that his drive wheels flew over on the rail, did he stop, and then
he made a mad effort to proceed, which resulted in breaking loose
towards the forward end of the train.

Swift feet carried men back to where the unfortunate man lay. An
engineer of the southern train was bathing his temples with water and
endeavoring to stay the flow of blood, but he was gone beyond the power
of human skill, his legs badly crushed and spine injured so that he died
in a few moments without uttering an audible word. The train was backed
up and the corpse put into a vacant car with his bereaved brother Fred,
and we proceeded in the same reckless manner. The boys by this time were
filled with just indignation, and at Murfreesboro, as the now perfect
demon rushed into the nearest saloon to imbibe once more of the "devil's
beverage", he was surrounded by a crowd, rushed out of doors and handled
roughly, pistols were presented, and his life was in jeopardy, when he
said "that he did not care if he killed every d----."

Captain Simpson and Lieutenant Sturges of Battery E, 1st Ohio,
telegraphed to Nashville the facts, and demanded another engineer of the
conductor, but he refused, so Sergeant Dziewanowski and three or four
others of our boys rode on the engine to watch him. Ran very well to
Lavergne, fifteen miles from Nashville, when he discovered his boiler
was almost dry, water all gone. Watered and he was obliged to run the
engine alone to pump the water into the boiler. Ran down the track a
mile and a half, and came back under all the speed he could raise.
Without letting up struck the train, mashing in the forward cars, and
knocking everybody in the train down nearly. By this time two pistols
were fired at the villain, and a stone struck him on the head. He rushed
on for Nashville, his fireman leaving him to his fate. After some delay
another engine hitched on to us and we proceeded with caution. Five
miles from town we found his engine on the road, he having taken himself
to the woods. Reached depot by 10 P. M. and slept in the depot.

Louisville Depot, Nashville, Friday, June 30. Before dawn this morning
Davie Evans and myself were aroused from a heavy sleep to go and watch
the corpse of F. King. The body lay in an old freight car covered with
coarse sacks. By it sat his brother Fred, the only mourner, writing the
sad tidings to their dear ones, whose hearts are bounding in
anticipation of the joyful meeting. Oh, how uncertain are hum