Adventures of Working Men Part 7

MY PATIENT, THE DRIVER.

I wish I could put Solomon Gann before you in the flesh; for a finer broad-shouldered specimen of humanity I never saw. He was gruff, bluff, swarthy; and rugged as his face was, it always bore a pleasant smile, just as if he had said to you, "Ah! all right; things are rough; but I'm going to take it coolly."

And he was cool; n.o.body cooler--even in cases of emergency; and a better man for an engine-driver could not have been chosen.

I first met Solomon Gann in connection with an accident at Grandton, where I and other surgeons were called in to attend the sufferers by a collision with a goods train. After that I attended him two or three times; for he came to me in preference to the Company's surgeon, and he used to give me sc.r.a.ps of information about his life, and tell me little incidents in his career.

"Glorious profession, ain't it, Sir," he said. "Grows more important every day, does the railway profession, and is likely to. Ah! people in our great-grandfathers' days would have opened their eyes if you had talked about being an engine-driver; and I ain't much like a four-horse mail coachee, am I? Rum set out, the rail. Not so many years back, and there wasn't such a thing; and now it employs its thousands, beginning with your superintendents, and going down through clerks, and guards, and drivers, and so on, to the lowest porter or cleaner on the line.

"I've had some experience, I have. I was cleaner in the engine-house afore I got put on to stoke; and I'm not going to say that engine-drivers are worse off than other men because I happen to be one: for we want a little alteration right through the whole machine: a little easing in this collar; a little less stuffing there; them nuts give a turn with the screw-hammer; and the oily rag put over the working gear a little more oftener, while the ile-can itself ain't spared.

Don't you see, you know, I'm a speaking metaphorically; and of course I mean the whole of the railways' servants.

"The Public, perhaps--and he's a terrible humbug that fellow Public-- thinks we are well paid and discontented; and leaving out danger, let me ask him how he would like to be racing along at express speed through a storm of wind and rain, or snow, or hail, for fifty miles without stopping, blinded almost, cut to pieces almost; or roasting on a broiling summer's day; or running through the pitchiest, blackest night--Sunday and week-day all the year round. 'Well, you're paid for it,' says the public. So we are, and pretty good wages as times goes; but those wages don't pay a man for the wear and tear of his const.i.tution; and though there's so much fuss made about the beauty of the British const.i.tution, and people brag about it to an extent that's quite sickening, when you come down to the small bit of British const.i.tution locked up in a single British person's chest--him being an engine-driver, you know--you'll find that const.i.tution wears, and gets weak, and liable to being touched up with the cold, or heat, or what not; and it's a precious ticklish thing to mend--so now then!

"We don't want to grumble too much, but railway work isn't all lying down on a feather-bed, smoking s.h.a.g at threepence an ounce, and drinking porter at threepence a pot in your own jugs; we have to work, and think too, or else there would soon be an alteration in the companies'

dividends. Accidents will happen, do what we will to stop 'em, and there's no mistake about it, our accidents are, as a rule, bad ones-- terrible bad ones, even when life and limb don't get touched. Only an engine damaged, perhaps, but that can easily wear a thousand pound; while a hundred's as good as nothing when a few trucks and coaches are knocked into matchwood. Then, too, when we have a bad 'pitch-in,' as we call it, look at the thousands as the company has to pull out for damages to injured folks. One chap, I see, got seven thousand the other day for having his back damaged; and I don't know but what I'd think it a good bargain to be knocked about to that tune. But, there, they wouldn't think my whole carcase worth half as much. But our work ain't feather-bed work, I can tell you; and as to risk, why, we all of us come in for that more or less, though we get so used to it that we don't seem to see the danger.

"Oh! you'll say 'Familiarity breeds contempt,' or something else fine; but just you come and stoke, or drive, or guard, or be signalman, or pointsman, every day of your life, and just see if you'll pull a blessed long face and be seeing a skillington with a hour-gla.s.s in one hand and a harpoon in t'other, ready to stick it into yours or somebody else's wesket every precious hour of the day. It's all worry fine to talk, but a man can't be always thinking of dying when he is so busy thinking about living, and making a living for half-a-dozen mouths at home. I like to be serious, and think of the end in a quiet, proper way, as a man should; but it's my humble opinion as the man who is seeing grim death at every turn and in every movement, has got his liver into a precious bad state, and the sooner he goes to the doctor the better.

