On the day which Mrs Durby had fixed for her journey to London, John and his fireman went to the shed as usual one hour before the time of starting, being required to do so by the "Rules and Regulations" of the company, for the purpose of overhauling the iron horse.

And, by the way, a wonderful and suggestive volume was this book of "Rules and Regulations for the guidance of the officers and servants of the Grand National Trunk Railway." It was a printed volume of above two hundred pages, containing minute directions in regard to every department and every detail of the service. It was "printed for private circulation;" but we venture to say that, if the public saw it, their respect for railway servants and railway difficulties and management would be greatly increased, the more so that one of the first "rules" enjoined was, that each servant should be held responsible for having a knowledge of all the rules—those relating to other departments as well as to his own. And it may not be out of place, certainly it will not be uninteresting, to mention here that one of the rules, rendered prominent by large black capitals, enjoined that "THE PUBLIC SAFETY MUST BE THE FIRST AND CHIEF CARE of every officer and servant of the company." We have reason to believe that all the railways in the kingdom give this rule equal prominence in spirit—probably also in type. In this little volume it was likewise interesting to note, that civility to the public was strictly enjoined; and sure we are that every railway traveller will agree with us in the opinion that railway agents, guards, and porters, all, in short with whom the public come in contact, obey this rule heartily, in the spirit and in the letter.

The particular rules in the book which affected our engine-driver were uncommonly stringent, and very properly so, seeing that the lives of so many persons depended on the constancy of his coolness, courage, and vigilance. John Marrot, like all the engine-drivers on the line, was a picked man. In virtue of his superior character and abilities he received wages to the extent of 2 pounds, 10 shillings per week. Among other things, he was enjoined by his "rules and regulations," very strictly, to give a loud whistle before starting, to start his train slowly and without a jerk, and to take his orders to start only from the guard; also, to approach stations or stopping places cautiously, and with the train well under control, and to be guided in the matter of shutting off steam, by such considerations as the number of vehicles in the train, and the state of the weather and rails, so as to avoid violent application of the brakes. Moreover, he was bound to do his best to keep to his exact time, and to account for any loss thereof by entering the cause of delay on his report-ticket. He was also earnestly enjoined to use every effort which might conduce to the safety of the public, and was authorised to refuse to proceed with any carriage or waggon which, from hot axles or otherwise, was in his opinion unfit to run. These are but a few specimens culled from a multitude of rules bearing on the minutest details of his duty as to driving, shunting, signalling, junction and level crossing, etcetera, with all of which he had to become not merely acquainted, but so intimately familiar that his mind could grasp them collectively, relatively, or individually at any moment, so as to act instantaneously, yet coolly, while going like a giant bomb-shell through the air—with human lives in the balance to add weight to his responsibilities.

If any man in the world needed a cool clear head and a quick steady hand, with ample nightly as well as Sabbath rest, that man was John Marrot, the engine-driver. When we think of the constant pressure of responsibility that lay on him, and the numbers in the kingdom of the class to which he belonged, it seems to us almost a standing miracle that railways are so safe and accidents so very rare.

While our engine-driver was harnessing his iron steed, another of the railway servants, having eaten his dinner, felt himself rather sleepy, and resolved to have a short nap. It was our friend Sam Natly, the porter, who came to this unwise as well as unfair resolution. Yet although we are bound to condemn Sam, we are entitled to palliate his offence and constrained to pity him, for his period of duty during the past week had been fifteen hours a day.

"Shameful!" exclaims some philanthropist.

True, but who is to take home the shame? Not the officers of the company, who cannot do more than their best with the materials laid to their hands; not the directors, who cannot create profits beyond the capacity of their line—although justice requires us to admit that they might reduce expenses, by squabbling less with other companies, and ceasing unfair, because ruinous as well as ungenerous, competition. Clearly the bulk of the shame lies with the shareholders, who encourage opposition for the sake of increasing their own dividends at the expense of their neighbours, and who insist on economy in directions which render the line inefficient—to the endangering of their own lives as well as those of the public. Economy in the matter of railway servants—in other words, their reduction in numbers—necessitates increase of working hours, which, beyond a certain point, implies inefficiency and danger. But the general public are not free from a modicum of this shame, and have to thank themselves if they are maimed and killed, because they descend on railways for compensation with a ruthless hand; (shame to Government here, for allowing it!) and still further, impoverish their already over-taxed coffers. Compensation for injury is just, but compensation as it is, and has been claimed and awarded, is ridiculously unfair, as well as outrageously unwise.

Fortunately Sam Natly's wicked resolve to indulge in undutiful slumber did not result in evil on this occasion, although it did result in something rather surprising. It might have been far otherwise had Sam been a pointsman!

In order to enjoy fully the half-hour which he meant to snatch from duty, Sam entered a first-class carriage which stood on a siding, and, creeping under a seat, laid himself out at full length, pillowing his head on his arm. Tired men don't require feather-beds. He was sound asleep in two minutes. It so happened that, three-quarters of an hour afterwards, an extra first-class carriage was wanted to add to the train which John Marrot was to "horse" on its arrival at Clatterby. The carriage in which Sam lay was selected for the purpose, drawn out, and attached to the train. Tired men are not easily awakened. Sam knew nothing of this change in his sleeping apartment.

Meanwhile Clatterby station became alive with travellers. The train drew up to the platform. Some passengers got out; others got in. The engine which brought it there, being in need of rest, coal, and water, moved off to the shed. John Marrot with his lieutenant, Garvie, moved to the front on his iron horse, looking as calm and sedate in his conscious power as his horse looked heavy and unyielding in its stolidity. Never did two creatures more thoroughly belie themselves by their looks. The latent power of the iron horse could have shot it forth like an arrow from a bow, or have blown the whole station to atoms. The smouldering fires in John's manly breast could have raised him from a begrimed, somewhat sluggish, driver to a brilliant hero.

Some of the characters who have already been introduced at Clatterby station were there on this occasion also. Mr Sharp was there, looking meditative as usual, and sauntering as though he had nothing particular to do. Our tall superlative fop with the sleepy eyes and long whiskers was also there with his friend of the checked trousers. Mr Sharp felt a strong desire to pommel these fops, because he had found them very difficult to deal with in regard to compensation, the fop with the checked trousers having claimed, and finally obtained, an unreasonably large sum for the trifling injury done to his eye on the occasion of the accident at Langrye station. Mr Sharp could not however, gratify his desire. On the contrary, when the checked trousers remarked in passing that it was "vewy disagweeable weather," he felt constrained to admit, civilly enough, that it was.

The two fops had a friend with them who was not a fop, but a plain, practical-looking man, with a forbidding countenance, and a large, tall, powerful frame. These three retired a little apart from the bustle of the station, and whispered together in earnest tones. Their names were the reverse of romantic, for the fop with the checked trousers was addressed as Smith, he with the long whiskers as Jenkins, and the large man as Thomson.

"Are you sure he is to go by this train?" asked Thomson, somewhat gruffly.

"Quite sure. There can be no mistake about it," replied Jenkins, from whose speech, strange to say, the lisp and drawl had suddenly disappeared.

"And how are you sure of knowing him, if, as you say, you have never seen him?" asked Thomson.

"By the bag, of course," answered Smith, whose drawl had also disappeared unaccountably; "we have got a minute description of the money-bag which he has had made peculiarly commonplace and shabby on purpose. It is black leather but very strong, with an unusually thick flat handle."

"He's very late," observed Thomson, moving uneasily, and glancing at the clock as the moment of departure drew near.

Mr Sharp observed the consulting party, and sauntered idly towards them, but they were about as sharp as himself, in practice if not in name. The lisps and drawls returned as if by magic, and the turf became the subject of interest about which they were consulting.

Just then a shriek was heard to issue from a female throat, and a stout elderly woman was observed in the act of dashing wildly across the line in the midst of moving engines, trucks and vans. Even in these unwonted circumstances no one who knew her could have mistaken Mrs Durby's ponderous person for a moment. She had come upon the station at the wrong side, and, in defiance of all printed regulations to the contrary—none of which she could read, being short-sighted—she had made a bold venture to gain her desired position by the most direct route. This involved crossing a part of the line where there were several sidings and branch lines, on which a good deal of pushing of trucks and carriages to and fro—that is "shunting"—was going on.

Like a reckless warrior, who by a bold and sudden push sometimes gains single-handed the centre of an enemy's position before he is discovered and assailed on every side, straight forward Mrs Durby ran into the very midst of a brisk traffic, before any one discovered her. Suddenly a passenger-train came up with the usual caution in such circumstances, nevertheless at a smart rattling pace, for "usual caution" does not take into account or provide for the apparition of stout elderly females on the line. The driver of the passenger engine saw her, shut off steam, shouted, applied the brakes and whistled furiously.

