LUDICROUS INCIDENTS.
There is not often much that is comic on the "rail," but occasionally an incident occurs that brings a loud guffaw from everybody who witnesses it.
I remember once standing by the side of an engine that was switching in the yard. The fellow who was running it I thought, from his actions while oiling, was drunk, so I watched him. He finished oiling, and clambered up on to the foot-board and attempted, in obedience to the orders of the yard-man, to start out. He jerked and jerked at the throttle-lever, but all to no effect; the engine would not budge an inch. I saw from where I stood what was the matter, and although nearly bursting with laughter, I refrained from telling him, but looked on to see the fun. After pulling for at least a dozen times, he bawled out to the yard-man that he couldn't go, and then gave another twitch, but it was of no use; then he stepped back a step or two and looked at the throttle, with a look of the most stupid amazement that I ever saw; his face expressed the meaning of the word "dumbfoundered" completely. At last the fireman showed him what was the matter. It was simply that he had set the thumb-screw on the throttle-lever and neglected to unloose it, in each of his efforts.
Another laughable affair occurred on one of the Eastern roads, I forget which. An engine stood on the switch, all fired up and ready to start; the hands were all absent at dinner. A big black negro, who was loafing around the yard, became exceedingly inquisitive as to how the thing was managed—so up he gets and began to poke around. He threw the engine into the forward gear and gave it steam, of course not knowing what he was doing; but of that fact the engine was ignorant, and at once, like a mettled steed, it sprung to full speed and away it went, carrying the poor darkey an unwilling dead-head ride. He did not know how to stop it, and dare not jump, for, as he himself expressed it, when found, "Gorra mity, she mos flew." The engine of course ran until steam ran down, which was not in fourteen miles, and Mr. Darkey got off and put for the woods. He didn't appear at that station again for over a week. He said that "ef de durn ting had a gon much furder he guessed he'd a bin white folks."
"Ol Long," an old friend of mine, tells a pretty good story about an old white horse that he struck once. Ol says that he was running at about thirty miles an hour, when an old white horse jumped out on the track right in front of the engine, which struck him and knocked him away down into the ditch, where he lay heels up. He of course expected that the horse was killed, and so reported on arriving at the end of the road; but what was his surprise, on returning the next day, to see the self-same old nag quietly eating by the side of the road. Ol says he believes the old fellow did look rather sour at him, but he could not apologize.
EXPLOSIONS.