THE DRIVER VISITS A LITTLE ELDERLY GENTLEWOMAN AND PREPARES THE IRON
HORSE FOR ACTION.
Next day John Marrot spent the brief period of repose accorded by the
doctor to his leg in romping about the house with the baby in his arms.
Being a large man, accustomed to much elbow-room and rapid motion, and
the house being small, John may be said to have been a dangerous
character in the family on such occasions. Apart from baby, no elephant
was ever more sluggish in his motions; but when coupled--professionally
speaking--to his own tender infant, John knew no bounds, his wife knew
no rest and his baby knew no higher earthly bliss.
Sometimes it was on his shoulder, sometimes on his head and often on his
foot, riding with railway speed to "Banbury Cross." Again it was on its
back in the crib or on the bed being tickled into fits of laughter,
which bid fair at times to merge into fits of convulsion, to the horror
of little Gertie, who came in for a large share of that delightful
holiday's enjoyment, but whose spirit was frequently harrowed with alarm
at the riotous conduct of her invalid father. In his glee the man might
have been compared to a locomotive with a bad driver, who was constantly
shutting off the steam and clapping on the brakes too soon or too late,
thus either falling short of or overshooting his mark. What between the
door and the dresser, the fire, the crib, the window, and the furniture,
John showed himself a dreadfully bad pilot and was constantly running
into or backing out of difficulties. At last towards the afternoon of
that day, while performing a furious charge round the room with baby on
his head, he overturned the wash-tub, which filled the baby with
delirious joy, and Gertie with pleasurable alarm.
As for Mrs Marrot, she was too happy to have her husband at home for a
whole day to care much about trifles, nevertheless she felt it her duty
to reprove him, lest the children should learn a bad lesson.
"There now, John, I knew you'd do it at last. You're much too violent,
and you shouldn't ought to risk the baby's neck in that way. Such a
mess! How _can_ you expect me to keep things tidy if you go on so?"
John was very penitent. He did not reply at first, but putting baby
into the crib--where it instantly drowned with a great yell the shriek
of a passing train--he went down on his knees and began to "swab" up the
water with a jack-towel. Loo ran laughingly from the corner where she
had been sewing, and insisted on doing it for him.
"You'll hurt your leg, father, if you bend it so, and I'm sure it must
be swelled and pained enough already with so much romping."
"Not a bit, Loo," objected John. "It was me as caused the mess, an'
justice requires that I should swab it up. There, go sew that sentiment
into a sampler an' hang it up over yer bed."
But Loo would not give in. While they were still engaged in the
controversy the door opened, and young Bob Marrot stood before them with
his eyes wide open and his hair straight up on end, as if he had
recently seen a ghost. This aspect, however, was no sign of alarm,
being his normal condition.
"Ha! seems to me, somehow, that somebody's bin up to somethin'."
"Right Bob," replied his father, rising from his knees and throwing the
jack-towel at him.
The lad easily evaded the shot, being well accustomed to elude much more
deadly missiles, and, picking up the towel, quietly set to work to
perform the duty in dispute.
"You're wanted," he said, looking up at his father while he wrung the
towel over a tin basin.
"Eh! Where?"
"Up at the shed."
"I'm on sick leave," said John.
"Can't help that. The 6:30 p.m. passenger train must be drove, and
there's nobody left but you to drive it. Jones is away with a goods
train owin' to Maxwell having sprained his ankle, and Long Thompson is
down with small-pox, so you'll have to do it. I offered 'em my
services, but the manager he said that intelligent lads couldn't be
spared for such menial work, and told me to go and fetch you."
"Maxwell had no business to sprain his ankle," said John Marrot.
"Hows'ever," he added cheerfully, "I've had a rare good holiday, an' the
leg's all but right again, so, Molly, let's have an early tea; I'll give
it a good rest for another half-hour and then be ready for the 6:30
p.m-ers. Cut off your steam, will you?"
This last observation was made to the baby, and was accompanied by a
shake and a toss towards the ceiling which caused him to obey instantly,
under the impression, no doubt that the fun was to be renewed. Being,
however, consigned to the care of Gertie he again let on the steam and
kept it up during the whole time the family were at tea--which meal they
enjoyed thoroughly, quite regardless of the storm.
