a lot of bobbery, and do plenty bad talking, and not liking English
peoples. I tell you, Zacharias, if the Russian people came, the Baboos
won’t have a chance of holding their silly meetings; they’ll be put to
clean the Russian gentlemen’s backyards, and do all the dirty work that
can be found for them.’
‘Yes, sah. These Baboos are fools. If English gentlemens not coming,
where is got Baboo? Only Bengal people talking that way. Madras peoples
always right.’
‘Bravo, Zacharias! Here’s a toast to Madras, the benighted presidency,
and may she always have as staunch countrymen as you!’
‘Thank you, sah.’
‘But about these Russians—tell me some more.’
‘Russian peoples got no money; Queen got plenty money. English soldiers
plenty strong, so Russian peoples not coming.’
‘That’s right. You stick to that; and when you hear the silly Baboos
saying they are downtrodden, you tell them, with my compliments, that
they are a pack of fools, and that they had better not wait for anybody
else to tread on them, when they hear the _Sahiblogues_ [Englishmen]
are going.’
‘Yes, sah; that is right. If English peoples not coming here, I would
never be wearing such clothes as these.’ (Zacharias is very well
pleased with himself when he has got on his clean dinner clothes, as he
had, to celebrate Christmas Day of 1883.)
‘Now, you understand what I say, eh?’
‘Yes, sah.’ (Here came the crushing blow, the long-deserved snub to my
loquacity.) ‘Master wants calling at half-past six, and breakfast at
seven.—Good-night, sah.’
I couldn’t help but take a hint so gently given; and so, bidding my
faithful Zacharias—I sincerely believe he is faithful—‘good-night,’
I knocked the ashes out of my pipe, and brought to a conclusion my
Christmas Day.
A NOVEL ADVENTURE.
It was always my conviction that a Briton ought never to go abroad to
seek beautiful scenery until he had travelled all over his own country,
and accordingly in early manhood I made a series of walking tours
until I had seen every variety of English, Welsh, Scotch, and Irish
scenery. It was in the course of one of these tours that I came across
the pretty little village of Ferneville. Hills softly undulating and
beautifully wooded surrounded the place; while two large ponds and
numerous brooks supplied fishing enough to satisfy the wants of even an
ardent angler like myself. The village was one of those little places
where the population seems never to increase and the trade of the
builder to be unknown. Visited by few strangers, this secluded village
was just the kind of place for a traveller to rest himself and recruit.
Here, then, I resolved to take my ease until such time as I felt
disposed to resume my journey. The village inn afforded comfortable
quarters, and here I ensconced myself, filling up part of my time in
posting up my diary and writing to relatives and friends, matters
which I had very much neglected. Much of my time was spent, too, in
taking long rambles into the country and exploring the district for
miles round; often, too, I took my fishing tackle with me, and seldom
returned empty handed.
One day, when I was about setting off on one of these rambles, a young
fellow arrived at the inn, having had apparently a pretty long walk.
He had started, he said, early that morning from the town of B——,
purposing to reach C—— in the afternoon; but having taken what he
understood to be a short-cut, he had lost his bearings—a thing people
often do when they take ‘short-cuts’—and now found himself some twelve
miles from his destination. From what he said, however, I found that
it was not really necessary for him to be in C—— before the next day;
and as he seemed an agreeable and companionable gentleman, I suggested
that he should keep me company for the rest of the day, sleep at the
inn that night, and resume his journey next morning. This he agreed
to do; and my bedroom having two beds, it was arranged that he should
share it with me.
Half an hour’s conversation with my new acquaintance confirmed my good
opinion of his sociable qualities, and I congratulated myself upon the
agreeable companionship I had secured for the better part of a day. We
dined together, and then set out for a stroll, returning in time for
supper, well pleased with each other’s society; at all events, I was
charmed with my companion, his light-heartedness and extreme vivacity
coming as a refreshing and an agreeable change after the rather dull
company of the few villagers whose acquaintance I had cultivated. A
chat and a pipe followed supper, and then, in good spirits, we retired
for the night.
