The Iron Horse

  CHAPTER TWO.

  THE DRIVER VISITS A LITTLE ELDERLY GENTLEWOMAN AND PREPARES THE IRONHORSE FOR ACTION.

  Next day John Marrot spent the brief period of repose accorded by thedoctor to his leg in romping about the house with the baby in his arms.Being a large man, accustomed to much elbow-room and rapid motion, andthe house being small, John may be said to have been a dangerouscharacter in the family on such occasions. Apart from baby, no elephantwas ever more sluggish in his motions; but when coupled--professionallyspeaking--to his own tender infant, John knew no bounds, his wife knewno rest and his baby knew no higher earthly bliss.

  Sometimes it was on his shoulder, sometimes on his head and often on hisfoot, riding with railway speed to "Banbury Cross." Again it was on itsback in the crib or on the bed being tickled into fits of laughter,which bid fair at times to merge into fits of convulsion, to the horrorof little Gertie, who came in for a large share of that delightfulholiday's enjoyment, but whose spirit was frequently harrowed with alarmat the riotous conduct of her invalid father. In his glee the man mighthave been compared to a locomotive with a bad driver, who was constantlyshutting off the steam and clapping on the brakes too soon or too late,thus either falling short of or overshooting his mark. What between thedoor and the dresser, the fire, the crib, the window, and the furniture,John showed himself a dreadfully bad pilot and was constantly runninginto or backing out of difficulties. At last towards the afternoon ofthat day, while performing a furious charge round the room with baby onhis head, he overturned the wash-tub, which filled the baby withdelirious joy, and Gertie with pleasurable alarm.

  As for Mrs Marrot, she was too happy to have her husband at home for awhole day to care much about trifles, nevertheless she felt it her dutyto reprove him, lest the children should learn a bad lesson.

  "There now, John, I knew you'd do it at last. You're much too violent,and you shouldn't ought to risk the baby's neck in that way. Such amess! How _can_ you expect me to keep things tidy if you go on so?"

  John was very penitent. He did not reply at first, but putting babyinto the crib--where it instantly drowned with a great yell the shriekof a passing train--he went down on his knees and began to "swab" up thewater with a jack-towel. Loo ran laughingly from the corner where shehad been sewing, and insisted on doing it for him.

  "You'll hurt your leg, father, if you bend it so, and I'm sure it mustbe swelled and pained enough already with so much romping."

  "Not a bit, Loo," objected John. "It was me as caused the mess, an'justice requires that I should swab it up. There, go sew that sentimentinto a sampler an' hang it up over yer bed."

  But Loo would not give in. While they were still engaged in thecontroversy the door opened, and young Bob Marrot stood before them withhis eyes wide open and his hair straight up on end, as if he hadrecently seen a ghost. This aspect, however, was no sign of alarm,being his normal condition.

  "Ha! seems to me, somehow, that somebody's bin up to somethin'."

  "Right Bob," replied his father, rising from his knees and throwing thejack-towel at him.

  The lad easily evaded the shot, being well accustomed to elude much moredeadly missiles, and, picking up the towel, quietly set to work toperform the duty in dispute.

  "You're wanted," he said, looking up at his father while he wrung thetowel over a tin basin.

  "Eh! Where?"

  "Up at the shed."

  "I'm on sick leave," said John.

  "Can't help that. The 6:30 p.m. passenger train must be drove, andthere's nobody left but you to drive it. Jones is away with a goodstrain owin' to Maxwell having sprained his ankle, and Long Thompson isdown with small-pox, so you'll have to do it. I offered 'em myservices, but the manager he said that intelligent lads couldn't bespared for such menial work, and told me to go and fetch you."

  "Maxwell had no business to sprain his ankle," said John Marrot."Hows'ever," he added cheerfully, "I've had a rare good holiday, an' theleg's all but right again, so, Molly, let's have an early tea; I'll giveit a good rest for another half-hour and then be ready for the 6:30p.m-ers. Cut off your steam, will you?"

  This last observation was made to the baby, and was accompanied by ashake and a toss towards the ceiling which caused him to obey instantly,under the impression, no doubt that the fun was to be renewed. Being,however, consigned to the care of Gertie he again let on the steam andkept it up during the whole time the family were at tea--which meal theyenjoyed thoroughly, quite regardless of the storm.

