A TERRIBLE DREAM.

Otago Witness, Issue 2010, 1 September 1892, Page 38

A TERRIBLE DREAM.

By L. E. B. Stephens.

T was my last drunk ! Yes ; the phrase is correct. I don't mean my last drink. I have often made a fool of myself through drink, bat never again after I had my bitter lesson; not once since the occasion of my last " drank," when I caused the — bat stay, that is anticipating, and if I tell you the end of my story first, you will not care to hear the beginning of it. I have turned my hand and brain to a vast nnmber of things in my time, but have never or let us say hardly ever — done any good for myself. Of course you have heard the old saw about Jacks of all trades, although that hardly applies to my case, for I flatter myself I have mastered a large number of trades, and a few arts and professions ; but, from their very multifariousness, none of them have benefited me long at a stretch.

At the time of which I speak I was employed in the railway police, and it was also my duty to take a signalman's place if he was ill or otherwise unable to work.

Just then my wife was away from home on what I may call (to resort to an imitation of a German compound word) a quarrel-visit. The cause was jealousy, bnt it was of so dim and shady a nature that I ought to have been thoroughly ashamed of myself for raking up the matter. So, like a wise little woman, she went away to stay with her mother until wesbould have got over our angry feelings. . You know, of course, that a home is not much of a home when its presiding deity is away, so you will easily understand that my mental condition was much upset, and this led to my attending many more publichouses than was conducive either to my health or my pocket. So it chanced that on a certain day, when there wae not much doing, happening to be in one of these temples dedicated tp the worship of adulterated spirits, I made the acquaintance of a stranger who had jqst come to our neighbourhood. His name, he said, was Chris Weir. He had travelled pretty nearly all over the world; was, perhaps, what some people would call an adventurer; but he talked to me in the most interesting manner od many subjects. He, too, .bad worked on railways, a&4 knew all about the French and

American systems. He had been in Argentina, too, and told me how everything suffered there through the rise in the gold premium. Weir, in fact, possessed for me one of those extraordinary magnetic attractions which are so difficult to account for or to explain. In short he was a man after my own heart, and in the course of a few hours — and more than a few drinks— he and I became firm friends.

Suddenly, while we were engrossed in conversation, a hand was laid upon my arm, and I heard some one say :

" Hallo, Mr Markham 1 So I've found yo u at last 1 "

I turned, and confronted one of the porters from the station.

" Well, what do you want 1 " I believe in keeping people to their places ; I don't like too much equality, but I am greatly afraid my manner, as I spoke the3e words, rather suggested drams than dignity. "What do I want? Why the stationmaster's sent for you. I've been to your 'ouse, and then from one pub to another." " That's neither here nor there."

" Ain't it ? No more wasn't you 1 "

" Don't try to be funny. Look after your grammar first. What are you going to have, old man 1 " I asked, vaguely feeling the necessity to square him. " Drop of old six, thank you, sir." " Well, what do they want me fdir 1 " " You're to go at once to No 12 signal box. Johnson's fallen in a fit, and you're to take his place. As a rule I did not care a button for stationmaster, manager, or directors either ; but a chill terror now seized my heart, a clammy perspiration came out upon my hands and forehead at thoughtof these grave responsibilities which, in my present state, I was so unfit to accept. 11 Right 1 I'll go at once," I said, notwithstanding. " Oh, stop a minute 1 " the porter exclaimed. " Here's a letter for you. The postman was at your place, and couldn't make anyone hear, so I offered to take it to you." "I say, Weir," I cried, "this is from my wife. She says she's coming home by the 915 express to-night. Rather awkward under the circumstances."

I can remember that I was unable to pronounce this last word, and also that I told all my family affairs to my companion in one of those exuberant bursts of confidence of which one feels so thoroughly ashamed the next morning. By this time we were in the street. It was now dark, The cool night breeze, by its contrast to the over-beated tavern, made me feel worse, My brain was in a whirl ; I Btaggered and reeled. II Oh, my God I" I cried, passing my hand over my fevered brow, " What a fool I've been I What shall Ido ?"

