Round-about Rambles in Lands of Fact and Fancy

by Frank R. Stockton

At a short distance below the toll-bridge there was a railroad-bridge, which you cannot see in the picture. This bridge was not intended for anything but railroad trains; it was very high above the water, it was very long, and it was not floored. When any one stood on the cross-ties which supported the rails, he could look right down into the water far below him. For the convenience of the railroad-men and others who sometimes were obliged to go on the bridge, there was a single line of boards placed over the ties at one side of the track, and there was a slight hand-rail put up at that side of the bridge.

To save our pennies we used to cross this bridge, and every time we did so we risked our lives.

We were careful, however, not to go on the bridge at times when a train might be expected to cross it, for when the cars passed us, we had much rather be on solid ground. But one day, when we had forgotten the hour; or a train was behind, or ahead of time; or an extra train was on the road—we were crossing this railroad bridge, and had just about reached the middle of it, when we heard the whistle of a locomotive! Looking up quickly, we saw a train, not a quarter of a mile away, which was coming towards us at full speed. We stood paralyzed for a moment. We did not know what to do. In a minute, or less, the train would be on the bridge and we had not, or thought we had not, time to get off of it, whether we went forward or backward.

But we could not stand on that narrow path of boards while the train was passing. The cars would almost touch us. What could we do? I believe that if we had had time, we would have climbed down on the trestle-work below the bridge, and so let the train pass over us. But whatever could be done must be done instantly, and we could think of nothing better than to get outside of the railing and hold on as well as we could. In this position we would, at any rate, be far enough from the cars to prevent them from touching us. So out we got, and stood on the ends of the timbers, holding fast to the slender hand-rail. And on came the train! When the locomotive first touched the bridge we could feel the shock, and as it came rattling and grinding over the rails towards us—coming right on to us, as it seemed—our faces turned pale, you may well believe.

But the locomotive did not run off the track just at that exact spot where we were standing—a catastrophe which, I believe, in the bottom of our hearts, every one of us feared. It passed on, and the train came thundering after it. How dreadfully close those cars did come to us! How that bridge did shake and tremble in every timber; and how we trembled for fear we should be shaken off into the river so far below us! And what an enormously long train it was! I suppose that it took, really, but a very short time to pass, but it seemed to us as if there was no end to it at all, and as if it would never, never get entirely over that bridge!

But it did cross at last, and went rumbling away into the distance.

Then we three, almost too much frightened to speak to each other, crept under the rail and hurried over the bridge.

All that anxiety, that fright, that actual misery of mind, and positive danger of body, to save one cent apiece!

But we never saved any more money in that way. When we crossed the river after that, we went over the toll-bridge, and we paid our pennies, like other sensible people.

Had it been positively necessary for us to have crossed that river, and had there been no other way for us to do it but to go over the railroad bridge, I think we might have been called brave boys, for the bridge was very high above the water, and a timid person would have been very likely to have been frightened when he looked down at his feet, and saw how easy it would be for him to make a misstep and go tumbling down between the timbers.