THE SCOTCH EXPRESS.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXIX, Issue 3678, 2 March 1899, Page 2

THE SCOTCH EXPRESS.

The entrance, to Euston Statio.i is of itself imposing. It is a hugh" portico of brown stone, old and grim, in form a casual imitation, no doubt, of tho front of the temple of , Nike Apteros, with a recollection of the Egyptians proclaimed at the flanks. The frieze, where of old woulu prance an exuberant processional of gods, is, in tins' case, bare of decoration, but upon the epistyle is written in simple, stern letters the word, “ EUSTON.” The legend reared high by the gloomy Pelagic columns stares down a wide avenue. In short, this entrance to a railway station does not in any way resemble tne entrance to a railway station. It is more tho front of some venerable hank. But it has another diginity, which is not born of form. To great degree it is to tho English and to those who are in England tho gate to Scotland. The hansoms, after passing through this impressive portal of the station, bowl smoothly across a courtyard which is in the centre of the terminal hotel, an institution dear to most railways in Europe. The traveller lands amid a swarm of porters, and then proceeds cheerfully to take the customary trouble for his luggage. America provides a contrivance in a thousand situations where Europe provides a man, or perhaps a number of men, and the work of our brass check is here none by porters, directed by the traveller himself. The men lack the memory of the check; the check never forgets its identity. Moreover, the European railways generously furnish the porters at the expense of the traveller. Nevertheless, if these men have not the invincible business precision of the check, and if they have to bo tipped, it can be asserted for those who care that in Europe one-half of the populace waits on the otner half raos J diligently and well. Against the masonry of a platform under the vaulted arch of the trainhouse lay a long string o. coaches. Thej were painted white on the bulging part, which led half-way down from the top, and ,the bodies were a deep bottle-green. There was. a group of norters placing luggage in the van, and a great many others were busy with the affairs of passengers, tossing smaller bits of luggage into the racks over the seats, and bustling here and there on short quests. The guard of the train, a tall man who resembled one of the first, Napoleon’s veterans, was caring for the distribution of passengers into the various “bins.” There were no second-class compartments ; • they were all third and first class.

The train was at the time engineless, but, presently a railway “flier,” painted a .glowing vermillion, slid modestly down and.took: its place at the head. The , guard walked along the platform, and decisively closed each door. He wore a dark blue uniform, throughly decorated with silver braid in the guise of leaves. The way of him gave to this, business the importance of a ceremony. Meanwhile the fireman had climbed down from the cab and raised, his hand, ready to transfez- a signal to the driver, who stood looking at his watch. In tne interval there,had something progressed in the large signal-box .that stands guard at Euston. This high house contains many, levers, standing in thick, shining ranks. It perfectly resembles an organ m some great church, if it were not that these rows of numbered and indexed handles typify something more acutely human than does a keyboard. It requires four men to play -this organ-like ■ thing, and the strains .never cease. Night and day, day and night, these four men are Walking to and fro, from this lever to' that lever, and under their hands the great machine raises its endless hymn of a world at work, the fall and rise o fsignals and the clinking swim* of switches. “

And so, as the vermilion engine stood waiting and looking from the shadow of the curve-roofed station, a man in toe signal-house had played the notes which informed the engine of its freedom. The driver saw the fall of those proper semaphores which gave him liberty to speak to his steel friend. A certain combination in the economy of the London and North Western Railway, a combination which had spread from .the men who swept out the carriages through innumerable minds to the.general manager himself, had resulted in the law that the vermilion engine,. with its long string of white and bottle-green coaches, was to start forthwith toward , Scotland. . Presently the fireman, starling with his face towards the rear, let fall his hand. “All right,” he said. The driver turned a wheel, and, as the fireman slipped back, the train moved along the platform at the pace of a mouse. Tc those, in the tranquil carriages this starting was probably as easy as the sliding of one’s hand over a greased surface, but in the engine there was more to it. The monster roared suddenly and loudly, and sprang forward impetuously. A wrong-headed - or maddened dran>hora> will lunge in his collar sometimes when going up a hill. But' this load of burdened carriages followed imperturbably at the gait of turtles. They were not to be stirred from their way of dignified exit by the impatient engine. The crowd of porters and transient people, stood respectfully. They looked with the indefinite wonder of the railwaystation sight-seer upon tne faces at the windows of the passing coaches. This train was off for Scotland. It had started from the home of one accent to the home of another accent. It was going from manner to manner, from habit to habit, and in the minds -of these London spectators there surely floated dim images of the traditional kilts, the burring speech, the grouse, the canniness, the oatmeal—all tne elements of a romantic Scotland.

