Part 7

“I shuddered and lay still. But not long. The light of the large, to me, fearfully brilliant moon, the plashing of the water below, the wind blowing softly, then the deathlike silence again, rarely interrupted even by the distant note of a bird—all became unendurable and inspired me with unspeakable terror. And the rails! The rails! My senses tortured me. I could not escape them. The wooden beams of the bridge trembled almost imperceptibly from the washing of the water. I imagined I felt the approach of the train and my hair bristled; the wind sighed a little louder, I fancied I heard the dull panting of the engine and my heart stood still, only to throb the next instant with such dreadful speed that the pulsations were almost audible.

“There are some things, gentlemen, which are totally incomprehensible to me; one of them is how I survived that night. One thought stood distinctly before my mind. I must endeavor to work myself into another position—if possible, get into the space between the rails—if I was not, perhaps the next moment, to become the victim of the most agonizing death.

“And I succeeded! I strained every muscle, every sinew to the point of breaking. I writhed, I twisted, I panted, my head seemed bursting, and, after tremendous exertion, which appeared to me to last an eternity, though perhaps it was only moments, I found myself in the hollow between the rails.

“Was I safe? I had not time to consider or rejoice in my new hope, for all my vital powers were concentrated in the single sense of hearing. In the far distance I distinguished, at first vaguely, then more and more distinctly, the regular, monotonous, dull noise which is produced by the engine of a moving locomotive. The awful silence of the night merged minute by minute into the still more awful, confused jarring sounds, the rattling and groaning, rumbling and panting of a locomotive, which was rushing forward at the mad speed of American trains. A thousand feet more, five hundred—all the terrors of the infernal regions assailed me, but not a muscle moved; I lay as if turned to stone. I tried to shriek, but did not even hear my own voice; how should it reach those on the train?

“Now, for an infinitely brief space of time, I fancied that I saw a bright light, a blast of hot air fanned me, then suddenly darkness shrouded me, I heard a thundering roar as though the very heavens were falling.

“Close, very close, barely an inch above, the monster dashed over me—I was safe. Still half unconscious, I heard a deafening rumbling and clattering, and saw shadowy masses flit by; there was another moment of mortal dread—the hook of a chain which hung lower than the rest caught me, dragged me along a few feet and finally tore a large piece from the breast of my coat, releasing me—then every object danced around me, the moon, the bridge, and the high bank whirled in a giddy maze above and below me, and my senses failed.

“When I regained my consciousness I found myself in my bed, with familiar faces around me. To make the story short, I had been picked up the morning after that terrible night by a signal man, recognized, and taken to Auburn. A violent fever kept me for a fortnight within the shadow of death, but my strong constitution conquered. When, after my recovery, I looked in the glass for the first time, I saw what traces those moments had left upon me.”

The physician paused. His pallid face, the expression of horror in his eyes, the perspiration which stood in large drops upon his brow, showed how vivid must be his remembrances of the scene, and how greatly the narration had exhausted him.

Gradually the breathless anxiety with which we had listened to the story related with such graphic power passed away, and cheerfulness returned.

Then we paced to and fro for a long time in the moonlight, in the garden behind the tavern, listening to the doctor’s tales of less harrowing experiences in the young land of liberty, wonders, and adventure.