As was usual with me, I was soon lost in slumber; but after being
asleep for what seemed a considerable time, I found myself awake
and dimly conscious of some one moving about the room. The day was
beginning to break, and sufficient light penetrated through the
window-blind to render objects in the room dimly visible. My ideas were
at first hazy, and no recollection of my companion crossed my mind;
hence I concluded that I was alone in the room with this burglar, as
I took him to be, and I resolved to watch him quietly. His back was
towards me; but he turned suddenly, and as the feeble light from the
window fell across his face, I recognised my companion of the previous
day. His expression was wild and savage, and in his right hand he held
a large, long knife, with which from time to time he struck fiercely at
the empty air, muttering rapidly words of which I could not catch the
import! I am not a timid man, but I must confess that a kind of sickly
feeling came over me as it flashed across me that I was alone with
a lunatic, and that, too, at a time when, the rest of the household
being asleep, the chance of any help was very remote. To be alone in
bed at night while an armed burglar is prowling about the room, is bad
enough; but when, in place of the burglar, you have a madman, the case
is infinitely worse; an attack might be made at any moment, and without
the least provocation.
My mind reviewed rapidly the incidents of the previous day. I had
noticed nothing in my companion’s demeanour which would lead any one
to suppose he was insane. True, I had been struck with his vivacity,
and rather astonished at the rapidity with which he would pass from
one topic to another; but this had simply pleased me as a trait of
originality. Through my half-opened eyes and by the increasing light,
I now saw him suddenly pause in his movements, bend forward, and gaze
half eagerly, half hesitatingly in my direction. My heart nearly
ceased to beat. Would he come forward? He advanced quickly a couple
of steps, his face lighted up with a fiendish anticipatory pleasure;
then he stopped for a moment. Should I spring from the bed and rush
upon him? There was still about half the length of the room between
us. No; the distance was too great for me to take him by surprise. He
again came quickly forward, stood for a moment by my bedside, and then,
with a savage scowl, the knife was thrown back to strike. But before
it could descend, I had darted from the bed and was upon him, my left
hand grasping his right wrist. ‘Madman!’ I hissed, as I forced him
backwards, ‘drop the knife!’ In another moment we had fallen heavily,
he undermost. His leg had caught against his own bed, and my weight
had forced him backwards. In falling, his head struck against a piece
of furniture with sufficient force to stun him. I took advantage of
this to possess myself of the knife, which I had scarcely done when
he opened his eyes. I planted myself firmly, expecting that he would
renew the struggle; but, to my surprise, he burst into a laugh, and at
length exclaimed: ‘Well, I have made a fool of myself, I must admit. I
am no more mad than you are; and I am sure I have no designs against
your life, however suspicious things may appear. Loose me, and I will
explain all, although I know that in doing so I shall lay myself open
to your ridicule.’
The laughter was so hearty and the tone so genuine, that I complied;
besides, I had the knife if the worst came to the worst.
‘The fact is,’ he commenced, ‘I am stage-struck (don’t laugh at me
more than you can help). I wanted to go on the stage, but to this my
father strongly objected. The craze was, however, too strong upon me
to allow of my quietly giving up the idea, and at last the opportunity
of realising my ambition presented itself. Near our town is a small
place where there is a little theatre—a poor affair, and visited only
by third or fourth rate companies. Well, I made acquaintance with a
party of travelling players there, and one of their number having
left them, it was arranged that I should take his place at the next
town they visited. I was walking on there, when, getting rather out
of my course, as you know, I met you. I had expected being alone last
evening and going over my part in private; but, of course, your being
with me stopped that. I woke very early this morning, and being full
of anxiety to make sure of my part, and imagining you to be fast
asleep—as I believe _now_ you really were at first—I could not resist
the temptation of trying a rehearsal _sotto voce_. In the play, I have
to murder my rival in his sleep; and your lying there in bed gave such
a realistic air to the thing, that I could not resist going through my
part of the play with you as the rival, seeing you were, as I thought,
safe asleep. Judge, then, of my feelings when, without a moment’s
warning, you suddenly sprang upon me! Surprised and confused, I knew
not for the moment what to do; but before I could collect myself,
I had stumbled and fallen; and I suppose I must have been stunned,
for I remember nothing more until I found myself on the floor, with
you kneeling upon my chest, and looking quite prepared for a deadly
struggle.—Now, you know all, and I hope you are none the worse off for
the little adventure than I am?’
