[Illustration: 568]
It is about two years since I was one of that strange and busy mob
of some five hundred people who were assembled on the platform in the
Euston-Square station a few minutes previous to the starting of the
morning mail-train for Birmingham. To the unoccupied observer the
scene might have been an amusing one; the little domestic incidents
of leave-taking and embracing, the careful looking after luggage and
parcels, the watchful anxieties for a lost cloak or a stray carpet-bag,
blending with the affectionate farewells of parting, are all curious,
while the studious preparation for comfort of the old gentleman in the
_coupé_ oddly contrast with similar arrangements on a more limited scale
by the poor soldier’s wife in the third-class carriage.
Small as the segment of humanity is, it is a type of the great world to
which it belongs.
I sauntered carelessly along the boarded terrace, investigating, by the
light of the guard’s lantern, the inmates of the different carriages,
and, calling to my assistance my tact as a physiognomist as to what
party I should select for my fellow-passengers,--“Not in there,
assuredly,” said I to myself, as I saw the aquiline noses and dark eyes
of two Hamburgh Jews; “nor here, either,--I cannot stand a day in a
nursery; nor will this party suit me, that old gentleman is snoring
already;” and so I walked on until at last I bethought me of an empty
carriage, as at least possessing negative benefits, since positive ones
were denied me. Scarcely had the churlish determination seized me, when
the glare of the light fell upon the side of a bonnet of white lace,
through whose transparent texture a singularly lovely profile could
be seen. Features purely Greek in their character, tinged with a most
delicate color, were defined by a dark mass of hair, worn in a deep band
along the cheek almost to the chin. There was a sweetness, a look of
guileless innocence, in the character of the face which, even by the
flitting light of the lantern, struck me strongly. I made the guard
halt, and peeped into the carriage as if seeking for a friend. By the
uncertain flickering, I could detect the figure of a man, apparently
a young one, by the lady’s side; the carriage had no other traveller.
“This will do,” thought I, as I opened the door, and took my place on
the opposite side.
Every traveller knows that locomotion must precede conversation; the
veriest commonplace cannot be hazarded till the piston is in motion or
the paddles are flapping. The word “Go on” is as much for the passengers
as the vehicle, and the train and the tongues are set in movement
together; as for myself, I have been long upon the road, and might
travesty the words of our native poet, and say,--
“My home is on the highway.”
I have therefore cultivated, and I trust with some success, the tact of
divining the characters, condition, and rank of fellow-travellers,--the
speculation on whose peculiarities has often served to wile away the
tediousness of many a wearisome road and many an uninteresting journey.
The little lamp which hung aloft gave me but slight opportunity of
prosecuting my favorite study on this occasion. All that I could trace
was the outline of a young and delicately formed girl, enveloped in a
cashmere shawl,--a slight and inadequate muffling for the road at such
a season. The gentleman at her side was attired in what seemed a
dress-coat, nor was he provided with any other defence against the cold
of the morning.
Scarcely had I ascertained these two facts, when the lamp flared,
flickered, and went out, leaving me to speculate on these vague but yet
remarkable traits in the couple before me. “What can they be?” “Who
are they?” “Where do they come from?” “Where are they going?” were all
questions which naturally presented themselves to me in turn; yet every
inquiry resolved itself into the one, “Why has she not a cloak, why has
not he got a Petersham?” Long and patiently did I discuss these
points with myself, and framed numerous hypotheses to account for the
circumstances,--but still with comparatively little satisfaction, as
objections presented themselves to each conclusion; and although, in
turn, I had made him a runaway clerk from Coutts’s, a Liverpool actor, a
member of the swell-mob, and a bagman, yet I could not, for the life of
me, include _her_ in the category of such an individual’s companions.
Neither spoke, so that from their voices, that best of all tests,
nothing could be learned.
[Illustration: 571]
Wearied by my doubts, and worried by the interruption to my sleep the
early rising necessitated, I fell soon into a sound doze, lulled by
the soothing “strains” a locomotive so eminently is endowed with. The
tremulous quavering of the carriage, the dull roll of the heavy wheels,
the convulsive beating and heaving of the black monster itself, gave
the tone to my sleeping thoughts, and my dreams were of the darkest. I
thought that, in a gloomy silence, we were journeying over a wild
and trackless plain, with no sight nor sound of man, save such as
accompanied our sad procession; that dead and leafless trees were
grouped about, and roofless dwellings and blackened walls marked the
dreary earth; dark sluggish streams stole heavily past, with noisome
weeds upon their surface; while along the sedgy banks sat leprous and
glossy reptiles, glaring with round eyes upon us. Suddenly it seemed as
if our speed increased; the earth and sky flew faster past, and objects
became dim and indistinct; a misty maze of dark plain and clouded heaven
were all I could discern; while straight in front, by the lurid glare
of a fire fitted round and about two dark shapes danced a wild goblin
measure, tossing their black limbs with frantic gesture, while they
brandished in their hands bars of seething iron; one, larger and more
dreadful than the other, sung in a “rauque” voice, that sounded like the
clank of machinery, a rude song, beating time to the tune with his iron
bar. The monotonous measure of the chant, which seldom varied in its
note, sank deep into my chilled heart; and I think I hear still