinking of 
 the poor estimate in which the class to which I belonged 
 was held by the people generally, who, seated in the easy- 
 cushioned seats of the train, read of battles far away — of 
 deeds of heroism, performed amid the smoke and din of 
 bloody wars, — and their hearts swell with pride, — they 
 glow with gladness to think that their own species are ca- 
 pable of such daring acts, and all the while these very 
 
 (37) 

 
 38 COLLISION EXTEAORDINARY. 
 
 readers are skirting the edges of precipices, to look down 
 which would appall the stoutest heart and make the strong- 
 est nerved man thrill with terror : — they are crossing 
 deep, narrow gorges on gossamer-like bridges ; — they are 
 passing switches at terrific speed, where there is but an 
 inch of space between smooth-rolling prosperity and quick 
 destruction ; — they are darting through dark, gloomy tun- 
 nels, which would be turned into graves for them, were a 
 single stone to be detached from the roof in front of the 
 thundering train ; — they are dragged by a fiery-lunged, 
 smoke-belching monster, in whose form are imprisoned 
 death-dealing forces the most terrific. And mounted upon 
 this fire-fiend sits the engineer, controlling its every mo- 
 tion, holding in his hand the thread of every life on the 
 train, which a single act — a false move — a deceived eye, 
 an instant's relaxation of thought or care on his part, 
 would cut, to be united nevermore ; and the train thunders 
 on, crossing bridges, guHies and roads, passing through 
 tunnels and cuts, and over embankments. The engineer, 
 firm to his post, still regulates the breath of his steam-de- 
 mon and keeps his eye upon the track ahead, with a thou- 
 sand things upon his mind, the neglect or a wrong thought 
 of either of which would run the risk of a thousand lives ;
 
 COLLISION EXTRAORDINARY. 39 
 
 — and these readers in the cars are still absorbed with the 
 daring deeds of the Zouaves under the warm sua of Italy, 
 but pay not a thought to the Zouave upon the engine, 
 who every day rides down into the " valley of death" and 
 charges a bridge of Magenta. 
 
 But to return to this dismal, foggy morning that I be- 
 gan to tell you of. It was with some such thoughts as 
 these that I sat that morning upon my engine, and plunged 
 into the fog-banks that hung over the river and the river- 
 side. I sat so 
 
 " Absorbed in guessing, but no syllable expressing " 
 
 of whether it must always be so with me ; whether I 
 should always be chilled with this indifference and want 
 of appreciation in my waking hours, and in my sleep have 
 this horrible responsibility and care to sit, ghoul-like, upon 
 my breast and almost stifle the beating of my heart ; — 
 when with a crash and slam my meditations were interrupt- 
 ed, and the whole side of the " cab," with the " smoke- 
 stack," " whistle-stand " and " sand-box " were stripped 
 from the engine. The splinters flew around my head, the 
 escaping steam made most an infernal din, and the " fire- 
 box" emitted most as infernal a smoke, and I was en-
 
 40 COLLISION EXTRAORDINARY. 
 
 tirely ignorant of what was up or the extent of the dam- 
 age done. As soon as I could stop, I of course, after see- 
 ing that everj thing was right with the engine, went 
 back to see what was the cause of this sudden invasion 
 upon the dreary harmony of my thoughts, and the com- 
 pleteness of my running arrangements, when lo ! and be- 
 hold it was a North River schooner with which I had 
 collided. It had, during the fog, been blown upon the 
 shore, and into its " bowsprit," which projected over the 
 track, I had run full tilt. 
 
 I think that I am justified in calling a collision between 
 a schooner on the river and a locomotive on the rail, a 
 collision extraordinary. Readers, do not you ?
 
 BURNING OF THE HENRY CLAY. 

 
 BURNmG OF THE HENRY CLAY. 
 
 There is one reminiscence of mj life as a " railroad 
 man" that dwells in my memory with most terrible vivid- 
 ness, one that I often think of in daytime with shuddering 
 horror ; and in the night, in dreams of appalling terror, 
 each scene is renewed in all the ghastliness of the reahty, 
 so that the nights when I dream of it become epochs of 
 miserable, terrible helplessness. 
 
 It was on a clear, bright day in August. The fields 
 were covered with the maturity of verdure, the trees wore 
 their coronal of leaves perfected, the birds sang gaily, 
 and the river sparkled in the sun ; and I sat upon my en- 
 gine, looking ahead mostly, but occasionally casting my 
 eyes at the vessels on the river, that spread their white 
 sails to the breeze and danced over the rippling waters, 
 
 (43)
 
 44 BURNING OF THE HENRY CLAY. 
 
 looking too graceful to be of earth. Among the craft 
 upon the river I noticed the steamboat " Henry Clay ;" 
 another and a rival boat was some distance from it, and 
 from the appearance of things I inferred that they were 
 racing. I watched the two as closely as I could for some- 
 time, and while looking intently at the " Clay," I saw a 
 dark column of thick black smoke ascending from her, 
 " amidships," just back of the smoke-pipe. At first I 
 paid little heed to it, but soon it turned to fire, and the 
 leaping flames, like serpents, entwined the whole of the 
 middle portion of the boat in their terrible embrace. 
 She was at once headed for the shore, and came rushing 
 on, trailing the thick cloud of flame and smoke. She 
 struck the shore near where I had stopped my train, for, 
 of course, seeing such a thing about to happen, I stopped 
 to enable the hands and passengers to render what assist- 
 ance they could. The burning boat struck the shore by 
 the side of a little wharf, right where the station of " Riv- 
 erdale" now stands, and those who were upon the forward 
 part of her decks escaped at once by leaping to the shore ; 
 but the majority of the passengers, including all of the 
 women and children, were on the after-part of the boat, 
 and owing to the centre of the boat being entirely en-
 
 BURNING OF THE HENRY CLAY. 45 
 
 wrapped by the hissing flames, they were utterly unable 
 to get to the shore. So they were cooped up on the ex- 
 treme after-end of the boat, with the roaring fire forming 
 an impassable barrier to prevent their reaching the land, 
 and the swift-flowing river at their feet, surging and bub- 
 bling past, dark, deep, and to most of them as certain 
 death as the flames in front. The fire crept on. It drove 
 them inch by inch to the water. The strong swimmers, 
 crazed by the heat, wrapped their stalwart arms about 
 their dear ones, and leaped into the water. Their mutual 
 struggles impeded each other ; they sank with words of 
 love and farewell bubbling from their lips, unheard amidst 
 the roar of the flames and hiss of the water, as the burn- 
 ing timbers fell in and were extinguished. Women raised 
 their hands to Heaven, uttered one piercing, despairing 
 scream, and with the flames enwrapping their clothing. 
 leaped into the stream, which sullenly closed over them. 
 Some crawled over the guards and hung suspended until 
 the fierce heat compelled them to loose their hold and drop 
 into the waves below. Mothers, clasping their children to 
 their bosoms, knelt and prayed God to let this cup pass 
 from them. Many, leaping into the water, almost gained 
 the shore, but some piece of the burning wreck would fall
 
 46 BURNING OF THE HENRY CLAY. 
 
 upon them and crush them down. Some we could see 
 kneeling on the deck until the surging flames and blind- 
 ing smoke shrouded them and hid them from our sight. 
 One little boy was seen upon the hurricane roof, just as it 
 fell. Entwined in each other's embrace, two girls were 
 seen to rush right into the raging fire, either delirious with 
 the heat or desirous of quickly ending their dreadful suffer- 
 ings, which they thought must end in death. And we 
 upon the shore stood almost entirely powerless to aid. 
 Death-shrieks and despairing cries for help, prayer and 
 blasphemy, all mingled, came to our ear above the roaring 
 and crackling of the flames, and in agony and the terror 
 of helplessness we closed our ears to shut out the horrid 
 sounds. The intense heat of the fire rendered it impossible 
 for us to approach near the boat. The many despairing 
 creatures struggling in the water made it almost certain 
 death for any to swim out to help. No boats were near, 
 except the boats of a sloop which came along just as the 
 fire was at its highest and were unable to get near the 
 wreck, because of the heat. The scene among the sur- 
 vivors was most terrible. One little boy of about seven, 
 was running around seeking his parents and sisters. Poor 
 fellow ! his search was vain, for the scorching flames had
 
 BURXINa OF THE HENRY CLAY. 47 
 
 killed them, and the rapid river had buried them. A 
 mother was there, nursing a dead babe, which drowned in 
 her arms, as, with almost superhuman exertions, she strug- 
 gled to the shore. A young lady sat by the side of her 
 father, lying stark and stiff, killed by a falling beam, within 
 twenty feet of the shore. A noble Newfoundland dog 
 stood, sole guardian of a little child of three or four, that 
 be had brought ashore himself, and to whom we could find 
 neither kith nor kin among the crowd. His dog, play- 
 mate of an hour before, was now the saviour of his life 
 and his only friend. I left the scene with my train when 
 convinced that a longer stay was useless, as far as saving 
 life went. 
 
 I returned that afternoon, and the water had given up 
 many of its dead. Twenty-two bodies lay stretched upon 
 the shore — but one in a coflBn, and she a bride of that 
 morning, with the wedding-dress scorched and blackened, 
 and clinging with wet, clammy folds to her stiff and rigid 
 form. Her husband bent in still despair over her. A 
 little child lay there, unclaimed. His curly, flaxen hair 
 that, two hours before, father and sisters stroked so fondly, 
 was matted around his forehead, and begrimed with the 
 sand, over which his little body had been washed to the
 
 48 BURNING OF THE HENRY CLAY. 
 
 river-bank. His little lips, that a mother pressed so lately, 
 now were black with the slime of the river-bed in which 
 he went to sleep. An old man of seventy was there, 
 sleeping calmly after the battle of life, which for him cul- 
 minated with horror at its close. In short, of all ages 
 they were there, lying on the sand, and the scene I shall 
 never forget. Each incident, from the first flashing out 
 of the flame to the moment when I, with reverent hands, 
 helped lay them in their coffins and the tragedy closed, 
 is photographed forever upon my mind.
 
 THE CONDUCTOR
 
 THE CONDUCTOR. 
 
 A RECENT case in the courts of this county, has set me 
 to thinking of some of the wrongs heaped upon railroad 
 men so much, that I shall devote this article exclusively 
 to a review of the opprobrium bestowed upon all men con- 
 nected with railroads, by the people who every day travel 
 under their control, with their lives subject to the care 
 and watchfulness of these men. for whose abuse they 
 leave no opportunity to escape. Docs a train run off the 
 track, and thereby mischief be worked, every possible 
 circumstance that can be twisted and distorted into a 
 shape such as to throw the blame upon the men connected 
 with the road, is so twisted and distorted. The probabil- 
 ity of any accident happening without its being directly 
 caused by the scarcely less than criminal negligence of 
 
 151) 
 
 U. OF ILL UB.
 
 62 THE CONDUCTOR. 
 
 some of the railroad men, is always scouted by the dis- 
 cerning public ; most of whom scarcely know the differ- 
 ence between a locomotive and a pumping engine. An 
 accident caused by the breaking of a portion of the ma- 
 chinery of a locomotive engine on the Hudson River Rail- 
 road, which did no damage except to cause a three hours' 
 detention, was by some enterprising and intelUgent (?) 
 penny-a-liner dignified into a proof of the general incom- 
 petency of railroad men, in one of our prominent literary 
 periodicals, and the question was very sagely asked why 
 the railroad company did not have engines that would not 
 break down, or engineers that would not allow them so to 
 do ? The question might, with equal propriety, be asked, 
 why did not nature form trees, the timber of which would 
 not rot ? Or, why did not nature make rivers that would 
 not overflow ? 
 
 Let two suits be brought in almost any of our courts, 
 each with circumstances of the same aggravation, say for 
 assault and battery, and let the parties in one be ordinary 
 citizens, and in the other, let one party be a railroad man 
 and the other a citizen, with whom, for some cause, the 
 railroad man has had a difficulty, and you will invariably
 
 THE CONDUCTOR. 53 
 
 see the railroad man's case decided against him, and in 
 the other case the defendant be acquitted, to go scot-free. 
 Why is this ? Simply, I think, because every individual 
 who has ever suffered from the hands of any railroad em- 
 ployee, treasures up that indignity, and lays it to the ac- 
 count of every other railroad man he meets, making the 
 class suffer in his estimation, because one of them treated 
 him in a crusty manner. 
 
 If a man's neighbor or friend offend him, he tries to 
 forgive it — earnestly endeavors to find palliating circum- 
 stances ; but, in the case of railroad men, all that would 
 palliate the offense of rudeness and want of courtesy, 
 such as is sometimes shown, is studiously ignored, or, at 
 the mildest, forgotten. 
 
 I knew a school teacher once, who said that the most 
 barbarous profession in the world was that of teaching, 
 because it drove from a man all humanity. He got into 
 such a habit of ruling, that it became impossible for him 
 to understand how to obey any one himself. 
 
 The same thing might be said of a railroad conductor; 
 for, every day in his life, he takes the exclusive control 
 of a train full of passengers of as different dispositions 
 as they are of different countenances. Now, he meets
 
 54 THE CONDUCTOR. 
 
 with a testj, quarrelsome old fellow, who is given to fault- 
 finding, and who blows him up at every meeting. Now, 
 with a querulous old maid, who is in continual fear lest 
 the train run off the track, the boiler burst, or the con- 
 ductor palm off some bad money on her. Now, with a 
 gent of an inquisitive turn of mind, who is continually 
 asking the distance to the next station, and the time the 
 train stops there, or else pulling out an old turnip of a 
 watch and comparing his time with the conductor's. Then, 
 a stupid, dunderheaded man is before him, who does not 
 know where he is going, nor how much money he has got. 
 Then, somebody has got carried by, and scolds the con- 
 ductor for it, or else angrily insists that the train be im- 
 mediately backed up for his especial accommodation. 
 The next man, maybe, is an Irishman, made gloriously 
 happy and piggishly independent, by the aid of poor 
 whiskey, who will pay his fare how he pleases, and when 
 he pleases ; who is determined to ride where he wants to, 
 and who will at once jump in for a fight, if any of these 
 rights of his are invaded ; or, mayhap, he will not pay his 
 fare at all, deeming that his presence (scarcely more en- 
 durable than a hog's) is sufficient honor to remunerate 
 the company for his ride ; or perhaps his " brother Tiddy,
 
 THE CONDUCTOR. '55 
 
 or Pathrick, or Michael, or Dinnis works upon the thrack," 
 and " bedad, he'll jist ride onjway." All these char- 
 actsrs are found in any train, and with them the conduc- 
 tor has to deal every day. How do you know, when he 
 sp?aks harshly to you, but that he has just had a confab 
 •wi-h one of these gentry, who has sorely tried his pa- 
 tience, and riled his temper? How do you think you 
 wculd fill his place, were you subjected to such annoy- 
 ances all the time ? Would you be able at all times to 
 maintain a perfectly correct and polite exterior — a Chris- 
 tian gravity of demeanor — and never for an instant for- 
 get yourself, or lose your temper, or allow your manner 
 to show to any one the slightest acerbity? You know 
 you could not ; and yet, for being only thus human, you 
 are loud in your denunciation of conductors and all rail- 
 road men, and, perhaps honestly, but certainly with great 
 injustice, believe them to have no care for your wants, no 
 interest in your comfort. Treat railroad men with the 
 same consideration that you evince towards other business 
 companions. Consider always that they are only human 
 — have not saintly nor angelic tempers, any of them, and 
 that every day's experience is one of trial and provoca-
 
 56 THE CONDUCTOR. 
 
 tion. By so doing, you will be only rendering them sim- 
 ple justice, and you will yourself receive better treatment 
 than if you attempt to make the railroad man your meni- 
 al, or the pack-horse for all your ill-feeling.
 
 BRAVERY OF AN ENGINEER.
 
 BRAVERY OF AN ENGINEER. 
 
 The presence of mind shown by railroad men is a 
 great deal talked about ; but few, I think, know the trying 
 circumstances under which it must be exercised, because 
 they have never thought of, and are not familiar enough 
 with the details of the business, and the common, every- 
 day incidents of the lives of railroad men. If any thing 
 does happen to a train of cars, or an engine, it comes so 
 suddenly, and is all over so quickly, that the impulse, 
 and effort, to do something to prevent it, must be instan- 
 taneous, or they are of no avail. The mind must devise, 
 and the hands spring to execute at once, for the man is 
 on a machine that moves like the wind-blast, and will 
 snap bands and braces of iron or steel as easily as the 
 wild horse would break a halter of thread. 
 
 (59)
 
 60 BRAVERY OF AN ENGINEER. 
 
 The engine, while under the control of its master, moves 
 along regularly and with the beauty of a dream ; its wheels 
 revolve, glancing in the sun ; its exhausted steam coughs 
 as regularly as the strong man's heart beats, and trails 
 back over the train, wreathing itself into the most fantas- 
 tic convolutions ; now sweeping away towards the sky in a 
 grand, white pillar, anon twining and twisting among the 
 gnarled limbs of the trees beside the track, and the train 
 moves on so fast that the scared bird in vain tries to get 
 out of its way by flying ahead of it. Still the engineer 
 sits there cool and calm ; but let him have a care, — let 
 not the exhilaration of his wild ride overcome his pru- 
 dence, for the elements he controls are, while under his 
 rule, useful and easily managed, but broken loose, they 
 have the power of a thousand giants, and do the work 
 of a legion of devils in almost a single beat of the pulse. 
 
