The Wreck of the Old 97

On the 29th day of one November morning

When the cloud was hangin' low

97 pulled out from Washington city

Like an arrow shot from the bow

97 was the fastest mail train

The South had ever seen

And it run from New York by the way of Washington

Through Atlanta down in New Orlean (sic)

I was standing on the mount one cold and frosty morning

Watching the smoke from below

That were comin' from the funnel of that black and dusty engine

Way down up on that Southern road

It was 97, the fastest mail train

That run the Southern line

And when she pulled in, at Lynchburg, Virginia

She was forty-seven minutes behind

Steve Brady, he was an engineerah (sic)

And a very brave man was he

Well, there're many good men have lost their life

For the railroad company

When they give him his orders at Monroe, Virginia

Said, "Steve, you's way behind.

This is not 38, but it's old 97, You must put her in Spencer on time."

Steve, he smiled when he said to his black and dusty fireman

"Throw me in a little more coal

And as soon as we cross this White Oak Mountain

You can watch my driver roll."

It was mighty rough road from Lynchburg to Danville

The line on a 3-mile grade

It were on that hill where he lost his average

You can see what a jump he made

Steve come down that hill makin' 90 miles an hour

His whistle began to scream

Steve was found in the wreck with his hand upon the throttle

And scalded to death by the steam

Steve, he had a little wife and also two children

Who were lyin' at home in bed

They received the sad message saying, "Husband and father

Now'm is lyin' in North Danville, dead."

Now, ladies, you ought to let this be a warning

This, from now and on

Never speak hard words to your true lovin' husband

They may leave you and never return