The Deadly Mays Landing Rear End Collision. August 11, 1880

 

The Deadly Mays Landing Rear End Collision

August 11, 1880

The Train Wreck That New Jersey Ignored

While the Atlantic City Diamond Crossing Collision and The Atlantic City Drawbridge Disaster are the two best known Atlantic City area train wrecks, they weren't the first fatal train wrecks to strike the A.C. area by an means. The State of New Jersey would have liked you to think they were, though.

Say What??

Yep...you read that right.

Back in August of 1880, thirty people died in Mays Landing, New Jersey, about seventeen miles west of Atlantic City, when the locomotive heading up the second section of a homeward-bound excursion train slammed into the rear coach of the train's first section, telescoping it. Not the type of event that would go unnoticed or be easily forgotten, and the very type of event that would generate literal reams of reports and records.

Only one problem...if you dig through the official archives of The Great State of New Jersey, you won't find any mention of the wreck. None. Nada. Zilch. It's as if the Garden State's powers-that-be just decided to banish any and all mention of the wreck.

 So, why exactly would a state pretty much all but deny that thirty people lost their lives in a train wreck by, seemingly, all but denying that the train wreck in question even happened in the first place?

To try and answer that question, we're taking a fatal ride on an excursion train rolling along on a brand-spankin'-new railroad connecting Camden and Atlantic City...the West Jersey & Atlantic. That train ride will take us about seventeen or so miles west of Atlantic City, to the then tiny mill town of Mays Landing, where the wreck occurred. The Crown Jewel of the Jersey Shore is even involved with the wreck, if only peripherally. The excursionists had just spent the day at the fabled Jersey Shore resort, and two trains involved in the collision had pulled out of Atlantic City less than an hour before the collision.

But before we take that fatal train ride, we have to go to Philadelphia...and before we do that, we need to take a real quick history lesson RE: Atlantic City and the railroads that both birthed it, and became it's lifeblood.

Dr. Johnathon Pitney and his band of developers knocked it slam outa the park when they developed Atlantic City as a railroad resort. In 1853, Absecon Island was a beautiful, but barely inhabited, near inaccessible eight mile long sand-spit just off of the New Jersey coast. Then John Pitney and his crew built themselves a railroad from Camden, New Jersey...just across the Delaware River from Philadelphia...to the soon-to-be-city, which they surveyed, laid out, graded, and built even as the new rail line, to be called the Camden & Atlantic, was abuilding. Once the new resort was ready to go, John Pitney and company promoted it heavily.

 In July, 1854 the first train-load of tourists rolled across the Camden & Atlantic drawbridge over the narrow channel separating Absecon Island from the mainland, called The Thoroughfare, and made their way to one of the two hotels in Atlantic City at the time...either the Beloe House or the United States Hotel (The latter, for many years, the largest in the country)...and things kept going, and the resort kept growing...

Now jump forward a quarter century or so. By 1880, Atlantic City had not only come into it's own, it had become a tourism powerhouse, in an era when tourism, as such, was still a fairly new concept. Huge and lavish hotels sat cheek to jowl along the ocean front, the storied boardwalk had been around for about a decade, an open spot large enough to lay a beach blanket on the sand was hard to find during the summer, the beach was lined with attractions and restaurants and spas; amusement piers jutted nearly a thousand feet into the Atlantic, and well over half a million visitors were rolling into the city to enjoy all of these attractions every summer, with the total number of visitors increasing exponentially every year.

 The very great majority of those visitors arrived by train, and the Camden & Atlantic Railroad...the original line into Atlantic City...couldn't keep up with traffic, and, in fact, had been joined by at least one other line by 1877. By the latter half of 1880, the C & A would be joined by a third line.

Enter a gent by the name of Richard D Wood V, a well connected and wealthy member of an old and respected New Jersey Quaker family that had it's fingers in multiple N.J. business pies. Mining, manufacturing, power generation (that would have been water power back in the day, BTW) and transportation all figured in the family businesses, and Richard the Fifth ended up, along with several business partners, being in on the ground floor when an...er...obscure little railroad called the Pennsylvania Railroad got it's start back in 1846.

The many, many business successes of Clan Wood and The Pennsylvania Railroad would fill several books, but we're interested in one singular little business enterprise...a brand spanking new railroad. The new line would yield multiple benefits to the region. Not only did it add a third rail connection between Camden and Atlantic City, it would also provide freight service for the Woods' various mills and for the farmers in the region while also giving the mill workers what amounted to a commuter rail line to get them back and forth to work. This new rail line could well prove to be a profitable venture, indeed.

The line, to be called the West Jersey & Atlantic, would actually be a spur line, branching off of the original West Jersey railroad from Camden to Cape May, which opened in 1863. The West Jersey & Atlantic would branch off of the West Jersey at Newfield to head east into Atlantic City, and I believe the section of the road between Newfield and Camden also became part of the West Jersey & Atlantic when the WJ&A opened for business.

The WJ&A would pass through the tiny village of Mays Landing...also the site of one of the Woods' mills...on the way east, crossing the Greater Egg Harbor River on a trestle while it was at it. Keep that trestle in mind...it's going to play a huge part in what's to come.

I'm leaving out a bit...OK, a lot...of detail RE: the development and early history of the WJ&A, but permissions were granted, right of way purchased, labor hired, and construction started. Construction kicked off in November, 1879, and by June, 1880, the line...all single track...was completed.

Of course, to run a railroad, they needed rolling stock. The WJ&A brass purchased six big American Class 4-4-0 locomotives to the tune of $7,500 apiece (Just shy of $218,000 each in 2022 dollars) and forty first class passenger cars at $2000 per copy  ($59,000 apiece in today's money). 

Lets take a quick look at the WJ&A's new rides. All six of the locomotives were the classic American Class locomotives that headed up well over 90% of the trains running in the U.S during the latter half of the 19th century. The 4-4-0 designated the wheel arrangement. Four smaller bogey wheels beneath the steam cylinders and front end of the boiler at the front of the locomotive, and four big drive wheels amidships and aft, beneath the boiler and cab, with no bogeys at the rear end of the locomotive. 

Two of the locomotives were the largest American class locos in service, noted for their speed, and would be used exclusively in passenger service. One was a class D2, which burned soft coal and the other was a more efficient D4 class, with a longer firebox, designed to burn slower burning anthracite coal. Both were fast, powerful, efficient, and featured every safety device available. Both would figure in our story.

The passenger coaches were 50 feet long with a capacity of 48 passengers, and were probably beautifully appointed, and comfortable. They were also equipped with air brakes and the new, much safer, knuckle-style automatic couplers, but all of them were also constructed of wood, giving them the approximate crashworthyness of a cardboard box.  Even worse, all were heated by coal-burning stoves in each car, making then uncrashworthy fire traps in the event of a winter-time wreck....fire, thankfully, wouldn't be an issue in the Mays Landing wreck as it occurred in August.

**

A Class D2 4-4-0 locomotive of the type that was at the head end of the excursion train's first section. The Second section was pulled by a slightly larger Class D4, detailed in the next picture. As both locomotives were originally designed for the Pennsylvania Railroad, built in that road's legendary Altoona. Pa shops, and the West Jersey and Atlantic was a subsidiary of the P.R.R, it wouldn't surprise me at all if both locomotives were actually former P.R.R. passenger locomotives that were passed on to the WJ&A.

While not as legitimately huge as the road engines developed and built a couple decades later, and definitely smaller then the gargantuan steam locomotives of the early-mid 20th century, these were not small locomotives by any means...note the relative size of the guys standing next to the locomotive in the photo. They were also powerful, and more than capable of pulling a long passenger train at speed. The relevant specs are noted below:

Length: 54' 5.4" Including tender

Width: 9'

Height:14'8":

Weight:59.8 tons, including the tender

Driver Diameter: 62"

Tractive Effort: 52,500 lbs

Number Built: 20, only one of which...#262...went to the WJ&A

A class D4 4-4-0 locomotive of the type that was heading up the excursion's second section, and therefore rear-ended the first section's last coach. The D4's were slightly larger and heavier than the D2s, with longer fireboxes that allowed them to burn hotter but slower burning anthracite coal, making then more efficient than the D2s as well (Yes, fuel economy was important even back then.).

It's interesting that the WJ&A got a D4, because these locomotives were actually built for the P.R.R.'s more mountainous regions, and the coastal region of New Jersey is just about as flat as a board. At full throttle, with a light train, this locomotive could probably flat-out stroll!

As noted, the D4s were larger and heavier than the D2s...the relevant specs are noted below:

Length: 56' 4.9"
Width: 9'
Height: 14'6"
Weight:60.4 tons, including tender
Driver Diameter: 62"
Tractive effort: 56,200lbs
Number Built: 37, only one pf which...#627...went to the WJ&A

Note that the headlights of both locomotives are still equipped with chimneys. Electric headlights were still decades away, and even acetylene-lit headlights were a decade or so in the future...these headlights were probably kerosene fired, with a big reflector and a multi-faceted Fresnel-type lens to focus the light, making them, essentially, big kerosene lanterns. 

When Locomotive 627 struck the first section's last coach, it 'telescoped' it, actually forcing about ten or twelve feet of the locomotive inside the car, crushing the rear quarter or so of the coach while also ripping the roof off. This also sheared the locomotive's headlight and smoke stack off, but the worst and most devastating damage occurred when the front ends of both steam cylinders were punctured, sending a pair of high pressure jets of super-heated steam blasting through the length of the car, killing or injuring everyone inside.

A passenger coach from the same era as the coaches on the excursion train (I tried to find a pic of a Pennsylvania RR passenger car from this era, but, sadly, there were none to be found.)  These coaches were 50 feet long and seated 48 passengers.

While they were all equipped with both air brakes and newer knuckle-style automatic couplers, they also featured all-wood construction and coal stoves in each car for heat (Note the chimney for the stove on the far end of the pictured coach), not only making them about as crashworthy as a cardboard box, but also turning them into uncrashworthy fire-traps in a wintertime wreck. At least the excursionists in that last coach didn't have to worry about fire, as the wreck occurred in August. What did happen to them, however, was almost as bad

When Locomotive 627 hit the coach, it forced it's way about ten or twelve feet into the coach...call it to about the third window. In the process it completely smashed that end of the coach while tearing the roof free...the roof ended up perched on the top front of 627's boiler, tilted upward sharply. Anyone unlucky enough to be in these last three or so rows of seats was likely killed, but the very first known fatality was 20 year old James Sweeney, who was standing on the car's rear platform when the locomotive hit it. 627's pilot...what kids used to call the 'cowcatcher'...probably under-rode the rear platform, ripping it free and tilting it sharply upward an instant before the locomotive tore though the end wall of the coach, crushing Sweeney between the front of the locomotive and the wreckage of the coach.

**

By June of 1880, the new rail line was ready for traffic, a point proven on June 16th when both a select group of stockholders and members of The Press were invited on an excursion from Camden to Atlantic City. The excursionists filled four of the new passenger coaches, and the run from Camden to the end of New York Ave in Atlantic City was flawless.

The excursionists were met with great fanfare, loads of food and drink, speeches, celebration, and partying. The press, greatly impressed with both the trip and the festivities, wrote dozens of laudatory paragraphs, praising the new line, and the public took note.

Within a couple of weeks, several trains a day were rolling in to Atlantic City on the WJ & A, giving the Camden & Atlantic and the Reading railroads both a bit of competition and a bit of relief. Trust me, this relief was greatly needed. By the summer of 1880, people were flocking to the city from as far north as New York and Boston, and as far south as Washington, DC. And just about all of them arrived by train, and had to transfer to an Atlantic City-bound train on one the three lines that served the resort in Camden. Camden's railroad station was probably every bit as much of a mad-house on a mid-summers day in 1880 as Atlanta's airport is on any given day in 2022.

OK, as I noted above, before we start our ill-fated train ride to Mays Landing, we've got to go to Philadelphia. While the ever-expanding national rail network made Atlantic City accessible to to the entire Northeast Corridor, originally Atlantic City was developed almost specifically as a vacation destination for the residents of Philadelphia and environs there-of, and a quarter century after the resort was founded Philly area residents (Along with residents of the rest of eastern Pennsylvania and all of New Jersey) still made up a huge percentage of Atlantic City's visitors.

By 1880, catching the train into Atlantic City after a ferry ride across the Delaware River from Philly had become almost...almost...as commonplace for more affluent Victorian Era Metro Philadelphia residents as loading up the Family Truckster and heading for the beach is for modern families today. In fact, it wasn't at all unusual for wealthier citizens of The City Of Brotherly Love and it's suburbs to make that trip two or three times per summer (Or, alternately, rent a suite of rooms in one of A.C.s many huge hotels for a month or so)...but what of the middle class? There were no paid vacations back in 1880, and the 40 hour work-week was just a fantasy that, sadly, no one of working age in 1880 would live to see or enjoy. 

