The tunnel horror, which is now bein’ investigated, brings to mind a long forgotten fact–that the first fatal railroad accident which took place in this city, and the first locomotive explosion which took place in America, occurred on the line of the Harlem Railroad, within the city limits, but a comparatively short distance from the location of the recent accident in the tunnel.
The first locomotive, which was the one that burst, and was commonly known as “Old Nick,” had only been introduced on the Harlem Line less than two years. Some of the old fogies were still afraid of steam; ladies especially did not take kindly to it. A man named Watts Miller publicly protested against the introduction of the locomotive, and warned the New York public solemnly that the time would come when they would agree with him, instead of laugh at him, as they did at first.
Somehow or other this first locomotive engine had bad luck from the start. Its first engineer was a careless fellow, and under him the engine got into some serious scrapes, though not involvin’ life, or fatal injury.
One day “Old Nick” went clean through the engine house, carryin’ away the rear wall with a tremendous shock, which nearly killed two or three men, but didn’t quite kill anybody.
On another occasion this Old Nick of a locomotive ran into another engine, without, however, doin’ or receivin’ any serious damage.
On a third occasion it ran over a laborer and broke his legs, all of which distressed the public, bothered the railroad company, but pleased Watts Miller, who kept on prophesizin’ disaster.
Anybody who will stick to foretellin’ somethin’ or other, anythin’ or other, if he only sticks long enough, and lives long enough, is bound to see his foretellin’ come true, and the fatal accident prophesied by Watts Miller came at last.
One Fourth of July–just forty-three years ago–the managers of the Harlem Railroad determined (as there was a big crowd of strangers expected to come to town on the Fourth to see the fireworks) to run extra trains that day, and to run their locomotives down-town as far as Fourteenth street. As a general thing the steam cars only went as far as Thirty-second street, but this day the managers of the railroad availed ‘emselves of the permission granted ‘em by the Common Council to run their locomotives on great occasions as far down as Union Park, now Union Square.
From this point the cars were drawn by horses–just as freight cars are now–toward the City Hall, as far as Tryon Row. About noon a tremendous crowd–principally of tradesmen and mechanics–was on one of the down-town trains, drawn by this “Old Nick” of an engine. But the managers of the road had by this time bounced the careless young engineer, and had put in his place a good careful man named Spencer, who did all he could with his engine. But the engine was too heavily weighted with cars, and came to a standstill just about Fifteenth street, where the Union Square Hotel now stands. Then it started again, went a few yards further, and then somehow slid off the rails–which were not so well laid then as now.
Thereupon the majority of the passengers got off the train, and occupied themselves trying to get the “Old Nick” on the old track once more, while Spencer, the engineer, kept on blowing off steam–partly to relieve the high pressure on the boiler and partly to warn approaching trains. Nobody was to blame this time, it seems, or, if there was, the party to blame paid the penalty with his life, for while poor Spencer was blowing off steam, while the assistant engineer was headin’ a “pushin’” party of passengers and train hands, tryin’ to get the iron horse on the iron road, suddenly the locomotive burst with a horrible hiss and a terrible roar.
“There came a burst of thunder sound,” and the engineer, “where was he?” No one could tell, but his body was torn in pieces; his legs were found in Union Park, his arms were found in a lumber yard in West Fifteenth street, and his head was cut in two.
The assistant engineer was horribly scalded; had two legs broken, and died in about ten minutes; several others died the next day, and several were seriously wounded.
For a while consternation kept the crowd quiet; then the sight of the sufferin’s of their fellow men made the mob wild. The people were not used to railroad accidents then.
A cry was raised: “Hang the scoundrels,” meanin’ the railroad managers, some of whom were present, but all of whom rapidly disappeared. The excited mob meant mischief, but just then ex-Mayor (then Alderman) Tieman came up with a platoon of police and dispersed the crowd.
But what saved the railroad engineers from bein’ mobbed then chiefly was the fact that several of the railroad men ‘emselves had been killed or injured.
Troubles seldom come singly, and that very day another terrible accident occurred right in the vicinity of New York.
The promenade deck of the steamer Samson, runnin’ to Staten Island, fell in, and Mose Henriquez, a popular broker of Wall Street, and Gus Van Pelt, the popular head clerk of Prime, Ward and King, were both seriously injured and two other men were killed.
Altogether it was a “cold day” for steam, and Watts Miller, on the 5th day of July, had a good many more sympathizers than he had counted on the 3rd.
[Editor’s notes: There was a likely a vocal faction objecting to the introduction of steam trains in Manhattan, but there is no documentation yet to surface (no newspaper mentions, directory entries, or census records) of a “Watt Miller” in 1839, when this disaster took place.
The “tunnel horror” referred to in the first paragraph above was a collision between two trains that took place in September, 1882 (a month before the column was published) inside the Harlem rail tunnel. Several people were killed.
The source for the “Harry Hill’s Gotham” column was The New York Express newspaper, which reported on both the July 4 locomotive explosion and the steamer deck collapse–though it does not mention the trajectories of William Spencer’s body parts:]
