Cannibalism in the Cars
"Harris, if you'll do that for me, I'll never forget you, my boy."
My new comrade's eyes lighted pleasantly. The words had touched upon a happy memory, I thought. Then his face settled into thoughtfulness -- almost into gloom. He turned to me and said, "Let me tell you a story; let me give you a secret chapter of my life -- a chapter that has never been referred to by me since its events transpired. Listen patiently, and promise that you will not interrupt me."
I said I would not, and he related the following strange adventure, speaking sometimes with animation, sometimes with melancholy, but always with feeling and earnestness.
The Stranger's Narrative
"On the 19th of December, 1853, I started from St. Louis on the evening train bound for Chicago. There were only twenty-four passengers, all told. There were no ladies and no children. We were in excellent spirits, and pleasant acquaintanceships were formed. The journey bade fair to be a happy one; and no individual in the party, I think, had even the vaguest presentment of the horrors we were soon to undergo.
"At 11 p.m. it began to snow hard.