Even if they could get the time off, a trip into Atlantic City for even a day-trip was a bit beyond the means of many people. A trip to the beach took an even larger percentage of the average family's disposable income 140 years ago than it does now...far larger, in fact.

In 1880 a train ticket to Atlantic City on any of the three lines then serving the city would have set you back around $3.00 ($90.00 in today's money), and the average monthly wage ranged between $20-$90 ($580-$2600 today) Add to that three dollar train ticket food, amusements, the inevitable souvenirs and toys for the kids (And families tended to be big in that era) and all the other expenses such a trip...even a day trip...inevitably generated, and you see a pretty good chunk taken out of that monthly wage. Families whose incomes were on the lower end of the scale either saved up all year for a single day at the beach or, even more likely, they didn't go at all.

There was a way that our Victorian age working man and his family (Or, often, just his family as he probably couldn't get the day off ) could afford a day trip to the beach, however. Group rates were not only a 'thing' in the mid-late 19th Century, that was the era when they really became popular, through railroad excursions. Way more than a few civic, social, and religious organizations took advantage of these reduced fares by chartering an entire train for an excursion to the beach. 

The railroad on which the excursion was being run would sell tickets to the group organizing the trip at deeply discounted rates, then the tickets would be offered to group members and often members of other organizations, at that same rate. Making a profit was seldom the goal for these groups. Giving their members to opportunity to get out of the city for a day was. And trust me, these special group rates were a deal...take a look below.

***

Excursion ticket prices for Atlantic City Day Excursions.

Adult Tickets, Round Trip: $1.00 ($29.05 in today's money)

 Child's Ticket Round Trip:    $.50 ($14.09 in today's money)

And for really large groups:

Groups of 1000 or more:   $.60 Round Trip for all ages ($17.43 in today's money)

***

The Camden & Atlantic and Reading Railroads probably hosted such excursions regularly, but the WJ&A, even though it began passenger service in June of 1880, didn't run one of these cut rate excursions until August of that same year. But they made up for it with the excursion's size.

Warm weather and frolicking in the surf were distant fantasies when planning for the WJ&A's first excursion kicked off. The WJ&A itself, in fact, was still a-building when, sometime around the beginning of February, the Reverend Thomas Kieran, of St Anne's Catholic Church, began meeting with that church's Literary Society to begin planning an excursion to Atlantic City. The good Reverend and the Literary Society members likely had to trudge their way through slush, snow, and that bone-deep cold that the Northeast does so well to attend the meeting, which likely made the meeting's subject both ironic and welcome.

Here's where things began to get interesting...When I started working on this post, I assumed that the Excursion Committee approached all of the railroads offering service to Atlantic City and solicited bids for the excursion...but then I found out something real interesting.

The Roman Catholic Church can rival many small countries when it comes to politics, and the leadership of The Catholic Diocese in any large city...then and now...wields  a huge amount of power, both over the local government, and the parishes under their command. With that being said, it seems that the Bishop of the Catholic Church in Philly was also the uncle of one Richard Wood V,  Majority Stockholder of the WJ&A, which leads me to believe that the choice of railroad for the excursion just may have been made very early in the ballgame, and that the St Anne's Literary Society had little or no say in said decision.

Most likely, they were presented with a single choice from on high. As in 'Ya want to have an excursion, you're gonna use the WJ&A'. This wouldn't be the last time that a connection with the Wood family would possibly play a part in how the excursion, and most particularly, teh investigation, news and documentation of the wreck, was handled, nor would it be the last time that the Bishop's connection to the Wood family would pop up...but I'm getting ahead of myself here.

This decision from on high did simplify the planning process for the excursion, and even with the limited choice of  railroads that the St Anne's Literary Committee was given to work with, they still negotiated an excellent deal on ticket prices, with that bargain-basement ticket price if they could get more than 1000 people to sign up for the excursion being the best part of the deal by far.

 A date was chosen...the second Wednesday in August, the eleventh...and more detailed planning commenced, with maximizing the number of people signed up for the excursion probably being a huge part of said planning. To get as many people signed up as possible, the Literary Society sent out invites to several neighboring Philadelphia parishes as well as to the Third Street Methodist Episcopal Church across the river in Camden. The organizers/promoters of the excursion emphasized that 'The More the Merrier' also meant 'The More the Cheaper'...If they could bust that 'One Thousand' barrier each ticket would only cost $.60...the equivalent of $17.43 per ticket in 2022 money.

 I can imagine that the pastors of all of the invited congregations hawked tickets at Sunday worship service every Sunday right on up to the weekend before the trip, likely repeating the 'The More The Cheaper' theme...They wanted everyone to have an amazing trip, and have memories to last a lifetime, and all of those other familiar beach-trip tropes, but most importantly, they wanted to bust that '1000 ticket' barrier to get that killer ticket-price discount

Their tactic worked...bigtime! For many the thought of getting out of the hot, humid hell that was Philadelphia in mid-August and spending a full day in Atlantic City, enjoying the sea breeze blowing in off of the Atlantic Ocean, for well less than a dollar per head was too good a deal to even think about passing up. People signed up in droves, with upwards of 1,300 tickets, well more than the one thousand needed for that $.60 per ticket group rate, sold.

This may have taken the WJ&A by surprise, and a group of that size definitely meant that the line had to do some major rolling stock shifting. They first assigned a block of twenty-four passenger cars...over half of their passenger rolling stock...to the excursion. While they were at it, despite the obvious safety concerns of doing so, they decided to run the excursion in two sections...one sixteen car train, and a second, shorter, eight car train a few miles behind the first train... rather than a single twenty-four car train. OH...they didn't tell the excursion's organizers about that little detail.

They had the cars assigned, now they needed motive power. The line's dispatchers assigned Locomotive #262, which was a class D2 locomotive, to head up the longer of the two trains, while, locomotive #627, the road's single Class D4 locomotive, was assigned to the head end of the shorter, eight car train.

For the crews, Engineer Danial Cassidy was assigned to drive #262, with Elmer Mayhew in charge as conductor of the longer train, while Edward Aitkin was at the throttle of #627, heading up the shorter of the two trains. 

Of course, our excursionists had to get across the river to Camden...there wouldn't be a road bridge connecting Philly and Camden until 1926, when the Ben Franklin Bridge opened...so the committee also chartered at least one ferry boat specifically to get the group across the river.

An early (Very early) departure time was slotted for both ferry and train, and they had themselves an excursion.

**

I can just about bet that time all but slowed to a crawl for a few hundred kids...and more than a few older teens and adults...that summer of 1880 as they waited for August 11th to arrive. But when the sun finally peeked above the horizon on that long-awaited morning...well, that's just it, it didn't. The weather was not looking too good as parents dragged themselves out of bed to find that their kids, giddy with excitement, were already up. (I have a feeling that motivating the teens in the group at that early hour...teens being teens no matter what era they lived in...was just a scosh more difficult.). 

Parents looked out of windows, sighed at length when they saw the sky loaded down with grey, scudding clouds, and set about to getting their broods up and moving. Breakfast was quickly fixed and inhaled, baths were taken, kids were dressed, and boxed lunches were prepared and packed along with other necessities, Dads who had to work said good-bye, hugged their wives and children, and sighed meaningfully and more than a little enviously as their families headed for the Camden waterfront...and more than one, glancing at the less-than-inviting weather, likely admonished his wife and kids to 'Stay dry...' as they walked down the front steps. (And more than one child likely replied 'Dad...we're going to the shore!!! )

The departure time for the chartered ferry was 6:15 AM, so the group likely began arriving at the West Jersey Ferry Terminal in Philadelphia at 5:40 or so, walking through the terminal and out onto the covered ferry slip in near full dark or, at best, that shadowy, eerie, overcast-generated early morning half-light that's the first indication of a less-than-stellar weather day to come...the weather being the day's first unexpected twist.

A good, brisk little breeze accompanied the clouds, snatching spray off of the river and sending it across the piers and the open decks of the ferries like a fine, misty...and warm...rain as the excursionists walked up the ramp and onto the big double-ended ferry. It was August, remember, so just because it was cloudy and breezy didn't mean it was chilly. Far from it, in fact. That breeze was so dense with humidity that it was likely akin to warm soup, and the heavy clothing of the era likely made the adults feel like they were wearing blankets.

The double ended steam ferry Columbia, built in 1876, could very well have been one of the ferries that our excursionists boarded to cross the Delaware River to Camden, enroute to the WJ&A train station...it could have also been one of the ferries that transported the ambulances carrying the injured, as well as the uninjured excursionists on the way home, back across to Philadelphia well after midnight the next morning..

Looking down Market Street towards Philadelphia's West Jersey Ferry Terminal. Even though this pic was taken a good decade or so after the wreck, it still gives you a good idea of the view our 1300 excursionists would have had as they prepared to cross the Delaware River to Camden. 

Of course the kids, being kids, didn't care...all they knew was they were heading for an adventure that started with, first, a trip across the river on one of the big West Jersey ferries, them a train ride! That, in and of itself, made this the second best day of the year, second only to Christmas. The younger kids were all but bouncing with energy as the ferry eased out of the slip and started across the river, and soon they were standing at the rail, gleefully pointing out steamers and tugs on the river and waving at the ferries crossing from Camden back to Philly as they passed, while the parents and older kids were a bit more reserved, but still enjoyed the sights and sounds of the waterfront as the breeze generated by the ferry's forward motion, added to the already brisk natural breeze, ruffled their hair during the ten or so minute crossing. 

Soon the ferry was gently nudging piling clusters as she nosed into the slip at the P.R.R. ferry terminal at the foot of Market Street in Camden. The mooring lines were made fast, ramps were lowered, the safety chains were dropped, and the group poured down the ramp almost like a single huge organism and made their way to the near-by WJ&A train station. There they were met with the day's second unexpected twist when they found two trains next to the platform, smoke drifting from the locomotives' stacks, waiting for them to board.

The original game plan had been for them to travel on board a single long train, so being told that the group was to be divided and placed on a pair of trains came as a bit of a surprise, one that the good Reverend Kieran and the rest of the group's organizers weren't entirely on board with. Some 'spirited discussion' ensued, with the group ultimately being informed 'That's the way we're doing it', with 'Take it or leave it' possibly also thrown in. 

Obviously they chose 'Take It', and the thirteen hundred excursionists started boarding the two trains' twenty-four coaches...but of course it wasn't quite that simple. The group had to be split into two groups, which meant someone had to decide who was boarding which train. Parents had to get giddy groups of kids aimed in the right direction, Best Friends bemoaned being separated for the trip, and the operation generally involved a good bit of good natured temporary chaos, but ultimately the twenty-four passenger cars were loaded by the scheduled 7:15 AM departure time and the two conductors called out their iconic 'ALL ABOARD!!, then signaled to the engineers that they were ready to roll.

Dan Cassidy gave two blasts on #262's whistle, then eased the throttle open, the big American Class locomotive spitting puffballs of smoke skyward with the distinctive 'CHUFF!-CHUFF!-CHUFF! of a locomotive getting a heavy train moving while couplings 'clanked' as the slack came out of them, and the cars gave gentle jerks as they were yanked into motion. 

Ed Aitkin glanced at his pocket watch, noted the time, and leaned out the picture window of 627's cab, watching the rear platform of the longer train recede in the distance. There was a set interval required between train sections...ten minutes I believe it was...and Ed waited it out before parroting that twin whistle blast, and pulling his own throttle open, the shorter train jerking into motion amid the same familiar and distinctive exhaust notes.

Aboard both trains, that subtle, almost gentle jerk as the trains started moving sent the excursionists... especially the younger ones...into giddiness overload as the trains rolled through Camden, then out of the city into the heavily wooded countryside. New Jersey's storied Pine Barrens rolled past the windows, giving the excursionists a view of the dense pine forest and an occasional quick glimpse of a deer startled into sudden flight by the passing beast.

About an hour or so into the trip they rolled into Franklin Township (Now Newfield)...thirty or so miles south of Camden, and forty or so miles north of Atlantic City...where both trains had to negotiate a turnout...what non-railroad types call a 'switch'...to turn onto the spur line to Atlantic City, a maneuver that went flawlessly, so that by somewhere between 8:15 and 8:30 both trains were arrowing southeast towards the ocean at around 25 MPH. 

