Johnny Ludlow First Series Part 20

LEASE, THE POINTSMAN.

It happened when we were staying at our other house, Crabb Cot. In saying "we" were staying at it, I mean the family, for Tod and I were at school.

Crabb Cot lay beyond the village of Crabb. Just across the road, a few yards higher up, was the large farm of Mr. Coney; and his house and ours were the only two that stood there. Crabb Cot was a smaller and more cosy house than d.y.k.e Manor; and, when there, we were not so very far from Worcester: less than half-way, comparing it with the Manor.

Crabb was a large and straggling parish. North Crabb, which was nearest to us, had the church and schools in it, but very few houses. South Crabb, further off, was more populous. Nearly a mile beyond South Crabb, there was a regular junction of rails. Lines, crossing each other in a most bewildering manner, led off in all directions: and it required no little manoeuvring to send the trains away right at busy times. Which of course was the pointsman's affair.

The busiest days had place in summer, when excursion trains were in full swing: but they would come occasionally at other times, driving the South Crabb station people off their heads with bother before night.

The pointsman was Harry Lease. I dare say you have noticed how certain names seem to belong to certain places. At North Crabb and South Crabb, and in the district round about, the name of Lease was as common as blackberries in a hedge; and if the different Leases had been cousins in the days gone by, the relations.h.i.+p was lost now. There might be seven-and-twenty Leases, in and out, but Harry Lease was not, so far as he knew, akin to any of them.

South Crabb was not much of a place at best. A part of it, Crabb Lane, branching off towards Ma.s.sock's brickfields, was crowded as a London street. Poor dwellings were huddled together, and children jostled each other on the door-steps. Squire Todhetley said he remembered it when it really was a lane, hedges on either side and a pond that was never dry.

Harry Lease lived in the last house, a thatched hut with three rooms in it. He was a steady, civil, hard-working man, superior to some of his neighbours, who were given to reeling home at night and beating their wives on arrival. His wife, a nice sort of woman to talk to, was a bad manager; but the five children were better behaved and better kept than the other grubbers in the gutter.

Lease was the pointsman at South Crabb Junction, and helped also in the general business there. He walked to his work at six in the morning, carrying his breakfast with him; went home to dinner at twelve, the leisure part of the day at the station, and had his tea taken to him at four; leaving in general at nine. Sometimes his wife arrived with the tea; sometimes the eldest child, Polly, an intelligent girl of six.

But, one afternoon in September, a crew of mischievous boys from the brickfields espied what Polly was carrying. They set upon her, turned over the can of tea in fighting for it, ate the bread-and-b.u.t.ter, tore her pinafore in the skirmish, and frightened her nearly to death. After that, Lease said that the child should not be sent with the tea: so, when his wife could not take it, he went without tea. Polly and her father were uncommonly alike, too quiet to battle much with the world: sensitive, in fact: though it sounds odd to say that.

During the month of November one of the busy days occurred at South Crabb Junction. There was a winter meeting on Worcester race-course, a cattle and pig show in a town larger than Worcester, and two or three markets and other causes of increased traffic, all falling on the same day. What with cattle-trains, ordinary and special trains, and goods-trains, and the grunting of obstinate pigs, Lease had plenty to do to keep his points in order.

How it fell out he never knew. Between eight and nine o'clock, when a train was expected in on its way to Worcester, Lease forgot to s.h.i.+ft the points. A goods-train had come in ten minutes before, for which he had had to turn the points, and he never turned them back again. On came the train, almost as quickly as though it had not to pull up at South Crabb Junction. Watson, the station-master, came out to be in readiness.

"The engine has her steam on to-night," he remarked to Lease as he watched the red lights, like two great eyes, come tearing on. "She'll have to back."

She did something worse than back. Instead of slackening on the near lines, she went flying off at a tangent to some outer ones on which the goods-train stood, waiting until the pa.s.senger train should pa.s.s. There was a short, sharp sound from the whistle, a great collision, a noise of steam hissing, a sense of dire confusion: and for one minute afterwards a dead lull, as if every one and everything were paralyzed.

"You never turned the points!" shouted the station-master to Lease.

Lease made no rejoinder. He backed against the wall like a man helpless, his arms stretched out, his face and eyes wild with horror. Watson thought he was going to have a fit, and shook him roughly.

"_You've_ done it nicely, you have!" he added, as he flew off to the scene of disaster, from which the steam was beginning to clear away. But Lease reached it before him.

"G.o.d forgive me! G.o.d have mercy upon me!"

A porter, running side by side with Lease, heard him say it. In telling it afterwards the man described the tone as one of intense, piteous agony.

The Squire and Mrs. Todhetley, who had been a few miles off to spend the day, were in the train with Lena. The child did nothing but cry and sob; not with damage, but fright. Mr. Coney also happened to be in it; and Ma.s.sock, who owned the brickfields. They were not hurt at all, only a little shaken, and (as the Squire put it afterwards,) mortally scared.

Ma.s.sock, an under-bred man, who had grown rich by his brickfields, was more pompous than a lord. The three seized upon the station-master.

"Now then, Watson," cried Mr. Coney, "what was the cause of all this?"

"If there have been any negligence here--and I know there have--you shall be transported for it, Watson, as sure as I'm a living man,"

roared Ma.s.sock.