  He was asleep when his father rose at last and buttoned his heavy coatup to the chin, while Mrs Marrot stood on tiptoe to arrange morecarefully the woollen shawl round his neck.

  "Now, don't stand more than you can help on your hurt leg, John."

  "Certainly not, duckie," said John, stooping to kiss the upturned face;"I'll sit on the rail as much as I can, like a 'Merican racoon. By theway," he added, turning suddenly to Loo, "you delivered that note fromyoung Mr Tipps to his mother?"

  "Yes, immediately after I got it from you; and I waited to see if therewas an answer, but she said there wasn't. It must have contained badnews, I fear, for she turned pale while she read it."

  "H'm, well," said John, putting on his cap, "don't know nothin' aboutwhat was in it, so it's no bizzness o' mine."

  With a hearty good-evening to all, and a special embrace to Gertie, theengine-driver left his home, accompanied by Bob his hopeful son.

  "Mr Sharp," said Bob, as they walked along, "has bin makin' oncommonpartikler inquiries among us about some o' the porters. I raither thinkthey're a bad lot."

  "Not at all," replied his father severely. "They're no more a bad lotthan the drivers, or, for the matter of that, than the clerks or thedirectors, or the lamp-boys. You ought to be gittin' old enough by thistime, Bob, to know that every lot o' fish in this world, however good,has got a few bad uns among 'em. As a rule railway directors andrailway clerks, and railway porters and railway officials of all sortsare good--more or less--the same may be said of banks an' insurances,an' all sorts of things--but, do what ye may, a black sheep or two_will_ git in among 'em, and, of course, the bigger the consarn, themore numerous the black sheep. Even the clergy ain't free from thatuniwersal law of natur. But what's Mr Sharp bin inquiring arter?"

  "Ah--wot indeed!" replied Bob; "'ow should I know? Mr Sharp ain't theman to go about the line with a ticket on his back tellin' wot he'sarter. By no means. P'lice superintendents ain't usually given tothat; but he's arter _somethin'_ partickler."

  "Well, that ain't no bizzness of ours, Bob, so we don't need to troubleour heads about it. There's nothin' like mindin' yer own bizzness.Same time," added John after a short pause, "that's no reason why, as asea-farin' friend o' mine used to say, a man shouldn't keep hisweather-eye open, d'ye see?"

  Bob intimated that he did see, by winking with the eye that chanced tobe next his parent; but further converse between father and son wasinterrupted at a turn in the road, where they were joined by a stout,broad-shouldered young man, whose green velveteen jacket vest, andtrousers bespoke him a railway porter.

  "Evenin', Sam," said our driver with a friendly nod; "goin' on nightdooty, eh?"

  "Yes, worse luck," replied Sam, thrusting his powerful hands into hispockets.

  "Why so, Sam, you ain't used to mind night dooty?"

  "No more I do," said Sam testily, "but my missus is took bad, andthere's no one to look after her properly--for that old 'ooman we gotain't to be trusted. 'Tis a hard thing to have to go on night dootywhen a higher dooty bids me stay at home."

  There was a touch of deep feeling in the tone in which the latter partof Sam Natly's remark was uttered. His young wife, to whom he had beenonly a year married, had fallen into bad health, and latterly thedoctors had given him little encouragement to hope for her recovery.

  "Sam," said John Marrot stopping, "I'll go an' send a friend, as I knowsof, to look after yer wife."

  "A friend?" said Sam; "you can't mean any o' your own
family, John, foryou haven't got time to go back that length now, and--"

  "Well, never mind, I've got time to go where I'm agoin'. You run on tothe shed, Bob, and tell Garvie that I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

  The engine-driver turned off abruptly, and, increasing his pace to asmart walk, soon stood before the door of one of those uncommonly smallneat suburban villas which the irrigating influence of the GrandNational Trunk Railway had caused to spring up like mushrooms around thenoisy, smoky, bustling town of Clatterby--to the unspeakable advantageof that class of gentlefolk who possess extremely limited incomes, butwho, nevertheless, prefer fresh air to smoke.

  "Is your missus at 'ome?" he inquired of the stout elderly woman whoanswered to his modest summons--for although John was wont to clatterand bang through the greater part of his daily and nightly career, hewas tender of touch and act when out of his usual professional beat.

