Part 17

“Mr. Hammill said it certainly was a most extraordinary proceeding for anyone to adopt, and after the learned gentleman’s statement he had no hesitation whatever in granting summonses against the whole of the persons engaged in it.”

A.B.C. AND D.E.F.

A gentleman travelling in a railway carriage was endeavouring, with considerable earnestness, to impress some argument upon a fellow-traveller who was seated opposite to him, and who appeared rather dull of apprehension. At length, being slightly irritated, he exclaimed in a louder tone, “Why, sir, it’s as plain as A.B.C.” “That may be,” quietly replied the other, “but I am D.E.F.”

NATIONAL CONTRAST.

The contrast which exists between the character of the French and English navvy may be briefly exemplified by the following trifling anecdote:—

“In excavating a portion of the first tunnel east of Rouen towards Paris, a French miner dressed in his blouse, and an English “navvy” in his white smock jacket, were suddenly buried alive together by the falling in of the earth behind them. Notwithstanding the violent commotion which the intelligence of the accident excited above ground, Mr. Meek, the English engineer who was constructing the work, after having quietly measured the distance from the shaft to the sunken ground, satisfied himself that if the men, at the moment of the accident, were at the head of “the drift” at which they were working, they would be safe.

Accordingly, getting together as many French and English labourers as he could collect, he instantly commenced sinking a shaft, which was accomplished to the depth of 50 feet in the extraordinary short space of eleven hours, and the men were thus brought up to the surface alive.

The Frenchman, on reaching the top, suddenly rushing forward, hugged and saluted on both cheeks his friends and acquaintances, many of whom had assembled, and then, almost instantly overpowered by conflicting feelings—by the recollection of the endless time he had been imprisoned and by the joy of his release—he sat down on a log of timber, and, putting both his hands before his face, he began to cry aloud most bitterly.

The English “navvy” sat himself down on the very same piece of timber—took his pit-cap off his head—slowly wiped with it the perspiration from his hair and face—and then, looking for some seconds into the hole or shaft close beside him through which he had been lifted, as if he were calculating the number of cubic yards that had been excavated, he quite coolly, in broad Lancashire dialect, said to the crowd of French and English who were staring at him, as children and nursery-maids in our London Zoological Gardens stand gazing half-terrified at the white bear, “YAW’VE BEAN A DARMNATION SHORT TOIME ABAAOWT IT!”

Sir F. Head’s _Stokers and Pokers_.

REMARKABLE ACCIDENT.

The most remarkable railway accident on record happened some years ago on the North-Western road between London and Liverpool. A gentleman and his wife were travelling in a compartment alone, when—the train going at the rate of forty miles an hour—an iron rail projecting from a car on a side-track cut into the carriage and took the head of the lady clear off, and rolled it into the husband’s lap. He subsequently sued the company for damages, and created great surprise in court by giving his age at thirty-six years, although his hair was snow white. It had been turned from jet black by the horror of that event.

ENGINEERING LOAN, OR STAKING OUT A RAILWAY.

“Beau” Caldwell was a sporting genius of an extremely versatile character. Like all his fraternity, he was possessed of a pliancy of adaptation to circumstances that enabled him to succumb with true philosophy to misfortunes, and also to grace the more exalted sphere of prosperity with that natural ease attributed to gentlemen with bloated bank accounts.

Fertile in ingenuity and resources, Beau was rarely at his wit’s end for that nest egg of the gambler, a stake. His providence, when in luck, was such as to keep him continually on the _qui vive_ for a nucleus to build upon.

Beau, having exhausted the pockets and liberality of his contemporaries in Charleston, S.C., was constrained to “pitch his tent” in fresh pastures. He therefore selected Abbeville, whither he was immediately expedited by the agency of a “free pass.”

Snugly ensconced in his hotel, Beau ruminated over the means to raise the “plate.” The bar-keeper was assailed, but he was discovered to have scruples (anomalous barkeeper!) The landlord was a “grum wretch,” with no soul for speculation. The cornered “sport” was finally reduced to the alternative of “confidence of operation.” Having arranged his scheme, he rented him a precious negro boy, and borrowed an old theodolite. Thus equipped, Beau betook himself to the abode of a neighbouring planter, notorious for his wealth, obstinacy, and ignorance. Operations were commenced by sending the nigger into the planter’s barn-yard with a flagpole. Beau got himself up into a charming tableau, directly in front of the house. He now roared at the top of his voice, “72,000,000—51—8—11.”

After which he went to driving small stakes, in a very promiscuous manner, about the premises.

The planter hearing the shouting, and curious to ascertain the cause, put his head out of the window.

“Now,” said Beau, again assuming his civil engineering _pose_, “go to the right a little further—there, that’ll do. 47,000—92—5.”

