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

The plans of nurses, not less than those of mice and men, are apt to get into disorder. Mrs Durby having packed up the diamond ring in the careful manner which we have described in a previous chapter, essayed to get ready for her important journey to London on pawning purposes intent, but she found that there were so many little preparations to make, both in regard to her own toilette and to the arrangements of Mrs Tipps’ establishment, in prospect of its being left without its first mate for a time, that a considerable period elapsed before she got her anchor tripped and herself ready to set sail with the first fair wind. Worthy Mrs Durby, we may observe, was fond of quoting the late captain’s phraseology. She was an affectionate creature, and liked to recall his memory in this somewhat peculiar fashion.

In anticipation of this journey, Netta went one evening, in company with Emma Lee, to pay Mrs John Marrot a friendly visit, ostensibly for the purpose of inquiring after the health of baby Marrot, who, having recently fallen down-stairs, swallowed a brass button and eaten an unknown quantity of shoe-blacking, had been somewhat ailing. The real object of the visit however, was to ask Mrs Marrot to beg of her husband to take a special interest in Mrs Durby on her journey, as that excellent nurse had made up her mind to go by the train which he drove, feeling assured that if safety by rail was attainable at all, it must be by having a friend at court—a good and true man at the helm, so to speak.

“But la, Miss!” said Mrs Marrot, sitting on the bed and patting the baby, whose ruling passion, mischief, could not be disguised even in distress, seeing that it gleamed from his glassy eyes and issued in intermittent yells from his fevered throat, “if your nurse is of a narvish temperment she’d better not go with my John, ’cause he usually drives the Flyin’ Dutchman.”

“Indeed!” said Netta, with a puzzled smile; “and pray, what is the Flyin’ Dutchman?”

A yell and a glare from baby interrupted the reply. At the same instant the 7:45 p.m. express flew past with a roar, which was intensified by the whistle into a shriek as it neared the station. The house trembled as usual. Netta, not unnaturally, shuddered.

“Don’t be alarmed, Miss, it’s only the express.”

“Do expresses often pass your cottage in that way?” asked Netta, with a touch of pity.

“Bless you, yes, Miss; they’re always passin’ day and night continooly; but we don’t think nothink of it. We’ve got used to it now.”

“Does it not disturb you at night?” asked Emma Lee in some surprise.

“No, Miss, it don’t—not in the least. No doubt it sometimes do influence our dreams, if I may say so. As my son Bob says—he’s a humorous boy is my Bob, Miss—he says, says he, the trains can’t awaken us, but they do awaken noo trains of ideas, especially w’en they stops right opposite the winder an’ blows off steam, or whistles like mad for five minutes at a time. I sometimes think that Bob is right, an’ that’s w’y baby have took to yellin’ an’ mischief with such a ’igh ’and. They do say that a man is knowd by the company he keeps, and I’m sure it’s no wonder that baby should screech an’ smash as he do, considerin’ the example set ’im day an’ night by them ingines.”

Here another yell from baby gave, as it were, assent to these opinions.

“But, as I was sayin’,” continued Mrs Marrot, “the Flyin’ Dutchman is the name that my ’usband’s train goes by, ’cause it is the fastest train in the kingdom—so they say. It goes at the rate of over sixty miles an hour, an’ ain’t just quite the train for people as is narvish—though my ’usband do say it ain’t more dangerous than other trains—not s’much so, indeed, wich I believe myself, for there ain’t nothink ’appened to my John all the eight years he have drove it.”

“Is sixty miles an hour very much faster than the rate of ordinary trains?” asked Emma.

“W’y, yes, Miss. Or’nary trains they run between twenty and forty miles an hour, though sometimes in goin’ down inclines they git up to fifty; but my ’usband averages sixty miles an hour, an’ on some parts o’ the line ’e gits up the speed to sixty-five an’ siventy. For my own part I’m quite hignorant of these things. To my mind all the ingines seem to go bangin’ an’ rushin’ an’ yellin’ about pretty much in the same furious way; but I’ve often ’eard my ’usband explain it all, an’ he knows all about it Miss, just as if it wor A, B, C.”

Having discussed such matters a little longer, and entered with genuine sympathy into the physical and mental condition of baby, Netta finally arranged that her old nurse should go by the Flying Dutchman, seeing that she would be unable to distinguish the difference of speed between one train and another, while her mind would be at rest, if she knew herself to be under the care of a man, in whom she could trust.

“Well, Miss, I dessay it won’t much matter,” said Mrs Marrot, endeavouring to soothe the baby, in whom the button or the blacking appeared to be creating dire havoc; “but of course my ’usband can’t attend to ’er ’isself, not bein’ allowed to attend to nothink but ’is ingine. But he’ll put ’er in charge of the guard, who is a very ’andsome man, and uncommon polite to ladies. Stay, I’ll speak to Willum Garvie about it now,” said Mrs Marrot, rising; “he’s in the garding be’ind.”