We have already hinted that the weather was not fine. Mrs Durby's umbrella being up, hid the approaching train. As for screaming steam-whistles, the worthy woman had come to regard intermittent whistling as a normal condition of railways, which, like the crying of cross babies, meant little or nothing, and had only to be endured. She paid no attention to the alarm. In despair the driver reversed his engine; fire flew from the wheels, and the engine was brought to a stand, but not until the buffers were within three feet of the nurse's shoulder. At that moment she became aware of her danger, uttered a shriek, as we have said, that would have done credit to the whistle of a small engine, and, bending her head with her umbrella before her, rushed frantically away on another line of rails. She did not observe, poor soul, that a goods train was coming straight down that line towards her,—partly because her mental vision was turned in terror to the rear, and partly because the umbrella obscured all in advance. In vain the driver of the goods engine repeated the warnings and actions of the passenger engine. His had more speed on and was heavier; besides, Mrs Durby charged it at the rate of full five miles an hour, with the umbrella steadily in front, and a brown paper parcel swinging wildly on her arm, as if her sole desire on earth was to meet that goods engine in single combat and beat out its brains at the first blow. Certain it is that Mrs Durby's career would have been cut short then and there, if tall Joe Turner, the guard, had not been standing at the tail of his own train and observed her danger. In the twinkling of an eye he dropped his slow dignified air, leaped like a panther in front of the goods engine, caught Mrs Durby with both hands—any how—and hurled her and himself off the line,—not a moment too soon, for the buffer of the engine touched his shoulder as they fell together to the ground.

A lusty cheer was given by those on the platform who witnessed this bold rescue, and more than one sympathetic hand grasped the massive fist of Joe Turner as he assisted Mrs Durby to a carriage.

"Why," exclaimed Will Garvie, hurrying forward at that moment, "it's Mrs Durby, the woman we promised to take care of! You'll look after her, Joe?"

"All right," said the guard, as Will hurried back to his engine; "this way, ma'am. Got your ticket?"

"N-no!" gasped the poor nurse, leaning heavily on her protector's arm.

"Here, Dick," cried Joe, hailing a porter, "run to the booking-office and get her a ticket for London, first-class; she's got a bad shake, poor thing. No doubt the company will stand the difference; if not, we'll make it up amongst us."

Hereupon a benevolent old gentleman drew out his purse, and insisted on paying the whole of the fare himself, a point which no one seemed inclined to dispute, and Mrs Durby was carefully placed by Joe in a carriage by herself.

There were two gentlemen—also known to the reader—who arrived just in time to witness this incident: the one was Captain Lee, the other Edwin Gurwood. They both carried bags and rugs, and were evidently going by that train. The captain, who happened to have a bad cold at the time, was muffled up to the eyes in a white worsted comforter, and had a fur travelling-cap pulled well down on his forehead, so that little of him, save the point of his nose, was visible.

The moment that the two fops caught sight of Captain Lee, they whispered to Thomson—

"That's our man."

"Sure?" demanded Thomson.

"Quite," replied Smith. "That's about the size and make of the man as described to me. Of course they could not tell what sort of travelling gear he would appear in, but there's no mistaking the bag—old, stout leather, with flat handle-strap."

"All right," said Thomson; "but who's the young fellow with him?"

"Don't know," replied Smith; "yet I think I've seen his face before. Stay, Jenkins, wasn't he in the accident at Langrye station?"

"Perhaps he was; but it's of no consequence to us."

"It will be of consequence to us if he goes with the old gentleman," retorted Smith, "for he's a stout fellow, and wouldn't be easy to manage."

"I'll manage him, no fear," said Thomson, looking at the unconscious Edwin with a dark sinister smile.

"What if they get into a carriage that's already nearly full?" suggested the dubious Smith.

"They won't do that," replied Jenkins with a laugh. "It seems to be against the laws of human nature to do that. As long as there are empty carriages in a train, so long will men and women pass every carriage that has a soul in it, until they find an empty one for themselves. We have nothing to do but follow them, and, when they have pitched on a carriage, get in after them, and fill it up, so we shall have it all to ourselves."

"Come along, then; it's time to stop talking and to act," said Thomson, testily, as he moved towards the carriages.

That even the wisest of men (in his own conceit) may make mistakes now and then is a fact which was beautifully illustrated on this occasion. We may here let the reader into the secret of Jenkins, Smith, and Thomson. They were men who lived by their wits. They had ascertained that a partner of a certain house that dealt in jewellery meant to return to London by that particular train, with a quantity of valuables that were worth running some risk for. On the journey there was one stoppage quite close to London. The run immediately before that was a clear one of seventy-five miles without a halt, at full express speed, which would afford them ample opportunity for their purpose, while the slowing of the train on approaching the stopping place would give them opportunity and time to leap out and make off with their booty. They had been told that their intended victim was a stout resolute man, but that would avail nothing against numbers.

Having obtained all requisite information they had proceeded thus far with their villainous design, apparently with success. But at this point a hitch occurred, though they knew it not. They had not taken sufficiently into account the fact that black leather bags may be both stout and peculiar, and in some degree similar without being identical. Hence Smith and Jenkins in their self-confidence had settled, as we have seen, that Captain Lee was "their man," whereas their man was comfortably seated in another carriage, and by his side the coveted bag, which was similar in some points to that of the captain, but different in size and in several small details.

Following the wrong scent, therefore, with wonted pertinacity, the three men sauntered behind Captain Lee and Edwin, who, true to the "laws" with which Jenkins had credited human nature, passed one carriage after another until they found an empty one.

"Here is one, Gurwood," said the captain.

He was about to step into it, when he observed Mrs Durby sitting in the next compartment.

"Hallo! nurse," he exclaimed, getting in and sitting down opposite to her; "why, surely it wasn't you, was it, that had such a narrow escape?"

"Indeed it was, Capting Lee," replied Mrs Durby in a half whimper, for albeit a woman of strong character, she was not proof against such rough treatment as she had experienced that day.

"Not hurt, I trust?" asked the Captain sympathetically.

"Oh dear no, sir; only shook a bit."

"Are you alone?" asked Edwin, seating himself beside his friend.

"Yes, sir; but la, sir, I don't think nothink of travellin' alone. I'm used to it, sir."

As she said this the guard's voice was heard desiring passengers to take their seats, and the three men, who had grouped themselves close round the door, thus diverging one or two passengers into the next compartment, entered, and sat down.

At the same moment Mr Sharp's earnest countenance appeared at the window. He made a few remarks to Captain Lee and Edwin Gurwood, and took occasion to regard the three adventurers with much attention. They evidently understood him, for they received his glances with bland smiles.

It was quite touching to note Mr Sharp's anxiety to lay hold of these men. He chanced to know nothing about them, save in connexion with the Langrye accident, but his long experience in business had given him a delicate power of perception in judging of character, which was not often at fault. He, as it were, smelt the presence of fair game, although he could not manage to lay immediate hold of it, just as that celebrated giant did, who, once upon a time, went about his castle giving utterance to well-known words—

"Fee, fo, fa, fum, I smell the smell of an Englishman."

"Joe," he whispered, as the guard came up to lock the door, "just keep an eye on these three fellows, will you? I'd lay my life on it that they're up to mischief to-day."

Joe looked knowing, and nodded.

"Show your tickets, please," he said, touching his cap to his director and Edwin.

The tickets were produced—all right. Mrs Durby, in getting out hers, although, of course, having got it for her, Joe did not require to see it, dropped her precious brown paper parcel. Picking it up again hastily she pressed it to her bosom with such evident anxiety, that men much less sharp-witted than our trio, would have been led to suspect that it contained something valuable. But they aimed at higher booty just then, and apparently did not notice the incident.

A rapid banging of doors had now set in—a sure precursor of the starting whistle. Before it was quite completed, the inevitable late passenger appeared in the distance. This time it was a lady, middle-aged and stout, and short of wind, but with an iron will, as was clearly evinced by the energy with which she raced along the platform, carrying a large bundle of shawls in one arm, and a travelling-bag in the other, which she waved continuously as she shouted, "Stop! stop! stop the trai-i-i-in! I'm coming!"

The guard, with the whistle already half-way to his lips, paused and glanced at his watch. There was a fraction of a moment left. He stepped to a carriage and threw open a door.

"Make haste, ma'am; make haste, please," was said in urgent, though respectful tones.

The late passenger plunged in—she might, as far as appearances went, be said to have taken a header into the carriage—and the door was shut.

The guard's whistle sounded. The engine-driver's whistle gave prompt reply, and next instant the train moved. No one could conceive of such a thing as a train starting when John Marrot drove!