“What the d---l are you doing in my barn-yard?” roared the planter.

Beau would not consent to answer this interrogation, but pursuing his business, hallooed out to his “nigger”—

“Now go to the house, place your pole against the kitchen door, higher—stop at that. 86—45—6.”

“I say there,” again vociferated the planter, “get out of my yard.”

“I’m afraid we will have to go right through the house,” soliloquized Beau.

“I’m d--d if you do,” exclaimed the planter.

Beau now looked up for the first time, accosting the planter with a courteous—

“Good day, sir.”

“Good d---l, sir; you are committing a trespass.”

“My dear friend,” replied Beau, “public duty, imperative—no trespass—surveying railroad—State job—your house in the way. Must take off one corner, sir,—the kitchen part—least value—leave the parlour—delightful room to see the cars rush by twelve times a day—make you accessible to market.”

Beau, turning to the nigger, cried out—

“Put the pole against the kitchen door again—so, 85.”

“I say, stranger,” interrupted the planter, “I guess you ain’t dined. As dinner’s up, suppose you come in, and we’ll talk the matter over.”

Beau, delighted with the proposition, immediately acceded, not having tasted cooked provisions that day.

“Now,” said the planter, while Beau was paying marked attention to a young turkey, “it’s mighty inconvenient to have one’s homestead smashed up, without so much as asking the liberty. And more than that, if there’s law to be had, it shan’t be did either.”

“Pooh! nonsense, my dear friend,” replied Beau, “it’s the law that says the railroad must be laid through kitchens. Why, we have gone through seventeen kitchens and eight parlours in the last eight miles—people don’t like it, but then it’s law, and there’s no alternative, except the party persuades the surveyor to move a little to the left, and as curves costs money most folks let it go through the kitchen.”

“Cost something, eh?” said the planter, eagerly catching at the bait thrown out for him. “Would not mind a trifle. You see I don’t oppose the road, but if you’ll turn to the left and it won’t be much expense, why I’ll stand it.”

“Let me see,” said Beau, counting his fingers, “forty and forty is eighty, and one hundred. Yes, two hundred dollars will do it.” Unrolling a large map, intersected with lines running in every direction, he continued—“There is your house, and here’s the road. Air line. You see to move to the left we must excavate this hill. As we are desirous of retaining the goodwill of parties residing on the route, I’ll agree on the part of the company to secure the alteration, and prevent your house from being molested.”

The planter revolved the matter in his mind for a moment and exclaimed:—

“You’ll guarantee the alteration?”

“Give a written document.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

The planter without more delay gave Beau an order on his city factor for the stipulated sum, and received in exchange a written document, guaranteeing the freedom of the kitchen from any encroachment by the C. L. R. R. Co.

Before leaving, Beau took the planter on one side and requested him not to disclose their bargain until after the railroad was built.

“You see, it mightn’t exactly suit the views of some people—partiality, you know.”

The last remark, accompanied by a suggestive wink, was returned by the planter in a similar demonstration of _owlishness_.

Beau resumed his theodolite, drove a few stakes on the hill opposite, and proceeded onward in the fulfilment of his duties. As his light figure receded into obscurity and the distance, the planter caught a sound vastly like 40—40—120—200.—And that was the last he ever heard of the railroad.

_Appleton’s American Railway Anecdote Book_.

MR. FRANK BUCKLAND’S FIRST RAILWAY JOURNEY.

Mr. Spencer Walpole remarks:—“Of Mr. Buckland’s Christ Church days many good stories are told. Almost every one has heard of the bear which he kept at his rooms, of its misdemeanours, and its rustication. Less familiar, perhaps, is the story of his first journey by the Great Western. The dons, alarmed at the possible consequences of a railway to London, would not allow Brunel to bring the line nearer than to Didcot. Dean Buckland in vain protested against the folly of this decision, and the line was kept out of harm’s way at Didcot. But, the very day on which it was opened, Mr. Frank Buckland, with one or two other undergraduates, drove over to Didcot, travelled up to London, and returned in time to fulfil all the regulations of the university. The Dean, who was probably not altogether displeased at the joke, told the story to his friends who had prided themselves in keeping the line from Oxford. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘you have deprived us of the advantage of a railway, and my son has been up to London.’”

SCENE BEFORE A SUB-COMMITTEE ON STANDING ORDERS. PETITIONING AGAINST A RAILWAY BILL, 1846.

“Well, Snooks,” began the Agent for the Promoters, in cross-examination, “you signed the petition against the Bill—aye?”

“Yees, zur. I zined summit, zur.”

“But that petition—did you sign that petition?”

“I do’ant nar, zur; I zined zummit, zur.”

