Acton's Feud Part 38

A jollier going away for the Christmas holidays had not taken place for an age.

An old Amorian had done "something good" in India, which had obtained an extra week's holiday for his old school, and the Amorians, a day or so before, had beaten the Carthusians, whose forwards had been led to the slaughter by an International whose very initials spell unapproachable football.

The station of St. Amory's was crowded with the fellows, all sporting rugs of vivid patterns on their arms, and new and of-the-latest-shape "bowlers" on their heads, and new and fancy trouserings on their emanc.i.p.ated legs. No more Amorian cap--peak pointing well down the neck--no more trouserings of sober grey-and-black, no more beakish restraint for five weeks! Couples strolled up and down arm-in-arm; knots of the Sixth and Fifth discussed matters of high state interest, and the worthies of the lower forms made the lives of the perspiring porters a misery and a burden to them. Prominent Amorians were cheered, and when those old enemies, John Acton and Phil Bourne, tumbled out of their cab as the greatest of chums, the f.a.gs quavered out their shrill rejoicings, honouring the famous school backs who had stemmed the sweeping rush of the Carthusians a day or so before.

There was a rumour that Acton had been asked to play for the Corinthians, and the other athletes on the platform pressed round the pair for information.

Our old friends, Wilson and Jack Bourne, had shut up by stratagem B.A.M.

Cherry in the lamp-room, and the piteous pleadings of that young Biffenite were listened to with ecstacy by a crowd of a dozen, who hailed the promises and threats of the prisoner with shouts of mocking laughter.

W.E. Grim, Esq., explained to a few of his particular chums, Rogers among them, the wonderful shooting he was going to have "up at Acton's place" in Yorks.h.i.+re, and they listened with visible envy.

"Look here, Grimmy, if you tell us next term that you bagged two woodc.o.c.k with one barrel, we'll boot you all round Biffen's yard--so there."

Acton had, as a matter of fact, invited d.i.c.k Worcester, Gus Todd, Jack Senior, of Merishall's house, and Grim, to spend Christmas with him at his mother's place, and they had all accepted with alacrity.

The northern express rolled into the station, and Grim was hurriedly informed by Rogers that he was to bag the end carriage for Acton under pain of death. Grim tore down the platform, and, encouraged by the cheerful Rogers, performed prodigies of valour, told crams to groups of disgusted Amorians, who went sighing to search elsewhere for room, engaged in single combat with one of Sharpe's juniors, and generally held the fort. And then, when Acton came running down, and wanted to know what the deuce he was keeping him waiting for, Grim realized that Rogers had "done" him to a turn. He shouted weird threats as he was hurried away, to the bubbling Rogers, and that young gentleman lifted his hat in ironical acknowledgment. There was the warning shriek from the engine, and then the train crawled out, taking toll of all the Amorians going north, and leaving the others to shout after them endearing epithets and clinching witticisms.

For two days before the Amorians were on the wing home there had been heavy falls of snow, culminating, on the going-away day, in a heavy snow-storm. All the way from St. Amory's the express had been held up by doubtful signals, and in the deeper cuttings the snow had piled up in huge drifts. The express had toiled on its northern journey, steadily losing time at every point. At Preston Acton had telegraphed home that probably they would arrive quite three hours late. Thus it was that, tired but jolly, the party of five Amorians got out of the main line express at Lowbay, and, each laden with rugs and magazines, stumbled light-heartedly across the snow-sodden platform into the local train, which had waited for the express nearly three hours. They found themselves sixteen miles from home, and with no prospect of reaching it before midnight.

"Raven Crag," the name of Acton's home, was situated just within the borders of Yorks.h.i.+re. A single line of rails takes you from Lowbay Junction up the Westmoreland hills to the top of the heaviest gradient in the kingdom, and then hurtles you down into the little wayside station of Lansdale, the station for "Raven Crag."

The st.u.r.dy tank engine coupled to the short local train was steaming steadily and noisily, and when the express had rolled heavily out for Carlisle, the station-master hastily beat up intending pa.s.sengers for the branch line. Besides Acton's party, there were only two pa.s.sengers, a lady and a little girl.

"I'll give the old tank a good half-hour to crawl the eight miles to the top of the fells," said Acton, "and then we'll rattle into Lansdale in ten minutes. But she _will_ cough as she crawls up. Look here, d.i.c.k, I'll have a whole rug, please. This carriage is as cold as a refrigerator."

