Tales of the Trains

“The Duke ordered up the landlord, and, after getting the whole state of the cellar made known, desired three bottles of claret to be sent up, and despatched a messenger through the town to search for olives. ‘We are very backward, Raggs,’ said he. ‘In England we have no idea of life, nor shall we, as long as these confounded Tories remain in power. With free trade, sir, we should have the productions of France and Italy upon our tables, without the ruinous expenditure they at present cost.’

“‘You don’t much care for that,’ said I, venturing a half-hint at his condition.

“‘No,’ said he, frankly; ‘I confess I do not. But I am not selfish, and would extend my good wishes to others. How do you like that Lafitte? A little tart, – a Very little. It drinks cold, – don’t you think so?’

“‘It is a freezing mixture,’ said I. ‘If I dare to ask for a warm with – ’

“‘Take what you like, Raggs – only don’t ask me to be of the party;’ and with that he gazed at the wine between himself and the candle with the glance of a true connoisseur.

“‘I’ll tell you,’ said he, ‘a little occurrence which happened me some years since, not far from this; in fact, I may confess to you, it was at Chatsworth. George the Forth came down on a visit to us for a few days in the shooting-season, – not that he cared for sport, but it was an excuse for something to do. Well, the evening he arrived, he dined in his own apartment, nobody with him but – ’

“Just at this instant the landlord entered, with a most obsequious face and an air of great secrecy.

“‘I beg pardon, gentlemen,’ said he; ‘but there’s a carriage come over from Chats worth, and the footman won’t give the name of the gentleman he wants.’

“‘Quite right, – quite right,’ said the Duke, waving his hand. ‘Let the carriage wait. Come, Raggs, you seem to have nothing before you.’

“‘Bless your Grace,’ said I, ‘I ‘m at the end of my third tumbler.’

“‘Never mind, – mix another;’ and with that he pushed the decanter of brandy towards me, and filled his own glass to the brim.

“‘Your health, Raggs, – I rather like you. I confess,’ continued he, ‘I’ve had rather a prejudice against your order. There is something d – d low in cutting about the country with patterns in a bag.’

“‘We don’t,’ said I, rather nettled; ‘we carry a pocket-book like this.’ And here I produced my specimen order; but with one shy of his foot the Duke sent it flying to the ceiling, as he exclaimed, —

“‘Confound your patchwork! – try to be a gentleman for once!’

“‘So I will, then,’ said I. ‘Here’s your health, Devonshire.’

“‘Take care, – take care,’ said he, solemnly. ‘Don’t dare to take any liberties with me, – they won’t do;’ and the words made my blood freeze.

“I tossed off a glass neat to gain courage; for my head swam round, and I thought I saw his Grace sitting before me, in his dress as Knight of the Garter, with a coronet on his head, his ‘George’ round his neck, and he was frowning at me most awfully.

“‘I did n’t mean it,’ said I, pitifully. ‘I am only a bagman, but very well known on the western road, – could get security for three hundred pounds, any day, in soft goods.’

“‘I am not angry, old Raggs,’ said the Duke. ‘None of my family ever bear malice. Let us have a toast, – “A speedy return to our rightful position on the Treasury benches.”’

“I pledged his Grace with every enthusiasm; and when I laid my glass on the table, he wrung my hand warmly and said, —

“‘Raggs, I must do something for you.’

“From that moment I felt my fortune was made. The friendship – and was I wrong in giving it that title? – the friendship of such a man was success assured; and as I sipped my liquor, I ran over in my mind the various little posts and offices I would accept of or decline. They ‘ll be offering me some chief-justiceship in Gambia, or to be port-surveyor in the Isle of Dogs, or something of that kind; but I won’t take it, nor will I go out as bishop, nor commander of the forces, nor collector of customs to any newly discovered island in the Pacific Ocean. ‘I must have something at home here; I never could bear a sea-voyage,’ said I, aloud, concluding my meditation by this reflection.

“‘Why, you are half-seas-over already, Raggs,’ said the Duke, as he sat puffing his cigar in all the luxury of a Pacha. ‘I say,’ continued he, ‘do you ever play a hand at écarté, or vingt-et-un, or any other game for two?’

