Marshall County Republican. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1856-1878, 1878-11-14

THE
GHOST ON THE TRACK.
A TRUE SKETCH.
BY ELLEr DEAN.

"How strangely a mans calling
stamps itself on his person and man.
ners!" This mental reflection was
made as sat one night with my
friend, Jim Nelson, over glass OF
toddy, in his coy room at the Grand
Union Hotel, New York. Jim Nelson
was as fine specimen Of thu railroad
engineer as one would wish to see.
Tall, broad hearty. voiced,
be was always welcome addition to
any circle. His eyes were dark and
handsome, and seemed to glow with
a frank aed winning light. 1.-the as
a panther, he walked with an elastic
grace as II the earth yielded to his
tread. There was hint OF his match
less physical strength in the clasp OF
his slender, nervous hands which
closed on yours with al seconscioI Is
but powerful grip.
Jim was proud to be known as the
driver OF the crack engine on his line.
leading into New York, and bad re-
peatedly received the annual medal
OF honor for making the most correct
time on the road.
A favored gallant among the bright
eyed girls along his "run." lavish
with his money, full OF manliness. aid
whole souled to the last degree, 1t is
not strange that he was the pet Of the
boys and the lion at all their social
gatherings.
Our talk had turned on matters
connected with the road la which were
rehearsed the wonderful feats OF his
pet engine, Lady Bird OF which he
was as proud as IL she had been a
thing of life. and responsive to his
affection.
Il suppose, Jim, you have some
strange thoughts" said /, "as you
dash over the rails in the darkness,
with the lives of hundreds depending
on the quickness OF your eye and the
steadiness OF your hand?'
"Yes," replied he, @if there is any
thing that will make man feel solemn
1t is running an engine on lightning
express, through the blackness OF q
winters night, when ali che world
seems to have sunk into space and
left your train alone on the stretch of
cleaning rails that the headlight
shows before you. I can't think of
anything more ticklish unless 1t were
skating over the bridge AL Sirat into
the Moslem Paradise. We engineers
see some queer things. too." he con-
tinued, with a nervous glance ever
his shoulder.
"Ah!" ] replied. seeing story COM
ing but willing he should tell it his
own way, "Yes, suppose so.'
AS you know, Jake, I am no be-
lever In ghosts. but in the winter
Of '56, / saw one, or II 1t wasn't a
spook, d-m me IL I know what to
call it. was driving the fastest
engine on our road at that time, and
my train was the last night express
into New York. Thsre was long
tunnel which we struck a little after
midnight, and tell you, old fellow
it was 'skeery' place, even In day
light"
zone Tuesday night Git was about
the blackest night ever remember
to have SEEM as we dashed up to the
approach OF the tunnel. and just as
laid my hand on the throttle to sound
the usual signal, there stood full IL
the glare thrown by the headlight, q
tall woman framed In the black arch
OF the tunnel. She was in q night
dress only, but for the glorious veil
OF black hair that swept nearly to hel
feet as did the Lady Godiva's. Hel
hands were raised and exten dec
towards me, with the palms turned
outward. as though In slight recoi
!, from the expected shock. It was bu
the work OF an instant to whistl,
down brakes and reverse the engine
but with horror that turned m,
deathly sick, / knew that 1t was toe
late. told my fireman in few .brok
en- words what had happened, aud o.
. soon as the engine stopped, we seizee
our lanterns and sprang to the ground
Running backwards along the track
we met the alarmed conductor and ;
9 score of frightened passengers, who
! on being told what had happened
joined In the search.