The brothers G. are well known to all travelers by the route of
the N. Y. C. R. R. They have been a long time employed there, and
by the traveling public and the company that employ them they are
universally esteemed; but the star of them all, the one most loved
by his companions in toil, respected by travelers, and trusted by
his employers, was Thomas, who met with his death in one of those
calamitous accidents which so frequently mar the career of the railroad
man. I was an eye-witness of the accident, and shall attempt to
describe it.
The day on which it occurred was a glorious summer one; the breeze
wafted a thousand pleasant odors to my senses; the birds sang their
sweetest songs. As I was journeying along the highway between Weedsport
and Jordan, I heard the rumble of the approaching train, and as
from where I was I could get a fair view of the passing train, which
was the fastest on the road and was behind time a few minutes, I
stopped to watch it as it passed. On it came, the sun glancing on the
polished engine as it sped along like the wind. The track where I
had stopped, was crossed by two roads, one of them crossing at right
angles, the other diagonally; between the two crossings there was
a large pile of ties placed, probably eight feet from the track. I
saw the engine, which was running at full speed, pass the pile, when
suddenly, without warning, in a second of time, the cars went piling
and crashing over the bank into a promiscuous heap, crushed into each
other like egg-shells. One of them, a full-sized car, turned a complete
somersault; another was turned once and a half around, and lay with
one end down in the ditch, and the other up to the track, while the
third went crashing into its side. I hitched my horse and ran over to
the scene, expecting, of course, that not a soul would be found alive;
arrived there, I found that no person was killed but poor Tom, and not
over a dozen hurt, although the cars were crowded, and not a seat was
left whole in the cars, which were perfectly riddled. They had already
found Tom's body, which lay under the truck of the first passenger
car, which had been torn out, and one wheel lay on his neck. He had
no need of care, no need of sympathy, for the first crash killed him;
and so with no notice, no warning, no moment for a faintly whispered
good-bye to those he loved, poor Tom passed away to the unknown shore,
leaving many friends to grieve for him.
We got him out, laid him beside the track, and stood solemnly by;
grieving that he, our friend, had gone and left no message for the
wife who idolized him, the brothers who had loved him, or the friends
who so fully appreciated his many noble qualities. While we stood thus
speechless with heartfelt, choking grief, a man came up and asked for
the man who had charge of the train. Some one, I forget who, pointed to
the mangled form of poor Tom and said, "There is all that is mortal of
him." Said the thing--I will not call him man--"Dear me! I'm sorry; I
wanted to find some one to pay for my cow."
It was his cow that had caused the accident, by jumping out against the
baggage car after the engine had passed.
Another singular accident occurred on a road in the State of New York.
An engine, to which something had happened that required a couple
of sticks of wood out on the run-board as fulcrum for a lever, was
passing through a station at full speed, when one of the sticks, that
had carelessly been left outside, fell off and was struck by the end of
the main rod on the backward stroke; impelled backwards by the force
of the blow, it struck a man, standing carelessly beside the track,
full on the side of the head, fracturing his skull, and killing him
instantly.