“‘I can do a little at five-and-ten,’ said I, timidly; for it is rather a vulgar game, and I did n’t half fancy confessing it was my favorite.

“‘Five-and-ten!’ said the Duke; ‘that is a game exploded even from the housekeeper’s room. I doubt if they’d play it in the kitchen of a respectable family. Can you do nothing else?’

“Pope-joan and pitch-and-toss were then the extent of my accomplishments; but I was actually afraid to own to them; and so I shook my head in token of dissent.

“‘Well, be it so,’ said he, with a sigh. ‘Touch that bell, and let us see if they have a pack of cards in the house.’

“The cards were soon brought, a little table with a green baize covering – it might have been a hearth-rug for coarseness – placed at the fire, and down we sat. We played till the day was beginning to break, chatting and sipping between time; and although the stakes were only sixpences, the Duke won eight pounds odd shillings, and I had to give him an order on a house in Leeds for the amount. I cared little for the loss, it is true. The money was well invested, – somewhat more profitably than the ‘three-and-a-halfs,’ any way.

“‘Those horses,’ said the Duke, – ‘those horses will feel a bit cold or so by this time. So I think, Raggs, I must take my leave of you. We shall meet again, I ‘ve no doubt, some of these days. I believe you know where to find me in town?’

“‘I should think so,’ said I, with a look that conveyed more than mere words. ‘It is not such a difficult matter.’

“‘Well, then, good-bye, old fellow,’ said he, with as warm a shake of the hand as ever I felt in my life. ‘Goodbye. I have told you to make use of me, and, I repeat it, I ‘ll be as good as my word. We are not in just now; but there ‘s no knowing what may turn up. Besides, whether in office or out, we are never without our influence.’

“What extent of professions my gratitude led me into, I cannot clearly remember now; but I have a half-recollection of pledging his Grace in something very strong, and getting a fit of coughing in an attempt to cheer, amid which he drove off as fast as the horses could travel, waving me a last adieu from the carriage window.

“As I jogged along the road on the following day, one only passage of the preceding night kept continually recurring to my mind. Whether it was that his Grace spoke the words with a peculiar emphasis, or that this last blow on the drum had erased all memory of previous sounds; but so it was, – I continued to repeat as I went, ‘Whether in office or out, we have always our influence.’

“This sentence became my guiding star wherever I went. It supported me in every casualty and under every misfortune. Wet through with rain, late for a coach, soaked in a damp bed, half starved by a bad dinner, overcharged in an inn, upset on the road, without hope, without an ‘order,’ I had only to fall back upon my talisman, and rarely had to mutter it twice, ere visions of official wealth and power floated before me, and imagination conjured up gorgeous dreams of bliss, bright enough to dispel the darkest gloom of evil fortune; and as poets dream of fairy forms skipping from the bells of flowers by moonlight, and light-footed elves disporting in the deep cells of water-lilies or sailing along some glittering stream, the boat a plantain-leaf, so did I revel in imaginary festivals, surrounded by peers and marquises, and thought I was hobnobbing with ‘the Duke,’ or dancing a cotillon with Lord Brougham at Windsor.