While the kids really didn't care about the weather, the parents were still watching the sky. Some blue was trying to peak through the clouds, and it was most definitely warming up, but it still wasn't exactly a perfect weather day. Some of them were probably discussing those semi-threatening skies as they rolled through a small town...tiny really...and one of the kids exclaimed 'Hey...cool bridge! (Or whatever the 1880 version of 'cool' may have been) as they rolled across a trestle.

They were crossing the Greater Egg Harbor River, in the tiny village of Mays Landing, seventeen miles and about a half hour away from Atlantic City, and not only was the trestle literally right in the middle of the tiny town, it's layout was kind of unusual as well. A pair of earthen causeways, the westernmost one far longer than the eastern one, carried the line out from the banks of the 800 or so foot wide river, with the 140 foot long trestle connecting the two causeways mid-stream.

The trains rolled across the bridge, then out of the village, back into dense pine forest, and maybe twenty minutes later, through the then small town of Pleasantville...and just east of Pleasantville, they plunged into 'The Meadows', as the expansive marsh that closely hugs the Jersey shore near Atlantic City's known, giving the excursionists a whiff of swamp-rot before they could finally breath that glorious 'Almost At The Beach' scent of salt air.

Dan Cassidy started easing back on the throttle, at the same time making gentle stabs at the airbrakes to slow the train as the excursion's first section rolled across a drawbridge spanning 'The Thoroughfare, the narrow channel that separates Absecon Island...the island on which Atlantic City's built...from the mainland. It was just about 9 AM. when the train eased to a stop next to the platform at the station, located at New York Ave and Atlantic Ave. 

Excursionists all but exploded from the cars, some of them waiting for the train's second section to roll into the station, others heading for the sound of breakers hitting the sand just east of the station. Then the second section rolled into the station, the locomotive's bell tolling as it eased to a stop and disgorged it's passengers...and then the excursionists all met up, then 'Divided and conquered' Atlantic City.

They toured the city, many of them making their way to Absecon Lighthouse, at the city's northernmost tip (We'll take a look at Absecon Light in 'Notes'). Children frolicked and teen boys dived into the surf to show off for the inevitable pairs and groups of teen girls watching from the beach. Some of the more daring young (And even not-so-young) ladies rented 'Bathing Attire', along with the portable bath houses that went with the rental, and dived into the surf right along with the boys.

The boardwalk was explored from one end to the other, expansive and lavish hotel lobbies and restaurants were visited (And when prices were seen, these explorers became very glad they'd brought boxed lunches), picnics were had, shells were collected, at least one new twelve year old puppy-love couple was minted while a couple of soon to be married couples a bit older than twelve enjoyed their first trip to the beach as couples. Another young lady of eleven helped her sister by keeping tabs on her young cousins, a job she thoroughly enjoyed.

While all of this was going on, a couple of dads who had managed to get the day off were keeping an eye on the time, and far, far sooner than anyone wanted, word was sent out that it was time to head for the station for the 6:00 PM departure...of course, the group just may have been chased back towards the station even earlier than that.

Some sources say that the rain started in earnest around 3 PM, and the bottom had definitely fallen out before 6PM, because the excursionists made their way to the station at a dead run in the midst of one of those summer gully-washers that hit the ground so hard they create a knee-high mist of rebounding ran-drops.

The two locomotives had been serviced with coal and water, and the trains had been run out to a turning wye and turned so they were aimed west, and as the now-soaked group bore down on them, the conductors were hustling through the coaches, closing windows to keep the rain outside, where it belonged. The trains were next to a covered platform, which kept at least one side of the coaches temporarily dry, and more importantly, protected the now soaked passengers as they climbed back aboard.

The group was amazingly chipper and happy for a crowd that was soaking wet. Lets just take a look at a few of the occupants of one coach...the sixteenth and last coach on the excursion train's first section. Our new young couple...both bookworms already at 12...grabbed seats in that last coach and began perusing a couple of popular novels (What would be called 'Young Adult Novels' today), while our soon to be married couples slid into adjacent seats and began critiquing the days activities...these discussions would, soon enough, change over to the inevitable talk about wedding plans. Our little 11 year old babysitter gathered her two young and adoring charges and sat, likely in a pair of seats, with her sister. One group of young men in their early twenties grouped up, and started a game of checkers, with friendly wagers made on said game's result.

Another young, newly formed couple solidified a invitation to the guy's tavern for dinner that very evening. And all throughout the coach (And the train) groups of teen girls gathered to twitter and giggle as only teen girls can do, while teen boys gathered to talk about those same teen girls (Who were very likely, talking about them when not commenting laughingly on each others new, rain-assisted hair-dos.)

All in all it was a very up-beat and happy, if slightly tired and very wet group in that 16th coach, mirroring the attitudes of the great majority of their fellow excursionists as the first section jerked gently into motion to head back towards Camden. In the cab of Locomotive 627, Ed Aitkin watched the first section's last coach disappear into the driving rain, then checked his watch.

He was supposed to wait at least ten minutes before pulling out of the station, but when he yanked the whistle lanyard twice, then opened the air valve that started ringing the locomotive bell and eased the throttle open, prodding the train into motion, only five minutes had passed

The two trains chugged and puffed west across The Meadows, then plunged back into the Pine Barrens, both of them rolling along at around 25 MPH. The rain not only hadn't slacked up, it had intensified a bit, clattering against the wooden roofs of the coaches and finding cracks and vents to force it's way inside, forming puddles on the floor that shivered and jumped as the wheels clicked over rail joints. 

A little more than a half hour into the home-bound trip the train's first section was approaching Mays Landing. Dan Cassidy applied the service brakes briefly, to ensure they'd work as they approached the village limits, then applied them in earnest, slowing the train to just more then walking speed as they rolled onto the trestle, slowing further as they crossed until the train eased to a stop with about half of the cars still either on the trestle, or the earthen causeway leading to it.

 The reason they were stopped was both benign and routine...there was a passing siding at Mays Landing, just west of the trestle and hard by the train station, which was a couple of hundred yards beyond the bridge. The excursion train was scheduled to take the passing siding to allow a scheduled eastbound express  train to pass. The siding itself was about 2600 feet long, plenty of room for both sections of the excursion train.

This wasn't a a difficult maneuver at all though it wouldn't be particularly pleasant for the two trains' brakemen, who had to throw the switch in order for the trains to move onto the siding, then realign it for through traffic as soon as the second section cleared the main line. The same would have to be done, of course, on the other end of the siding, for the excursion train to move back onto the main line after the express train passed...but they wouldn't get that far. The second section's brakeman wouldn't even get to do anything...at least concerning the passing siding...

The excursionists may have acted almost as if they weren't still soaking wet and it wasn't also beginning to rain inside the cars, but they did notice as the train began to slow down, then stop a little more than a half hour into the home bound trip. A couple of them looked out of the rain smeared windows and noticed they were stopped on the same trestle several of the kids had remarked about that morning, in the little village of Mays Landing. Conductor Mayhew moved through the cars, telling the excursionists what was going on to ease their minds as a whistle signal, accompanied by the clatter of rain on wooden roofs, sound-tracked their thoughts.  Then, after sitting on the bridge for a minute or so, the train jerked back into motion, moving forward slowly as it eased onto the siding, pulling that last coach onto the trestle itself while it was at it..

Several minutes before the train rolled to a stop, two of our checker players abandoned the game, sauntered out onto the car's rear platform, and rode into the village enjoying the breeze and fresh air. Enjoying that fresh, rain-washed outside air just may have been their motive for abandoning the checker game all along...with all of the windows closed up, and numerous smokers in the car, it was probably smoky, hot, and stuffy inside the car. The damp breeze whipping around the rear of the car probably felt like a little bit of paradise.

Conductor Mayhew had been making his way through the car, punching tickets, when he saw them walk out onto the rear platform. The conductor followed them out...sticking his head out of the door and possibly saying something to the effect of 'Man, it's still coming down out here'...before asking for the two mens' tickets. One of the two men...a fellow by the name of James Sweeney...commented that he guessed this ended the Conductor's day, and Mayhew replied that it, indeed, did before pleasantly excusing himself and walking back into the coach. 

The train was slowing, airbrakes hissing, as the conductor walked back into the coach. The train eased to a stop, and Sweeney stuck his head out into the rain just long enough to peer down the side of the train before quickly retreating to the shelter of the rear platform, water streaming down his face from his now soaked hair. 'Looks like we're pulling into a siding', he told the platform's other occupant, George Russel, who was leaning back against the car's rear wall, next to the door.

'Probably waiting for another train to pass us'. Russel possibly replied, then cocked his head, obviously listening...over the rattle of rain hitting the river, he could hear the faint, but distinct chuffing of steam exhaust. '...In fact, I think I can hear it now...'

'That's the other half of our train you're hearing'. James may have told him, stifling a chuckle and bracing himself as the train jerked back into motion.

*

Forty-five minutes or so into the trip the rain had slacked up enough that it wasn't the slashing downpour that it had been when they pulled out of Atlantic city, but it was still coming down hard enough to rattle and rumble against 627's cab roof, and sting Ed Aitkin's eyes if he stuck his head out of the cab's picture window to peer ahead of the locomotive.

The terrain only seventeen miles from the Atlantic was almost as flat as a board and, according to the maps I saw, the tracks were straight as a tight-stretched string between the village limits and the trestle. So, had it not been raining when and if Aitkin looked out of that cab window as they rolled into the village, he would have probably been able to see the last car of the first section slowly creeping forward  ahead of them.  He may, in fact, have been able to see it despite the rain.  But, actually, it really didn't matter when or even if he saw the first section up ahead of him, creeping slowly forward across the trestle as the first section pulled into the passing siding.

That's because Aitkin was fully aware that the excursion's second section also had to take the passing siding at Mays Landing to allow the eastbound evening express train to pass, so he should have been backing off of the throttle and making gentle brake applications as he neared the village no matter whether he could see the other train or not. But he also should have been about twice as far behind the first section than he actually was. And, well, he wasn't. 

Aitkin had finally started slowing about the time he entered the village, easing the brake handle back a bit a couple of times, feeling the train slow...but, as it would turn out, nowhere near enough. He should have been rolling along at just a scosh above walking speed as he approached the 450 foot long earthen causeway on the east side of the river and the trestle just beyond, but instead, he was still moving at somewhere between fifteen and twenty miles per hour as he neared the causeway, and watched in horror as the last car of the first section, still on the trestle itself, emerged from the rain's silvery curtain about two football fields ahead of him.

He yanked the brake handle all the way back into 'Emergency'. Eighteen sets of wheels...seventy two separates sets of brakes...locked up tight, wheels screaming against steel rails as the train slid, and if it hadn't been raining they still may have gotten stopped. But, of course, it had been raining, hard, for a couple of hours, and the rails were wet and slick, killing the brakes' effectiveness,

Now, steam locomotives had sand boxes mounted atop their boilers, their purpose being to dump sand onto the rails in front of the driving wheels to increase traction in slippery conditions, but this sand can also be used to increase braking efficiency. But to do so it has to actually be used. Aitkin never touched the sand valve, so the train slid... He did, however, reach above him and yank the whistle lanyard four times, sending the whistle's shrill shriek into the rain-filled air, the whistle's warning mixing with the screeching wheels.

Ahead of them the excursion's first section was also moving, but just barely, slower than a man could walk as Dan Cassidy eased the train into the passing siding, and Ed Aitkin and his fireman watched with increasing dread as the train's rear platform...with a couple of young men standing on it...got bigger by the second.

It was an impending disaster in slow motion. The second section's speed dropped s-l-o-w-l-y, fifteen MPH, then 12, then 10 or so...and it didn't seem to want to slow any more. Aitkin slammed the throttle closed, grabbed the 'Johnson Bar', as the reversing lever's termed, and jammed it into reverse, then yanked the overhead-mounted throttle open, feeling the locomotive vibrate as the drive wheels pounded against the rails in reverse even as the train's momentum shoved it forward...they were on the trestle itself now, no more than fifty feet from the rear platform of the car ahead of them, and still sliding at about the speed of a man jogging...

"For Gods sake, Sam,, jump for it!!!" Aitkin yelled across the cab to his fireman, Sam Flower, before both men leapt into the rain from opposite sides of the cab, cratering the river's rain-hazed surface a second before locomotive 627 tore into that last coach...

**

A satellite view of present day Mays Landing, with the crash scene and area surrounding the trestle, shown in greater detail and explained in detail below, outlined in white. The trestle...the remains of which still exist...is in the right center of the outlined area. Even though the old WJ&A tracks were pulled up nearly sixty years ago, you can still see traces of the road bed, much of which seems to have been repurposed as power line right-of-way, if you look closely enough.

