TREATS OF RAILWAY LITERATURE, SLEEPY PORTERS, CROWDED PLATFORMS, FOOLISH
PASSENGERS, DARK PLOTTERS, LIVELY SHAWLS, AND OTHER MATTERS.
John Marrot was remarkably fond of his iron horse. No dragoon or hussar
that we ever read of paid half so much attention to his charger. He not
only rubbed it down, and fed and watered it at stated intervals, but,
when not otherwise engaged, or when awaiting the signal to start a
train, he was sure to be found with a piece of waste rubbing off a speck
of dust here or a drop of superfluous oil there, or giving an extra
polish to the bright brasses, or a finishing touch to a handle or lever
in quite a tender way. It was evidently a labour of love!
On the day which Mrs Durby had fixed for her journey to London, John
and his fireman went to the shed as usual one hour before the time of
starting, being required to do so by the "Rules and Regulations" of the
company, for the purpose of overhauling the iron horse.
And, by the way, a wonderful and suggestive volume was this book of
"Rules and Regulations for the guidance of the officers and servants of
the Grand National Trunk Railway." It was a printed volume of above two
hundred pages, containing minute directions in regard to every
department and every detail of the service. It was "printed for private
circulation;" but we venture to say that, if the public saw it, their
respect for railway servants and railway difficulties and management
would be greatly increased, the more so that one of the first "rules"
enjoined was, that _each_ servant should be held responsible for having
a knowledge of all the rules--those relating to other departments as
well as to his own. And it may not be out of place, certainly it will
not be uninteresting, to mention here that one of the rules, rendered
prominent by large black capitals, enjoined that "THE PUBLIC SAFETY MUST
BE THE FIRST AND CHIEF CARE of every officer and servant of the
company." We have reason to believe that all the railways in the
kingdom give this rule equal prominence in spirit--probably also in
type. In this little volume it was likewise interesting to note, that
civility to the public was strictly enjoined; and sure we are that every
railway traveller will agree with us in the opinion that railway agents,
guards, and porters, all, in short with whom the public come in contact,
obey this rule heartily, in the spirit and in the letter.
The particular rules in the book which affected our engine-driver were
uncommonly stringent, and very properly so, seeing that the lives of so
many persons depended on the constancy of his coolness, courage, and
vigilance. John Marrot, like all the engine-drivers on the line, was a
picked man. In virtue of his superior character and abilities he
received wages to the extent of 2 pounds, 10 shillings per week. Among
other things, he was enjoined by his "rules and regulations," very
strictly, to give a loud whistle before starting, to start his train
slowly and without a jerk, and to take his orders to start only from the
guard; also, to approach stations or stopping places cautiously, and
with the train well under control, and to be guided in the matter of
shutting off steam, by such considerations as the number of vehicles in
the train, and the state of the weather and rails, so as to avoid
violent application of the brakes. Moreover, he was bound to do his
best to keep to his exact time, and to account for any loss thereof by
entering the cause of delay on his report-ticket. He was also earnestly
enjoined to use every effort which might conduce to the safety of the
public, and was authorised to refuse to proceed with any carriage or
waggon which, from hot axles or otherwise, was in his opinion unfit to
run. These are but a few specimens culled from a multitude of rules
bearing on the minutest details of his duty as to driving, shunting,
signalling, junction and level crossing, etcetera, with all of which he
had to become not merely acquainted, but so intimately familiar that his
mind could grasp them collectively, relatively, or individually at any
moment, so as to act instantaneously, yet coolly, while going like a
giant bomb-shell through the air--with human lives in the balance to add
weight to his responsibilities.
If any man in the world needed a cool clear head and a quick steady
hand, with ample nightly as well as Sabbath rest, that man was John
Marrot, the engine-driver. When we think of the constant pressure of
responsibility that lay on him, and the numbers in the kingdom of the
class to which he belonged, it seems to us almost a standing miracle
that railways are so safe and accidents so very rare.