 A man can easily retain his presence of mind where 
 the danger depends entirely upon him ; that is, where his 
 maintaining one position, or doing one thing resolutely, 
 will avert the catastrophe ; but under circumstances such 
 as frequently beset an engineer, where, to do his utmost, 
 he can only partially avert the calamity, then it is that 
 the natural bravery and acquired courage of a man is
 
 BRAVERY OF AN ENGINEER. 61 
 
 tried to the utmost extent. I remember several instances 
 of this kind, where engineers, in full view of the awful 
 danger which threatened them, knowing too well the ter- 
 rible chances of death that were against them and the 
 passengers under their charge, even if they did main- 
 tain their positions, and, by using all their exertions, suc- 
 ceeded in slightly reducing the shock of the collision, which 
 could only be modified — not averted — still stuck to their 
 posts, did their utmost, and rode into the other train and 
 met their death, amid the appalling scenes of the chaotic 
 ruin which followed. 
 
 George D was running the Night Express on the 
 
 road. I was then running the freight train, which laid 
 over at a station for George to pass. One night — it 
 was dark and dismal — the rain had been pouring down in 
 torrents all night long ; I arrived with my train, went 
 in upon the switch and waited for George, who passed 
 on the main track without stopping. Owing to the storm 
 and the failure of western connections, George was some 
 thirty minutes behind, and of course came on, intending 
 to run though the station pretty fast — a perfectly safe 
 proceeding, apparently, for the switches could not be 
 turned wrong without changing the lights, and these be-
 
 62 BRAVERY OF AN ENGINEER. 
 
 ing " bull's-eye" lanterns elevated so that they could be 
 seen a great distance on the straight track which was 
 there, no change could be made without the watchful eye 
 of the engineer seeing it at once. So George came on, at 
 about thirty-five miles an hour, as near as I could judge, 
 and 1 was watching him all the time. He was within 
 about three times the length of his train of the switch — 
 was blowing his whistle — when I saw, and he saw the 
 switchman run madly out of his " shanty," grab the switch 
 and turn it so that it would lead him directly into the hind 
 end of my train. I jumped, instinctively, to start ray en- 
 gine — I heard him whistle for brakes, and those that stood 
 near said that he reversed his engine — but my train was too 
 heavy for me to move quickly, and he was too near to do 
 much good by reversing, so I soon felt a heavy concus- 
 sion, and knew that he had struck hard, for, at the other 
 end of forty-five cars, it knocked me down, and the jar 
 broke my engine loose from the train. He might have 
 jumped from his engine with comparative safety, after he 
 saw the switch changed, for the ground was sandy there 
 and free from obstructions ; and he could easily have 
 jumped clear of the track and escaped with slight bruises. 
 But no! Behind him, trusting to him, and resting in
 
 BRAVERY OF AN ENGINEER. 63 
 
 comparative security, were hundreds to whom life was as 
 dear as to him ; his post was at the head ; to the great 
 law of self-preservation, that most people put first in their 
 code of practice, his stern duty required him to forswear 
 allegiance, and to act on the principle, " others first, my- 
 self afterwards." So, with a bravery of heart such as 
 is seldom found in other ranks of men, he stuck to his 
 iron steed, transformed then into the white steed of death, 
 and spent the last energies of his life, the strength of his 
 last pulse, striving to mitigate the suffering which would 
 follow the collision. His death was instantaneous ; he 
 had no time for regrets at leaving hfe and the friends he 
 loved so dearly. When we found him, one hand grasped 
 the throttle, his engine was reversed, and with the other 
 hand he still held on to the handle of the sand-box lever. 
 The whole middle and lower portion of his body was 
 crushed, but his head and arms were untouched, and his 
 face still wore a resolute, self-sacrificing expression, such 
 as must have lit up the countenance of Arnold Winkle- 
 ried, when crying, " Make way for liberty,^'' he threw him- 
 self upon a sheaf of Austrian spears and broke the col- 
 umn of his enemies. 
 
 I find in nearly every cemetery that I visit, monuments
 
 64 BRAVERY OF AN ENGINEER. 
 
 and memorial-stones to some brave man who fell and died 
 amid the smoke and flame and hate of a battle-field ; and 
 orators and statesmen, ministers and newspapers, exhaust 
 the fountains of eloquence to extol the " illustrious dead." 
 
 But George D , who spent his life in a constant bat 
 
 tie with the elements, who waged unequal war with time 
 and space, who at last chose rather to die himself than 
 to bring death or injuries to others, sleeps in the quiet of 
 a country church-yard. The wailing wind, sighing through 
 the few trees there, sings his only dirge ; a plain stone, 
 bought by the hard won money of his companions in life, 
 alone marks his resting-place. The stranger, passing by, 
 would scarcely notice it ; but who shall dare to tell me that 
 there resteth not there a frame, from which a soul has 
 flown, as noble as any that sleeps under sculptured urn or 
 slab, over which thousands have mused, and which has 
 been the text of hundreds of exhortations to patriotism 
 and self-forgetfulness ?
 
 ONE OF THE THREE ENGINES FIRST BUILT BY STEPHENSON, 
 And used oa the Stockton and Darlington Railway.
 
 THE FIREMAN
 
 THE FIEEMAN. 
 
 The fireman, the engineer's left-hand man, his trump 
 card, without whom it would be diflScult for him to get 
 over the road, is seen but little, and thought but little of. 
 He is usually dirtj and greasy, wearing a ragged pair of 
 overalls, originally blue, but now embroidered so with oil 
 and dust, that they are become a smutty brown. Just 
 before the train leaves the station, you will see his face, 
 down which streams the perspiration, looking back, watch- 
 ing for the signal to start; for this is one of his many 
 duties. His head is usually ornamented (in his opinion) 
 with some outlandish cap or hat ; though others regard it 
 as a fittingly outrageous cap-sheaf to his general dirty 
 and outre appearance. But little cares Mr. Fireman ; he 
 runs the fire-box of that " machine." He feels pride in 
 the whole engine ; and when he sees any one admiring its 
 
 (67)
 
 68 THE FIREMAN. 
 
 polished surface, gleaming so brightly in the sun, flashing 
 so swiftly by the farm-houses on the road (in each of 
 which Mr. Fireman has acquaintance of the opposite sex, 
 to whom he must needs swing his handkerchief), he feels 
 a glow of honest satisfaction ; and the really splendid 
 manner in which his efforts have caused it to shine — 
 which is evidently one great reason for the admiration be- 
 stowed upon it — so fills him with self gratulation that, in his 
 great modesty, which he fears will be overcome if he 
 stays there much longer watching people as they admire 
 his handiwork, and he be led to tell them all about it, how 
 he scrubbed and scoured to bring her to that pitch of per- 
 fection — he turns away, and begins to pitch the wood 
 about in the most reckless manner imaginable ; yet every 
 stick goes just where he wants it. 
 
 His aspirations (and he has them, my lily-handed 
 friend, as well as you, and perhaps, though not so ele- 
 vated, more honorable than yours) are, that he may, by 
 attending to his own duties, so attract the attention of 
 the ones in authority that he may be placed in positions 
 where he can learn the business, and, by and by, himself 
 have charge of an engine as its runner. It does not seem 
 a very high ambition ; but, to attain it, he undergoes a
 
 m 
 
 THE FIREMAN. 69 
 
 probation seldom of less than three, frequently of seven 
 or eight years, at the hardest kind of work, performed, 
 too, where dangers are thick around him, and his chances 
 to avert them very slim. . His duties are manifold and 
 various ; but long years of attendance to them makes them 
 very monotonous and irksome, and he would soon weary 
 of them, did not the hope of one day being himself sole 
 master of the " iron horse," actuate him to renewed dili- 
 gence and continued efforts to excel. He is on duty 
 longer than any other man connected with the train. He 
 must be on hand before the engine comes out of the shop, 
 to start a fire and see that all is right about the engine. 
 Usually he brings it out upon the track ; and then, when 
 all is ready, he begins the laborious work of throwing 
 wood ; which amounts to the handling of from four to 
 seven cords of wood per diem, while the engine and ten- 
 der are pitching and rolling so that a " green- horn" would 
 find it hard work to stand on his feet, let alone having, 
 while so standing, to keep that fiery furnace supplied with 
 fuel. The worse the day, the more the snow or rain 
 blows, the harder his work. His hands become calloused 
 with the numerous wounds he receives from splinters on 
 the wood. He it is who has to go out on the runboard
 
 70 THE FIREMAN. 
 
 and oil the valves, while the engine is running full speed. 
 No matter how cold the wind may blow, how rain, hail, 
 sleet, or snow may beat down upon him, covering every 
 thing with ice, nor how dark the night, out there he must 
 go and crawl along the slippery side of the engine to do 
 his work. At stations he must take water, and when at 
 last the train arrives at its destination, and others are 
 ready to go home, he must stay. If a little too much 
 wood is in the fire-box, he must take it out, and then go to 
 work cleaning and scouring the dust and rust from olBf the 
 bright work and from the boiler. Every bit of cleaning 
 in the cab and above the runboard, including the cylinders 
 and steam-chest, must be done by him ; and any one who 
 will look at the fancy-work on some of our modern loco- 
 motives, can judge something of what he has to do after 
 the day's work on the road is done. Every thing is brass, 
 or covered with brass ; and all must be kept polished like 
 a mirror, or the fireman is hauled over the coals. 
 
 For performing these manifold duties, he receives the 
 magnificent sum of (usually) thirty dollars per month ; 
 and he knows no Sundays, no holidays — on long roads, he 
 scarcely knows sleep. He has not the responsibihty rest- 
 ing on him that there is upon the engineer ; but it is re-
 
 THE FIREMAN. 71 
 
 quired of him, when not otherwise engaged with his duty 
 of firing, to assist the engineer in keeping a lookout 
 ahead. His position is one of the most dangerous on the 
 train, as is proved bj the frequent occurrence of accidents, 
 where only the fireman is killed ; and his only obituary, 
 no matter how earnest he may have been, how faithful in 
 the performance of his duties, is an item in the tele- 
 graphic reports, that a fireman was killed in such a rail- 
 road smash. He may have been one of nature's noble- 
 men. A fond mother and sweet sisters may have been 
 dependent on his scanty earnings for their support. No 
 matter ; the great surging tide of humanity that daily 
 throngs these avenues of travel, has not time to inquire 
 after, nor sympathy to waste upon, a greasy wood-passer, 
 whom they regard as simply a sort of piece in the ma- 
 chinery of the road, not half so essential as a valve or 
 bolt, for if he be lost, his place can be at once supplied ; 
 but if a bolt or other essential piece of the iron machinery 
 give out, it will most likely cause a vexatious delay. 
 Once in a while a fireman performs some heroic act that 
 brings him into a momentary notoriety, and opens the 
 eyes of the few who may be cognizant of the case, to the 
 fact that, on a railroad, all men are in danger, and that
 
 72 THE FIREMAN. 
 
 the most humble of them may perform some self-sacrifi- 
 cing deed that will, at the expense of his own, save many 
 other lives. 
 
 In a collision that occurred at a station on one of the 
 roads in New York state, the engineer, a relative of some 
 of the managers of the road, who had fired only half so 
 long as the man then firing for him, jumped from the en- 
 gine, leaving it to run at full speed into the hind end of a 
 train standing on a branch track, of which the switch was 
 wrong ; not doing a single thing to avert or mitigate the 
 calamity ; fearing only for his own precious neck, which a 
 hemp cravat would ornament, to the edification of the 
 world. The fireman sprang at once to the post vacated 
 by the engineer, reversed the engine, opened the sand-box 
 valve, and rode into the hind end of that train ; losing, 
 in so doing, a leg and an arm. He has been most muni- 
 ficently rewarded for his heroism, being now employed to 
 attend a crossing and hold a flag for passing trains, and 
 receiving the princely compensation of twenty-five dollars 
 per month ; while the engineer, who deserted his post 
 and left all to kind Providence, is running on the road at 
 a salary of seventy-five per month.
 
 THE BRAKEMAN
 
 THE BRAKEMAN. 
 
 A VERY humble class of railroad men, a class that gets 
 poorer pay in proportion to the work they do and the dan- 
 gers they run than any other upon a road, are the brake- 
 men. Though perhaps less responsibility rests upon them, 
 they are placed in the most dangerous position on the train ; 
 they are expected to be at their posts at all times, and to 
 flinch from no contingency which may arise. The man- 
 agers of a railroad expect and demand the brakemen to 
 be as prompt in answering the signals of the engineer as 
 the throttle-valve is obedient to his touch. 
 
 Reader, were you ever on a train of cars moving with 
 the wings of the wind, skimming over the ground as 
 rapidly as a bird flies, darting by tree and house, through 
 cuttings and over embankments ? and did you ever feel a 
 
 (75)
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 \ 
 
 76 THE BRAKEMAN. 
 
 sudden jar that almost jerked you from your seat ? At the 
 same time did you hear a sharp, sudden blast of the 
 whistle, ringing out as if the hand that pulled it was nerved 
 by the presence of danger, braced by a terrible anxiety 
 to avoid destruction ? It frightened you, did it not ? 
 But did you notice the brakeman then ? He rushed 
 madly out of the cars as if he thought the train was go- 
 ing to destruction surely, and he wished, before the crash 
 came, to be out of it. No, that was not his object. He 
 caught hold of the brakes and, with all the force and en- 
 ergy he was capable of exerting, applied them to the 
 swift-revolving wheels, and when you felt the gradual re- 
 duction of the speed under the pressure of the brakes, 
 you began to feel easier. But what thought the brake- 
 man all the time ? Did he think that, if the danger 
 ahead was any one of a thousand which might happen ? 
 if another train was coming towards them, and they 
 should strike it ? if a disabled engine was on the track, 
 and a fool, to whom the task was intrusted, had neglected 
 to give your train the signal ? if the driving rain had 
 raised some little stream, or a spark of fire had lodged in 
 a bridge and the bridge was gone ? if some loosened rock 
 bad rolled down upon the track ; or if the track had slid ;
 
 THE BRAKEMAN. 77 
 
 or if some wretch, wearing a human form over a hellish 
 soul, had lifted a rail, placed a tie on the track, to hurl en- 
 gine and car therefrom ? — if any of these things were 
 ahead and the speed of your train be too great to stop, 
 and go plunging into it, did he realize that he was the 
 first man to be caught ; that those two cars between 
 which he stood, straining every nerve to do his share to 
 avert the catastrophe, would come together and crush him, 
 as he would crush a worm beneath his tread ? If he did, 
 he was doing his duty in that dangerous place, risking his 
 life at a pretty cheap rate — a dollar a day — wasn't he ? 
 And still these men do this every day for the same price 
 and at the same risk, while the passengers regard them as 
 necessary evils, who will be continually banging the doors. 
 So they pass them by, never giving them a kind word, 
 scarcely ever thanking them for the many little services 
 which they unhesitatingly demand of them, and, if the 
 passenger has ridden long, and the jolting and jarring, 
 the want of rest, or wearisome monotony of the long ride 
 has made him peevish, how sure he is to vent his spite on 
 the brakeman, because he thinks him the most humble, 
 and therefore the most unprotected man on the train. 
 And the brakeman endures it all ; for if he answers back
 
 78 THE BRAKEMAN. 
 
 a word, if he asserts his manhood — which many seem to 
 think he has sold for his paltry thirty dollars a month — 
 why, he is reported at the office, a garbled version of the 
 affair is given, and the brakeman is discharged. 
 
 But have a care, ! most chivalrous passenger, you 
 who fly into such a passion if your dignity is offended by 
 a short answer. You may quarrel with a man having a 
 soul in him beside which yours would look most pitifully 
 insignificant ; one who, were the dread signal to sound, 
 would rush out into the danger, and, throwing himself into 
 the chasm, die for you, amid all the appalling scenes of 
 the chaotic wreck of that train of cars, as coolly, as de- 
 terminately, as unselfishly as the Stuart queen barred 
 the door with her own fair arm, that her liege lord might 
 escape. And then, methinks, you would feel sad when you 
 saw his form stretched there dead, all life crushed out 
 of it — once so comely, now so mangled and unsightly — 
 and thought that, with that poor handful of dust from 
 which the soul took flight so nobly, you had just been 
 picking a petty quarrel. 
 