  "Yes; do you wish to see her?"

  "I does, my dear. Sorry I 'aven't got a card with me, but if you'lljust say that it's John Marrot, the engine-driver, I dessay that'll dofor a free pass."

  The elderly woman went off with a smile, but returned quickly with ananxious look, and bade the man follow her. He was ushered into a smalland poorly furnished but extremely neat and clean parlour, where sat athin little old lady in an easy-chair, looking very pale.

  "Ev'nin', ma'am," said John, bowing and looking rougher and bigger thanusual in such a small apartment.

  "You--you--don't bring bad news, I hope!--my son Joseph--"

  "Oh no, Mrs Tipps, not by no means," said Marrot, hasting to relievethe timid old lady's feelings, "Mr Joseph is all right--nothing wotiverwrong with him--nor likely to be, ma'am. Leastwise he wos all rightw'en I seed 'im last."

  "And when might that be?" asked the timid old lady with a sigh of reliefas she clasped her hands tightly together.

  "W'y, let me see," said John, touching his forehead, "it was yesterdayevenin' w'en I came up with the northern express."

  "But many accidents might have happened since yesterday evening," saidMrs Tipps, still in an anxious tone.

  "That's true, ma'am. All the engines on the Grand Trunk from thePentland Firth to the Channel might have bu'sted their bilers since thattime--but it ain't likely," replied John, with a bland smile.

  "And--and what was my son doing when you passed him? Did you speak tohim?"

  "Speak to him! Bless your heart, ma'am," said John, with anotherbenignant smile, "I went past Langrye station at sixty mile an hour, sowe hadn't much chance to speak to each other. It would have been asmuch as we could have managed, if we'd tried it, to exchange winks."

  "Dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs Tipps in a low tone. "Is that the usual rateof travelling on your railway?"

  "Oh dear no, ma'am. It's only _my_ express train as goes at that rate.Other expresses run between forty and fifty miles, an' or'nary trainsaverage about thirty miles an hour--goods, they go at about twenty, moreor less; but they varies a good deal. The train I drives is about thefastest in the kingdom, w'ich is pretty much the same as sayin' it's thefastest in the world, ma'am. Sometimes I'm obleeged to go as high asnigh seventy miles an hour to make up time."

  "The fastest mail-coaches in _my_ young days," said Mrs Tipps, "used togo at the rate of ten miles an hour, I believe."

  "Pretty much so," said John. "They did manage a mile or two more, I'mtold, but that was their average of crawlin' with full steam on."

  "And _you_ sometimes drive at sixty or seventy miles an hour?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "With people in the carriages?"

  "Cer'nly, ma'am."

  "How I _wish_ that I had lived a hundred years ago!" sighed poor MrsTipps.

  "You'd have bin a pretty old girl by this time if you had," thought theengine-driver, but he was too polite to give utterance to the thought.

  "And what was my son doing when you passed him at that frightful speed--you could _see_ him, I suppose?"

  "Oh yes, ma'am, I could see him well enough. He was talkin' an'laughin', as far as I could make out, with an uncommon pretty girl."

  "Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs Tipps, flushing slightly--for she was extremelysensitive,--and evidently much relieved by this information. "Well, mygood man, what do you wish me to do for you? anything that is in mypower to--"

  "Thankee, ma'am, but I don't want you to do nothin' for _me_."

  "Then what have you to say to me?" added the old lady with a littlesmile that was clearly indicative of a kind little heart.

  "I've come to take the liberty, ma'am, of askin' you to do one of mymates a favour."

  "Most willingly," said Mrs Tipps with animation. "I shall never forgetthat you saved my dear Joseph's life by pulling him off the line whenone of your dreadful engines was going straight over him. Anything thatI am capable of doing for you or your friends will be but a poor returnfor what you have done for me. I have often asked you to allow me tomake me some such return, Mr Marrot, and have been grieved at yourconstant refusal. I am delighted that you come to me now."