As the carriages glided by, Mr Sharp cast a passing glance on the late passenger. He observed that her bundle of shawls moved of its own accord, and, for one whole minute after the train had left, he stood motionless, meditating on that curious phenomenon. He had often heard of table-turning, but never until now had he seen inanimate matter move of its own accord. Can we feel surprised that he was both astonished and perplexed? Proceeding to the booking-office he held a brief conversation with the clerks there; then he sauntered into the telegraph-office and delivered a message, after which he left the station with a quiet smile on his sedate countenance.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

WHICH IS TOO FULL OF VARIED MATTER TO BE BRIEFLY DESCRIBED.

Meanwhile let us fly through space with greater than railway speed and overtake the "Flying Dutchman."

It has got up full speed by this time. About one mile a minute—sixty miles an hour! Sometimes it goes a little faster, sometimes a little slower, according to the nature of the ground; for a railway is by no means a level-way, the ascents and descents being occasionally very steep. Those who travel in the carriages form but a faint conception of the pace. To realise it to the full you must stand on the engine with John Marrot and Will Garvie. Houses, fields, trees, cattle, human beings, go by in wild confusion—they appear only to vanish. Wind is not felt in the carriages. On the Lightning you are in a gale. It reminds one of a storm at sea. The noise, too, is terrific. We once had the good fortune to ride on the engine of the "Flying Dutchman," and on that occasion had resolved to converse with the driver, and tried it. As well might we have tried to converse amid the rattling of ten thousand tin kettles! John Marrot put his mouth to our ear and roared. We heard him faintly. We tried to shout to him; he shook his head, put his hand to his ear, and his ear to our mouth.

"Does—it—not—injure—your—hearing?"

"No—sir—not—at—all. It's—worst—on—our—legs."

We subsided into silence and wonderment.

We had also resolved to take notes, and tried it. Egyptian hieroglyphics are not more comprehensible than the notes we took. We made a discovery, however, near the end of the journey—namely, that by bending the knees, and keeping so, writing became much more possible—or much less impossible! We learnt this from John, who had to fill up in pencil a sort of statement or report-ticket on the engine. It was interesting and curious to note the fact that of the sentences thus written, one word was pencilled in the grounds of the Earl of Edderline, the next opposite the mansion of Lord Soberly, the third in the midst of Langly Moor, the fourth while crashing through the village of Efferby, and a full stop was added at the mouth of the great Ghostly Tunnel. Think of that, ye teachers of "penmanship in twelve lessons," and hide your diminished heads.

John Marrot's engine, of which we have said much, and of which we mean to say still more, was not only a stupendous, but a complex creation. Its body consisted of above 5,400 pieces, all of which were almost as delicately fashioned, and put together with as much care, as watch-work. It was a confirmed teetotaller, too. The morning draught which John had given it before starting, to enable it to run its seventy-seven miles, was 800 gallons of cold water. He also gave it a good feed to begin with, and laid in for its sustenance on the trip one ton of coals. Its power to act vigorously may be gathered from the fact that one morning, some years before, John had got the fire up with unwonted rapidity, and no sooner had the minimum of steam necessary to move it been created, than it quietly advanced and passed out of its shed through a brick wall fourteen inches thick with as much ease as it would have gone through a sheet of brown paper. This being its power when starting at what we may regard as a quiet walk, some conception may be formed of its capacity when flying down an incline at sixty-five miles an hour with a heavy train of carriages at its back. In such circumstances it would go through an ordinary house, train and all, as a rifle-bullet would go through a cheese. It was an eight-wheeled engine, and the driving-wheels were eight feet in diameter. The cylinder was eighteen inches, with a piston of two feet stroke, and the total weight of engine and tender was fifty-three tons. The cost of this iron horse with its tender was about 3000 pounds.

Having fairly started, John took his stand opposite his circular window in the protecting screen or weather-board and kept a sharp look-out ahead. Will Garvie kept an eye chiefly on the rear to note that all was well in that direction. And much cause was there for caution! To rush through space at such a rate, even on a straight line and in clear weather, was trying enough, but when it is remembered that the day was wet, and that their course lay through sundry deep cuttings and tunnels, and round several curves where it was not possible to foresee obstruction, the necessity for caution will be more apparent.

All went well, however, as usual. After clearing the first thirty-six miles John Marrot consulted his watch, and observed to Will that they had done it in thirty-eight and a half minutes. He then "put on a spurt," and went for some time at a higher rate of speed. Observing that something at the head of the engine required looking after, Will Garvie went out along the side of it, and while doing this piece of work his hair and jacket were blown straight back by the breeze which the engine had created for itself. He resembled, in fact, a sailor going out to work on the sails in a stiff breeze.

This artificial breeze, sweeping round the sides of the screen, caused an eddy which sent up a cloud of coal-dust, but neither John nor his mate appeared to care for this. Their eyes were evidently coal-proof.

Presently they approached a canal over which they rushed, and, for one moment, glanced down on the antipodal mode of locomotion—a boat going three miles an hour with its steersman half asleep and smoking at the helm! Next moment they were passing under a bridge; the next over a town, and then rushed through a station, and it was interesting to note as they did so, that the people on the platform shrank back and looked half-terrified, although they were in no danger whatever, while those in the train—who might at any moment have been hurled into eternity— looked calm and serene, evidently untroubled by thoughts of danger; so difficult is it for man to realise his true condition in such circumstances. Just beyond the station a dog was observed to have strayed on the line, and ran barking before the engine. It was overtaken and passed in a few seconds, and Will looked over the side but saw nothing of it. As no yell was heard, it is probable that the poor thing escaped. Soon after that, two navvies were observed walking coolly and slowly on the line in front of the engine. John frowned and laid his hand on the whistle, but before it could sound, the reckless men had heard the train, looked round with horrified faces, sprang like jumping-jacks off the line, right and left, and were gone!

Soon after this, on approaching the distant signal of one of the stations, they observed that the arms were extended, indicating that the line was "blocked"—that is, that another train being in advance they must check speed or perhaps stop. This was a species of insult to the "Flying Dutchman," whose way ought to have been kept perfectly clear, for even a check of speed would inevitably cause the loss of several minutes. With an indignant grumble John Marrot cut off steam, but immediately the signals were lowered and he was allowed to go on. Again, in a few minutes, another signal checked him.

"They've let a train on before us," growled John, sternly, "and p'raps we may be checked all the way to London—but some one shall hear of this, an' have to account for it."

John was wrong to some extent. While he yet spoke the signal to go on was given, and a few minutes later the "Flying Dutchman" flashed past the obstructing train, which had been shunted on to a siding, and from its windows hundreds of passengers were gazing at the express which passed them like a meteor—perhaps they were congratulating themselves, as well they might, for, but for the "block system," their danger would have been tremendous; almost equal to that of a man endeavouring to run away from a cannon-shot. This may be somewhat better understood when we explain that the "Flying Dutchman" could not have been stopped in a shorter space than one mile and a half.

At length the iron horse came suddenly on an obstruction which filled its driver with deep anxiety and alarm. Daily had John driven that train, but never before had he met with a similar danger. At a level crossing, less than a mile in advance of him, he observed a horse and a loaded cart standing right across the line. Either the horse was a run-away, or the driver had left it for a little and it had strayed. Whatever the cause of its being there John's alert mind saw at once that a collision was inevitable. He shut off steam, and was about to whistle for the guard to apply the brakes, while Will Garvie, who also saw the danger, was already turning on the brakes of the tender.

John reflected that it would be impossible to come to a stand within the space that lay between him and the cart and that a partial concussion would be almost certain to throw his engine off the rails. Less than a minute remained to him.

"Let her go, mate," he shouted quickly.

Will Garvie obeyed at once. John put on full steam, the "Flying Dutchman" leaped forward with increased velocity. Then followed a slight shock, and; next moment, the cart and horse were smashed to atoms—all but annihilated!

It was a great risk that had been run; but of two evils John Marrot had chosen the less and came off in triumph with only a slight damage to his buffers.

Let us now quit the engine for a little, and, retracing our steps in regard to time, visit some of the carriages behind it.

When the "late passenger" recovered her breath and equanimity, and found herself fairly on her journey, she unfolded her bundle of shawls and disclosed a fat glossy lap-dog, which seemed to enjoy its return to fresh air and daylight, and acknowledged, with sundry wags of its tail and blinks of its eyes the complimentary assurance that it was the "dearest, sweetest, p'ittiest 'ittle darling that ever was born," and that, "it wouldn't be allowed to pay a nasty fare to a mean railway company that let all kinds of ugly parrots and cats and babies travel free!"

A timid little lady, the only other occupant of the carriage, ventured to suggest that the dog travelling free was against the rules of the company.

"I am quite aware of that," said the late passenger somewhat sharply, "but if people choose to make unjust and oppressive rules I don't mean to submit to them. Just think of a parrot, a horrid shrieking creature that every one acknowledges to be a nuisance, being allowed to travel free, or a baby, which is enough to drive one distracted when it squalls, as it always does in a railway carriage, while my sweet little pet that annoys nobody must be paid for, forsooth!"

