I am not, nor was I ever, superstitious. I do not believe in dreams,
signs, witches, hobgoblins, nor in any of the rest of that ilk with
which antiquated maidens were in olden time used to cheer the drooping
spirits of childhood, and send us urchins off to our bed, half scared
to death, expecting to see some horrid monster step out from every
corner of the room, and in unearthly accents declare his intention to
"grind our bones for coffee," or do something else equally horrid,
the contemplation of which was in an equal degree unfitted to render
our sleep sound or our rest placid. Somehow the visitors from the
other world, that children used to be told of, were never pretty nor
angelic, but always more devilish than any thing else. But in these
days, this has changed; for the ghosts in which gullible people
deal now, are preëminently silly things. They use their superhuman
strength in tumbling parlor furniture about the rooms, and in drumming
on the floors and ceilings of bed-rooms. The old proverb is, that
"every generation grows weaker and wiser." In this respect, however,
we have reversed the proverb; for a great many have grown stronger
in gullibility and weaker in intellect, else we would not have so
many spiritualists who wait for God and His angels to thump out their
special revelations, or else tumble a table about the room to the tune
of A B C.
I have known, as have many, probably all of my readers, a great many
people who professed to have the firmest faith in dreams and signs,
who were always preadmonished of every event by some supernatural
means, and who invariably are looking out for singular events when they
have been visited by a singular dream. I have never believed in these
things, have always laughed at them, and do so still. Yet there is one
circumstance of my life, of this kind, that is shrouded in mystery,
that I cannot explain, that I know to be so, and yet can scarcely
believe, when a warning was given to me somehow, I know not how, that
shook me and influenced me, despite my ridicule of superstition and
disbelief in signs or warnings of any kind; so that I heeded it, and,
by so doing, saved myself from instant death, and saved also many
passengers who, had they known of the "warning" which influenced me to
take the steps which I did, would have laughed at me, and endeavored
to drive me on. The facts are briefly as follows--I tell them, not
attempting to explain them, nor offering any theory concerning
them--neither pretending that angels or devils warned me, and only
knowing that it was so:
I was running a Night Express train, and had a train of ten cars--eight
passenger and two baggage cars--and all were well loaded. I was behind
time, and was very anxious to make a certain point; therefore I was
using every exertion, and putting the engine to the utmost speed
of which she was capable. I was on a section of the road usually
considered the best running ground on the line, and was endeavoring to
make the most of it, when a conviction struck me that I must stop. A
something seemed to tell me that to go ahead was dangerous, and that I
must stop if I would save life. I looked back at my train, and it was
all right. I strained my eyes and peered into the darkness, and could
see no signal of danger, nor any thing betokening danger, and there
I could see five miles in the daytime. I listened to the working of
my engine, tried the water, looked at the scales, and all was right.
I tried to laugh myself out of what I then considered a childish
fear; but, like Banquo's ghost, it would not down at my bidding, but
grew stronger in its hold upon me. I thought of the ridicule I would
have heaped upon me, if I did stop; but it was all of no avail. The
conviction--for by this time it had ripened into a conviction--that I
must stop, grew stronger, and I resolved to stop; and I shut off, and
blew the whistle for brakes, accordingly. I came to a dead halt, got
off, and went ahead a little way, without saying any thing to anybody
what was the matter. I had my lamp in my hand, and had gone about sixty
feet, when I saw what convinced me that premonitions are sometimes
possible. I dropped the lantern from my nerveless grasp, and sat down
on the track, utterly unable to stand; for there was a switch, the
thought of which had never entered my mind, as it had never been used
since I had been on the road, and was known to be spiked, but which
now was open to lead me off the track. This switch led into a stone
quarry, from whence stone for bridge purposes had been quarried, and
the switch was left there, in case stone should be needed at any time;
but it was always kept locked, and the switch-rail spiked. Yet here it
was, wide open; and, had I not obeyed my preadmonition--warning--call
it what you will--I should have run into it, and, at the end of the
track, only about ten rods long, my heavy engine and train, moving at
the rate of forty-five miles per hour, would have come into collision
with a solid wall of rock, eighteen feet high. The consequences, had I
done so, can neither be imagined nor described; but they could, by no
possibility, have been otherwise than fatally horrid.
This is my experience in getting warnings from a source that I know not
and cannot divine. It is a mystery to me--a mystery for which I am very
thankful, however, although I dare not attempt to explain it, nor say
whence it came.