  "You're very good to say so, ma'am. The fact is that one o' my friends,a porter on the line, named Sam Natly, has a young wife who is, I fear,far gone wi' consumption; she's worse to-night an' poor Sam's obliged togo on night dooty, so he can't look arter her, an' the old 'oomanthey've got ain't worth nothin'. So I thought I'd make bold, ma'am, toask you to send yer servant to git a proper nurse to take charge of herto-night, it would be--"

  "I'll go myself!" exclaimed Mrs Tipps, interrupting, and starting upwith a degree of alacrity that astonished the engine-driver. "Here,write down the address on that piece of paper--you can write, Isuppose?"

  "Yes, ma'am," replied John, modestly, as he bent down and wrote theaddress in a bold flowing hand, "I raither think I _can_ write. I writenotes, on a paper I've got to fill up daily, on the engine; an' w'en aman's trained to do that, ma'am, it's my opinion he's fit to write inany circumstances whatsomedever. Why, you'd hardly believe it, ma'am,but I do assure you, that I wrote my fust an' last love-letter to mymissus on the engine. I was drivin' the Lightenin' at the time--that'sthe name o' my engine, ma'am, an' they calls me Jack Blazes inconsikence--well, I'd bin courtin' Molly, off-an'-on, for about threemonths. She b'longed to Pinchley station, you must know, where we usedto stop to give her a drink--"

  "What! to give Molly a drink?"

  "No, ma'am," replied John, with a slight smile, "to give the ingine adrink. Well, she met me nigh every day 'xcept Sundays at that station,and as we'd a pretty long time there--about five minutes--we used tospend it beside the pump, an' made the most of it. But somehow I tookit into my head that Molly was playin' fast an' loose with me, an' I wasraither cool on her for a time. Hows'ever, her father bein' apointsman, she wos shifted along with him to Langrye station--that'swhere your son is, ma'am--an' as we don't stop there we was obleeged toconfine our courtship to a nod an' a wave of a handkerchief. Leastwiseshe shook out a white handkerchief an' I flourished a lump o'cotton-waste. Well, one day as we was close upon Langrye station--abouttwo miles--I suddenly takes it into my head that I'd bring the thing toa pint, so I sings out to my mate--that was my fireman, ma'am--says I,`look out Jim,' an' I draws out my pencil an' bends my legs--you mustalways bend your legs a little, ma'am, w'en you writes on a locomotive,it makes springs of 'em, so to speak--an' I writes on the back of ablank time-bill, `Molly, my dear, no more shilly-shallyin' with _me_.Time's up. If you'll be tender, I'll be locomotive. Only say the wordand we're coupled for life in three weeks. A white handkerchief meansyes, a red 'un, no. If red, you'll see a noo driver on the 10:15 a.m.express day after to-morrow. John Marrot.' I was just in time to pitchthe paper crumpled up right into her bosom," continued the driver,wiping his forehead as if the deep anxiety of that eventful period stillaffected him, "an' let me tell you, ma'am, it requires a deal o' nicecalculation to pitch a piece o' crumpled paper true off a locomotivegoin' between fifty and sixty miles an hour; but it went all straight--Icould see that b
efore we was gone."

  "And what was the result?" asked the little old lady as earnestly as ifthat result were still pending.

  "W'y, the result wos as it should be! My letter was a short 'un, but itturned out to be a powerful brake. Brought her up sharp--an' we wascoupled in less than six weeks."

  "Amazing phase of human life!" observed Mrs Tipps, gazing in admirationat the stalwart giant who stood deferentially before her.

  "Well, it _was_ a raither coorious kind o' proposal," said Marrot with asmile, "but it worked uncommon well. I've never wanted to uncouplesince then."

  "Pardon _me_, Mr Marrot," said Mrs Tipps, with little hystericallaugh--knowing that she was about to perpetrate a joke--"may I ask ifthere are any--any _little_ tenders?"

  "Oh, lots of 'em," replied John, "quite a train of 'em; four livin' an'three gone dead. The last was coupled on only a short time ago. You'llexcuse me now, ma'am," he added, pulling out and consulting theponderous chronometer with which the company supplied him, "I must gonow, havin' to take charge o' the 6:30 p.m. train,--it ain't my usualtrain, but I'm obleeged to take it to-night owin' to one of our drivershavin' come by an accident. Evenin', ma'am."

  John bowed, and retired so promptly that poor Mrs Tipps had no time tomake further inquiry into the accident referred to--at the very mentionof which her former alarm came back in full force. However, she wiselygot the better of her own anxieties by throwing herself into those ofothers. Putting on her bonnet she sallied forth on her errand of mercy.