While our engine-driver was harnessing his iron steed, another of the
railway servants, having eaten his dinner, felt himself rather sleepy,
and resolved to have a short nap. It was our friend Sam Natly, the
porter, who came to this unwise as well as unfair resolution. Yet
although we are bound to condemn Sam, we are entitled to palliate his
offence and constrained to pity him, for his period of duty during the
past week had been fifteen hours a day.
"Shameful!" exclaims some philanthropist.
True, but who is to take home the shame? Not the officers of the
company, who cannot do more than their best with the materials laid to
their hands; not the directors, who cannot create profits beyond the
capacity of their line--although justice requires us to admit that they
might reduce expenses, by squabbling less with other companies, and
ceasing unfair, because ruinous as well as ungenerous, competition.
Clearly the bulk of the shame lies with the shareholders, who encourage
opposition for the sake of increasing their own dividends at the expense
of their neighbours, and who insist on economy in directions which
render the line inefficient--to the endangering of their own lives as
well as those of the public. Economy in the matter of railway
servants--in other words, their reduction in numbers--necessitates
increase of working hours, which, beyond a certain point, implies
inefficiency and danger. But the general public are not free from a
modicum of this shame, and have to thank themselves if they are maimed
and killed, because they descend on railways for compensation with a
ruthless hand; (shame to Government here, for allowing it!) and still
further, impoverish their already over-taxed coffers. Compensation for
injury is just, but compensation as it is, and has been claimed and
awarded, is ridiculously unfair, as well as outrageously unwise.
Fortunately Sam Natly's wicked resolve to indulge in undutiful slumber
did not result in evil on this occasion, although it did result in
something rather surprising. It might have been far otherwise had Sam
been a pointsman!
In order to enjoy fully the half-hour which he meant to snatch from
duty, Sam entered a first-class carriage which stood on a siding, and,
creeping under a seat, laid himself out at full length, pillowing his
head on his arm. Tired men don't require feather-beds. He was sound
asleep in two minutes. It so happened that, three-quarters of an hour
afterwards, an extra first-class carriage was wanted to add to the train
which John Marrot was to "horse" on its arrival at Clatterby. The
carriage in which Sam lay was selected for the purpose, drawn out, and
attached to the train. Tired men are not easily awakened. Sam knew
nothing of this change in his sleeping apartment.
Meanwhile Clatterby station became alive with travellers. The train
drew up to the platform. Some passengers got out; others got in. The
engine which brought it there, being in need of rest, coal, and water,
moved off to the shed. John Marrot with his lieutenant, Garvie, moved
to the front on his iron horse, looking as calm and sedate in his
conscious power as his horse looked heavy and unyielding in its
stolidity. Never did two creatures more thoroughly belie themselves by
their looks. The latent power of the iron horse could have shot it
forth like an arrow from a bow, or have blown the whole station to
atoms. The smouldering fires in John's manly breast could have raised
him from a begrimed, somewhat sluggish, driver to a brilliant hero.
Some of the characters who have already been introduced at Clatterby
station were there on this occasion also. Mr Sharp was there, looking
meditative as usual, and sauntering as though he had nothing particular
to do. Our tall superlative fop with the sleepy eyes and long whiskers
was also there with his friend of the checked trousers. Mr Sharp felt
a strong desire to pommel these fops, because he had found them very
difficult to deal with in regard to compensation, the fop with the
checked trousers having claimed, and finally obtained, an unreasonably
large sum for the trifling injury done to his eye on the occasion of the
accident at Langrye station. Mr Sharp could not however, gratify his
desire. On the contrary, when the checked trousers remarked in passing
that it was "vewy disagweeable weather," he felt constrained to admit,
civilly enough, that it was.
The two fops had a friend with them who was not a fop, but a plain,
practical-looking man, with a forbidding countenance, and a large, tall,
powerful frame. These three retired a little apart from the bustle of
the station, and whispered together in earnest tones. Their names were
the reverse of romantic, for the fop with the checked trousers was
addressed as Smith, he with the long whiskers as Jenkins, and the large
man as Thomson.