"It does indeed seem unreasonable," responded the timid little old lady; "but don't you think that the company has a perfect right to make whatever rules it pleases, and that we are bound to obey them when we make use of their line?"

"No, I don't!" said the late passenger tartly.

The timid little lady thought it advisable to change the subject and did so by remarking that the dog was a very pretty creature. Upon which the late passenger thawed at once, admitted that it was a very pretty creature, and asserted in addition that it was a "perfect darling."

Their conversation became miscellaneous and general after this point, and not worth reporting, therefore we shall get out at the window and pass along the foot-boards to the carriage occupied by Mrs Durby and her friends.

Immediately after the train had started, as before described, Captain Lee entered into an animated conversation with the nurse as to the health of the Tipps family. Edwin, who was much interested in them, listened and put in a word now and then, but neither he nor the captain, after the first glance, paid any attention to the other occupants of the carnage.

Meanwhile Thomson, Jenkins and Company spent a short time in taking a quiet observation of the state of affairs. The former had placed himself opposite to Edwin and eyed him over critically as a wrestler might eye his opponent; Jenkins had seated himself opposite the captain, who had been apportioned to him in the coming conflict, and Smith, who, although a stout enough fellow, was the smallest of the three, kept his eye on the coveted bag, and held himself in readiness to act as might be advisable. The scoundrels were not long in taking action.

As soon as they were quite clear of the suburbs of Clatterby, Jenkins suddenly hit Captain Lee a tremendous blow on the head, which was meant to fell him at once; but the captain's head was harder than he had expected it to be; he instantly grappled with Jenkins. Edwin's amazement did not prevent his prompt action; but at the moment he sprang to the rescue, he received a blow from Thomson, who leaped on him, and seized him by the throat with a vice-like gripe. At the same moment Smith also sprang upon him.

Thomson soon found that he had miscalculated young Gurwood's strength. Strong though his grasp was, Edwin's was stronger. Almost as quick as thought he threw his left arm round Thomson's waist, grasped his hair with his right hand, and almost broke his back. There is no question that he would have overcome him in a few seconds if Smith had not hampered him. As it was, he disengaged his right arm for a moment and, hitting a familiar and oft-tried blow straight out from the shoulder planted his knuckles just above the bridge of Smith's nose. He fell as if he had been shot but the momentary relief thus afforded to Thomson enabled that scoundrel to get into a better position for continuing the struggle. Meanwhile Jenkins, although bravely and stoutly opposed by the veteran Lee, quickly rendered his adversary insensible, and at once sprang upon Edwin, and turned the scale in favour of his comrade, who at the moment was struggling in the youth's grasp with savage though unavailing ferocity. At the same time Smith, who had only been stunned, recovered, and seizing Edwin by the legs endeavoured to throw him down, so that it went hard with our young hero after that despite his activity, strength and courage.

During this scene, which was enacted in a very few minutes, poor Mrs Durby sat drawn up into the remotest corner of the carriage, her face transfixed with horror, and a terrific yell bursting occasionally from her white lips. But neither the sound of her cries nor the noise of the deadly struggle could overtop the clatter of the express train. Those in the next compartment did indeed hear a little of it but they were powerless to render assistance, and there was at that time no means of communicating with the guard or driver. Poor Edwin thought of Captain Lee, who lay bleeding on the floor, and of Emma, and the power of thought was so potential that in his great wrath he almost lifted the three men in the air; but they clung to him like leeches, and it is certain that they would have finally overcome him, had he not in one of his frantic struggles thrust his foot below one of the seats and kicked the still slumbering Sam Natly on the nose!

That over-wrought but erring porter immediately awoke to the consciousness of being oppressed with a sense of guilt and of being in a very strange and awkward position. Quickly perceiving, however, by the wild motion of the feet and an occasional scream from Mrs Durby, that something serious was going on, he peeped out, saw at a glance how matters stood, got to his feet in a moment, and dealt Jenkins such a blow on the back of the head that he dropped like a stone. To deal Smith two similar blows, with like result, was the work of two seconds. Thus freed, Edwin rose like a giant, crushed Thomson down into a seat, and twisted his neckcloth until his eyes began to glaze and his lips to turn blue.

Sam Natly was a man of cool self-possession.

Seeing that Edwin was more than a match for his adversary, he left him, and proceeded to attend to the captain, who showed symptoms of revival; but happening to glance again at Edwin, and observing the condition of Thomson, Sam turned and put his hand on the youth's arm.

"I think, sir," he said quietly, "it would be as well to leave enough of him to be hanged. Besides, it might be raither awkward, sir, to do Jack Ketch's dooty without the benefit of judge, jury, witnesses, or clergy."

Edwin released his hold at once, and Thomson raised himself in the seat, clenching his teeth and fists as he did so. He was one of those savage creatures who, when roused, appear to go mad, and become utterly regardless of consequences. While Sam was engaged in e temporising handcuffs for Jenkins and Smith out of a necktie and a pocket-handkerchief, Thomson sat perfectly still, but breathed very hard. He was only resting a little to recover strength, for in a moment, without a sound or warning of any kind, he hit Edwin with all his force on the temple. Fortunately the youth saw the coming blow in time to partially give way to it, and in another moment the struggle was renewed, but terminated almost as quickly, for Edwin gave Thomson a blow that stunned him and kept him quiet for the next quarter of an hour.

During this period Edwin examined Captain Lee's hurts, which turned out to be less severe than might have been expected. He also assisted Sam to secure Thomson's wrists with a handkerchief, and then devoted some time to soothing the agitated spirits of poor Mrs Durby, whose luckless shins had not escaped quite scatheless during the melee.

"Oh, sir," sobbed Mrs Durby, glancing with horror at the dishevelled and blood-stained prisoners, "I always thought railways was bad things, but I never, no I never, imagined they was as bad as this."

"But, my good woman," said Edwin, unable to restrain a smile, "railways are not all, nor always, as bad as this. We very seldom hear of such a villainous deed as has been attempted to-day; thanks to the energy and efficiency of their police establishments."

"Quite true, Gurward, quite true," said Captain Lee, glancing sternly at the prisoners, and stanching a cut in his forehead with a handkerchief as he spoke; "our police arrangements are improving daily, as scoundrels shall find to their cost."

Jenkins and Smith did not raise their eyes, and Thomson continued to frown steadily out at the window without moving a muscle.

"I'm sure I don't know nothink about your p'lice, an' what's more, I don't care," said Mrs Durby; "all that I know is that railways is dreadful things, and if I was the Queen, which I'm not, I'd have 'em all put down by Acts of Parlingment, so I would. But never, never, never,— as long as I'm able to manidge my own—ah!"

Mrs Durby terminated here with one of her own appalling shrieks, for it was at this precise moment that John Marrot happened, as already described, to have occasion to knock a cart and horse to atoms. The shock, as we have said, was very slight, nevertheless it was sufficient to overturn the poor nurse's nervous system, which had already been wrought up to a high pitch of tension.

"That's somethin' gone, sir," said Sam, touching his cap to Captain Lee.

"What is it, Edwin?" inquired the captain as the youth let down the window and looked out.

"I can see nothing," said Edwin, "except that the guard and fireman are both looking back as if they wanted to see something on the line. We are beginning to slow, however, being not far from the station now."

About a mile and three-quarters from the station, in the suburbs of London, where the tickets were to be collected, John Marrot stopped the pulse of his iron horse, for so terrific was his speed that he was able to run the greater part of that distance by means of the momentum already acquired. By degrees the mighty engine began to "slow." Trees and houses instead of rushing madly past began to run hastily by, and then to glide behind at a rate that was more in keeping with the dignity of their nature. From sixty miles an hour the train passed by a rapid transition to ordinary express speed, then to ordinary speed, then to twenty miles an hour. Then Thomson felt that his opportunity had come. He suddenly wrenched his wrists from their fastening, leaped head foremost out of the window, fell on the embankment in a heap, and rolled to the bottom, where he lay extended on his back as if dead.

Thus much Mrs Durby saw in one horrified glance and then fainted dead away, in which condition she remained, to the great anxiety and distress of Captain Lee, until the "Flying Dutchman," after doing seventy-eight miles in one hour and a half, glided as softly up to the platform of the station in the great Metropolis as if it were a modest young train which had yet to win its spurs, instead of being a tried veteran which had done its best for many years past to annihilate space and time. But, after all, it resembled all other tried veterans in this respect.

