Willis Low stood on the platform next to the freight shed, looking back down the track toward Chester, waiting for some signal that the Halifax-Liverpool train was on its way.

 Such temporal things were among the concerns of the section foreman.

 The Lunenburg train, the No. 3, bound for Middleton, had arrived at Mahone Junction some time ago and was to take on passengers from the Liverpool-bound train for the remainder of its trek.

 The No. 3 had departed Lunenburg, arrived on schedule in Mahone Bay and had jockeyed into position for the next leg of its trip. The locomotive and boxcar were detached and pulled ahead from the station's main platform slightly, as the passenger cars at the rear received their precious cargo.

 Families waved goodbye to each other; mail and freight was loaded on at will; bystanders and station regulars talked about the results of the latest local hockey match as people came and went in the crisp morning air around them.

 Willis grunted as he turned in the other direction, toward Blockhouse, pondering why extra No. 5 hadn't yet arrived from Bridgewater.

 Moments later, after Willis' attention had returned to the waiting No. 3 and the bustle of activity on the platform, his question was answered when No. 5 came screeching around the descending grade of Mahone Summit, just 400 yards from the station platform.

 Willis froze, the sky opened up and lumber rained down.

 ****

 The Halifax and Southwestern Railway line had been open from the provincial capital through Mahone Bay and Bridgewater all the way to Barrington Passage for only about two years on the morning of February 9, 1907, when freight extra No. 5 was preparing to leave Bridgewater.

 Conductor Walter Driscoll oversaw final preparations in the chilled air. Lamenting the fact that the No. 5 had only four crew members on this morning, instead of the usual five, he nonetheless signalled the engineer, the whistle blew to mark their departure and, slowly but surely, the eight-wheel locomotive lurched forward and extra No. 5 bade Bridgewater its final goodbye just after 5 a.m.

 Destined ultimately for Lunenburg, the train would make its way to Mahone Junction, which lay just over 17 kilometres ahead. En route, the crew would have to tackle a small grade coming out of Bridgewater to the east, then a large one as they approached Mahone Junction, known as Mahone Summit.

 Things did not get off to an auspicious start. Just outside of Bridgewater, the No. 5 stalled and a pusher from the Bridgewater yard had to be called out to help get the train started again.

 The difficulty in making the grade was amplified by No. 5's cargo. Behind the locomotive were two flatcars stacked with lumber bound for the Lunenburg waterfront. Behind the first load were three empty cars, then a series of 14 more cars, each piled high with lumber. At the very end of the train, the lone brakeman on the voyage did his best to keep his fingers warm.

 After some time, No. 5 was back under way, slogging toward Maitland. But along the way, conductor Driscoll observed that the train was still struggling, not moving at its normal clip. In Maitland, Driscoll ordered that the three empty cars be set aside to lighten the load slightly in the hope that it would allow his cargo to clear Mahone Summit.

 As it reached the station in Blockhouse, nearly three hours after departing Bridgewater, the No. 5 was approached from behind by another train, which gave them a push over the final stretch of track into Blockhouse.

 Despite the concerns of Driscoll and his engineers, they elected to surge on from Blockhouse toward Mahone Junction. After all, even if they were unable to make the summit on their own, Driscoll could always call for assistance.

 As it turned out, the No. 5 was full of surprises that day and, much to everyone's delight, the engine came within a few yards of making the crest of the hill before it gave out and would climb no more. Using its technologically innovative air-braking system - a rarity on Lunenburg County trains in the early 20th century - the No. 5 sat perched on the hillside just outside of Mahone Bay, waiting to grind to its destiny.

 With the train low on steam, Driscoll and his engineer, Lou Barteaux, waited for the pressure in the engine to build up in the hope of clearing the summit. While Barteaux kept an eye on the engine, Driscoll suggested that, as the train was already behind schedule, he could save time by descending the other side of the hill on foot and changing the switch at Mahone Junction so that the No. 5 could coast around the descending turn to the right, exit the mainline and proceed on to Lunenburg.

 In the meantime, a pusher engine had made its way to the rear of the No. 5 and stood waiting to help get her over the hilltop. With the second engine in place, and the steam built up on No. 5, Barteaux now felt convinced that the train could make the remaining distance over Mahone Summit and then, using its air brakes, coast down the hillside and wait for the switch to Lunenburg to be flipped.

