"Clarendon Hotel, London.
"Dear Madam,--There is a little girl living in your neighbourhood, in
whose father I have a deep interest. I am particularly anxious to give
this child, Gertrude Marrot by name, a good plain education.
Understanding that your daughter has had considerable experience in
teaching the young, and is, or has been, engaged in tuition, I venture
to propose that she should undertake the training of this child, who
will attend at your daughter's residence for that purpose at any hours
you may deem most suitable. In the belief that your daughter will have
no objection to accept of this trust I enclose a cheque for 50 pounds--
the first year's salary--in advance. I am, dear madam, your very
obedient servant,
"Samuel Tough."
Although the above can scarcely be considered a brilliant achievement of
Edwin Gurwood, it nevertheless accomplished its purpose; for the letter
was, in all respects, so very unlike Captain Lee, that neither Mrs
Tipps nor her daughter suspected him for an instant. On the contrary,
they took it in good faith. Netta wrote a reply by return of post
agreeing to the proposal, and on the day following began her pleasant
task, to the inexpressible delight of Gertie, who would joyfully, on any
terms whatever, have been Netta's slave--not to mention pupil.
A considerable time after this happy arrangement had been made, Mrs
Durby, in a moment of confidential weakness, related to little Gertie
the circumstances attending the loss of the diamond ring. Gertie, on
returning home, communicated the matter to Loo, and gave it as her
opinion that it was a pity such a valuable ring had been lost.
"Couldn't father find out about it somehow?" she asked with a hopeful
look--hopeful because she believed her father capable of doing anything
he chose to set his mind to.
"Perhaps he could, but he won't be home to-night," replied Loo,
thoughtfully.
"I think Sam Natly could tell us how to find it. Suppose I go and ask
him," said Gertie.
Loo laughed, and said she thought Sam couldn't help them much. The
child was, however, a resolute little thing, and, having taken up the
idea, determined to go and see Sam forthwith, as he was on duty not far
from John Marrot's cottage.
Sam had recently been advanced from the position of a porter, to the
responsible office of a signalman. The great sin he had committed in
going to sleep in a first-class carriage, when unable to keep his eyes
open, had been forgiven, partly because it was his first offence, partly
because of the good and opportune service he had rendered on the day of
the attempted robbery, and partly on account of his being one of the
steadiest and most intelligent men on the line. Sam's wife, under the
care of Mrs Tipps and Mrs Durby, had made a marvellous recovery, and
Sam's gratitude knew no bounds. Mrs Tipps happened to refer to him one
day when conversing with Captain Lee, and the latter was much pleased to
discover that the man in whom Mrs Tipps felt so much interest, was the
same man who had come to his help in the hour of his extremity. He
therefore made inquiry about him of the station-master at Clatterby.
That gentleman said that Sam was a first-rate man, a stout,
hard-working, modest fellow, besides being remarkably intelligent, and
clear-headed and cool, especially in the midst of danger, as had been
exemplified more than once in cases of accident at the station, in
addition to which Sam was a confirmed abstainer from strong drink. All
these facts were remembered, and when the block system of signalling was
introduced on that part of the line Sam was made a signalman.
The scene of his new labours was an elevated box at the side of the
line, not far from Gertie's home. As this box was rather curious we
shall describe it. It was a huge square sentry-box, with three of its
sides composed of windows; these commanded a view of the line in all
directions. On the fourth side of the box hung a time-piece and a
framed copy of signal regulations. There was a diminutive stove in one
corner, and a chest in another. In front of the box facing the clock
were two telegraphic instruments, and a row of eight or ten long iron
levers, which very much resembled a row of muskets in a rack. These
levers were formidable instruments in aspect and in fact, for they not
only cost Sam a pretty strong effort to move them, but they moved points
and signals, on the correct and prompt movements of which depended the
safety of the line, and the lives of human beings.