“But don’t you know the contents of the petition?”

“The what, zur?”

“The contents; what’s in it.”

“Oa! Noa, zur.”

“You don’t know what’s in the petition!—Why, ain’t you the petitioner himself?”

“Noa, zur, I doan’t nar that I be, zur.”

[“Snooks! Snooks! Snooks!” issued a voice from a stout and benevolent-looking elderly gentleman from behind, “how can you say so, Snooks? It’s your petition.” The prompting, however, seemed to produce but little impression upon him for whom it was intended, whatever effect it may have had upon the minds of those whose ears it reached, but for whose service it was not intended].

“Really, Mr. Chairman,” observed the Agent for the Bill, who appeared to have no idea of _Burking_ the inquiry, “this is growing interesting.”

“The interest is all on your side,” remarked the Agent for the petition (against the Bill).

“Now, Snooks,” continued the Agent for the Bill, “apply your mind to the questions I shall put to you, and let me caution you to reply to them truly and honestly. Now, tell me—who got you to sign this petition?”

“I object to the question,” interposed the Agent for the petition. “The matter altogether is descending into mean, trivial, and unnecessary details, which I am surprised my friend opposite should attempt to trouble the Committee with.”

“I can readily understand, sir,” replied the other, “why my friend is so anxious to get rid of this inquiry—simple and short as it will be; but I trust, sir, that you will consider it of sufficient importance to allow it to proceed. I purpose to put only a few questions more on this extraordinary petition against the Bill (the bare meaning of the name of which the petitioner does not seem to understand) for the purpose of eliciting some further information respecting it.”

The Committee being thus appealed to by both parties, inclined their heads for a few moments in order to facilitate a communication in whispers, and then decided that the inquiry might proceed. It was evident that the matter had excited an interest in the minds and breasts of the honourable members of the Committee; created as much perhaps by the extreme mean and poverty-stricken appearance of the witness—a miserable, dirty, and decrepit old man—as by the disclosures he had already made.

“Well, Snooks, I was about to ask you (when my friend interrupted me) who got you to sign the petition, or that zummit as you call it?”

“Some genelmen, zur.”

“Who were they—do you know their names?”

“Noa, zur, co’ant say I do nar ’em a’, zur.”

“But do you know any of them, was that gentleman behind you one?”

[The gentleman referred to was the fine benevolent-looking individual who had previously kindly endeavoured to assist the witness in his answers, and who stood the present scrutiny with marked composure and complaisance].

“Yees, zur, he war one on ’em.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Noa, zur, I doant; but he be one of the railway genelmen.”

“What did he say to you, when he requested you to sign the petition?”

“He said I ware to zine (pointing to the petition) that zummit.”

“When and where, pray, did you sign it?”

“A lot o’ railway genelmen kum to me on Sunday night last; and they wo’ make me do it, zur.”

“On Sunday night last, aye!”

“What, on Sunday night!” exclaimed one honourable member on the extreme right of the Chairman, with horror depicted on his countenance; “are you sure, witness, that it was done in the evening of a Sabbath?”

“The honourable member asks you, whether you are certain that you were called upon by the railway gentlemen to sign the petition on a Sunday evening? I think you told me last Sunday evening.”

“Oa, yees, zur; they kum just as we war a garing to chapel.”

“Disgraceful, and wrong in the extreme!” ejaculated the honourable member.

“And did not that gentleman” (continued the Agent for the Bill), “nor any of the railway gentlemen, as you call them, when they requested you to sign, explain the nature and contents of the petition?”

“Noa, zur.”

“Then you don’t know at this moment what it’s for?”

“Noa, zur.”

“Of course, therefore, it’s not your petition as set forth?”

“I doant nar, zur. I zined zummit.”

“Now, answer me, do you object to this line of railway? Have you any dislike to it?”

“O, noa, zur. I shud loak to zee it kum.”

“Exactly, you should like to see it made. So you have been led to petition against it, though you are favourable to it?”

The petitioner against the Bill did not appear to comprehend the precise drift of the remark, and his only reply to the wordy fix into which the learned agent had drawn him was made in the dumb-show of scratching with his one disengaged hand (the other being employed in holding his hat) his uncombed head—an operation that created much laughter, which was not damped by the Agent’s putting, with a serious face, a concluding question or remark to him to the effect that he presumed he (the witness) had not paid, or engaged to pay, so many guineas a day to his friend on the other side for the prosecution of the opposition against the Bill—had he; yes, or no? The witness’s appearance was the only and best answer.

The petition, of course, upon this _exposé_, was withdrawn.

This, the substance of what actually took place before one of the Sub-Committees on Standing orders will give some idea of the nature of many of the petitions against Railway Bills, especially on technical points. It will serve to show in some measure what heartless mockeries these petitions mostly are; the moral evils they give birth to—and that, even while complaining of errors, they are themselves made up of falsehood.

