Ernest Stoneman — The Wreck of the ’97

On a cold frosty morning as I stood on the mountain Watching the smoke from below It was strolling from a tall and slender smokestack Way down on the Southern Railroad It was the '97, the fastest mail train That the South had ever seen But she run too fast on that fatal Sunday evening And the death toll, it numbered sixteen On this cold, frosty morning of which I tell you The ground was covered with snow Old '97 left Washington City Like an arrow shot from a bow They give him his orders at Monroe, Virginia Saying, "Steve, you're way behind time This is not '38, but it's old '97 You must put her in Spencer on time" Well, he looked over at his black, greasy fireman Saying, "Shovel in a little more coal And when we cross little White Oak Mountain You can watch old '97 roll" They were going down grade, making ninety miles-an-hour When his whistle began to scream He was found in the wreck with his hand on his throttle And was scalded to death by the steam Oh, a telegraph come to Washington City And this is what it said "The brave engineer that run Old '97 Is lying in North Danville, dead" Oh its come all, you ladies, you must take warning From this time now and on Never speak harsh words to a true-loving husband He may leave you and never return