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A pleasant day was spent, and then, after a cosy evening, I was once more ushered into the chamber of horrors, this time being escorted by the whole of the visitors, the gentlemen affectionately bidding me farewell, but not one seeming disposed to accept my offer of changing rooms. However, Ned and Mrs Harrington both wished me to go to their room, when I of course refused; and once more I was alone.
It was now about half-past twelve and Christmas-morning, a regular storm was hurrying round the house, and a strange feeling of crepitation came upon me when I had extinguished the light; and then on climbing into bed I sat and listened for a while, laid my head upon my pillow, and the next moment, or what seemed the next moment, I was startled by a strange beating sound, and as I became aware of a dim, peculiar light, penetrating the room, I heard a low, muffled voice cry appealingly —
“Your hot water, sir – quarter to eight!” while I could hardly believe my eyes had been closed.
Christmas-day passed as it generally does in the country, that is to say, in a most jovial, sociable way; and after fun, frolic, sport, pastime, forfeit, dance, and cards, I stood once more within the haunted chamber with the strange sensation upon me, that though I had met with nothing so far to alarm me – this night, a night when, of all nights in the year, spirits might be expected to break loose, I was to suffer for my temerity.
As soon as I entered and secured the door, I felt that something was wrong, but I roused up the fire, lit the wax candles upon the dressing-table, and then looked round the room.
Apparently I was alone, but upon opening the big closet door, the great cloak fell down with a ghostly rustle, while a peculiar odour seemed to rise from the heap. The long, thin sword too, fell, with a strange clanging noise as I hastily closed the door, and then setting down the candle tried to compose myself to look at matters in a calm, philosophical manner. But things would not be looked at in that way, and now I began to feel that I was being punished for all, since the next moment I could see the eyes of the large portrait between the windows gleam and roll, now showing the whites, now seeming to pierce me, so intense was their gaze. Then the figure seemed to be slowly coming down from the frame nearer and nearer, till it was close to me, when it slowly receded, and a shade passed over the canvas, so that it was gone.
But for shame and the fear of ridicule, I should have opened the door and cried for aid; in fact, I believe I did rise from the chair and try to reach the door, but some invisible power drew me into a corner of the room, where I leaned panting against the wall to gaze upon a fresh phenomenon. I had brought a chamber candlestick into the room, and after igniting the pair of candles upon the toilet table, placed the flat candlestick between them, and left it alight, but now – no – yes – I rubbed my eyes – there was no mistake.
There were six candles burning.
I started, shook myself, muttering that it was deception; but no, there burned six candles, while their flames were big and blurred with a large, ghastly, blue halo round each, that had a strange weird light; and now I tried to recall what I had read in old ghost stories about corpse candles, for I felt that these three must be of that character.
In an agony of fear I tried to run up to the dressing-table to dash the weird lights over, but again the same strange influence guided my steps, so that I curved off to the bed, where I sat down, trembling in every limb – limbs that refused their office – while I gazed upon the candles which now began to float backwards and forwards before me, till I could bear the strange sight no more, and throwing myself back, I buried my face in the bed.
But there was no relief here, for as I threw myself down at full length, the great bedstead gave a crack, a rattle, and a bound, and then in an agony of dread I was clinging to the bedding, for the huge structure began to rise slowly higher – higher – higher – sailing away apparently upon the wings of the wind, and then again sinking lower and lower and lower to interminable depths, so that I involuntarily groaned and closed my eyes. But that was of no avail, for I could feel the great bedstead career, now on one side, now on the other, and ever going onward through space like some vessel upon a vast aerial sea.
The rapid gliding upward, in spite of the dread, seemed attended with somewhat of an exhilarating effect; but the falling was hideous in the extreme – for now it was slowly and gently, but the next moment the speed was fearful, and I lay trembling in expectation of feeling the structure dash upon the ground, while every time I unclosed my eyes I could see the gyrating candles, and turned giddy with confusion.
And now, with one tremendously swift gliding swoop, away we went, faster and faster, more rapidly than swallows upon the wing. Space seemed obliterated; and, by the rushing noise and singing in my ears, I could feel that the bedstead was careering on where the atmosphere was growing more and more attenuated, while soon, from the catching of my breath, I felt sure that we should soon be beyond air altogether. The candles were gone, but there were stars innumerable, past which we sped with inconceivable rapidity, so that their light seemed continued in one long luminous streak, while ever more and more the speed was increasing, till it seemed that we were attached to some mighty cord, and being whirled round and round with frightful velocity, as if at the end of the string; and now I trembled for the moment when the cord should be loosed, and we should fly off into illimitable space, to go on – on – on for ever!
