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

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 extemporising 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 mêlée.

“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,