One cold winter's night, while I was running on the H---- Road, I was
to take the Night Express down the road. The day had been excessively
stormy; the snow had fallen from early dawn till dark, and blown and
drifted so on the track, that all trains were behind time. Especially
was this so on the upper end of the road; the lower end, over which
I was to run, was not so badly blockaded; in fact, on the southern
portion, the storm had been of rain. The train came in three hours
behind, consisting of twenty cars, all heavily loaded with grumbling,
discontented passengers. This was more of a train than I could handle
with my engine, even on the best of rail; but where the rail was
so slippery with snow or ice as it was that night, it was utterly
impossible for me to do any thing with it. So, orders were given for
another engine to couple in with me; and George P----, with the Oneida,
did so.
I was on the lead. George coupled in behind me. We both had fast
"machines;" and in a little quiet talk we had before starting, we
resolved to do some pretty fast running where we could.
The hungry passengers at last finished their meal, it being a
refreshment station; the bell was rang; "all aboard" shouted; and we
pulled out. Like twin brothers those engines seemed to work. Their
"exhausts" were as one, and each with giant strength tugged at the
train. We plowed through the snow, and it flew by us in fleecy,
feathery flakes, on which our lights shone so bright that it seemed as
if we were plunging into a cloud of silver dust. On! on! we rushed; the
few stops we had to make were made quickly; and past the stations at
which we were not to stop, we rushed thunderingly: a jar, a rumble, a
shriek of the whistle, and the glimmering station-lights were away back
out of sight.
At last we were within fourteen miles of the terminus of our journey.
Both engines were doing their utmost, and the long train behind us was
trailing swiftly on. Soon the tedious night-ride would be over; soon
the weary limbs might rest. We were crossing a pile bridge in the
middle of which was a draw. The rising of the water in the river had
lifted the ice, which was frozen to the piles, and thus, I suppose,
weakened the bridge, so that, when our two heavy engines struck it, it
gave away. I was standing at my post, when, by the sudden strain and
dropping of the engine, I knew that we were off the track, but had no
idea of the real nature of the calamity. My engine struck her forward
end upon the abutments of the bridge, knocking the forward trucks from
under her. She held there but an instant of time; but in that instant
I and my fireman sprang upon the runboard, and from thence to the
solid earth. We turned in time to see the two engines go down into the
water, there thirty feet deep; and upon them were piled the baggage,
mail and express cars, while the passenger cars were some thrown from
the track on one side, some on the other. The terrible noise made by
the collision and the hissing made by the cold waters wrapping the
two engines in their chill embrace, deafened and appalled us for an
instant; but the next, we were running back to help the wounded. We
found many wounded and seven dead amidst the wreck of the cars; but
seven more were missing, and among them were six of the railroad men.
After searching high and low, amidst the portion of the wreck on dry
land, we with one accord looked shudderingly down into those black,
chilling waters, and knew that there they lay dead. All night long we
sat there. The wild wintry blasts howled around us; the cold waters
gurgled and splashed amid the wreck; we could hear the wounded groan
in their pains; but we listened in vain for the voices we were wont to
hear. The chill tide, over which the ice was even then congealing anew,
covered them. Mayhap they were mangled in the collision, and their
shriek of pain was hushed and drowned as the icy waters rippled in over
their lips. We almost fancied, when we threw the light of our lanterns
upon the black flood, that we could see their white faces turned up
toward us, frozen into a stony, immovable look of direst fear and
agonizing entreaty.
Morning came, and still we could not reach our friends and comrades.
Days went by before they were found, but when found each man was at his
post. None had jumped or flinched, all went down with the wreck, and
were found jammed in; but their countenances wore no look of fear, the
icy waters that congealed their expression, did not find a coward's
look among them; all wore a stern, unflinching expression that would
have shown you, had you seen them just ere they went down, that they
would do as they did do, stick bravely to their posts, and go down with
the wreck, doing their duty at the cost of their lives.