“I began to doubt if a highly imaginative temperament, a richly endowed fancy, a mind glowing with bright and glittering conceptions, an organization strongly poetical, be gifts suited to the career and habits of a commercial traveller. The base and grovelling tastes of manufacturing districts, the low tone of country shopkeepers, the mean and narrow-minded habits of people in the hardware line, distress and irritate a man with tastes and aspirations above smoke-jacks and saucepans. He may, it is true, sometimes undervalue them; they never, by any chance, can understand him. Thus was it from the hour I made the Duke’s acquaintance, – business went ill with me; the very philosophy that supported me under all my trial seemed only to offend them; and more than once I was insulted, because I said at parting, ‘Never mind, – in office or out, we have always our influence.’ The end of it was, I lost my situation; my employers coolly said that my brain did n’t seem all right, and they sent me about my business, – a pleasant phrase that, – for when a man is turned adrift upon the world, without an object or an occupation, with nowhere to go to, nothing to do, and, mayhap, nothing to eat, he is then said to be sent about his business. Can it mean that his only business then is to drown himself? Such were not my thoughts, assuredly. I made my late master a low bow, and, muttering my old refrain ‘In office or out,’ etc., took my leave and walked off. For a day or two I hunted the coffee-houses to read all the newspapers, and discover, if I could, what government situations were then vacant; for I knew that the great secret in these matters is always to ask for some definite post or employment, because the refusal, if you meet it, suggests the impression of disappointment, and, although they won’t make you a Treasury Lord, there ‘s no saying but they may appoint you a Tide-waiter. I fell upon evil days, – excepting a Consul for Timbuctoo, and a Lord Lieutenant for Ireland, there was nothing wanting, – the latter actually, as the ‘Times’ said, was going a-begging. In the corner of the paper, however, almost hidden from view, I discovered that a collector of customs – I forget where exactly – had been eaten by a crocodile, and his post was in the gift of the Colonial Office. ‘Come, here’s the very thing for me,’ thought I. ‘” In office or out” – now for it;’ and with that I hurried to my lodgings to dress for my interview with his Grace of Devonshire.

“There is a strange flutter of expectancy, doubt, and pleasure in the preparation one makes to visit a person whose exalted sphere and higher rank have made him a patron to you. It is like the sensation felt on entering a large shop with your book of patterns, anxious and fearful whether you may leave without an order. Such in great part were my feelings as I drove along towards Devonshire House; and although pretty certain of the cordial reception that awaited me, I did not exactly like the notion of descending to ask a favor.

“Every stroke of the great knocker was answered by a throb at my own side, if not as loud, at least as moving, for my summons was left unanswered for full ten minutes. Then, when I was meditating on the propriety of a second appeal, the door was opened and a very sleepy-looking footman asked me, rather gruffly, what I wanted.

“‘To see his Grace; he is at home, is n’t he?’

“‘Yes, he is at home, but you cannot see him at this hour; he’s at breakfast.’

“‘No matter,’ said I, with the easy confidence our former friendship inspired; ‘just step up and say Mr. Baggs, of the Northern Circuit, – Baggs, do you mind?’

“‘I should like to see myself give such a message,’ replied the fellow, with an insolent drawl; ‘leave your name here, and come back for your answer.’

“‘Take this, scullion,’ said I, haughtily, drawing forth my card, which I did n’t fancy producing at first, because it set forth as how I was commercial traveller in the long hose and flannel way, for a house in Glasgow. ‘Say he is the gentleman his Grace dined with at Chesterfield in March last.’

“The mention of a dinner struck the fellow with such amazement that without venturing another word, or even a glance at my card, he mounted the stairs to apprise the Duke of my presence.

“‘This way, sir; his Grace will see you,’ said he, in a very modified tone, as he returned in a few minutes after.

“I threw on him a look of scowling contempt at the alter-ation his manner had undergone, and followed him upstairs. After passing through several splendid apartments, he opened one side of a folding-door, and calling out ‘Mr. Baggs,’ shut it behind me, leaving me in the presence of a very distinguished-looking personage, seated at breakfast beside the fire.

“‘I believe you are the person that has the Blenheim spaniels,’ said his Grace, scarce turning his head towards me as he spoke.

“‘No, my Lord, no, – never had a dog in my life; but are you – are you the Duke of Devonshire?’ cried I, in a very faltering voice.

“‘I believe so, sir,’ said he, standing up and gazing at me with a look of bewildered astonishment I can never forget.

“‘Dear me,’ said I, ‘how your Grace is altered! You were as large again last April, when we travelled down to Nottingham. Them light French wines, they are ruining your constitution; I knew they would.’

“The Duke made no answer, but rang the bell violently for some seconds.

“‘Bless my heart,’ said I, ‘it surely can’t be that I ‘m mistaken. It’s not possible it wasn’t your Grace.’

“‘Who is this man?’ said the Duke, as the servant appeared in answer to the bell. ‘Who let him upstairs?’