At last it came, and away I went; but now separated from the bedstead, to which I had clung to the last. On – on – on, with something large and undefined in front of me, which I felt that I should strike, though I was powerless to prevent the collision. Nearer – nearer – nearer, but ever darting along like a shooting-star in its course, I was swept on, till, with a fearful crash, I struck what I now found to be the lost bed, and tried to cling to it once more; but, no! I rolled off, and fell slowly and gradually lower – lower, and evidently out of the sphere of the former attraction, so that at last I fell, with only a moderate bump, upon the floor, when, hastily rising, I found all totally dark, and that the bedpost was beside me; when, shudderingly dragging off some of the clothes on to the carpet, I rolled myself in them, and went off into a heavy sleep.
The next morning several of my friends made remarks upon my pale and anxious looks; and soon after breakfast, Ned beckoned me into his study, and begged of me to tell him whether I had been disturbed.
For a few minutes I felt that I could not tell of the horrors of the past night, even though I had vowed to sleep in the haunted room still; but at last I began my recital, and had arrived at the point where the bedstead set sail, when Ned jumped up, crying:
“Why, I thought from your looks that you really had been disturbed. But I say, old boy, I suppose we must look over it, as it’s Christmas; but, do you know, judging by my own feelings, I think I’d better make the punch rather less potent to-night.”
“Well, really,” I said, “I think so too.”
“Do you?” said Ned.
“Oh, yes,” I said, “for my head aches awfully;” and no wonder, seeing how it had been Haunted by Spirits!
Chapter Seven
On the Down Line
I couldn’t stop indoors, for I couldn’t bear to see them all. The children didn’t seem to mind it so much, for they ran about and played, and their little hearts were light; but there was some one sitting by the wretched little fire, looking that pale and worn and miserable, that it went quite to one’s heart.
Christmas-morning, with the bright sun shining in through the dirty windows, while from everywhere the rays went flashing as they lighted upon the frost, rime, or snow. Such of the blue sky as we could see from our court, was as bright and clear a blue as could be seen out in the country, while the pavement looked dry, and you could hear the snow crunch under the people’s feet. But there was no brightness with us, and at last I went out, for I couldn’t stop indoors.
Was it my fault? I kept asking myself; had I tried hard enough to get took on again; or ought we to have been more saving when I had a situation? Ah! I asked myself all this again and again as I went out, leaving them at home in a regular state of beggary; for we had come down to the last shilling.
I’ve always noticed as poor men keep their hands in their pockets; and I did mine that sharp, cold morning, and went sauntering along the streets, wondering what it would all come to, and how we were to manage. There was every one I met looking cheerful and bright; here and there shops a little way open, just as if they were winking at you, because they were so full of all sorts of good things; people were going in and coming out with loaded baskets; while, when I got near the baker’s, it was enough to make a hungry man savage to see the stream of people, with their happy, jolly faces, bearing in geese, turkeys, and great fat mottled pieces of beef; and all looking as though there wasn’t such a thing as poverty.
Everybody seemed in a hurry, and every face seemed twinkling and bright with the thoughts of good things to come, till at last, from feeling low and miserable, I got to be reckless and savage, and felt as if I should have liked to have had it out with the world there on the spot.
Every one you met in the big streets was like nature that morning – dressed in the best clothes; some bound for church, some out visiting; and do what I would, I couldn’t find one face that looked miserable. There were the cabs and carriages rattling along; ’buses loaded; the bells ringing merrily; while there seemed to be a something in the air that made you feel bright in spite of yourself; and after being savage for an hour and a half, I seemed to catch the infection from the people about, and more than once I caught myself going to whistle.
But the thoughts of what I’d left at home made me stop short, with my face all screwed up, and from going to one extreme I got to another; and at last, ready to break down, I found myself sitting on the stone-setting of the railings of one of the West End churches.
Beadle comes out after a bit and has a look at me, as much as to say, “Are you a beggar, or ain’t you?” but he never says nothing; and after a bit he goes in again. Policeman comes by beating his white gloves together, and he looks very suspiciously at me, as if he couldn’t quite make up his mind; and then he goes on, and says nothing. And there I sat in the cold, feeling nothing but the misery gripping at my heart, and at last, seeing nothing but a pale worn face in a bare room, where a troop of hungry children were wanting bread.
Sounds strange that, and some may think it stretched. But let them climb some of the dirty stairs at the East end, and they can find such sights any day and every day.