-.The train swung impressively around the signal-house, and headed up a brickwalled cut. In starting tiiis heavy string of coaches, the engine breathed explosively. It gasped, and heaved, and bellowed; once, for a moment, the wheels spun on the rails, ana a convulsive tremor shook the great steel frame The train itself, however, moved through this deep cut in the body of London with coolness anu precision, and the employees of the railway, knowing the train’s mission, tacitly presented arms at its passing. To the travellers in the carriages, the suburbs of London must have one long monotony of care-fully-made walls of stone or brick. But after the hill was climbed, the train Bed through pictures of red habitations of men on a green earth.

But the noise in the cab did not greatly change its measure. Even rnough the speed was now high, the tremendous thumping to be heard in the cab was as alive with strained effort, and as slow in beat as the breathing of a halfdrowned man. At the side of. the track, toinstance, the sound doubtless would strike the ear in the familiar successior of incredibly rapid puffs ;. but in the cab itself, this land-racer breaths very like its friend, _ ,the_ marine - engine. Everybody who has spent time on shipboard has for ever in his head a reminiscence of the steady and methodical pounding of the engines, and perhaps it is curious that this relative, which can whirl over the land at such a pace, breathes in the leisurety tones that a man heeds when he lies awake at night in his berth. There had been no fog in London, but here on the edge of the city a heavy' wind was blowing, and the driver leaned aside.and yelled that it was a very bad day for travelling on an engine. The engine-cabs of England, as of all Europe, are seldom made for the comfort of the men. One finds very often this apparent disregard for the man who does

the work—this indifference to the man who occupies a position which for the exercise of temperance, of courage, of honesty, has no equal at the altitude of prime ministers. The American engineer is the gilded occupant of a salon in comparison with his brother in Europe. The man who was guiding this five-hundred-ton bolt, aimed by the olfieials of the railway at Scotland, could not have been as conilortabie as a shrill gibbering boatman of toe Orient. The narrow and bare bench at his side of the cab was not directly intended for his use, because it was so low that he would be prevented by it from looking out of the ship’s port-hole which served him as a window. The fireman, on his side, had other difficulties. His legs would have had to struggle over some pipes at tho only spot where there was a prospect, and the builders had also strategically placed a large steel bolt. Of course it is plain that the companies consistently believe that the men will do their work better if they are kept standing. The roof of the cab was not altogether a roof. It was merely a projection of two feet cf metal from the bulkhead which formed tho front of the cab. There were practically no sides to it, and the large cinders from the soft coal whirled around in sheets. From time to time the driver took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his blinking eyes.

London was now well to the rear. Tho vermilion engine had been for some time flying like the wind. This train averr ages, between London and Carlisle, forty-nine and nine-tenth miles an hour. It is a distance of 299 miles. There is one stop. It occurs at Crewe, and endures five minutes. In consequence, the block-signals flashed by seemingly at the end of the moment in which they were sighted. There can be no question of the statement that tho road-beds of English railways are at present immeasureably superior to the'American Toad-beds. Of course there is a clear reason. It is known to every traveller that peoples of the Continent of Europe have no right at all to own railways. Those lines of travel are too childish and trivial for expression. A correct fate would deprive the Continent of its railways, and give them to somebody who knew abou’ them. The continental idea of a railway is to surround a mass of machinery with forty rings of ultra-military law, and then they believe they have one complete. The Americans and English are the railway peoples. That our roadbeds are poorer than the English roadbeds, is because of tho fact that we were suddenly oligebd to build thousands upon thousands of miles of railway, and the English were oblifiged to slowly build tens upon tens of miles. A roadbed from New York to San Francisco, with stations, bridges, and crossings oi the kind that the London and NorthWestern traverses from London to Glasgow, would cost a sum large enough to support the German army for a term oi years. The whole way is costructed with the care that inspired the creators of some of our now obsolete forts along the Atalantic coast. An American engineer. with his knowledge of the difficulties ho had to' encounter —• the wide rivers with variable banks, the mountain chains, perhaps the long spaces of absolute desert, in fact, all the perplexities of a vast and somewhat new country—_ would not dare spend a respectable portion of his allowance on seventy feet of granite wall over a gully, when he knew lie could' make an embankment with little cost by heaving up the dirt and stones from . here and here. But the English road is all made in the pattern that the Romans built their highways. After England is dead, savants will find narrow streaks of masonry leading from ruin to ruin. But after all Is said of it, the accidents and the miles of railway operated in the United States. The reason can e divided into three parts—older conditions, superior caution, band road-bed. And of these, the greatest is older conditions.