“‘Mr. Baggs, your Grace,’ he said. ‘He dined with your Grace at – ’

“‘Take him away, give him in charge to the police; the fellow must be punished for his insolence.’

“My head was whirling, and my faculties were all astray. I neither knew what I said, nor what happened after, save that I felt myself half led, half pushed, down the stairs I had mounted so confidently five minutes before, while the liveried rascal kept dinning into my ears some threats about two months’ imprisonment and hard labor. Just as we were passing through the hall, however, the door of a front-parlor opened, and a gentleman in a very elegant dressing-gown stepped out. I had neither time nor inclination to mark his features, – my own case absorbed me too completely. ‘I am an unlucky wretch,’ said I, aloud. ‘Nothing ever prospers with me.’

“‘Cheer up, old boy,’ said he of the dressing-gown: ‘fortune will take another turn yet; but I do confess you hold miserable cards.’

“The voice as he spoke aroused me. I turned about, and there stood my companion at Chesterfield.

“‘His Grace wants you, Mr. Cavendish,’ said the footman, as he opened the door for me.

“‘Let him go, Thomas,’ said Mr. Cavendish. ‘There’s no harm in old Raggs.’

“‘Isn’t he the Duke?’ gasped I, as he tripped upstairs without noticing me further.

“‘The Duke, – no, bless your heart, he’s his gentleman!’

“Here was an end of all my cherished hopes and dreams of patronage. The aristocratic leader of fashion, the great owner of palaces, the Whig autocrat, tumbled down into a creature that aired newspapers and scented pocket-handkerchiefs. Never tell me of the manners of the titled classes again. Here was a specimen that will satisfy my craving for a life long; and if the reflection be so strong, what must be the body which causes it!”

THE WHITE LACE BONNET

It is about two years since I was one of that strange and busy mob of some five hundred people who were assembled on the platform in the Euston-Square station a few minutes previous to the starting of the morning mail-train for Birmingham. To the unoccupied observer the scene might have been an amusing one; the little domestic incidents of leave-taking and embracing, the careful looking after luggage and parcels, the watchful anxieties for a lost cloak or a stray carpet-bag, blending with the affectionate farewells of parting, are all curious, while the studious preparation for comfort of the old gentleman in the coupé oddly contrast with similar arrangements on a more limited scale by the poor soldier’s wife in the third-class carriage.

Small as the segment of humanity is, it is a type of the great world to which it belongs.

I sauntered carelessly along the boarded terrace, investigating, by the light of the guard’s lantern, the inmates of the different carriages, and, calling to my assistance my tact as a physiognomist as to what party I should select for my fellow-passengers, – “Not in there, assuredly,” said I to myself, as I saw the aquiline noses and dark eyes of two Hamburgh Jews; “nor here, either, – I cannot stand a day in a nursery; nor will this party suit me, that old gentleman is snoring already;” and so I walked on until at last I bethought me of an empty carriage, as at least possessing negative benefits, since positive ones were denied me. Scarcely had the churlish determination seized me, when the glare of the light fell upon the side of a bonnet of white lace, through whose transparent texture a singularly lovely profile could be seen. Features purely Greek in their character, tinged with a most delicate color, were defined by a dark mass of hair, worn in a deep band along the cheek almost to the chin. There was a sweetness, a look of guileless innocence, in the character of the face which, even by the flitting light of the lantern, struck me strongly. I made the guard halt, and peeped into the carriage as if seeking for a friend. By the uncertain flickering, I could detect the figure of a man, apparently a young one, by the lady’s side; the carriage had no other traveller. “This will do,” thought I, as I opened the door, and took my place on the opposite side.

Every traveller knows that locomotion must precede conversation; the veriest commonplace cannot be hazarded till the piston is in motion or the paddles are flapping. The word “Go on” is as much for the passengers as the vehicle, and the train and the tongues are set in movement together; as for myself, I have been long upon the road, and might travesty the words of our native poet, and say, —

“My home is on the highway.”

I have therefore cultivated, and I trust with some success, the tact of divining the characters, condition, and rank of fellow-travellers, – the speculation on whose peculiarities has often served to wile away the tediousness of many a wearisome road and many an uninteresting journey.

