A LOCOMOTIVE ENGINEERESS
By Bella Lee Dunkinson
Frank Leslies POPULAR
MONTHLY June, 1888
IN
glancing over some discarded jewels of earlier years the other
day, the memory of a daring girlish exploit in the Cumberland
Mountains of Tennessee became vivid, designed to be perpetuated
by the little coral necklace, yet cherished, given to me by the
miners of that region for what they were pleased to consider as
a timely and providential exhibition of presence of mind, while
in reality it was only one of those strange freaks occurring in
the lives of us all, and which may be ascribed to the accidental
or miraculous.
The act commemorated by this souvenir
of those rough and hardy men of toil was in my being called upon
to take command of a locomotive drawing a heavy train up the circuitous
slopes of that range, under circumstances, as I view them now,
quite interesting and startling. The facts were these: At the
time when sectional feeling ran high in the Border States, just
before the outbreak of the Civil War, many Northern families went
to Western Tennessee to assist in opening the mining industries
of that rich region, which promised very large returns for those
who embarked effort and capital. When I say many, I mean in proportion
to the sparse population scattered over the mountain slopes. Those
who went there were generally venturesome spirits, fond of the
semi-wild life "way up" in that summit world; but they
were not near enough together to found any intersocial relations,
for activity, ceaseless by day and by night, reigned in each little
mining hamlet, and the young of both sexes were as enthusiastic
in the solution of all physical problems in the subterranean galleries
as the wise heads and sturdy arms directing the operations for
gain. What, therefore, were the opportunities of a young girl
gifted with a light heart and a sound digestion, in the way of
everyday enjoyment? Sunday-schools, crochet parties, roistering
hops, tea and slander combined, musings over the fashionable poet
of the daythese and many other forms of distraction for
the average village maid were impossible. Even had social intercourse
been possible with the native inhabitantsbarred, of course,
by the hostility prevailing against all those of Northern birth
and proclivitiesthere was little to tempt the girl fond
of her piano and the lighter accomplishments taught in our Northern
seminaries. Hence I fell to a wild, outdoor life, following all
the sports there prevailing, and mingling daily with the miners,
talking their lingo, watching them in their daily excavations,
and a personal friend and chum of every one of them. Although,
perhaps, it may seem that this kind of existence was not exactly
in keeping with the strict lines of behavior laid down for the
sex in general, yet I am certain that those years of boundless
freedom and outdoor life, high and low, not only led to a robust
constitution, of great importance in meeting the pestiferous airs
of other climes, but were far more valuable to me than any experiences
in the polished circles subsequently had in different countries
of the world. Dolls, toys, baby paraphernalia, girlish amusements
of all sorts, I chose to discard, and, true, to the narrative,
I had an ambition to be a man to be like one of those heroines
so powerfully drawn by "Ouida." So it happened that
among other habits which I formed was to ride almost daily on
the locomotives which hauled the trains up and down the mountain-sides
over heavy grades and around sharp curves, and in this way I became
a favorite, and not unfrequently a useful, assistant of the engine-drivers.
And often it was, too, that I handled the, machinery, proudly
directing the iron horse on its upward or downward flight between
the railway termini. This roadbed ran from Cowans Station
in the valley, up a distance of twenty-five miles, to the very,
mouth of the mines.
On one of these trips up to the deep
shaft which formed the entrance to the mines occurred my most
dramatic experience in those regions, and which came near, being
a tragedy not often paralleled in modern catastrophe or romance.
A train laden with merchandise and lumber
for the miners cabins started on its upward trip from Cowans
Station, one hot evening in August, just as the sun was falling
below the timber of the valleys. As I was to accompany the engineer,
John Hardiman, on the locomotive the regular fireman or stoker
was permitted to remain at his home at the foot of the mountains,
although it was contrary to the rules of the company. We steamed
up the grade with seven cars, a caboose, a single brakeman, and
our unusually heavy load, and the natural duration of the run
was an hour and ten minutes. Presently John said to me: "I'm
afraid, Belle, theres not enough steam in her to carry her
through. Weve a heavy load, sure, and a big storm gatherin.
So if anything happens, you stand by her, and I'll look out for
the track."