My answer was that I was only too glad the affair had terminated in so
peaceable a manner, and that my sleeping companion, instead of being
a lunatic, was only afflicted with a mania for the stage. I added,
that I hoped the incident might cure him of the craze. And so it did.
My companion did not appear on the professional stage, though I have
often seen him to advantage in private theatricals, and have frequently
watched him rehearse, but never with the same uncomfortable feelings as
I did that night at the village inn.
SOME ASPECTS OF CANADIAN PROGRESS.
For those who cannot actually travel over the Canadian Pacific Railway
from Montreal to Vancouver, in British Columbia, perhaps the next
best thing is to look through the eyes of the _Times_ correspondent,
whose ‘Canadian Tour’ has just been reprinted from the columns of
that journal. Progress in the North-west is so rapid, that even this
journey, performed quite recently, will soon grow antiquated; but many
of the particulars are so full of interest for all who are concerned
in the progress of the Canadian Dominion, that we make no apology in
gleaning the most important facts therefrom, and from other sources,
for the general reader.
The completion of the Canadian Pacific Railway has been the signal
for embarkation in other comprehensive designs for opening up and
furthering the interests of the Dominion. The Hudson Bay Railway,
running from the heart of Manitoba to Port Nelson, on Hudson Bay,
is proceeding apace, and will open up a region hitherto almost shut
out from communication with commercial centres, besides giving an
opportunity of testing the feasibility of the proposed short sea-route
from Canada to Liverpool. This route by way of Hudson Bay, which will
save about one thousand miles as compared with the Quebec route, has
been reported upon by officials on behalf of the Canadian government,
and the various reports agree that it will be navigable for four months
of the year at least.
In the last session of the Canadian Parliament, an Act of Incorporation
was passed on behalf of a new railway scheme to be called the Winnipeg
and North Pacific Railway. Starting from Winnipeg, it has been planned
to run in a north-westerly direction, bending to the west, and to
strike the Pacific Ocean at Port Simpson, a point which is said to be
four hundred miles nearer Yokohama than Vancouver, the present terminus
of the Canadian Pacific. The country to be passed through is highly
fertile, with great mineral wealth; and it is expected that this saving
in distance will tell in its favour.
Meantime, the trade arrangements of the Canadian Pacific seem to
meet with growing favour. Mr Everett Frazar, who has been concerned
in more than one shipment of tea from China and Japan by this new
route, reports that tea-importers in Canada and the United States
are more than pleased with the quick despatch given to their orders,
and the excellent condition in which consignments have reached them.
One result has been that Chicago is rapidly overtaking New York as
a tea-distributing centre. Yokohama being about five hundred miles
nearer the western terminus of the Canadian Pacific than to San
Francisco, two or three days can be saved by the Dominion route. The
total tea imports for the season by the seven vessels already chartered
are reckoned at 7,878,033 pounds, of the value of half a million pounds
sterling. Suitable docks and wharfage have been prepared at Vancouver
for the growing trade, and a fine three-story stone and brick hotel,
which will be open for guests in the spring, is being erected.
The main characteristics of the line are thus described by the _Times_
correspondent. The first three hundred and fifty miles, carrying
the line westward from Montreal to Lake Nipissing, is through old
and well-developed country, commanding the timber traffic of the
Ottawa River valley. For the next one thousand miles to the edge of
the great prairie east of Winnipeg, the country passed through has
extensive forests, and lands abounding in copper, iron, and silver.