The little lamp which hung aloft gave me but slight opportunity of prosecuting my favorite study on this occasion. All that I could trace was the outline of a young and delicately formed girl, enveloped in a cashmere shawl, – a slight and inadequate muffling for the road at such a season. The gentleman at her side was attired in what seemed a dress-coat, nor was he provided with any other defence against the cold of the morning.

Scarcely had I ascertained these two facts, when the lamp flared, flickered, and went out, leaving me to speculate on these vague but yet remarkable traits in the couple before me. “What can they be?” “Who are they?” “Where do they come from?” “Where are they going?” were all questions which naturally presented themselves to me in turn; yet every inquiry resolved itself into the one, “Why has she not a cloak, why has not he got a Petersham?” Long and patiently did I discuss these points with myself, and framed numerous hypotheses to account for the circumstances, – but still with comparatively little satisfaction, as objections presented themselves to each conclusion; and although, in turn, I had made him a runaway clerk from Coutts’s, a Liverpool actor, a member of the swell-mob, and a bagman, yet I could not, for the life of me, include her in the category of such an individual’s companions. Neither spoke, so that from their voices, that best of all tests, nothing could be learned.

Wearied by my doubts, and worried by the interruption to my sleep the early rising necessitated, I fell soon into a sound doze, lulled by the soothing “strains” a locomotive so eminently is endowed with. The tremulous quavering of the carriage, the dull roll of the heavy wheels, the convulsive beating and heaving of the black monster itself, gave the tone to my sleeping thoughts, and my dreams were of the darkest. I thought that, in a gloomy silence, we were journeying over a wild and trackless plain, with no sight nor sound of man, save such as accompanied our sad procession; that dead and leafless trees were grouped about, and roofless dwellings and blackened walls marked the dreary earth; dark sluggish streams stole heavily past, with noisome weeds upon their surface; while along the sedgy banks sat leprous and glossy reptiles, glaring with round eyes upon us. Suddenly it seemed as if our speed increased; the earth and sky flew faster past, and objects became dim and indistinct; a misty maze of dark plain and clouded heaven were all I could discern; while straight in front, by the lurid glare of a fire fitted round and about two dark shapes danced a wild goblin measure, tossing their black limbs with frantic gesture, while they brandished in their hands bars of seething iron; one, larger and more dreadful than the other, sung in a “rauque” voice, that sounded like the clank of machinery, a rude song, beating time to the tune with his iron bar. The monotonous measure of the chant, which seldom varied in its note, sank deep into my chilled heart; and I think I hear still

THE SONG OF THE STOKERRake, rake, rake,Ashes, cinders, and coal;The fire we make,Must never slake,Like the fire that roasts a soul.Hurrah! my boys, ‘t is a glorious noise,To list to the stormy main;But nor wave-lash’d shoreNor lion’s roarE’er equall’d a luggage train.‘Neath the panting sun our course we run,No water to slake our thirst;Nor ever a poolOur tongue to cool,Except the boiler burst.The courser fast, the trumpet’s blast,Sigh after us in vain;And even the windWe leave behindWith the speed of a special train.Swift we pass o’er the wild morass,Tho’ the night be starless and black;Onward we go,Where the snipe flies low,Nor man dares follow our track.A mile a minute, on we go,Hurrah for my courser fast;His coal-black mane,And his fiery train,And his breath – a furnace blastOn and on, till the day is gone,We rush with a goblin scream;And the cities, at night,They start with affright,At the cry of escaping steam.Bang, bang, bang!Shake, shiver, and throb;The sound of our feetIs the piston’s beat,And the opening valve our sob!Our union-jack is the smoke-train black,That thick from the funnel rolls;And our bounding barkIs a gloomy ark,And our cargo – human souls.Rake, rake, rake,Ashes, cinders, and coal;The fire we make,Must never slake,Like the fire that roasts a soul.

