Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
The continental idea of a railway is to surround a mass of machinery
with forty rings of ultra-military law, and then they believe they have
one complete. The Americans and the English are the railway peoples.
That our road-beds are poorer than the English road-beds is because of
the fact that we were suddenly obliged to build thousands upon
thousands of miles of railway, and the English were obliged to build
slowly tens upon tens of miles. A road-bed from New York to San
Francisco, with stations, bridges, and crossings of the kind that the
London and Northwestern owns from London to Glasgow, would cost a sum
large enough to support the German army for a term of years. The whole
way is constructed with the care that inspired the creators of some of
our now obsolete forts along the Atlantic coast.
An American engineer, with his knowledge of the difficulties he had to
encounter--the wide rivers with variable banks, the mountain chains,
perhaps the long spaces of absolute desert; in fact, all the
perplexities of a vast and somewhat new country--would not dare spend a
respectable portion of his allowance on seventy feet of granite wall
over a gully, when he knew he could make an embankment with little cost
by heaving up the dirt and stones from here and there. But the English
road is all made in the pattern by which the Romans built their
highways. After England is dead, savants will find narrow streaks of
masonry leading from ruin to ruin. Of course this does not always seem
convincingly admirable. It sometimes resembles energy poured into a
rat-hole. There is a vale between expediency and the convenience of
posterity, a mid-ground which enables men surely to benefit the
hereafter people by valiantly advancing the present; and the point is
that, if some laborers live in unhealthy tenements in Cornwall, one is
likely to view with incomplete satisfaction the record of long and
patient labor and thought displayed by an eight-foot drain for a
nonexistent, impossible rivulet in the North. This sentence does not
sound strictly fair, but the meaning one wishes to convey is that if an
English company spies in its dream the ghost of an ancient valley that
later becomes a hill, it would construct for it a magnificent steel
trestle, and consider that a duty had been performed in proper
accordance with the company's conscience. But after all is said of it,
the accidents and the miles of railway operated in England are not in
proportion to the accidents and the miles of railway operated in the
United States. The reason can be divided into three parts--older
conditions, superior caution, the road-bed. And of these, the greatest
is older conditions.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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