Part 1

Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/tripsinlifeofloc00daws

TRIPS IN THE LIFE OF A LOCOMOTIVE ENGINEER.

New York: J. Bradburn (Successor to M. Doolady), 49 Walker Street. Follett, Foster & Co. 1863.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860. By Follett, Foster & Co., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of Ohio

DEDICATION.

TO THE

RAILROAD MEN OF THE UNITED STATES,

A CLASS

WITH WHOM MY INTERESTS WERE LONG IDENTIFIED, AND WHO I EVER FOUND GENEROUS AND BRAVE, I DEDICATE THIS UNPRETENDING VOLUME.

THE AUTHOR.

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.

CONTENTS.

Page Running in a Fog, 11 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 Brakeman, 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, 161 A Bad Bridge, 169 A Warning, 177 Singular Accidents, 185 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.

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 traveling.

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 roseate hues--rising higher, it would tip the mountain-tops with its glory--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 daybreak. 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 _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 necessarily 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 consisted 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 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 astonished even me, almost "native and to the manor born." Every thing passed off right. I had "made up" seven minutes of my time, and was within ten miles of my journey'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 tension, so I resolved to run the remaining ten miles at whatever 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 straining 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. I was used to that, and the rules bore me out; besides, I wanted to win for my 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 whistle-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, 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.

Several times during my life I have felt the emotions so often told of, so seldom felt by any man, when, with 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, watching 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 to unroll, the tinkle of the bell for the starting of which I seemed to hear; the first sad scene, the opening crash of which was sickening my soul with terror and blinding 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 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 engineers, 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 myself 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 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 inexorable. 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 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 engine. I might as well have thrown out a fish-hook and line, and tried to stop by 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 smiling, romping darlings home again; doomed, though, to caress only a mangled, crushed, and stiffened 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 superhuman 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 in safety! I never run an engine over that road afterwards. 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.

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 lengthened, 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 procession of destruction. I, myself, never had a collision 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 thirty-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 collision 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 several minutes I was confined there, I essayed to breathe, I inhaled a compound of flour, dust, hot steam and choking 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 tender 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 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 light, 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 conductor 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 didn't know. He had in his pocket, to be sure, a half a dozen torpedoes, given to him expressly for such emergencies, 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 matter. But this fellow was too big a fool for that even. He turned from me and made towards his own train, bellowing 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-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 horrible pummeling, and the blinding smoke and scalding steam added to the misery of my position. I really began 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 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.