 If you have read the accounts of railroad accidents 
 as carefully and with such thrilhng interest as I have, 
 you will remember many incidents where brakemen were
 
 THE BRAKEMAN. 79 
 
 killed while at their post, discharging their duty. Sev- 
 eral have come under my immediate observation. On the 
 H. R. R. one night I was going over the road, " extra," 
 that is, I was not running the engine, but riding in the car. 
 I heard a sharp whistle, but thought it was not of much 
 consequence, for I knew the engineer's long avowed in- 
 tention, to never call the brakemen to their posts when 
 the danger could be avoided ; he said he would give 
 them a little chance, not call them where they had none. 
 The brakemen all sprang to their posts ; the one in the car 
 where I was I saw putting on his brake ; the next instant, 
 with a shock that shook every thing loose and piled the 
 seats, passengers, stove, and pieces of the roof all into 
 a mass in the forward end of the car, the engine struck 
 a rock, the cars were all piled together, and I was pitch- 
 ed into the alley up close to the end which was all stove 
 in. I felt blood trickling on my hands, but thought it 
 was from a wound I had received on my head. I soon 
 found that it was from Charley McLoughlin, the brake- 
 man with whom I had just been talking, and whom I 
 saw go to his post at the first signal of danger. The 
 whole lower part of his body was crushed, but he yet 
 lived. We got him out as soon as possible and laid him be-
 
 80 THE BRAKEMAN. 
 
 side the track on a door, then went to get the rest of the 
 dead and wounded. We found one of the brakemen 
 dead, his head mashed flat ; the other one, Joe Barnard, 
 was hurt just as Charley was, and as they were insepa- 
 rable companions, we laid them together. I took their 
 heads in my lap — we did not try to move them, as the 
 physicians said they could not live — and there for four 
 long hours I sat and talked with those men whose lives 
 were surely, but slowly ebbing away. In life they were 
 as brothers, and death did not separate them, for they de- 
 parted within fifteen minutes of each other. But notice 
 this fact — the brakeman who was found dead, still held in 
 his hand the shattered brake-wheel, and Joe Barnard was 
 crushed with both hands still grasping his. Yet these 
 men were " only brakemen ! "
 
 A DREAM IN THE " CABOOSE."
 
 A DREAM IN THE " CABOOSE." 
 
 A FIRST thought of the life of an engineer would be that 
 it was a life peculiarly exhilarating ; that in the mind of 
 an engineer the rush and flow of strong feeling and emo- 
 tion would constantly be felt ; that the every-day incidents 
 of his life would keep his nerves continually on the stretch, 
 and that lassitude would never overtake him. But such 
 is not the case. I know of no life that a man could live 
 which would more certainly produce stagnation than it. 
 Every day, in sunshine or storm, cold or heat, light or 
 darkness, he goes through the same scenes, bearing the 
 same burdens of care and responsibility, facing the same 
 dangers, braving grim death ever and all the time until 
 he loses fear, and the novelty of the at first exhilarating 
 effort to conquer space and distance, and make time of no 
 account, wears away, till danger becomes monotonous, and 
 
 (83)
 
 84 A DREAM IN THE " CABOOSE." 
 
 onlj an occasional scene of horror checkers the unchang- 
 ing current of his every-day life. He knows every tie 
 on the road ; he knows that here is a bad curve, there a 
 weak bridge, from either of which he may at any time, by 
 the most probable of possibilities, be hurled to his death ; 
 and still every day he rides his " iron horse," of fiery 
 heart and demon pulse, over the weak places and the 
 strong, posted at the very front of the procession, which 
 any one of a thousand contingencies would make a funeral 
 train. He passes the same stations, blows his whistle at 
 the same point, sees the same men at work in the same 
 fields, -with the same horses that they used last year and 
 the year before. Two lines of iron stretch before him, 
 to demand and receive his earnest scrutiny every day, 
 precisely as they have every day for years. 
 
 He meets the same men on other trains at the same 
 places, and bids them " hail " and " good-bye " with the 
 same uncertainty of ever seeing them again that he has 
 always felt, and which has grown so sadly wearisome. 
 
 He alone knows and appreciates the chances against 
 him, but his daily bread depends upon his running them, 
 so with a resolute will that soon gets to be the merest 
 trusting to luck, he goes ahead, controlled by the same
 
 A DREAM IN THE "CABOOSE." 85 
 
 rules, which always have the same dreary penalties at- 
 tached to them when violated, — a maimed and disfigured 
 body for the balance of his days, or a sudden and inglo- 
 rious death. 
 
 If one of his intimate companions gets killed, he can 
 only bestow a passing thought upon it, for he has not been 
 unexpectant of it, and he knows full well that the same 
 accident may at the same place make it his turn next, as 
 he passes over the same road every day, running the same 
 chances, as did his friend just gone. 
 
 I had, while I was on the H road, a particular 
 
 friend, an engineer. We were inseparable, and were 
 both of us, alike, given to fits of despondency, at which 
 times we would, with choking dread, bid each other fare- 
 well, and " hang around" the telegraph office to hear the 
 welcome " K" from the various stations, signifying that 
 our trains had passed " on time" and " all right." 
 
 One Saturday night, when my engine was to " lay over" 
 for the Sunday at the upper end of the road, I determined 
 
 to go back to N . The only train down that night, 
 
 was the one o'clock " night freight," which Charley, 
 my friend, was to tow with the " Cumberland," a heavy, 
 clumsy " coal-burner." I went to the engine-house, and
 
 86 A DREAM IN THE " CABOOSE." 
 
 sat down with Charley, to smoke and talk till his " leav- 
 ing time" came. He had the blues that night, and 
 after vfe had talked awhile, I had them too. So we sat 
 there slowly puffing our pipes, recalling gloomy tales of 
 our own, and of others' experience ; telling of unlucky 
 engines (a favorite superstition with many engineers), 
 and of unlucky men, and of bad places on the road, weak 
 bridges, loose rails, shelving rocks, and bad curves, until 
 we had got ourselves into the belief that nothing short of 
 a miracle could possibly enable even a hand-6ar to pass 
 over the road in any thing like safety. Had any of the 
 passengers who daily passed over the road, in the compar- 
 ative safety of its sumptuous coaches, been there and heard 
 our description of the road, I guess they would have tak- 
 en lodgings at the nearest hotel, sooner than have ridden 
 over the road that night, towed by that engine, which 
 Charley had more than once characterized as a " death- 
 trap" and " man-killer," and proven her right to the 
 name by alluding to the four men she had killed. At 
 length the hours had dragged themselves along, and the 
 " Cumberland" was coupled to the train. As I started 
 for the " Caboose," Charley said to me, " The ' Cum- 
 berland' always was and always will be an unlucky
 
 A DREAM IN THE " CABOOSE." 87 
 
 engine, and blamed if I know but she will kill me to- 
 night, so let's shake hands, and good-bye." We shook 
 hands, and I clambered into the " Caboose," having, it must 
 be confessed, a sneaking kind of good feeling to think that 
 I was at the rear instead of the front end of those forty 
 cars, especially as the engine was one that, despite my 
 reason and better judgment, I more than half-believed was 
 " cursed" with " ill-luck;" by which I mean, she was pe- 
 culiarly liable to fatal accidents. Well, I curled myself 
 up on one of the seats and prepared for sleep; not, 
 though, in just the frame of mind I would choose in order 
 to secure " pleasant slumbers" and " sweet dreams." 
 At first my sleep was fitful ; the opening of the door, as 
 the hands frequently went out or came in ; the cessation 
 of the jar and rumble when the train stopped ; the chang- 
 ing of position as I tossed about in my fitful sleep — these 
 all would wake me. At last, however, I dropped to sleep, 
 and slept long and soundly. Strange dreams, fraught 
 with terror, filled with wild and fantastic objects, danced 
 over and controlled my mind. I was placed in positions 
 of the most awful dread ; I was on engines of inconceiva- 
 ble power, powerless to control them, and they ran with
 
 88 A DREAM IN THE " CABOOSE." 
 
 the velocity of light into long trains laden with smiling 
 women and romping children, whose shrieks mingled with 
 the curses of their husbands and fathers, who said it was 
 my fault, and cursed me to lingering tortures. Then the 
 scene would change. I would be on a long straight track, 
 mounted on an engine which seemed a devil broken loose, 
 and bent on a mission of death which I could not stir to 
 stop; while away in the distance was another engine, 
 coming towards me, and I felt, by intuition, that it was 
 Charley, and then I would see his white and pallid 
 face, clammy with the sweat of terror, and his long black 
 hair swept back from his forehead, while agony, despair, 
 and the miserable, hopeless fear of instant and horrible 
 death shone with lurid, fierce, unnatural fire from his 
 dark blue eye, and I seemed to know that every one I 
 held dear was on his train ; that my sisters were there 
 looking out of the window, gaily laughing and watching 
 for the next station, where my train was to meet theirs, 
 and my mother sat smilingly by, looking on, while other 
 friends that I loved were saying kind words of me, who, 
 in another instant, would be upon them with a fiendish, 
 fiery engine of death. I would shut my eyes, and the 
 
 1
 
 A DREAM IN THE " CABOOSE." 89 
 
 scene would change again. I would be skirting the edges 
 of deep, dark precipices, and while I looked, shuddering, 
 down into the dark and sombre depths, my whole train 
 would go over the bank and down, down — still farther 
 down it plunged — till I seemed to have gone far enough 
 for the nether depths. A sudden tremendous jar woke 
 me, and I sprang to my feet from the floor to which I had 
 been hurled, and found myself in utter darkness. For 
 an instant I did not know where I was, but I soon re- 
 called myself and started out of the " Caboose," fully 
 convinced that some awful calamity had happened to the 
 train, and bound to know, in the shortest possible time, 
 whether Charley or any of the rest of the hands were 
 hurt. I soon saw a light, and hallooed to know what was 
 the matter. " Nothing," answered Charley's well-known 
 voice. " Well," says I, " you make a deuce of a fuss do- 
 ing nothing." I told him how I was awakened, and we 
 started back to see what was the matter. We found that, 
 in throwing the " Caboose" in upon the branch track, he 
 had given it too much headway, and there being no brake- 
 man on it to check its speed, it had hit the tie laid across 
 the rail with sufficient force to throw me from the seat
 
 90 A DREAM IN THE "CABOOSE." 
 
 and put out the only lamp in the car. So we went home, 
 laughing heartily ; but I never prepared myself for an- 
 other midnight ride in the " Caboose" of a freight train 
 by telling horrid stories just before I started.
 
 AN UNMITIGATED VILLAIN.
 
 AN UNMITIGATED VILLAIN. 
 
 Everybody knows mean men. Everybody knows 
 people that they think are capable of any mean act, who 
 would, did opportunity present itself, steal, lie, cheat, 
 swear falsely, or do any other act which is vicious. But 
 do any of my readers think that they know any one who 
 would be guilty of deliberately placing an obstruction on a 
 railroad track, over which he knew that a train, laden with 
 human passengers, must soon pass ? Yet such men are 
 plenty. Such acts are frequently done, and often with the 
 sole view of stealing from the train during the excitement 
 which must necessarily ensue after such an accident. Some- 
 times such deeds are done from pure revenge, because the 
 man who does it imagines that the railroad company has 
 done him some injury, and he thinks that by so doing he will 
 
 (93)
 
 94 AN UNMITIGATED VILLAIN. 
 
 reap a rich harvest of vengeance. What kind of a soul 
 can such a man have ? The man who desires to steal, 
 wishes to get a chance to do so when people's minds are 
 so occupied with some other idea that their property is 
 not thought of. So he goes to the railroad track and lifts 
 up a rail, places a tie or a T rail across the track, or does 
 something that he thinks will throw the train from the 
 track ; and then lies in wait for the accident to happen, 
 calmly and with deliberate purpose awaiting the event ; 
 expecting, amid the carnage which will probably follow, to 
 reap his reward ; calculating, when it comes, to fill his 
 pockets with the money thus obtained ; and when it does 
 happen, and the heavy train, in which, resting in security, 
 are hundreds of passengers, goes off the track, is wrecked, 
 and lies there with every car shattered, and out of their 
 ruins are creeping the mangled victims, who rend the air 
 with their horrid shrieks and moans of agony ; when the 
 dead and the mangled are mixed up amidst the appalling 
 wreck ; when little children, scarce able to go alone, are 
 so torn to pieces that they linger only for a few moments 
 on earth ; when families, that a few moments before were 
 unbroken and happy, are separated forever by the death 
 of the father who lies in sight of the remaining ones, a
 
 AN UNMITIGATED VILLAIN. 95 
 
 crushed and bleeding mass, or by the loss of the mother, 
 who, caught by some portion of the wreck, is held, and 
 there, in awful agony, slowly frets her life away, right in 
 sight of all that are dear to her ; or, maybe, a husband, 
 who is hurrying home to his dear one lying at the point 
 of death, and anxiously awaiting his coming, that, before 
 she dies, she may bid him good-bye, he is caught and 
 mangled so that he cannot move farther, and the wife dies 
 alone. Maybe a child, long time absent, is hastening home 
 to meet the aged mother or father, and bid them good-bye 
 ere the long running sands are run out entirely ; but here 
 he is caught, and his last breath of life goes out with a 
 heart-rending, horrible scream of agony, and only his 
 mangled corpse can go home. All ties may be rudely 
 sundered. The infant at its mother's breast may be killed, 
 and its mother clasp its tiny, bleeding form to her bosom, 
 but it shall smile on her nevermore ; its cooing voice shall 
 not welcome her care again on earth. The mother too 
 may be killed, and the moaning child may sob and sigh 
 for the accustomed kiss, but all in vain. The mother, 
 mangled and slain, only holds the child in the stiff embrace 
 of death. The author of it all— ^where is he ? he that did 
 the deed ? Is he rummaging the baggage or the pockets
 
 96 AN UNMITIGATED VILLAIN. 
 
 of the dead to find spoil ? If he is, surely every cent he 
 gets will blister his fingers through all time and in hell. 
 The wail of the dying and the last gasp of the dead will, 
 through all time, surely ring in his ears with horrible dis- 
 tinctness, and with a sound ominous of eternal torture. 
 The horrible sight of the mangled, bleeding bodies, the 
 set eyes, and jaws locked from excessive torture, will 
 surely fasten on his eye forever, and blister his sight. Hor- 
 rid dreams, wherein jibing fiends shall mock at him and the 
 wail of the damned ring forever in his ears, shall surely 
 visit his pillow and haunt him every night. Each voice 
 that he hears amid the carnage shall seem, in after-time, to 
 be the voice of an accusing angel telling him of his guilt. 
 So we would think, and yet men do it. Some in order 
 to have a chance to steal, others as revenge for some petty 
 injury ; and they live, and, if detected, are sent for ten 
 or twenty years to the penitentiary, as if that were punish- 
 ment enough ! It may be that I feel too strongly on the 
 subject, but it seems to me that an eternity in hell would 
 scarce be more than sufficient punishment for such a dam- 
 nable deed. I think I could coolly and without compunction 
 tread the drop to launch such a being to eternity ; for 
 surely no g^od influence that earth aflfords would be suf-
 
 AN UNMITIGATED VILLAIN. 97 
 
 ficient to reclaim such a man from the damnable deprav- 
 ity of his nature. Surely a man capable of such a deed, 
 is a born fiend fit only for the abiding place of the accurs- 
 ed of God, whose voice should ever be heard howling in 
 sleepless, eternal agony in the sulphurous chambers of the 
 devil's home. I do feel strongly on this subject, for I have 
 stood by and seen many a horrid death of this kind ; I 
 have held the hands of dear friends and felt their last con- 
 vulsive pressure amid such scenes, whose deaths were 
 caused by the diabolical malignity of some devil, who, for 
 the nonce, had assumed human shape, and in revenge for the 
 death of a cow, or for the unpaid occupation of land, or 
 to get a chance to rob, had placed something on the track 
 and thrown the cars therefrom. I have seen things placed 
 on the track, rails torn up, and other traps, the ingenuity 
 of whose arrangement could only have been begotten by 
 the devil ; and I have shut my eyes and thought that I 
 had taken my last look at earth and all its glories ; but I 
 have escaped. I never caught one of these wretches, 
 and I never want to ; for if I should, I am afraid I would 
 become an instrument for ridding the earth of a being 
 who had secured good title (and could not lose it) to an 
 
 abode in the nethermost hell. 
 7
 
 A PROPOSED RACE 
 
 STEAM AND LIGHTNING,
 
 A PROPOSED RACE BETWEEN STEAM AND 
 LIGHTNING. 
 
