The Iron Horse, Robert Michael Ballantyne [good ebook reader .TXT] 📗

No bones had been broken, or limbs lost, but John had received a shake so bad that he did not resume his duties with the same vigour as heretofore. He continued to stick to his post, however, for several years, and, before giving it up, had the pleasure of training his son Bob in the situation which Garvie had been obliged to resign. Bob's heart you see, had been all along set on driving the _Lightning_; he therefore gladly left the "Works" when old enough,--and when the opportunity offered,--to fill the preliminary post of fireman.

During this period Edwin Gurwood rose to a responsible and sufficiently lucrative situation in the Clearing-House. At the same time he employed much of his leisure in cultivating the art of painting, of which he was passionately fond. At first he painted for pleasure, but he soon found, on exhibiting one or two of his works, that picture-dealers were willing to purchase from him. He therefore began to paint for profit, and succeeded so well that he began to save and lay by money, with a view to that wife with the nut-brown hair and the large lustrous eyes, who haunted his dreams by night and became his guiding-star by day.

Seeing him thus wholly immersed in the acquisition of money, and not knowing his motive, his faithful little friend Joe Tipps one day amazed, and half-offended him, by reminding him that he had a soul to be cared for as well as a body. The arrow was tenderly shot, and with a trembling hand, but Joe prayed that it might be sent home, and it was. From that date Edwin could not rest. He reviewed his life. He reflected that everything he possessed, or hoped for, came to him, or was to come, from God; yet as far as he could make out he saw no evidence of the existence of religion in himself save in the one fact that he went regularly to church on Sundays. He resolved to turn over a new leaf. Tried--and failed. He was perplexed, for he had tried honestly.

"Tipps," he said, one day, "you are the only man I ever could make a confidant of. To say truth I'm not given to being very communicative as to personal matters at any time, but I _must_ tell you that the remark you made about my soul the other day has stuck to me, and I have tried to lead a Christian life, but without much success."

"Perhaps," said Tipps, timidly, "it is because you have not yet become a Christian."

"My _dear_ fellow!" exclaimed Edwin, "is not leading a Christian life becoming a Christian?"

"Don't you think," said Tipps, in an apologetic tone, "that leading a Christian life is rather the result of having become a Christian? It seems to me that you have been taking the plan of putting yourself and your doings first, and our Saviour last."

We need not prolong a conversation referring to the "old, old story," which ran very much in the usual groove. Suffice it to say that Edwin at last carefully consulted the Bible as to the plan of redemption; and, in believing, found that rest of spirit which he had failed to work out. Thenceforward he had a higher motive for labouring at his daily toil, yet the old motive did not lose but rather gained in power by the change--whereby he realised the truth that, "godliness is profitable for the life that now is as well as that which is to come."

At last the painting became so successful that Edwin resolved to trust to it alone--said good-bye to the Clearing-House with regret--for he left many a pleasant companion and several intimate friends behind him-- and went to Clatterby, in the suburbs of which he took and furnished a small villa.

Then it was that he came to the conclusion that the time had arrived to make a pointed appeal to the nut-brown hair and lustrous eyes. He went off and called at Captain Lee's house accordingly. The captain was out--Miss Lee was at home. Edwin entered the house, but he left all his native courage and self-possession on the doorstep outside!

Being ushered into the drawing-room he found Emma reading. From that moment--to his own surprise, and according to his own statement--he became an ass! The metamorphosis was complete. Ovid, had he been alive, would have rejoiced in it! He blushed more than a poor boy caught in his first grievous offence. The very straightforwardness of his character helped to make him worse. He felt, in all its importance, the momentous character of the step he was about to take, and he felt in all its strength the love with which his heart was full, and the inestimable value of the prize at which he aimed. No wonder that he was overwhelmed.

The reader will observe that we have not attempted to dilate in this book on the value of that prize. Emma, like many other good people, is only incidental to our subject. We have been obliged to leave her to the reader's imagination. After all, what better could we have done? Imagination is more powerful in this matter than description. Neither one nor other could, we felt, approach the reality, therefore imagination was best.

"Emma!" he said, sitting down on the sofa beside her, and seizing her hand in both of his.

"Mr Gurwood!" she exclaimed in some alarm.

Beginning, from the mere force of habit, some half-delirious reference to the weather, Edwin suddenly stopped, passed his fingers wildly through his hair, and again said, with deep earnestness,--"Emma."

Emma looked down, blushed, and said nothing.

