WALTER DUMONT AND HIS MEDAL
As I saunter'd along the high road yesterday, I stopp'd to watch a man
near by, ploughing a rough stony field with a yoke of oxen. Usually
there is much geeing and hawing, excitement, and continual noise and
expletives, about a job of this kind. But I noticed how different, how
easy and wordless, yet firm and sufficient, the work of this young
ploughman. His name was Walter Dumont, a farmer, and son of a
farmer, working for their living. Three years ago, when the steamer
"Sunnyside" was wreck'd of a bitter icy night on the west bank
here, Walter went out in his boat--was the first man on hand with
assistance--made a way through the ice to shore, connected a line,
perform'd work of first-class readiness, daring, danger, and saved
numerous lives. Some weeks after, one evening when he was up at
Esopus, among the usual loafing crowd at the country store and
post-office, there arrived the gift of an unexpected official gold
medal for the quiet hero. The impromptu presentation was made to him
on the spot, but he blush'd, hesitated as he took it, and had nothing
to say.
HUDSON RIVER SIGHTS
It was a happy thought to build the Hudson river railroad right along
the shore. The grade is already made by nature; you are sure of
ventilation one side--and you are in nobody's way. I see, hear, the
locomotives and cars, rumbling, roaring, flaming, smoking, constantly,
away off there, night and day--less than a mile distant, and in full
view by day.
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