"Are you sure he is to go by this train?" asked Thomson, somewhat
gruffly.
"Quite sure. There can be no mistake about it," replied Jenkins, from
whose speech, strange to say, the lisp and drawl had suddenly
disappeared.
"And how are you sure of knowing him, if, as you say, you have never
seen him?" asked Thomson.
"By the bag, of course," answered Smith, whose drawl had also
disappeared unaccountably; "we have got a minute description of the
money-bag which he has had made peculiarly commonplace and shabby on
purpose. It is black leather but very strong, with an unusually thick
flat handle."
"He's very late," observed Thomson, moving uneasily, and glancing at the
clock as the moment of departure drew near.
Mr Sharp observed the consulting party, and sauntered idly towards
them, but they were about as sharp as himself, in practice if not in
name. The lisps and drawls returned as if by magic, and the turf became
the subject of interest about which they were consulting.
Just then a shriek was heard to issue from a female throat, and a stout
elderly woman was observed in the act of dashing wildly across the line
in the midst of moving engines, trucks and vans. Even in these unwonted
circumstances no one who knew her could have mistaken Mrs Durby's
ponderous person for a moment. She had come upon the station at the
wrong side, and, in defiance of all printed regulations to the
contrary--none of which she could read, being short-sighted--she had
made a bold venture to gain her desired position by the most direct
route. This involved crossing a part of the line where there were
several sidings and branch lines, on which a good deal of pushing of
trucks and carriages to and fro--that is "shunting"--was going on.
Like a reckless warrior, who by a bold and sudden push sometimes gains
single-handed the centre of an enemy's position before he is discovered
and assailed on every side, straight forward Mrs Durby ran into the
very midst of a brisk traffic, before any one discovered her. Suddenly
a passenger-train came up with the usual caution in such circumstances,
nevertheless at a smart rattling pace, for "usual caution" does not take
into account or provide for the apparition of stout elderly females on
the line. The driver of the passenger engine saw her, shut off steam,
shouted, applied the brakes and whistled furiously.
We have already hinted that the weather was not fine. Mrs Durby's
umbrella being up, hid the approaching train. As for screaming
steam-whistles, the worthy woman had come to regard intermittent
whistling as a normal condition of railways, which, like the crying of
cross babies, meant little or nothing, and had only to be endured. She
paid no attention to the alarm. In despair the driver reversed his
engine; fire flew from the wheels, and the engine was brought to a
stand, but not until the buffers were within three feet of the nurse's
shoulder. At that moment she became aware of her danger, uttered a
shriek, as we have said, that would have done credit to the whistle of a
small engine, and, bending her head with her umbrella before her, rushed
frantically away on another line of rails. She did not observe, poor
soul, that a goods train was coming straight down that line towards
her,--partly because her mental vision was turned in terror to the rear,
and partly because the umbrella obscured all in advance. In vain the
driver of the goods engine repeated the warnings and actions of the
passenger engine. His had more speed on and was heavier; besides, Mrs
Durby charged it at the rate of full five miles an hour, with the
umbrella steadily in front, and a brown paper parcel swinging wildly on
her arm, as if her sole desire on earth was to meet that goods engine in
single combat and beat out its brains at the first blow. Certain it is
that Mrs Durby's career would have been cut short then and there, if
tall Joe Turner, the guard, had not been standing at the tail of his own
train and observed her danger. In the twinkling of an eye he dropped
his slow dignified air, leaped like a panther in front of the goods
engine, caught Mrs Durby with both hands--any how--and hurled her and
himself off the line,--not a moment too soon, for the buffer of the
engine touched his shoulder as they fell together to the ground.
A lusty cheer was given by those on the platform who witnessed this bold
rescue, and more than one sympathetic hand grasped the massive fist of
Joe Turner as he assisted Mrs Durby to a carriage.
