The Iron Horse by R. M. Ballantyne (any book recommendations txt) 📖

fearfully unlimited pace. Sam knew this too—indeed he knew, and was bound to know, every train that had to pass that station, up and down, during his period of duty. He therefore replied, sat down, had a bite or two, and sprang up when the whistle of the train was audible. There was longer delay this time, for the goods train had to stop, and be shunted, at this station. Moreover, another goods train that had quietly, but impatiently, been biding its time in a siding, thought it would try to take advantage of this opportunity, and gave an impatient whistle. Sam opened one of his sliding windows and looked out.

“Couldn’t you let me shunt over a truck t’other side now, Sam?” asked its driver remonstratively.

Sam glanced at his time-piece with an earnest thoughtful look, and said—

“Well, yes; but look sharp.”

He had already pulled the lever of the home signal, and now, with two mighty pulls, blocked both up and down lines with the distant signals. At the same time he pulled other levers, and shifted the “points,” so as to let the plethoric goods train just arrived, and the goods train in waiting, perform their respective evolutions. It required nearly all Sam’s strength to “pull over” several of those levers, because, besides being somewhat heavy to work, even at their best, several of them had got slightly out of order—wanted oiling, perhaps. It was quite evident to the meanest capacity that there was room for improvement in this department of the Grand National Trunk Railway. In performing this last operation Sam locked all the semaphores, and so rendered his part of the line absolutely impregnable. There was so much vigorous action and whistling here, and such puffing and backing and pushing on the part of the engines, that a superficial observer might have supposed there was a great deal of movement and confusion to no purpose, but we need scarcely say that such was not the case. Several trucks of goods were dropped by both trains, to be carried on by other trains, and several trucks that had been left by other trains, were taken up, and thus in a few minutes a part of the enormous traffic of the line was assorted.

Sam had judged his time well. He had got a good piece of work advanced, and both trains well out of the way, just before the bell again intimated the approach of the limited mail. He replied, set the line free, booked the passage of the goods train, and sat down once more to dinner, just as the door of his box opened and the pretty face of Gertie peeped in.

We are not sure that such a visit would be permitted in these days of stringent “rules;” at that time they may not have been very particular as to visitors, or perhaps Gertie, being one of themselves, as it were, was privileged. Be this as it may, there she was with a laughing face.

“May I come in, Sam?”

“May a cherub from the skies come in—yes,” replied Sam, rising and lifting Gertie in his strong arms until he could print a kiss on her forehead without stooping. “All well at home, Gertie?”

“Very well, thank you. We expect father home to tea.”

“I know that,” said Sam, sitting down at his small table and attempting dinner once again.

“How do you know that?” asked Gertie in surprise.

“’Cause I’ve got to pass him up wi’ the express in half-an-hour,” replied Sam, with his mouth full, “and, of course, he don’t prefer takin’ tea on the Lightenin’ with his mate Bill Garvie, w’en he’s got a chance o’ takin’ it wi’ his wife and a little angel, like you.”

“I wish you’d not talk nonsense, Sam,” remonstrated Gertie with a serious look.

“That ain’t nonsense,” said Sam, stoutly.

“Yes, it is,” said Gertie; “you know angels are good.”

“Well, and ain’t you good?” demanded the signalman, filling his mouth with a potato.

“Mother says I am, and I feel as if I was,” replied Gertie with much simplicity, “but you know angels are very very good, and, of course, I’m not near so good as them.”

“You are,” said Sam, with an obstinate snap at a piece of meat; “you’re better than any of ’em. You only want wings to be complete.”

Gertie laughed, and then remarked that Sam dined late, to which Sam replied that he did, that he preferred it, and that he didn’t see why gentlefolk should have that sort of fun all to themselves.

“What’s that?” exclaimed Gertie, as Sam dropped his knife and fork, rang his electric bell, and laid hold of a lever.

“The limited mail, my dear,” said Sam, as the train rushed by.

“Oh, how it shakes the house! I wonder it don’t fall,” exclaimed the child.

“It’s made to be well shaken, like a bottle o’ bad physic,” replied Sam, as he went through the various processes already described, before sitting down to finish his oft-interrupted meal.

“Do you always take your dinner in that uncomfortable way?” asked Gertie, sitting down on the chest and looking earnestly into the manly countenance of her friend.

“Mostly,” said Sam, at last finishing off with a draught of pure water, and smacking his lips.

“Sometimes it’s all I can do to get it eaten—other times I’m not so hard pressed, but it’s never got over without interruption, more or less.”

“Are breakfast and tea as bad?”

“Not quite,” replied Sam with a laugh; “about breakfast time the traffic ain’t quite so fast and furious, and I takes tea at home.”

“How long are you here at a time?” asked the inquisitive Gertie.

“Twelve hours, my dear, and no time allowed for meals.”

“Surely you must be very tired?”

“Sometimes, but they talk of shortening the hours soon. There’s a want of signalmen just now, that’s how it is. But what good fortune has sent you here this evenin’, Gertie?”

“I want to ask you about a ring, Sam.”

“A ring! What! you ain’t goin’ to get married already, are you?”