He was asleep when his father rose at last and buttoned his heavy coat
up to the chin, while Mrs Marrot stood on tiptoe to arrange more
carefully the woollen shawl round his neck.
"Now, don't stand more than you can help on your hurt leg, John."
"Certainly not, duckie," said John, stooping to kiss the upturned face;
"I'll sit on the rail as much as I can, like a 'Merican racoon. By the
way," he added, turning suddenly to Loo, "you delivered that note from
young Mr Tipps to his mother?"
"Yes, immediately after I got it from you; and I waited to see if there
was an answer, but she said there wasn't. It must have contained bad
news, I fear, for she turned pale while she read it."
"H'm, well," said John, putting on his cap, "don't know nothin' about
what was in it, so it's no bizzness o' mine."
With a hearty good-evening to all, and a special embrace to Gertie, the
engine-driver left his home, accompanied by Bob his hopeful son.
"Mr Sharp," said Bob, as they walked along, "has bin makin' oncommon
partikler inquiries among us about some o' the porters. I raither think
they're a bad lot."
"Not at all," replied his father severely. "They're no more a bad lot
than the drivers, or, for the matter of that, than the clerks or the
directors, or the lamp-boys. You ought to be gittin' old enough by this
time, Bob, to know that every lot o' fish in this world, however good,
has got a few bad uns among 'em. As a rule railway directors and
railway clerks, and railway porters and railway officials of all sorts
are good--more or less--the same may be said of banks an' insurances,
an' all sorts of things--but, do what ye may, a black sheep or two
_will_ git in among 'em, and, of course, the bigger the consarn, the
more numerous the black sheep. Even the clergy ain't free from that
uniwersal law of natur. But what's Mr Sharp bin inquiring arter?"
"Ah--wot indeed!" replied Bob; "'ow should I know? Mr Sharp ain't the
man to go about the line with a ticket on his back tellin' wot he's
arter. By no means. P'lice superintendents ain't usually given to
that; but he's arter _somethin'_ partickler."
"Well, that ain't no bizzness of ours, Bob, so we don't need to trouble
our heads about it. There's nothin' like mindin' yer own bizzness.
Same time," added John after a short pause, "that's no reason why, as a
sea-farin' friend o' mine used to say, a man shouldn't keep his
weather-eye open, d'ye see?"
Bob intimated that he did see, by winking with the eye that chanced to
be next his parent; but further converse between father and son was
interrupted at a turn in the road, where they were joined by a stout,
broad-shouldered young man, whose green velveteen jacket vest, and
trousers bespoke him a railway porter.
"Evenin', Sam," said our driver with a friendly nod; "goin' on night
dooty, eh?"
"Yes, worse luck," replied Sam, thrusting his powerful hands into his
pockets.
"Why so, Sam, you ain't used to mind night dooty?"
"No more I do," said Sam testily, "but my missus is took bad, and
there's no one to look after her properly--for that old 'ooman we got
ain't to be trusted. 'Tis a hard thing to have to go on night dooty
when a higher dooty bids me stay at home."
There was a touch of deep feeling in the tone in which the latter part
of Sam Natly's remark was uttered. His young wife, to whom he had been
only a year married, had fallen into bad health, and latterly the
doctors had given him little encouragement to hope for her recovery.
"Sam," said John Marrot stopping, "I'll go an' send a friend, as I knows
of, to look after yer wife."
"A friend?" said Sam; "you can't mean any o' your own family, John, for
you haven't got time to go back that length now, and--"
"Well, never mind, I've got time to go where I'm agoin'. You run on to
the shed, Bob, and tell Garvie that I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
The engine-driver turned off abruptly, and, increasing his pace to a
smart walk, soon stood before the door of one of those uncommonly small
neat suburban villas which the irrigating influence of the Grand
National Trunk Railway had caused to spring up like mushrooms around the
noisy, smoky, bustling town of Clatterby--to the unspeakable advantage
of that class of gentlefolk who possess extremely limited incomes, but
who, nevertheless, prefer fresh air to smoke.
"Is your missus at 'ome?" he inquired of the stout elderly woman who
answered to his modest summons--for although John was wont to clatter
and bang through the greater part of his daily and nightly career, he
was tender of touch and act when out of his usual professional beat.
