OVER THE MOUNTAINS.
AS Spring approached, I resolved to take a western tour; and with that
view left Philadelphia in February. For the sake of variety, having
frequently traveled through Pennsylvania, I concluded to go to Pittsburg
_via_ Baltimore, Maryland; Fairmont, in Western Virginia; and Uniontown,
Western Pennsylvania—certainly a circuitous route. I desired to visit
some friends in southwestern Pennsylvania, however, and it was not much
out of my way, after all, to take the Philadelphia and Wilmington, and
Baltimore and Ohio Railroads.
One very cold day, I went from Philadelphia to Baltimore, and at ten
o’clock that night left the latter place on the express train that was
to run through to Wheeling—intending myself to get off at Fairmont.
On this occasion, just after taking a seat in the car, a gentleman sat
down by me, and after regarding my countenance attentively for a moment,
said:
“Pardon me: isn’t your name Smith?”
I pardoned him, as desired, and told him it was.
“First name John?”
There was no denying it, and I replied in the affirmative.
“Delighted to meet you!” he exclaimed, as we shook hands cordially.
“When did you leave Nashville?”
“I never left it,” was my response. “I was never there.”
“No? Then excuse me: you cannot be the gentleman I supposed you,
although your appearance and name strikingly correspond with those of a
person I knew in Nashville a year ago—especially the name. He had also
lost a leg, as you have.”
“A remarkable coincidence,” said I. “In the course of my own travels, I
have met with a great many of me—in name.”
My fellow-traveler was an agreeable and good-humored gentleman, and I
related to him the following anecdote of Doctor B. Frank Palmer, of
Philadelphia, the great manufacturer of artificial limbs. Receiving an
order for a leg from plain John Smith one day, and being in a merry
mood, the Doctor sat down and answered John’s letter thus:
“Look here! What do you mean? I have already furnished you with five
hundred of my patent limbs, and I don’t think the Government allows
you any more. However, I’ll send this one yet, and if you continue
so extravagant in the use of patent legs, I advise you to set up a
manufactory for your own accommodation.” * * *
The Doctor, who has manufactured thousands of artificial limbs for
mutilated soldiers, once jocosely remarked to the writer that he found,
by referring to his books, that John Smith had been literally hacked to
pieces during the war. He had had his right hand cut off; his left hand;
his right arm below the elbow; his left arm below the elbow; his right
arm above the elbow; his left arm above the elbow; his right arm at
shoulder-joint, with skin-flap; his left arm at shoulder-joint, with
skin-flap; his right toes; his left toes; his right foot; his left foot;
his right leg below the knee; his left leg below the knee; his right leg
above the knee; his left leg above the knee; both hands, both arms below
the elbow; both arms above the elbow; both feet; both legs below the
knee; both legs above the knee; the right arm and left leg; the right
arm and right leg; the right arm and both legs; the left arm and right
leg; the left arm and left leg; the left arm and both legs; both arms
and both legs; _et cetera_. All that can remain of him now, it might
well be inferred, is about the size and shape of a sack of wheat, though
far less useful to himself and the world.
The number of plain John Smiths on the Doctor’s book is quite
astounding, to say nothing of the innumerable John A., John B., John C.,
John D., John E., John F., John G., John H., John I., John J., John K.,
John L., John M., John N., John O., John P., John Q., John R., John S.,
John T., John U., John V., John W., John X., John Y., and John Z.,
Smiths!
Things went on very finely through the night of my journey over the
snow-covered mountains of Virginia, and in the morning the train stopped
at Cumberland, on the Potomac, where the passengers took breakfast. Then
we thundered on again among the frosted hills. Within ten miles of
Grafton, Western Virginia, the wheels of the forward truck of the car I
was in, jumped off the track, and went bouncing along on the ties beside
the iron rails, in a way calculated to startle the timid. I sprang from
my seat, seized the bell-cord, and gave it a vigorous pull; but although
I surely made the engine-bell ring, I could see no immediate diminution
in the speed of the train.
I knew that this state of things could not last long before the car
should break to pieces. The stove was soon shaken from its moorings, and
fell over, scattering the fire about and filling the car with smoke and
dust; several of the seats were also shaken loose, a deliberate crashing
was heard; and, glancing around among the passengers, I saw as delicious
a collection of pale faces as I had ever seen. The men all sprang to
their feet, the women screamed, and some raised their windows, as though
to squeeze through and drop out. I raised my window and thrust my arm
out, so that I might thus cling to the side of the car, in case the
floor should be shattered and torn out, as it must soon have been if the
train had not been checked.
At last, the welcome sound of the whistle was heard, the brakes were
applied and the speed of the train began to slacken. Just then, the
axles of the front truck broke, the frame smashed up, and the floor of
the car began to give way. With screams of horror the passengers all
rushed to the rear end of the car; but in another moment, before any
further damage was done or any one hurt, the train came to a full stop.
Then the passengers all rushed out as quickly as possible, as though
there were still danger within, and some of them got their ribs
strained, squeezing through the door. I walked out and examined the
wreck. Up to this time, I had not felt any trepidation; but now, when it
was all over, and I realized what terrible danger we had passed through,
I could not help trembling. Had the train proceeded fifty yards further,
the car we were in must have been torn to pieces, and it would have been
indeed a lucky passenger who would have escaped death or severe injury.
There was one car in the rear of us, and as the wrecked car could not be
moved, the two were left standing, and all the passengers crowded into
the three or four cars in our front. Thus we proceeded to Grafton, where
other cars were added.
The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad is very well conducted, and accidents on
it are not of frequent occurrence. It just chanced to be my luck to
witness this. I heard the conductor say that it was the only accident of
any kind that had happened to his train for three years.
At Fairmont, on the Monongahela river, I got off the train, and took the
stage for Uniontown, which is forty-five miles from the above place.
After spending a few weeks in Fayette county, I went down the
Monongahela river to Pittsburg, intending to remain there a few days,
and learn whether the sun was to be seen there or not.