For nine hundred miles westward of Winnipeg there is a flat or rolling
prairie, which is being rapidly settled, and which comprises some of
the richest agricultural soil in the world. Nearly the entire length
of the land-grant of the railway is already located here. This rich
soil extends to the base of the Rockies. The railway now passes over
a rough country, through mountain ranges, with immense forests, and
splendid scenery. The best materials have been used in its construction
throughout; the bridges and trestles are built in the strongest
possible way; and the arrangements for traffic are efficient. The
manager of the line told the _Times_ correspondent that he could at
present undertake to transport eight thousand armed men a day from the
Atlantic to the Pacific, should any Eastern complication render this
necessary.
The distance from the eastern terminus at Montreal to the western end
at Vancouver is two thousand nine hundred and nine miles, or three
hundred and sixty-two miles less than the line between New York and San
Francisco. From Liverpool to Vancouver by the Canadian Pacific route
is five thousand one hundred and sixty miles. Across the Pacific Ocean
to Yokohama, by the Canadian route from Liverpool, is nine thousand
five hundred and forty-six miles, or eight hundred and eighty miles
less than by the New York and San Francisco route. The traveller may
choose the all-rail route westward, round the northern shore of Lake
Superior, or by way of Owen Sound and Lake Superior, in the new steel
steam-ships, the _Alberta_ or _Athabasca_.
No city in Canada has grown with greater rapidity than Winnipeg, the
capital of Manitoba, which has now from twenty-seven to thirty thousand
inhabitants, and no part of the country owes more for its development
to the railway than the Red River Valley. Butter, cheese, vegetables,
fruit, and grain, are now exported in large quantities. To further open
up the prairie region, an elaborate network of branch railways has been
arranged for, and town-lots have been laid off in connection therewith.
The Manitoba and North-western Railway runs north-west from Portage La
Prairie towards Prince Albert.
Regina, the capital of the North-west, stands on Pile of Bones River,
a tributary of the Qu’Appelle River, one thousand seven hundred and
seventy-nine miles west of Montreal. This place, of three hundred
houses and not more than one thousand people, is the residence of
the Governor of the North-west. Our correspondent likens the present
appearance of the place to a section cut out of the middle of the
Atlantic Ocean, with a few scattered rows of wooden houses set down
upon it. In a little square-built brick courthouse, outside the town,
Louis Riel, leader of the late rebellion in the North-west, was tried,
and afterwards hanged at the barracks, about two miles off. Here
are the headquarters of the mounted police, the constabulary of the
North-west, the entire force consisting of about one thousand men.
There are few places of any importance westward of Regina; the villages
and settlements are as yet in their infancy, and we hear such grotesque
names as ‘Moose Jaw,’ ‘Swift Current,’ and ‘Medicine Hat.’ The large
cattle ranges of Canada are situated in the south-western portion of
the province of Alberta, Fort MacLeod and Calgary being two great
centres for the ranchemen. Experienced cattle-men have pronounced the
eastern slope of the Rockies as furnishing the best grass and water for
large herds, in Western America. The winter there is less rigorous than
in Manitoba and the older provinces. When the Canadian Pacific reaches
Calgary, it runs along the valley of the Bow River, and crosses the
summit of the Rockies at an elevation of five thousand five hundred and
sixty feet.
At Donald, past which the Columbia River flows with a swift current,
house-building is going on for the settlers, who at first had to
live in tents and cabins. This place is destined to be an extensive
settlement, with railway repair shops. The surface is covered with
forests, except where clearings have been made. On leaving the
Columbia, the railway turns sharply to the south, into the cañon of
the Beaver River, a stream which rises from the centre of the Selkirk
Range. As the railway rises, all the slopes of the mountains are seen
clad with timber, and sawmills are busy. Trestle-bridges span the
gaps made by tributary streams, and one of these is two hundred and
ninety-six feet high, and four hundred and fifty feet long. The great
mountain ranges of the Selkirk passed, the Gold or Coast Range comes
next, where the traveller finds himself amongst the better-settled
districts of British Columbia.