We sped on, not at any very encouraging
pace, as both of us could perceive, and John began to pile on
the coal to make more steam, while be intrusted me with the command
of the machinery. All of a sudden there came rapid and vivid flashes
of lightning, followed by terrific peals of thunder, and then
a down-pour of rain such as I had never before witnessed in those
mountains.
Fearing now that we were on a journey
sufficiently perilous, I knew enough to estimate that the added
danger was of no small consequence in driving the engine up steep
grades, around sharp curves, by heavily encumbered sidings, through
a thick, gloomy forest whose overhanging boughs made all progress
through an almost literal tunnel of dripping foliage. Nor were
we long in discovering it was a solemn fact that it was only a
miracle that would prevent us from becoming stationary on the
rails, even if the solitary brakeman at the rear could prevent
us from losing command of the train, in which case it would start
on the inevitable backward and downward journey which might land
us in some deep gulch by jumping the roadbed in all of the horrors
of that terrible stormy night. And among the agonizing features
of the situation was the fact that we were soon unable to tell
whether we were making any progress up the grade or not. The thunder
and pelting storm came in such choral crashes that we were uncertain
whether the wheels beneath us were simply revolving on their axles,
or whether we were in reality going up, for the leafage overhead
was so dense that the lightning was no beacon. But, suddenly,
there was an open space skyward, and the brilliant flashes above
us made John exclaim, "Great God! we are, standing still!"
It was at this moment that the cool-headed
engineer signaled the brakeman to down brakes, and, giving me
encouragement and admonition, jumped from the engine to sand the
track.
As may be imagined, I never felt a greater
responsibility in my life, and, besides, there was something in
the cool confidence with which he trusted in my nerve and discretion,
that I felt it was the proudest moment of my varied existence
in the Cumberland Mountains.
No sooner had he dismounted than I knew
by the flashes in the now perceptible sky that we were moving
down the incline, and that the brakes were powerless to stay the
slow movement backward around the curve. It was, therefore, now
or never to turn on all steam, although the engineer, could not
again ascend, to his station. It was a literal case of make or
break, of life or fearful death.
We must at this momentthe vital
one of the whole rideuse all the steam-power in that boiler
or soon be a wreck down a fearful plunge among the crags and treetops
and watercourses, thousands of feet below. The train was then,
probably, some eight miles from Cowans Station, and I at
once let the engine have all steam, for the fire on the grate
had come to a white heat, and, if sufficient water had been vaporized,
all would be well. There was a momentary lull in the storm, and
I could feel and perceive that the monster locomotive was laboring
to save the train, the big traction-wheels flying around with
frightful rapidity.
Soon I knew they had caught a purchase
on the rails. It was the sand that Hardiman had scattered there
to save us from destruction. We began to move, with loud and stertorous
breathing from the nostrils of the huge machineso often
heard when the locomotive is in powerful exertion to draw a heavy
loadand there I stood, all excitement, as it were, at the
bridle of the engine, bound on a dangerous flight through the
dark mountain forest, uncertain as to where the landing might
yet be, for the curves were abrupt, the ascent steep, and I must
be content with the coal in the fire-box, and cautious in speeding
the train over the shaky trestles and uneven road-bed. But on
went the winding file of wagons with the merchandise for the miners,
and I in supreme command. The principal dangers, perhaps, after
I obtained headway, were the switches and sidings, because in
those days, in Western Tennessee, railroading was a science still
in its infancy.
But on went the train without accident
or serious incident until it rolled up within a few hundred yards
of the mouth of the shaft, where there were many laden cars standing
on the sidings. But there I found more than one hundred of the
miners with their nightlamps flashing in the dark, apprised by
telegraph from below that disaster might occur, and, as I brought
my command to a stand at the very entrance of the shaft, a rousing
cheer was intermingled with the artillery-like thunder; not for
me, but for Hardiman and the safety of their household effects.
But when these honest, brawny fellows gathered about the engine
to invite John Hardiman to a bumper, and they found it was not
he, but their "Belle of the Mines and Mountains," their
enthusiasm was great indeed. And if there be any egotism in relating
this incident happening in those young years of my girlhood, I
am willing to suffer the accusation for the thrilling memories
of that experience, as, I write it for the public eye.
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