Just before little Gertie reached the station, Sam happened to be
engaged in attempting to take his dinner. We use the word _attempting_
advisedly, because our signalman had not the ghost of a chance to sit
down, as ordinary mortals do, and take his dinner with any degree of
certainty. He took it as it were, disjointedly in the midst of alarms.
That the reader may understand why, we must observe that the "block
system" of signalling, which had recently been introduced on part of the
line, necessitated constant attention, and a series of acts, which gave
the signalman no rest, during certain periods of his watch, for more
than two minutes at a time, if so long. The block system is the method
of protecting trains by "blocking" the line; that is, forbidding the
advance of trains until the line is clear, thus securing an interval of
_space_ between trains, instead of the older and more common method of
an interval of _time_. The chief objection to the latter system is
this, that one accident is apt to cause another. Suppose a train
despatched from a station; an interval of say quarter of an hour allowed
and then another sent off. If the first train should break down, there
is some chance of the second train overtaking and running into it. With
the block system this is impossible. For instance, a train starts from
any station, say A, and has to run past stations B and C. The instant
it starts the signalman at A rings a telegraph bell to attract B's
attention, at the same time he indicates on another telegraphic
instrument "Train on line," locks his instruments in that position, and
puts up the "stop" signal, or, blocks the line. B replies,
acknowledging the signal, and telegraphs to C to be ready. The moment
the train passes B's station, he telegraphs to C, "Train on line," and
blocks that part of the line with the semaphore, "Stop", as A had done,
he also telegraphs back to A, "Line clear," whereupon A lets a second
train on, if one is ready. Very soon C sends "Line clear" to B,
whereupon B is prepared to let on that second train, when it comes up,
and so on _ad infinitum_. The signals, right and left are invariably
repeated, so that there is no chance of mistake though the failure of
the telegraph instruments, because if any of these should fail, the want
of a reply would at once induce a telegram through the "speaking"
instrument with which each station is furnished, and which is similar to
the telegraph instruments used at most railway stations, and the line
would remain "blocked" until a satisfactory answer set it free. The
working of the semaphore signals, which are familiar to most people as
tall posts with projecting moveable arms, is accomplished by the
mechanical action of the "levers" before mentioned. There are two
"distant" signals and one "home" signal to be worked by each man.
Besides these there are levers for working the various "points" around
the station which lead to sidings, and when these levers are in action,
i.e. placed for the shunting of a goods train, they self-lock the levers
that "block" the line, so that while this operation of shunting (which
just means shoving a train to one side out of the way) is going on, the
signalman could not make the mistake of letting a train pass the distant
signal--the thing is rendered impossible.
From this it will be seen that the signalman has entire control of the
line, and if we consider that shunting of waggons, carriages, and trains
is a pretty constant and lively operation at some stations, we can
easily conceive that the office of signalman can only be filled by a
very able and trustworthy man.
As we have said, just before Gertie's arrival Sam Natly chanced to be
attempting to dine. The telegraph needles pointed to "Line clear" on
both sides of him. Dinner consisted of a sort of Irish stew cooked in a
little square iron pan that fitted into the small stove. Being a
placid, good-humoured man, not easily thrown off his balance either
mentally or physically, Sam smiled slightly to himself as he put the
first bit of meat into his mouth. He thought of his wife, wished that
she was there to assist in the eating of it and shut his lips on the
savoury morsel. A piece of potato was arrested by the sharp telegraph
bell--one beat--of warning. The potato followed the meat as he was in
the act of rising. Sam touched his telegraphic bell in reply to his
signal-friend on the right, and "Train on line" was marked by a
telegraphic needle pointing to these words. As the train was yet a
great way off, at least as to distance, he sat down again and disposed
of bit number two. Number three followed, and he had made some approach
to engulfing number four when a shrill whistle struck his ear. Up he
sprang, glanced at the time-piece, wiped his mouth, and went to the
levers. He touched his bell--a single note of warning to his
signal-friend on the left and received a reply, one beat, meaning
"Ready." The train appeared, came up like a rocket and went past like a
thunderbolt. When Sam saw its red tail-light, and thus knew that all
the train was there,--that none of the tail carriages or trucks had
broken loose and been left behind,--he gave a mighty pull to one of the
levers, which turned up the arms of his distant signal, and thus blocked
the line to all other trains. The needle was now "pegged down" or fixed
at "Train on line," so that there could be no mistake about it, and no
trusting to memory. Having accomplished this, he went to a large book
which lay open on a desk in a corner, glanced at the time-piece,
recorded the passage of the train--a passenger one, and once more sat
down to dinner.
