The Iron Horse, R. M. Ballantyne [howl and other poems .txt] 📗

he dropped at a certain hole-and-corner spot, while it was slowly passing the goods-shed before mentioned. From this spot he took an observation and saw the pipe of Jim, the night-watchman, glowing in the dark distance like a star of the first magnitude.

“Ha!” thought Mr Sharp, “smoking! You’ll have to clear your eyes of smoke if you hope to catch thieves to-night, my fine fellow; but I shall try to render you some able assistance.”

So thinking, he moved quietly about among the vans and trucks, stooping and climbing as occasion required, and doing it all so noiselessly that, had the night permitted him to be visible at all, he might have been mistaken for a stout shadow or a ghost. He went about somewhat like a retriever snuffing the air for game. At last he reached a truck, not very far from the place where Jim paced slowly to and fro, watching, no doubt, for thieves. Little did he think how near he was to a thief at that moment!

The truck beside which Mr Sharp stood sent forth a delicious odour of American apples. The superintendent of police smelt them. Worse than that—he undid a corner of the thick covering of the track, raised it and smelt again—he put in a hand. Evidently his powers of resistance to temptation were small, for both hands went in—he stooped his head, and then, slowly but surely, his whole body went in under the cover and disappeared. Infatuated superintendent! While he lay there gorging himself, no doubt with the dainty fruit, honest Jim paced slowly to and fro until, a very dark and quiet hour of the night having arrived, he deemed it time to act, put out his pipe, and moved with stealthy tread towards the apple-truck. There were no thieves about as far as he could see. He was placed there for the express purpose of catching thieves. Ridiculous waste of time and energy—he would make a thief! He would become one; he would detect and catch himself; repay himself with apples for his trouble, and enjoy himself consumedly! Noble idea! No sooner thought than carried into effect. He drew out a large clasp-knife, which opened and locked with a click, and cut a tremendous slash about two feet long in the cover of the truck—passing, in so doing, within an inch of the demoralised superintendent’s nose. Thieves, you see, are not particular, unless, indeed, we may regard them as particularly indifferent to the injuries they inflict on their fellow-men—but, what did we say? their fellow-men?—a railway is not a fellow-man. Surely Jim’s sin in robbing a railway must be regarded as a venial one. Honest men do that every day and appear to think nothing of it! Nobody appears to think anything of it. A railway would seem to be the one great unpardonable outlaw of the land, which does good to nobody, and is deemed fair game by everybody who can catch it—napping. But it is not easily caught napping. Neither was Mr Superintendent Sharp.

Jim’s hand came through the hole in the covering and entered some sort of receptacle, which must have been broken open by somebody, for the hand was quickly withdrawn with three apples in it. Again it entered. Mr Sharp might have kissed it easily, but he was a man of considerable self-restraint—at least when others were concerned. He thought it advisable that there should be some of the stolen goods found in Jim’s pockets! He did not touch the hand, therefore, while it was drawn back with other three apples in it. You see it was a large hand, and could hold three at a time. A third time it entered and grasped more of the forbidden fruit.

“There’s luck in odd numbers,” thought Mr Sharp, as he seized the wrist with both of his iron hands, and held it fast.

The appalling yell which Jim uttered was due more to superstitious dread than physical fear, for, on discovering that the voice which accompanied the grip was that of Mr Sharp, he struggled powerfully to get free. After the first violent effort was over, Mr Sharp suddenly slid one hand along Jim’s arm, caught him by the collar, and, launching himself through the hole which had been cut so conveniently large, plunged into Jim’s bosom and crushed him to the earth.

This was quite sufficient for Jim, who got up meekly when permitted, and pleaded for mercy. Mr Sharp told him that mercy was a commodity in which he did not deal, that it was the special perquisite of judges, from whom he might steal it if they would not give or sell it to him, and, bidding him come along quietly, led him to the station, and locked him up for the night.

Not satisfied with what he had already accomplished, Mr Sharp then returned to his office, where he found the faithful Blunt awaiting him, to whom he related briefly what he had done.

“Now,” said he, in conclusion, “if we can only manage to clear up that case of the beer-cask, we shall have done a good stroke of business to-day. Have you found out anything in regard to it?”

The case to which Mr Sharp referred was that of a cask of beer which had been stolen from the line at a station not three miles distant from Clatterby.

“Yes, sir,” said David Blunt with a satisfied smile, “I have found out enough to lead to the detection of the thief.”

“Indeed, who d’ye think it is?”

