But willin’ hands doin’ all they would, couldn’t rize tons offen him;
Bill stood thar, brave man that he was, as the hours went slowly by,
Seemin’ to feel, if the rest wur scared, he was perfectly willin’ to die.
Just before daylight looked over the trees, they brought poor Bill to the fire,
And done the best they could for him in a place that was all mud and mire;
But they done no good, ’twant no use; he had seen his last of wrecks;
And thar by the fire that lit up his brave face, poor Bill passed in his checks.
When they raised old 258 again, the story she did tell
Was that the hero in her cab had done his duty well;
They found her lever thrown hard, her throttle open wide,