  Meanwhile John Marrot proceeded to the engine-shed to prepare his ironhorse for action. Here he found that his fireman, Will Garvie, and hiscleaner, had been attending faithfully to their duty. The hugelocomotive, which looked all the more gigantic for being under cover,was already quivering with that tremendous energy--that artificiallife--which rendered it at once so useful and so powerful a servant ofman. Its brasses shone with golden lustre, its iron rods and bars,cranks and pistons glittered with silvery sheen, and its heavier partsand body were gay with a new coat of green paint. Every nut and screwand lever and joint had been screwed up, and oiled, examined, tested,and otherwise attended to, while the oblong pit over which it stood whenin the shed--and into which its ashes were periodically emptied--glowedwith the light of its intense furnace. Ever and anon a little puffissued from its safety-valve, proving to John Marrot that there was lifewithin his fiery steed sufficient to have blown the shed to wreck withall its brother engines, of which there were at the time two or threedozen standing--some disgorging their fire and water after a journey,and preparing to rest for the night; some letting off steam with afiendish yell unbearably prolonged; others undergoing trifling repairspreparatory to starting next day, and a few, like that of ourengine-driver, ready for instant action and snorting with impatiencelike war-horses "scenting the battle from afar." The begrimed warriors,whose destiny it was to ride these iron chargers, were also variouslycircumstanced. Some in their shirt sleeves busy with hammer and file atbenches hard by; others raking out fire-boxes, or oiling machinery; allbusy as bees, save the few, who, having completed their preparations,were buttoning up their jackets and awaiting the signal to charge.

  At last that signal came to John Marrot--not in a loud shout of commandor a trumpet-blast, but by the silent hand of Time, as indicated on hischronometer.

  "But how," it may be asked, "does John Marrot know precisely the hour atwhich he has to start, the stations he has to stop at, the variouslittle acts of coupling on and dropping off carriages and trucks, andreturning with trains or with `empties' within fixed periods sopunctually, that he shall not interfere with, run into, or delay, theoperations of the hundreds of drivers whose duties are as complex, nice,important, and swift as his own."

  Reader, we reply that John knows it all in consequence of the perfectionof _system_ attained in railway management. Without this, our trainsand rails all over the kingdom would long ago have been smashed up intowhat Irishmen expressively name smithereens.

  The duty of arranging the details of the system devolves on thesuperintendents of departments on the line, namely, the passenger,goods, and locomotive superintendents, each of whom reigns independentlyand supreme in his own department, but of course, like the members of awell-ordered family, they have to consult together in order that theirtrains may be properly horsed, and the time of running so arranged thatthere shall be no clashing in their distinct though united interests.When the number of trains and time of running have been fixed, andfinally published by the passenger superintendent--who is also sometimesthe "Out-door superintendent," and who has duties to perform that demandvery considerable powers of generalship,--it is the duty of thelocomotive superintendent to supply the requisite engines. Thisofficer, besides caring for all the "plant" or rolling-stock, new andold, draws out periodically a schedule, in which is detailed to a nicetyevery minute act that has to be done by drivers--the hour at which eachengine is to leave the shed on each day of the week, the number of eachengine, its driver and fireman, and the duties to be performed; and thissheet contains complete _daily_ (nay, almost hourly) directions forpassenger, goods, and pilot-engines.

  In order to secure attention to these regulations, each engineman isfined one shilling for every minute he is behind time in leaving theshed. The difficulty of making these runnings of trains dovetail intoeach other on lines where the traffic is great and constant, may well beunderstood to be considerable, particularly when it is remembered thatordinary regular traffic is interfered with constantly by numerousexcursion, special, and other irregular trains, in the midst of which,also, time must be provided for the repair and renewal of the lineitself, the turning of old rails, laying down of new ones, raisingdepressed sleepers, renewing broken chairs, etcetera,--all which isconstantly going on, and that, too, at parts of the line over whichhundreds of trains pass in the course of the twenty-four hours.

  Besides the arrangements for the regular traffic, which are mademonthly, a printed sheet detailing the special traffic, repairs oflines, new and altered signals, working arrangements, etcetera, isissued weekly to every member of the staff; particularly toengine-drivers and guards. We chance to possess one of these privatesheets, issued by one of our principal railways. Let us peep behind thescenes for a moment and observe how such matters are managed.

