Whittlesea Will, William Elthorpe, from Cambridgeshire, had a large
railway experience; during the construction of Longton Tunnel, he told me
the following story:—“Ye see, Mr. Smith (Samuel Smith, of Woodberry
Down), I was a ganger for Mr. Price on the Marseilles and Avignon Line in
France, and I’d gangs of all nations to deal with. Well, I could not
manage ’em nohow mixed—there were the Jarman Gang, the French Gang, the
English, Scotch, and Irish Gangs, of course; the Belgic Gang, the Spanish
Gang, and the Peamounter Gang—that’s a Gang, d’ye see, that comes off the
mountains somewhere towards Italy.” “Oh, the Piedmontese, you mean.”
“Well, you may call ’em Peedmanteeze if you like, but we call’d ’em
Peamounters—and so at last I hit on the plan of putting each gang by
itself; gangs o’ nations, the Peamounter gang here, the Jarman gang
there, and the Belgic gang there, and so on, and it worked capital, each
gang worked against the other gang like good ’uns.
“Well one day our master, Mr. Price, gave the English gang a great
entertainment at a sort of Tea Garden place, near Paris, called Maison
Lafitte, and we were coming home along the road before dark—it was a
summer’s evening—singing and shouting pretty loud, I dare say, when a
fat, oldish gentleman rode into the midst of us and pulling up said,
taking off his hat—‘I think you are English Navigators.’ ‘Well, and what
if we are, old fellow, what’s that to you?’ ‘Why, you are making a very
great noise, and I noticed you did not make way for me, or salute me as
we met, which is not polite—every one in France salutes a gentleman.
I’ve been in England, I like the English,’ by this time his military
attendants rode up, and seeing him alone in the midst of us were going to
ride us down at once but the old boy beckoned with his hand for them to
hold back, and continued his sarmont. ‘I should wish you,’ says he,
quite pleasant, ‘whilst you remain in France to be orderly, obliging,
civil, and polite; it’s always the best—now remember this: and here’s
something for you to remember Louis Philippe by;’ putting his hand into
his pocket, he pulled out what silver he had, I suppose, threw it among
us, and rode off—but, my eyes, didn’t we give him a cheer!”