Part 27

It happens, in numerous instances, that virtuous resolves are made overnight with respect to early rising, which resolves, when put to the test, are doomed only to be broken. Some years ago a clergyman, who had occasion to visit the West of England on very important business, took up his quarters, late at night, at a certain hotel adjacent to a railway, with a view of starting by the early train on the following morning. Previous to retiring to rest, he called the “boots” to him, told him that he wished to be called for the early train, and said that it was of the utmost importance that he should not oversleep himself. The reverend gentleman at the same time confessed that he was a very heavy sleeper, and as there would be probably the greatest difficulty in awakening him, he (the “boots”) was to resort to any means he thought proper in order to effect his object. And, further, that if the business were effectually accomplished, the fee should be a liberal one. The preliminaries being thus settled, the clergyman sought his couch, and “boots” left the room with the air of a determined man. At a quarter to five on the following morning, “boots” walked straight to “No. twenty-three,” and commenced a vigorous rattling and hammering at the door, but the only answer he received was “All right!” uttered in a very faint and drowsy tone. Five minutes later, “boots” approached the door, placing his ear at the keyhole, and detecting no other sound than a most unearthly snore, he unceremoniously entered the room, and laying his brawny hands upon the prostrate form of the sleeper, shook him violently and long. This attack was replied to by a testy observation that he “knew all about it, and there was not the least occasion to shake him so.” “Boots” thereupon left the room, somewhat doubtingly, and only to return in a few minutes afterwards and find the Rev. Mr. — as sound asleep as ever. This time the clothes were stripped off, and a species of baptismal process was adopted, familiarly known as “cold pig.” At this assault the enraged gentleman sat bolt upright in bed, and with much other bitter remark, denounced “boots” as a barbarous follow. An explanation was then come to, and the drowsy man professed he understood it all, and was _about_ to arise. But the gentleman who officiated at the — hotel, having had some experience in these matters, placed no reliance upon the promise he had just received, and shortly visited “No. twenty-three” again. There he found that the occupant certainly had got up, but it was only to replace the bedclothes and to lie down again. “Boots” now felt convinced that this was one of those cases which required prompt and vigorous handling, and without more ado, therefore, he again stripped off the upper clothing, and seizing hold of the under sheet, he dragged its depository bodily from off the bed. The sleeping man, sensible of the unusual motion, and dreamily beholding a stalwart form bent over him, became impressed with the idea that a personal attack was being made upon him, probably with a view to robbery and murder. Under this conviction, he, in his descent, grasped “boots” firmly by the throat, the result being that both bodies thus came to the floor with a crash. Here the two rolled about for some seconds in all the agonies of a death struggle, until the unwonted noise and the cries of the assailants brought several persons from all parts of the hotel, and they, seeing two men rolling frantically about in each other’s arms, and with the hand of each grasping the other’s throat, rushed in and separated them. An explanation was of course soon given. The son of the church was effectually awakened, he rewarded the “boots,” and went off by the train.

Fortune subsequently smiled upon “boots,” and in the course of time he became proprietor of a first-rate hotel. In the interval the Rev. Mr. — had risen from a humble curate to the grade of a dean. Having occasion to visit the town of —, he put up at the house of the ex-boots. The two men saw and recognized each other, and the affair of the early train reverted to the mind of both. “It was a most fortunate circumstance,” said the dean, “that I did not oversleep myself on that morning, for from the memorable journey that followed, I date my advancement in the Church. But,” he continued, with an expression that betokened some tender recollection, “if I ever should require you to wake me for an early train again, would you mind placing a mattress or feather-bed on the floor?”

—_The Railway Traveller’s Handy Book_.

A MAD ENGINE-DRIVER.

A startling event happened at an early hour yesterday morning (Jan. 8th, 1884), in connection with the mail train from Brest, which is due in Paris at ten minutes to five o’clock. Whilst proceeding at full speed the passengers observed the brakes to be put on with such suddenness that fears were entertained that a collision was imminent, especially as the spot at which the train was drawn up was in utter darkness. Upon the guard reaching the engine he found the stoker endeavouring to overpower the driver, who had evidently lost his reason. After blocking the line the guard joined the stoker, and succeeded in securing the unfortunate man, but not until he had offered a desperate resistance. The locomotive was then put in motion, the nearest station was reached without further misadventure, and the driver was placed in custody. The train ultimately arrived in Paris after two hours’ delay.

A MEXICAN CHIEF’S RAILWAY IMPRESSIONS.