Generally speaking, engine-drivers are little—far too little—thought of after a journey is over. Mankind is not prone to be wise or discriminating, in giving credit to whom credit is due. We "remember" waiters after having eaten a good dinner, but who, in any sense of the word, "remembers" the cook? So in like manner we think of railway porters and guards at the end of our journeys, and talk of their civility mayhap, but who thinks or talks of the driver and fireman as they lean on the rails of their iron horse, wet and weary perchance— smoke and dust and soot begrimed for certain—and calmly watch the departure of the multitudes whom they have, by the exercise of consummate coolness, skill, and courage, brought through dangers and hairbreadth escapes that they neither knew nor dreamed of?

On this particular occasion, however, the tables were turned for once. The gentlemen in the train hurried to the guard to ask what had caused the slight shock which they had felt. Joe Turner had been called aside for a moment by a clerk, so they went direct to John Marrot himself, who modestly related what had happened in a half apologetic tone, for he did not feel quite sure that he had done the best in the circumstances. His admiring audience had no doubt on the point, however.

"You're a brick, John!" exclaimed an enthusiastic commercial traveller.

"That's true," said another. "If we had more men like him, there would be fewer accidents."

"Let's give him something," whispered a third.

The suggestion was eagerly acted on. A subscription was made on the spot, and in three minutes the sum of about ten pounds was thrust into John's huge dirty hand by the enthusiastic commercial traveller. But John firmly refused to take it.

"What's to be done with it, then?" demanded the traveller, "I can't keep it, you know, and I'm not going to sit down here and spend half-an-hour in returning the money. If you don't take it John, I must fling it under the engine or into the furnace."

"Well," said the driver, after a moment's consideration, while he closed his hand on the money and thrust it into his breeches pocket, "I'll take it. It will help to replace the cart we smashed, if I can find the owner."

While this was going on near the engine, the robbers were being removed from their carriage to receive the due reward of their deeds. Three tall and strong-boned men had been on the platform for some time awaiting the arrival of the "Flying Dutchman." Swift though John Marrot's iron horse was, a swifter messenger had passed on the line before him. The electric spark—and a fast volatile, free-and-easy, yet faithful spark it is—had been commissioned to do a little service that day. Half-an-hour after the train had left Clatterby a detective, wholly unconnected with our friend Sharp, had called and sent a message to London to have Thomson, Jenkins, and Smith apprehended, in consequence of their connexion with a case of fraud which had been traced to them. The three tall strong-boned men were there in virtue of this telegram. But, accustomed though these men were to surprising incidents, they had scarcely expected to find that the three culprits had added another to their many crimes, and that one of them had leaped out of the train and out of their clutches—in all probability out of the world altogether! Two of the strong men went off immediately in search of him, or his remains, while the other put proper manacles on Jenkins and Smith and carried them off in a cab.

Meanwhile Joe Turner saw that all the other passengers were got carefully out of the train. He was particularly polite in his attentions, however, to the "late passenger!"

"You have forgot, ma'am," he said politely, "to give up your dog-ticket."

"Dog-ticket!" exclaimed the lady, blushing; "what do you mean? I have no dog-ticket."

"Not for the little poodle dog, ma'am, that you carry under your shawl?"

The lady blushed still deeper as she admitted that she had no ticket for the dog, but said that she was quite willing to pay for it.

This having been done, her curiosity got the better of her shame at having been "caught," and she asked—

"How did you know I had a dog with me, guard?"

"Ah, ma'am," replied Joe with a smile, "we've got a remarkably sharp-sighted police force on our line, besides the telegraph. We find the telegraph very useful, I assure you, at times. The gentlemen who were removed in handcuffs a few minutes ago were also stopped in their little game by the telegraph, ma'am."

The guard turned away to attend to some one else, and the late passenger, blushing a still deeper scarlet to find that she was classed with criminals, hurried away to reflect, it is to be hoped, on the fact that dishonesty has no variety in character—only in degree.

When the guard left the late passenger, he found that his assistance was required to get Mrs Durby and her belongings out of the railway carriage and into a cab.

The poor nurse was in a pitiable state of mind. A railway journey had always been to her a thing of horror. The reader may therefore form some conception of what it was to her to have been thus suddenly called away from quiet suburban life to undertake not only a railway journey, but to be shut up with a gang of would-be murderers and encounter a sort of accident in addition! By the time she had reached London she had become quite incapable of connected thought. Even the precious parcel, which at first had been an object of the deepest solicitude, was forgotten; and although she had hugged it to her breast not two minutes before, she suffered it to drop under the seat as she was led from the train to the cab.

"Drive to the Clarendon," said Captain Lee, as he and Gurwood followed the nurse into the cab; "we will take care of her," he added to Edwin, "till she is better able to take care of herself."

Mrs Durby gave vent to a hysterical sob of gratitude.

Arrived at the Clarendon they alighted, the captain paid the fare, and the cab was dismissed. Just at that moment Mrs Durby became a temporary maniac. She shrieked, "Oh! my parcel!" and rushed towards the door.

The captain and waiter restrained her.

"It's in the cab!" she yelled with a fervour there was no resisting.

Edwin, comprehending the case, dashed down the steps and followed the cab; but he might as well have followed the proverbial needle in the haystack. Hundreds of cabs, carts, busses, and waggons were passing the Clarendon. He assaulted and stopped four wrong cabs, endured a deal of chaff, and finally returned to the hotel discomfited.

Thus suddenly was Mrs Durby bereft of her treasure and thrown into abject despair. While in this condition she partially unbosomed herself to Captain Lee, and, contrary to strict orders, revealed all she knew about the embarrassments of Mrs Tipps, carefully concealing, however, the nature of the contents of her lost parcel, and the real object of her journey to London.

One more paragraph in regard to this eventful trip of the "Flying Dutchman" ere we have done with the subject.

Having finished his journey, John Marrot took his iron steed to the stable. Usually his day's work terminated at Clatterby; but, owing to the horse being in need of extra rest he had to stop in London that night. And no wonder that the Lightning was sometimes fatigued, for even an ordinary express engine on the Grand National Trunk Railway was wont to run over 270 miles of ground in a day, at the rate of about forty-five miles an hour, and with a dead weight of 120 tons, more or less, at her tail. This she did regularly, with two "shed-days," or days of rest, in the week for cleansing and slight repairs. Such an engine was considered to do good service if it ran 250 days in the year. But the engine of the "Flying Dutchman" was more highly favoured than other engines—probably on the ground of the principle taught by the proverb, "It is the pace that kills." Its regular run was 1,544 miles in the day, and assuredly it stood in need of repose and refreshment quite as much as ordinary horses do. Its joints had become relaxed with severe labour, its bolts had been loosened, its rubbing surfaces, despite the oil poured so liberally on them by Will Garvie, had become heated. Some of them, unequally expanded, strained and twisted; its grate-bars and fire-box had become choked with "clinkers," and its tubes charged with coke.

John therefore ran it into the huge shed or stable prepared for the reception of twenty-four iron horses, and handed it over to a set of cleaners or grooms. These immediately set to work; they cleaned out its fire-box, scraped its grate-bars, tightened all its bolts and rivets, greased the moving parts, and thoroughly cleansed it, outside and in. Thus washed, cooled down, and purified, it was left to repose for five or six hours preparatory to a renewal of its giant energies on the following day.

Although we have somewhat exalted our pet locomotive of the "Flying Dutchman," justice requires us to state that goods engines are more gigantic and powerful, though they are not required to run so fast. These engines are the heavy dray-horses of the line, express engines being the racers. The latter can carry a light load of some seventy or ninety tons on a good roadway at the rate of fifty miles an hour or upwards. Goods engines of the most powerful class, on the other hand, run at a much slower pace, but they drag with ease a load of from 300 to 350 tons, with which they can ascend steep gradients.

But whether light or heavy, strong or weak, all of them are subject to the same laws. Though powerfully, they are delicately framed, and like man himself, appear to be incapable of perfect action without obtaining at the least one day of rest in the week.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

TREATS OF MRS. DURBY'S LOST PARCEL IN PARTICULAR, AND OF LOST-LUGGAGE IN GENERAL.

We need scarcely say that Edwin Gurwood took a good deal of trouble to find poor Mrs Durby's lost parcel. Had he known what its contents were he might perhaps have done more. As she positively asserted that she had carried it into the cab with her and had not left it in the train, immediate application was not made at the station for it, but Edwin drove her in a cab to Scotland Yard, and there introduced her to the police officials whose duty it is to take charge of articles left in cabs. Here she was asked to describe the appearance of her parcel, which she did, by saying that it was a roundish one in brown paper, fastened with a piece of string, and having the name of Durby written on it in pencil, without any address.

Not feeling quite sure however of the fidelity of the nurse's memory, Edwin then went to the station and made inquiries there, but on application to the lost-luggage office no such parcel had been deposited there. The reader may perhaps be surprised at this, as it is well-known that every train is searched by the porters on its arrival at a terminus, and all forgotten articles are conveyed at once to the lost-luggage office. In the ordinary course of things Mrs Durby's parcel would have been found and restored to her on application, but it happened that a careless porter searched the "Flying Dutchman" that day, and had failed to observe the parcel which lay in a dark corner under the seat. When the carriage therefore was shunted the parcel was left to repose in it all night as well as all next day, which happened to be Sunday.