The distance between his station and the next to the left was somewhat
greater than that on the right, so that at least three mouthfuls in
succession, of the Irish stew, were disposed of before the wicked little
bell summoned him again. He rose as before with alacrity, rung his bell
in reply, and unstopped his needle. The friend on his left at once
pointed it to "Line clear," whereupon Sam again went to his levers, and
lowered the obstructing arms on his right. Having thus a clear line on
right and left, he sat down for the third time to dinner, with a clear
head and a clear conscience.
But he was interrupted sooner than before, indeed he had barely got one
mouthful deposited when he was rung up by the friend on his right, with
_two_ beats of the bell, to pass a heavy goods train, which, with
something like the impatience of stout people in crossing dangerous
roads, was anxious to get on and out of the way as fast as possible, for
it knew that a `limited mail' was tearing after it, at a fearfully
unlimited pace. Sam knew this too--indeed he knew, and was bound to
know, every train that had to pass that station, up and down, during his
period of duty. He therefore replied, sat down, had a bite or two, and
sprang up when the whistle of the train was audible. There was longer
delay this time, for the goods train had to stop, and be shunted, at
this station. Moreover, another goods train that had quietly, but
impatiently, been biding its time in a siding, thought it would try to
take advantage of this opportunity, and gave an impatient whistle. Sam
opened one of his sliding windows and looked out.
"Couldn't you let me shunt over a truck t'other side _now_, Sam?" asked
its driver remonstratively.
Sam glanced at his time-piece with an earnest thoughtful look, and
said--
"Well, yes; but look sharp."
He had already pulled the lever of the home signal, and now, with two
mighty pulls, blocked both up and down lines with the distant signals.
At the same time he pulled other levers, and shifted the "points," so as
to let the plethoric goods train just arrived, and the goods train in
waiting, perform their respective evolutions. It required nearly all
Sam's strength to "pull over" several of those levers, because, besides
being somewhat heavy to work, even at their best, several of them had
got slightly out of order--wanted oiling, perhaps. It was quite evident
to the meanest capacity that there was room for improvement in this
department of the Grand National Trunk Railway. In performing this last
operation Sam locked all the semaphores, and so rendered his part of the
line absolutely impregnable. There was so much vigorous action and
whistling here, and such puffing and backing and pushing on the part of
the engines, that a superficial observer might have supposed there was a
great deal of movement and confusion to no purpose, but we need scarcely
say that such was not the case. Several trucks of goods were dropped by
both trains, to be carried on by other trains, and several trucks that
had been left by other trains, were taken up, and thus in a few minutes
a part of the enormous traffic of the line was assorted.
Sam had judged his time well. He had got a good piece of work advanced,
and both trains well out of the way, just before the bell again
intimated the approach of the limited mail. He replied, set the line
free, booked the passage of the goods train, and sat down once more to
dinner, just as the door of his box opened and the pretty face of Gertie
peeped in.
We are not sure that such a visit would be permitted in these days of
stringent "rules;" at that time they may not have been very particular
as to visitors, or perhaps Gertie, being one of themselves, as it were,
was privileged. Be this as it may, there she was with a laughing face.
"May I come in, Sam?"
"May a cherub from the skies come in--yes," replied Sam, rising and
lifting Gertie in his strong arms until he could print a kiss on her
forehead without stooping. "All well at home, Gertie?"
