(_Leaves from the Highland Journal of Toby, M.P._)
"Here's a go", I said, turning to Sark, after carefully looking round
the station to see if we really were back at Oban, having a quarter of
an hour ago started (as we supposed) on our journey, already fifteen
minutes late.
[Illustration]
"Well, if you put it in that way", he said, "I should call it an entire
absence of go. I thought it was a peculiarly jolting train. Never passed
over so many points in the same time in my life."
"Looks as if we should miss train at Stirling", I remark, anxiously. "If
so, we can't get on from Carlisle to Woodside to-night."
"Oh, that'll be all right", said Sark, airy to the last; "we'll make it
up as we go along."
Again sort of faint bluish light, which I had come to recognise as a
smile, feebly flashed over cadaverous countenance of the stranger in
corner seat.
Certainly no hurry in getting off. More whistling, more waving of green
flag. Observed that natives who had come to see friends off had quietly
waited on platform. Train evidently expected back. Now it had returned
they said good-bye over again to friends. Train deliberately steams out
of station thirty-five minutes late. Every eight or ten miles stopped at
roadside station. No one got in or got out. After waiting five or six
minutes, to see if any one would change his mind, train crawled out
again. Performance repeated few miles further on with same result.
[Illustration]
"Don't put your head out of the window and ask questions", Sark
remonstrated, as I banged down the window. "I never did it since I heard
a story against himself John Bright used to tell with great glee.
Travelling homeward one day in a particularly slow train, it stopped an
unconscionably long time at Oldham. Finally, losing all patience, he
leaned out of the window, and in his most magisterial manner said, 'Is
it intended that this train shall move on to-night?' The porter
addressed, not knowing the great man, tartly replied, 'Put in thy big
white yedd, and mebbe the train'll start.'"
Due at Loch Awe 1.32; half-past one when we strolled into Connel Ferry
station, sixteen miles short of that point. Two more stations before we
reach Loch Awe.
"Always heard it was a far cry to Loch Awe", said Sark, undauntedly
determined to regard matters cheerfully.
"You haven't come to the hill yet", said a sepulchral voice in the
corner.
"What hill?" I asked.
"Oh, you'll see soon enough. It's where we usually get out and walk. If
there are on board the train any chums of the guard or driver, they are
expected to lend a shoulder to help the train up."
Ice once broken, stranger became communicative. Told us his melancholy
story. Had been a W.S. in Edinburgh. Five years ago, still in prime of
life, bought a house at Oban; obliged to go to Edinburgh once, sometimes
twice, a week. Only thrice in all that time had train made junction
with Edinburgh train at Stirling. Appetite failed; flesh fell away;
spirits went down to water level. Through looking out of window on
approaching Stirling, in hope of seeing South train waiting, eyes put on
that gaze of strained anxiety that had puzzled me. Similarly habit
contracted of involuntarily jerking up right hand with gesture designed
to arrest departing train.
"Last week, coming north from Edinburgh", said the hapless passenger,
"we were two hours late at Loch Awe. 'A little late to-day, aren't we?'
I timidly observed to the guard. 'Ou aye! we're a bit late,' he said.
'Ye see, we had a lot of rams, and we couldna' get baith them and you up
the hill; so we left ye at Tyndrum, and ran the rams through first, and
then came back for ye.'"
Fifty minutes late at Killin Junction. So far from making up time lost
at Oban, more lost at every wayside station.
"I hope we shan't miss the train at Stirling?" I anxiously inquired of
guard.
"Weel, no", said he, looking at his watch. "I dinna think ye'll hae
managed that yet."
This spoken in soothing tones, warm from the kindly Scottish heart.
Hadn't yet finally lost chance of missing train at Stirling that should
enable us to keep our tryst at Woodside. But no need for despair. A
little more dawdling and it would be done.
Done it was. When we reached Stirling, porters complacently announced
English mail had left quarter of an hour ago. As for stationmaster, he
was righteously indignant with inconsiderate travellers who showed
disposition to lament their loss.
"Good night", said cadaverous fellow-passenger, feebly walking out of
darkling station. "Hope you'll get a bed somewhere. Having been going up
and down line for five years, I keep a bedroom close by. Cheaper in the
end. I shall get on in the morning."
* * * * *
MERE INVENTION.--Up the Highlands way there is, in wet weather, a
handsome cataract, the name whereof is spelt anyhow you like, but is
pronounced "Fyres." There is not much water in hot weather, and then art
assists nature, and a bucket or so of the fluid is thrown over for the
delectation of tourists. One of them, observing this arrangement, said
that the proprietor
"Began to pail his ineffectual Fyres."
[This story is quite false, which would be of no consequence, but that
every Scottish tourist knows it to be false. Our contributor should
really be more careful.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "Where can that confounded fellow have got to with the
lunch-basket?"]
[Illustration: Here he is, remarking, confidentially, that "that
ginger-peer is apout the pest he ever tasted."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Cockney Sportsman._ "Haw--young woman, whose whiskies do
you keep here?"
_Highland Lassie._ "We only keep McPherson's, sir."
_C. S._ "McPherson? Haw--who the deuce is McPherson?"
_H. L._ "My brother, sir."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: During Mr. Spoffin's visit to the Highlands, he found a
difficulty in approaching his game--so invented a method of simplifying
matters. His "make-up", however, was so realistic, that the jealous old
stag nearly finished him!]
* * * * *
[Illustration: HIS IDEA OF IT
_Native._ "Is 't no a daft-like place this tae be takin' a view? There's
no naething tae be seen for the trees. Noo, if ye was tae gang tae the
tap o' Knockcreggan, that wad set ye fine! Ye can see _five coonties_
frae there!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: TOURING IN THE HIGHLANDS
"Hullo, Sandy! Why haven't you cleaned my carriage, as I told you last
night?"
"Hech, sir, what for would it need washing? It will be just the same
when you'll be using it again!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
* * * * *