"Why," exclaimed Will Garvie, hurrying forward at that moment, "it's
Mrs Durby, the woman we promised to take care of! You'll look after
her, Joe?"
"All right," said the guard, as Will hurried back to his engine; "this
way, ma'am. Got your ticket?"
"N-no!" gasped the poor nurse, leaning heavily on her protector's arm.
"Here, Dick," cried Joe, hailing a porter, "run to the booking-office
and get her a ticket for London, first-class; she's got a bad shake,
poor thing. No doubt the company will stand the difference; if not,
we'll make it up amongst us."
Hereupon a benevolent old gentleman drew out his purse, and insisted on
paying the whole of the fare himself, a point which no one seemed
inclined to dispute, and Mrs Durby was carefully placed by Joe in a
carriage by herself.
There were two gentlemen--also known to the reader--who arrived just in
time to witness this incident: the one was Captain Lee, the other Edwin
Gurwood. They both carried bags and rugs, and were evidently going by
that train. The captain, who happened to have a bad cold at the time,
was muffled up to the eyes in a white worsted comforter, and had a fur
travelling-cap pulled well down on his forehead, so that little of him,
save the point of his nose, was visible.
The moment that the two fops caught sight of Captain Lee, they whispered
to Thomson--
"That's our man."
"Sure?" demanded Thomson.
"Quite," replied Smith. "That's about the size and make of the man as
described to me. Of course they could not tell what sort of travelling
gear he would appear in, but there's no mistaking the bag--old, stout
leather, with flat handle-strap."
"All right," said Thomson; "but who's the young fellow with him?"
"Don't know," replied Smith; "yet I think I've seen his face before.
Stay, Jenkins, wasn't he in the accident at Langrye station?"
"Perhaps he was; but it's of no consequence to us."
"It will be of consequence to us if he goes with the old gentleman,"
retorted Smith, "for he's a stout fellow, and wouldn't be easy to
manage."
"_I'll_ manage him, no fear," said Thomson, looking at the unconscious
Edwin with a dark sinister smile.
"What if they get into a carriage that's already nearly full?" suggested
the dubious Smith.
"They won't do that," replied Jenkins with a laugh. "It seems to be
against the laws of human nature to do that. As long as there are empty
carriages in a train, so long will men and women pass every carriage
that has a soul in it, until they find an empty one for themselves. We
have nothing to do but follow them, and, when they have pitched on a
carriage, get in after them, and fill it up, so we shall have it all to
ourselves."
"Come along, then; it's time to stop talking and to act," said Thomson,
testily, as he moved towards the carriages.
That even the wisest of men (in his own conceit) may make mistakes now
and then is a fact which was beautifully illustrated on this occasion.
We may here let the reader into the secret of Jenkins, Smith, and
Thomson. They were men who lived by their wits. They had ascertained
that a partner of a certain house that dealt in jewellery meant to
return to London by that particular train, with a quantity of valuables
that were worth running some risk for. On the journey there was one
stoppage quite close to London. The run immediately before that was a
clear one of seventy-five miles without a halt, at full express speed,
which would afford them ample opportunity for their purpose, while the
slowing of the train on approaching the stopping place would give them
opportunity and time to leap out and make off with their booty. They
had been told that their intended victim was a stout resolute man, but
that would avail nothing against numbers.
Having obtained all requisite information they had proceeded thus far
with their villainous design, apparently with success. But at this
point a hitch occurred, though they knew it not. They had not taken
sufficiently into account the fact that black leather bags may be both
stout and peculiar, and in some degree similar without being identical.
Hence Smith and Jenkins in their self-confidence had settled, as we have
seen, that Captain Lee was "their man," whereas their man was
comfortably seated in another carriage, and by his side the coveted bag,
which was similar in some points to that of the captain, but different
in size and in several small details.
