"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_."