'Taint natural, nor it ain't reasonable; and though we often get the credit of being careless, I mean to say we don't deserve it half the times, and the very fact of often being in risky places makes you think nothing of 'em. It's natural, you know, and a wonderful wise thing, too; for if we were always to be thinking of the danger, it's my belief--my honest belief--that your railway accidents would be doubled; for the men would be that anxious and worried that they would work badly, and in a few years knock up altogether, with their nerves shattered to pieces.

"I've been on the line twenty year, and of course I've seen a little in that s.p.a.ce, and I could tell you hundreds of things about the different dangers, if I had time. Now, for instance, I'll tell you what's a great danger that some railway servants has to encounter, and that is being at a small country station, say where perhaps very few trains stop in a day. It don't matter whether it's clerk or porter, the danger's the same; there's the fast trains thundering by over and over again, twenty times a day may be, and after a time you get so used to them that _you don't hear them coming_; and many's the time some poor fellow has stepped down to cross the line right in front of one, when--there, you know the old story, and I've got one horror to tell you, and that will be quite enough, I dare say.

"'Carelessness--want of caution--the man had been years in the company's service, and must have known better,' says the public. But there-- that's just it--it's that constant being amongst the perils that makes a man forget things that he ought to recollect; and are you going to try and make me believe a man can have such power over his thinking apparatus that he can recollect everything? He must be a very perfect piece of goods if there is such a one, and one as would go for ever, I should think, without a touch of the oily rag. No spots of rust on him, I'll wager.

"Shunting's hard work--terrible hard work--for men; I mean the shunting of goods trains at the little stations--picking up empty trucks, and setting down the full ones; coupling, and uncoupling; and waving of lanterns, and shouting and muddling about; and mostly in the dark; for, you see, the pa.s.senger traffic is nearly all in the day-time, while we carry on the goods work by night. Ah! shunting's queer work where there's many sidings, and you are tripping over point-handles, and rods, or looking one way for the train and going b.u.t.t on to an empty truck the other way. There's some sad stories relating to shunting--stories of fine young fellows crushed to death in a moment; let alone those of the poor chaps you may see to this day at some of the crossings with wooden legs or one sleeve empty--soldiers, you know, who have been wounded in the battle of life, and I think as worthy of medals as anybody.

"Of course, you know, a 'pitch-in' will come some time spite of all care; and I've been in one or two in my time, but never to get hurt. I remember one day going down our line and getting pretty close to a junction where another line crossed the down so as to get on to the up.

I knew that it was somewhere about the time for the up train to come along, for it was generally five minutes before me, and I pa.s.sed it about a couple of miles before I got to the junction--me going fast, it slow. Sometimes we were first, and then it was kept back by signal till we had pa.s.sed, so that on the day I am talking of, I thought nothing of it that my signal was up 'All clear,' though the up train hadn't crossed, and with my stoker shovelling in the coal, I opened the screamer and on we were darting at a good speed--ours always having been reckoned a fast line.

"All at once, though, I turned as I had never turned before--thoroughly struck aback; for as I neared the station I saw the signal altered, and at the same moment the up train coming round the curve; then it was crossing my line; and it seemed to me that the next moment we should cut it right in two and go on through it. But we were not quite so nigh as that, and before we got close up I had shut off, reversed, and was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g down the break, for my stoker seemed struck helpless; then I just caught a glimpse of him as he leaped off; there was a crash, and I was lying half stunned back amongst the coal in the tender, and we were still das.h.i.+ng on for nearly a mile before I was quite recovered and the train at a standstill.

"I was half stupid for a bit, and on putting my hand to my head I found that it was bleeding, whilst the screen was bent right down over me, and had saved my life, no doubt. As far as I could see then there was no more damage done to us, and just then the guard came running up and shook hands when he found I'd got off so well.

"'But where's Joe?' he says, meaning my stoker.

"'He went off,' I says, 'just as we went into 'em. How about t'other train?'

"'Let's run back,' he says; and I put her gently back; but all the while in a muddly sort of way, as if I wasn't quite right in my head, which bled powerful. Then there was a good deal of shouting and noise amongst the pa.s.sengers; but my guard went along the foot-board from coach to coach till he had quieted them all pretty well, and then by that time they signalled to us to stop.

"Not many ruins to see, there wasn't, only the guard's break of the up train, which my engine had struck full, and another few seconds of time would have let us go clear; while how the points didn't throw us off I can't tell, for it's quite a wonder that my train kept on the line.