In this flight towards Scotland one seldom encountered a grade crossing. In nine cases out of ten there was either a bridge or a tunnel. The platforms of even the remote country stations were all of ponderous masonry in contrast to our constructions of planking. There was always to he seen, as we thundered totvarcl a station of this kind, a number of porters in uniform, who re quested the retreat of anyone who had not the wit to give us plenty of room. And then, as the shrill warning of tlie whistle pierced even the uproar that was about us, came the wild joy of the rush past a station. It was something in the nature of a triumphal procession conducted at thrilling speed. Perhaps there was a curve of infinite grace, a sudden hollow explosive effect made by the passing of signal-box that was close to the track, and then the deadly lunge to shave the edge of a platform. There were always a number of people standing afar, with their eyes riveted upon this projectile, and to be on the engine was to feel their interest and admiration in the terror and grandeur of this sweep. A- boy allowed to ride with the driver of the band-waggon as a circus parade winds through one of our village streets could not exceed for egotism the temper of a new man in the cab of a train like this one. This valkyric journey on the back of the vermilion engine, with the shouting of the wind, the deep, mighty panting of the steed, the grey blur at the track side, the flowing quicksilver ribbon of the other rails, the sudden clash as a switch intersects, all the din and fury of this ride, was oh a splendour that caused one to look abroad at the quiet, green landscape, and believe that it was of a phlegm quite beyond patience. It should have been dark, rain, shot, and windy; thunder should have rolled across its sky. It seemed, somehow that if the driver should for a moment take his hands his engine, it might swerve from the track as a horse from the road. Once, indeed, as he stood wiping his on a bit of waste, there must have been something ludicrous in the way the solitary passenger regarded him. Without those finely firm hands on the bridle, the engine might rear and bolt for the pleasant farms lying in the sunshine at either side.

This driver was worth contemplation. He was simply a quiet, middle - aged man, bearded, and with the, little wrinkles of i habitual geniality and kindliness spreading from the eyes toward the temple, who stood at his post always gazing out, through his round window, while, from, time to time, his hands went from here to there over his levers. He seldom changed either attitude or expression. There surely is no enginedriver who does not feel the heauty of the business, but the emotion lies' deep, and mainly inarticulate, as it does in the mind of a man who has experienced a good and beautiful wife for many years. This driver’s face displayed nothing but the cool sanity of a man whose thought was buried intelligently in his business. If there was any fierce drama in'it, there was no sign upon him. He was so lost in dreams of speed and signals and steam, that one speculated if the wonder of his tempestuous charge and its career over England touched him, this impassive rider of a fiery thing.

It should be a well-known fact that, all over the world, the engine-driver is the finest type of man that is grown. He is the pick of the earth. He is altogether more worthy than the soldier, and better than the men who move on the sea in ships. He is not paid toe much; nor do his glories weight his brow; but for outright performance, carried on constantly, coolly, and without elation, by a temperate, honest, clear-minded man, he is the further point. And so the lone human at his station in a cab, guarding money', lives, and the honour of the road is a beautiful sight. The whole Hung is festhetic.

The fireman presents the'same charm, but in a less degree, in that he is bound to appear as an apprentice to the finished manhood of the driver. In hi; eyes, turned always in question and confidence towards his superior, one finds, this quality; hut his aspirations are so direct that one secs the same type in evolution. . . . ,

There may he a popular idea that the fireman’s principal function is to hang his head out of the cab and sight in toresting objects in the landscape. At a matter of fact, he is always at work The dragon is insatiate. The fireman is continually swinging open the furn-ace-door, whereat a red shine flows out upon the floor of the cab, and shovelling in immense mouthfuls of coal to a fire that is almost diabolic in its madness. The feeding, feeding, feeding goes cr. until it appears as if it is the muscles oi the fireman’s arms that is speeding tin long train. An engine running ove: sixty-five miles an hour, with 500 tons to drag has an appetite in proportion tc this task.