" Pall yourself together, old man 1 " Weir said. "Leave it to me. You see I'm all right. I've drank a litre of real fiery cognac before now for a wager, and been as steady as a top after it. You know I understand the signals. Take me with you and I'll see you through it." " Thanks — you're a — you're a brick, that's what you are 1 " We had soon reached the point where my attendance was required, and here we found things in a dire state of confusion. A train of heavy goods trucks had run off the metals and blocked the main up line. "Ah, here you are, Markham, at last," the stationmaster said on perceiving me. •' I wish to goodness you were to be found whervyou are wanted, but better late than never. There's cne consolation, you are preferable to some of them. When you are here you do understand your business." These words smote me, and I made a desperate effort that he should not see my condition. I did cot answer. I had quite enough sense about me to know that, had I done so, I should infallibly have betrayed myself. '• We can't have those trucks moved until I get more help," the stationmaster continued, " and that won't be for some time in this benighted region. Make haste into the box, Markham ; you must block the main line, and put the danger signals against the 9.15 express. That's the only one up tonight, you know." .- With this.he turned on his heel and went off to give other direction's, for he was of course overwhelmed with work. I stumbled up the ladder into the signal-box as best I could, and, in the darkness, no one noticed Chris Weir creep up after me. That man was truly a fiiend in need. Once inside, I eank down helplessly upon a bench. The telegraph bell was ringing, but I could no more have worked the instrument than if I had been a little child. My predominant feeling then was one of bitter self-reproach. To think the safety of hundreds of human lives might be dependent upon me, and I so miserably unfit for the responsibility 1 But there was one consolation ;my companion was a good fellow ; he would see all safe and help me out of my difficulty. " Here, pull yourself together, old chap 1 Take a drop of this," he said, holding out a

flask which he had just taken from his pocket. " What is it ? " * " Whisky." "Ob, I daren't." " Nonsense 1 Don't be a baby ! Take my tip, it's just the very thing to put you straight." I had now reached that condition in which one can easily be persuaded to do anything, especially in the way of assimilating liquor, of whatsoever kind it may be. I swallowed a draught of the whisky, which naturally made me more drunk than ever. Weir crossed over to the door, and gazed out into the darkness. " Anyone out there now ? " I queried thickly. " Not a soul. .They have left us monarchs of all we survey" This°^place seems a jolly long way off from the station." " How are the signals ? " "Pretty well, thank you." "Ob, don't be a fool f" " The up line is signalled clear." "Put it at— (/iio.)— at danger, there's a good fellow." His back was turned to me. He did not answer. I repeated my request as distinctly as I could. Still he peered out of the window, and vouchsafed no reply. " Weir ? " I shouted. II That is not my name," he said at last. " I don't care what your name is," I cried, in mingled surprise and irritation ; "I've asked you to make the danger Bignal as you promised." " Well, I'm not going to 1 " he answered, turning fiercely, his eyes -blazing with malignant hatred. "What!" " You don't know what my real name is. I'll tell you and make you care. I'm Charles Weston, the man who was in love with your wife before she knew yon. You have heard cf me, haven't you 1 You told me so yourself in your drunken babbling. You found some undated letters of mine which have

caused you to part from your wife. I oan have my revenge now on both of you, and it will all be caused by your own drunken folly. She's in that train, you remember. Now save her and the rest of the passengers the best way you can I " I rushed wildly at him, but he had opened the door and was already down the steps and beyond my reach. . Helpless as I was I felt that somehow the dastardly wretch must not be allowed to thus wreak his vengeance. Yes, my Mary was in that train, and perhaps some hundred human, lives besides. They were all in my hands, and I must save them. But the drink and my padsion blinded me. The little cabin seemed to swim and- dance around me. I "^rent towards the instrument, but all wa9 binned and confused. I was utterly unable to use it. Oh, what a horrible revenge had this man conceived 1 And after all no one to blame save myself for my besotted folly. Here was I alone in this position of trust and responsibility, the duties of which I was utterly incompetent to fulfil. I feel certain to this day that the whisky which he had given me must have been dragged, for never before had drink exercised so deadening an effect upon me ; and while these maddening thoaghts were rushing through my brain with a sickening whirl, a sudden faintness came over me, and I fell heavily to the floor unconscious. Ido not know how long I lay there. When I returned to consciousness my senses came back to me slowly and painfully, but though my head ached my brain was much clearer.