The parcel had a longish excursion on its own account after that. The carriage in which it lay happened to be a "through one," and belonged to another company, to whose line it was accordingly forwarded on the following Monday. It reached a remote station in the west of England that night and there the parcel was discovered. It lay all night there, and next day was forwarded to the lost-luggage office of that line. Here it was examined; the various pieces of paper were unrolled one by one and the doubled-up slipper was discovered; this was examined, and the little parcel found; the name of Durby having been noted and commented on, the covering of note-paper was removed, and the match-box revealed, from the inside of which was produced the pill-box, which, when opened, disclosed to the astonished gaze of the officials an antique gold ring set with diamonds! As the name "Mrs Durby" written in pencil did not furnish a clue to the owner, the ring was given into the charge of the custodier of the lost-luggage office, and a description of it with a note of all particulars regarding it, was forwarded to the Clearing-House in London.

The lost-luggage office, we may remark in passing, was a wonderful place—a place in which a moralist might find much material for mental mastication. Here, on an extensive series of shelves, were deposited in large quantities the evidences of man's defective memory; the sad proofs of human fallibility. There were caps and comforters and travelling-bags in great abundance. There were shawls and rugs, and umbrellas and parasols, and sticks and hat-boxes in such numbers as to suggest the idea that hundreds of travellers, smitten with irresistible feelings of gratitude, had left these articles as a trifling testimony of respect to the railway company. There were carpet-bags here not only in large numbers but in great variety of form and size. Smelling-bottles, pocket-handkerchiefs, flasks, pocket-books, gun-cases, portmanteaux, books, cigar cases, etcetera, enough to have stocked a gigantic curiosity shop, and there were several articles which one could not account for having been forgotten on any other supposition than that the owners were travelling maniacs. One gentleman had left behind him a pair of leathern hunting-breeches, a soldier had forgotten his knapsack, a cripple his crutches! a Scotchman his bagpipes; but the most amazing case of all was a church door! We do not jest, reader. It is a fact that such an article was forgotten, or left or lost, on a railway, and, more amazing still, it was never claimed, but after having been advertised, and having lain in the lost goods office the appointed time, it was sold by auction with other things. Many of the articles were powerfully suggestive of definite ideas. One could not look upon those delicate kid gloves without thinking of the young bride, whose agitated soul was incapable of extending a thought to such trifles. That Mrs Gamp-like umbrella raised to mental vision, as if by magic, the despair of the stout elderly female who, arriving unexpectedly and all unprepared at her journey's end, sought to collect her scattered thoughts and belongings and launch herself out on the platform, in the firm belief that a minute's delay would insure her being carried to unknown regions far beyond her destination, and it was impossible to look at that fur travelling-cap with ear-pieces cocked knowingly on a sable muff, without thinking of the bland bald-headed old gentleman who had worn it during a night journey, and had pulled it in all ways about his head and over his eyes, and had crushed it into the cushions of his carriage in a vain endeavour to sleep, and had let it fall off and temporarily lost it and trod upon it and unintentionally sat upon it, and had finally, in the great hurry of waking suddenly on arrival, and in the intense joy of meeting with his blooming girls, flung it off, seized his hat and bag and rug, left the carriage in a whirlwind of greeting, forgot it altogether, and so lost it for ever.

"Nay, not lost," we hear some one saying; "he would surely call at the lost-luggage office on discovering his loss and regain his property."

Probably he might, but certainly he would only act like many hundreds of travellers if he were to leave his property there and never call for it at all.

True, much that finds its way to the lost-luggage office is reclaimed and restored, but it is a fact that the quantity never reclaimed is so large on almost any railway that it forms sufficient to warrant an annual sale by auction which realises some hundreds of pounds. One year's sale of lost-luggage on the Grand National Trunk Railway amounted to 500 pounds! and this was not more than an average year's sale. Every possible effort is of course made to restore lost-luggage before such a sale takes place. In the first place, everything bearing a name and address is returned at once to the owner, but of course there are multitudes of small articles which have neither name nor address. Such of these as are locked or tied up are suffered to remain for a short time in an office, where they may be readily reclaimed; but if not claimed soon they are opened, and if addresses are found inside are sent to their owners. In the event of no addresses being found they are retained for a year, then advertised for sale by public auction, and the proceeds go to reduce that large sum—perhaps 16,000 poundss or more— which the company has to pay annually as compensation for lost and damaged goods. On one railway where the lost-luggage was allowed to lie a considerable time before being examined a singular case occurred. A hat-box was opened and found to contain Bank of England notes to the amount of 65 pounds, with two letters, which led to its being restored to its owner after having lain for more than a year. The owner had been so positive that he had left the hat-box at a hotel that he had made no inquiry for it at the railway office.

A sale-catalogue of left and unclaimed property on one of our chief railways, which now lies before us, presents some curious "lots." Here are some of them: 70 walking-sticks, 30 silk umbrellas, and there are eleven similar lots, besides innumerable parasols—50 muffs and boas—a crate containing 140 billycocks and hats—24 looking-glasses—160 packets of cloth buttons—15 frying-pans and 18 ploughshares—3 butter machines—2 gas-meters, 2 shovels, and a pair of spectacles—a box of sanitary powder and a 15-horse power horizontal steam-engine! How some of these things, especially the last, could come to be lost at all, is a mystery which we have been quite unable to fathom. Of these lots the catalogue contains 404, and the sale was to occupy two days.

After having failed to obtain any information as to the missing brown paper parcel, Mrs Durby felt so overwhelmed with distress and shame that she took the whole matter into serious consideration, and, resolving to forego her visit to her brother, returned straight to Clatterby, where, in a burst of tears, she related her misadventures to Netta. It need scarcely be said that Netta did not blame her old and faithful nurse. Her disposition was of that mild sympathetic nature which induces one,—when an accident occurs, such as the breaking of a valuable piece of china,—to hasten to excuse rather than to abuse the unhappy breaker, who, in nine cases out of ten, is far more severely punished by his or her own conscience than the sin deserves! Instead, therefore, of blaming the nurse, Netta soothed her; said that it did not matter much; that the ring was valuable to her only as a gift from her father; that no doubt some other means of paying their debts would soon be devised; that it would have been an absolute miracle, if nurse had retained her self-possession, in the terrible circumstances, in which she had been placed, and in fact tried so earnestly and touchingly to comfort her, that she unintentionally heaped coals of intensest fire on the poor woman's head, and caused Mrs Durby not only to blame herself more than ever, but to throw her arms round Netta's neck, and all but fall down on her knees and worship her.

Thereafter the subject was dismissed, and in a short time almost forgotten.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

DESCRIBES ENGINEERING DIFFICULTIES, A PERPLEXING CASE, AND A HARMONIOUS MEETING.

Captain Lee's object in visiting London was twofold. He went there primarily to attend the half-yearly general meeting of the Grand National Trunk Railway, and secondarily, to accompany his friend Edwin Gurwood to the Railway Clearing-House, in which establishment he had been fortunate enough to secure for him a situation.

The various circumstances which contributed to the bringing about of an intimacy between Captain Lee and young Gurwood are partly known to the reader. It was natural that the captain should feel some sort of regard for one who had twice shown himself so ready to spring to his assistance in the hour of danger; but that which weighed still more strongly with the old sailor—who had been a strict disciplinarian and loved a zealous man—was the energy, with which Edwin threw himself into the work of the department of the railway, in which he had first been placed. Perhaps if the captain had known the motives and the hopes which actuated the youth he might have regarded him with very different feelings! We know not—and it matters little now.

As a clerk in the Engineers' office, Edwin had, in a few weeks, evinced so much talent and aptitude for the work as to fill his patron's heart with delight. He possessed that valuable quality which induces a man— in Scripture language—to look not only on his own things but on the things of others. He was not satisfied with doing his own work thoroughly, but became so inquisitive as to the work of his companions in the office that he acquired in a short time as much knowledge as some of these companions had acquired in several years.

The engineer's department of a railway is one which involves some of the most important operations connected with the line. But indeed the same may be said of all the departments—passenger, goods, locomotive, and police, each of which is independent, yet connected. They are separate wheels, as it were, which work harmoniously together in one grand system, and the gentlemen at the head of these departments must be men of experience; of acknowledged talent and power, each supreme in his own department, but all subject to the general manager.