"Yes; do you wish to see her?"
"I does, my dear. Sorry I 'aven't got a card with me, but if you'll
just say that it's John Marrot, the engine-driver, I dessay that'll do
for a free pass."
The elderly woman went off with a smile, but returned quickly with an
anxious look, and bade the man follow her. He was ushered into a small
and poorly furnished but extremely neat and clean parlour, where sat a
thin little old lady in an easy-chair, looking very pale.
"Ev'nin', ma'am," said John, bowing and looking rougher and bigger than
usual in such a small apartment.
"You--you--don't bring bad news, I hope!--my son Joseph--"
"Oh no, Mrs Tipps, not by no means," said Marrot, hasting to relieve
the timid old lady's feelings, "Mr Joseph is all right--nothing wotiver
wrong with him--nor likely to be, ma'am. Leastwise he wos all right
w'en I seed 'im last."
"And when might that be?" asked the timid old lady with a sigh of relief
as she clasped her hands tightly together.
"W'y, let me see," said John, touching his forehead, "it was yesterday
evenin' w'en I came up with the northern express."
"But many accidents might have happened since yesterday evening," said
Mrs Tipps, still in an anxious tone.
"That's true, ma'am. All the engines on the Grand Trunk from the
Pentland Firth to the Channel might have bu'sted their bilers since that
time--but it ain't likely," replied John, with a bland smile.
"And--and what was my son doing when you passed him? Did you speak to
him?"
"Speak to him! Bless your heart, ma'am," said John, with another
benignant smile, "I went past Langrye station at sixty mile an hour, so
we hadn't much chance to speak to each other. It would have been as
much as we could have managed, if we'd tried it, to exchange winks."
"Dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs Tipps in a low tone. "Is that the usual rate
of travelling on your railway?"
"Oh dear no, ma'am. It's only _my_ express train as goes at that rate.
Other expresses run between forty and fifty miles, an' or'nary trains
average about thirty miles an hour--goods, they go at about twenty, more
or less; but they varies a good deal. The train I drives is about the
fastest in the kingdom, w'ich is pretty much the same as sayin' it's the
fastest in the world, ma'am. Sometimes I'm obleeged to go as high as
nigh seventy miles an hour to make up time."
"The fastest mail-coaches in _my_ young days," said Mrs Tipps, "used to
go at the rate of ten miles an hour, I believe."
"Pretty much so," said John. "They did manage a mile or two more, I'm
told, but that was their average of crawlin' with full steam on."
"And _you_ sometimes drive at sixty or seventy miles an hour?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"With people in the carriages?"
"Cer'nly, ma'am."
"How I _wish_ that I had lived a hundred years ago!" sighed poor Mrs
Tipps.
"You'd have bin a pretty old girl by this time if you had," thought the
engine-driver, but he was too polite to give utterance to the thought.
"And what was my son doing when you passed him at that frightful speed--
you could _see_ him, I suppose?"
"Oh yes, ma'am, I could see him well enough. He was talkin' an'
laughin', as far as I could make out, with an uncommon pretty girl."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs Tipps, flushing slightly--for she was extremely
sensitive,--and evidently much relieved by this information. "Well, my
good man, what do you wish me to do for you? anything that is in my
power to--"
"Thankee, ma'am, but I don't want you to do nothin' for _me_."
"Then what have you to say to me?" added the old lady with a little
smile that was clearly indicative of a kind little heart.
"I've come to take the liberty, ma'am, of askin' you to do one of my
mates a favour."
"Most willingly," said Mrs Tipps with animation. "I shall never forget
that you saved my dear Joseph's life by pulling him off the line when
one of your dreadful engines was going straight over him. Anything that
I am capable of doing for you or your friends will be but a poor return
for what you have done for me. I have often asked you to allow me to
make me some such return, Mr Marrot, and have been grieved at your
constant refusal. I am delighted that you come to me now."
"You're very good to say so, ma'am. The fact is that one o' my friends,
a porter on the line, named Sam Natly, has a young wife who is, I fear,
far gone wi' consumption; she's worse to-night an' poor Sam's obliged to
go on night dooty, so he can't look arter her, an' the old 'ooman
they've got ain't worth nothin'. So I thought I'd make bold, ma'am, to
ask you to send yer servant to git a proper nurse to take charge of her
to-night, it would be--"
"I'll go myself!" exclaimed Mrs Tipps, interrupting, and starting up
with a degree of alacrity that astonished the engine-driver. "Here,
write down the address on that piece of paper--you can write, I
suppose?"