I looked at the clock — it was a quarter past 9 ; and as I looked the recollection of everything flashed upon my mind. Quarter past 9 1 The express was often a few minutes late, and all seemed still and quiet yet. Surely there would still be time 1

No I— it was too late ! At this moment my ears were assailed by the sound of a loud whistle, like the shriek of some wild living thing in mortal agony, and then a rattling, roaring, rumbling noise. It was the express. It had passed the signals. It was close to my box.'

Great heavens 1 It was too late to savo it.

Too late. Yes ; for the next moment there was a terrific crash, and I knew that the train, with its living freight, bearing my Mary to me, had been dashed to pieces against the disabled goods trucks.

I had risen to my knees ; I could get no farther. I seemed rooted to the spot, and I covered my ears with both hands in order to shutout the appalling sounds which I know must follow next.

An awful explosion, which shook the signal box, made me jump to my feet. It must be the bciler of the engine which had burst. And then came the sounds of human agony — the shrieks of women, the piteous cries of children, the groans of men, all lying in a helpless, hopeless, mangled ohaos down below me, And. I was the cause of it all—l,

Jamee Markham. My deed was neither more nor less than that of a murderer.

Yes, it was my hand which had launched all these men aud women and children into eternity, unprepared, to meet their God 1 When the full horror of this thought, and my situation, broke in upon my senses, I wonder it did not drive me mad.

With an effort, I tried to pull myself together. What was the use of tarrying here amazed, my mind a prey to these horrible thoughts 7 I must go out and see if something could not be done.

The scene that met my gaze beggars all description. The first face I saw was that of my Mary. She lay crushed beneath the remains of a third-class carriage. I implored her to speak to me, but her eyes were glazed, her face was white —she was dead 1 .

I sank upon my knees and raised my hands to heaven to pray that my end might come soon too. I raised my hands, and — and awoke.

Where was I ? I could not realise, I could not think for a moment. Then, in a flash, recollection returned to me. I lay on the floor of the signal box. It bad been a terrible nightmare, engendered by my drunken and disordered imagination. Ab, but when did the dream begin ? How much of it was true ?

I looked at the clock. It was 25 minutes past 9. I scrambled to my feet and looked

out. All was calm and still. There were the tracks across the main line, but no wrecked express — no- dead and dying. "Thank God for it— thank God 1" I fervently exclaimed.

The dark clouds which earlier obscured the sky had rolled away, and the moon shed her silver loveliness over all things. Far away in the distent country I heard a rushing sound. It was the express.

With an inexpressible joy I turned the signals against it, and in a few moments more, with a jerk and a bump, the train had pulled up a few yards from my boxsaved I

Where did the dream begin ? That was proved when, the next day, Weston's body was found on the line. He appeared to have fallen, striking his temple, and to have died on the spot. "Mary," I said that night, " I hope we are going to be very happy together for the future, if you will only forgive me my unreasonable jealousy. I have passed through a terrible experience, but, thank heaven, I have oome to the end of my 4 Last Drunk.' *'

— The east winds do bite in Edinburgh fearfully now and then, and blow a dust of unparalleled pungency in ydur eyes as you cross the North bridge; but, with that exception, what a city! Grey, why it is grey, or grey and gold, or grey and gold and blue, or grey and gold and blue and green, or grey and gold and blue and green and purple, according as the heaven ' pleases, and you ohoose your ground. — Professor|Masson.