The engineer-in-chief, who was Edwin Gurwood's superior, had charge of the entire railway, which was something over one thousand miles in extent. This vast line was divided into four divisions—namely, the northern, southern, western, and eastern; each division being under the superintendence of a resident engineer, who was, of course, subject to the engineer-in-chief. Each division was about 250 miles long, and was subdivided into districts varying from thirty to seventy miles. These were under the charge of inspectors, whose duty it was to travel constantly over their lengths—almost daily—partly on foot and partly by train, to see that the line was kept in perfect working order. The travelling inspectors had under them a large body of "surface-men" or "plate-layers," men whose duty it was to perform the actual work of keeping the line in order. They worked in squads of four or five—each squad having a foreman or gaffer, who was held responsible for the particular small portion of the line that he and his squad had to attend to. The average number of surface-men was about two to the mile—so that the entire staff of these men on the line numbered over two thousand. Their business was to go over the entire line twice a day, drive tight the wooden "keys" which held the rails in their chairs, lift and re-lay broken or worn-out rails and chairs, raise or depress sleepers wherever these required alteration, so as to make the line level, and, generally, to keep in thorough repair the "permanent way." Again, each of the four divisions had an inspector of signals and an inspector of buildings, the former being responsible for the perfect working order of all signals, and the latter, who had a few masons, joiners, slaters, blacksmiths, and others under him, having charge of all the stations, sheds, and other buildings on the line. Every month each division engineer sent in to the head office a statement of material used, and of work done; also a requisition for material required for future use.

From all this it can easily be understood that Edwin had a fair opportunity of finding scope for his talents; and he had indeed already begun to attract notice as an able, energetic fellow, when Captain Lee, as we have said, procured for him an appointment in the Clearing-House. On the occasion of the change being made, he invited his young friend to spend a few days at his residence in Clatterby, and thereafter, as we have seen, they travelled together to London.

It need scarcely be said that Edwin did not neglect this golden opportunity to try to win the heart of Emma. Whether he had succeeded or not he could not tell, but he unquestionably received a strong additional impulse in his good resolves—to achieve for himself a position and a wife!

"Gurwood," said Captain Lee, after Mrs Durby had taken her departure, "I want you to aid me in a little difficulty I have about our mutual friend, Mrs Tipps. She is ridiculously determined not to accept of assistance from me, and I find from that excellent nurse that they are actually up to the lips in poverty—in fact, on the point of going down. I think from what she said, or, rather from what she didn't say, but hinted, that her errand to London had something to do with their poverty, but I can't make it out. Now, I have made up my mind to help them whether they will or no, and the question I wish to lay before you is,—how is the thing to be done? Come, you have had some experience of engineering, and ought to be able to cope with difficulties."

"True," replied Edwin, with a smile, "but to bend a woman's will surpasses any man's powers of engineering!"

"Come, sir," said the captain, "that is a most ungallant speech from one so young. You deserve to die an old bachelor. However, I ask you not to exercise your skill in bending a woman's will, but in bridging over this difficulty—this Chat Moss, to speak professionally."

"Could you not procure for my friend, Joseph Tipps, a more lucrative appointment?" said Edwin eagerly, as the idea flashed upon him.

The captain shook his head.

"Won't do, sir; I have thought of that; but, in the first place, I have not such an appointment to give him at present; in the second place, if I had, he could not draw his salary in advance, and money is wanted immediately; and, in the third place, he would not if he had it be able to spare enough out of any ordinary clerk's salary, because the debts due by Mrs Tipps amount to fifty pounds—so Mrs Durby said."

"It is indeed perplexing," said Edwin. "Would it not be a good plan to send them a cheque anonymously?"

Again the captain shook his head.

"Wouldn't do. The old lady would guess who sent it at once. Come, I will leave it to you to devise a plan. Never could form a plan all my life, and have no time just now, as I'm going off to the meeting in ten minutes. I constitute you my agent in this matter, Gurwood. You know all the circumstances of the case, and also about my bet of five hundred pounds with the late Captain Tipps. Your fee, if you succeed, shall be my unending gratitude. There, I give you carte-blanche to do as you please—only see that you don't fail."

Saying this, the captain put on his hat and went out, leaving Edwin much amused and not a little perplexed. He was not the man, however, to let difficulties stand in his way unassailed. He gave the subject half-an-hour's consideration, after which he formed a plan and immediately went out to put it into execution.

Meanwhile Captain Lee went to the head offices of the Grand National Trunk Railway, and entered the large room, where the directors and shareholders of the Company were already assembled in considerable numbers to hold a half-yearly general meeting.

It was quite a treat to see the cordial way in which the captain was received by such of his brother directors as sat near him, and, when he had wiped his bald head and put on his spectacles, and calmly looked round the hall, his bland visage appeared to act the part of a reflector, for, wherever his eyes were turned, there sunshine appeared to glow. In fact several of the highly sympathetic people present—of whom there are always a few in every mixed meeting—unconsciously smiled and nodded as his eye passed over their locality, even although they were personal strangers to him.

Very various are the feelings which actuate the directors and shareholders of different railways at these half-yearly gatherings. Doubtless some directors go to the place of meeting with the feelings of men who go to execution, and the shareholders go with the feelings of executioners, if not worse; while other directors and shareholders unquestionably go to hold something like a feast of reason and a flow of soul.

The half-yearly meeting we write of was imbued with the latter spirit. Wisdom and conscientious care had steered the ship and swayed the councils of the Grand National Trunk Railway, so that things were in what the captain called a highly flourishing condition. One consequence was, that the directors wore no defensive armour, and the shareholders came to the ground without offensive weapons.

Sir Cummit Strong having taken the chair, the secretary read the advertisement convening the meeting.

The chairman, who was a tall, broad-browed, and large-mouthed man, just such an one as might be expected to become a railway king, then rose, and, after making a few preliminary observations in reference to the report, which was assumed to have been read, moved, "that the said report and statement of accounts be received and adopted."

"He-ar, he-ar!" exclaimed a big vulgar man, with an oily fat face and a strong voice, who was a confirmed toady.

"I am quite sure," the chairman continued, "that I have the sympathy of all in this meeting when I say that the half-year which has just come to a close has been one of almost unmixed success—"

"He-ar, he-ar!" from the toady.

"And," continued the chairman, with pointed emphasis, and a glance at the toady, which was meant to indicate that he had put in his oar too soon, but which the toady construed into a look of gratitude—"and of very great satisfaction to those whom you have appointed to the conducting of your affairs."

"He-ar, he-ar!"

Captain Lee, who sat immediately behind the toady and felt his fingers and toes tingling, lost a good deal of what followed, in consequence of falling into a speculative reverie, as to what might be the legal consequences, if he were to put his own hat on the toady's head, and crush it down over his eyes and mouth.

"Gentlemen," continued the chairman, "there are three points on which we have reason to congratulate ourselves to-day, namely, the safety, the efficiency, and the economy with which our railway has been worked. As regards the first, I find that ten millions of journeys have been performed on our line during the half-year with hardly a detention, with very few late trains, at high speeds, and with only one accident, which was a comparatively slight one, and was unattended with loss of life or serious damage to any one."

"He-ar, he-ar!" from the toady.

At this point a wag in the distance got up and suggested, in a very weak voice, that if the toady would say, "he-ar, he-ar!" less frequently, perhaps they would "he-ar" much better—a suggestion which was received with a burst of laughter and a round of applause. It effectually quelled the toady and rendered him innocuous for a considerable time.

"Now," resumed the chairman, "some people appear to think that it is an easy thing to work a railway in safety, but I can assure you that such is not the case. Intelligence, care, foresight, and the strictest discipline, are necessary to secure this result; and, remember, we have not the advantage of anything so powerful as military discipline to help us. We have nothing to appeal to save the hopes and fears of our staff; and we feel it to be our great difficulty, as it is our principal duty, to be most careful in the selection of the thousands of men who, in their various positions and vocations, have to be employed in the conduct of your enterprise.

"I know well," continued Sir Cummit Strong, "how men shudder when statistics are mentioned in their ears! Nevertheless, I shall venture to give you a few statistics that will, I am quite sure, prove interesting—all the more so that the figures which I quote apply to several other railways—and, therefore, will serve to give those of you who may chance to be unlearned on railway matters, some idea of the vast influence which railways have on our land.

"We run on this railway (I use round numbers) about 700 trains a day. In addition to which we have spare engines and empty trains, which perhaps ought to be added to the number given. Now, just consider for a moment the operations which have to be performed daily in the ordinary working and running of your passenger traffic. These 700 trains stop about 5000 times in the twenty-four hours, and of course they start the same number of times. The empty trains and engines have also to stop and start. We have on the line upwards of 1000 signals, including the telegraphic signals and auxiliaries. Those signals have to be raised and lowered 10,000 times in the twenty-four hours. There are on our line 1700 pairs of points, which have to be opened and shut, to be cleaned, oiled, and attended to, above 5000 times in the day. In addition to all this there are the operations of shunting, carriage-examining, greasing, and other things in connexion with trains which involve operations amounting to nearly 6000 in number. So that— apart from repairs to the line and to vehicles—there are above 30,000 individual operations which have to be performed every twenty-four hours in the conduct of this enormous passenger traffic.

