The Trail of the Tramp: By A-No. 1, the Famous Tramp, Written by Himself from Actual Experiences of His Own LifeA-No. 1
General
The Trail of the Tramp: By A-No. 1, the Famous Tramp, Written by Himself from Actual Experiences of His Own Life
A-No. 1
Tramps
We had the right-of-track over every other train upon the line, and with
six powerful engines pushing a snow-plow at full speed ahead of us, we
reached our destination in almost record time, where we were put to work
clearing away a serious wreck, which had been caused by a heavy
passenger train running into a snow drift during a blinding blizzard,
and having at the same time been derailed from the tender back to the
rear truck beneath the last sleeper. For three days and nights we worked
like beavers, taking turns in eight hour shifts, sleeping and dining in
the "bunk" cars attached to the wrecking train, shoveling away the
solidly packed snow, "jacking" up the coaches, one at a time, and
replacing the trucks upon the rails, and in the afternoon of the third
day our combined efforts were rewarded, for amid the gladsome whistling
of its engine the released train resumed its interrupted, eastbound
journey.
We laborers were detained an additional day removing the wreckage,
reloading the apparatus used and putting everything into a first-class
condition for the resumption of the regular schedule. Then we boarded
the wrecker to be distributed along the line.
The wrecking train's speed rapidly closed the gap of miles separating us
from our reservation, and when at last--at about supper time--we entered
upon our own section, we noted a satisfied sparkle in Foreman McDonald's
eyes, when the cars, which had heretofore been lurching like ships at
sea, spun with hardly a perceivable motion over the well attended road
bed. Now the whistle blew for our section house; the brakes gripped the
flanges of the wheels, and we gathered our belongings so as not to
unnecessarily delay the others, and when the train stopped we soon had
our track tools piled in front of our tool house. Then the wrecking
train continued its journey, and while we stored our tools away we noted
the disappointed look in our foreman's face when neither his wife nor
any of his children came to greet him, or at least inquire as to the
extent of the wreck, a most interesting item of gossip, considering the
lonely location of our reservation.
When we had finished our task and the foreman had carefully locked the
tool house, and while he walked towards the "big" house where not yet a
single soul had opened the door to give him the usual glad greeting,
although by the lamp that was illuminating the parlor we could see Mrs.
McDonald and her children sitting about the heater, we hustled over to
the bunk house, in which we quickly kindled a fire and then brought
order out of the chaos we had left behind when we had been so
unexpectedly called away to clear the track.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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