 Old Wash. S is known by almost every railroad 
 
 engineer, at least by reputation. A better engineer, one 
 who could make better time, draw heavier loads, or keep 
 his engine in better repair, I never knew. But Wash, 
 had one failing, he would drink ; and if he was particu- 
 larly elated with any good fortune, or was expecting to 
 make a fast run, he was sure to get full of whiskey ; and 
 though in that state never known to transgress the rules 
 of the road by running on another train's time, or any 
 thing of that sort, still he showed the thing which con- 
 trolled him by running at a terrible rate of speed. At 
 one time they purchased a couple of engines for the E. 
 road, on which Wash, was running. These engines were 
 very large, and were intended to be very fast, being put 
 
 (101)
 
 102 A PROPOSED RACE 
 
 up on seven feet wheels. From the circumstance of 
 their being planked between the spokes of their " dri- 
 vers," that is, having a piece of plank set in between the 
 spokes, the " boys" used to call them the " plank-roaders." 
 They were tried, and though generally considered capa- 
 ble of making " fast time" under favorable circumstances, 
 they didn't suit that road; so they were condemned to 
 " the gravel-pit," until they could receive an overhauling, 
 and be " cut down" a foot or two. Wash, had always 
 considered that these engines were much abused, and had 
 never received fair treatment ; so he obtained permission 
 of the Superintendent to take one of them into the shop 
 and repair it. At it he went, giving the engine a thor- 
 ough overhauling, fixing her valves for the express pur- 
 pose of running fast, and making many alterations in mi- 
 nor portions of her machinery. At last he had the job 
 completed, and took her out on the road. After running 
 one or two trips on freight trains to smooth her brasses, 
 and try her working, he was " chalked" for the fastest 
 train on the road, the B. Express. All the " boys" on 
 the road were anxious for the result, for it was expected 
 that " Old Wash." and the " plank-roader" would " as-
 
 BETWEEN STEAM AND LIGHTNING. 103 
 
 tonish the natives," that trip. Wash, imbibed rather 
 freely, and was somewhat under the influence of liquor 
 when the leaving time of his train came, though not 
 enough to be noticed ; but as minute after minute passed, 
 and the train with which it connect<id did not make its 
 appearance, Wash., who kept drinking all the time, grew 
 tighter and tighter, till at last, when it did come in, 
 an hour and a half " behind time," Wash, was pretty 
 comfortably drunk ; so much so that some of the men who 
 had to go on the train with him looked rather " skeery," 
 for they knew that they might expect to be " towed " as 
 fast as the engine could run. How fast that was no one 
 knew, but her seven feet wheels promised a near ap- 
 proach to flying. 
 
 At last they started, and I freely confess that I never 
 took as fast a ride in my life. (Wash, had got me to 
 fire for him.) Keeping time was out of the question 
 as far as I was concerned, for I had my hands full to 
 keep the " fire-box" full, and hold my hat on. We had 
 not run more than ten miles, before the brakemen, order- 
 ed by the conductor, put on the brakes, impeding our 
 speed somewhat, but not stopping us, for we were on a
 
 X04 A PROPOSED RACK 
 
 heavy down grade, and Wash, had her "wide open," 
 and working steam at full stroke. At last the con- 
 ductor came over and begged Wash, not to run so fast, 
 for the passengers were half scared out of tbeir senses. 
 Wash, simply pointed to the directions to use all " due 
 exertion" to make up time, and never shut off a bit. So 
 on we flew to B., forty miles from where we started, and 
 the first stopping place -for the train. Here the conductor 
 came to Wash, again and told him if he did not run 
 slower, the passengers were going to leave. Wash, said, 
 " Let them leave," and gave no promises. Some of them 
 did leave, so also did one of the brakemen, and tbe bag- 
 gageman, but away we went without them to 0., where a 
 message from head-quarters was awaiting us, telling them 
 to take Wash, from the engine and put another man on in 
 his place. I told him of the message, and picking up his 
 coat, he got off and staggered to a bench on the stoop of 
 the depot, where he laid down, seemingly to sleep. I 
 started back to the engine, but Wash, called after me, and 
 asked me " how we got the orders to take him off ? " I 
 told him " by telegraph." " Humph," said he, rolling 
 over, " wish Fd known that, the confounded dispatch never 
 should have passed me!^'
 
 BETWEEN STEAM AND LIGHTNING. 105 
 
 Wash, of course was not reinstated, but the " plank- 
 roader" never made the running time of any of the fast 
 trains with any other man on the " foot-board."
 
 AN ABRUPT "CALL."
 
 AN ABRUPT "CALL.' 
 
 "Hi White," as he was familiarly called, was an 
 engineer on the same road with me. He has been run- 
 ning there for over ten years, and, although Hi is one 
 of those mad wags who are never so happy as when " run- 
 ning a rig" on some of their cronies, he was univer- 
 sally acknowledged to be one of the most competent and 
 careful men that ever " pulled a plug " on a locomotive. 
 
 In Hi's long career as a runner, he, of course, has 
 met with innumerable hair-breadth 'scapes; some of 
 them terribly tragic in their accessories ; others irresistibly 
 comic in their termination, although commencing with fair 
 prospect for a fearful end. Of this latter kind was an 
 adventure of his, which he used to call " making a morn- 
 ing call under difficulties." Hi used to run the 
 
 (109)
 
 110 AN ABRUPT " CALL." 
 
 Morning Express, or, as it was called, the " Shanghae 
 run," which left the Southern terminus of the road at 6 
 o'clock A.M. It was a " fast run," making the length 
 of the road (one hundred and forty-one miles) in three 
 and a half hours. Hi ran the engine Columbia, a 
 fast " machine," with seven feet driving wheels, and a 
 strong inclination to mount the rail and leave the track on 
 the slightest provocation. About midway of the road 
 there was a large brick house, standing but a rod or two 
 from the track and on the outside of a sharp curve. As 
 Hi was passing the curve one day, running at full 
 speed, some slight obstruction caused the Columbia to 
 leave the track, breaking the coupling between it and the 
 train, thus leaving the cars on the track. Away went the 
 Columbia, making the gravel fly until she met with an 
 obstruction in the shape of this very brick house, which 
 the engine struck square in the broad-side, and, with 
 characteristic contempt of slight obstacles, crashed its way 
 through the wall and on to the parlor floor, which, being 
 made for lighter tread, gave way and precipitated the en- 
 gine into the cellar beneath, leaving only the hind end of 
 the tender sticking out of the breach in the wall. Hi, who 
 had jumped off at the first symptom of this furious on-
 
 AN ABRUPT " CALL." Ill 
 
 slaught, looked to see if there were any dead or wounded on 
 the field of this " charge of his heavy brigade." Seeing 
 that he and his fireman were both safe, he turned his 
 attention to the Columbia, which he found " slightly in- 
 jured but safely housed," lying coolly among pork 
 barrels, apple bins and potato heaps, evidently with no 
 present probability of continuing its course. By this time 
 the people of the house, who were at breakfast in the 
 farther part of the building when the furious incursion 
 upon their domestic economy took place, came rushing 
 out, not knowing whether to prepare to meet friend or 
 rebel foe. Very naturally the first question put to Hi 
 (who was renewing vegetable matter for present rumina- 
 tion, i. e. taking a new chew of tobacco), was, " What's 
 the matter ? " This question was screamed to Hi, 
 with the difierent intonations of the various members of 
 the family. Hi coolly surveyed the frightened group 
 and rephed, "Matter — nothing is the matter. I only 
 thought I would call on you this morning, and pray," 
 said he, with the most winning politeness, " donH put 
 yourself to any trouble on my account.^'
 
 THE GOOD LUCK OF BEING OBSTINATE.
 
 THE GOOD LUCK OF BEING OBSTINATE. 
 
 I THINK people generally look upon railroad men as a 
 distinct species of the genus homo. They seem to regard 
 them as a class who have the most utter disregard for 
 human life, as perfectly careless of trusts imposed upon 
 them, and as being capable of distinctly understanding 
 rules the most obscure, and circumstances the most com- 
 plicated. They seem to think a railroad man is bound to 
 make time any way, in the face of every difficulty, and 
 to hold him absolutely criminal if he meets with any 
 accident, or fails to see his way safe out of any trouble 
 into which their urging may force him. My impression 
 is that they are wrong, that railroad men have but human 
 courage, but human foresight, and should be spared the 
 
 (115)
 
 IIG TFIE GOOD LUCK OF BEING OBSTINATE. 
 
 most of tlie indiscriminate censure heaped upon them 
 when an accident happens. 
 
 If one were to judge from the words of the press and 
 the finding of coroners' juries, he would infer that a pure 
 accident, one unavoidable by human foresight, was a tiling 
 unknown ; but if he will only think, for a moment, of all 
 the circumstances, consider the enormous velocity at which 
 trains move, the tremendous strain thus thrown upon every 
 portion of the road-bed and the machinery, I think the 
 wonder will be why there arc not more accidents. Think, 
 for a moment, of one or two hundred tons' weight impelled 
 through the air at a velocity of from one hundred to two 
 hundred and forty feet per second, and tell me if you do 
 not consider that the chances for damage are pretty nu- 
 merous. 
 
 I remember once being detained at a way-station with 
 the Up Express, waiting for the Down Express to pass 
 me. We were both, owing to snow and ice on the 
 rails, sadly behind time, and I had concluded just to wait 
 where I was, until we heard from the other train, though 
 a liberal construction of the rules gave me the right to 
 proceed " with due caution ; " but I was afraid that, if any 
 thing did happen, there would be two opinions as to what
 
 THE GOOD LUCK OF BEING OBSTINATE. 117 
 
 " due caution" meant, so I held still. The passengers 
 were all uneasy, as they always are, and stormed and 
 fretted up and down, now coming to me and demanding, 
 in just about such tones as wc would imagine a newly 
 caught she-bear to use, whether we intended " to keep 
 them there all night?" whether I supposed "the traveling 
 public would tamely submit to such outrages ? " if I thought 
 they " had no rights in the premises ? " etc. These and 
 similar questions were put to me, some peevishly, some in 
 a lordly manner, evidently with the intention of bullying 
 me into a start. I generally maintained the dirty but 
 independent dignity of my position of "runner of that 
 kettle ; " but these latter Sir Oracles, I told that I was 
 too well used to dealing with fire, water, steam and rock 
 to be scared by a little " wind." After a while there 
 came a telegraphic dispatch, unsigned, undated, but say- 
 ing, " Come ahead ; " this raised a terrible " hillabaloo." 
 The passengers crowded into the cars and looked for an 
 immediate start. The conductor came to me and said 
 that he thought we had better start. I told him '' No : " 
 that I infinitely preferred to run on good solid rails rather 
 than telegraph wires, at all times, and more especially 
 when the wires brought such lame orders as these "Very
 
 118 THE GOOD LUCK OF BEING OBSTINATE. 
 
 well," sajs he, " I don't know but you are right, but I 
 shall leave you to console these passengers — I'm off to 
 hide,'* and away he went. Pretty soon out they came by 
 twos, threes, dozens and scores ; and I declare they need- 
 ed consolation, for a madder set I never saw. Pshaw ! 
 talk about " hornets" and " bob-tailed bulls in fly-time ; " 
 they ain't a circumstance to a passenger on a railroad 
 train which is an hour behind time. Well, they blustered 
 and stormed, shook their fists at me, and about twenty 
 took down my name with the murderous intent of " re- 
 porting" me at head-quarters, and " seeing about this 
 thing" generally. At last some individual, bursting with 
 wrath, called for an indignation meeting. The call was 
 answered with alacrity. I attended as a disinterested 
 spectator, of course ; a President and Secretary were ap- 
 pointed, several speeches were made, overflowing with 
 eloquence, and all aimed at me, but carrying a few shots 
 for every body on the train, even to the boy that sold pa- 
 pers. This much had been done, and the committee on 
 "resolutions which should be utterly annihilating," had 
 just retired, when a whistle was heard up the track, and 
 down came an extra engine, running as fast as she could, 
 carrying no light, but bringing news that the " down 
 
 .r<t 
 
 i
 
 THE GOOD LUCK OF BEING OBSTINATE. 119 
 
 train" was off the track eleven miles above, and bringing 
 a requisition for all the doctors in town to care for the 
 wounded, who were numerous. The " resolution commit- 
 tee" adjourned sine die. I was never reported, for they 
 all saw that, had I done as they wished me to, I would 
 have met this extra engine and rendered a few more doc- 
 tors necessary for my own train. The blunder of the 
 telegraph was never explained, but blunder it was, and 
 the more firm was I never to obey a telegraphic dispatch 
 without it was clear and distinct, " signed, sealed and 
 delivered."
 
 HUMAN LIVES vs. THE DOLLAR
 
 HUMAN LIVES vs. THE DOLLAR. 
 
 Cattle and horses on the track are a continual source 
 of annoyance to engineers, and have been the occasion 
 of many serious accidents. On the W. & S. Railroad, 
 not many years since, an accident occurred, with the cir- 
 cumstances of which I was familiar, and which I will re- 
 late. 
 
 George Dean was one of the most accomplished and 
 thorough engineers that I ever knew. He was run- 
 ning the Night Express, a fast run ; while I was running 
 
 the through freight, and met him at C station. I 
 
 arrived there one night " on time," but George was con- 
 siderably behind ; so I had to wait for him. Just before 
 
 George arrived at the station, he had to cross a bridge of 
 ri23)
 
 124 HUMAN LIVES V. THE DOLLAK. 
 
 about 200 feet span ; it ^Yas a covered bridge, and the 
 rails were some 30 feet from the water below. 
 
 I had been there waiting for him to pass, for over half 
 an hour, when I heard his whistle sound at a " blind 
 crossing" about a mile distant; so I knew he was com- 
 ing ; and as George was a pretty fast runner, I thought I 
 would stand out on the track and see him come, as the 
 track was straight, there, for nearly a mile. 
 
 I saw the glimmer of his head-light when he first turn 
 ed the curve and entered upon the straight track, and 
 pulled out my watch to time him to the station, through 
 which he was to pass without stopping. The light grew 
 brighter and brighter as he advanced with the speed of 
 the wind, and he was within sixty feet of the bridge, when 
 I saw an animal of some kind, I then knew not what it was, 
 but it proved to be a horse, dart out on the track, right in 
 front of the engine. George saw it, I know, for he gave 
 the whistle for brakes, and a series of short puffs to scare 
 the horse from the track ; but it was of no use ; the horse 
 kept right on and ran towards the bridge. Arrived there, 
 instead of turning to one side, it gave a jump right on to 
 the bridge, and fell down between the ties, and there, of 
 course, he hung. On came George's ponderous engine,
 
 HUMAN LIVES V. THE DOLLAR. 125 
 
 and striking the horse, was thrown from the track into 
 the floor timbers of the bridge, which gave way beneath 
 the weight and the tremendous concussion, and down went 
 the engine standing upon its front, the tender dropped in 
 behind it, and the baggage car and one passenger car 
 were heaped together on top of them both. I saw them 
 drop, heard the crash, and at once, with the other men 
 of my train, started to relieve any that might be caught 
 in the wreck. Leaping down the embankment forming 
 the approach of the bridge, I waded through the stream 
 to where the engine stood, my fireman following close be- 
 hind me. Looking up, we saw George caught on the 
 head of the boiler. He was able to speak to us, and told 
 us that he was not much hurt, but his legs were caught so 
 that he could not move, and from the heat of the boiler 
 he was literally roasting to death. We climbed up to 
 where he was caught, to see if we could move him or get 
 him out ; but alas ! he could not be helped. His legs lay 
 right across the front of the boiler, and on them were 
 resting some timbers of the broken baggage car, while the 
 passenger car was so wedged into the bridge that there 
 was no prospect of lifting it so as to get George out for 
 many hours. I went and got him some water, and with
 
 126 HUMAN LIVES V. THE DOLLAR. 
 
 it bathed his forehead and cooled his parching lips ; he 
 talking to me all the time and sending word to his wife 
 and children. For a few minutes, he bore up under the 
 pain most manfully ; but at last, it grew too intolerable 
 for any human being to bear, and George, than whom a 
 braver soul never existed, shrieked and screamed in his 
 agony. He begged and prayed to die. He entreated 
 us to kill him, and put an end to his sufferings — he even 
 cursed us for not doing it, asking us how we could stand 
 and see him roast to death, knowing, too, as we did and 
 he did, that he could not be saved. He begged for a 
 knife to kill himself with, as he would rather die by his 
 own hand at once than to linger in such protracted, awful 
 agony. Oh ! it was terrible, to stand there and see the 
 convulsive twitchings of his muscles, to hear him pray 
 for death, to watch him as his eyes set with pain, and 
 hear his agonized entreaties for death any way, no matter 
 how, so it was quick. At last it was ended, the horrible 
 drama closed, and he died ; but his shrieks will never die 
 out from the memory of those who heard them. The 
 next day, when we got him out, we found his legs were 
 literally jammed to pieces and then baked to a cinder. 
 The fireman we found caught between the trucks of the
 
 HUMAN LIVES V. THE DOLLAR. 127 
 
 tender and the driving-wheel of the engine, and apparent- 
 ly not a bone left whole in his body ; he was utterly 
 smashed to pieces. You could not have told, only from 
 his clothing, which hung in bloody fragments to his corpse, 
 that he had ever been a human being. We got them out 
 at last and buried them. Sadly and solemnly we followed 
 them to the grave, and thought, with much dread, of 
 when it would be our turn. They lie together, a plain 
 stone marking their resting-place, and no railroad man 
 ever visits their graves without a tear in tribute to their 
 memory. 
 
 Thus they died, and thus all that knew them still mourn 
 them. But the noise of the accident had scarcely ceased 
 echoing amidst the adjoining hills, ere the owner of the 
 horse was on the ground wishing to know if any one Avas 
 there who was authorized to pay for his horse ; this, too, 
 in the face of the fact, afterward proven, that he himself 
 had turned the horse upon the track, there to filch the 
 feed.
 
 FORTY-TWO MILES PER HOUR.
 
 FORTY-TWO MILES PER HOUR. 
 
