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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 6, Issue 3 (August 1, 1931)

The Pilgrim of The Night

page 30

The Pilgrim of The Night

The hour was late and he had walked for almost thirty minutes in the blinding rain. The damp was beginning to filter through his clothes and his feet were wet, but at last his goal was reached.

Consequent to the thoughts of personal gain, the desire to accomplish which had keyed his mind to constant pitch, his physical discomfit troubled him little.

Sheltering himself under the eaves of the small building wherein lay his night-hour task, he opened his bag, and with the aid of an electric torch produced a bunch of skeleton keys, and then with care covered his hands with a pair of rubber gloves.

On approaching the door he noticed that the lock was an unusual one, and several keys were used before it responded. He opened the door with a satisfied look, and after a cautious glance around quietly entered the room, at the same time playing his torch here and there in order to acquaint himself with his dark surroundings.

He found the switch, lit up the room, and listened for a moment. He appeared satisfied that all was well, and was soon engaged removing his wet coat and hat.

From his bag he produced a spanner, a handy sized pitch-bar, screw-driver, blowlamp, and various other tools, and while examining his work, primed the blowlamp ready for use.

“It's a ticklish job,” he muttered. “I've got to get out of this by 4 o'clock somehow, and its after 3 a.m. now.”

The bold manner in which he tackled his task indicated that the man was no amateur, but a professional, at the game.

He was in a sitting posture, and on occasions half-turned his body in order to get a glance at his watch, which was placed in a convenient spot on the floor. He appeared to be working against time, and his face had a set look that indicated determination.

Once he stood up, erect, like a deer startled. What was that noise? He again looked at his watch; “3.35,” he muttered. Surely no mistake could have been made.

He settled down to work again. The noise may have been that of a distant motor horn, or perhaps only fancy. I will have to pull myself together, he thought. Surely I am not losing my nerve on a job like this.

At 3.50 a.m., his aim accomplished, he gathered up his tools, and with bag in hand switched out the light as he let himself out into the night.

The rain had by this time ceased, and a watery-looking moon shone clear. His figure could have been clearly seen as he made quickly away.

Several minutes later two sharp reports rent the air, followed by a fearful shriek and the noise of vehicles rushing by.

At 4 a.m. in the Train Running Room of the Railway District Head Office a telephone rang.

The official appeared to expect the call, and received the following message:—

“Automatic Lineman No. 10 speaking from South End—yard; called out on special repair duty at—signal cabin. I have located and repaired the fault. ‘O.K.’ detonating signals placed on track as instructed. H 10 special passed through safely, on time.”

The official replied: “Good business; good night.”