Kamloops, a place of fifteen years’ growth, at the junction of the
North and South Thompson Rivers, is a prosperous town, with English
residents living in the centre, and the Chinese at either end. Burrard
Inlet lies to the north of the Fraser River, and here, at Port Moody,
the finished line ends at present. But an extension to Vancouver,
at the sea-entrance of Burrard Inlet, is being made, and will be
finished next year. There are several settlements on the banks of the
Inlet, where timber-mills are at work. One place is an Indian mission
settlement, and has three hundred inhabitants.
Vancouver, the western terminus of the Canadian Pacific Railway, has a
very hopeful outlook at present. Being a wooden town, it was almost
entirely burned in June 1886, but is now recovering from that serious
fire. Streets are laid out, a substantial wharf has been built, and the
trade in town-lots is described as brisk. Much of the cleared surface
of the town is covered with stumps of the ‘big trees,’ spruce, pine, or
cedar, which grew there; it costs from one hundred to one hundred and
fifty pounds per acre to clear the ground of these stumps. One large
pine, standing solitary in the town, was saved on the intercession
of the Princess Louise, and has been rightly named after her. The
Vancouver chief of police is a gigantic Highlandman, with a force of
five men under him. Wood-cutting is the chief industry of this section,
and Vancouver as a terminal city has great commercial possibilities.
In conclusion, the _Times_ correspondent does not hesitate to confirm
the statement, that the Canadian Pacific Railway has ‘more good
agricultural land, more coal, and more timber, between Winnipeg and the
Pacific coast, than all the other Pacific railways combined, and that
every part of the line from Montreal to the Pacific will pay.’
WAS IT MURDER?
I have thought it over and over, and cannot come to any definite
conclusion. Was I justified in killing the man? If I was, I am a
benefactor to some of my fellow-creatures; if I was not, I am a
murderer. My readers shall have an opportunity of judging, and I hope
their judgment may be lenient.
Some years ago, I was well off, and received the education and
bringing-up of a gentleman; but partly through my own folly, and partly
through unfortunate speculations, I gradually lost all my capital;
and about two years ago I found myself penniless, and saw starvation
grinning at me within measurable distance. Then I determined to attempt
no longer to keep up appearances, but to try and earn a bare existence
in any walk of life that was open to me. After some fruitless efforts
and a good deal of the ‘hope deferred’ which ‘maketh the heart sick,’
I obtained, through the kindness of a gentleman connected with the
Great Junction Railway, the position of stoker. I never was given to
drink, so that I was well enough able to fulfil the lowly duties of
my position. I am now a station-master; and it is during my few hours
of leisure that I prepare this plain narrative for the decision of a
discerning public.
It is a great point for a stoker to be on good terms with the
engine-driver, and I generally found little trouble in making friends
with my nearest travelling companion.
On the day when I went through the most disagreeable experience
of my life, I was travelling from Padlington to Cowchester on the
well-known—to railway employees—engine named ‘Pluto.’ She is a fine
upstanding, bold sort of engine, and when in good temper, does her work
right well. The engine-driver on this occasion was a man named John
Morgan. I had not often travelled with him before, only two or three
times, and I never could get on comfortably with him. He had been many
years in the Company’s service, and bore an excellent character for
steadiness, but was considered rather taciturn. He seemed to be always
in the sulks, and was, I suppose, of a surly temper. Before we started,
he hardly answered any remark I addressed to him, and seemed more surly
than usual. Once when I took up a cloth to brighten one of Pluto’s
taps, he called out to me in a savage tone: ‘Let her alone, can’t you.
I’ll make her travel to-day without your bothering.’
I made him no answer, as I did not see the good of having a quarrel in
the small space we were confined to. The train was to start at twelve
noon, and before that time, we on the engine were all ready; but it
was a quarter past twelve before we got the signal to move. There was
such a crowd of people of all classes on the platform, that room could
hardly be found for them in the train. However, at last the head-guard
gave us the signal, and Morgan turned the handle, and we moved slowly
and steadily out of the station. When we got well out into the country,
Morgan turned to me and said shortly: ‘More coal.’