The Washington herald., 1914-07-17
The Trackwalker.
ny EMORY J. HAYNES,

The Trackwalker.
BY EMORY J. HAYNES.
His duty is to walk through the tunnel Rocks
have fallen, may fall again II is not long tunnel
perhaps 900 feet. The daylight shines through f.
But it has had tragic history. The trap rock is
treason itself The signal tower is far away and no
block system ever yet devised that would pro-
claim the fall of rock on the rails just after the
jar of the last express So old Martin walks this bit
of track by day. and his son Tommy walks at night.
Here under the sunny lea of the ledge is the
home. The lawn is almost big as tablecloth and
as fair velvet as the grass of kings garden The
Hudson breaks in wavelets along its west side For
the Hudson is here as wide as sea, and the high
land winds toss tiny breakers tiny beach day
and night just the real breakers are tossed upon
the vast shore of the real Only these are rpples
gentle never ceasing rippes, mere laughter of the
river. And to sit and listen one would say the
mighty Hudson was always chuckling and whispering
and laughing.
That is in the summer. But the hut the palace
should have called it, is built to resist even the
icy winter to protect Martin and his wife and son
and the dog from the rainy nights The court sRends
the entire year in the palace Always the little flag
is at the gable. Always the dog is chained to his
kennel and on sentry duty against the awless tramp
For there is never mile of the railroad without
tramp, vagabonds going ever somewhere, nowhere
and never getting there. These providers drop off
freight cars, being discovered, and lurk about till
they can catch on another tr4n Hence, Mrs Martin
at her knitting work by the vinecovered door in her
rocking chair is guarded by the dog while the men
are away.
Old Martin himself began years ago to build this
home He is always building it, whitewashing it.
patching it. There is always place where some new
board, lost off freight train can be added The
piazza bench is plush seat from that wreck of
the Western express. There is mirror of finest
is left of it-in the foyer hall.
which is carpeted with velvet The foyer opens into
the dining-rom, into the drawing room, into, the
library. In fact, you may call the room whatsoever
you please according to your needs.
1t is not the sleeping rooms These two cozy
apartments, chambers whatever are the cunning
est little rooms, just like toy house." so the children
exclaimed as they peeped into them. Beds spotless
white and obvious. Indeed the bed is the one |
hing as BELTS sleeping room. There is ample |
space to stand, but waste spaces. What cradle /
Tor slumber, for the tired who has walked ties
or hours Sleep, if only one can become accustomed
o the mighty of the passing trains not ten feet
rom the palace door,
Old Martin says, however, that he cannot under
tand how people can sleep Up on the lonesome
arms and great estates. 1t is so still up there No
rains to put to sleep as they rumble nearer and
hen thunder by and then rumble fainter They are
UGH a comfort such companions, these trains. oneI
fter another What if one of them jumped the
rack here? Why" Martin exclaimed, it would
hake up the passengers, humping against these rocks
he big iron of the water tank on the tender
ne day few off and cut right through my roof
'ut found it down on the river bank"
The distant train as yet out OF sight below the
urve, sings quaint song on the resonant steel rails
.ong before the train is in sight the queer music
t the humming rails is heard. The wind being
gainst us, hear nothing OF the trains rumble
ut the FURNISHED steel is attune with faint over
ire The serenade, in fact, is almost always sound.
lg, for there is ever train somewhere along the
nes The lullaby seems spring out of the very
lrth. unending symphony. Martin recognizes the
aims by their different songs freight train sings
ass and express sings all four parts in pretty
armony.
He calls off boastfully the nicknames of many =
ostly trains, each worth fortune build and main
in. He has his favorites, and so has Mrs. Martin
Ihen the Flyer passes up, the supper table should .
set She always steps to the palace door. when (
lie Empire sweeps down, to throw kiss to another !.
IN who works on it. The trains are like shuttIes
a loom and all the family lives are woven into a
e fabric. 1t 10 these human lives that constitute
e railroad. The roadbed the steel, the right OF 6
ay insensate things. they are the mere warp Il
he fabric is the history of our times. l venture
e assertion that other occupation holds its de- o
'tees with more tenacious grasp. Railroading is y
fascination. Once railroad man always one You "
i'll be working the railroad" when you die e