 Barteaux signalled to the rear his intent to begin lurching forward, the pusher engine matched No. 5's ascending velocity and the train climbed upward.

 Over the hillside, conductor Driscoll heard the two short whistles from his train and, realizing that Barteaux was planning on an attempt at the summit, he likely quickened his pace toward the track switch, which was still some distance away.

 Within a matter of moments, No. 5 had made the summit. Since the air brakes had held the train so securely in position on the ascending side, neither Barteaux nor the engineer on the pusher thought that coupling the pusher with No. 5 down the summit might be wise, in order to guarantee a safe, paced descent.

 As the last car of lumber cleared the apex, the engineer on the pusher blew a short signal and the brakeman at the rear of No. 5 pulled the pin, releasing the support that No. 5 so badly needed.

 Instantly, the train began to pick up speed. Barteaux tried to engage the air brakes, but something was amiss: the train didn't slow at all. Barteaux threw the engine into reverse and signalled to the brakeman in the back to pull hard, but to no avail. The slight drag on the train had little effect as the 16 cars of lumber combined with gravity and momentum to hurdle the train toward the bottom of the hill.

 Along the way, No. 5 passed its conductor, Driscoll, who was still more than 1,000 yards shy of the switch he intended to throw. Had Driscoll arrived in time, the No. 5 could have made the rounded right-hand turn at high speeds and coasted safely past the station and the mainline where the No. 3 from Lunenburg was waiting to depart.

 As it was, however, Driscoll came up short and the No. 5, bound for Lunenburg, careened toward its fate with explosive consequences. For some reason, the warnings, blasted aloud as Barteaux pulled desperately on the whistle, were not heeded by those waiting near the station below.

 The earth shook. Lumber rained down as if the nearby forests of Clearland had detonated, sending a cascade of freshly cut product from the upper regions of the LaHave River down upon the train station.

 Thunderous groans continued to emanate from the wrecked engine of freight extra No. 5 for several minutes, as steam escaped the engine, breaking the tragic quiet.

 To those who had cleared the platform, and those who had frozen out of fear yet managed to escape unscathed, it must have seemed like the world was coming to an end. After a few minutes, people began to gather themselves and, slowly, they stumbled toward the wreck in search of survivors.

 In the haze, the ominous sound of the engine gave way to desperate calls for help. Somehow, there were still men alive underneath the debris of two demolished trains and a massive pile of lumber.

 In the final yards before the collision, Barteaux and the fireman, Tom Lynch, had managed to jump clear from No. 5, miraculously uninjured.

 The No. 3 engine and adjoined boxcar had been driven backward by the force of No. 5 into its own string of passenger cars. But, fortunately, the No. 3 engine took the brunt of the force and the lone casualty among the passengers was one Harry Martin, who had gotten jammed in a doorway as he peered out to see what all the whistling was about.

 Those manning the No. 3 engine, however, were not so lucky.

 Enos Crooks, a fireman on No. 3, had been thrown clear of the train's cab and buried under lumber. When rescuers reached him, he had suffered severe injuries: his left leg had been severed below the knee, and he had two broken wrists, fractured hips and a gaping hole in his right leg.

 Crooks lived long enough to merit transportation to the hospital, but succumbed to his wounds on the way.

 Engineer Willard Phelan was found in the debris of his locomotive, with several wounds, gashes and a mangled leg. As soon as the track was cleared, a special train was arranged to take him to the Victoria General Hospital in Halifax, but Phelan fell victim to his internal wounds before arriving.

 And section foreman Willis Low, who was still standing by the freight shed awaiting the arrival of the connecting Halifax train when disaster struck, was found buried under literally thousands of feet of lumber and was dead by the time searchers reached him.

 The freight shed that stood beside him had been completely levelled by the avalanche of boards.

 An inquiry was held the very same day to determine the official cause of the accident and it was ruled that extra No. 5 had been recklessly overloaded with cargo and, with only a four-man crew in place, was insufficiently staffed for a train of its size.

 In all, reports concluded that four people had died during the wreck on the morning of February 9, 1907 at Mahone Junction. It was a railway catastrophe the likes of which was never repeated in Lunenburg County history.

 Sources: The Bridgewater Bulletin; The Railways of Canada Archives; The Annapolis Valley Newspaper Extracts Project.

Written and researched by Patrick Hirtle.