Detail view of the area outlined in the first satellite image. The excursion train was to take the passing siding in May's Landing to allow a n eastbound express train to pass. This normally would have been a routine train movement. The passing siding was 2600 feet...just shy of a half mile...long, long enough for both sections of the excursion train to fit with a bit over 1000 feet to spare. The problem was, Ed Aitkin, the engineer of  Locomotive 627, at the head end of the second section, was following the first section too closely, and possibly wasn't paying as much attention as he should have been. 

The first section stopped at the siding's eastern turn-out, the brakeman threw the switch to allow them to enter the siding, and first section engineer started easing the 16 car train into the passing siding. When they started easing onto the siding, the last several cars of the first section were on the trestle and the causeway on the west end of the trestle, but the train slowly eased into the siding until the last...16th...car was creeping across the trestle. 

This is about the time that the second section...still moving at a good 20-25mph...suddenly hove into view out of the still-pouring rain, maybe 900-1000 feet from the first section. When he saw the slowly moving coach ahead of him, Aitkin immediately threw the brakes into emergency, but he'd compounded his recklessness and inattention by possibly not setting the brake valves up correctly, and the brakes were not operating at full efficiency. (Though, all of the train's wheels did lock up and slide) This was compounded by the wet rails, and the train slid, slowing down far far too slowly. Aitkin reversed 627 at the last second, then he and his foreman both jumped for it, both surviving with minimal injuries.

The last coach of the first section was still on the trestle when the now unmanned locomotive 627, still sliding at about 8mph, slow-mo slammed into the coach. The front end of the locomotive telescoped the coach by ten or twelve feet, crushing the last ten feet of the coach and ripping the roof free while sheering it's headlight and smokestack off in the process. Worse by far, when the front of the locomotive penetrated the coach, both steam cylinders were punctured, releasing high pressure jets of superheated steam into the wrecked coach. The effect on the passengers in the coach was beyond devastating.

**

James Sweeney and George Russel weren't worried at first when locomotive 627 emerged from the rain like a wraith, a few dozen yards beyond the east end of the trestle. Likely assuming that the train was slowing to a stop, they probably didn't even take much notice at all until the whistle's warning split the rainy evening air, then both of them snapped their heads around to stare at the oncoming locomotive, even as the scream of wheels sliding on rails assaulted their ears.

Russel shouted 'He's not stopping, Jim!' even as he yanked the door open and disappeared into the coach, running hard towards the other end of the car. Sweeney tried to follow, and we don't know if he stumbled, or was on the wrong side of the door, of if he just plain long ran out of time, but he was still on the rear platform when locomotive 627, still sliding at around 8MPH, crunched into the rear of the coach.

 The locomotive's pilot under rode the rear platform, ripping it upwards an instant before the locomotive's full weight splintered it...James Sweeney was still on the rear platform when the locomotive crunched into it, he was slammed through the rear wall when the locomotive forced itself about ten feet into the coach, crushing and splintering it as it went. The impact also tore the coach's roof free of the body and #627 under-rode it, ripping it's headlight and smokestack away and dropping the roof onto the top front of it's boiler, where it sat, angled upwards.

The coach bunted forward as it was hit, probably ripping the coupling between it and the next coach free, and the two coaches very likely bumped platforms, then bounced apart. When Sweeney's companion ran forward through the coach, he shouted a warning, but it wasn't enough....everyone in the coach bounced back, then lunged forward when the locomotive slammed through the coach, with a few people who were standing pinballing off of seats and each other before ending up in a heap on the floor. Anyone sitting in the last three or so rows of seats, at the point of impact, was horribly injured and possibly killed as those seats were ripped loose and shoved together, but many of the coach's occupants came through with just bumps and bruises...after all it wasn't a violent impact, at least as train wrecks go.

 Unless you were sitting in those last three or so rows of seats it was more of a slow, rough shove rather than a crushing impact, and it's even possible that many of the passengers in those doomed rows of seats managed to jump up and move forward, away from the 'kill zone', before the crash. So the crash itself, while it did cause a couple of fatalities and a serious injury or two, wasn't the worst part of the wreck by far.  It was the immediate aftermath of the collision that turned the interior of the coach into high-test nightmare fuel.

I don't know if it happened in the initial collision or when the coach jolted forward then bounced back, but somehow the front ends of both steam cylinders were punctured, and both let go simultaneously with a roar that overshadowed the drumming of the rain, sending twin high-pressure jets of superheated steam through the length of the coach, flaying the skin off of passengers  and blowing the door on the far end of the coach open.

Agonized screams erupted from the coach as the steam all but instantly condensed, filling the coach floor to ceiling and wall to wall with a dense white cloud that blinded all of the occupants even as they searched desperately for a way out of their sudden nightmare. 

A dozen or more passengers managed to find a window, and either shove it open and pull themselves out of the coach or just smash through the window itself and jump...already suffering horrible burns, they probably also slashed their arms and hands severely as they did so. The coach was still on the trestle when Locomotive 627 ripped into it, so when those passengers dived through the windows, they dropped into the murky waters of the river below. 

Several fathers of young children and infants tossed their kids out of a window, then dived in after them, but sadly, only one of theses children...an 18 month old baby girl...survived their ordeal. There were several children in the coach, and sadly, most of them, including our little 11 year old babysitter, her young charges as well as their mom, and both halves of our 12 year old puppy-love couple would succumb to their injuries.

All of the other passengers on both trains knew something had happened...cars in the first section jolted forward domino fashion, whipping the passengers' heads back as each coach jumped ahead, while the excursionists aboard the train's second section lunged forward into the seats ahead of them as the train came to a sudden stop, injuring a few of the second section's passengers as well, though none severely. 

Occupants of the first section coaches not on the trestle climbed down into the rain to see what had happened, many of them making their way to the bridge by walking along the causeway that extended out from the west bank of the river. The second section passengers, however, were pretty much stuck.

 Keep in mind that the collision occurred on the trestle itself, which meant that to get to the devastated coach, those on the first section likely had to climb back aboard the train and make their way through the last couple of coaches to reach the wrecked last coach. Those aboard the second section, of course, could walk along the causeway on their side of the river to reach the trestle, but they, seemingly, really had no good way to get to the wrecked coach or the other side of the river because the two trains had the trestle blocked.

Most of the 1300 excursionists were milling around in absolute confusion, many of them still aboard the trains where, at least, it wasn't raining, but not everyone was in a state of panic or confusion. Engineer Ed Aitkin climbed back onto the bridge, then into 627's cab, where he banked the fire and (Supposedly) closed the throttle to reduce the pressure of the steam roaring into the coach.

Mays Landing's station master was instantly aware that something horrible had happened, as was Dan Cassidy, in Locomotive 262's cab, along with the rest of the first section crew. One of the first section brakemen was sent off into the rain to flag down the east bound express before it caused an even worse disaster by plowing into the wrecked trains, while the stationmaster was very likely pounding out telegraph messages requesting assistance.

But the most amazing response came from the citizens of Mays Landing itself. One of the Woods family's huge mills was located in Mays Landing, and had just released it's work force for the day about a half hour before the wreck. Many of the workers were just sitting down to supper when the wreck occurred, and whether they learned about it from hearing the crunching impact itself, or the roar of the steam cylinders letting go, or from word of mouth as the shouted message 'Train wreck on the bridge!!! spread through-out the town, the men jumped up from dinner tables, and ran for the scene, where they found a huge cloud of steam rising from the wrecked coach and locomotive, screams emanating from the coach, and more than a dozen people floundering around in the river.

Boats were quickly launched in the still-pounding rain and rowed to the scene, where those in the water were pulled aboard and brought ashore, but the injured in the wrecked coach would be a more difficult problem. When Ed Aitkin closed 627's throttle, that cut the steam supply to the steam cylinders, and shut down the scalding jets blasting through the coach, but the rescuers still had to wait until all of the steam pressure dumped to ensure that they themselves didn't end up among the injured.

Then they had to get the injured excursionists, all of whom were in horrible pain, out of the wreck. The wrecked coach was still on the trestle, where the collision occurred, but at least it was still partially intact and still on the rails, and, with the exception of James Sweeney, none of the injured were actually physically trapped (From what I gathered, anyway). Our early first responders still had to get to them, though...and then had to get them out of the wrecked coach and off of the train.

Among the very first rescuers to to make it to the wrecked coach was Father Francis Quinn, who had been in the last car of the second section, and who had worked his way through the train's eight cars, trying to reassure the passengers, even as he tried to figure out what had happened. Once he finally made it to and out of the first car, he somehow also made his way to the wrecked coach (I have a sneaking suspicion he hailed one of the rescue boats, climbed down into the boat, then had it's crew row him to the trestle just below the intact end of the car, where he climbed, or was assisted, up and in.) 

One of the first victims he ran up on was James Sweeney, trapped between locomotive 627's front plate and the wreckage at the rear of the coach...all he could do was give the injured man final absolution. James Sweeney's younger brother, who had been aboard another first section coach, also made his way to the wrecked coach, and found his brother at about the time Father Quinn began praying for him...all the younger Sweeney could do was pray with him as his heart was being ripped out.

Most of our make-do first responders probably had a marginally...very marginally...easier time accessing the wrecked coach. They probably used the causeway on the west side of the river, and the first section's coaches, to access the scene, walking down the causeway until they got to the last coach before the trestle, climbed aboard, and made their way through the train to the wrecked coach. Once they were finally inside the shattered coach, they had to disentangle the injured passengers from the wreckage, and once that was accomplished the most difficult part of the rescue started. The injured still had to be carried through the other coaches until they were off of the bridge (The lesser injured/uninjured occupants, if there were any, also had to walk through the intact coaches to get off of the bridge, of course). Getting the injured excursionists off of the train had to have been a long, laborious process that took at the least a couple of hours, and their problems weren't even close to over yet. 

As the citizens of Mays Landing carried out this rescue, soaking wet, rain roaring down on them, and daylight fading fast, they realized they had yet another problem. There were more people on the two trains than there were citizens of Mays Landing. Or actually, three trains...a few minutes after the collision, the eastbound express eased to a stop at the station, bell clanging and airbrakes hissing like angry snakes. This added several hundred more people to the ongoing nightmare, but at least none of them were injured.

 What were they going to do with all these people?

The railroad depot became the command post as well as a triage center of sorts, with Father Quinn acting as the Incident Scene Commander.  He first sent groups of able-bodied passengers, who had been milling around and adding to the confusion, out into the village to both request more manpower and a laundry-list of supplies, such as flour (Used on burns back in that era) bandages and lanterns. He then had the injured, after being removed from the wrecked coach, brought to the station, where they were made as comfortable as possible as the townspeople began formulating a plan to care for them. There were a couple of taverns/inns in town whose owners quickly agreed to take some of the injured, but to show the true nature of the town's citizens, almost every family in town also agreed to house several of the injured excursionists.

While this was going on Quinn had the stationmaster pound out messages to the WJ&A offices in Camden, the Mayor's office in Philadelphia, and St. Anne's, both to advise them of the wreck, and request assistance. He requested transportation to Philly for the injured, calling for at least 30 ambulances, 35 stretchers, and police assistance at the station in Camden, as well, I'm sure, as asking that a ferry be held, with steam up, to get them across to Philadelphia.

An emergency request for doctors and all other assistance that could be rounded up, was also sent to Atlantic City, advising them of the wreck as well as the number and nature of injuries. Atlantic City was only 17 miles away...they should have had some medical personnel there within an hour or so. Should have. Unfortunately it didn't happen that way. 

And they absolutely needed some more help. Out of the thirteen hundred excursionists, there was only one doctor...Dr. Edward Reichart, from Philadelphia...on board. He started doing what he could for the injured, and was quickly joined by local doctors Denman Ingersoll and Charles Gill, but the three of them were all but instantly overwhelmed both by the number of injured patients, and the severity of the injuries they were facing. These were horrible injuries. Full thickness third degree burns covering well over fifty percent of the patients' bodies along with severe respiratory tract burns from inhaling superheated steam. Many of these injuries wouldn't have been survivable today much less 140 years ago.

The patients were made as comfortable as possible as telegraph keys were pounded, messages flying across the wires, devising a plan to get the worst injured patients to Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia as quickly as possible, our make-shift first responders all the while listening, and casting glances eastward, looking and waiting in vain for help from Atlantic City. A rescue train wouldn't arrive from Atlantic City for nearly three hours. Ultimately, it would be revealed that the powers that be in Atlantic City hadn't taken the request seriously until literally hours after it was made, probably after they received more detailed news of the wreck.

