Things as they are in America, by W. Chambers, 1853.
A WIDE-AWAKE CONDUCTOR.
Dana Krum, one of the conductors on the Erie Railway, was approached before train time by an unknown man, who spoke to him as if he had known him for years. “I say, Dana,” said he, “I have forgotten my pass, and I want to go to Susquehanna; I am a fireman on the road, you know.” But the conductor told him he ought to have a pass with him. It was the safest way. Pretty soon, Dana came along to collect tickets. Seeing his man, he spoke when he reached him. “Say, my friend, have you got the time with you?” “Yes,” said he, as he pulled out a watch, “it is twenty minutes past nine.” “Oh, it is, is it? Now, if you don’t show me your pass or fare, I will stop the train. There is no railway man that I ever saw who would say ‘Twenty minutes past nine.’ He would say, ‘Nine-twenty.’” He settled.
A KID-GLOVED SAMSON.
A correspondent of the Chicago Journal relates the following feat of strength, to which he was witness:—
“On Sunday, about nine o’clock A.M., as the train westward was within three or four miles of Chicago, on the Fort Wayne road, a horse was discovered on the stilt-work between the rails. The train was stopped, and workmen were sent to clear the track. It was then discovered that the body of the horse was resting on the sleepers. His legs having passed through the open spaces, were too short to reach the ground. Boards and rails were brought, and the open space in front of the horse filled up, making a plank road for him in case he should be got up, and by means of ropes one of his fore feet was raised, and there matters came to a halt. It seemed that no strength or stratagem could avail to release the animal. Levers of boards were splintered, and the men tugged at the ropes in vain, when a passenger,
who was looking quietly on, stepped forward, leisurely slipped off a pair of tinted kids, seized the horse by the tail, and with tremendous force hurled him forward on the plank road. No one assisted, and, indeed, the whole thing was done so quickly that assistance was impossible. The horse walked away looking foolish, and casting suspicious side-glances towards his caudal extremity. The lookers-on laughed and shouted, while the stranger resumed his kids, muttering something about the inconvenience of railway delays, lit a cigar, and walked slowly into the smoking car. He was finely formed, of muscular appearance, was very fashionably dressed, wore a moustache and whiskers of an auburn or reddish colour, and to all questions as to who he was, only answered that he was a Pennsylvanian travelling westward for his health. The horse would certainly weigh at least twelve hundred.”
A RAILWAY TRAIN TURNED INTO A MAN-TRAP.
A branch of the Bombay presidency runs through a wild region, the inhabitants of which are unsophisticated savages, addicted to thievery. The first day the line was opened a number of these Arcadians conspired to intercept the train, and have a glorious loot. To accomplish their object they placed some trunks of trees across the rails; but the engine driver, keeping a very sharp look out, as it happened to be his first trip on the line in question, descried the trunks while yet they were at a considerable distance from him. The breaks were then put on, and when the locomotive had approached within a couple of feet of the trunks it was brought to a standstill. Then, instantaneously, like Roderick Dhu’s clansmen starting from the heather, natives, previously invisible, swarmed up on all sides, and, crowding into the carriages, began to pillage and plunder everything they could lay their hands upon. While they were thus engaged, the guard gave the signal to the driver, who at once reversed his engine and put it to the top of its speed. The reader may judge of the consternation of the robbers when they found themselves whirled backwards at a pace that rendered escape impossible. Some poor fellows that attempted it were killed on the spot.
—Central India Times, June 22, 1867.