No; I could see nothing then, but the place we called home; and I might have sat there till I froze, if all at once something that seemed almost like a vision had not come before me; for as I sat there with my head upon my hands, there came a light touch, and looking up, there stood a little bright-eyed, golden-haired child before me, her beautiful cheeks ruddy with the keen air, while a tiny bright tear was in each eye, as with a pitying look she pushed a penny into my hand; when I was so utterly took aback, that her bright scarlet cloak was some distance off as she tripped along beside a tall stately lady, before I could recover myself.
That did it. It seemed to bear down pride, anger, everything, and taking me so suddenly, I couldn’t bear it, but there in that open street my head went down again upon my hands, and in the hopeless misery of my heart I cried like a child.
But only for a minute, when I jumped up and hurried along the street, to catch one more sight of the bright pitying little angel; but she was gone, and at last, making sure that she had gone into one of the houses, I walked slowly back to the churchyard.
When I got there the people were beginning to come out of the big church: carriages were drawing up; from out of the open doors there came the rolling sound of the organ; and as I stood there against the railings, watching the happy-looking crowd, it seemed to me that I must be a sort of impostor, for to see how folks were dressed there couldn’t be such a thing as misery in the world.
All at once I started, and took hold of the railing, for I heard a voice that put me in mind of the time when I was started from the Great Central line. Just in front of me, and coming towards a carriage that a lad held open, were a lady and gentleman dressed tip-top, and he was laughing and chatting to her. But I only just saw that she was very handsome, for I was watching the gentleman’s eyes – bright, piercing blue eyes, such as you seldom see; and in a regular state of muddle in my own mind, and wondering about where those eyes had come across me before, I leaned forward right in the way, staring fixed-like at him.
“Stand back, my good fellow,” he says, and then, just as the lady lightly stepped into the carriage, he stops short, fixes those eyes of his on to mine, and then, with his hand playing with his big brown moustache, he burst out laughing, when I knew him in a moment. It was him; and as I thought of the misery of the past year that he had caused, something seemed to rise up in me, and for a moment I felt as if I could have knocked him down. But the clenching of my fist made me feel that penny, and that brought up another face, when turning dejected once more, I turned aside, saying —
“Ah! it’s fun for you, but pretty nigh death for me;” but before I’d got two steps off, he had his hand on my shabby blackened moleskin jacket, and he says —
“Gently, my friend, I must introduce you;” and before I knew what he was about, he had me at the door of the carriage, and he says – “Look, Marian, here’s our honest charioteer, the Vulcan who drove us down to Moreton;” and then he whispered something that made the lady smile, and a bright colour come all over her handsome face. “Do you drive the mail now?” he says, turning to me.
“Never touched a handle since, sir,” I says. “They had me afore the board two mornings after, and discharged me.” And then the thoughts of it all seemed too much for me, and I turned husky and choky, and couldn’t speak for a minute, when I says, with a sort of gulp: —
“Can’t help it, sir; I’ve been werry hard drove since – wife – children – ” and then I choked again as I shunted off what I was saying.
“Stand back a bit,” says the gentleman to his servant, and then, in so kind and gentle a way, he says to me – “Why, my poor fellow, I wouldn’t have had this happen on any account;” and then I saw a tear or two in his lady’s beautiful eyes, and they both stopped talking to me a good quarter of an hour, free as could be, telling me that they had me to thank for much happiness, as theirs was a runaway match. And at last, when they drove off, nodding and smiling at me, I had the gentleman’s card, so as to call on him next morning, when he said his father, being a railway director, I should be took on the line at once; and, what was more to the purpose then, there were five sovereigns in my hand.
I didn’t know what to do, whether to laugh or cry; and I’m sure I must have looked like a madman as I tore through the streets, and rushed upstairs into our room, when the first thing I did was to scrape up every bit of coal at the bottom of the cupboard and put it a-top of the fire.
“Lay the cloth, my lass,” I says, seizing a dish; “and, Lord bless you, look alive!” The children stared, and then laughed and clapped their hands, while I rushed out to the cook’s shop in the lane, looking like a wolf.
There was a roast goose just up, and cissing away in the big pewter dish all amongst the gravy, with the stuffing a smelling that rich, it was enough to drive you mad.
Just as I slipped into the door, the waiter – red-nosed chap – with a dirty white wisp of a handkercher round his neck, looking like a seedy undertaker – the waiter says: “Two goose – apple sauce – and taters;” and the master sticks his fork into the buzzum, and makes a cut as sent the stuffing all out of a gush.
“Hold hard,” I says, “that’s mine;” and ketching hold of one leg, before he knew what I was up to, it was on my dish. “Now then, ladle on that gravy,” I says, “and let’s have the setrers;” and saying that, I dabs a sovrin down on the edge of the pewter.