View of the clear-shining English scenery is often interrupted between London and Crewe by long and short tunnels. The first one was disconcerting. Suddenly one knew that the train was shooting towards a black mouth ir. the hills. It swiftly yawned wider, am. then in a moment the engine drove hit; a place inhabited by every demon of wind and noise. The speed had noi been checked, and the uproar was sc great that in effect one was simple standing at the centre of a vast black walled sphere. The tabular construe; tion which one’s reason proclaimed hat no meaning at all. It was a black sphere, alive with shrieks. But then or the surface of it there was to he seen a little needle-point of light, and thi. widened to a detail of unreal landscape It was the world; the train was going to escape from this cauldron, this abyss of howling darkness. If a man looks through the brilliant water of a tropica, pool, he can sometimes see colouring tlu marvels at the bottom the blue that was on the sky and the green that was or. the foliage of this detail. And the pic ture shimmered in the heat-rays of a new and remarkable sun. When the train bolted out into the open air om knew that it was one’s own earth. Once train met train in a tunnel Upon the painting in the perfectly cir cular frame formed by the mouth then appeared a black square expanded unti it hid everything, and a moment latoi came the crash of the passing. It was enough to make a man lose his sense oi balance. It was a momentary inform, when the fireman opened the furnao:;door, and was bathed in blood-red light as he fed the fires. The effect of a tunnel varied when there was a curve in it. One was more!;, whirling then heels over head apparently in the dark, echoing bowels of tin earth. There was no needle-point of light to which one’s eyes clung as to a star. From London to Crewe, the stern arm of the semaphore never made the trair. pause even for an instant. There wa: always a clear track. It was great to see,far in the distance, a goods train whooping smokily for the north of England on one of the four tracks. The overtaking o; such a train was a thing of magnificent nothing for the long-strided engine, and, as the flying express passed its weaker, brother, one heard one or two feeble and immature puffs from the other en giue, saw the fireman wave his hand tc his luckier fellow, saw a string of foolish clanking flat-cars, their- freights covorcc with tarpaulins, and then the train wa; lost to the rear. The driver twisted his wheel am. worked some levers; and the rhythmical chunking of the engine gradually ceased. Gliding at a speed that was still high, the train curved to the left, and swung down a sharp incline, to move with imperial diginity through the railway y.-ir; at Rugby. There was a maze of switches, innumerable engines noisily pushing cars here and there; crowds of workmen who turned to look, a sinuous curve around the long train-shed, whose high wall resounded ,with the rumble oi the passing express; and then, almost immediately, it_ seemed, came the\ open country again. .-■ Rugby had been, a dream which one could properly doubt. At last the telaxcd engine, with.lh? same majesty of ease, swung into the high-roofedi , station ' at Crewe," and stopped on a platform;lined with porter: and citizens; There was instant hustle, and in the interest of the moment lie one .seemed particularly to notice the tired vermilion engine being led away. There is a five-minute stop at Crowe, A tandem of engines slid up, and buckled fast to the train for the journey to Carlisle. • 1

In the mean time, all the regulation items of peace and comfort had happened on the train itself. The diningcar was in the centre of the train. It was divided into two parts, the one being a dining-room for first-class passengers. They were separated by the kitchens and the larder. The engine, with all its rioting and roaring, had dragged-to Crowe a car in which numbers of passengers were lunching in a tranquillity that was almost domestic, on an average menu of a chop and potatoes, a salad, cheese, and a bottle of beer. Betimes they watched through the windows the areal chimney-marked towns of northern Eng land. They were waited upon by n young man of London, who was supported by a lad who resembled an American bell-boy. The rather elaborate menu and service of the Pullman dining-car is not known in England 01 on the Continent. Warmed roast beef is the exact symbol of a European dinner when one is travelling on a railway. This express is named, both by the public and the company, the “ Corridor Train,” because a coach with a corridor is an unusual thing in England, and so the title has a distinctive meaning. Of course, in America, where there is no car which has not what we call an aisle, it would define nothing. ' Doors open from thence to little compartments made to seat four, or perhaps six, persons. The first-class carriages are very comfortable indeed, being heavily upholstered in dark, hard-wearing stuffs,..with a bulging rest for the head. The thirdclass accommodations on this train arc almost as comfortable as the first-class, and attract a kind of people that is not usually seen travelling third-class in Europe. Many people sacrifice their habit, in the matter of this train, to the fine conditions iof the lower fare.