Steam and gunpowder have often proved the most eloquent apostles of civilization, but the impressiveness of their arguments was, perhaps, never more strikingly illustrated than at the little railway station of Gallegos, in Northern Mexico. When the first passenger train crossed the viaduct, and the Wizards of the North had covered the festive tables with the dainties of all zones, the governor of Durango was not the most distinguished visitor; for among the spectators on the platform the natives were surprised to recognise the Cabo Ventura, the senior chief of a hill-tribe, which had never formally recognised the sovereignty of the Mexican Republic. The Cabo, indeed, considered himself the lawful ruler of the entire _Comarca_, and preserved a document in which the Virey Gonzales, _en nombre del Rey_—in the name of the King—appointed him “Protector of all the loyal tribes of Castro and Sierra Mocha.” His diploma had an archæological value, and several amateurs had made him a liberal offer, but the old chieftain would as soon have sold his scalp. His soul lived in the past. All the evils of the age he ascribed to the demerits of the traitors who had raised the banner of revolt against the lawful king; and as for the countrymen of Mr. Gould, the intrusive _Yangueses_, his vocabulary hardly approached the measure of his contempt when he called them _herexes y combusteros_—heretics and humbugs.

“But it cannot be denied,” Yakoob Khan wrote to his father, “that it has pleased Allah to endow those sinners with a good deal of brains;” and the voice of nature gradually forced the Cabo to a similar conclusion, till he resolved to come and see for himself.

When the screech of the iron Behemoth at last resounded at the lower end of the valley, and the train swept visibly around the curve of the river-gap, the natives set up a yell that waked up the mountain echoes; men and boys waved their hats and jumped to and fro, in a state of the wildest excitement. Only the old Cabo stood stock-still. His gaze was riveted upon the phenomenon that came thundering up the valley; his keen eye enabled him to estimate the rate of speed, the trend of the up-grade, the breadth, the length, the height of the car. When the train approached the station, the crowd surged back in affright, but the Cabo stood his ground, and as soon as the cars stopped he stepped down upon the track. He examined the wheels, tapped the axles, and tried to move the lever; and when the engine backed up for water, he closely watched the process of locomotion, and walked to the end of the last car to ascertain the length of the train. He then returned to the platform and sat down, covering his face with both hands.

Two hours later the Governor of Durango found him in still the same position.

“Hallo, Cabo,” he called out, “how do you like this? What do you think now of America Nueva?” (“New America,” a collective term for the republics of the American continent).

The chieftain looked up. “_Sabe Dios_—the gods know—Senor Commandante, but _I_ know this much: With Old America it’s all up.”

“Is it? Well, look here: would you now like to sell that old diploma? I still offer you the same price.”

The Cabo put his hand in his bosom, drew forth a leather-shrouded old parchment, and handed it to his interlocutor. “Vengale, Usted—it’s worthless and you are welcome to keep it.” Nevertheless, he connived when the Governor slipped a gold piece into the pouch and put it upon his knees, minus the document.

But just before the train started, the Governor heard his name called, and stepped out upon the platform of the palace-car, when he saw the old chieftain coming up the track.

“I owe you a debt, senor,” said he, “_y le pagarè en consejo_, I want to pay it off in good advice: Beware of those strangers.”

“What strangers?”

“The caballeros who invented this machine.”

“Is that what you came to tell me?” laughed the Governor as the train started.

The old Cabo waved his hand in a military salute. “_Estamos ajustade_, Senor Commandante, this squares our account.”

—_Atlantic Monthly_, Jan., 1884.

MY ORDERS.

“Ticket, sir!” said an inspector at a railway terminus in the City to a gentleman, who, having been a season ticket holder for some time, believed his face was so well known that there was no need for him to show his ticket. “My face is my ticket,” replied the gentleman a little annoyed. “Indeed!” said the inspector, rolling back his wristband, and displaying a most powerful wrist, “well, my orders are to punch all tickets passing on to this platform.”

LUGGAGE IN RAILWAY CARRIAGES.

The question of the liability of railway companies in the event of personal accident through parcels falling from a rack in the compartments of passenger trains has been raised in the Midlands. In December last, a tailor named Round was travelling from Dudley to Stourbridge, and, on the train being drawn up at Round Oak Station, a hamper was jerked from the racks and fell with such force as to cause him serious injury. Certain medical charges were incurred, and Mr. Round alleged that he was unable to attend to his business for five weeks in consequence of the accident. He therefore claimed £50 by way of compensation. Sir Rupert Kettle, before whom the case was tried, decided that the company was not liable, and could not be held responsible for whatever happened in respect to luggage directly under the control of passengers. The case is one of some public interest, inasmuch as a parcel falling from a rack is not an uncommon incident in a railway journey. Moreover, the hamper in question belonged, not to the plaintiff, but to a glass engraver, and contained four empty bottles, two razors, and a couple of knives.