 Nearly every person that we hear speak of travel by 
 rail, thinks that he has, on numerous occasions, traveled 
 at the rate of sixty miles an hour ; but among engineers 
 this is known to be an extremely rare occurrence. I my- 
 self have run some pretty fast machines, and never had 
 much fear as to " letting them out," and I never attained 
 that speed for more than a mile or two on a down grade, 
 and with a light train, excepting on one or two occasions. 
 Supposing, however, reader, that we look a little into what 
 an engine has to do in order to run a mile in a minute, or 
 more time. Say we go down to the depot, and take a 
 ride on this Morning Express, which goes to Columbus 
 in one hour and thirty-five minutes, making two stops. 
 We will get aboard of the Deshler, one of the smartest 
 
 (131)
 
 132 FORTY- TWO MILES PER HOUR. 
 
 engines on the road, originallj built by Moore & Richard- 
 son, but since then thoroughly overhauled, and in fact re- 
 juvenated, by that prince of 7naster-mecha,mcs, " Dick 
 Bromley." And you may be sure she is in good trim for 
 good work, as it is a habit with Dick to have his en- 
 gines all so. She is run by that little fellow you see there, 
 always looking good-natured, but getting around his engine 
 pretty fast. That is "Johnny Andrews," and you can 
 warrant that if Dick Bromley builds an engine, and 
 Johnny runs her, and you ride behind her, you will 
 have a pretty fast ride if the time demands it. The train 
 is seven minutes behind time to-day, reducing the time to 
 Columbus — 55 miles — to one hour and twenty-eight min- 
 utes, and that with this heavy train of ten cars, all fully 
 loaded. After deducting nine minutes more, that will 
 undoubtedly be lost in making two stops, this will demand 
 a speed of forty-two miles per hour ; which I rather guess 
 will satisfy you. You see the tender is piled full of wood, 
 enough to last your kitchen fire for quite a while ; but 
 that has got to be filled again ; for, ere we reach Columbus, 
 we shall need two cords and a half. Look into the tank ; 
 you see it is full of water ; but we shall have to take 
 some more ; for between here and Columbus, 1558 gallons
 
 FORTY-TWO MILES PER HOUR. 133 
 
 of water must be flashed into steam, and sent traveling 
 through the cylinders. 
 
 But we are off; you see this hill is before us ; and look- 
 ing behind, you will see that another engine is helping us. 
 Notwithstanding that help, let us see what the Deshler is 
 doing, and how Johnny manages her. She is carrying 
 a head of steam which exerts on every square inch of the 
 internal surface of the boiler, a pressure of 120 pounds. 
 Take a glance at the size of the boiler ; it is 17 feet 6 
 inches long, and 40 inches in diameter. Inside of it there 
 is the fire-box, 48 inches long, 62 inches deep, and 36 
 across. From this to the front of the engine, you see a 
 lot of flues running. There are 112 of these, 10 feet 
 6 inches long, and two inches in diameter ; and of the 
 inner surface of all this, every square inch is subjected 
 to the aforesaid pressure, which amounts to a pressure of 
 95,005 pounds on each flue. Don't you think, if there is 
 a weak place anywhere in this boiler, it will be mighty 
 apt to give out ? And if it does, and this enonnous 
 power is let loose at once, where will you and I go to ? 
 Don't be afraid, though ; for this boiler is built strongly ; 
 every plate is right and sound. Open that fire-door. Do 
 you hear that enormously loud cough ? That is the noise
 
 ■134 FORTY-TWO MILES PER HOUR. 
 
 made bj the escape, through an opening of 31 square 
 inches only, of the steam which has been at work in the 
 cylinder. You can feel how it shakes the whole engine. 
 And see how it stirs up the fire. Whew ! isn't that 
 rather a hot-looking hole ? The heat there is about 2800° 
 Centigrade scale. But we begin to go faster. Listen ! 
 try if you can count the sounds made by the escaping 
 steam, which we call the " exhaust." No, you cannot ; 
 but at every one of those sounds, two solid feet of steam 
 has been taken from the boilers, used in the cylinder, 
 \vhere it exerted on the piston, which is fourteen inches 
 in diameter, a pressure of nine tons, and then let out 
 into the air, making, in so doing, that noise. There are 
 four of those " exhausts " to every revolution of the 
 driving-wheels, during which revolution we advance only 
 17| feet. Now we are up to our speed, making 208 
 revolutions, changing 33J gallons of water into steam 
 every minute we run, and burning eight solid feet of 
 wood. 
 
 We are now running a mile in one minute and twenty- 
 six seconds ; the driving-wheels are revolving a little more 
 than 3|- times in each second ; and steam is admitted into, 
 and escapes from, the cylinders fifteen times in a second,
 
 FORTY-TWO MILES PER HOUR. 135 
 
 exerting each time a force of nearly nine tons on the 
 pistons. We advance 61 feet per second. Our engine 
 weighs 22 tons ; our tender about 17 tons ; and each car 
 in the train with passengers, about 17 tons ; so that our 
 whole train weighs, at a rough calculation, 209 tons, and 
 should we strike an object sufficiently heavy to resist us, 
 we would exert upon it a momentum of 12,749 tons — a 
 force hard to resist ! 
 
 Look out at the driving-wheels ; see how swiftly they 
 revolve. Those parallel rods, that connect the drivers, 
 each weighing nearly 150 pounds, are slung around at the 
 rate of 210 times a minute. Don't you think that enough 
 is required of an engine to run 42 miles per hour, with- 
 out making it gain 18 miles in that time ? Those tender- 
 wheels, too, have been turning pretty lively meanwhile — 
 no less than 600 times per minute. Each piston has, in 
 each minute we have traveled, moved about 700 feet. 
 So you see that, all around, we have traveled pretty 
 fast, and here we are in Columbus, "on time;" and I 
 take it you are satisfied with 42 miles per hour, and will 
 never hereafter ask for 60. 
 
 Let us sum up, and then bid good-bye to the Deshler 
 and her accommodating runner, Johnny Andrews. The
 
 136 FORTY-TWO MILES PER HOUR. 
 
 drivers have revolved 16,830 times. Steam has entered 
 and been ejected from the cylinders 67,320 times. Each 
 piston has traveled 47,766 feet, and we have run only 
 55 miles, at the rate of 42 miles per hour. 

 
 USED UP AT LAST.
 
 USED UP AT LAST. 
 
 The old proverb, that " the pitcher which goes often 
 to the well returns broken at last," receives, in the lives 
 of railroad men, frequent confirmation. I have known 
 some men who have run engines for fifteen or twenty 
 years and met with no accident worthy of note to them- 
 selves, their trains, or to any of the passengers under 
 their charge ; but if they continue running, the iron hand 
 of fate will surely reach them. 
 
 Old Stephen Hanford, or " Old Steve," as he is called 
 by everybody who knows him, had been running engines 
 for twenty- five years, with an exemption from the calami- 
 ties, the smash-ups and break-downs, collisions, etc., that 
 usually checker the life of an engineer, that was consid- 
 ered by everybody most remarkable. Night and day, 
 
 (139)
 
 140 USED UP AT LAST. 
 
 in rain, snow and mist, he has driven his engine on over 
 flood and field, and landed his passengers safely at their 
 journey's end, always. No matter how hard the storm 
 blew, with sharp forked lightnings, with muttering thun- 
 ders, and the pitiless, driving rain, Old Steve's engine, 
 which from its belching smoke and eating fire seemed the 
 demon of the storm, came in safe, and the old man, whose 
 eye never faltered, whose vigil never relaxed, got off from 
 his engine, and after seeing it safely housed, went to his 
 home, not to dream of the terrors and miseries of collis- 
 ions, of the shrieks and groans of victims whom bis en- 
 gine had trodden down and crushed with tread as resist- 
 less as the rush of mountain torrents. No; all these sad- 
 dening reflections were spared him, for he had never had 
 charge of an engine when any fatal accident happened. 
 Old Steve was one of the most careful men on an en- 
 gine that I ever saw. He was always on the watch, and 
 was active as a cat. Nothing escaped his watchful glance, 
 and in any emergency his presence of mind never forsook 
 him ; he went at once to doing the right thing, and did it 
 quickly. 
 
 The old man's activity never diminished in the least, 
 but his eyesight grew weak, and he thought he would leave
 
 USED UP AT LAST. 141 
 
 the main line, and, like an old war-horse, in his latter 
 days be rid of the hurry-skurry of the road. So he took 
 a switch, engine in the yard at Rochester and worked there, 
 leaving the fast running in which he delighted to his 
 younger comrades, many of whom received their first in- 
 sight to the business from Old Steve. He had been 
 there about a year at work, very well contented with his 
 position, a little outside of the great whirling current of 
 the road on which he had so long labored, and was one 
 day standing beside his engine, almost as old a stager a3 
 himself, when with an awful crash the boiler exploded. 
 Old Steve was not hurt by the explosion, but he start- 
 ed back so suddenly that he fell upon the other track, up 
 which another engine was backing; the engineer of 
 which, startled, no doubt, by the explosion, did not see 
 the old man, until too late, and the wheels passed over 
 him, crushing his leg off, just above the knee. They 
 picked him up and carried him home ; "the pitcher had 
 been often to the well," — it was broken at last. Owing 
 to his vigorous constitution, the shock did not kill him; 
 the leg was amputated, and now, should you ever be in the 
 depot at Rochester, you will most likely see Old Steve 
 there, hobbling around on one leg and a pair of crutches,
 
 142 USED UP AT LAST. 
 
 maimed, indeed, but as cheerful as ever. He said to me, 
 " I am used up, but what right had I to expect any thing 
 else? In twenty-five years I have bidden good-bye to 
 many a comrade, who, in the same business, met the stern 
 fate which will most surely catch us all if we stick to the 
 iron horse." 
 
 t
 
 A VICTIM OF LOW WAGES.
 
 A VICTIM OF LOW WAGES. 
 
 During an absence from home of several weeks, in the 
 past summer, I traveled in safety, upwards of three 
 thousand miles, but it was not because the danger was 
 not there, not because the liabilities for accidents were not 
 as great as ever ; it was because human foresight did not 
 happen to err, and nature happened to be propitious. 
 The strength of her materials was as much tried as ever, 
 but they were in condition to resist the strain ; so I and 
 my fellow passengers passed safely over many a place 
 which awoke in me thrilling memories ; for in one place, 
 the gates of death had been in former time apparently 
 swung wide to ingulf me, but I escaped ; at another, I 
 remember to have shut my eyes and held my breath, while 
 my heart beat short and heavily, as the ponderous engine, 
 
 10 (145)
 
 146 A VICTIM OF LOW WAGES. 
 
 of which I had the control, crushed the bones and mangled 
 the flesh of some poor wight caught upon the track, to 
 save whom I had exercised every faculty I possessed, but 
 all in vain ; he was too near, and my train too heavy for 
 me to stop in time to spare him. I met many of my old 
 cronies during my absence, and, inquiring for others, heard 
 the long-expected but saddening news, that they had gone ; 
 their running was over, the dangers they had so often faced 
 overcame them at last, and now they sleep where " signal 
 lights " and the shrill whistle denoting danger, which have 
 so often called all their faculties into play to prevent de- 
 struction and save life, are no longer heard. Others I 
 met, who, in some trying time, had been caught and crushed 
 by the very engines they had so often held submissive to 
 their will, and now, maimed and crippled, they must 
 hobble along till the almost welcome voice of death bids 
 them come and lay their bones beside their comrades in 
 danger, who have gone before. 
 
 A little paragraph in the papers last winter, announced 
 that a gravel train, of which Hartwell Stark was engineer, 
 and James Burnham conductor, had collided with a freight 
 train, on the N. Y. C. R. R. ; that the fireman was killed, 
 and the engineer so badly hurt that he was not expected
 
 A VICTIM OF LOW WAGES. 147 
 
 to live. Perhaps a fuller account of this catastrophe 
 may be instructive in order to show the risks run by rail- 
 road men, the responsibility resting upon the most humble 
 of them, and the enormous amount of suflfering a man is 
 capable of enduring and yet live. This gravel train " laid 
 up " for the night at Clyde, and in the morning early, as 
 soon as the freight trains bound west had passed, proceeded 
 out upon the road to its work. It was the duty of the 
 switchman to see that the trains had all passed, and report 
 the same to the men in charge of the gravel train. This 
 morning it was snowing very hard, the wind blew strong 
 from the east, and take it altogether, it was a most un- 
 pleasant time, and one very likely to put all trains behind. 
 Knowing this, the conductor and engineer both asked the 
 switchman if the freights had all passed. He replied 
 positively that they had. So, without hesitation, they 
 proceeded to their work. They had left their train of 
 gravel cars at a " gravel pit," some sixteen miles distant ; 
 so with the engine backing up and dragging the " caboose," 
 in which were about thirty men, they started. They had 
 got about ten miles on their way, the wind and snow still 
 blowing in their faces, rendering it almost impossible for 
 them to see any thing ahead, even in daylight — utterly
 
 148 A VICTIM OF LOW WAGES. 
 
 SO in the darkness of that morning, just before day — when, 
 out of the driving storm, looking a very demon of de- 
 struction, came thundering on at highest speed, the freight 
 train, which the switchman had so confidently reported as 
 having passed an hour before they left Clyde. The engi- 
 neer of the freight train jumped, and said that before he 
 struck the ground he heard the collision. Hart tried to 
 reverse his engine, but had not time to do it ; so he could 
 not jump, but was caught in the close embrace of those 
 huge monsters. The freight engine pushed the " tender " 
 of his engine up on to the " foot-board." It divided ; 
 one part crushed the fireman up against the dome and 
 broke in the "fire-door;" the wood piled over on top of 
 him, and the flames rushing out of the broken door soon 
 set it on fire, and there he lay till he was taken out, 
 eighteen hours afterward, a shapeless cinder of humanity. 
 The other part caught Hart's hips between it and the 
 " run-board," and rolled him around for about six feet, 
 breaking both thigh-bones ; and to add to his sufferings a 
 piece of the " hand-rail " was thrust clear through the 
 flesh of both legs, and twisted about there till it made 
 gashes six inches long. The steam pipe being broken off, 
 the hissing steam prevented bis feeble cries from being
 
 A VICTIM OF LOW WAGES. 149 
 
 heard, and as every man in the " caboose " was hurt, 
 Hart began to think that iron rack of misery must surely 
 be his death-bed. At last, however, some men saw him, 
 but at first they were afraid to come near, being fearful 
 of an explosion of the boiler. Soon, however, some more 
 bold than the rest went to work, and procuring a T rail, 
 they proceeded to pry the wreck apart, and release him 
 from his horrible position. And so, after being thus sus- 
 pended and crushed for over half an hour, he was taken 
 down, put upon a hand-car, and taken to his home at Clyde, 
 which place he reached in five hours after the accident. 
 No one expected him to live. The physicians were for an 
 immediate amputation of both limbs, but to this Hart 
 stoutly objected. So they finally agreed to wait forty- 
 eisiht hours and see. At the end of that time — owing to 
 his strong constitution and temperate habits of life — the 
 inflammation was so hght they concluded to leave poor Hart 
 with both his legs, and there he has lain ever since. For 
 twelve weeks he was never moved from his position in the 
 bed, his clothes were never changed, and he never stirred 
 so much as an inch ; and even to this day — May 20th — -he is 
 unable to turn in the bed, though he can sit up, and when 
 I saw him, was sitting in the stoop cutting potatoes for
 
 150 A VICTIM OF LOW WAGES. 
 
 planting, and apparently as happy as a child, to think he 
 could once more snuff fresh air. 
 
 I should think that such accidents (and they are of 
 frequent occurrence) would teach the managers of railroads 
 that the policy of hiring men who can be hired for twenty- 
 five dollars a month, and who have so little judgment as to 
 sleep on their posts, and then make such reports as this 
 switchman did, endangering not only the property of the 
 company, but also jeopardizing the lives of brave and true 
 men like Hart Stark, and subjecting them to these linger- 
 ing tortures, is suicidal to their best interests. Would not 
 an extra ten dollars a month to all switchmen be a good 
 investment, if in the course of a year it saved the life of 
 one poor fireman, who otherwise would die as this poor 
 fellow did ; or if it saved one cool and true man from the 
 Bufferings Hart Stark has for the past five months endured ?
 
 CORONERS' JURIES «. RAILROAD MEN
 
 CORONERS' JURIES vs. RAILROAD MEN. 
 
 Coroner's juries are, beyond a doubt, a very good institu- 
 tion, and were established for a good purpose ; they inves- 
 tigate sudden deaths, while the matter is still fresh, before 
 the cause has become hidden or obscured by lapse of time, 
 and in most cases they undoubtedly arrive at a just con- 
 clusion ; but in cases of railroad accidents, I never yet 
 knew one that was not unjust, to a greater or less degree, 
 in its verdict against employees of the company on the 
 train at the immediate time of the occurrence. 
 