"Yes, ma'am," replied John, modestly, as he bent down and wrote the
address in a bold flowing hand, "I raither think I _can_ write. I write
notes, on a paper I've got to fill up daily, on the engine; an' w'en a
man's trained to do that, ma'am, it's my opinion he's fit to write in
any circumstances whatsomedever. Why, you'd hardly believe it, ma'am,
but I do assure you, that I wrote my fust an' last love-letter to my
missus on the engine. I was drivin' the Lightenin' at the time--that's
the name o' my engine, ma'am, an' they calls me Jack Blazes in
consikence--well, I'd bin courtin' Molly, off-an'-on, for about three
months. She b'longed to Pinchley station, you must know, where we used
to stop to give her a drink--"
"What! to give Molly a drink?"
"No, ma'am," replied John, with a slight smile, "to give the ingine a
drink. Well, she met me nigh every day 'xcept Sundays at that station,
and as we'd a pretty long time there--about five minutes--we used to
spend it beside the pump, an' made the most of it. But somehow I took
it into my head that Molly was playin' fast an' loose with me, an' I was
raither cool on her for a time. Hows'ever, her father bein' a
pointsman, she wos shifted along with him to Langrye station--that's
where your son is, ma'am--an' as we don't stop there we was obleeged to
confine our courtship to a nod an' a wave of a handkerchief. Leastwise
she shook out a white handkerchief an' I flourished a lump o'
cotton-waste. Well, one day as we was close upon Langrye station--about
two miles--I suddenly takes it into my head that I'd bring the thing to
a pint, so I sings out to my mate--that was my fireman, ma'am--says I,
`look out Jim,' an' I draws out my pencil an' bends my legs--you must
always bend your legs a little, ma'am, w'en you writes on a locomotive,
it makes springs of 'em, so to speak--an' I writes on the back of a
blank time-bill, `Molly, my dear, no more shilly-shallyin' with _me_.
Time's up. If you'll be tender, I'll be locomotive. Only say the word
and we're coupled for life in three weeks. A white handkerchief means
yes, a red 'un, no. If red, you'll see a noo driver on the 10:15 a.m.
express day after to-morrow. John Marrot.' I was just in time to pitch
the paper crumpled up right into her bosom," continued the driver,
wiping his forehead as if the deep anxiety of that eventful period still
affected him, "an' let me tell you, ma'am, it requires a deal o' nice
calculation to pitch a piece o' crumpled paper true off a locomotive
goin' between fifty and sixty miles an hour; but it went all straight--I
could see that before we was gone."
"And what was the result?" asked the little old lady as earnestly as if
that result were still pending.
"W'y, the result wos as it should be! My letter was a short 'un, but it
turned out to be a powerful brake. Brought her up sharp--an' we was
coupled in less than six weeks."
"Amazing phase of human life!" observed Mrs Tipps, gazing in admiration
at the stalwart giant who stood deferentially before her.
"Well, it _was_ a raither coorious kind o' proposal," said Marrot with a
smile, "but it worked uncommon well. I've never wanted to uncouple
since then."
"Pardon _me_, Mr Marrot," said Mrs Tipps, with little hysterical
laugh--knowing that she was about to perpetrate a joke--"may I ask if
there are any--any _little_ tenders?"
"Oh, lots of 'em," replied John, "quite a train of 'em; four livin' an'
three gone dead. The last was coupled on only a short time ago. You'll
excuse me now, ma'am," he added, pulling out and consulting the
ponderous chronometer with which the company supplied him, "I must go
now, havin' to take charge o' the 6:30 p.m. train,--it ain't my usual
train, but I'm obleeged to take it to-night owin' to one of our drivers
havin' come by an accident. Evenin', ma'am."
John bowed, and retired so promptly that poor Mrs Tipps had no time to
make further inquiry into the accident referred to--at the very mention
of which her former alarm came back in full force. However, she wisely
got the better of her own anxieties by throwing herself into those of
others. Putting on her bonnet she sallied forth on her errand of mercy.