"Emma," he said again, "my good angel, my guiding-star--by night and by day--for years I have--"

At that moment Captain Lee entered the room.

Edwin leaped up and stood erect. Emma buried her face in the sofa cushions.

"Edwin--Mr Gurwood!" exclaimed Captain Lee.

This was the beginning of a conversation which terminated eventually in the transference of the nut-brown hair and lustrous eyes to the artist's villa in Clatterby. As there was a good garden round the villa, and the wife with nut-brown hair was uncommonly fond of flowers, Edwin looked out for a gardener. It was at this identical time that John Marrot resolved to resign his situation as engine-driver on the Grand National Trunk Railway. Edwin, knowing that he had imbibed a considerable amount of knowledge of gardening from Loo, at once offered to employ him as his gardener; John gladly closed with the offer, and thus it came about that he and his wife removed to the villa and left their old railway-ridden cottage in possession of Will and Loo--or, to be more correct, Mr and Mrs Garvie, and all the young Garvies.

But what of timid Mrs Tipps? The great accident did little for her beyond shaking her nervous system, and confirming her in the belief that railways were unutterably detestable; that she was not quite sure whether or not they were sinful; that, come what might, she never would enter one again; and that she felt convinced she had been born a hundred years too late, in which latter opinion most of her friends agreed with her, although they were glad, considering her loveable disposition, that the mistake had occurred. Netta did not take quite such an extreme view, and Joseph laughed at and quizzed them both, in an amiable sort of fashion, on their views.

Among all the sufferers by that accident few suffered so severely--with the exception: of course, of those who lost their lives--as the Grand National Trunk Railway itself. In the course of the trials that followed, it was clearly shown that the company had run the train much more with the view of gratifying the public than of enriching their coffers, from the fact that the utmost possible sum which they could hope to draw by it was 17 pounds, for which sum they had carried 600 passengers upwards of twenty miles. The accident took place in consequence of circumstances over which the company had no control, and the results were--that twenty persons were killed and about two hundred wounded! that one hundred and sixty claims were made for compensation-- one hundred and forty of which, being deemed exorbitant or fraudulent, were defended in court; and that, eventually, the company had to pay from seventy to eighty thousand pounds! out of which the highest sum paid to one individual was 6750 pounds! The risks that are thus run by railway companies will be seen to be excessive, especially when it is considered that excursion trains afford but slight remuneration, while many of them convey enormous numbers of passengers. On the occasion of the first excursion from Oxford to London, in 1851, fifty-two of the broad-gauge carriages of the Great Western were employed, and the excursionists numbered upwards of three thousand five hundred--a very town on wheels! Truly the risks of railway companies are great, and their punishments severe.


CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.


THE LAST.

A certain Christmas-day approached. On the morning of the day preceding, Will Garvie--looking as broad and sturdy as ever; a perfect man, but for the empty sleeve--stood at his post near his sentry-box. His duties that day were severe. At that season of the year there is a great increase of traffic on all railways, and you may be sure that the Grand National Trunk Railway had its full share.

On ordinary occasions about three hundred trains passed Will Garvie's box, out and in, during the twelve hours, but that day there had been nearly double the number of passengers, and a considerable increase in the number of trains that conveyed them, while goods trains had also increased greatly in bulk and in numbers.

Garvie's box abutted on a bridge, and stood in the very midst of a labyrinth of intricate crossing lines, over which trains and pilot-engines were constantly rushing and hissing, backing and whistling viciously, and in the midst of which, Will moved at the continual risk of his life, as cool as a cucumber (so Bob Garvie expressed it), and as safe as the bank.

Although thus situated in the midst of smoke, noise, dust, iron, and steam, Will Garvie managed to indulge his love for flowers. He had a garden on the line--between the very rails! It was not large, to be sure, only about six feet by two--but it was large enough for his limited desires. The garden was in a wooden trough in front of his sentry-box. It contained mignonette, roses, and heart's-ease among other things, and every time that Will passed out of or into his box in performing the duties connected with the station, he took a look at the flowers and thought of Loo and the innumerable boys, girls, and babies at home. We need not say that this garden was beautifully kept. Whatever Will did he did well--probably because he tended well the garden of his own soul.

While he was standing outside his box during one of the brief intervals between trains, an extremely beautiful girl came on the platform and called across the rails to him.

"Hallo! Gertie--what brings _you_ here?" he asked, with a look of glad surprise.

"To see _you_," replied Gertie, with a smile that was nothing short of bewitching.

"How I wish you were a flower, that I might plant you in my garden," said the gallant William, as he