At least, by the time the plan to transport the patients was set in motion the rain had finally slacked up a bit, though I don't think it had quite stopped. The game plan was pretty straight forward, but was going to take some shuffling. First, thirty or so of the very worst injured patients were loaded on the last three cars of the express train. As they were being loaded, Locomotive 262 was cut loose from the excursion train, and Dan Cassidy eased the throttle open, rolling towards the far end of the passing siding, where a brakeman set the turnout to let him enter the main line. Once the locomotive was out on the main line, the turnout was reset and Cassidy backed down to the express train, coupling 262 to the express train's last car, which would now become the 'hospital train's' first coach. Then the three makeshift hospital cars were cut from the express train, and Cassidy reversed the process, pulling those cars down the main line, then backing into and down the passing siding until he coupled those three cars to the first coach of the excursion train's first section.

While all of this train shifting was going on the lesser injured and uninjured excursionists...or at least as many of them as possible...made their way to the first section's fifteen intact cars and climbed back aboard. The way I understand it, most of the first section's passengers, and a fair number of the stranded second section passengers...at least the ones who, somehow, found a way to get across the river...squeezed aboard the train. That homebound trip would be one crowded, uncomfortable, and grim hour and a quarter or so train ride.

The last person to pull himself aboard one of the three makeshift hospital cars was Father Quinn, who would accompany the thirty critically injured patients to Camden. He moved from car to car, comforting the patients as best as he could...

...And you'd think that Dan Cassidy would have given two blasts on the whistle, and pulled out, and they would've been on their way to Camden...but no. Someone had to try to throw a wrench into the gears. Mill manager George Oatley suddenly appeared on the scene, and informed everyone that the train could not leave yet because all of the requirements of the laws of New Jersey and Pennsylvania RE: Records of death: had not been complied with. 

It wasn't made clear just whose attention Oatley brought this to, or just exactly how he thought he was going to single handedly stop a train short of either standing in the middle of the track (Where he could easily be removed) or padlocking the throw for the turnout (That's what bolt cutters are for...and yes, bolt cutters existed back then) or even just how long of a delay he caused, but I also have a feeling that he was, not at all politely, told to get the hell outa the way. At around 11:30 on that wet, tragic evening, Dan Cassidy gave 262's whistle those two delayed blasts and pulled off, easing back out onto the main line. His brakeman threw the turnout as the last car click-clacked onto the main line, then, in a maneuver that was so practiced it was all but natural, pulled himself onto the last car's rear platform, then leaned around the side of the coach and waved a lantern to give Dan Cassidy the highball sign, letting him know he could open up the throttle and roll. 

The collision's worst injured victims were...finally...on the way home.

That had to have been one long, long hour and fifteen minute or so ride. Father Quinn and very likely Dr. Reichart did what they could for the patients, but they just didn't have the resources available to treat such horrific burn injuries back then. All they could do was provide as much comfort as possible, while listening to the wails and moans of pain, overlaid by the clicking of wheels across rail joints. Again, it was a long ride home.

The train pulled into Camden sometime between 12:30 and 12:45AM, and Camden's Chief of Police had taken all of the precautions requested by Father Quin to heart, plus a couple he added on his own. Horse drawn ambulances were queued up to receive patients, and dozens of police officers were guarding the platform to prevent anyone from interfering with the transfer of patients. 

At the nearby ferry terminal, at least two and possibly three boats had been dedicated to the task of transporting the injured and the rest of the excursionists across to Philadelphia. The way this process was handled was exactly backwards from what you'd think, BTW...first the hundreds of lesser injured and uninjured excursionists were escorted to one of the boats, where they walked aboard, crowding the vehicle deck and lining the rails as the paddlewheels began thrashing the water and the boat pulled out of the slip.

As the uninjured were making their way aboard their ferry, stretcher-bearers entered the three hospital cars, which had their shades drawn to prevent curious gawkers from staring in at the patients, gingerly loaded the patients onto the folding canvas stretchers of the era, and equally gently transferred them to the ambulances, whose drivers reined their horses into action for the two hundred or so yard trip to the ferry landing. The ambulances were then loaded onto their own ferry (Or maybe a couple of ferries) for the ten minute trip across the Delaware River. Once they were in Philly, the patients were transported to Pennsylvania Hospital, on Pine Street near 8th Street, all of the ambulances, rolling along in convoy, arriving at the hospital within minutes of each other. 

Keep in mind here that this was long before actual 'Emergency Rooms', emergency medicine, and definitive trauma care were even thought of...Pennsylvania Hospital wouldn't even have an E.R. until 1942...and on top on that many of the 'pre-hospital' and in-house treatments for severe burns actually made the problem worse (We'll take a look at this in 'Notes'). Sadly most of these patients would pass away with-in a couple of days.

Also at the Philadelphia ferry terminal on Market Street, hundreds of worried relatives and friends of the excursionists were waiting for the ferries to dock. They hadn't received news of the wreck until midnight, or possibly shortly before, but they knew something was wrong...bad wrong... because the train was hours overdue. The trip from Atlantic City to Camden shouldn't have taken longer than two hours, at the most, then another thirty minutes or so to get everyone on a ferry or two and across the Delaware. Everyone should have been home, recounting the days adventures, by 9PM.

Then a group had possibly gone to the ferry terminal (Or maybe even crossed to Camden, and gone to the train station) and found out about the wreck, learning only that there had been injuries,. The news was brought back to the neighborhood, and spread like wildfire.

A contingent of Philadelphia cops had barred them from crossing to Camden, to keep the train from being mobbed by well-meaning relatives, but now these same frantic relatives probably mobbed the first ferry when it docked, making unloading even more difficult as people searched for loved ones and held them in tight embraces if they found them...or keened in grief and worry if they didn't.

Meanwhile the ferry with the ambulances aboard docked and the horse drawn ambos rolled off, guarded by even more cops, and rolled in convoy the mile or so to Pennsylvania Hospital...ultimately the crowds at the hospital would grow so large that the police would have to post guards there as well. In scenes repeated after accidents to this very day, relatives of the injured kept a vigil at the hospital, waiting for word of their loved ones condition, and hopefully, improvement. Sadly, as I noted above, most of the burn patients would die within a day or so.

Back in Mays Landing, the investigation was already in progress (As was the WJ&A's effort to get the track back open.). By 7AM the morning after the wreck...Thursday the 12th... a crew and locomotive or two were on hand to tow both the damaged coach, and Locomotive 627 back to the road's shops in Camden. This same eastbound work train very likely transported Father Quinn, along with a pair of doctors and six nurses, back to Mays Landing to see to the transport of several more severely burned patients, but when they got back to the scene, they were met with the sad news that all of these patients...most of them kids...had passed away over night. With his heart feeling like it was made of solid lead, Father Quinn started arranging for both the transport of the bodies, and the transport of those excursionists who hadn't been able to find room on the first section the night before. 

I have a sneaking suspicion that getting the uninjured but stranded excursionists home wasn't really a problem. Once the wrecked coach and damaged Locomotive 627 were towed out of the way, another locomotive probably coupled to the second section's eight coaches and pulled them to the station platform, where the stranded excursionists boarded and finally continued their trip home.  

The deceased victims' trip home, however, would be delayed.

The reason for the delay was the coroner's inquest. Local physician Dr Theopolis H Boylsen kicked the process of convening the inquest into gear. The bodies of the deceased were moved to a local funeral home, where they were laid out on ice blocks...except for one. The badly mangled body of James Sweeney was laid out on the floor of a room in Atlantic County's courthouse...Mays Landing was, and still is, the seat of Atlantic County. Ten local citizens were seated on the jury, and the inquest...the first of three...was to be convened at the courthouse at 1PM.

While this macabre and morbid display was being set up, warrants were drawn up accusing both second section engineer Ed Aitkin and conductor Hoagland with 'Carelessness Resulting In Murder' (What would be known today as manslaughter).  Constables were sent to the scene, warrants in hand for both men,. The warrants were served to them, and both of them were taken into custody to be held on a $1000 bond ($30,000 in 2022 dollars). 

The rain had, finally, stopped sometime over-night and, as the appointed hour approached, jurors and accused alike made their way through the inevitable humidity of a mid August Jersey Shore morning and gathered, not at at the Atlantic County courthouse as you might think, but at the home and law office of prominent attorney J.E.P. Abbot, who was defending Aitkin and Hoagland

 Testimony was heard concerning the weather and it's effects (Rain, poor visibility, and wet, slippery rails), the lay of the track approaching the scene (Flat and straight as a string all the way in from the village limits), just how fast the train's second section was running (Too fast) and how long Aitkin had waited after the first section departed Atlantic City before pulling out himself (Anywhere from thirty seconds to, according to Aitkin, the mandated ten minutes...both highly improbable) and, possibly most importantly, Aitkin's actions immediately prior to the collision, and the performance of the train's airbrakes.

Aitkin became very emotional in his testimony, breaking into tears and testifying that he had done everything in his power to prevent the crash (Except maybe follow railroad rules and policies...). Then, at around 2PM, the jurors made a tour of the funeral home and the courthouse to view the deceased. After this macabre tour, they returned to Abbot's house and began deliberations, which would continue until the following afternoon, which would, somewhat ironically, be Friday the 13th.

 Several of the jurors felt that criminal charges weren't warranted, and they convinced their fellow jurors to return a verdict of Death By Accident, and all criminal charges were dropped. (There's a plot twist coming here, BTW...). 

The inquest was adjourned at around 4:45 on that Friday afternoon, and by 5:20, Aitkin and Hoagland were celebrating their acquittal over dinner in the dining room of the Union Hotel...where three of the injured passengers were resting in agony. (They, thankfully, would survive)

The bodies of the five deceased were released to their families and were loaded onto a baggage car and transported back to Camden on the 5:20 train, which pulled out of the station even as Aitkin and Hoagland celebrated their acquittal. The two of them likely caught a later train back home.

Thing is, it wasn't over yet.

On August 21st, ten days after the wreck, a second inquest was held in Camden that went into a bit more detail about the airbrakes and their function, as well as Aitkin's actions. Several people, from Aitkin himself and his fireman Sam Flowers to the train's brakemen, testified that the brakes had been tested and found to be working properly and had been applied in full emergency just before they hit, and the locomotive had been reversed to try and get them stopped as well. It was also stated that if they had had another hundred or so feet they may have gotten stopped, or at least slowed to the point that the impact would have been inconsequential.

It was also during the second inquest that Aitkin...just as emotional and remorseful as he'd been during his testimony at the first inquest...dropped a bombshell. He admitted that he may have mishandled the brakes. From what I could gather, Locomotive 627 had a newer version of Westinghouse's airbrake system that he wasn't familiar with. And apparently Aitkin either hadn't allowed it to build up sufficient working pressure, or hadn't opened one of the air cocks all the way, but at any rate, the brakes may not have been getting full pressure. Then again, the wheels were locked and the train was sliding...

One of the WJ&A officials surmised that the brakes had been tampered with, but could give no further evidence that any tampering had actually happened, or just exactly how or why such sabotage could have occurred, and besides, Aitkin's testimony was more plausible. Only problem was, Aitkin's testimony also opened the WJ&A up to some pretty serious liability. This testimony also devastated Ed Aitkin...he was so emotional at the conclusion of his testimony that he had to be helped from the room.

The jury convened and pondered over the evidence that they had heard, and returned a verdict, again, of death by accident, noting the weather, Aitkin's lack of experience with the newer Westinghouse Automatic brake, and the very probable insufficient distance between the two sections when the reached Mays Landing as probable contributing factors. Aitkin, once again, somehow dodged a bullet.

While the jury apparently did find that the accident was caused by a certain level of negligence with some mitigating factors, they also found that this negligence didn't reach the level of criminal negligence, and once again, Aitkin was judged to be innocent...criminally at any rate. And he still wasn't off the hook. (...And that plot twist continues to develop...)

A third inquest was held in Philadelphia, though no date was given for inquest #3. These jurors also journeyed to Jersey City, where the wrecked coach and the damaged Locomotive 627 had both been taken, to give both a thorough inspection, and to allow witnesses for both sides to better illustrate certain points.

One of these points was 627's throttle. During testimony, the WJ&A's chief mechanic noted that the locomotive's throttle was still wide open when the wrecked locomotive was pulled to the shop (Despite the fact that Aitkin supposedly closed it after climbing back aboard at the scene). He noted that, if Ed Aitken had slammed the throttle closed before he jumped, there would have been no long, devastating blast of high pressure, super-heated steam. Instead, if the throttle had been closed when the steam cylinders were ruptured there would have been one very quick burst of steam, then nothing, which would have prevented most, if not all, of the horrendous burn injures from happening. But, with the throttle open, all of the steam in the boiler was allowed to blast out of the ruptured cylinders, and rip through the wrecked coach, with the devastating results that did occur.

