Classic Poem

They called for a train crew at Paintsville,
On a night that was rainy and drear,
And the men started out at the summons
With no thought of the danger so near.

The engineer mounted the engine,
And his fireman was close by his side.
He laughed as he opened the throttle,
And prepared for his last fatal ride.

The flagman waved them his signal
As they paused at the switch light so bright;
And with one final shriek of the whistle
The train headed west in the night.

There were only three men on that " shifter "
Many nights they had worked this same crew;
And poor Walter threw open the throttle
With a hand that was steady and true.

The fireman leaned out of the window,
Watched the sparks from the great drivers fly;
They pulled on the switch and took siding
To let old Thirty-Nine thunder by.

Through the switch, up the main line they started
With their minds on the work to be done;
Gathered cars full of coal from the tipples
With no thought they were on their last run.

They were only eight miles out of Paintsville,
On the Hunnicut Curve, so 'tis said;
When the engine she rocked and she trembled
And then slipped to the deep river bed.

But the brakeman he leaped from the wreckage
And he climbed over slippery coal.
He found Walter still at the throttle,
With a prayer on his lips growing cold.

Now you brave railroad men all take warning,
Make your peace now with God, don't delay.
Let Him strengthen your hand on the throttle,
For it may be your last run today.