—_Daily News_, March 29th, 1884.

EFFECTS OF CONSTANT RAILWAY TRAVELLING.

A writer in _Cassell’s Magazine_ remarks:—“We hear individuals now and then talking of the ease with which the season-ticket holder journeys backwards and forwards daily from Brighton. By the young, healthy man, no doubt, the journey is done without fatigue; but, after a certain time of life, the process of being conveyed by express fifty miles night and morning is anything but refreshing. The shaking and jolting of the best constructed carriage is not such as we experience in a coach on an ordinary road; but is made up of an infinite series of slight concussions, which jar the spinal column and keep the muscles of the back and sides in continued action.” Dr. Radcliff, who has witnessed many cases of serious injury to the nervous system from this cause, contributed the following conclusive case some years ago to the pages of the _Lancet_:—“A hale and stout gentleman, aged sixty-three, came to me complaining of inability to sleep, numbness in limbs, great depression, and all the symptoms of approaching paralytic seizure. He was very

## actively engaged in large monetary transactions, which were naturally a

source of anxiety. He had a house in town; but, having been advised by the late Doctor Todd to live at Brighton, he had taken a house there, and travelled to and fro daily by the express train. The symptoms of which he complained began to appear about four months after taking up his residence at Brighton, and he had undergone a variety of treatment without benefit, and was just hesitating about trying homæopathy when I saw him. I advised him to give up the journey for a month, and make the experiment of living quietly in town. In a fortnight his rest was perfectly restored, and the other symptoms rapidly disappeared, so that at the end of the month he was as well as ever again. After three months, he was persuaded to join his family at Brighton, and resumed his daily journeys. In a few days his rest became broken and in two months all the old symptoms returned. By giving up the journeys and again residing in town, he was once more perfectly restored; but, it being the end of the season, when the house at Brighton could not readily be disposed of, and yielding to the wishes of his family, he again resumed his journeys. In a month’s time he was rendered so seriously unwell that he hesitated no longer in taking up his permanent abode in town; and since that time—now more than two years ago—he has enjoyed perfect health.”

AN ELECTRIC TRAMWAY INCIDENT.

The following appeared in the _Irish Times_ (Dublin, 1884): “It is not generally known that the country people along the line of the electric railway make strange uses of the insulated rails, which are the medium of electricity on this tramway, in connection with one of which an extraordinary and very remarkable occurrence is reported. People have no objection to touch the rail and receive a smart shock, which is, however, harmless, at least so far. On Thursday evening a ploughman, returning from work, stood upon this rail in order to mount his horse. The rail is elevated on insulators 18 inches above the level of the tramway. As soon as the man placed his hands upon the back of the animal it received a shock, which at once brought it down, and falling against the rail it died instantly. The remarkable part is, that the current of electricity which proved fatal to the brute must have passed through the body of the man and proved harmless to him.”

DUTY IN DISGUISE.

A gate-keeper in the employ of the Hessian Railway Company was recently the hero of an amusing incident. His wife being ill, he went himself to milk the goat; but the stubborn creature would not let him come near it, as it had always been accustomed to have this operation performed by its mistress. After many fruitless efforts, he at length decided to put on his wife’s clothes. The experiment succeeded admirably; but the man had not time to doff his disguise before a train approached, and the gatekeeper ran to his accustomed post. His appearance produced quite a sensation among the officials of the passing train. The case was reported and an inquiry instituted, which however resulted in his favour, as the railway authorities granted the honest gate-keeper a gratuity of ten marks for the faithful discharge of his duties.

THE MARQUIS OF HARTINGTON ON GEORGE STEPHENSON.

The Marquis of Hartington, when laying the foundation stone of a public hall to be erected in memory of the inventor and practical introducer of railway locomotion, expressed himself as follows:—“That almost all the progress which this country has made in the last half-century is mainly due to the development of the railway system. All the other vast developments of the power of steam, all the developments of manufacturing and mining industry would have availed but little for the greatness and prosperity of this country—in fact they could hardly have existed at all if there had been wanting those internal communications which have been furnished by the locomotive engine to railways brought into use by Stephenson. The changes which have been wrought in the history of our country by the invention, the industry, and perseverance of one man are something that we may call astounding. There are some things which exceed the dreams of poetry and romance. We are justly proud of our imperial possessions, but the steam engine, and especially the locomotive steam-engine, the invention of George Stephenson—has not only increased the number of the Queen’s subjects by millions, but has added more millions to her Majesty’s revenues than have been produced by any tax ever invented by any statesman. Comfort and happiness, prosperity and plenty, have been brought to every one of her Majesty’s subjects by this invention in far greater abundance than has ever been produced by any law, the production of the wisest and most patriotic Parliament. The results of the career of a man who began life as a herd boy, and who up to eighteen did not know how to read or write, and yet was able to confer such vast benefits upon his country and mankind for all time, is worthy of a national and noble memorial.”