“Bang, bang, bang!” said I, aloud, repeating this infernal “refrain,” and with an energy that made my two fellow-travellers burst out laughing. This awakened me from my sleep, and enabled me to throw off the fearful incubus which rested on my bosom; so strongly, however, was the image of my dream, so vivid the picture my mind had conjured up, and, stranger than all, so perfect was the memory of the demoniac song, that I could not help relating the whole vision, and repeating for my companions the words, as I have here done for the reader. As I proceeded in my narrative, I had ample time to observe the couple before me. The lady – for it is but suitable to begin with her – was young, she could scarcely have been more than twenty, and looked by the broad daylight even handsomer than by the glare of the guard’s lantern; she was slight, but, as well as I could observe, her figure was very gracefully formed, and with a decided air of elegance detectable even in the ease and repose of her attitude. Her dress was of pale blue silk, around the collar of which she wore a profusion of rich lace, of what peculiar loom I am, unhappily, unable to say; nor would I allude to the circumstance, save that it formed one of the most embarrassing problems in my efforts at divining her rank and condition. Never was there such a travelling-costume; and although it suited perfectly the frail and delicate beauty of the wearer, it ill accorded with the dingy “conveniency” in which we journeyed. Even to her shoes and stockings (for I noticed these, – the feet were perfect) and gloves, – all the details of her dress had a freshness and propriety one rarely or ever sees encountering the wear and tear of the road. The young gentleman at her side – for he, too, was scarcely more than five-and-twenty, at most – was also attired in a costume as little like that of a traveller; a dress-coat and evening waistcoat, over which a profusion of chains were festooned in that mode so popular in our day, showed that he certainly, in arranging his costume, had other thoughts than of wasting such attractions on the desert air of a railroad journey. He was a good-looking young fellow, with that mixture of frankness and careless ease the youth of England so eminently possess, in contradistinction to the young men of other countries; his manner and voice both attested that he belonged to a good class, and the general courtesy of his demeanor showed one who had lived in society. While he evinced an evident desire to enter into conversation and amuse his companion, there was still an appearance of agitation and incertitude about him which showed that his mind was wandering very far from the topic before him. More than once he checked himself, in the course of some casual merriment, and became suddenly grave, – while from time to time he whispered to the young lady, with an appearance of anxiety and eagerness all his endeavors could not effectually conceal. She, too, seemed agitated, – but, I thought, less so than he; it might be, however, that from the habitual quietude of her manner, the traits of emotion were less detectable by a stranger. We had not journeyed far, when several new travellers entered the carriage, and thus broke up the little intercourse which had begun to be established between us. The new arrivals were amusing enough in their way, – there was a hearty old Quaker from Leeds, who was full of a dinner-party he had been at with Feargus O’Connor, the day before; there was an interesting young fellow who had obtained a fellowship at Cambridge, and was going down to visit his family; and lastly, a loud-talking, load-laughing member of the tail, in the highest possible spirits at the prospect of Irish politics, and exulting in the festivities he was about to witness at Derrynane Abbey, whither he was then proceeding with some other Danaïdes, to visit what Tom Steele calls “his august leader.” My young friends, however, partook little in the amusement the newly arrived travellers afforded; they neither relished the broad, quaint common-sense of the Quaker, the conversational cleverness of the Cambridge man, or the pungent though somewhat coarse drollery of the “Emeralder.” They sat either totally silent or conversing in a low, indistinct murmur, with their heads turned towards each other. The Quaker left us at Warwick, the “Fellow” took his leave soon after, and the O’Somebody was left behind at a station; the last thing I heard of him, being his frantic shouting as the train moved off, while he was endeavoring to swallow a glass of hot brandy and water. We were alone then once more; but somehow the interval which had occurred had chilled the warm current of our intercourse; perhaps, too, the effects of a long day’s journey were telling on us all, and we felt that indisposition to converse which steals over even the most habitual traveller towards the close of a day on the road. Partly from these causes, and more strongly still from my dislike to obtrude conversation upon those whose minds were evidently preoccupied, I too lay back in my seat and indulged my own reflections in silence. I had sat for some time thus, I know not exactly how long, when the voice of the young lady struck on my ear; it was one of those sweet, tinkling silver sounds which somehow when heard, however slightly, have the effect at once to dissipate the dull routine of one’s own thoughts, and suggest others more relative to the speaker.