Gertie replied by bursting into a hearty fit of laughter; when she had sufficiently recovered her gravity, she revealed her troubles to the sympathising signalman.

“Well, it is a perplexin’ business. What was the old woman doin’ wi’ such a ring tied up in such a queer way?”

“I don’t know,” said Gertie.

“Well, it ain’t no business of mine, but we must try to git hold of it somehow. I’ll be off dooty at six, and your dad’ll be passin’ in a few minutes. After I’m free, I’ll go up to the shed and have a palaver with ’im. There he is.”

As he spoke the bell was rung by his signal-friend on the left replied to in the usual way, and in a few minutes the chimney of the Lightning was seen over the top of the embankment that hid a bend of the up-line from view.

“Put your head out here at this window, and be ready to wave your hand, Gertie,” said Sam, placing the child.

The “Flying Dutchman” came on in its wonted wild fashion, and for a few seconds Gertie saw her father’s bronzed and stern face as he looked straight ahead with his hand on the regulator. John Marrot cast one professional glance up, and gave a professional wave of his right hand to the signalman. At that instant his whole visage lighted up as if a beam of sunshine had suffused it, and his white teeth, uncovered by a smile, gleamed as he flew past and looked back. Gertie waved frantically with her kerchief, which flew from her hand and for some distance followed the train. In another moment the “Flying Dutchman” was a speck in the distance—its terrific crash suddenly reduced by distance to a low rumble.

“Evenin’, Jack,” said Sam, as his successor or comrade on the “night-shift” entered the box, “Come along now, Gertie. We’ll go and see your father. He’ll be up at the station in no time, and won’t take long to run back to the shed.”

So saying, Sam Natly assisted Gertie down the long iron ladder, by which his nest was reached, and walked with her to the engine-shed, which they soon reached. They had not waited long before John Marrot’s iron horse came panting slowly into its accustomed stable.

As there were at least twelve iron horses there in all stages of being-put-to-bedism, and some, like naughty boys, were blowing off their steam with absolutely appalling noise, it was next to impossible for Gertie and Sam to make known their difficulty to John. They therefore waited until he had seen his satellites in proper attendance upon his charger, and then left the shed along with him.

When the case was made known to John, he at once said, “Why didn’t they apply to the Clearin’ House, I wonder?”

“Ah, why not?” said Sam.

“Nurse doesn’t know about that place, I think,” suggested Gertie.

“Very likely not; but if she’d only gone an’ seen any one as know’d anything about the line, she’d have found it out. However, the parcel’s pretty sure to be somewhere, so I’ll set some inquiries a-foot w’en I goes up to town to-morrow. Good-night, Sam.”

“Good-night, John,” answered the signalman, as he turned off in the direction of his own dwelling, while the engine-driver and his little daughter pursued the footpath that led to their cottage.

Sam Natly’s residence was a very small one, for house-rent was high in that neighbourhood. There were only two rooms in it, but these two bore evidence of being tended by a thrifty housewife; and, truly, when Sam’s delicate, but partially recovered, wife met him at the door that night, and gave him a hearty kiss of welcome, no one with an atom of good taste could have avoided admitting that she was a remarkably pretty, as well as thrifty, little woman.

“You’re late to-night, Sam,” said little Mrs Natly.

“Yes, I’ve had to go to the shed to see John Marrot about a diamond ring.”

“A diamond ring!” exclaimed his wife.

“Yes, a diamond ring.”

Hereupon Sam related all he knew about the matter, and you may be sure the subject was quite sufficient to furnish ground for a very lively and speculative conversation, during the preparation and consumption of as nice a little hot supper, as any hard-worked signalman could desire.

“You’re tired, Sam,” said his little wife anxiously.

“Well, I am a bit. It’s no wonder, for it’s a pretty hard job to work them levers for twelve hours at a stretch without an interval, even for meals, but I’m gittin’ used to it—like the eels to bein’ skinned.”

“It’s a great shame of the Company,” cried Mrs Natly with indignation.

“Come, come,” cried Sam, “no treason! It ain’t such a shame as it looks. You see the Company have just bin introducin’ a noo system of signallin’, an’ they ha’n’t got enough of men who understand the thing to work it, d’ye see; so of course we’ve got to work double tides, as the Jack-tars say. If they continue to keep us at it like that I’ll say it’s a shame too, but we must give ’em time to git things into workin’ order. Besides, they’re hard-up just now. There’s a deal o’ money throw’d away by companies fightin’ an’ opposin’ one another—cuttin’ their own throats, I calls it—and they’re awful hard used by the public in the way o’ compensation too. It’s nothin’ short o’ plunder and robbery. If the public would claim moderately, and juries would judge fairly, an’ directors would fight less, shareholders would git higher dividends, the public would be better served, and railway servants would be less worked and better paid.”

“I don’t care two straws, Sam,” said little Mrs Natly with great firmness, “not two straws for their fightin’s, an’ joories, and davydens—all I know is that they’ve no right whatever to kill my ’usband, and it’s a great shame!”

With this noble sentiment the earnest little woman concluded the evening’s conversation, and allowed her wearied partner to retire to rest.