Meanwhile John Marrot proceeded to the engine-shed to prepare his iron
horse for action. Here he found that his fireman, Will Garvie, and his
cleaner, had been attending faithfully to their duty. The huge
locomotive, which looked all the more gigantic for being under cover,
was already quivering with that tremendous energy--that artificial
life--which rendered it at once so useful and so powerful a servant of
man. Its brasses shone with golden lustre, its iron rods and bars,
cranks and pistons glittered with silvery sheen, and its heavier parts
and body were gay with a new coat of green paint. Every nut and screw
and lever and joint had been screwed up, and oiled, examined, tested,
and otherwise attended to, while the oblong pit over which it stood when
in the shed--and into which its ashes were periodically emptied--glowed
with the light of its intense furnace. Ever and anon a little puff
issued from its safety-valve, proving to John Marrot that there was life
within his fiery steed sufficient to have blown the shed to wreck with
all its brother engines, of which there were at the time two or three
dozen standing--some disgorging their fire and water after a journey,
and preparing to rest for the night; some letting off steam with a
fiendish yell unbearably prolonged; others undergoing trifling repairs
preparatory to starting next day, and a few, like that of our
engine-driver, ready for instant action and snorting with impatience
like war-horses "scenting the battle from afar." The begrimed warriors,
whose destiny it was to ride these iron chargers, were also variously
circumstanced. Some in their shirt sleeves busy with hammer and file at
benches hard by; others raking out fire-boxes, or oiling machinery; all
busy as bees, save the few, who, having completed their preparations,
were buttoning up their jackets and awaiting the signal to charge.
At last that signal came to John Marrot--not in a loud shout of command
or a trumpet-blast, but by the silent hand of Time, as indicated on his
chronometer.
"But how," it may be asked, "does John Marrot know precisely the hour at
which he has to start, the stations he has to stop at, the various
little acts of coupling on and dropping off carriages and trucks, and
returning with trains or with `empties' within fixed periods so
punctually, that he shall not interfere with, run into, or delay, the
operations of the hundreds of drivers whose duties are as complex, nice,
important, and swift as his own."
Reader, we reply that John knows it all in consequence of the perfection
of _system_ attained in railway management. Without this, our trains
and rails all over the kingdom would long ago have been smashed up into
what Irishmen expressively name smithereens.
The duty of arranging the details of the system devolves on the
superintendents of departments on the line, namely, the passenger,
goods, and locomotive superintendents, each of whom reigns independently
and supreme in his own department, but of course, like the members of a
well-ordered family, they have to consult together in order that their
trains may be properly horsed, and the time of running so arranged that
there shall be no clashing in their distinct though united interests.
When the number of trains and time of running have been fixed, and
finally published by the passenger superintendent--who is also sometimes
the "Out-door superintendent," and who has duties to perform that demand
very considerable powers of generalship,--it is the duty of the
locomotive superintendent to supply the requisite engines. This
officer, besides caring for all the "plant" or rolling-stock, new and
old, draws out periodically a schedule, in which is detailed to a nicety
every minute act that has to be done by drivers--the hour at which each
engine is to leave the shed on each day of the week, the number of each
engine, its driver and fireman, and the duties to be performed; and this
sheet contains complete _daily_ (nay, almost hourly) directions for
passenger, goods, and pilot-engines.
In order to secure attention to these regulations, each engineman is
fined one shilling for every minute he is behind time in leaving the
shed. The difficulty of making these runnings of trains dovetail into
each other on lines where the traffic is great and constant, may well be
understood to be considerable, particularly when it is remembered that
ordinary regular traffic is interfered with constantly by numerous
excursion, special, and other irregular trains, in the midst of which,
also, time must be provided for the repair and renewal of the line
itself, the turning of old rails, laying down of new ones, raising
depressed sleepers, renewing broken chairs, etcetera,--all which is
constantly going on, and that, too, at parts of the line over which
hundreds of trains pass in the course of the twenty-four hours.
Besides the arrangements for the regular traffic, which are made
monthly, a printed sheet detailing the special traffic, repairs of
lines, new and altered signals, working arrangements, etcetera, is
issued weekly to every member of the staff; particularly to
engine-drivers and guards. We chance to possess one of these private
sheets, issued by one of our principal railways. Let us peep behind the
scenes for a moment and observe how such matters are managed.
