GIRL S HEROIC DEED.

Putaruru Press, Volume VI, Issue 233, 19 April 1928, Page 2

GIRL S HEROIC DEED.

KATE SHELLY’S COURAGE.

Grace Darling of the Prairies.

I America has just dedicated a new railway bridge to one of her heroines. The Kate Shelley Bridge spans the Des Moines river near Boone, in lowa. Perhaps now and again people may remember the glorious deed of Kate Shelley, when the tale ran from one Continent to another. Kate was the Grace Darling of the Prairies, the daughter of a track inspector who had lived near the railroad. He was dead, and Kate lived with her mother and the younger children. It was a hard life for the little family. There was never much to eat in the little home and plenty of severe weather. Kate, fifteen years old, was the main prop of the family. In the summer of 1881 repeated rain fell on the wide Des Moines Valley. Day after day ctme drenching storms. Rivers were flooded. Fields lay sodden under grey skies, cattle were drowned, huts were washed away. One night in July came a great storm. Never had the oldest settler known such a storm. The dark flood waters whirled above the piers on to the top of the wooden bridge carrying the line across Honey creek. Kate left the cottage to let out the cattle from the pens and fields of the slopes so that they could make their way up to the highest land. It was difficult to see or hear; blinded and deafened by wind and rain; but as the girl walked back home she became aware of the faint | rumble of an engine. She knew it was the locomotive sent now and again to help heavy trains on the slope from Moingona, a station across the valley. The engine throbbed on its way to cross Honey creek, and suddenly came a crash. The little water-logged bridge had given way and the locomotive had toppled into the swollen stream. Probably the men Kate had seen on the footboard were drowning. And behind the engine she knew the midnight passenger train from the west was roaring cn its way, heavy with human lives. In a short time it would reach the ruined bridge. The last stop before the bridge was Moingona, and if she could get there she might save the train. She set off with a small lantern, but the gale made an end of the light and she struggled on unaided. She could not go along the railway track because of the flood. The only way was to mount a hill behind the house and get down to the creek another way. Presently she came to the Des Moines bridge, another wooden structure, in the place of which now stands the new bridge named after her. There was no footway across it. The only possible crossing was by means of the crossties, slippery with the rain. The river roared beneath like a hungry cataract. She dared not stand upright. On her hands and knees went Kate, fighting for life, dragging herself yard by yard. Her mind was on the western express. She imagined the crash, the wrecked coaches, the agony of death. At last the bridge was crossed. She had a few minutes left and a half-mile to go. She struggled on and arrived at Moingona station just as the engine came steaming in. She had saved the train. Kate rever counted how many lives she lad saved, but other people counted them for her and no one ever forgot. She was heaped with honours during her life, but was never spoiled. Fifteen years ago she .died, and the North Western Railroad Company named the new bridge across the Des Moines river the “ Kate Shelley I> ridge.”