I think they were going to send out for a policeman, but the sight of that little bit of metal settled it, and five minutes after I was carrying the change – not much of it neither – the goose under a cover, and the waiter following behind with a tray, with vegetables, sauce, and aside the great wedge of pudding, a pot of half-and-half.
When the waiter had gone out of the room, and the little ones were hooraying and tapping with their knives, I got to the top of the table, the wife went to the bottom, and I began to say grace, when our eyes met, she ran to me, and then for a good ten minutes she was a sobbing in my arms; while I – there; that’s private, and I think I’ve confessed enough.
There; I don’t care whose it was, or where it was, all I know is this, that there wasn’t such a dinner eaten or enjoyed anywhere that day throughout the length and breadth of our old country; and though sometimes it was hard to see where I stuck the fork, or cut with the knife, I was smiling all the time. As for the wife, she would keep breaking down till I shouted at her, when she went at it and helped me keep the young ones going; and at last of all I’d have taken a shilling for what was left of the goose, and whoever bought it wouldn’t have been the best off in the bargain.
The very next week I was took on the London, Highshare, and Ploughshare railway, and that through the gent who got me discharged from the Great Central, which happened this way.
The Christmas-Eve afore what I’ve told you was one of those yaller, smoky, foggy times, when trains are all later than they should be, even worse than might be expected at Christmas-time. The lamps were burning in the booking offices all day, while the steam hung like a cloud in the roof of the terminus. I was sitting in the engine-shed on our horse – steam-horse you know – waiting to run the mail down to the north, when Ben Davis, my stoker, says:
“There they goes again, ‘bang, bang,’ I wonder what it’s cost the company to-day in fog signals;” and then as I didn’t say nothing, he says, “Ah! this is just such a night as it was four years agone, when poor Tom Harris was cut up the night afore the pitch in,” – smash you know. “Poor Tom; he knowed it was a-comin’ to that, and he told me all about it; for I stoked him.”
Just then time was up, and all hot and hissing, I runs out to the switches, and comes back on to the down line, where we were coupled on to the train, when Ben goes on: “Poor chap; he’d been outer sorts for some time, and I do think he took more than he should; but one way and another, he was horribly low-spirited, and would quite upset you with the way he’d talk. The last night as I stoked him, he got telling me his reg’lar tale, about a run down he had, and one as he had never forgotten about, being on full swing in a terribly dark foggy night, he heard a whistle, and looking back he could see a train coming on at an awful rate just behind him, when of course he put on more steam. But that didn’t seem no good; for coming round the curve, he could see the train closing up fast; and at last, when half mad with fear, and ready to jump off, he saw that the train was on the up line, and the next minute it was alongside his; and there they two were racing abreast of each other; when he slackened, the other slackened; and when he did t’other, they did t’other. Same length train; same size engine; same lights; and fire door open like his; so that he could see the driver’s face; and he says, says he, ‘I nearly dropped; for it was me as was driving that ’tother train.’ On they goes together into the tunnel, and out they goes together. When he looked back, there was all the carriages lit up, and all just as if it was his own train; but whistling at the short stations when he did, and keeping an exactly same pace. It was like being in a cloud, the fog was so heavy; while the steam from both funnels mixed together.
“It was Christmas-eve, just like this; and yet cold as it was, he said, poor chap, the water dripped from his face as they rushed on. He knew it couldn’t last long, for there’d be an up-train directly, and then there must be a fearful smash; but yet something seemed to tell him as there wouldn’t; and watching as they went by station after station, he stood trembling at his post. All at once he could see the up-train coming; and then he put on a spurt so as to be ahead when the smash came; but that was no use, for the train kept aside his, and then all at once there was a shriek, and a rush, and the up-train was right behind; while along side his, there was that same engine just in the same place, and him a-driving it. Poor Tom used to make me creep when he told that tale, and he didn’t live long arter; for one night there was something wrong in front of our engine, when he wouldn’t wait till we stopped, but got along as we were going, and when I was expecting him to come back, and looked – for I’d been putting on more coal – there was some blood splashed all about the screen, and when I stopped and run back, there was poor Tom lying all to bits in the six foot. And they do say as he’s been seen by some of the chaps a running a ghost engine along the line at express rate, sometimes one line, and sometimes the other; and when he meets another train, there’s a whistle and shriek, and he’s gone.”
“That’s werry pretty,” I says. “I’d have that put in a book, if I was you;” and just then there was a bit of door banging, the second bell rang, the guard’s whistle chirrupped, and then with a scream we started, the steam puffing out of the funnel in round white balls, and slowly spreading overhead till it came faster, and hanging over us like a plume of white feathers, it streamed back over the train.
