OGDEN, UTAH.—Named after Peter Ogden, an attache of the Hudson Bay Co., who lived in this vicinity in the (18) thirties.[(Back to Content)]
APPENDIX IV.
Paddy Miles' Ride.
The following is taken verbatim from a prominent newspaper of 1869, and is a very excellent illustration of the style of writing prevalent at that time.
Mr. Miles, or "Paddy" as he was familiarly called, was foreman to the Casement Brothers, who laid the track of the Union Pacific Railroad. One morning, Paddy started down Echo Canon with a long train of flat cars, sixteen in number, loaded with ties and iron rails for the road below Echo City, where were then, as now, the station, switches, etc. The reader will remember that, from the divide to the mouth of Echo Canon is heavy grade, no level space on which cars would slack their speed.
The train had proceeded but a few miles down the canon, going at a lively rate, when the engineer discovered that the train had parted, and four loaded cars had been left behind. Where the train parted the grade was easy, hence that portion attached to the locomotive had gained about half a mile on the stray cars. But when discovered, they were on heavy grade and coming down on the train with lightning speed. What was to be done? The leading train could not stop to pick them up, for, at the rate of speed at which they were approaching, a collision would shiver both trains, destroying them and the lives of those on board.
There were two men, Dutchmen, on the loose cars, who might put on the brakes, and stop the runaway. The whistle was sounded, but they heard it not; they were fast asleep, behind the piles of ties. On came the cars, fairly bounding from the track in their unguided speed, and away shot the locomotive and train. Away they flew, on, around curves and over bridges, past rocky points and bold headlands; on with the speed of the wind, but no faster than came the cars behind them.
"Let on the steam," cried Paddy, and with the throttle chock open, and wild terrible screams of the whistle, the locomotive plunged through the gorge, the mighty rocks sending back the screams in a thousand ringing echoes.
"Off with the ties," shouted Paddy, once more, as the whistle shouted its warning to the station men to keep the track straight and free, for there was no time to pause—that terrible train was close on to them, and if they collided, the canon would have a fearful item added to its history. On went the train past the side-tracks, the almost frantic men throwing off the ties, in hopes that some of them would remain on the track, throw off the runaways, and thus save the forward train. Down the gorge they plunged, the terror keeping close by them, leaping along—almost flying, said one, who told us the tale—while the locomotive strained every iron nerve to gain on its dreaded follower. Again the wild scream of the locomotive of "Switches open," rung out on the air and was heard and understood in Echo City. The trouble was surmised, not known, but the switches were ready, and if the leading train had but the distance it could pass on and the following cars be switched off the track, and allowed to spend their force against the mountain side. On shot the locomotive, like an arrow from the bow, the men throwing over the ties until the train was well nigh unloaded, when just as they were close to the curve by which the train arrives at the station, they saw the dreaded cars strike a tie, or something equally of service, and with a desperate plunge rush down the embankment, some fifteen feet, to the little valley, and creek below. "Down breaks," screamed the engine, and in a moment more the cars entered Echo City, and were quietly waiting on the sidetrack for further developments. The excited crowd, alarmed by the repeated whistling, was soon informed of the cause of these screams, and immediately went up the track to the scene of the disaster, to bring in the dead bodies of the unfortunate Dutchmen, who were surely crushed and torn in pieces. When they arrived at the scene of the disaster, they found the poor unfortunates sitting on the bank, smoking their pipes and unharmed, having just woke up. The first they knew of the trouble was when they were pitched away from the broken cars on the soft green sward. The debris of car frames, wheels and ties gave them the first intimation they had received that something was the matter.[(Back to Content)]