THE STEPHENSON CENTENARY.

Of all celebrations in the North of England there was never the like of the centenary of the birth-day of George Stephenson, June 9th, 1881. The enthusiastic crowds of people assembled to honour the occasion were never before so numerous on any public holiday. Sir William Armstrong, C.B., in his speech at the great banquet remarked:—“The memory of a great man now dead is a solemn subject for a toast, and I approach the task of proposing it with a full sense of its gravity. We are met to celebrate the birth of George Stephenson, which took place just 100 years ago—a date which nearly coincides with that at which the genius of Watt first gave practical importance to the steam-engine. Up to that time the inventive faculties of man had lain almost dormant, but with the advent of the steam-engine there commenced that splendid series of discoveries and inventions which have since, to use the words of Dr. Bruce, revolutionised the state of the world. Amongst these the most momentous in its consequences to the human race is the railway system—(cheers)—and with that system including the locomotive engine as its essential element, the name of George Stephenson will ever be pre-eminently associated. In saying this, I do not mean to ignore the important parts played by others in the development of the railway system; but it is not my duty on this occasion to review the history of that system and to assign to each person concerned his proper share of the general credit. To do this would be an invidious task, and out of place at a festival held in honour of George Stephenson only. I shall, therefore, pass over all names but his, not even making an exception in favour of his distinguished son. (Cheers.) It seldom or never happens that any great invention can be exclusively attributed to any one man; but it is generally the case that amongst those who contribute to the ultimate success there is one conspicuous figure that towers above all the rest, and such is the figure which George Stephenson presents in relation to the railway system. (Cheers.) To be sensible of the benefits we have derived from railways and locomotives let us consider for a moment what would be our position if they were taken from us. The present business of the country could not be carried on, the present population could not be maintained, property would sink to half its value—(hear, hear)—and instead of prosperity and progress we should have collapse and retrogression on all sides. (Cheers.) What would Newcastle be if it ceased to be a focus of railways? How would London be supplied if it had to fall back upon turnpike roads and horse traffic? In short, England as it is could not exist without railways and locomotives; and it is only our familiarity with them that blunts our sense of their prodigious importance. As to the future effects of railways, it is easy to see that they are destined to diffuse industrial populations over those vast unoccupied areas of the globe that abound in natural resources, and only wait for facilities of access and transport to become available for the wants of man. There is yet scope for an enormous extension of railways all over the world, and the fame of Stephenson will continue to grow as railways continue to spread. (Loud cheers.) But I should do scant justice to the memory of George Stephenson if I dwelt only on the results of his achievements. Many a great reputation has been marred by faults of character, but this was not the case with George Stephenson. His manly simplicity and frankness, and his kindly nature won for him the respect and esteem of all who knew him both in the earlier and later periods of his career—(cheers)—but the prominent feature in his character was his indomitable perseverance, which broke down all obstacles, and converted even his failures and disappointments into stepping stones to success. It was not the desire for wealth that actuated him in the pursuit of his objects, but it was a noble enthusiasm, far more conducive to great ends than the hope of gain, that carried him forward to his goal. Unselfish enthusiasm such as his always gives a tone of heroism to a character, and heroism above all things commands the homage of mankind. Newcastle may well be proud of its connection with George Stephenson, and the proceedings of this day testify how much his memory is cherished in this his native district. Any memorial dedicated to him would be appropriate to this occasion, and if such memorial were connected with scientific instruction it would be in harmony with his well-known appreciation of the value of scientific education, and of the sacrifices he made to give his son the advantage of such an education. (Cheers.) I now, gentlemen, have to propose to you the toast which has been committed to me, and which is ‘Honour to the memory of George Stephenson, and may the college to be erected to his memory prove worthy of his fame.’ I must ask you to drink this toast standing; and consider that the birth of Stephenson is a subject of jubilation. I think that although he is dead we may drink that toast with hearty cheering. (Hear, hear, and loud cheers.)