Such a night: thick as thick; and every now and then it was “bang, bang” as we went over the fog signals, and had to pull up and go very slowly, so that we were a good ten minutes going the first half-mile; and then past the first short station we went very slowly.
Thirty-five miles down was our first stoppage, where we took in water, and then another forty took us to Moreton, which was our next stoppage. By degrees we got on faster and faster, but the darkness was something terrible; while the signal lights at the short stations were almost useless, for I couldn’t see them till we were close up, so being already very late through its being Christmas-time I pushed her along, trusting to the line being all clear.
“Ah!” says Ben all at once, “we’re jest a-coming to the spot where poor Tom was cut up. Poor old chap,” he says; “and it was just here as he first saw that train running by his side.”
Now, of course, I knew well enough that it was all gammon; but Ben talked so serious that it give me quite a shiver, and as we came suddenly upon the lights of a station, and raced through, my heart gave a jump, for it almost seemed as if a train was aside us; and even after passing the station, I looked out, for there was the train lights reflected on the fog on each side; but directly after I laughed at myself.
“It was just about here as he must have gone down,” says Ben to me – shouting in my ear, for we were going fast; “and they do say as sometimes he mounts an engine and —Yah-h-h!” cried the poor fellow, falling down upon his hands and knees; while regularly took aback, I shrunk trembling up in the corner of the screen, and there stopped staring at a horrible looking figure, as seemed to start all at once into the light just as if he’d rose out of the coals. And then he came right up to me, for poor Ben had fainted.
As we were staring at one another I could see as the figure was buttoned up in an oilskin coat, while a close fur cap covered its head, and a handkercher was round the lower part of the face, so that I could see nothing but a pair of fierce bright eyes; and there it stood with one hand holding the side of the screen.
As long as I kept quiet it never moved; but directly I tried to get to my place it motioned me back. At last, half-desperate, I faced it; for a bit of thinking told me it must be a man, though Ben’s story had a bit upset me.
“Here’s Richford close here,” I shouts, “where we stops;” but in a moment I saw the barrel of a pistol flashing in the light of the fire, and then I shrunk back again into the corner. If he would only have turned his back for a moment I should have pinned him, but he only glanced round once, when Ben shuffled back into the far corner of the tender; and there we were five minutes after rushing through Richford at full speed.
“Now,” he says, leaning down to me, “rouse up, and push on faster; and don’t you dare to stop till we get to Moreton:” and when a man says this to you with a pistol in his hand, why, what else can you do but mind.
“Now,” thinks I, “this is a pretty go;” and then I kicks up Ben to come and stoke; but he wouldn’t move, and what wanted doing I had to do myself; and so we raced on, for he made me put on more steam, seeing through my dodge in a moment, when I slackened instead; and on we went, with the night seeming to grow darker every moment. But it was race on, past station after station like a flash; and, one way and another, I began to grow excited. The guard had been letting go at the gong, but of course I could take no notice; no doubt, too, he had screwed down his break, but that seemed to make very little difference, with the metals in such a greasy state with the heavy frosty mist; and we raced along at such a rate as I’ve never been at since.
More than once, I made sure we should be crash into the tail of some goods-train; but though we passed several coming up, nothing was in our way, and at last, after the wildest ride I ever had, we began to get near Moreton, just as the water was beginning to get low. “And now,” he says, fiercely, “draw up just this side of the station;” and I nodded: but, for all that, I meant to have run right in, but he was too quick for me, and screwed down the brake so that we stopped a good fifty yards short of the platform, when he leaped down, and I was going to follow, but a rough voice said, “Stand back,” and I could see some one in front of me; while, by the lights of the train, I just saw a carriage next the tender opened, and some one hurried off to where a couple of lights were shining; and I could hear horses stamping; and then – it all didn’t take a minute – there was the trampling of hoofs and the rolling of wheels, and the man who stopped me from getting down was gone.
“Get up,” I says to Ben, as we run into the station; “it warn’t a ghost:” but Ben seemed anything but sure on that point. While, as we finished our journey that night, I put that and that together, and made out as this chap, who must have been a plucky fellow, got from the next carriage on to the tender while we were crawling through the fog just outside London; and all to prevent stopping at Richford, where, no doubt, somebody had telegraphed for him to be taken; while, though the message would perhaps be repeated to Moreton, it was not sure to be so, and his dodge of stopping short where a conveyance was in waiting made that all right.
I drove the up-mail next day to town; but that was my last on the Great Central, for, when summoned before the Board, it was pay off, and go; and that, too, without a character.
