The next account was written by A. C. CHADBOURNE of New York City:

. . . Left Boston on mid-night train Sunday, March 11 for New York accompanied by a young man then my partner in business. The weather had been mild and I was attired in a cutaway coat, patent leather shoes, lightweight top coat and the proverbial high silk hat which all young men wore at that period. I awoke at 7:00 a. m. . . . Imagine my surprise when I looked out the car window and found the train was stalled in deep snow at about 127th Street and that the whole city was blanketed with snow piled in every direction. I got out the car door and saw a line of cars and trains stalled ahead of me as far as one could see down the tracks.

"I talked the matter over with my partner and two husky looking traveling men and they decided to follow my lead over to Third Avenue, expecting to get, of course, an elevated train down to 42nd Street. There were some stone steps thoroughly snow covered leading from the elevated tracks of the New Haven Railroad down to the sidewalk. Down these steps we slid, landing in a snow bank at the bottom which nearly buried us alive. Scrambling out we started east toward Third Avenue. Snow, snow was everywhere. Great drifts were piled up six or eight feet high in many places and the air was so full of snow it was difficult to see where one was going. We continued wallowing along until we finally reached 125th Street and Third Avenue, only to find that no trains were running on the elevated tracks.

"We discovered a small restaurant on Third Avenue about 122nd Street into which we filed for much needed food. The room was heated by a large old-fashioned base burner coal stove and believe me its genial heat was much welcomed. About two doors below I saw a small shop open because the proprietor lived over the store. In there I purchased two pairs of thin woolen hose, four pairs of the heaviest, largest sized woolen hose he had and two bandanna handkerchiefs. My best dress-suit case had been checked in Boston and we left my partner's small handbag with the porter on the train. Returning to the restaurant we took off our wet patent leather shoes and stockings and sat barefoot drying off our feet and trousers around the coal stove while beef steaks and fried potatoes were being prepared for our breakfast. We put on the thin woolen hose and ate breakfast while our shoes were getting dry. We pulled the coarse woolen hose over our shoes, tucked our trousers into them and tied the hose around our ankles with cord to keep the snow from working down into our feet. We tied the bandanna handkerchiefs over our heads and under our chins and then pulled our silk hats as far down on our heads as possible. The two other pairs of hose we pulled on over our gloves in place of mittens and thus attired we started south on Third Avenue, our destination being the old Gedney House then located at 38th Street and Broadway . . . and run by Mr. Brue. Four of us started out from the restaurant for this long hike through the storm. There was a heavy gale blowing and it was not uncommon for the snow to be entirely blown off the sidewalks for perhaps a block, but the sidewalks were icy and I remember seeing my partner blown helplessly almost a block, his travel ended by a fall into a snow-drift which completely buried him. We had progressed possibly a half mile when we overtook a milk wagon drawn by two powerful dapple gray horses. Neither my partner nor myself had very much cash with us but we made up a pool with the two traveling salesmen and offered the driver $50 to get us down to 42nd Street. Although the milk wagon was small and empty, he refused, stating that he would be thankful if he got his horses back to the stable alive. A little way farther down the Avenue our two companions gave up in distress and sought refuge in a corner saloon where we left them to their fate. We continued our slow progress down the Avenue for perhaps a half mile farther when we overtook the milk wagon with one of the big horses down, buried in the snow and apparently dead, and the other one showing great distress from fatigue. I helped the driver unharness the live horse and left them to their fate. We continued our tramp making only one stop in a saloon when my partner took some brandy because he was not feeling well and complained of pains. We finally reached 42nd Street, where in passing a vacant corner lot we narrowly escaped death by the falling on to us of a wooden fence covered with advertisements which was blown on to us while wallowing in a deep drift. I was only partly buried and dug out my poor partner who was at that time all in. It was with the greatest difficulty that we worked our way west on 42nd Street until we got to the old St. Cloud Hotel, then situated at the southwest corner of Broadway and 42nd Street. We went into the 42nd Street entrance to the bar and found a number of well known actors and other gentlemen congregated there. Among them I remember my old friend Bill DeBall, then co-star with Francis Wilson in the great Opera of Erminie then playing at The Cassino.

"Our condition only warranted a few moments stay until we could get our breath and start across Broadway down to 38th Street. I distinctly remember being blown down twice while crossing Broadway and crawling through the snow on my hands and knees up to the west sidewalk of Broadway. At last our destination was reached, and I calculated that we had walked at the rate of a little less than one mile an hour from the time we left the train.

"When I went into the office of Hotel 'Exchange' I found at least fifty men sitting or standing about and in the rear of the room I observed my good friend Mr. Brue in back of the desk. I walked up to him and said, 'Hello, for Heaven's sake give us a couple of rooms and bath.' Friend Brue looked at me and said, 'I am very sorry Sir but there is not a vacant bed in the house. All I can offer you is a couple of chairs in the office here to which you are very weIcome with no expense.' Thereupon I pulled off my hat and said 'It is pretty darn tough Brue when you cannot find a place for an old friend.' He looked at me a second time and said 'My God! It's Chadbourne' and then said to me 'Look in the mirror if you want to see a sight. ' I knew my partner looked terribly, his mustache was a wabbly cake of ice which had pounded on his chin as he walked until his chin was bleeding. My face was scratched, red as a lobster, my eyebrows were frozen and my chin was resting on a cake of snowy ice packed in between the top of my overcoat and my bandanna handkerchief. Mr. Brue, God Bless him, said 'You and your friend go down to the washroom and get your coats, shoes and stockings off and I will try and find a place for you.'

"By the time we got our coats and outside woolen hose off and got the snow and ice brushed off our clothing, Mr. Brue came down and told us to come up to his apartment. He had had a bed put up in his own parlor where an open fire was burning briskly. Fortunately for us a gentleman's furnishing store was in the same building as the Hotel and this was open so we were able to purchase fresh underwear, and after a good rub down we jumped into bed and took a nap and got up about six o'clock, dressed in fresh linen and with our clothes dried out and pressed we arrived downstairs feeling like a couple of young fighting cocks.

"From that time on life took on a rosy hue. Money was scarce and the Hotel was soon filled with checks and I. 0. U’s. The men's lunchroom and bar was well patronized and as fast as the currency was expended in this part of the Hotel, it was gathered up by the cashier and brought back to the office from whence it would circulate again, until by Thursday we recognized most of the bills as old friends that had passed through our hands several times.

"The train bearing my suitcase arrived at Grand Central Station early Thursday morning and on Friday my partner and I started for Philadelphia."