The morning of the third day after my departure from home found me seated at breakfast in the large hotel at Corning, N. Y., which stands within a few steps of the Corning and Blossburg railway-station. From the conversation going on around me, I inferred that several of the guests besides myself were going by the Blossburg train, but I could not see the point of the landlord's jokes on the subject, which, however, appeared to be fully understood and heartily appreciated by my neighbors. He laughed and chuckled, and repeatedly wished us all patience and perseverance to carry us safely through the trials in store for us; and when we started in a body for the station, he followed us to the door and called out that he would be sure to have a nice hot supper of beefsteak and fried potatoes awaiting us on our return.
The train comprised only the engine and a few coal-cars, one passenger-car, and two smaller cars for luggage. Altogether, it looked very shabby and old-fashioned in comparison with the luxurious appointments of the trains upon the more important lines; but the way was short and the passengers were few, so that the accommodations were as good as we had a right to expect.
The travelers consisted of eight or ten sportsmen equipped with rifles and other accoutrements; two young men, one of them a lawyer, the other a merchant (as I discovered from their conversation); an elderly gentleman, evidently of wealth and position, whom the young lawyer addressed as "Judge;" a middle-aged widow from Chicago; a brisk little milliner on her way back to some Pennsylvania village with the latest fashions from New York; and myself, a lively girl just out of school. There was also a negro huddled up in the farthest corner of the car, whose business it was to attend to the fire.
At eleven o'clock the train started with a great jerk, and crept slowly out of the town. The motion was very disagreeable; the seats were hard; the air was stuffy, and became after a while almost unbearable from the accumulated breaths and the dry heat of the stove, into which the negro was continually thrusting more coal. The hunters, in the forward part of the car, exchanged remarks now and then: the rest of us read newspapers and looked out of the windows at the monotonous winter landscape. Wondering at the snail's pace at which we moved, I recalled the landlord's mysterious jokes, and at last ventured to ask the little milliner, who sat in the next seat to mine, what he meant by his allusions. "Oh, it was nothing," she replied; "only this is an old road, and there have been so many break-downs on it that Mr. Smith likes to make fun of all the Blossburg passengers."
"But is anything the matter now?" I asked.
"No: we always creep along this way. You see, the distance is only eighteen miles, or nobody could stand it. I always feel as though I should fly out of my skin the whole way; but, after all, it is better than a stage in cold weather. They are going to build a new road soon."
She had scarcely finished speaking when the train, which had been moving more and more slowly, came to a dead stop. There was no station in sight, nor any house or other sign of human occupation. We were in the woods: a high hill was close against us on one side, and on the other a steep embankment went down to the shore of a rapid stream that ran through the valley. After waiting several minutes in vain for the train to move on, one of the hunters went out to see what was the matter, and came back laughing with the news that a piece had fallen out of the bottom of the boiler, so that the water had put out the fire, and there was no chance of our getting any farther until the boiler was mended. Whereupon all the men rushed out to watch the progress of affairs, and remained away for a time that seemed to us an age. At last they came dropping back, one after another, each later arrival bringing more encouraging news of the prospect of a speedy start, until finally the same hunter who had announced the disaster appeared, saying that it was all right and we should now go ahead. In the profound stillness of the forest we could hear the hissing of the steam, and presently came the welcome whistle; then two or three pantings of the engine and that preparatory jarring of the whole train which precedes its regular motion, and then all was still again. The same impatient hunter went out again, and returned—this time not laughing—to inform us that as soon as the water had begun to boil the hole had broken open again, and put out the fire as before. Again all the men rushed out: even the half-torpid negro in the corner became excited and followed the procession of males, while we "womanites" waited in patience for the sequel of the calamity.
It was now three o'clock in the afternoon, and the short winter day was drawing near its close. The frequent opening and shutting of the door had replaced the heavy atmosphere with a stream of cold air, at first very refreshing, but soon uncomfortably cool, especially as the stove had for some time ceased to give out heat, the negro, with the improvidence that characterizes his race, having burned up the fuel as fast as possible, without taking into account the probability of detention. We began, too, to be dreadfully hungry, and not one of us had brought any lunch, as we had fully expected to arrive at the end of the railway-journey by dinner-time. To crown our miseries, the sky, which had lowered above us gray and heavy all day, began to relieve itself in a thick fall of snow.
The widow vented her discomfort in a monotonous grumble; the cheery little milliner, who knew the road of old, kept up a hopeful prophesying that we should come out all right; as for myself, I was young enough to enjoy anything in the shape of an adventure, although this part of our experience began after a time to seem rather tedious.
At last we heard our fellow-passengers approaching, all talking together and apparently much excited. They brought bad news. The old engine could not be properly mended, and it was useless to try to fire up again; we had come only six miles, and it was twelve miles farther to the nearest station; the conductor and engineer had decided to go on, to prevent the evening train from starting, and to obtain another engine to remove our train; but considering the distance they must go, and the heavy storm that was coming on, they could not probably get back before morning. So there we were, on a high ridge of road just wide enough to hold the track; a mountain on one side of us and a deep river on the other; no house in sight, and no way of getting at it if there had been one; our fire gone out; nothing to eat or drink; night coming on, and the snow falling as it seems to me I never saw it fall before or since.