One of the feats of the train is an electric button in each compartment. Commonly an, electric button is placed high on the side of the carriage as an alarm signal, and it is unlawful to push it unless one is in serious need of assistance from the guard. But these; bells also rang in the dining-car, and (were’-'eup-posed to open negotiations for— tea cr whatever. A new function has been projected on an ancient custom. Mo genius has yet appeared to separate these two meanings. -Each bell rings an alarm and a bid for tea or whatever. It is perfect in theory, then, that, if one rings for tea, the guard comes to interrupt the murder, and that if one is being murdered, the attendant appears witl tea. At any rate, the guard was for ever being called from his reports and his comfortable seat in tue forward end of the luggage-vari by thrilling alarms. He often prowled the length of the train with hardihood and determination, merely to meet a request for a sandwich. The train entered Carlisle at the beginning of twilight. Tin's is the horde: town, and an engine of the Caledonian Railway, manned by two men of broad speech, came to take the place of the tandem. The engine of these men of the North was much smaller than the others, but her cab was much larger, and would be a fair shelter on a stormy

night. They had also built seats with hooks by which they hang them to the rail, and thus arc still enabled to see through the round windows without dislocating their necks. All the human parts of the cab were covered wth oilcloth. The wind that swirled from the dim twilight horizon made the warm glow from-the furnace to be a grateful tiling.

As the train shot out of Carlisle, a glance- backward could learn of the faint yellow blocks of light from the carriages marked on dimmed ground. The signals were now lamps, and shone palely against the sky. The express was entering night as if night were Scotland. There was a long toil to the summit of the hills, and then began the booming ride down the slope. There were many curves. Sometimes cou.c. be seen two or three signal lights at one time, twisting off in some new direction. Minus the lights and some yards of glistening rails, Scotland was only a blend of black and weird shapes. Forests which one could hardly imagine as weltering in the dewy placidity of evening sank to the rear as if the gods had bade them. The loom of a house quickly dissolved before the eyes. A station with its lamps became a broad yellow band that, to a deficient sense, was only a few yards in length. Below, in a deep valley, n. silver glare on the waters of a river made equal time with the train. Signals appeared, grow, and vanished. In the wind and the mystery of the night, it was like sailing in an enchanted gloom. The vague profiles of hills ran-like snakes across the sombre sky. A strange shape boldly and formidably confronted the train, and then melted to a long dash of track as clean as sword-blades.

The vicinity of Glasgow is unmistakable. The flames of pauseless industries are here and there marked on the distance. Vast factories stand close to the track, and retching chimneys emit roseate, flames. At last one may sec upon a wall the strong reflection from furnaces, and. against it the impish and inky figures of working men. A long, prison-like row of tenements, not at all resembling London, but in one way resembling New York, appeared to the loft, and then sank out of sight like a phantom. . At last the driver stopped the bravo effort of his engine. The four hundred miles were come to the edge. The average speed of forty-nine and onethird miles . each hour had been made, and it remained only to glide with the hauteur of a great express through the yard and into the station at Glasgow. A wide and splendid collection of signal-lamps flowed toward the’ engineWith delicacy and care the train clanked over some switches, passed the signals, and then there shone a groat blaze of arc-lamps, defining the wide swoop of tlie station roof. Smoothly, proudly, with all that vast diginity which had surrounded its exit from London, the express moved along its platform. It was the entrance into a gorgeous drawing - room of.a man that was sure of everything. As the. train definitely halted, a long, harsh gasp burst from the engine and a jet of white steam feathered overhead. A loud panting could be heard.

Tlie porters and tlio people crowded forward. In their minds there may have floated dim images of the traditional music-halls, the bobbies, the ’buses, the ’Arrys and ’Arriets, the swells of London. Stephen Crane, “ Gassets Magazine.”