  The vacation has come to an end, and the boys of Rapscallion Collegewill, on a certain day, pour down on the railway in shoals with money inhand and a confident demand for accommodation. This invading army mustbe prepared for. Ordinary trains are not sufficient for it. Delay isdangerous on railways; it must not be permitted; therefore the watchfulsuperintendent writes an order which we find recorded as follows:--

  "_Wednesday, 26th April_,--Accommodation must be provided on this day in the 3:10 and 6:25 p.m. Up, and 2:25 and 6:10 p.m. Down Trains, for the Cadets returning to Rapscallion College. By the Trains named, Rapscallion College tickets will be collected at Whitewater on the Down journey, and at Smokingham on the Up journey. Oldershot to send a man to Whitewater to assist in the collection of these tickets."

  Again--a "Relief Train" has to be utilised. It won't "pay" to run emptytrains on the line unnecessarily, therefore the superintendent has hiseye on it, and writes:--

  "_April_ 23rd.--An Empty Train will leave Whiteheath for Woolhitch at about 8:10 p.m., to work up from Woolhitch at 9:05 p.m., calling at Woolhitch Dockyard and Curlton, and forming the 9:15 p.m. Up Ordinary Train from Whiteheath. Greatgun Street to provide Engines and Guards for this service."

  This is but a slight specimen of the providing, dovetailing, timing, andguarding that has to be done on all the lines in the kingdom. In thesame sheet from which the above is quoted, we find notes, cautions, andintimations as to such various matters as the holding of the levers offacing points when trains are passing through junctions; the attentionrequired of drivers to new signals; the improper use of telegraph bells;the making search for lost "passes;" the more careful loading of goodswaggons
; the changes in regard to particular trains; the necessity ofwatchfulness on the part of station-masters, robberies having beencommitted on the line; the intimation of dates when and places whereballast trains are to be working on the line; the times and, places whenand where repairs to line are to take place during the brief intervalsbetween trains of the ordinary traffic; and many other matters, whichnaturally lead one to the belief that superintendents of railways mustpossess the eyes of Argus, the generalship of Wellington, and thepatience of Job.

  Being carefully hedged in, as we have shown, with strict rules andregulations, backed by fines in case of the slightest inattention, andthe certainty of prompt dismissal in case of gross neglect ordisobedience, with the possibility of criminal prosecution besideslooming in the far distance, our friend, John Marrot, knowing his dutieswell, and feeling perfect confidence in himself and his superiors,consulted his chronometer for the last time, said, "Now, then, Bill!"and mounted his noble steed.

  Will Garvie, who was putting a finishing drop of oil into some part ofthe machinery, took his station beside his mate and eased off the brake.John let off two sharp whistles (an imperative duty on the part ofevery driver before starting an engine) and let on the steam. The firstwas a very soft pulsation--a mere puff--but it was enough to move theponderous engine as if it had been a cork, though its actual weight withtender was fifty-three tons. Another puff, and slowly the iron horsemoved out of its stable. There was a gentle, oily, gliding, effectconnected with its first movements that might have won the confidenceeven of timid Mrs Captain Tipps. Another puff of greater strength shotthe engine forward with a sudden grandeur of action that would certainlyhave sent that lady's heart into her throat. In a few seconds itreached and passed the place where the siding was connected with themain line, and where a pointsman stood ready to shift the points. Herethe obedient spirit of the powerful steed was finely displayed. WillGarvie reversed the action of the engines by a process which, thoughbeautifully simple and easily done, cannot be easily described. Johnlet on a puff of steam, and the engine glided backwards as readily as ithad run forward. A few seconds afterwards it moved slowly under themagnificent arch of Clatterby station, and its buffers met those of thetrain it was destined to draw as if with a gentle touch of friendlygreeting.

  At the station all was bustle and noise; but here we must venture to dowhat no human being could accomplish in reality, compel the 6:30 p.m.train to wait there until it shall be our pleasure to give it the signalto start! Meanwhile we shall put back the clock an hour or so, ask thereader to return to Mrs Tipps' residence and observe what transpiredthere while John Marrot was in the shed getting his iron steed ready foraction.