"The guard's break was knocked all to s.h.i.+vers, of course, but he had jumped out and escaped with a bruise or two; but not so poor Joe, as I soon saw; for when I asked about him, they showed me something lying under a tarpaulin which a doctor was just putting straight again. But of all things that struck me on the day of that accident there was nothing like the face of the poor young fellow as had the management of the signal. I never saw a face so pale and ghastly and frightened before. But there let it rest. I suppose he was frightened and confused at seeing the two trains coming in together; and as better men have done afore now, he lost his nerve.

"Ever kill anyone? What! run him down? Yes, one. Shocking thing, too, and one I don't much like talking about; but then, it was not my fault, and I did my best to save him: but then, what can you do when you're going nearly a mile a minute?

"That was a shunting case, that was, with a goods train, at a little station, past which we on the express down used to go at the rate I said just now. This goods up used to stop there, and be picking up and setting down nearly every day when we pa.s.sed. I used to give a whistle, and then it was touch and go, and we were thundering along and past them. But one day as we were running along the straight I could see the guard signalling his engine-driver to back a bit to run into a siding, as it came out at the inquest, for some empties, and to do this, what does he do but step on to the down line, and right in front of my train.

"Now all he had to do was to step off again, for he had plenty of time, and keep in the six-foot till we were gone by. I set the whistle going, and I saw his driver waving his hand to him, and a man at the station seemed to me to be shouting; and all this I noticed as we tore along; and then he did not move, while I felt my blood creep like, as I leaned round the screen, holding on to the handle; and just as if he could hear me I shouted to him to take care as I wrenched the handle and signed my stoker to grind down the break.

"But there, bless you, it was impossible to stop, and though I felt no shock, it seems to me that my heart did, and when we pulled up in a wonderful short time, my stoker and I were looking at one another in a queer scared way, for the buffer had caught the poor fellow and driven him along; then the wheels had him, and he was tossed at last into the six-foot to lie with his life-blood soaking into the gravel.

"I'm a big, stout fellow, but as I ran back towards the station I felt sick, and my head was in a whirl; while I seemed to be hearing the thundering-by of the train, the shriek of the whistle, the grinding and screeching of the braked wheels, and seeing that poor fellow torn to pieces. And then I got close up to the spot where there was something lying, and others were coming up to it, all feeling the same creeping, horrified sensation as they trembled and gathered up the pieces of what had a minute before been one of themselves.

"What ought I to have done? Gone back to my engine, helped the men from the station, thrown sand and ballast over the horrible stains? What ought I to have done? I don't know. But I'll tell you what I did do.

I went and sat down on the bank beside the line, and cried like a great girl.

"But no one saw it, for I had my hands over my face, and them down on my knees, while a gentleman from my train, thinking I was faint, gave me some brandy from his flask, and then I went back to my engine and finished my journey.

"No fault of mine, you know, and though in the heat of a fight a man may perhaps strike down another without feeling any sorrow, yet to cause the death of a fellow servant, when in the ordinary daily work of one's life, had something very awful in it, and it was a long time before I could run down past that station without feeling my heart beat faster, and a strange shuddering sensation come over me.

"I could tell you some strange stories of our life, sir, not one of the easiest, but I think we'll stop here for to-day."

CHAPTER NINE.

MY PATIENT AT THE FIRE.

"And you don't think she'll be marked, sir?"

"No; scarcely at all," I said. "Poor child! she feels the shock more than anything."

"Thank G.o.d!" he said, fervently. "I'd sooner have lost my own life than she should have suffered. You see, sir, I get blaming myself for taking her; but she said she would so like to see a pantomime, and I thought it would be such a treat. I don't think I shall ever take her, though, again."

"How did it happen?" I said.

"Ah! that's what n.o.body seems to know, sir," he said. "It was a terribly full night at the theatre; and though we reached the doors in very good time, with my poor little la.s.sie in high glee, I found we were behind a great many more; and I half wished that I had left work earlier, so as not to disappoint the child. The only pity is, though, that we could get in at all; but we did, and tried to go slowly up the great corkscrew staircase, crowded with good-tempered people, laughing, and pus.h.i.+ng their way up. Twice over I felt disposed to give it up; but I thought the child would be so disappointed, and I kept on, taking her upon my back at last when the crowding was worst, and at last getting past the pay barrier, and hurrying up the almost endless steps.

"There was a regular sea of heads before me when I stood at last looking for a favourable spot, and soon finding that taking a seat meant seeing nothing of the performance, I contrived to wedge my way along between two rows of seats occupied by people loud in their protestations that there was no room, till I found a standing-place in front of one of the stout supports of the upper gallery--a pillar that I have always thought of since as the saving of my life.