Even with this additional information, the jurors reached the same conclusion that had been drawn in the two previous inquests...the deaths were the result of an unfortunate accident, and Aitkin and Hoagland bore none of the blame...or at least not enough to be criminally charged. All charges were dropped against the two men, and they were free to go.

The WJ&A's assistant trainmaster probably helped their case immensely when he testified that the airbrakes absolutely had to have been tampered with, though no physical evidence of tampering was found. In fact, there was all but conclusive evidence that the brakes hadn't been tampered with...though it wasn't stated specifically anywhere, when the coaches of the second section were removed from the scene, probably with the stranded excursionists aboard...well that's just it. They were removed, very likely to the line's HQ in Camden, without incident and with those same allegedly tampered with airbrakes apparently working  perfectly.

 Me thinks that the rail line's honchos were desperately trying to divert the three juries...and the public's...attention from the fact that Aitkin was likely both going too fast and following the first section too closely. And they were apparently able to do just that. More on just how they managed this a little further down.

Meanwhile, as the inquests and hearings dragged on, St Anne's and the rest of the churches whose parishioners had been aboard the ill-fated  coach buried their dead. There were thirty fatalities, the majority of whom died at Pennsylvania Hospital over the two or three days immediately following the wreck. Sadly, the majority of these deaths were young people, several of them children.

The first of the thirty funerals was that of four year old Freddy Carr, whose parents were still patients at Pennsylvania Hospital...funeral arrangements were made by a neighbor.

The funerals were held over the course of several days, and several of them were double funerals...Husband and wife or mother and child. Making it worse for several of the families, some of the deceased had been too badly injured to transport, and had died in Mays Landing, meaning that they had to first arrange (And pay for) transport of the body to Philadelphia before a proper wake and burial could take place.

Keep in mind that almost all of the deceased were of Irish descent, and interment of their loved ones involved very elaborate traditions, and this extra delay weighed heavily on the survivors. (We'll take a look at this in 'Notes').

Many of the funerals were particularly elaborate affairs that were attended by huge crowds, especially the funerals of the children who died in the crash. Nearly two dozen funerals took place over the weekend after the crash, with several more the following week, burials taking place in several different cemeteries in both Philadelphia and Camden.

Sadly, their headstones are their only memorial...while the deaths and funerals were covered pretty well by the local press, once the inquests were over with and the mourners had left the cemeteries, the state of New Jersey washed their hands of the wreck, and tossed the towels in the trash. There isn't even a memorial at St Anne's, which is still an active church and parish in Philadelphia. 

Generally in such a tragic accident, especially when children are the victims, the local papers cover the funerals extensively, and while there were obituary's of the deceased and some decent coverage of the funerals in the Philly papers, for the most part coverage of both the wreck and the funerals by newspapers in New Jersey was all but nonexistent.

This lack of reporting of the wreck was pretty much a New Jersey only phenomenon, BTW. Thanks to the telegraph and wire services, news of the wreck spread quickly, and widely, with front page articles about the wreck appearing in hundreds of papers nationwide a day or so after it occurred. A few...very few...New Jersey papers carried the story, while papers as far away as San Francisco not only reported the crash, but did so in great detail.

One thing that the Wood family had going strongly in their favor was their uber-strong ties with the N.J. business community. They handily controlled the release of information about the wreck, as well as rushing the news cycle so the few stories that were published about the crash disappeared from the papers quickly.

This allowed them to all but quash coverage of the wreck with-in The Garden State. Their hope, of course, was that the story would drop out of the public's view in a day or so, a tactic that apparently worked.

And it gets better...remember that whole 'The deaths were due to unfortunate accident' deal, with no fault being found? It turns out that all of the members of that first jury were connected with the cotton mill in Mays Landing, which was owned by Richard Wood, who also had controlling interest in the WJ&A, a railroad whose head honchos were pretty sure that their guy had screwed up royally, and were trying desperately to avoid multiple lawsuits.

The WJ&A was actually fairly...though not completely... successful in avoiding litigation, and me thinks that this near direct connection from major railroad stockholder to jurors who also happened to be employees of the mill he also owned just might have had something to do with it. We'll take a look at how the road fared a few paragraphs down, but, spoiler alert, it could have been far worse than it was.

These weren't the only shenanigans that the WJ&A brass pulled to divert blame, BTW. On top of  somehow cajoling what were essentially three 'Not Guilty' verdicts from the juries in the three inquests, the WJ&A brass had also managed to hide a good little bit of inflammatory information from both the juries and the officials conducting the inquests. These are a few of the key points that, somehow, failed to come to the attention of the Coroners Juries:

*In the weeks before the wreck, two WJ&A trains had derailed due to faulty track alignment. 

*There were too few coaches for the number of passengers on the excursion, meaning that that fatal last coach, which had somewhere around 70 passengers stuffed inside, was grossly over crowded. 

*The Pennsylvania Railroad, who oversaw WJ&A operations, decided to run the train in two sections, despite the fact that two trains running fairly close to each other could potentially result in, well, exactly what happened.

None of these items were known to any of the three coroners juries. It probably wouldn't have mattered to the first one anyway, but what of the other two?  I couldn't find out a whole lot about the make-up of those two groups, but I have a sneaking suspicion that, if you could go back in time and be a fly on the wall as the jurors were selected, you'd find that several of them had some connection with either the railroad itself, or the Wood family. Barring that...and this is just a suspicion, and one that really wasn't directly covered in any of my sources...a few palms very well may have been greased (With said expense, no doubt, written off as a 'Operating Expense' in the company ledgers.).

All of this in hopes of reducing, or even eliminating the amount awarded to the plaintiffs in any lawsuits. And they were almost...almost...successful.

Oh, the road settled with the families of the victims...by the time the third inquest, in Philadelphia, was called to order, sixteen families had retained lawyers and filed suit. But, with the road being found blameless not once, but three times, those same lawyers didn't have a whole lot of ammo to fire back with.

The settlements amounted to $500 per claim, or just shy of $14,500 in todays money, for a total settlement of around $8,000, or about $230,000 in 2022 dollars, total. There were several other suits over the next couple of months, and all claims were settled by the end of February of 1881, for a total of  $82,500 or $2,400,000 in 2022 dollars. Far less, even in that more conservative litigative era, than they would have paid out had the WJ&A been found to be at fault. Had the line been found to be at fault (As, less face it, it absolutely should have been) that total payment could well have been the settlement per person, which would have bankrupted the railroad.

Needless to say, the lawsuits weren't covered by the papers, and with the lawsuits settled, the wrecked coach scrapped, and the damaged locomotive 627 repaired and put back in service, the WJ&A brass achieved their goal...the wreck faded away into the mists of memory, all but ignored by the New Jersey news media.

The lack of in-state coverage of the wreck continued long after the last of theses lawsuits were settled, and extended to official documentation. Each year during that era, the State of New Jersey published an extensive and exhaustive report on rail and canal activities occurring during the previous year, to include major accidents. Wanna guess which accident doesn't appear in the report covering 1880?

That lack of documentation continues to this very day...there is no official mention, or, indeed, any mention of the wreck in any state document covering rail accidents. Anywhere.

St Anne's, in Philadelphia, still exists, both as a parish and a church, and was the home church for most if not all of the victims of the wreck, so you'd think there would be some kind of remembrance or memorial to them. Sadly, though, there is no mention what so ever of the victims of the wreck, anywhere. No memorial plaque, no memorial remembrance on or near the anniversary of the wreck, not even a quick mention in the church bulletin on the Sunday Morning of the wreck's anniversary week.

I can't help but think that the Bishop...uncle of Richard Wood...kicked this lack of remembrance off 140  years ago at the behest of his nephew by insisting that no permanent memorial of any kind, nor any mention of the wreck or victims be made. Can't have anyone be reminded of the wreck, can we?  

The private sector even got involved...Railroad historical groups are generally the Go-To place for any old-railroad documents and lore, but you won't find any written documentation on the wreck preserved by any of the New Jersey chapters of the various groups dedicated to preserving railroad history, to include:

The National Railroad Historical Society, in Moorestown, N.J.

The West Jersey Chapter of the NHRS, in Palmyra, N.J.

Even the Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania, in Strasburg fails to mention the wreck.

Somehow, the State of New Jersey almost...almost...managed to wipe any memory of the wreck out of existence. The one thing they couldn't get rid of is the relatives of the dead and injured, who well remembered the wreck, and even after the last of them passed away, records of those who were patients at Pennsylvania Hospital still exist.

The building that these patients were transported to, in fact, still exists, and is an integral part of the now huge teaching hospital's campus at 800 Spruce Street, in Philadelphia. The original hospital building is now registered as a historic landmark, and is partially preserved as a museum, and patient records dating even earlier than 1880 are available for study. The records for the thirty patients who were transported from the ferry landing to the hospital at nearly 1AM that long ago morning are, indeed, still extant and available for study.

Railroading buffs...known as railfans...are an ardent fanbase, with many of their number being legitimately expert historians, and while their organizations may not have preserved any records of the wreck, the railfans themselves have helped keep memory of the wreck alive.

We can also thank such organizations as the Hamilton Historical Society for preserving the memory of the wreck, as well as Author Mari D'Albora Dattolo, whose awesome book about the wreck provided the bulk of my research for this post.

But the biggest physical reminder of the wreck is the trestle...it's still there, or at least it's remains are.  The WJ&A became part of the West Jersey and Seashore in 1896 (Like the WJ&A, a division of the Pennsylvania Railroad) and most of that line ceased operations in 1930. I believe the old WJ&A tracks became a spur of the Pennsylvania Railroad and remained in operation when the rest of the West Jersey line shut down. Thanks to this, trains rumbled through Mays Landing for another thirty-six years... eighty-six years after the wreck...before the spur from Camden to Atlantic City shut down for good in 1966. It was one of the last remnants of the old West Jersey to cease operations.

The tracks were pulled up shortly after, but the trestle remained, slowly deteriorating, still connecting the two now trackless causeways. The causeways are now narrow, forested peninsulas, with well-maintained paths leading out to the remains of the trestle. You can get to it off of Reliance Ave on the river's west side...a block or so from Mays' Landing's fire station, which sits astride the former track bed and footprint of the old train station...and off of the end of Taylor Ave on the east end, hard by Mays Landing's long dormant 'New' train station.

Now citizens of the village, and visitors alike can make their way up the paths to the old trestle, and likely often do. Seems like it would be an awesome place to go to enjoy fall leaves or a warm spring afternoon, a perfect twilight rendezvous point for teen or young adult sweethearts, and a peaceful venue for a picnic or to just sit and read, or reflect.

Far different from the scene on that old trestle on a rainy August night 140 years ago.

The former West Jersey & Atlantic/PRR railroad trestle over the Greater Egg Harbor River in Mays Landing, still standing after 140 years

**

The Victims Of The Wreck

Henry Bender (23)            Freddy Carr (4)              Sarah Collins (23)

John Develin (25)        Charles Frost (28)             William Frost( UNK)

Mary Gallagher (24)       Will Gallagher (25)   Annie Gillespie (12) 

  Elizabeth Grace (UNK)   Lavina Grace (16)      Lillie Grace (19)

Mary Green (17)         Mary Henratty (22)        Patrick McBride (24) 

    Margarette. McCrystal (27)  Margaret. McCrystal (20 mos.)   Catherine McCrystal (4 mos.) 

   Henry McCain (26)     Joseph McGovern (12)       Thomas McGrath (40)

Kate Murphy (22)   Rose Murphy (19)       Mary McDonald (UNK)          

     Ellen Shields (24)       James Sweeney (20)    

      Katie Walsh (11)                Owen Walsh (18)

Emma Wright (35)           Sarah Wright  (19)

Katie Walsh was Margarette McCrystal's niece, and was helping her by babysitting the two McCrystal children, Catherine and Margaret. 

Margarette McCrystal was the McCrystal childrens' mom.

Annie Gillespie and Joseph McGovern were our little puppy-love couple.

Emma Wright and Sarah Wright were mother and daughter, as were Elizabeth and Lavina Grace.

Rose and Kate Murphy were sisters.

Will and Mary Gallagher had just been married.

<***>

<***> Notes, Links, and Stuff <***>

Every once in a while, when I start working on a post just knowing that the research is going to drive me straight up the wall, it'll turn around and surprise me. Make that pleasantly surprise me. This ended up being one of those posts.