“One of the men at the station, sir. There have been two about it but the other is a stranger. You see, sir,” continued Blunt, with an earnest look, and in a business tone of voice, “when you sent me down to investigate the case I went d’rect to the station-master there and heard all he had to say about it—which wasn’t much;—then off I goes to where the truck was standin’, from which the cask had bin taken and pottered about there for some time. At last I tried on the Red Indian dodge—followed up tracks and signs, till at last I came upon a mark as if somethin’ had bin rolled along the bank, and soon traced it to a gap broken through a hedge into a field. I followed it up in the field, and in a short time came on the cask itself. Of course I made a careful examination of the locality, and found very distinct foot-prints, particularly one of ’em on a piece of clay as sharp as if it had been struck in wax. While thus engaged I found a shoe—”

“Ha!” exclaimed Mr Sharp.

“And here it is,” said Blunt taking the shoe from under his chair and laying it on the table.

The superintendent took it up, examined it and then replaced it on the table with a nod, saying, “Proceed.”

“Well, sir, of course I looked well for the other shoe, but didn’t find it; so I came away with what I had got, takin’ care to place a lump of a stone over the foot-print in the clay, so as to guard but not touch it,—for it wasn’t the print of this shoe, sir, though somewhat like it.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Mr Sharp again.

After revolving the matter in his mind for some minutes, and consulting with his satellite, Mr Sharp resolved to go down at once to the place and watch the beer-cask.

“It is not very late yet,” he said, “and these thirsty boys will be sure to want a drop of beer to their supper to-night. What makes you so sure that Bill Jones is the thief?”

“Because,” answered Blunt, “I observed that he was the only man at the station that had on a pair of new shoes!”

“Well, come along,” said Sharp, smiling grimly, “we shall find out before long.”

They soon reached the scene of the robbery, and were able to examine the place by the light of the moon, which had just managed to pierce the thick veil of clouds that had covered it during the earlier part of that night. Then they retired to a shady cavern, or hole, or hollow at the foot of the embankment, near to the gap in the hedge, and there they prepared to pass the night, with a heap of mingled clods and stones for their couch, and an overhanging bank of nettles for their canopy.

It was a long weary watch that began. There these patient men sat, hour after hour, gazing at the moon and stars till they almost fell asleep, and then entering into animated, though softly uttered, conversation until they roused themselves up. It was strange converse too, about struggles and fights with criminals and the detection of crime. But it was not all on such subjects. No, they forsook the professional path occasionally and strayed, as pleasantly as other men do, into the flowery lanes of social life—talking of friends, and wives, and children, and home, with as much pathos and tenderness as if their errand that night had been to succour some comrade in distress, instead of to watch like wolves, and pounce on unawares, and half throttle if need be, and bear off to punishment, an erring fellow-mortal.

But no fellow-mortal came that night to be thus pounced on, throttled, and borne off. When it became obvious that there was no use in remaining longer, Mr Sharp and his satellite returned to the office, and the former bade the latter go home for the night.

The satellite, thus set free, went home and set immediately—in his bed. The luminary himself postponed his setting for a time, put the thief’s shoe in his pocket and went straight to the residence of Bill Jones, which he reached shortly after the grey dawn had appeared. Here he found Bill in bed; but being peremptory in his demand for admission, Bill arose and let him in.

“You look rather pale this morning, Bill?”

“Bin at work late, sir,” said Bill uneasily, observing that the superintendent was casting an earnest glance all round his room.

Jones was a bachelor, so there wasn’t much of any kind to look at in the room.

“You’ve been treating yourself to a new pair of shoes, I see, Jones, what have you done with the old ones?”

“I—they’re worn-out, sir—I—”

“Yes, I see—ah! here is one of them,” said Mr Sharp, drawing an old shoe out of a corner; “you don’t require to look for the other, I’ve got it here,” he added, drawing its fellow from his pocket.

Jones stood aghast.

“Look here, Jones,” said Mr Sharp, gazing sternly into the culprit’s face, “you needn’t trouble yourself to deny the theft. I haven’t yet looked at the sole of this shoe, but I’ll engage to tell how many tackets are in it. We have discovered a little lump of clay down near the station, with a perfect impression of a sole having fifteen tackets therein,—three being wanting on the right, side, two on the left, and one at the toe—now, let us see,” he said, turning it up, “am I not a good prophet eh?”

Bill gave in at once! He not only made “a clean breast of it,” but also gave information that led to the capture of his accomplice before that day’s sun went down, and before Mr Sharp allowed himself to go to bed.

Thus did our superintendent winnow the chaff from the wheat continually.

Now, dear reader, do not say, “From all this it would appear that railway servants must be a bad lot of men!” It would be a thousand pities to fail into such an error, when we are labouring to prove to you the very reverse, namely, that the bad ones being continually and well “looked after,” none but the good are left. Our aim necessarily involves that we should dilate much on evil, so that the evil unavoidably bulks large in your eyes; but if we were capable of laying before you all the good that is done, felt and said by the thousands of our