"Very well, thank you. We expect father home to tea."
"I know that," said Sam, sitting down at his small table and attempting
dinner once again.
"How do you know that?" asked Gertie in surprise.
"'Cause I've got to pass him up wi' the express in half-an-hour,"
replied Sam, with his mouth full, "and, of course, he don't prefer
takin' tea on the _Lightenin'_ with his mate Bill Garvie, w'en he's got
a chance o' takin' it wi' his wife and a little angel, like you."
"I wish you'd not talk nonsense, Sam," remonstrated Gertie with a
serious look.
"That ain't nonsense," said Sam, stoutly.
"Yes, it is," said Gertie; "you know angels are good."
"Well, and ain't you good?" demanded the signalman, filling his mouth
with a potato.
"Mother says I am, and I feel as if I was," replied Gertie with much
simplicity, "but you know angels are _very_ _very_ good, and, of
_course_, I'm not near so good as them."
"You are," said Sam, with an obstinate snap at a piece of meat; "you're
better than any of 'em. You only want wings to be complete."
Gertie laughed, and then remarked that Sam dined late, to which Sam
replied that he did, that he preferred it, and that he didn't see why
gentlefolk should have that sort of fun all to themselves.
"What's that?" exclaimed Gertie, as Sam dropped his knife and fork, rang
his electric bell, and laid hold of a lever.
"The limited mail, my dear," said Sam, as the train rushed by.
"Oh, how it shakes the house! I wonder it don't fall," exclaimed the
child.
"It's made to be well shaken, like a bottle o' bad physic," replied Sam,
as he went through the various processes already described, before
sitting down to finish his oft-interrupted meal.
"Do you always take your dinner in that uncomfortable way?" asked
Gertie, sitting down on the chest and looking earnestly into the manly
countenance of her friend.
"Mostly," said Sam, at last finishing off with a draught of pure water,
and smacking his lips.
"Sometimes it's all I can do to get it eaten--other times I'm not so
hard pressed, but it's never got over without interruption, more or
less."
"Are breakfast and tea as bad?"
"Not quite," replied Sam with a laugh; "about breakfast time the traffic
ain't quite so fast and furious, and I takes tea at home."
"How long are you here at a time?" asked the inquisitive Gertie.
"Twelve hours, my dear, and no time allowed for meals."
"Surely you must be very tired?"
"Sometimes, but they talk of shortening the hours soon. There's a want
of signalmen just now, that's how it is. But what good fortune has sent
_you_ here this evenin', Gertie?"
"I want to ask you about a ring, Sam."
"A ring! What! you ain't goin' to get married already, are you?"
Gertie replied by bursting into a hearty fit of laughter; when she had
sufficiently recovered her gravity, she revealed her troubles to the
sympathising signalman.
"Well, it _is_ a perplexin' business. What was the old woman doin' wi'
such a ring tied up in such a queer way?"
"I don't know," said Gertie.
"Well, it ain't no business of mine, but we must try to git hold of it
somehow. I'll be off dooty at six, and your dad'll be passin' in a few
minutes. After I'm free, I'll go up to the shed and have a palaver with
'im. There he is."
As he spoke the bell was rung by his signal-friend on the left replied
to in the usual way, and in a few minutes the chimney of the _Lightning_
was seen over the top of the embankment that hid a bend of the up-line
from view.
"Put your head out here at this window, and be ready to wave your hand,
Gertie," said Sam, placing the child.
The "Flying Dutchman" came on in its wonted wild fashion, and for a few
seconds Gertie saw her father's bronzed and stern face as he looked
straight ahead with his hand on the regulator. John Marrot cast one
professional glance up, and gave a professional wave of his right hand
to the signalman. At that instant his whole visage lighted up as if a
beam of sunshine had suffused it, and his white teeth, uncovered by a
smile, gleamed as he flew past and looked back. Gertie waved
frantically with her kerchief, which flew from her hand and for some
distance followed the train. In another moment the "Flying Dutchman"
was a speck in the distance--its terrific crash suddenly reduced by
distance to a low rumble.