 I know that in saying this I fly into the face of all the 
 newspapers of the land, for they have a stereotyped sneer 
 in these words, " Of course, nobody was to blame," at every 
 coroner's jury that fails to censure somebody, or to adjudge 
 some one guilty of wilful murder. Nevertheless I believe 
 
 f 153)
 
 154 coroners' juries v. railroad men. 
 
 it, and unhesitatingly declare it. Most generally it is the 
 engineer and conductor who are censured, sometimes the 
 brakemen or switchmen ; but rarely or never is it the right 
 one who is branded and placed in the newspaper pillory 
 as unfit to occupy any position of trust, and guilty of the 
 death of those killed and the wounds of those wounded. 
 As to an accident that could not be avoided by human 
 forethought, that idea is scouted, and if a coroner's jury 
 does ever so far forget what is expected of it by these edi- 
 tors — who are the self-elected bull-dogs of society, and 
 must needs bark or lose their dignity — why no words are 
 suflBciently sarcastic, no sentences sufficiently bitter, to 
 express the contempt which they feel for that benighted 
 coroner's jury. To be sure they know nothing, or next 
 to nothing, of the circumstances, and the jury knows all 
 about them. To be sure, iron will break and so will wood ; 
 the insidious frost will creep in where man cannot probe, 
 and render as brittle as glass what should be tough as 
 steel ; watches will go wrong, and no hundred men can be 
 found who will on all occasions give one interpretation to 
 the same words. But what of that ? 
 
 Why, the bare idea that any accident upon any road 
 can happen, and some poor devil of an engineer, con-
 
 coroners' juries v. railroad men. 155 
 
 ductor, brakeman or switchman not be ready at hand, to 
 be made into a pack-horse on whom to pile all the accu- 
 mulated bile of these men who, many of them, have some 
 private grudge to satisfy — the idea, I say, is preposterous 
 to these men, and they fulminate their thunders against 
 railroad men, until community gets into the belief that vir- 
 tue, honesty, integrity or common dog sense are things of 
 which a railroad man must necessarily be entirely desti- 
 tute ; and they are looked upon with distrust, they are 
 driven to become clannish, and frequently, I must confess, 
 any thing but polite to the traveling public, whose only 
 greeting to them is gruff fault-finding, or an incessant 
 string of foolish questions. But are they so much to 
 blame for this ? Would you, my reader, " cast your 
 pearls before swine ? " and can you particularly blame 
 men for not being over warm to the traveling community 
 which almost invariably treats them as machines, desti- 
 tute of feeling, for whose use it pays so much a mile ? 
 Railroad men, though, are not impolite, nor short to every- 
 body. Ask a jovial, good-natured man, who has a smile 
 and a pleasant word for everybody, and I'll warrant he 
 •will tell you that he gets treated well enough on railroads ; 
 that the engineer answers his questions readily ; that the
 
 156 coroners' juries v. railroad men. 
 
 brakeman sees that he has a seat ; that his baggage is 
 not bursted open every trip he takes, and the conductor 
 does not wake him up out of his sleep every five minutes 
 to ask for his ticket. But ask a pursy, lordly individual, 
 whose lack of brains is atoned for by the capacity of his 
 stomach, who never asks for any thing, always orders it, 
 and who always praises the last road he was on. and d — s 
 the one he is now on ; or ask a vinegar-looking, hatchet- 
 faced old maid, who has eight bandboxes, a parasol, an um- 
 brella, a loose pair of gloves, a work-bag and a poodle dog, 
 who always has either such a cold that she knows she 
 *' shall die unless that window in front is put down," or 
 else is certain that she " shall suflfocate unless more air is 
 let into the car," and who is continually asking whoever 
 she sees with a badge on, whether the " biler is going to 
 bust," or if " that last station ain't the one she bought 
 her ticket for ? " — ask either of these (and there are a 
 great many travelers who, should they see this, would de- 
 clare that I meant to be personal), and they will tell you 
 that railroad men are " rascals, sir ! scamps, sir ! every 
 one of them, sir ! Why, only the other day I had a bran- 
 new trunk, and I particularly cautioned the baggageman 
 and conductor to be careful, and would you believe it,
 
 coroners' juries v. railroad men. 157 
 
 sir ? when I got it, two — jes, sir ! two — of the brass 
 nails were jammed. Railroad men, from the dirty engi- 
 neer to the stuck-up conductor, are bent on making the 
 public as uncomfortable as they can, sir ! " Reader, take 
 my advice, and when you want any thing, go to the prop- 
 er person and politely ask for it, and you will get it ; but 
 don't jump off and ask the engineer at every station how 
 far it is to the next station ? and how fast he ever did 
 run ? and if he ever knew John Smith of the Pontiac, 
 and Buckwheat of the Sangamon and PoUywog road, one 
 or the other, but really you forget which ; but no matter, 
 he must know him, for he looked so and so. Take care ; 
 while you are describing the venerable John Smith, that 
 long oil-can may give an ugly flirt, and your wife have 
 good cause for grumbling at your greasy cassimere inex- 
 pressibles ; or a wink from the engineer to his funny fire- 
 man, may open that " pet cock," and your face get washed 
 with rather nasty feeling water, and the shock might not 
 be good for you. Don't bore the conductor with too 
 many questions. If you ask civil questions, he will civ- 
 illy answer you ; but if you bore him too much by asking 
 how fast " this ingine can run ? " he may get cross, or 
 he may tell how astonishingly fast the celebrated and
 
 158 coroners' juries v. railroad men. 
 
 mythical Thomas Pepper used to run the equally cele- 
 brated and mythical locomotive, " Blowhard." I started 
 this article to tell a story illustrating my opinion of coro- 
 ners' juries, but have turned it into a sort of homily on 
 the grievances of railroad men. No matter ; the story 
 will keep, and the traveling people deserve a little talking 
 to about the way they treat railroad men.
 
 ADVENTURES 
 
 AN IRISH RAILROAD MAN.
 
 ADVENTURES OF AN IRISH RAILROAD MAN. 
 
 On a railroad, as everywhere else, one meets with de- 
 cidedly " rich" characters — those whose every act is 
 mirth-provoking, and who, as the Irishman said, " can't 
 open their mouths without putting their fut in it." Such 
 an one was Billy Brown, who has been, for nearly thirteen 
 years, a brakeman on one road ; who has run through and 
 escaped many dangers ; who has seen many an old com- 
 rade depart this life for — let us hope, a better one. 
 Scarce an accident has happened on the road in whose 
 employ he has been so long, but Billy has somehow been 
 there; and always has Billy been kind to his dying 
 friends. Many a one of them has breathed out his last 
 sigh in Billy's ear ; and I have often heard him crooning 
 out some wild Irish laments (for Billy is a full-blooded 
 
 11 (161)
 
 162 ADVENTURES OF AN IRISH RAILROAD MAN. 
 
 Patlander), as he held in his lap the head of some of his 
 comrades whose life was fast ebbing away from a man- 
 gled limb. I well remember one time, when one of Billj's 
 particular cronies, Mike — the other name has escaped my 
 memory — was missing from the train to which he was at- 
 tached. A telegraphic dispatch was sent to the last sta- 
 tion to see if he was left there ; but, no ! he was seen to 
 get aboard the train as it left the station. So the conclu- 
 sion was clear that Mike had fallen oflf somewhere on the 
 road. Half a dozen of us, Billy with the rest, jumped 
 into a hand-car, and went back to find him. We went 
 once over the road without seeing any thing ; but, as we 
 came back, on passing the signboard which said " 80 rods 
 to the drawbridge," we saw some blood on it; and, on 
 looking down under the trestlework, we saw poor Mike's 
 body lying half in the water and half on the rocks. It 
 was but an instant ere we were down there ; but the first 
 look convinced us that he was dead. As the train was 
 passing over the bridge, he had incautiously put out his 
 head to look ahead, and it had come in contact with the 
 signboard, and was literally smashed flat. No sooner had 
 the full conviction that Mike was dead taken possession of 
 Billy, than he whops down on his knees, and commences
 
 ADVENTURES OF AN IRISH RAILROAD MAN. 163 
 
 kissing the fellow's bloody face, at the same time, with 
 many tears, apostrophizing his body somewhat after this 
 fashion : " Oh ! wirra, wirra, Mike dear ! Mike dear ! 
 and is this the way ye're afther dyin' to git yer bloody 
 ould hed smashed in wid a dirty old guideboord ? " 
 
 We all felt sad, and sympathized fully with Billy's 
 grief; but the ludicrousness with which he expressed it, 
 was too much for any of us ; and we turned away, not to 
 hide a tear, but to suppress a smile, and choke down a 
 laugh. 
 
 But Billy v/as very clannish ; and, to use his own ex- 
 pression, " the passenger might go hang, if there was any 
 of the railroad byes in the muss." But as soon as Billy's 
 fears as to any of his comrades being injured were allayed, 
 no man could be more efficient than he in giving aid to 
 anybody. Billy was true to duty, and never forgot what 
 to do, if it was only in the usual routine of his business. 
 Outside of that, however, he could commit as many Irish 
 bulls as any one. 
 
 I well remember one night I had the night freight to 
 haul. We were going along pretty good jog, when the 
 bell rang for me to stop. I stopped and looked back to 
 see what could be the matter. I saw no stir ; so after
 
 164 ADVENTURES OF AN IRISH RAILROAD MAN. 
 
 Tfaiting awhile, I started back to see if I could find any 
 one. After getting back about twenty cars, I found that 
 the train was broken in two, and that the rest of the cars 
 were awaj back out of sight. I hallooed to my fireman 
 to bring a light, and started on foot back around the 
 curve, to see where they were. I got to the curve, and 
 saw a light coming up the track towards me ; the man 
 who carried it was evidently running as fast as he could. 
 I stopped to see who it was ; and in a few moments he 
 approached near enough to hail me — when, mistaking me 
 for a trackman, and without slackening his speed the 
 least, Billy Brown — for it was he — bellowed out, with a 
 voice like a stentor, only broken by his grampus-like 
 blowing, " I say, I say, did yees see iver inny thing of a 
 train goin* for Albany like h — 1 jist now ? " I believe I 
 never did laugh quite so heartily in my life, as I did then ; 
 and Billy, turning around, addressed me in the most ag- 
 grieved manner possible, saying : " Pon me sowl now, 
 Shanghi, its mighty mane of yees to be scarin' the life out 
 of me wid that laff of yours, an' I strivin' as hard as iver 
 I could to catch up wid yees, and bring yees back, to take 
 the resht of yere train which ye were afther lavin in the 
 road a bit back."
 
 ADVENTURES OF AN IRISH RAILROAD MAN. 165 
 
 Another adventure of Billy's, at which we liked to 
 have killed ourselves with laughter, and Billj himself 
 liked to have died from fright, occurred in this wise : I 
 was taking the stock train down the road one very dark 
 night, and Billy was one of the brakemen. Attached to 
 the rear of the train vrere five empty emigrant cars, 
 which we were hauling over the road. I was behind 
 time, and was running about as fast as I could, to make 
 up the lost time ; when the bell rang for me to stop. I 
 stopped ; and going back to see what was the matter, I 
 found that two of the emigrant cars had become detached 
 from the train, and been switched off into the river, just 
 there very close to the track and very deep ; and there 
 they lay, one of them clear out of sight, and the other 
 cocked up at an angle of about 45 degrees, with one end 
 sticking out of the water about six feet. On looking 
 around, I found that all the men were there on hand, ex- 
 cept Billy ; and he was nowhere to be found. We at 
 last concluded that he must have been in the cars that were 
 thrown into the river, and was drowned. But in this we 
 were soon shown our error ; for, from the car that was 
 sticking out of the water, came a confused sound of 
 splashing, and praying, and swearing, which soon convin-
 
 166 ADVENTURES OF AN IRISH RAILROAD MAN. 
 
 ced us that Billy was at least not dead. We hallooed at 
 him, and asked him if he was hurt. His answer was, 
 " Divil a hurt, but right nigh drowned ; an how'll I get 
 out o' this ? " We told him to get out of the door. 
 " But it's locked." " Unlock it then." " Shure, frow me 
 a kaj an' I will." " Where is your own key ? " " Divil 
 a wan o' me knows. Gone drownded I ixpect." " How 
 deep is the water where you are, Billy ? " "Up till me 
 chin, an' the tide a risin'. Oh ! murther, byes, hilp me out 
 o' this ; for I'm kilt intirely wid the wet and the cowld 
 
 and the shock til me syshtem " But we told him 
 
 we couldn't help him, and that he must crawl out of a 
 window. " Howly Moses," says Billy, " an' don't ye 
 know these is iraigrant cars, an' the windows all barred 
 across to kape thim fules from sticking out their heads ? 
 an' how'll I get out ? Byes, byes, wad ye see me drown, 
 an' I so close to land, an' in a car to bute ? Ah ! now 
 cease yere bladgin, an' hilp me out o' this." After both- 
 ering him to our hearts' content, we got a plank, and 
 crawled out to the car, only about ten feet from shore, 
 and cutting a hole in the top, soon had Billy at liberty.
 
 A BAD BRIDGE.
 
 A BAD BRIDGE. 
 
 One cold winter's night, while I was running on the 
 
 H Road, I was to take the Night Express down the 
 
 road. The day had been excessively stormy ; the snow 
 had fallen from early dawn till dark, and blown and drifted 
 so on the track, that all trains were behind time. Espec- 
 ially was this so on the upper end of the road ; the lower 
 end, over which I was to run, was not so badly blockaded ; 
 in fact, on the southern portion, the storm had been of 
 rain. The train came in three hours behind, consisting of 
 twenty cars, all heavily loaded with grumbling, discontented 
 passengers. This was more of a train than I could handle 
 with my engine, even on the best of rail ; but where the 
 rail was so slippery with snow or ice as it was that night, 
 it was utterly impossible for me to do any thing with it. 
 
 (169)
 
 170 A BAD BRIDGE. 
 
 So, orders were given for another engine to couple in with 
 me ; and George P , with the Oneida, did so. 
 
 I was on the lead. George coupled in behind me. We 
 both had fast " machines ; " and in a little quiet talk we 
 had before starting, we resolved to do some pretty fast 
 running where we could. 
 
 The hungry passengers at last finished their meal, it 
 being a refreshment station ; the bell was rang ; " all 
 aboard " shouted ; and we pulled out. Like twin brothers 
 those engines seemed to work. Their " exhausts " were as 
 one, and each with giant strength tugged at the train. 
 We plowed through the snow, and it flew by us in fleecy, 
 feathery flakes, on which our lights shone so bright that 
 it seemed as if we were plunging into a cloud of silver 
 dust. On ! on ! we rushed ; the few stops we had to make 
 were made quickly ; and past the stations at which we 
 were not to stop, we rushed thunderingly : a jar, a rumble, 
 a shriek of the whistle, and the glimmering station-lights 
 were away back out of sight. 
 
 At last we were within fourteen miles of the terminus 
 of our journey. Both engines were doing their utmost, 
 and the long train behind us was trailing swiftly on. Soon 
 the tedious night-ride would be over ; soon the weary
 
 A BAD BRIDGE. 171 
 
 limbs might rest. We were crossing a pile bridge in the 
 middle of which was a draw. The rising of the water in 
 the river had lifted the ice, which was frozen to the piles, 
 and thus, I suppose, weakened the bridge, so that, when 
 our two heavy engines struck it, it gave away. I was 
 standing at my post, when, by the sudden strain and drop- 
 ping of the engine, I knew that we were off the track, 
 but had no idea of the real nature of the calamity. My 
 engine struck her forward end upon the abutments of the 
 bridge, knocking the forward trucks from under her. She 
 held there but an instant of time ; but in that instant I 
 and my fireman sprang upon the ruuboard, and from thence 
 to the solid earth. We turned in time to see the two en- 
 gines go down into the water, there thirty feet deep ; and 
 upon them were piled the baggage, mail and express cars, 
 while the passenger cars were some thrown from the track 
 on one side, some on the other. The terrible noise made 
 by the collision and the hissing made by the cold waters 
 wrapping the two engines in their chill embrace, deafened 
 and appalled us for an instant ; but the next, we were 
 running back to help the wounded. We found many 
 wounded and seven dead amidst the wreck of the cars ; 
 but seven more were missing, and among them were six
 
 172 A BAD BRIDGE. 
 
 of the railroad men. After searching high and low, 
 amidst the portion of the wreck on dry land, we with one 
 accord looked shudderingly down into those black, chilling 
 waters, and knew that there they lay dead. All night 
 long we sat there. The wild wintry blasts howled around 
 us ; the cold waters gurgled and splashed amid the wreck ; 
 we could hear the wounded groan in their pains ; but we 
 listened in vain for the voices we were wont to hear. The 
 chill tide, over which the ice was even then congealing 
 anew, covered them. Mayhap they were mangled in the 
 collision, and their shriek of pain was hushed and drowned 
 as the icy waters rippled in over their lips. We almost 
 fancied, when we threw the light of our lanterns upon the 
 black flood, that we could see their white faces turned up 
 toward us, frozen into a stony, immovable look of direst 
 fear and agonizing entreaty. 
 
 Morning came, and still we could not reach our friends 
 and comrades. Days went by before they were found, 
 but when found each man was at his post. None had 
 jumped or flinched, all went down with the wreck, and 
 were found jammed in ; but their countenances wore no look 
 of fear, the icy waters that congealed their expression, 
 did not find a coward's look among them ; all wore a stern,
 
 A BAD BRIDGE. 173 
 
 unflinching expression that would have shown you, had 
 you seen them just ere they went down, that they would 
 do as they did do, stick bravely to their posts, and go 
 down with the wreck, doing their duty at the cost of their 
 lives.
 
 A WARNING
 
 !
 
 A WARNING. 
 