“Pray don’t call him in,” said Netta, rising quickly; “we will go down to him. I should like much to see your garden.”

“You’ll find my Loo there, too,” said Mrs Marrot with a motherly smile, as she opened the door to let her visitors out. “You’ll excuse me not goin’ hout. I dursn’t leave that baby for a minute. He’d be over the—there he—”

The sentence was cut short by a yell, followed by a heavy bump, and the door shut with a bang, which sent Emma and her friend round the corner of the house in a highly amused frame of mind.

John Marrot’s garden was a small one—so small that the break-van of his own “Flyin’ Dutchman” could have contained it easily—but it was not too small to present a luxuriance, fertility, and brilliance of colour that was absolutely magnificent! Surrounded as that garden was by “ballast” from the embankment, broken wheels and rail, bricks and stones, and other miscellaneous refuse and débris of the line, it could only be compared to an oasis in the desert, or a bright gem on a rugged warrior’s breast. This garden owed its origin to Lucy Marrot’s love for flowers, and it owed much of its magnificence to Will Garvie’s love for Lucy; for that amiable fireman spent much of his small wage in purchasing seed and other things for the improvement of that garden, and spent the very few hours of his life, not claimed by the inexorable iron horse, in assisting to cultivate the same.

We use the word ‘assisting’ advisedly, because Loo would not hear of his taking this sort of work out of her hands. She was far too fond of it to permit that, but she had no objection whatever to his assistance. There never was, so Will and Loo thought, anything like the love which these two bore to each other. Extremes meet, undoubtedly. Their love was so intensely matter of fact and earnest that it rose high above the region of romance, in which lower region so many of our race do delight to coo and sigh. There was no nonsense about it. Will Garvie, who was naturally bold—no wonder, considering his meteor-like style of life—saw all the flowers in the garden as well as any other man, and admired them more than most men, but he said gravely that he wouldn’t give the end of a cracked boiler-tube for the whole garden, if she were not in the midst of it. At which Loo laughed heartily, and blushed with pleasure, and made no other reply.

It was quite delightful to observe the earnestness with which these two devoted themselves to the training of honeysuckle and jessamine over a trellis-work porch in that preposterously small garden, in which there was such a wealth of sweet peas, and roses, and marigolds, and mignonette, and scarlet geraniums, and delicately-coloured heliotropes, that it seemed as though they were making love in the midst of a glowing furnace. Gertie was there too, like a small female Cupid nestling among the flowers.

“A miniature paradise,” whispered Emma, with twinkling eyes, as they approached the unconscious pair.

“Yes, with Adam and Eve training the flowers,” responded Netta quite earnestly.

Adam making love in the fustian costume of the fireman of the “Flying Dutchman” was an idea which must have struck Emma in some fashion, for she found it difficult to command her features when introduced to the inhabitants of that little Eden by her friend.

“I have called to tell Mrs Marrot,” said Netta, “that my old nurse, Mrs Durby, is going to London soon, and that I wished your father to take a sort of charge of her, more for the sake of making her feel at ease than anything else.”

“I’m quite sure he will be delighted to do that,” said Loo; “won’t he, Will?”

“Why, yes,” replied the fireman, “your father is not the man to see a woman in distress and stand by. He’ll give her in charge of the guard, for you see, ma’am, he’s not allowed to leave his engine.” Will addressed the latter part of his remarks to Netta.

“That is just what Mrs Marrot said, and that will do equally well. Would you like to travel on the railway, Gertie?” said Netta, observing that the child was gazing up in her face with large earnest eyes.

“No,” answered Gertie, with decision.

“No; why not?”

“Because it takes father too often away, and once it nearly killed him,” said Gertie.

“Ah, that was the time that my own dear mother received such a shock, I suppose?”

“No, ma’am,” said Will Garvie, “Gertie is thinkin’ of another time, when Jack Marrot was drivin’ an excursion train—not three years gone by, and he ran into a lot of empty trucks that had broke loose from a train in advance. They turned the engine off the rails, and it ran down an embankment into a ploughed field, where it turned right over on the top of Jack. Fortunately he fell between the funnel and the steam-dome, which was the means of savin’ his life; but he got a bad shake, and was off duty some six or eight weeks. The fireman escaped without a scratch, and, as the coupling of the leading carriage broke, the train didn’t leave the metals, and no serious damage was done to any one else. I think our Gertie,” continued Will, laying his big strong hand gently on the child’s head, “seems to have taken an ill-will to railways since then.”

“I’m not surprised to hear it,” observed Emma Lee, as she bent down and kissed Gertie’s forehead. “I have once been in a railway accident myself, and I share your dislike; but I fear that we couldn’t get on well without them now, so you and I must be content to tolerate them, Gertie.”

“I s’pose so,” was Gertie’s quiet response, delivered, much to