Following the wrong scent, therefore, with wonted pertinacity, the three
men sauntered behind Captain Lee and Edwin, who, true to the "laws" with
which Jenkins had credited human nature, passed one carriage after
another until they found an empty one.
"Here is one, Gurwood," said the captain.
He was about to step into it, when he observed Mrs Durby sitting in the
next compartment.
"Hallo! nurse," he exclaimed, getting in and sitting down opposite to
her; "why, surely it wasn't you, was it, that had such a narrow escape?"
"Indeed it was, Capting Lee," replied Mrs Durby in a half whimper, for
albeit a woman of strong character, she was not proof against such rough
treatment as she had experienced that day.
"Not hurt, I trust?" asked the Captain sympathetically.
"Oh dear no, sir; only shook a bit."
"Are you alone?" asked Edwin, seating himself beside his friend.
"Yes, sir; but la, sir, I don't think nothink of travellin' alone. I'm
used to it, sir."
As she said this the guard's voice was heard desiring passengers to take
their seats, and the three men, who had grouped themselves close round
the door, thus diverging one or two passengers into the next
compartment, entered, and sat down.
At the same moment Mr Sharp's earnest countenance appeared at the
window. He made a few remarks to Captain Lee and Edwin Gurwood, and
took occasion to regard the three adventurers with much attention. They
evidently understood him, for they received his glances with bland
smiles.
It was quite touching to note Mr Sharp's anxiety to lay hold of these
men. He chanced to know nothing about them, save in connexion with the
Langrye accident, but his long experience in business had given him a
delicate power of perception in judging of character, which was not
often at fault. He, as it were, smelt the presence of fair game,
although he could not manage to lay immediate hold of it, just as that
celebrated giant did, who, once upon a time, went about his castle
giving utterance to well-known words--
"Fee, fo, fa, fum, I smell the smell of an Englishman."
"Joe," he whispered, as the guard came up to lock the door, "just keep
an eye on these three fellows, will you? I'd lay my life on it that
they're up to mischief to-day."
Joe looked knowing, and nodded.
"Show your tickets, please," he said, touching his cap to his director
and Edwin.
The tickets were produced--all right. Mrs Durby, in getting out hers,
although, of course, having got it for her, Joe did not require to see
it, dropped her precious brown paper parcel. Picking it up again
hastily she pressed it to her bosom with such evident anxiety, that men
much less sharp-witted than our trio, would have been led to suspect
that it contained something valuable. But they aimed at higher booty
just then, and apparently did not notice the incident.
A rapid banging of doors had now set in--a sure precursor of the
starting whistle. Before it was quite completed, the inevitable late
passenger appeared in the distance. This time it was a lady,
middle-aged and stout, and short of wind, but with an iron will, as was
clearly evinced by the energy with which she raced along the platform,
carrying a large bundle of shawls in one arm, and a travelling-bag in
the other, which she waved continuously as she shouted, "Stop! stop!
stop the trai-i-i-in! I'm coming!"
The guard, with the whistle already half-way to his lips, paused and
glanced at his watch. There was a fraction of a moment left. He
stepped to a carriage and threw open a door.
"Make haste, ma'am; make haste, please," was said in urgent, though
respectful tones.
The late passenger plunged in--she might, as far as appearances went, be
said to have taken a header into the carriage--and the door was shut.
The guard's whistle sounded. The engine-driver's whistle gave prompt
reply, and next instant the train moved. No one could conceive of such
a thing as a train _starting_ when John Marrot drove!
As the carriages glided by, Mr Sharp cast a passing glance on the late
passenger. He observed that her bundle of shawls moved of its own
accord, and, for one whole minute after the train had left, he stood
motionless, meditating on that curious phenomenon. He had often heard
of table-turning, but never until now had he seen inanimate matter move
of its own accord. Can we feel surprised that he was both astonished
and perplexed? Proceeding to the booking-office he held a brief
conversation with the clerks there; then he sauntered into the
telegraph-office and delivered a message, after which he left the
station with a quiet smile on his sedate countenance.