"All this information I have obtained from our able and excellent passenger-superintendent, than whom there is not a more important officer in the Company's service, unless, indeed," (here the chairman turned with a smile and a slight bow to the gentlemen who sat on his right hand) "I may except the general manager and secretary.

"Well, now, gentlemen, I put it to you, is it surprising that the 6000 men who have to perform these 30,000 operations in the day—amounting to the vast total of ten millions of operations in the year—is it surprising, I say, that these 6000 men should now and then fall into some error of judgment, or make some mistake, or even be guilty of some negligence? Is it not, on the contrary, most surprising that accidents are not far more numerous; and does it not seem almost miraculous that where duties are so severe, the demands made by the public so great— speed, punctuality, numberless trains by day and night—there should be only one accident to report this half-year, while last half-year there were no accidents at all? And does it not seem hard that the public should insist that we shall be absolutely infallible, and, when the slightest mistake occurs, should haul us into court and punish us with demands for compensation for accidents which no human ingenuity or foresight could prevent?

"Before leaving this subject allow me to direct your attention to the fogs which occurred this half-year. There were thirty days in which during a part, if not the whole, of the twenty-four hours we had out our fog-signal men; that is to say, an additional staff of 300 men, each with his flag and detonating signals, placed within sight, or within sound of one another, to assist the ordinary signalmen in the safe conduct of the traffic. During these fogs the omnibuses had to be withdrawn from the roads, the steamers had to be moored on the river, and the traffic on the streets was almost at a standstill, nevertheless we carried through the fog, in and out of London, above one million six hundred thousand passengers without accident!"

The "hear, hear," which burst from the audience at this point might have satisfied even the toady himself!

"And yet," continued the chairman, with emphasis, "if a single mishap had occurred owing to the mistake of any of our half-blinded men, we should probably have been let in for compensation to the extent perhaps of 20,000 pounds! Is this fair? If it be so, then one may be tempted to ask why does not the same 'sauce' suit shipowners, many of whom are notorious for sending to sea unseaworthy craft, and who consign above one thousand human beings to an untimely grave every year without being punished in any way or being asked for a farthing of compensation?

"I have already said so much on this point gentlemen, that I shall make but a few remarks on the other two subjects. Well, then, as to efficiency. Our carrying ten millions of passengers in safety and comfort is one proof of that—and, I may remark in passing, that our receipts for the conveyance of these ten millions amounts to nearly half a million of money. Another proof of our efficiency lies in the fact that all the compensation we have had to pay for loss or detention of luggage has been only 100 pounds. Then as to goods. For merchandise carried we have received about 150,000 pounds, and the total compensation for the half-year amounts to only about 660 pounds. Surely I may say with truth that such facts speak to the regularity and efficiency of your service.

"If the public only knew the anxiety and care with which its interests are looked after both by night and by day by our excellent passenger and goods-managers they would perhaps present each of these gentlemen with a testimonial piece of plate, and would for evermore lay aside that wicked and ungrateful idea that railway companies are 'fair game,' to be plundered by every one who receives, or fancies he has received, the slightest possible amount of damage to limb or property. Railway companies are not perfect any more than other companies. There are certain faults, it may be, and weak points, which all of us deplore, and which are being remedied as fast as experience and the progress of human knowledge will admit, but I hold, gentlemen, that the management of railway companies is above the average management of many other companies. We have much more work—more dangerous work—to do than other companies, and we do it with much less proportional loss to life, limb, and property."

"He-ar, he-ar!" burst from the toady in spite of his recent rebuke; but as it was drowned in a round of hearty applause no one was the wiser or the worse of his note of approval.

"When I think," continued the chairman, "of the condition this country was in before the days of railways—which probably most of those present remember—the ingratitude of the public seems to me utterly unaccountable. I can only understand it on the supposition that they have somehow obtained false notions as to the great value of railways and the great blessing they are to the community.

"Why, our goods-manager informs me that there is a certain noble lord, whom of course I may not name in public, who has a farm at a considerable distance out of town. He has a fancy that the milk and cream produced on his own farm is better than Metropolitan milk and cream—(laughter). He therefore resolves to have fresh milk and cream sent in from his farm every morning, and asks us to carry it for him. We agree; but he further insists that the milk and cream shall be delivered at his residence punctually at nine a.m. To this we also agree, because the thing can be done; yet it is sharp practice, for it is only by the train arriving at its time, punctually to a minute, and by our horse and van being in readiness to start the instant it is loaded, that the thing can be accomplished. Now, gentlemen, it is owing to the extreme care and vigorous superintendence of our goods—I had almost said our good-manager that that noble lord has never missed his milk or cream one morning during the last six months. And the same punctuality attends the milk-delivery of 'Brown, Jones, and Robinson,' for railways, as a rule, are no respecters of persons. Should not this, I ask, infuse a little of the milk of human kindness into the public heart in reference to railways?

"Then, consider other advantages. In days not long gone by a few coaches carried a few hundreds of the more daring among our population over the land at a high cost and at the truly awful rate of ten miles an hour. In some cases the break-neck speed of twelve was attained. Most people preferred to remain at home rather than encounter the fatigues, risks, and expense of travelling. What are the facts now? Above three hundred millions of separate journeys are undertaken by rail in the United Kingdom in one year. Our sportsmen can breakfast in London on the 11th of August, sup the same night in Scotland, and be out on the moors on the morning of the 12th. On any afternoon any lady in England may be charmed with Sir Walter Scott's 'Lady of the Lake,' and, if so minded, she may be a lady on the veritable lake itself before next evening! Our navvies now travel for next to nothing in luxurious ease at thirty miles an hour, and our very beggars scorn to walk when they can travel at one penny a mile. But all this is nothing compared with our enormous increase of goods traffic throughout the kingdom. I have not time, nor is this the place, to enlarge on such a subject, but a pretty good commentary on it exists in the simple fact that on your line alone, which is not, as you know, the largest of the railways of this land, the receipts for goods, minerals, and live-stock carried amounted to 500,000 pounds in the last half-year, as you will see from the report.

"There is one point to which I would now direct your attention—namely, the great facilities which we give to residential and season-ticket holders. I think it a wise and just course to afford the public such facilities, because it tends to produce a permanent source of traffic by tempting men, who would otherwise be content to live within walking or 'bus distance of their offices, to go down into the country and build villas there, and if you extend that sort of arrangement largely, you cause villages at last to grow into towns, and towns to spread out with population and with manufactures. I regard our course of action in regard to season-tickets, therefore, as a sowing of the seed of permanent and enduring income. The receipts from this source alone, I am happy to say, amounts to 84,000 pounds."

Captain Lee's spirit had, at the bare mention of season-tickets, gone careering down the line to Clatterby, in the beautiful suburbs of which he had the most charming little villa imaginable, but he was abruptly recalled by a "he-ar, he-ar," from the toady, who was gradually becoming himself again, and a round of applause from the audience, in which, having an amiable tendency to follow suit, he joined.

After this the chairman expatiated at some length on the economical working of the line and on various other subjects of great importance to the shareholders, but of little interest to the general reader; we will therefore pass them all by and terminate our report of this meeting with the chairman's concluding remark, which was, that, out of the free revenue, after deduction of the dividends payable on guaranteed and preference stocks and other fixed charges, the directors recommended the payment of a dividend on the ordinary stock of six and a half per cent.

It need scarcely be said that this latter statement was received with hearty applause and with an irrepressible "he-ar, he-ar!" from the toady, which was not only tolerated by the meeting, but echoed by the wag in the distance, who, though his words that day had been few, had done the shareholders good service nevertheless, inasmuch as he had quelled, to some extent the propensities of a self-sufficient "bore."

Lest the reader should regard us as a statistical bore, we shall bring this chapter to a close.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

GERTIE IS MYSTERIOUSLY CARED FOR—SAM NATLY DINES UNDER DIFFICULTIES IN CONNEXION WITH THE BLOCK SYSTEM.

One day, not long after the half-yearly meeting described in the last chapter, Mrs Marrot—being at the time engaged with the baby—received a visit from an elderly gentleman, who introduced himself as a lawyer, and said that he had been sent by a client to make a proposal to her—

"Of course," he said, with a bland smile, "I do not refer to a matrimonial proposal."

Mrs Marrot felt and looked surprised, but waited for more in silence.

"To come to the point at once," continued the elderly gentleman, "my client, who is rather eccentric, has taken a great fancy, it seems, to your little daughter Gertrude—Gertie he calls her—and is desirous of giving her a good education, if you have no objection."