"Evenin', Jack," said Sam, as his successor or comrade on the
"night-shift" entered the box, "Come along now, Gertie. We'll go and
see your father. He'll be up at the station in no time, and won't take
long to run back to the shed."
So saying, Sam Natly assisted Gertie down the long iron ladder, by which
his nest was reached, and walked with her to the engine-shed, which they
soon reached. They had not waited long before John Marrot's iron horse
came panting slowly into its accustomed stable.
As there were at least twelve iron horses there in all stages of
being-put-to-bedism, and some, like naughty boys, were blowing off their
steam with absolutely appalling noise, it was next to impossible for
Gertie and Sam to make known their difficulty to John. They therefore
waited until he had seen his satellites in proper attendance upon his
charger, and then left the shed along with him.
When the case was made known to John, he at once said, "Why didn't they
apply to the Clearin' House, I wonder?"
"Ah, why not?" said Sam.
"Nurse doesn't know about that place, I think," suggested Gertie.
"Very likely not; but if she'd only gone an' seen any one as know'd
anything about the line, she'd have found it out. However, the parcel's
pretty sure to be somewhere, so I'll set some inquiries a-foot w'en I
goes up to town to-morrow. Good-night, Sam."
"Good-night, John," answered the signalman, as he turned off in the
direction of his own dwelling, while the engine-driver and his little
daughter pursued the footpath that led to their cottage.
Sam Natly's residence was a very small one, for house-rent was high in
that neighbourhood. There were only two rooms in it, but these two bore
evidence of being tended by a thrifty housewife; and, truly, when Sam's
delicate, but partially recovered, wife met him at the door that night,
and gave him a hearty kiss of welcome, no one with an atom of good taste
could have avoided admitting that she was a remarkably pretty, as well
as thrifty, little woman.
"You're late to-night, Sam," said little Mrs Natly.
"Yes, I've had to go to the shed to see John Marrot about a diamond
ring."
"A diamond ring!" exclaimed his wife.
"Yes, a diamond ring."
Hereupon Sam related all he knew about the matter, and you may be sure
the subject was quite sufficient to furnish ground for a very lively and
speculative conversation, during the preparation and consumption of as
nice a little hot supper, as any hard-worked signalman could desire.
"You're tired, Sam," said his little wife anxiously.
"Well, I am a bit. It's no wonder, for it's a pretty hard job to work
them levers for twelve hours at a stretch without an interval, even for
meals, but I'm gittin' used to it--like the eels to bein' skinned."
"It's a great shame of the Company," cried Mrs Natly with indignation.
"Come, come," cried Sam, "no treason! It ain't such a shame as it
looks. You see the Company have just bin introducin' a noo system of
signallin', an' they ha'n't got enough of men who understand the thing
to work it, d'ye see; so of course we've got to work double tides, as
the Jack-tars say. If they _continue_ to keep us at it like that I'll
say it's a shame too, but we must give 'em time to git things into
workin' order. Besides, they're hard-up just now. There's a deal o'
money throw'd away by companies fightin' an' opposin' one another--
cuttin' their own throats, I calls it--and they're awful hard used by
the public in the way o' compensation too. It's nothin' short o'
plunder and robbery. If the public would claim moderately, and juries
would judge fairly, an' directors would fight less, shareholders would
git higher dividends, the public would be better served, and railway
servants would be less worked and better paid."
"I don't care two straws, Sam," said little Mrs Natly with great
firmness, "not two straws for their fightin's, an' joories, and
davydens--all I know is that they've no right whatever to kill my
'usband, and it's a great shame!"
With this noble sentiment the earnest little woman concluded the
evening's conversation, and allowed her wearied partner to retire to
rest.