The fellows made themselves as comfortable as an unlimited supply of rugs and a couple of foot-warmers would admit of. d.i.c.k Worcester, without a blush, propped his head against a window and said: "Grim, there's a lingering death for you if you fail to wake me five minutes from Lansdale." The others exchanged magazines and yawned hopefully, whilst Acton took out his Kipling, and straightway forgot snow, home, and friends.

The station master, and the driver, and the guard held an animated conversation round the engine. "Strikes me, Bill, the old engine'll never get t' top of t' bank to-night!" said the guard. "The snow must be terrible thick in Hudson's cutting."

"She'll do it," said the driver,--"wi' luck."

"Got another engine with steam up," inquired the guard, "to give us a lift behind?"

"No, they're all shut down, and we couldn't wait now. You'll have to run her through yourselves," said the station-master. "Nearly four hours late already! Off with you!"

"I'm doubting we can't do it," said the guard, thoughtfully. "To-night is the worst night I can remember for years. The expresses could just manage it."

"Oh, well," said the driver, "we're down to run it, and we're going to try."

"There'll be drifts twenty feet deep in the cutting, and it'll be like running into a house," said the guard, slowly, "but I suppose we've got to try, anyhow."

He walked away thoughtfully to his van, and a moment later there was a shrill whistle, and the Lansdale local ran out into the night.

And it _was_ a night! There was no moon, and not the least glimmer of a star overhead; an utter darkness shrouded the world. The wind was high and steady, and its mournful howling through the rocky cuttings of the railway sounded unspeakably melancholy. Driven by the gale, the snowflakes had in five minutes covered the windward side of the train with a winding-sheet, inches deep, and when Gus Todd, from curiosity, opened the window to peer out into the night, the flakes, heavy, large, and soft, whirled into the carriage a very cataract of snow.

"Don't, Gus, please," pleaded Acton, looking up from his book in astonishment at the snow glittering in the lamp-light; "I prefer that outside, thanks."

"It's an awful storm, Acton," said Gus, hastily drawing up the window.

"Allah! how it snows!"

"Is this up to the usual sample here?" asked Senior, nestling nearer the dozing d.i.c.k.

"Well," said Acton, listening a moment to the stroke of the engine, and the roar of the wind, "I think we may say it is."

"Blizzard seems nearer the word, old man. The flakes come at you like s...o...b..a.l.l.s."

"Shan't be sorry when we tread your ancestral halls. This weather is too-too for comfort. And don't we crawl!"

"We're rising," said Acton, "and it is uphill work. Hear the old tank groaning?"

In fact, the train, labouring up the heavy gradient, did barely more than crawl through the snow and wind, and the slow beat of the engine told how hard it was even to do that. Acton added thoughtfully, "We've quite four miles yet to the summit, and there's a chance we mayn't----"

"Mayn't what, Acton, please?" said Grim, putting down his magazine.

"Get there, Grimmy."

"To the top? Oh, rot!" said Senior.

"I can't quite remember such a crawl as this, Jack; listen how the engine coughs."

"If we can't get to the top of the incline--what then?" asked Grim.

"Go back, I should say."

"To Lowbay?"

"Yes. But while we _do_ crawl there's no need to fret."

"That would mean goodbye for the present to your place, old man?"

"Yes. 'Twould be a horrid nuisance, wouldn't it?"

The Amorians listened anxiously to the engine toiling up the incline; but the howling of the wind almost drowned every other sound. The pace was still a crawl, but it was a steady one.

"Oh! she'll worry through after all," said Acton.

Hardly were the words out of his mouth when the train pulled up with a jerk that sent Senior and Grim flying forward into the unexpectant arms of the dozing d.i.c.k and Gus Todd. The luggage rattled out of the rack in instantaneous response, and whilst all the fellows were staring blankly at each other they heard the crunching of the brake, and felt that the train had come to a dead stop.

"What ever is the matter?" gasped Worcester, quite wide awake by now.

"We've landed into a drift, I fancy," said Acton, "and there's no home for us to-night. What beastly luck!"

There was now no sound but the roaring of the storm; the engine gave no sign that they could hear, and Acton impatiently let down the window, but was instantly almost blinded by the snow, which whirled through the open window. Crossing over, he tried the other with better success, and the first thing he saw was the guard, waist deep in snow, trying to make his way forward, and holding his lamp well before him. "What's happened, guard?" he asked.

"Matter!--why, we're off the line for one thing, and----"

Forward, they could hear the shouts of the driver above the hiss of escaping steam.