Part 4

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. Sometimes 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 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 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 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 distinctness, 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. Horrid 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 punishment 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 damnable deed. I think I could coolly and without compunction tread the drop to launch such a being to eternity; for surely no good influence that earth affords would be sufficient to reclaim such a man from the damnable depravity of his nature. Surely a man capable of such a deed, is a born fiend fit only for the abiding place of the accursed 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 convulsive 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.

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 particularly 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 controlled 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 up on seven feet wheels. From the circumstance of their being planked between the spokes of their "drivers," 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 capable 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 thorough overhauling, fixing her valves for the express purpose of running fast, and making many alterations in minor 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 "astonish 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 connected 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 approach 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, ordered by the conductor, put on the brakes, impeding our speed somewhat, but not stopping us, for we were on a heavy down grade, and Wash. had her "wide open," and working steam at full stroke. At last the conductor came over and begged Wash. not to run so fast, for the passengers were half scared out of their 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 the baggageman, but away we went without them to O., 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 I'd known that, the confounded dispatch never should have passed me!_"

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."

"Hi White," as he was familiarly called, was an engineer on the same road with me. He has been running there for over ten years, and, although Hi is one of those mad wags who are never so happy as when "running a rig" on some of their cronies, he was universally 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 morning call under difficulties." Hi used to run the Morning Express, or, as it was called, the "Shanghæ 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 engine 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 onslaught, 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 injured 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 rumination, i. e. taking a new chew of tobacco), was, "What's the matter?" This question was screamed to Hi, with the different intonations of the various members of the family. Hi coolly surveyed the frightened group and replied, "Matter--nothing is the matter. I only thought I would call on you this morning, and pray," said he, with the most winning politeness, "_don't put yourself to any trouble on my account_."

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 complicated. 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 most of the 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 thing 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 are 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 numerous.

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 "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 we 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 saying, "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 well," says 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 needed 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 "reporting" 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 appointed, 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 papers. 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 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 committee" 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 doctors 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.

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 circumstances of which I was familiar, and which I will relate.

George Dean was one of the most accomplished and thorough engineers that I ever knew. He was running 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 considerably behind; so I had to wait for him. Just before George arrived at the station, he had to cross a bridge of about 200 feet span; it was 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 coming; 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 turned 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, 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 behind 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 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 tender and the driving-wheel of the engine, and apparently 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.