The vacation has come to an end, and the boys of Rapscallion College
will, on a certain day, pour down on the railway in shoals with money in
hand and a confident demand for accommodation. This invading army must
be prepared for. Ordinary trains are not sufficient for it. Delay is
dangerous on railways; it must not be permitted; therefore the watchful
superintendent writes an order which we find recorded as follows:--
"_Wednesday, 26th April_,--Accommodation must be provided on this day
in the 3:10 and 6:25 p.m. Up, and 2:25 and 6:10 p.m. Down Trains, for
the Cadets returning to Rapscallion College. By the Trains named,
Rapscallion College tickets will be collected at Whitewater on the
Down journey, and at Smokingham on the Up journey. Oldershot to send
a man to Whitewater to assist in the collection of these tickets."
Again--a "Relief Train" has to be utilised. It won't "pay" to run empty
trains on the line unnecessarily, therefore the superintendent has his
eye on it, and writes:--
"_April_ 23rd.--An Empty Train will leave Whiteheath for Woolhitch at
about 8:10 p.m., to work up from Woolhitch at 9:05 p.m., calling at
Woolhitch Dockyard and Curlton, and forming the 9:15 p.m. Up Ordinary
Train from Whiteheath. Greatgun Street to provide Engines and Guards
for this service."
This is but a slight specimen of the providing, dovetailing, timing, and
guarding that has to be done on all the lines in the kingdom. In the
same sheet from which the above is quoted, we find notes, cautions, and
intimations as to such various matters as the holding of the levers of
facing points when trains are passing through junctions; the attention
required of drivers to new signals; the improper use of telegraph bells;
the making search for lost "passes;" the more careful loading of goods
waggons; the changes in regard to particular trains; the necessity of
watchfulness on the part of station-masters, robberies having been
committed on the line; the intimation of dates when and places where
ballast trains are to be working on the line; the times and, places when
and where repairs to line are to take place during the brief intervals
between trains of the ordinary traffic; and many other matters, which
naturally lead one to the belief that superintendents of railways must
possess the eyes of Argus, the generalship of Wellington, and the
patience of Job.
Being carefully hedged in, as we have shown, with strict rules and
regulations, backed by fines in case of the slightest inattention, and
the certainty of prompt dismissal in case of gross neglect or
disobedience, with the possibility of criminal prosecution besides
looming in the far distance, our friend, John Marrot, knowing his duties
well, and feeling perfect confidence in himself and his superiors,
consulted his chronometer for the last time, said, "Now, then, Bill!"
and mounted his noble steed.
Will Garvie, who was putting a finishing drop of oil into some part of
the machinery, took his station beside his mate and eased off the brake.
John let off two sharp whistles (an imperative duty on the part of
every driver before starting an engine) and let on the steam. The first
was a very soft pulsation--a mere puff--but it was enough to move the
ponderous engine as if it had been a cork, though its actual weight with
tender was fifty-three tons. Another puff, and slowly the iron horse
moved out of its stable. There was a gentle, oily, gliding, effect
connected with its first movements that might have won the confidence
even of timid Mrs Captain Tipps. Another puff of greater strength shot
the engine forward with a sudden grandeur of action that would certainly
have sent that lady's heart into her throat. In a few seconds it
reached and passed the place where the siding was connected with the
main line, and where a pointsman stood ready to shift the points. Here
the obedient spirit of the powerful steed was finely displayed. Will
Garvie reversed the action of the engines by a process which, though
beautifully simple and easily done, cannot be easily described. John
let on a puff of steam, and the engine glided backwards as readily as it
had run forward. A few seconds afterwards it moved slowly under the
magnificent arch of Clatterby station, and its buffers met those of the
train it was destined to draw as if with a gentle touch of friendly
greeting.
At the station all was bustle and noise; but here we must venture to do
what no human being could accomplish in reality, compel the 6:30 p.m.
train to wait there until it shall be our pleasure to give it the signal
to start! Meanwhile we shall put back the clock an hour or so, ask the
reader to return to Mrs Tipps' residence and observe what transpired
there while John Marrot was in the shed getting his iron steed ready for
action.