 I AM not, nor was I ever, superstitious. I do not be- 
 lieve in dreams, signs, witches, hobgoblins, nor in any of 
 the rest of that ilk with which antiquated maidens were 
 in olden time used to cheer the drooping spirits of child- 
 hood, and send us urchins off to our bed, half scared to 
 death, expecting to see some horrid monster step out 
 from every corner of the room, and in unearthly accents 
 declare his intention to " grind our bones for coffee," or 
 do something else equally horrid, the contemplation of 
 which was in an equal degree unfitted to render our sleep 
 sound or our rest placid. Somehow the visitors from the 
 other world, that children used to be told of, were never 
 pretty nor angelic, but always more devilish than any thing 
 else. But in these davs, this has changed ; for the ghosts 
 
 12 * (177)
 
 178 A WARNING. 
 
 in which gullible people deal now, are preeminently silly 
 things. They use their superhuman strength in tumbling 
 parlor furniture about the rooms, and in drumming on the 
 floors und ceilings of bed-rooms. The old proverb is, that 
 " every generation grows weaker and wiser." In this re- 
 spect, however, we have reversed the proverb ; for a 
 great many have grown stronger in gullibility and weaker 
 in intellect, else we would not have so many spiritualists 
 who wait for God and His angels to thump out their spe- 
 cial revelations, or else tumble a table about the room to 
 the tune of A B C. 
 
 I have known, as have many, probably all of my read- 
 ers, a great many people who professed to have the firmest 
 faith in dreams and signs, who were always preadmonished 
 of every event by some supernatural means, and who in- 
 variably are looking out for singular events when they 
 have been visited by a singular dream. I have never 
 believed in these things, have always laughed at them, 
 and do so still. Yet there is one circumstance of my 
 life, of this kind, that is shrouded in mystery, that I can- 
 not explain, that I know to be so, and yet can scarcely 
 believe, when a warning was given to me somehow, I know 
 not how, that shook me and influenced me, despite my ridi-
 
 A WARNING. 179^ 
 
 cule of superstition and disbelief in signs or warnings of 
 any kind ; so that I heeded it, and, by so doing, saved 
 myself from instant death, and saved also many passen- 
 gers who, had they known of the " warning" which in- 
 fluenced me to take the steps which I did, would have 
 laughed ac me, and endeavored to drive me on. The 
 facts are briefly as follows — I tell them, not attempting to 
 explain them, nor offering any theory concerning them — 
 neither pretending that angels or devils warned me, and 
 only knowing that it was so : 
 
 I was running a Night Express train, and had a train 
 of ten cars — eight passenger and two baggage cars — and 
 all were well loaded. I was behind time, and was very 
 anxious to make a certain point ; therefore I was using 
 every exertion, and putting the engine to the utmost 
 speed of which she was capable. I was on a section of 
 the road usually considered the best running ground on 
 the line, and was endeavoring to make the most of it, 
 when a conviction struck me that I must stop. A some- 
 thing seemed to tell me that to go ahead was dangerous, 
 and that I must stop if I would save life. I looked back 
 at my train, and it was all right. I strained my eyes 
 and peered into the darkness, and could see no signal of
 
 180 A WARNING. 
 
 danger, nor any thing betokening danger, and there I 
 could see five miles in the daytime. I listened to the 
 working of my engine, tried the water, looked at the 
 scales, and all was right. I tried to laugh myself out of 
 what I then considered a childish fear ; but, like Banquo's 
 ghost, it would not down at my bidding, but grew stronger 
 in its hold upon me. I thought of the ridicule I would 
 have heaped upon me, if I did stop ; but it was all of no 
 avail. The conviction — for by this time it had ripened 
 mto a conviction — that I must stop, grew stronger, and I 
 resolved to stop ; and I shut off, and blew the whistle for 
 brakes, accordingly. I came to a dead halt, got off, and 
 went ahead a little way, without saying any thing to any- 
 body what was the matter. I had my lamp in my hand, 
 and had gone about sixty feet, when I saw what convinc- 
 ed me that premonitions are sometimes possible. I drop- 
 ped the lantern from my nerveless grasp, and sat down on 
 the track, utterly unable to stand ; for there was a switch, 
 the thought of which had never entered my mind, as it 
 had never been used since I had been on the road, and 
 was known to be spiked, but which now was open to lead 
 me off the track. This switch led into a stone quarry, 
 from whence stone for bridge purposes had been quarried,
 
 A WARNING. 181 
 
 and the switch was left there, in case stone should be 
 needed at any time ; but it was always kept locked, and 
 the switch-rail spiked. Yet here it was, wide open ; and, 
 had I not obeyed my preadraonition — warning — call it 
 what you will — I should have run into it, and, at the 
 end of the track, only about ten rods long, my heavy en- 
 gine and train, moving at the rate of forty-five miles per 
 hour, would have come into collision with a solid wall of 
 rock, eighteen feet high. The consequences, had I done 
 so, can neither be imagined nor described ; but they could, 
 by no possibility, have been otherwise than fatally horrid. 
 This is my experience in getting warnings from a source 
 that I know not and cannot divine. It is a mystery to 
 me — a mystery for which I am very thankful, however, 
 although I dare not attempt to explain it, nor say whence 
 it came.
 
 SINGULAR ACCIDENTS
 
 SINGULAR ACCIDENTS. 
 
 The brothers G. are well known to all travelers by 
 the route of the N. Y. C. R. R. They have been a long 
 time employed there, and by the traveling public and the 
 company that employ them they are universally esteemed ; 
 but the star of them all, the one most loved by his com- 
 panions in toil, respected by travelers, and trusted by his 
 employers, was Thomas, who met with his death in one 
 of those calamitous accidents which so frequently mar 
 the career of the railroad man. I was an eye-witness of 
 the accident, and shall attempt to describe it. 
 
 The day on which it occurred was a glorious summer 
 one ; the breeze wafted a thousand pleasant odors to my 
 senses ; the birds sang their sweetest songs. As I was 
 journeying along the highway between Weedsport and 
 
 (185)
 
 186 SINGULAR ACCIDENTS. 
 
 Jordan, I heard the rumble of the approaching train, and 
 as from where I was I could get a fair view of the passing 
 train, which was the fastest on the road and was behind time 
 a few minutes, I stopped to watch it as it passed. On it 
 came, the sun glancing on the polished engine as it sped 
 along like the wind. The track where I had stopped, was 
 crossed by two roads, one of them crossing at right angles, 
 the other diagonally ; between the two crossings there was 
 a large pile of ties placed, probably eight feet from the 
 track. I saw the engine, which was running at full speed, 
 pass the pile, when suddenly, without warning, in a second 
 of time, the cars went piling and crashing over the bank 
 into a promiscuous heap, crushed into each other like egg- 
 shells. One of them, a full-sized car, turned a complete 
 somersault ; another was turned once and a half around, 
 and lay with one end down in the ditch, and the other up 
 to the track, while the third went crashing into its side. 
 I hitched my horse and ran over to the scene, expecting, 
 of course, that not a soul would be found alive ; arrived 
 there, I found that no person was killed but poor Tom, and 
 not over a dozen hurt, although the cars were crowded, 
 and not a seat was left whole in the cars, which were 
 perfectly riddled. They had already found Tom's body,
 
 SINGULAR ACCIDENTS. 187 
 
 which lay under the truck of the first passenger car, which 
 had been torn out, and one wheel lay on his neck. He 
 had no need of care, no need of sympathy, for the first 
 crash, killed him; and so with no notice, no warning, no 
 moment for a faintly whispered good-bye to those he loved, 
 poor Tom passed away to the unknown shore, leaving many 
 friends to grieve for him. 
 
 We got him out, laid him beside the track, and stood 
 solemnly by ; grieving that he, our friend, had gone and 
 left no message for the wife who idolized him, the brothers 
 who had loved him, or the friends who so fully appreciated 
 his many noble qualities. While we stood thus speechless 
 with heartfelt, choking grief, a man came up and asked 
 for the man who had charge of the train. Some one. I for- 
 get who, pointed to the mangled form of poor Tom and 
 said, " There is all that is mortal of him." Said the thing 
 — I will not call him man — " Dear me ! I'm sorry ; I 
 wanted to find some one to pay for my cow." 
 
 It was his cow that had caused the accident, by jumping 
 out against the baggage car after the engine had passed. 
 
 Another singular accident occurred on a road in the 
 State of New York. An engine, to which something had 
 happened that required a couple of sticks of wood out on 
 
 L
 
 188 SINGULAR ACCIDENTS. 
 
 the run-board as fulcrum for a lever, was passing through 
 a station at full speed, when one of the sticks, that had 
 carelessly been left outside, fell off and was struck by the 
 end of the main rod on the backward stroke ; impelled 
 backwards by the force of the blow, it struck a man, stand- 
 ing carelessly beside the track, full on the side of the head, 
 fracturing his skull, and killing him instantly.
 
 LUDICROUS INCIDENTS
 
 LUDICROUS INCIDENTS. 
 
 There is not often much that is comic on the " rail," 
 but occasionally an incident occurs that brings a loud 
 guffaw from everybody who witnesses it. 
 
 I remember once standing by the side of an engine that 
 was switching in the yard. The fellow who was run- 
 ning it I thought, from his actions while oiling, was drunk, 
 so I watched him. He finished oiling, and clambered up 
 on to the foot-board and attempted, in obedience to the 
 orders of the yard-man, to start out. He jerked and 
 jerked at the throttle-lever, but all to no effect ; the en- 
 gine would not budge an inch. I saw from where I stood 
 what was the matter, and although nearly bursting with 
 laughter, I refrained from telling him, but looked on to 
 see the fun. After pulling for at least a dozen times, he 
 
 (191)
 
 192 LUDICROUS INCIDENTS. 
 
 bawled out to the yard-man that he couldn't go, and then 
 gave another twitch, but it was of no use ; then he stepped 
 back a step or two and looked at the throttle, with a look 
 of the most stupid amazement that I ever saw ; his face 
 expressed the meaning of the word " dumbfoundered " 
 completely. At last the fireman showed him what was the 
 matter. It was simply that he had set the thumb-screw 
 on the throttle-lever and neglected to unloose it, in each 
 of his efforts. 
 
 Another laughable affair occurred on one of the Eastern 
 roads, I forget which. An engine stood on the switch, 
 all fired up and ready to start ; the hands were all absent 
 at dinner. A big black negro, who was loafing around the 
 yard, became exceedingly inquisitive as to how the thing 
 was managed — so up he gets and began to poke around. 
 He threw the engine into the forward gear and gave it 
 steam, of course not knowing what he was doing ; but of 
 that fact the engine was ignorant, and at once, like a mettled 
 steed, it sprung to full speed and away it went, carrying 
 the poor darkey an unwilling dead-head ride. He did 
 not know how to stop it, and dare not jump, for, as he him- 
 self expressed it, when found, " Gorra mlty, she mos flew." 
 The engine of course ran until steam ran down, which
 
 LUDICROUS INCIDENTS. 193 
 
 was not in fourteen miles, and Mr. Darkey got off and put 
 for the woods. He didn't appear at that station again 
 for over a ^veek. He said that " ef de durn ting had a 
 gon much furder he guessed he'd a bin white folks." 
 
 " 01 Long," an old friend of mine, tells a pretty good 
 story about an old white horse that he struck once. 01 
 says that he was running at about thirty miles an hour, 
 when an old white horse jumped out on the track right in 
 front of the engine, which struck him and knocked him 
 away down into the ditch, where he lay heels up. He of 
 course expected that the horse was killed, and so reported 
 on arriving at the end of the road ; but what was his sur- 
 prise, on returning the next day, to see the self-same old 
 nag quietly eating by the side of the road. 01 says he 
 believes the old fellow did look rather sour at him, but he 
 could not apologize. 
 
 13
 
 EXPLOSIONS
 
 EXPLOSIONS 
 
 It is easj to account for explosions of boilers on the 
 hypothesis of too great pressure ; but it is hardlj ever 
 very easy — frequently utterly impossible — to account for 
 the causes which induce that overpressure. There are, to 
 be sure, a number of reasons which may be advanced. 
 The engineer may have screwed the scales down too much, 
 and thus, the safety-valve not operating to let off the sur- 
 plus steam, a force may be generated within the boiler of 
 such tremendous power that the strong iron will be rent 
 and torn like tissue-paper. This I say may occur, but in 
 my experience I never knew of such a case. Then again, 
 the water may get so low in the boiler that, on starting 
 the engine and injecting cold water upon the hot plates, 
 steam will be generated so suddenly as not to find vent, > 
 
 (197)
 
 198 EXPLOSIONS. 
 
 and in such enormous quantities and of so high a tem- 
 perature as to explode the strongest boiler. Again, the 
 water may be allowed to get low in the boiler, and the 
 plates getting extremely hot, the motion of the train would 
 generate steam enough by splashing water against them 
 to cause an explosion. A proper care and due attention 
 to the gauges would obviate this, and render explosion from 
 these causes impossible. A piece of weak or defective 
 iron, too, may have been put into the boiler at the time of 
 its manufacture, and go on apparently safe for a long time, 
 until at last it gives way under precisely the same pressure 
 of steam that it has all along held with safety, or it may 
 be with even less than it has often carried. How the 
 engineer is to obviate this most fruitful cause of explosions, 
 for the life of me I cannot see ; still if his engine does 
 blow up, everybody and their wives will believe that it 
 happened entirely through his neglect. A person who 
 has never seen an explosion, can form no idea of the enor- 
 mous power with which the iron is rent. I saw one engine 
 that had exploded, at a time too when, according to the 
 oaths of three men, it had a sufficiency of water and only 
 95 lbs. of steam to the square inch, and was moving at 
 only an ordinary speed, yet it was blown 65 feet from the
 
 EXPLOSIONS. 199 
 
 track, and the whole of one side, from the " check joint " 
 back to the " cab," was torn wide open — the lower portion 
 hanging down to the ground, folded over like a table-leaf, 
 and the other portion lay clear over to the other side, 
 while from the rent, the jagged ends of more than half 
 of the flues projected, twisted into innumerable shapes. 
 The frame on that side was broken, and the ends stuck 
 out from the side at right angles with their former position. 
 I saw another, where the whole boiler front, was blown out 
 and the engine tipped clear over backwards on to the ten- 
 der and freight car, where the engineer and fireman were 
 found, crushed into shapeless masses, lying in the midst 
 of the wreck. The engine Manchester exploded while 
 standing at a station on the H. R. R. R., and killed two 
 out of five men, who were standing together beside the 
 tender. Two of those who were left, deposed, on oath, that 
 not three minutes before the accident occurred, the en- 
 gineer tried the water and found fully three gauges, while 
 there was a pressure of only ninety-five pounds to the 
 square inch, and it was blowing off. 
 
 How to account for it no one could tell, so every one 
 who knew any thing whatever in regard to such things, 
 called it " another of the mysterious visitations of God."
 
 200 EXPLOSIONS. 
 
 But the newspapers called it an evidence of gross care- 
 lessness on the part of the engineer. 
 
 Several explosions have been known where the upper 
 tubes were found unhurt, while the lower ones were, some 
 of them, found badly burnt. The conclusion in these 
 cases was that the tubes were too close together, and the 
 water was driven away from them ; consequently the start- 
 ing of the engine, or the pumping of cold water into the 
 boiler, was sufficient to cause an explosion.
 
 HOW A FRIEND WAS KILLED.
 
 HOW A FRIEND WAS KILLED. 
 
 There is among the remembrances of my life as a rail- 
 road man, one of such sadness, that I never think of it 
 without a sigh. Every man, unless he be so morose that 
 he cannot keep a dog, has his particular friends ; those in 
 whom he confides, and to whom he is always cheerful ; 
 whose society he delights in, and the possibility of whose 
 death, he will never allow himself to admit. 
 
 Such a friend had I in George H . We were 
 
 inseparable — both of us unmarried ; we would always 
 manage to board together, and on all possible occasions to 
 be together. Did George's engine lay up for the Sunday 
 at one end of the road, and mine at the other, one of us 
 was sure to go over the road " extra," in order that we 
 might be together. 
 
 (203)
 
 204 HOW A FRIEND WAS KILLED. 
 
 George and I diflfered in many respects, but more es- 
 pecially in this, that whereas I was one of the " fast " 
 school of runners, who are never so contented with run- 
 ning as when mounted on a fast engine, with an express 
 train, and it behind time. George preferred a slow train, 
 where, as he said, his occupation was " killing time," not 
 " making" it. So while I had the " Baltic," a fast en- 
 gine, with drivers six feet and a half in diameter, and 
 usually ran express trains, George had the " Essex," a 
 freight engine, with four feet drivers. 
 
