The Long Trains Roll

The run was going smoothly. The K4 was putty in my hands, and I was nearing 70 mph. The young man was disappointed that he had to ride the observation car for the rest of the trip, but he knew that if I was caught giving him a ride in the cab, it could cost me my job.

We were sweeping around the famous Horseshoe Curve on the outermost of the quadruple tracked main lines. Mindful of the warning I received in Altoona this morning,  I took the reverse lever in both hands and began to move it back a couple of notches at a time. As I squeezed the handhold to raise the cogs out of the teeth of the quadrant, I felt a jerking motion that threatened to pull the bar out of my hand. I figured that due to lack of lubrication, the piston valve was dragging on the cylinder wall. As long as the cogs remained seated in the teeth of the quadrant, the trouble was now serious.

Going by the little station of Gallitzin, the train was traveling over 75 mph. From here it was downhill almost all the way to the next town. The engine sensed the downgrade and continued to gain speed.

Because of the unsymmetrical loading on the drive wheels. true counterbalancing could be achieved only at a certain number of revolutions per minute. The K4 would run quite smoothly up to around 75. However, the vibration at 85 became so pronounced that unless an engineer bent his knees and stood on his toes, the action would actually give him double vision.

The roadbed had just been re-ballasted, and the track was straight as an arrow. I counted on this stretch to help me make up for lost time. Looking back, I could see the train was trailing straight and riding level. Strange as it may seem, many steam locomotives actually run faster down hill at two-thirds throttle than with a full throttle. This is due to the fact that beyond a certain number of revolutions per minute, the wide open throttle admitted more steam that the valves could exhaust. The resulting back pressure actually reduces the effective power.

I eased off to about two-thirds throttle. Going down hill, the heavy train was no longer a burden and the engine began to build up a terrific speed and I just let her roll.

There was a steel girder bridge at the bottom of the hill with a curve about 600 feet beyond. Normally, I would begin to apply the brakes about 1/2 mile from the curve. This day, I was going faster than usual and when I was a mile from the bridge, I took hold of the brake valve to start the application. At that instant, vibration caused the cog to bounce out of the teeth no the quadrant. The reverse lever became free to move and the dragging valve slammed it into the forward corner.** The engine reared up on one side and there was a loud bang. The boiler began to pitch up and down violently and the cab began to lunging from side to side. I threw the brake valve into emergency and braced myself so that I could lean out to see what had happened. The main rod had torn loose from the crosshead and was gyrating around crazily, knocking off steam pipes, air tanks, running boards, and anything else that got in its path. A piece of piping sailed through the front window of the cab and I ducked behind the backhead. In the midst of this pandemonium, I saw one possibility for survival. The lead trucks were still on the tracks and as long as they guided the engine there was hope. Glancing over to my fireman, I saw him balanced on the window of the cab with his knees riding on the armrest. It was 45 feet to the bottom of the fill and large rocks lined the banks. If he jumped at this speed it would be certain death.

"Don't jump!" I shouted. But my voice was completely lost in the chaos around me.

Steam from bursting pipes began to fill the cab. I fought my way over to the fireman's side and grabbed him by the waist. He seemed welded in that position. With a mighty jerk, I pulled him loose and we both rolled down onto the deck. The locomotive was still going over 80, and I hit my head on the engineer's seat box. Then, the world went dark.