AN IDEA ON RAILWAYS.

A happy comment on the annihilation of time and space by locomotive agency, is as follows:—A little child who rode fifty miles in a railway train, and then took a coach to her uncle’s house, some five miles further, was asked on her arrival if she came by the cars. “We came a little way in the cars, and all the rest of the way in a carriage.”

BURNING THE ROAD CLEAR.

It is related of Colonel Thomas A. Scott, that on one occasion, when making one of his swift trips over the American lines under his control, his train was stopped by the wreck of a goods train. There was a dozen heavily loaded covered trucks piled up on the road, and it would take a long time to get help from the nearest accessible point, and probably hours more to get the track cleared by mere force of labour. He surveyed the difficulty, made a rough calculation of the cost of a total destruction of the freight, and promptly made up his mind to burn the road clear. By the time the relief train came the flames had done their work and nothing remained but to patch up a few injuries done to the track so as to enable him to pursue his way.

HARSH TREATMENT OF A MAN OF COLOUR.

My treatment in the use of public conveyances about these times was extremely rough, especially on “The Eastern Railroad,” from Boston to Portland. On the road, as on many others, there was a mean, dirty, and uncomfortable car set apart for coloured travellers, called the “Jim Crow” car. Regarding this as the fruit of slaveholding prejudice, and being determined to fight the spirit of slavery wherever I might find it, I resolved to avoid this car, though it sometimes required some courage to do so. The coloured people generally accepted the situation, and complained of me as making matters worse rather than better, by refusing to submit to this proscription. I, however, persisted, and sometimes was soundly beaten by the conductor and brakeman. On one occasion, six of these “fellows of the baser sort,” under the direction of the conductor, set out to eject me from my seat. As usual, I had purchased a first-class ticket, and paid the required sum for it, and on the requirement of the conductor to leave, refused to do so, when he called on these men “to snake me out.” They attempted to obey with an air which plainly told me they relished the job. They, however, found me _much attached_ to my seat, and in removing me tore away two or three of the surrounding ones, on which I held with a firm grasp, and did the car no service in some respects. I was strong and muscular, and the seats were not then so firmly attached or of as solid make as now. The result was that Stephen A. Chase, superintendent of the road, ordered all passenger trains to pass through Lynn, where I then lived, without stopping. This was a great inconvenience to the people, large numbers of whom did business in Boston, and at other points of the road. Led on, however, by James N. Buffum, Jonathon Buffum, Christopher Robinson, William Bassett, and others, the people of Lynn stood bravely by me, and denounced the railway management in emphatic terms. Mr. Chase made reply that a railroad corporation was neither a religious nor a reformatory body; and that the road was run for the accommodation of the public; and that it required the exclusion of the coloured people from its cars. With an air of triumph he told us that we ought not to expect a railroad company to be better than the Evangelical Church, and that until the churches abolished the “negro pew,” we ought not to expect the railroad company to abolish the negro car. This argument was certainly good enough as against the Church, but good for nothing as against the demands of justice and equity. My old and dear friend, J. N. Buffum, made a point against the company that they “often allowed dogs and monkeys to ride in first-class cars, and yet excluded a man like Frederick Douglass!” In a very few years this barbarous practice was put away, and I think there have been no instances of such exclusion during the past thirty years; and coloured people now, everywhere in New England, ride upon equal terms with other passengers.

—_Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_.

QUITE TOO CLEVER

The elder Dumas was at the railway station, just starting to join his yacht at Marseilles. Several friends had accompanied him, to say good-bye. Suddenly he was informed that he had a hundred and fifty kilogrammes excess of luggage. “Ho, ho!” cried Dumas. “How many kilogrammes are allowed?” “Thirty for each person,” was the reply. Silently he made a mental calculation, and then in a tone of triumph bade his secretary take places for five. “In that way,” he explained, “we shall have no excess.”

A DIFFICULTY SOLVED.

Among the improvements that have been carried out at Windsor during the autumn, has been an entire alteration in the draining of the Home Park about Frogmore. New drains have been laid, and the waste earth has been used to level the ground. This portion of the Royal domain was almost wild at the beginning of the present reign. It consisted of fields, with low hedges and deep ditches, and was intersected by a road, on which stood several cottages and a public-house. It was quite an eyesore, and Prince Albert was at his wit’s end to know how to convert it into a park and exclude the public, as before this could be done, it was necessary to make a new road in place of the one it was desired to abolish, and altogether a large outlay was inevitable; and even in those days, it was out of the question to apply to Parliament for the amount required, which, I believe, was about £80,000.