"I am not going to discuss whether theatres are good or bad places, but I know that night the greatest enjoyment I had was in watching my little girl's animated countenance, as her eyes rested now upon the handsome chandelier, now upon the boxes full of well-dressed people, then half dancing with pleasure at the strains from the orchestra, while her delight bordered almost upon excitement when the curtain drew up and a showy piece was performed.

"Hundreds must have been turned from the doors that night, for, excepting in the princ.i.p.al parts of the house, there was not standing room, while the heat was frightful. In our poor part of the house we had been wedged in till there was not a vacant spot to be seen, and between the acts the men and women, with their baskets of apples and oranges, came forcing their way through, and were terribly angry with me, as I stood leaning against my pillar, for standing in their way.

"All at once I turned all of a cold s.h.i.+ver, and then the blood seemed to run back to my heart, while my hands were wet with perspiration; for quite plainly I had smelt that unmistakable odour of burning wood. I looked about me; all was as it should be; people were eating, drinking, and laughing; the curtain was down, and the orchestra sending out its lively strains.

"'Fancy,' I thought to myself; and I leaned back against my pillar once more, resting my hands upon my child's shoulders, as we stood there exactly opposite the centre of the stage, and consequently as far from the doors as possible; while the recollection of that tremendous corkscrew staircase made me shudder again, and, fancy or no fancy, I took hold of the child's arm, meaning to force myself through the crowd, and get out. Once I nearly started, but hesitated, thinking how disappointed she would be to leave when the best part of the performance was to come; twice I was going, and so hesitated for about five minutes--just long enough to have enabled me to reach the staircase and begin running down. Just five minutes; and then smelling the fire once more, I grasped the child's arm, said 'Come along,' and had made two steps, when I saw that I was too late, and dashed back to where I had stood a minute before, by the pillar.

"I won't call it presence of mind, for fear of being considered vain; but I felt sure that, if I wished to save my child's life, my place was by that pillar in the centre, for I knew the people would rush right and left towards the doors at the first alarm.

"And now, what made me start back? why, the sight of several people hurrying towards the door; of one here and another there starting up and looking anxiously round as if aware of coming danger; of people whispering together; and anxious faces beginning to show amongst those which smiled. Then came a dead pause; the band had ceased playing, and the musicians were hurrying out through the door beneath the stage, upsetting their music-stands as they went. Still, people did not move, but seemed wondering, till right at the top above the curtain there was a faint flash of light, and a tiny wreath of faint blue smoke, when a shriek, which rang through the whole place, was heard--the most horrible, despairing cry I ever heard--a cry which acted like a shock to every soul present, and unlocked their voices, for before the eye had seen another flash, the whole audience was afoot, shrieking, yelling, and swaying backwards and forwards in a way most horrible, and never to be forgotten. Box doors crashed, as men flung them open and the hurrying crowd in the pa.s.sage dashed them to again, making the people shriek more than ever, as they fancied themselves fastened in.

"First one and then another man rushed from behind the curtain upon the stage, moving his arms and speaking; but they might as well have shouted to a storm, as the cry of 'Fire!' rang through the house, and people tore towards the doors. Self, self, self, seemed to be the only thought as men clambered into the upper gallery, or dropped down into ours.

Scores climbed down into the boxes; hundreds dashed frantically along, trampling others under foot, and even clambering over the heads of the dense, wedged-in throng, trying to reach the doors; but all hindering one another.

"It would have been a madman's act; but I wanted to run, too, and be one of the surging crowd--to be in action at a time when one's blood ran cold to hear the horrible groans and shrieks of the frightened mob, wedged into a ma.s.s, from which now and then a horrid cry rose from a poor wretch beaten down and trampled under foot. I closed my eyes for a moment, but I could see plainly enough the horrors that were going on upon that staircase, and yet I had to fight hard against not only self, but the mob who swayed backwards and forwards past me, some making for one door, some for the other, perhaps only to return again shrieking with horror; while more than one, in climbing over the rails in front of the gallery, fell headlong into the pit.

"As soon as I had been able to collect myself a little, I had caught hold of my child and thrust her at full length beneath the nearest seat, and there she lay, too terrified to move, while people leaped from form to form, over and over her, and I all the time clung desperately to that pillar where I had stood all the evening. More than once I was nearly dragged away; but it acted as a break to the violence of the onslaughts, and whichever way the crowd came, I sheltered myself behind it.