"I'm afraid, gentlemen, that something was wrong with the points,"

acknowledged Watson, willing to s.h.i.+ft the blame from himself, and too confused to consider policy. "At least that's all I can think."

"With the points!" cried Ma.s.sock. "Them's Harry Lease's work. Was he on to-night?"

"Lease is here as usual, Mr. Ma.s.sock. I don't say this lies at his door," added Watson, hastily. "The points might have been out of order; or something else wrong totally different. I should like to know, for my part, what possessed Roberts to bring up his train at such speed."

Darting in and out of the heap of confusion like a mad spirit; now trying by his own effort to lift the broken parts of carriages off some sufferer, now carrying a poor fellow away to safety, but always in the thick of danger went Harry Lease. Braving the heat and steam as though he felt them not, he flew everywhere, himself and his lantern alike trembling with agitation.

"Come and look here, Harry; I'm afraid he's dead," said a porter, throwing his light upon a man's face. The words arrested Mr. Todhetley, who was searching for Lease to let off a little of his anger. It was Roberts, the driver of the pa.s.senger-train, who lay there, his face white and still. Somehow the sight made the Squire still, too. Raising Roberts's head, the men put a drop of brandy between his lips, and he moved. Lease broke into a low glad cry.

"He is not dead! he is not dead!"

The angry reproaches died away on the Squire's tongue: it did not seem quite the time to speak them. By-and-by he came upon Lease again. The man had halted to lean against some palings, feeling unaccountably strange, much as though the world around were closing to him.

"Had you been drinking to-night, Lease?"

The question was put quietly: which was, so to say, a feather in the hot Squire's cap. Lease only shook his head by way of answer. He had a pale, gentle kind of face, with brown eyes that always wore a sad expression.

He never drank, and the Squire knew it.

"Then how came you to neglect the points, Lease, and cause this awful accident?"

"I don't know, sir," answered Lease, rousing out of his lethargy, but speaking as one in a dream. "I can't think but what I turned them as usual."

"You knew the train was coming? It was the ordinary train."

"I knew it was coming," a.s.sented Lease. "I watched it come along, standing by the side of Mr. Watson. If I had not set the points right, why, I should have thought surely of them then; it stands to reason I should. But never such a thought came into my mind, sir. I waited there, just as if all was right; and I believe I _did_ s.h.i.+ft the points."

Lease did not put this forth as an excuse: he only spoke aloud the problem that was working in his mind. Having s.h.i.+fted the points regularly for five years, it seemed simply impossible that he could have neglected it now. And yet the man could not _remember_ to have done it this evening.

"You can't call it to mind?" said Squire Todhetley, repeating his last words.

"No, I can't, sir: and no wonder, with all this confusion around me and the distress I'm in. I may be able to do so to-morrow."

"Now look you here, Lease," said the Squire, getting just a little cross: "if you had put the points right you couldn't fail to remember it. And what causes your distress, I should like to ask, but the knowledge that you _didn't_, and that all this wreck is owing to you?"

"There is such a thing as doing things mechanically, sir, without the mind being conscious of it."

"Doing things wilfully," roared the Squire. "Do you want to tell me I am a fool to my face?"

"It has often happened, sir, that when I have wound up the mantel-shelf clock at night in our sleeping-room, I'll not know the next minute whether I've wound it or not, and I have to try it again, or else ask the wife," went on Lease, looking straight out into the darkness, as if he could see the clock then. "I can't think but what it must have been just in that way that I put the points right to-night."

Squire Todhetley, in his anger, which was growing hot again, felt that he should like to give Lease a sound shaking. He had no notion of such talk as this.

"I don't know whether you are a knave or a fool, Lease. Killing men and women and children; breaking arms and legs; putting a whole trainful into mortal fright; smas.h.i.+ng property and engines to atoms; turning the world, in fact, upside down, so that people don't know whether they stand on their heads or their heels! You may think you can do this with impunity perhaps, but the law will soon teach you better. I should not like to go to bed with human lives on my soul."

The Squire disappeared in a whirlwind. Lease--who seemed to have taken a leaf out of his own theory, and listened mechanically--closed his eyes and put his head back against the palings, like one who has had a shock.

He went home when there was nothing more to be done. Not down the highway, but choosing the field-path, where he would not be likely to meet a soul. Crabb Lane, accustomed to put itself into a state of commotion for nothing at all, had got something at last, and was up in arms. All the men employed at the station lived in Crabb Lane. The wife and children of Bowen, the stoker of the pa.s.senger-train,--dead--also inhabited a room in that noisy locality. So that when Lease came in view of the place, he saw an excited mult.i.tude, though it was then long after ordinary bed-time. Groups stood in the highway; heads, thrust forth at upper windows, were shouting remarks across the street and back again.

Keeping on the far side of the hedge, Lease got in by the back-door unseen. His wife was sitting by the fire, trembling and frightened. She started up.

"Oh, Harry! what is the truth of this?"

He did not answer. Not in neglect; Lease was as civil indoors as out, which can't be said of every one; but as if he did not hear. The supper, bread and half a cold red-herring, was on the table. Generally he was hungry enough for supper, but he never glanced at it this evening.

Sitting down, he looked into the fire and remained still, listening perhaps to the outside hubbub. His wife, half dead with fear and apprehension, could keep silence no longer, and asked again.