Even so, there were a whole slew of reasons why I initially though this one was going to be an absolute beast to research...three biggies in particular. Let's call 'em Strikes 1, 2, and 3.

 The lack of a Wiki page was my very first clue that there might not be much info about the wreck on the inter-webs. Normally, if you plug something into the ol' Google machine, that topic's Wikipedia page is not only on the first page of search results, it'll usually be among the very first two or three search results that appear on that first page. Lack of said Wiki page is, generally, not a good sign. This was Strike 1.

Then there was the fact that the wreck happened 142 years ago. Unless one of these long-ago incidents is particularly famous or even infamous, occurring nearly a century and a half in the past is often Strike 2 in the research ball game. Everyone with first and even second hand knowledge about the incident passed away long ago, the incident isn't at all well known...or, sometimes, even known of at all...to the current generation, the incident's on-line presence is as barren as the middle of a desert, and any ancient archived type-written or even hand-written hard-copy records and reports are very likely long gone, having probably been disposed of to make room for newer records long before we were even born. Meaning that, sadly, those records had been gone for literally decades by the time a modern researcher went looking for them, and searching for them...or, indeed, any info about the incident...on-line won't yield anything but eye-strain. Again...Strike 2.

Then we have what should have been Strike 3, at least for this particular post...the cover-up. Not only was information about the wreck suppressed in the New Jersey papers by the railroad's owners, the State of New Jersey also suppressed info by not recording anything about the wreck in any official records or documents (A dearth of official documentation about the wreck that continues to this very day). Which could have very well meant that any recorded information about the wreck, well, wasn't. Recorded that is. Meaning that it may have never existed in the first place. Copies of the State Canal and Railroad record for 1880 still exist, and researchers with far better resources that I have searched through those ancient records at length. Trust me, and more importantly, them, there is no record of the wreck there. 

So, by all rights, this really should have been one of the posts that, at best, I had very few actual facts to work with, leading to lots of guessing and speculating, and at worse, one of the ones I ended up abandoning entirely for lack of usable information. There have been a couple of those...incidents that would have made for excellent Blog material...interesting and unusual if tragic....except for the fact that the only information I could find about them was that they happened. 

The Mays Landing wreck was beginning to show all of the earmarks of being one of those posts that's either almost all speculation, backed up by precious few facts (I hate writing one of those) or, even worse, the next possible blog post that I had to abandon, and probably would have been one or the other had it not been for a bit of extremely good luck early in the ball-game.

 We're talking, to continue my baseball analogy, A-Pair-Of-Home-Runs-With-The-Bases-Loaded level good luck.  And that good luck came in the form of a couple of links on that first page of search results, right where the link for the missing Wiki page usually resides.

These links led to a couple of online articles posted by the Hamilton Historical Society (Mays Landing is actually part of the larger Hamilton Township). These articles were chock full of useful and interesting facts and info about the wreck, and would have gotten me off to a good start on this post all by themselves...But then I noticed that one of the links was, apparently, an excerpt from a book. Hmmm..

Hamilton Township boasts a very active Historical Society whose members are confirmed history nuts in the best possible way, and better yet, are passionate about the history of their own community. And one of their members is an author,. A very very talented author, who is apparently also a very very meticulous researcher. And she wrote a book. About the wreck. 

 Could I have actually been that lucky? A comprehensive book about the wreck? That I found before I actually started writing the post??

Yes...Yes I could!  That book is 'Between The Shore and The City-Tragedy At Mays Landing, and the very very talented author-lady who researched and wrote it is one Mari D'Albora Dattolo.  Her excellent book covered not only the wreck itself, but the investigation, the cover-up, and the aftermath. And it was (And still is) available, for not a lot of money, on Amazon.

Needless to say, I clicked 'Buy Now' in something under two seconds flat. Ms Dattolo's extremely well researched and well written book ended up providing the bulk of my own research material.

Ms. Dattolo also included a fictionalized account of how several of the tragic occupants of the wrecked coach spent the last hours of their life...and here I had to be careful because I absolutely could not use any of that part of the book. I know how I'd feel if parts of one of my own posts turned up on another blog post, and the author of that post claimed my words as his own. 'Incensed' would be a mild term for it. Any author, from Steven King to a middle-schooler whose A+ earning book report's turned in by another student, would feel that way. So I really try to avoid committing plagiarism, meaning I could use absolutely none of that portion of the book, and had to be careful even referencing it. So I very very carefully sort of stepped around it...

What I did do is what I usually do...write it as I thought it may have happened.  Of course, this means I had to do my usual good bit of speculating, but Ms. Datollo's book aimed that speculation in the right direction, so I at least I wasn't 'flying blind'. As I've noted before, trying to put myself on scene, visualizing just who and what did what when makes these posts more fun to write, and hopefully, more fun and interesting to read. I've said it before and I'll say it again...I don't ever want any of my posts to be just dry. history-class-like recitals of facts and figures.

There are still unanswered questions about this one, of course...the wreck not only happened over 140 years ago, information was actively suppressed, so some of those questions will likely go unanswered. Thanks to Ms. Dattolo's book, however, there are a lot of now-answered questions about the wreck.  I'm really glad she wrote it, and not just because it made researching this blog post a breeze. It also helped preserve the history of this tragic, interesting, and unusual wreck and memorialized the victims of the tragedy.

Hopefully this post will also go at least a little ways in helping help keep the wreck, and the names of the victims, from being forgotten.

On to the Notes...and Links...And stuff!

<***>

Back in about 1967, when we still lived in Boykins, Va, a family friend from Glens Falls, NY and his own family spent a week in Nags Head, N.C with us...a trip that would go on to become a yearly ritual for at least half a decade or so. I remember, as we were loading up the cars and getting ready to go, asking his daughter Pammy, who was a couple of years younger than my worldly and knowledgeable 10 years of age, why she said that we were going to 'The Shore' , because, well, we weren't, at least as far as I was concerned. To me 'The Shore' meant The Eastern Shore of Virginia, home to my Dad's side of the family. We'd be heading in the exact opposite direction to go to Nags Head...to 'The Beach!'.

So I corrected Pammy, telling her we were not going to the Eastern Shore, we were going to Nags Head. Pammy then brought this to her dad's attention. Her dad, Phil, then explained to me that up in their part of the world, when they went to the beach, it was usually to The Jersey Shore, shortened to the iconic 'The Shore', and therefore, any time they went to 'The Beach', wherever that beach might be, it was 'The Shore' to them.

 I remember thinking this must just be one of those peculiarities of those unfortunate individuals who lived north of the Mason-Dixon line...Hey, I was ten...but Phil, of course, was absolutely right.

So, lets get this straight and clear...If you are in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, or New York, and you are bound for one of those sandy resort places where the ocean meets dry land, you are, indeed, bound for 'The Shore'...whether it's the authentic Jersey variety or not!

<***>

Our excursionists got to spend about eight or so hours in Atlantic City, enjoying the The Shore, and Atlantic City's other attractions before tragedy struck. One of those attractions was not only built the same year Atlantic City was founded, its still around and open to the public today. That attraction is Absecon Light.

Absecon Light, on the extreme northern tip of Absecon Island was, and still is, New Jersey's tallest...and the nation's third tallest...light house. The 171 foot brick lighthouse, located at Vermont and Pacific avenues on the city's extreme north end, utilized a first order Fresnel lens to show a fixed white light. 

Construction of Absecon Light was started in June of 1855, and it's oil lamp was first lit to shine through it's Fresnel Lens on January 15, 1857...the light was probably visible to ships 12-15 miles off of the coast, but more importantly it was also visible in inclement weather, and served to warn mariners off of the shoal water near the island, when poor visibility might have them running hard aground after venturing closer to the island that their captain intended.

With Atlantic City being a resort town, the lighthouse also became a tourist destination, with people visiting it daily (And nightly, to see the beam reaching out from that huge Fresnel lens). Tours were given, with over 10,000 people a year signing the guest-book and climbing the lighthouse to get an eye-full of the awesome and beautiful view from 170 feet above the oceanfront.

All lighthouses are identifiable during daylight hours by their 'daymark', which is the unique color scheme assigned to a particular lighthouse. Absecon light's daymark, however, changed almost as frequently as we change shirts. Originally, the top and bottom thirds of it's tower were painted white, while the central third of the tower was painted red. In 1898, this was changed to orange-black-orange, then changed again, in 1907 to yellow-black-yellow, which was the color scheme it was wearing in 1933, when it was abandoned.

The lighthouse was abandoned when a far more efficient but, sadly, far less romantic unmanned light was erected on a steel tower at New Hampshire Ave and The Boardwalk. The old light house slowly deteriorated, with the keeper's and assistant keeper's houses torn down in the 40s, and the lighthouse itself only being saved from demolition because the city's citizens raised a serious ruckus...editorially at any rate...in it's defense. The city took over management of the lighthouse in 1946, then sold it to the State of New Jersey in 1966, and the light was lit on a few special occasions, but it wasn't restored and opened to the public until 1997. And, paint-color-wise it's, again been a chameleon, going from blue and white (Atlantic City High's colors) to white-red-white, and finally, back to yellow-black-yellow, the color it was painted when abandoned, and which it wears today. And once again, thousands of visitors a year climb to the top, admire that huge lens, and gaze in awe at the view they get of the Atlantic.

Oh...and they still light it up every night, even though it's not an official navigation aid. They just do it because it's cool.

<***>

While the great majority of Mays Landing's residents were all about helping the victims of the wreck, one select group decided they were going to enact their own version of Justice for them. With the second section's locomotive embedded itself in the last coach of the first, it didn't take a genius to figure out the gist of what happened, and it also didn't require major intellectual gymnastics to figure out that 'Someone screwed up'. And that whoever did screw up caused one hell of a lot of suffering and agony.

You'd think they'd go after Ed Aitkin, as he was the engineer who drove his train into that last coach, but no...they wanted the conductor. The conductor of a train, like the captain of a ship, is considered to be in charge, and ultimately responsible for whatever happens to it, so our justice seekers went conductor-hunting, and apparently grabbed the first person wearing a conductor's uniform who they encountered. 

One problem. The conductor they grabbed was Joseph Bartlett, who was apparently conductor of the just-stopped express train, and who had come to the scene to assist in any way he could. Our vigilantes, however, decided he was, in fact, Elmer Hoagland, and no amount of protesting by Bartlett could convince the enraged group otherwise. They dragged Bartlett to a telegraph pole near the west end of the trestle, one of the group produced some rope, and they preceded to tie him to the pole. Once he was secured, the group began serious discussion on just what methods they were going to use to convince Bartlett of his wrongs. Several suggestions were made, none of them particularly pleasant. Ultimately they decided on a good old fashioned lynching, and members of the group likely began scoping out trees to find one suitable for the task at hand.

Bartlett was saved when someone who knew him, and most importantly knew he hadn't even been on either train, intervened and convinced the group to let him go. The group released Bartlett, and he likely fled the scene, and I wouldn't blame him if he'd made a vow to himself to not ever offer his assistance to strangers again.

Speaking of fleeing the scene, Conductor Hoagland had seen what was going on, quickly realized that the guy they were planning to hang was supposed to be him and that Ed Aitkin was probably in danger as well. So Hoagland found Aitkin, let him in in on what was going on, and the two of them preceded to depart the scene.. They crawled beneath the train, slid down the causeway's embankment, and hotfooted it into the woods. By the time the lynch-mob realized their error and went in pursuit of Hoagland and Aitkin, they were long-gone. But it doesn't quite end there.

After hiding in the woods for hours, the two men doubled back. They had been gone long enough for some out-of-town media to arrive, apparently, and they ran into a New York Herald reporter who listened to their story, then helped them into one of the trains' baggage cars, where they hunkered down until time for the first Coroner's Jury the next day.

Interestingly, after being found to be blameless by the Coroners Jury, they celebrated by eating supper in one of Mays Landing's premiere inns...unmolested by the mob from the previous night.

<***>

While the citizens of Mays Landing and the surviving uninjured excursionists used the resources they had at hand to deal with the the disaster the best way they could, everyone was cocking an ear eastward, listening for the shrill whistle and high-speed steam exhaust that should have been a rescue train in-bound, bringing the closest help available to them.

When the Mays Landing station agent pounded out that first group of pleas for help shortly after the wreck occurred, one of them went to Atlantic City, only 17 miles away. Even with the low tech communications of that era, and the necessity of assigning rolling stock, gathering supplies, and getting a crew together, even with the inclement weather, a train should have been steaming westward, throttle wide open, in less than an hour, and should have been hissing to a stop behind the excursion train's second section well less than two hours after that request for help was made. 

