Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 June 1890 — DOWN BRAKES. [ARTICLE]

DOWN BRAKES.

“We were delayed at White River junction a&d we were booming right along across the lower meadows to make up time. I did not like the looks of the black river along both Bides of the track. You know how high the water is, stranger? Well, I tell you it looked wrathy last night.” Carlyle stopped speaking and lighted a fresh match, but I observed he let it burn out in his fingers as the intensity of his strange experience assumed 6way over him. -‘Well,” he resumed, “we were just thundering down grade on the big flats this side of Russell’s cut The steam was screaming right out of the safety valve the moment I shut her off. 1 did not ask for brakes, but let her buzz. As soon as I saw the straight stretch, all clear, as I thought, 1 even clapped heron again and let her run as if she was climbing for grade a mile and a half away. I tell you we just flew. Now, there is a stone culvert running right out of the bottom of the straight mile just as you begin to climb. lam always afraid of it Suddenly, as sure as I’m telling it, I saw a woman, as if in her night clothes, just this side of the little bridge. Jim saw her. too, and shouted to me, “Shut off, for God’s sake!’ But I did not, though I blew, for the woman had no signal lantern. The next moment I found myself shutting off, because it would be just like a woman not to take a lantern to wave to us even if she wanted to stop us, and as true as heaven if she was not lifting her hand up t.hi» way. She never stirred at the whistle or the belL” Here the man sprang from his chair and raised his right arm on high in a tragic attitude to show me the gesture that the figure on the track had assumed. I will confess that it rather chilled my blood to see him so realistic. Poor wretch, it was all real to him. His wife got clear out of her chair and caught hold of his upraised arm, and his pretty little daughter, who sat on the other side of the table, her brown eyes wide open, came and clung to the other arm, crying, “Papa, papa" and kissed the horny member cheeringly. “You may be surp of a shut-off then,” he said, and he remained standing, “and Iwhistled down brakes, and God help us, the woman did not move! Jim and I shut our eyes; I threw the lever clean back, and the old engine fairly slid over the damp rails. On we went straight •ver the spot where the woman stood. The last thing I saw in the flash of the headlight before I shut my eyes, and I shall always say it to my dying day that I did see it, was the pretty face of the woman all in white, kind of pleading with us as she held her hand up, so. A kind face it was, too, as if it meant to do us good, and, my God. we had killed her!” The man was so overcome for a moment that the tears started in his eyes- . We all sat in a sort of spell waiting for him to recover himself. After a time he resumed: “Well, after about an age, as it seemed to us, the old train stopped, Jim and I got down and looked all over the engine, but there was nothing, not a rag and no blood. We searched everywhere. The water was within four feet of the rail on both sides of the embankment, and though we held our lanterns and torches along out over the black and hateful flood to see if she had been tossed into the water, there was not a sign of her. When got back to the bridge the water was boiling to get through. So we gave up looking and climbed aboard the • train, and clapped steam to her and came home all right. That was last Friday night.” “No, it was JatuMay, ” said his wife. “It was Friday, ” reasserted the engineer. “Saturday night I saw it again at the same place.” “You did not tell me that you had seen this apparition twice,” cried his wife. “You shall never go over the road again until the floods are over, ” and her arms were about him in a minute. “Now, what do you say to that?” he demanded of toe. “And you went through the performance, stopping and going back on Saturday, tip same as on Friday night?” I asked. “Just the same.” “And you found *fl|hing?” “Nothing and nobody, only the bridge was in a worse condition, and the river roared worse than on Friday, and it will be worse every day from now until the White mountains have shed * their snows. • <Father, ” said the wife. * 'promise me you’ll not go over the road again. ” * ‘But I must go my next run. I have told the superintendent that I was able to go, and I have got my living to earn.” Then there followed a long altercation of love. I said nothing, but left the family to settle It among themselves. The upshot of the matter wap that he p.-om; hsed his wife h i would Hue Lb- ::e. : -un, and after that he would “*ioo ;

off,” as he expressed it, until the floods were over. I well remember the Monday night when this conscientious fellow took his engine. His wife and little daughter walked to the depot with him. They clung to him and kissed him. “This is the last, Mary,” he said. “Now, don't make such a fool of yourself. Why, if you feel this way after I have taken this run, 1 will give up my place. My health has not been very good, and my kidneys are kind of shaken up, and I will take what little money I’ve got and we will go and buy a farm.” That night the train rumbled on its way toward that fateful bridge. There was no wan figure, but there were the angry waters, then there was a crash! The bridge had gone. Poor Tom Carlyle under his engine, and on top of it was a freight car loaded with salt and the debris of splintered box cars beside it Carlyle’s face was in front of the furnace, He was uninjured, but was roasting alive. Every effort was made to extract him, but in vain. I well remember the boards we tore from a neighboring fence to thrust between his face and that furnace, But the boards in front were soon aflame, The last words we heard him say were: “Good-by. Give them my love. I’m going to buy a farm,” I, who write these facts, know them to be true, but what the explanation is Ido not know. The fireman escaped uninjured, and I presume is in the service to this day and can testify to these facts.