 One Saturday night I took the last run north, and was 
 to " lay over " with my engine for the Sunday at the 
 northern terminus of the road, until two o'clock Monday 
 P. M. George had to run the " Night Freight" down 
 that night, and as we wished particularly to be together 
 the next day, I concluded to go " down the line" with 
 him. Starting time came, and off we started. I rode 
 for awhile in the " caboose," as the passenger car attach- 
 ed to a freight train is called, but as the night was warm 
 and balmy, the moon shining brightly, tinging with silvery 
 white the great fleecy clouds that swept through the heav- 
 en, like monstrous floating islands of snow drifting over 
 the fathomless waters of the sea, I went out and rode
 
 HOW A FRIEND WAS KILLED. 205 
 
 with George on the engine. The night was indeed most 
 beautiful, the moonlight shimmering across the river, 
 which the wind disturbed and broke into many ripples, 
 made it to glow and shine like a sea of molten silver. 
 The trees beside the track waved and beckoned their 
 leafy tops, looking sombre and weird in the half-darkness 
 of the night. The vessels we saw upon the river, gliding 
 before the freshening breeze, with their signal lights glim- 
 mering dimly, and the occasional steamers with light 
 streaming from every window, and the red light of their 
 fires casting an unearthly glare upon the waters ; these 
 all combined to make the scene spread before us, as we 
 rushed shrieking and howling over the road, one of un- 
 excelled beauty. "We both gazed at it, and said that if 
 all scenes in the life of a railroad man were as beautiful 
 as this we would wish no other life. 
 
 But something ailed George's engine. Her pumps 
 would not work. After tinkering with them awhile, he 
 asked the fireman if there was plenty of water in the tank ; 
 the fireman said there was, but to make assurance doubly 
 sure I went and looked, and lo ! there was not a drop I 
 Before passing through the station George had asked the 
 fireman if there was plenty of water. He replied that
 
 206 HOW A FRIEND WAS KILLED. 
 
 there was ; so George had run through the station, it not 
 being a regular stopping place for the train, and here we 
 were in a fix. George thought he could run from where 
 we had stopped to the next water station ; so he cut loose 
 from the train and started. We had stopped on the out- 
 side of a long curve, to the other end of which we could 
 see ; it was fully a half mile, but the view was straight 
 across the water — a bay of the river sweeping in there, 
 around which the track went. 
 
 In about twenty minutes after George had left we saw 
 him coming around the farthest point of the curve ; the 
 brakeman at once took his station with his light at the end 
 of the cars, to show George precisely where the train 
 stood. The engine came swiftly towards us, and I soon 
 saw he was getting so near that he could not stop without 
 a collision, unless he reversed his engine at once ; so I 
 snatched the lamp from out the brakeman's hands, and 
 swung it wildl}' across the track, but it was of no avail. 
 On came the engine, not slackening her speed the least. 
 We saw somebody jump from the fireman's side, and in the 
 instant of time allowed us, we looked to see George jump, 
 but no ! he stuck to bis post, and there came a shock as 
 of a mountain falling. The heavy freight engine running,
 
 HOW A FRIEND WAS KILLED. 207 
 
 as it was, at as high a rate of speed as it could make, 
 crashed into the train; thirteen cars were piled into a 
 mass of ruins, the like of which is seldom seen. The 
 tender was turned bottom side up, with the engine lying 
 atop of it, on its side. The escaping steam shrieked and 
 howled ; the water, pouring in on to the fire, crackled and 
 hissed ; the stock (sheep and cattle) that were in the cars 
 bellowed and bleated in their agony, and it seemed as if 
 all the legions of hell were there striving to make a pan- 
 demonium of that quiet place by the river-side. As soon 
 as we recovered from the shock and got used to the din 
 which at first struck terror to our hearts — and I think no 
 sound can be more terrible than the bellowing of a lot of 
 cattle that are crushed in a railroad smash-up — we went to 
 work to see if George was alive, and to get him out, dead 
 or alive. We found him under the tender, but one side 
 of the tank lay across his body, so that he could not move. 
 We got rails and lifted and pried, until we raised the ten- 
 der and got him out. We took one of the doors from the 
 wrecked cars, laid it beside the track, and made a bed on 
 it with our coats and the cushions from the caboose ; for 
 poor George said he wanted to pass the few moments left 
 him of earth beneath the open sky, and with the cool
 
 208 HOW A FRIEND WAS KILLED. 
 
 breeze to fan his cheek. Of course we dispatched a man 
 to the nearest station for aid, and to telegraph from there 
 for an engine ; but it was late at night, everybody was 
 asleep, and it was more than three hours before any one 
 arrived, and all that time George lingered, occasionally 
 whispering a word to me as I bent over him and moisten- 
 ed his lips. 
 
 He told me while lying there the reason why he did 
 not stop sooner. Something had got loose on the inside 
 throttle gearing, and he could not shut off steam, nor, 
 owing to some unaccountable complicity of evil, could he 
 reverse his engine. So on he had to come, pell-mell, 
 and both of them were killed ; for the fireman had jump- 
 ed on some rocks, and must have died instantly, as he 
 was most horribly mangled. 
 
 The night wind moaned through the wreck, the drip- 
 ping water yet hissed upon the still hot iron of the en- 
 gine, the waves of the river gurgled and rippled among 
 the rocks of the shore, and an occasional bellow of agony 
 was heard from amidst the cattle cars, where all the rest 
 of the hands were at work releasing the poor creatures ; 
 but I sat there, in sad and solemn silence, waiting for him 
 to die that had been as a brother to me. At last, just as
 
 HOW A FRIEND WAS KILLED. 209 
 
 we heard the whistle of the approaching engine, and just 
 as the rising sun had begun to gild and bespangle the 
 purpling east, George opened his eyes, gave my hand a 
 faint grasp, and was no more. I stood alone with the 
 dead man I had loved so in life, but from whom death 
 had now separated me. 
 
 14 
 
 L
 
 AN DNROMANTIC HERO.
 
 AN UNROMANTIC HERO. 
 
 Those who have traveled much on the Little Miami 
 Railroad, must have noticed a little old fellow, with grizzled 
 locks and an unpoetical stoop of the shoulders, who whisks 
 about his engine with all the activity of a cat, and whom 
 the railroad men all call " Uncle Jimmy." That is old 
 Jimmy Wiggins, an engineer of long standing and well 
 known. I believe Uncle Jimmy learned the machinists' 
 trade with Eastwick & Harrison, in Philadelphia ; at all 
 events he has been railroading for a long time, and has 
 been always noted for his carefulness and vigilance. Let 
 me attempt to describe him. He is about five feet four 
 inches in height, stoop-shouldered and short-legged. His 
 hair is iron-gray, and his face would be called any thing 
 but beautiful. He has, though, a clear blue eye that looks 
 
 (213)
 
 214 AN UNROMANTIC HERO. 
 
 Btraight and firmly into yours with an honest and never- 
 flinching expression, that at once convinces you that he is 
 a " game " man. Not very careful about his dress is old 
 Jimmy ; grease spots abound on all his clothing, and his 
 hands are usually begrimed -with the marks of his trade. 
 In short, Uncle Jimmy is any thing but a romantic-looking 
 fellow, and a novelist would hesitate long before taking 
 him as the hero of a romance ; but the old man is a hero, 
 and under that rough, yet placid exterior, there beats a 
 heart that never cools, and a will that never flinches. We 
 go back into the history of the past ages to find our heroes, 
 and them we almost worship, but I question whether the 
 whole history of the world furnishes a better example of 
 self-sacrificing heroism, than this same rough and unro- 
 mantic looking Jimmy Wiggins. It is not the casket 
 that gives value to the jewel ; it is the jewel gives value to 
 all. So with Uncle Jimmy ; rough he looks, but the heart 
 he has makes him an honor to the race, and deserving of 
 our praise. I'll tell you now why I think so. 
 
 Uncle Jimmy was running a train that laid by on the 
 switch at Spring Valley for the Up Express to pass. He 
 got there on time, and the express being a little behind 
 time, the old man took advantage of the time to oil around.
 
 AN UNROMANTIC HERO. 
 
 215 
 
 The whistle of the up train was heard, but he paid no heed 
 thereto, for it was to pass without stopping. The fellow 
 who attended to the switch stood there at his post. Uncle 
 Jimmy was coolly at work, when a, shriek from the con- 
 ductor called his attention, and looking up, he saw what 
 would frighten and unnerve almost any one. The stupid 
 fool at the switch had thrown it wide open, and the express 
 was already on the branch, coming too at the rate of thirty 
 miles an hour — thirty feet in the beat of your pulse — and 
 his train loaded with passengers stood there stock-still. 
 That was a time to try the stuff a man was made of; ordi- 
 nary men would have shrunk from the task, and run from 
 the scene. Your lily-handed, romantic gentry would have 
 failed then, but homely old Jimmy Wiggins rose superior 
 to the position, and, unromantic though he looks, proved a 
 hero. No flinch in him. "What though two hundred tons 
 of matter was being hurled at him, fifty feet in the second ? 
 — what though the chances for death for him were a thou- 
 sand to one for safety ? No tremor in that brave old 
 heart, no nerveless action in that strong arm. He leaped 
 on to the engine, and with his charge met the shock ; but 
 his own engine was reversed, and under motion backwards 
 when the other train struck it. It all took but an instant
 
 216 AN UNROM ANTIC HERO. 
 
 of time, but in that moment old Jimmy Wiggins con- 
 centrated more of true courage than many a man gets 
 into in a lifetime of seventy years. The collision vas 
 frightful ; iron and wood were twisted and jammed together 
 as if they were rotten straw. Charley Hunt, the engiceer 
 of the other train, was instantly killed ; passengers -vere 
 wounded ; terror, fright and pain held sway. Death was 
 there, and all stood back appalled at M-hat had occurred ; 
 yet all shuddered more to think of what would have been 
 the result had Old Jimmy's engine stood still, and all felt 
 a trembling anxiety for his fate, for surely, thought they, 
 " in that wreck his life must have been the sacrifice to 
 his bravery ;" but out of the mass, as cool, as calm as when 
 running on a straight track, crawled Uncle Jimmy, 
 unhurt. He still runs on the same road, and long may 
 his days be, and happy.
 
 THE DUTIES OF AN ENGINEER.
 
 THE DUTIES OF AN ENGINEER. 
 
 Those unacquainted with the duties of an engineer, 
 are apt to think that thej are extremely light, and re- 
 quire him simply to sit upon his seat and, shutting off 
 or letting on the steam, regulate the speed of his engine. 
 Although this is a part of the duty, still it is but a small 
 portion, and for the benefit of those of my readers •who 
 are not posted on the matter, I will briefly state a few 
 of the things he has to think of. 
 
 Say we take the engine lying in the shop cold, and an 
 order comes for him to go out on the road. There is no 
 water in the boiler ; he must see that it is filled up to the 
 proper level, and that the fire is started. He must know 
 beforehand that no piece of the machinery is broken or 
 loosened, so as to endanger the engine. To know this, 
 
 (219)
 
 220 THE DUTIES OF AN ENGINEER. 
 
 he must make a personal inspection of every part of the 
 engine — trucks, wheels, drivers, cranks, rods, valves, gear- 
 ing, coupling, flues, scales, journals, driving-boxes, throttle 
 gear, oil cups ; in short, every thing about the engine must 
 be seen to by him personally. He must know that every 
 journal, every joint on the whole machine is in proper 
 order to receive the oil necessary to lubricate it, for they 
 will each and all receive a pretty severe strain in his com- 
 ing ride, and, unless well oiled, will be pretty apt to get 
 warm. He must know whether the flues are tight, or 
 whether there are any leaks in the boiler to cause him 
 trouble, or render it necessary for him to carry a light 
 pressure of steam. He must see that there is water in 
 the tank, and wood upon the tender ; that he has upon the 
 engine the tools usually necessary in case of a break- 
 down, such as hammers, chisels, wrenches, tongs, bolts, 
 nuts, coupling-pins, plugs for the flues in case one should 
 burst, chains, extra links, jack-screws, crow, and pinch- 
 bars, an axe or hatchet ; waste or rags, oil, tallow for the 
 cylinders, and material for packing any joint that may give 
 out. All this he must see to and know before he starts. 
 And then, when steam is up, he can go. Now he must 
 closely watch his time-card, and run so as to make the
 
 THE DUTIES OF AN ENGINEER, 221 
 
 various stations on time. He must know that his watch 
 is correct and in good order. He must see closely to his 
 pumps that they work right, and that the water keeps at 
 the proper level in the boiler. He must watch the scales 
 that the pressure of the steam does not get too great, also 
 the working of his engine. To the exhausts of the steam 
 his ear must be as sensitive as a musical composer would 
 be to a discord, for by it he can tell much of the condition 
 of his engine, the set and play of the valves, and the con- 
 dition of the many joints in the working machinery. At 
 the same time he must keep the strictest watch of the 
 track ahead of him, ready-nerved for any emergency that 
 can possibly arise ; it may be a broken rail, cattle on the 
 track, some stubborn, hasty fool striving to cross the track 
 ahead of him, a broken bridge, Avashed out culvert, a train 
 broken down ; or it may be some stranger frantically 
 swinging his hands, and, in every manner possible, endeav- 
 oring to attract his attention. Something may happen to 
 his train or his engine, and he must keep the strictest watch 
 of both ; his hands must be ready to blow the whistle, shut 
 off steam or reverse his engine, on the instant intimation 
 of danger, for his engine gets over the ground at a rapid 
 rate, and nothing but a cool nerve and stout arm can stop
 
 222 THE DUTIES OF AN ENGINEER. 
 
 it, perhaps not these. And if any thing does happen ren- 
 dering it necessary for him to stop, he cannot say to any- 
 body, "Here, do this;" he must go at it himself; and 
 oftentimes, though it be but a trivial thing, it will tax his 
 ingenuity to the utmost to repair it Thus he goes on 
 every day, be it clear or cloudy, whether summer breeze 
 fill the air with balm, or the chill winds of winter make the 
 road-bed solid as the rock, and the iron of the rails and 
 "wheels as brittle as glass ; whether the rain, pelting down, 
 makes of every tiny brook a torrent or the drifted snow 
 blockades the track, and his engine has to plunge into the 
 chilly mass ; through it all his eye must never cease its 
 vigil, nor his arm lose its cunning. In cold weather he 
 must watch the pumps that they do not freeze while stand- 
 ing at the stations, or the wheels get fractured by the 
 frost ; and, in cold or warm weather, he must keep watch 
 of every place where there is the slightest friction, and 
 keep it well oiled. At every station where time is allowed, 
 he must give the whole engine a close inspection, lest some 
 little part be out of order, and endangering some larger 
 and more important piece of the machinery. At last, 
 after this his journey for the day is ended, his work is by 
 no means done. He must again inspect his engine, and
 
 THE DUTIES OF AN ENGINEER. 223 
 
 if there is any thing out of order, so much that he can- 
 not without assistance repair it, he must apply at head- 
 quarters for the necessary aid. But there are a hundred 
 little matters that he can attend to himself ; these he must 
 see to and do. The friction and enormous strain neces- 
 sarily wears the brasses of the journals, and creates what 
 he calls " lost motion," that is, the journal moves in its 
 box loosely without causing the required motion in the part 
 of the machinery with which it is connected ; this he must 
 remedy by various expedients. The spring- packing of the 
 piston may have worn loose, and require to be set out : 
 some one of the numerous steam joints may be leaking, 
 and these he must repack. Some of the flues may also be 
 leaking ; if so, he must tighten them ; or there may be a 
 crack in the boiler that leaks which can be remedied by 
 caulking ; this he must do. The grate-bars may be broken 
 or disarranged ; he must enter the fire-box and arrange 
 them. The packing in the pumps may have worn so as 
 to render their operation imperfect, or the valves may be 
 out of order, or the strainer between the tank and the 
 pump may be clogged ; if either or all be the case, he must 
 take down the pump and rectify the matter. The smoke- 
 stack also may be clogged with cinders, or the netting
 
 224 TPIE DUTIES OF AN ENGINEER. 
 
 over it may be choked so as to impede the draught ; if 
 so, he must remedy it, or see that it is done. Some of 
 the orifices through which oil is let on to the machinery 
 may be clogged or too open ; these he must see to. One 
 or more of the journal-boxes of the ^yheels may need re- 
 packing, and he must do it. An eccentric may have slip- 
 ped a little, or a valve-rod been stripped, or a wheel be de- 
 fective, or a tire on the driving-wheel may be loose, and 
 have to be bolted on or reset. A gauge-cock may be clog- 
 god, a leaf of a spring broke, or the boiler may be very 
 dirty and want washing out. Any of these things or a 
 hundred others may have happened, and require his at- 
 tention, which must on all occasions be given to it; for 
 each part, however simple, goes to make up a whole, that, 
 if out of repair, will render imminent a fearful loss of life 
 and limb. 
 
 Thus the engineer rides every day, having the same 
 care, and facing the same dangers, with the same responsi- 
 bility resting on him. Who then shall say that, though 
 he be grimy and greasy, rough and uncouth, given to to- 
 bacco-chewing, and sometimes to hard swearing, he is of 
 no consequence to the world ? Who shall blame him too 
 severely if sometimes he makes an error ?
 
 1
 
 The binding of this book was restored. 
 The corners and edges were repaired with 
 Japanese paper and wheat starch 
 paste/PVA mixture. The cover was 
 rebacked with cloth, tape residue was 
 removed, as much as possible and the 
 original spine was reattached. The 
 binding was furbished with acrylic water 
 color. The inner joints were strengthened 
 with Japanese paper. 
 Richard C. Baker, Conservator. 
 St. Louis, March 2002.