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