Sadly, it didn't happen that way, and maddeningly, there has never been a really good excuse offered. It's been stated that the powers that be badly under-estimated the wrecks severity, and therefore didn't make getting help on the way to them a top priority, but I somehow can't believe that one. Think about it...'We had a locomotive telescope the last car of an excursion train and shower said car's seventy or so occupants with live steam' just doesn't sound like a minor problem.

I have a feeling that getting a rescue train rolling west from  Atlantic City somehow ended up being a major cluster, and no one was going to admit to it.

A rescue train from Atlantic City did finally arrive at the scene, and did have medical help and supplies on board, but they arrived almost four hours after they were requested. By the time they rolled in, the worst injured patients were on the way to Camden, and all of the other patients had been taken in by Mays Landings' good citizens. The crew from Atlantic City didn't have a whole lot to do.

As to why their response was so delayed, that'll probably remain a mystery. It never was explained well at all, but I have a feeling that my 'Major Cluster' theory is at least leaning in the right direction. Whatever the reason, the WJ&A, and the Pennsylvania Railroad buried it deeply and quickly...no way they wanted either the media or the public examining that fiasco with-in a disaster very closely!.

<***>

Severe burns are absolutely devastating injuries that require specialized treatment and therapy, and while advances were being made in burn treatment by the early 20th Century, truly effective burn treatment didn't come on the scene until World War II. And it definitely didn't exist in 1880. In fact, most of the treatments used for burns back in the day potentially caused more harm than good, and a couple of them were down right scary.

I'm just going to take a brief look at one of them here...flour. Good old baking flour..

The victims of the wreck probably looked like ghosts when they were loaded onto those horse drawn ambulances in Philly, because they had all been burned over a devastatingly huge percentage of their bodies, and those burns had been coated with flour. 

One of the standard treatments for severe burns a century and a half or so ago was to liberally coat the burned area with flour. It's purpose was two-fold...the flour helped create a hard crust...a scab...over the burn to reduce fluid loss, and was thought to provide some pain relief by blocking air from the burn. The only problem is, flour also exponentially increases the possibility of infection, which is already one of the biggest threats that victims of severe burns face. Burns damage the skin, which is the body's primary barrier against infection...so if you coat this now damaged anti-infection-fence with flour (Or any non-sterile, non-medically-approved substance, for that matter) you've just introduced a foreign substance to the burn. And made it not a case of if the burn will become infected, but when.

Flour on a burn also made treatment of the burn in the hospital even more difficult for both doctor and patient, because it would ultimately have to be cleaned off of the burn (Cleaned off, I might add, so that,  our 1880s physicians could add more topical treatments that probably increased the threat of infection).

I don't even want to think of what having flour scrubbed off of a raw burn was like. Trust me on this, it didn't reduce pain.

The use of flour on burns was occasionally a problem well into the 20th century, even as effective burn therapy was developed. (The use of grease or butter on burns continued even longer...early in my career as an EMT, we ran a couple of calls where the patient, usually a kid whose elderly grandmother had slathered a kid's burned hand or arm with either butter or bacon grease, had a burn covered with grease. The ER physician generally wasn't amused when we brought the patient in, the poor patient even less so when his burn had to be cleaned. This was only forty or so years ago, in the 1980s).

The use of flour on burns had pretty much disappeared by the mid or late 1910s, and you very seldom if ever see grease or butter applied to burns anymore...those kids whose grandmothers slathered their burns with grease 40 years ago are themselves very possibly grandparents today. People of all ages, unfortunately, still get themselves into situations where they are severely burned, but thanks to the lessons learned over the decades, their treatment is far more sophisticated and absolutely sterile, if, unfortunately, still painful

<***>

The great majority of the excursionists were first and second generation Irish immigrants, all of whom still followed the traditions of their Irish culture closely, including the very intricate traditions of the Irish funeral wake. and the Time of Mourning. 

Lets take a look at the Irish Wake first...Wakes are rituals that are said to assist the soul of the deceased in transitioning from the world of the living to the world of the dead, and are seen in a number of cultures . A traditional Irish Wake, especially during the Victorian era, was a very colorful, very social function, involving the family and friends of the deceased, and traditionally took place in the home of the deceased, and started two days before the funeral.

The friends of the deceased attended to pay respect to the departed, while the family provided hospitality, in the form of food, drink, and entertainment. There was often song and dance at Irish wakes...unless the death was particularly tragic, or was that of a child, in which case, the wake was far more restrained.. As all thirty of the fatalities from the wreck fell into at least one, and, sadly, often both of these categories, all of the wakes were very likely of the more restrained variety, though food and drink were still provided by the deceased's family.

The body of the deceased would be prepared at a funeral home, where it would be draped in white linen with black ribbons, then placed in the casket and brought to their home. Before the body's arrival, all mirrors in the home would be either covered, or turned facing the wall, said to aid the soul in entering heaven. Also, all of the clocks in the house would be stopped at the time of the deceased's passing. 

Once the body arrived at the home, the casket would be set up in the home's parlor, and lit candles would be placed at the head and foot of the casket. If the deceased was male, a pipe...of the tobacco-filled variety...would be placed on his chest, while other pipes would be placed through-out the home. Male guests would be encouraged to take a puff or two from  the pipes, a tradition said to discourage 'Evil Spirits' from interfering, as said spirits supposedly did not like smoke.  If the deceased was female, or a child, the pipe-smoking tradition was, I'm assuming, not included. I couldn't find any info on how our Evil Spirits were dealt with in such cases.

The body was never left alone during the wake's two day duration. Usually one of the women would sit with the body, often crying and wailing in a particular rhythmic manner known as 'keening'. Keening, interestingly enough, was actually an organized activity. It's actually a poetic lament, sung to the deceased by a group of women. A 'Lead Keener', so to speak, would begin the lament, in a high, wailing voice, then the other women in the group would join in and repeat the lament while swaying back and forth rhythmically. Believe it or not, there were actually professional keeners who would be hired to perform at wakes. 

Another truly morbid tradition, this one not restricted to Irish Wakes, would also take place in the Victorian Era...The deceased would get a portrait done by a professional photographer, often with family included in the shot.

Then there were the very detailed and strict rules concerning mourning. Men wore black suits while women were required to wear long black mourning dresses with a heavy crepe bonnet and black veil.

A widow was expected to mourn her husband for two years, while the loss of a child or parent was mourned for one year. A grandparent or sibling was mourned for six months. The color of the mourning clothes would lighten over the mourning period, going through various shades of grey to white.

A widower would mourn his wife for a year. During the mourning period, the mourners, be they women or men, did not go out into society, and would not receive visitors. Keep in mind that all of the victims of the wreck were from the same community, and all were Irish. The community would be pretty much dominated by these mourning rituals for months.

<***>

Cover-ups still occur to this very day, but the type of cover-up seen in this post...where an entire state is cut-off from media coverage of an event...would be virtually impossible to pull off today, Such a 'Full-State-Black-Out' has actually been all but impossible since the mid 1920s, and the difference is, of course, communications technology.

In 1880, the only way people could read the news of the day....well, that's just it, they read it. As in a newspaper, and it was far too easy for the owners of said newspaper to control exactly what was released. In the case of The Mays Landing Collision, it wasn't the owners themselves who initiated the cover-up, but rather Richard Wood V, who 'persuaded' the owners and publishers of papers to withhold news of the wreck with-in New Jersey. (Though it wasn't stated, I have a feeling that 'Persuasion' came in the form of green-tinted portraits of dead presidents). It was, basically, the Good Ol' Boy' network in action.

Of course, he didn't have that same level of control over the news media in other states, so we had the unique situation where the wreck was covered, extensively, in other states and territories, but not covered at home. Wood hedged his bets, figuring correctly that people in, say, far-southern New Jersey, wouldn't read The New York Times, Chicago Tribune, or San Francisco Chronicle.

Controlling just what news got out, and where it was reported was possible (Though thankfully not that common, at least on the scale seen with the Mays Landing wreck), right on up through the first two decades of the 20th Century. Then, on November 2, 1921, KDKA in Philadelphia went on the air as the first commercial radio station, and with-in four years, there were 600 radio stations in the U.S., and the number kept growing. News could now be breaking, instant, and you didn't have to leave your home to get it. And, most importantly, if the station was powerful enough, you could sit in, say, Camden New Jersey and pick up a newscast on WRVA (The 50,000 Watt Voice Of Virginia) in Richmond Va. Similar scenarios played out nationwide...it was no longer possible to create a 'news black out' for an entire region.

It was still possible, however, to with-hold information, of course. All the subject of a newscast had to do was control just what was released. But at least John and Jane Q Public would know about an incident, no matter where they lived.

And then came television (Much earlier than most people realize...the first commercial television station, W3XK, went on the air in 1928, in the Washington DC suburbs. It used electromechanical technology that wouldn't last, programming was intermittent, the screen was about the size of a flip-phone screen, the picture grainy and the experiment ended in 1932, but it was indeed, television, commercials and all).

Television as we know it came along in the late 30s, with regularly scheduled TV broadcasts starting around 1938...generally sporting events, plays, and, of course, news. There were fewer than 5,000 television sets, but there were newscasts, and even remote news-casts.

The number of sets increased quickly after World War II, with the quality of TV programming improving just as rapidly

By the mid-fifties, of course, we had live coverage of news events, and in 1962, the world had the unforgettably sad experience of both watching a U.S. president assassinated on Live TV, and seeing the assassin shot live a day later.

It had became a bit more difficult for facts to be covered up...I mean, the viewer was actually and literally seeing what was going on. But it wasn't entirely impossible. The images couldn't be covered up, but the facts behind those images could be either hidden or altered for public consumption.

News became more immediate, cameras became smaller and easier to lug around...and then we got the Internet, and smart phones, and now news is not only immediate, but constant. Thanks to this 24 hour news cycle, coupled with literally everyone having a high quality video camera on them, stories that, twenty-five or thirty years ago would have been local stories seen on news broadcasts maybe 50-75 miles from the scene, are now national news.

It has now become literally impossible to hide an incident from the public.

But a bit of caution here...it's still possible for the facts behind the image to be altered.

<***>

While no memorial, or even a historical maker, has ever been erected to the wreck's victims, the Hamilton Historical Society sponsored a Memorial Walk on August 11, 2022, the 142nd anniversary of the wreck.

The group made the walk down the eastern causeway to the remains of the trestle, where a brief telling of the story of the wreck was read, then the name of each victims was read as a bell tolling once and a flower dropped into the Egg Harbor River as each name was spoken.

Finally a haunting and moving tribute was performed on the bagpipes, always moving and even more fitting on this occasion as the majority of the victims were Irish immigrants.

This was a very moving ceremony, which hopefully will become a yearly event.

A video of the walk is available on YouTube...I'll link it in 'Links'.

<***> Links <***>

I actually managed to run up on on a few pretty decent links, almost all of them local news articles from the 'Greater Mays Landing Metro Area', so to speak. Once again, though there wasn't that much info at all on-line about the wreck, I got lucky with what I did find and this time, as I noted in the intro to 'Notes', that luck was astronomically good. 

While I was at it, I also found a couple of pretty good videos about the wreck, and as always, I'll include the  best of what I found here.

On to the 'Links'!

https://www.amazon.com/Between-Shore-City-Tragedy-Landing/dp/1685240739    First and foremost, the Amazon link for Mari Dattolo's book, Between The Shore And The City Tragedy At Mays Landing. Ms. Dattolo did an outstanding job on this book, both research-wise, and penning it. This is an excellent book, and pretty much a must read for both history buffs and railfans. 

https://hamiltonhistorical.org/1880-railroad-disaster  The Hamilton Historical Society's site is chock full of interesting little tid-bits, including a couple of photos of the relevant Railroad And Canal report pages that prove that the wreck was never recorded officially. This crew did a serious bit of research putting the site together...research that's still ongoing, I might add. The site also includes an eleven minute and change video about the wreck, and the Historical Society's investigation, which goes into detail about the cover-up.

https://shorelocalnews.com/between-the-shore-and-the-city-tragedy-at-mays-landing/     An interview with Mari  D'Albora Dattolo, the author of Between The Shore And The City Tragedy At Mays Landing. Very much worth a look.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_L0sJlGXNnU&ab_channel=MariD%27AlboraDattolo    A very moving video. about the Aug 11, 2022 Memorial Walk honoring the wreck's victims in Mays Landing. 

https://tinyurl.com/3cz975z4   YouTube link to the video included in the Hamilton Historical Society link above.