The Iron Horse | Page 9

asked the little old lady as earnestly as if
that result were still pending.
"W'y, the result wos as it should be! My letter was a short 'un, but it
turned out to be a powerful brake. Brought her up sharp--an' we was
coupled in less than six weeks."
"Amazing phase of human life!" observed Mrs Tipps, gazing in
admiration at the stalwart giant who stood deferentially before her.
"Well, it was a raither coorious kind o' proposal," said Marrot with a

smile, "but it worked uncommon well. I've never wanted to uncouple
since then."
"Pardon me, Mr Marrot," said Mrs Tipps, with little hysterical
laugh--knowing that she was about to perpetrate a joke--"may I ask if
there are any--any little tenders?"
"Oh, lots of 'em," replied John, "quite a train of 'em; four livin' an' three
gone dead. The last was coupled on only a short time ago. You'll
excuse me now, ma'am," he added, pulling out and consulting the
ponderous chronometer with which the company supplied him, "I must
go now, havin' to take charge o' the 6:30 p.m. train,--it ain't my usual
train, but I'm obleeged to take it to-night owin' to one of our drivers
havin' come by an accident. Evenin', ma'am."
John bowed, and retired so promptly that poor Mrs Tipps had no time
to make further inquiry into the accident referred to--at the very
mention of which her former alarm came back in full force. However,
she wisely got the better of her own anxieties by throwing herself into
those of others. Putting on her bonnet she sallied forth on her errand of
mercy.
Meanwhile John Marrot proceeded to the engine-shed to prepare his
iron horse for action. Here he found that his fireman, Will Garvie, and
his cleaner, had been attending faithfully to their duty. The huge
locomotive, which looked all the more gigantic for being under cover,
was already quivering with that tremendous energy--that artificial
life--which rendered it at once so useful and so powerful a servant of
man. Its brasses shone with golden lustre, its iron rods and bars, cranks
and pistons glittered with silvery sheen, and its heavier parts and body
were gay with a new coat of green paint. Every nut and screw and lever
and joint had been screwed up, and oiled, examined, tested, and
otherwise attended to, while the oblong pit over which it stood when in
the shed--and into which its ashes were periodically emptied--glowed
with the light of its intense furnace. Ever and anon a little puff issued
from its safety-valve, proving to John Marrot that there was life within
his fiery steed sufficient to have blown the shed to wreck with all its
brother engines, of which there were at the time two or three dozen

standing--some disgorging their fire and water after a journey, and
preparing to rest for the night; some letting off steam with a fiendish
yell unbearably prolonged; others undergoing trifling repairs
preparatory to starting next day, and a few, like that of our
engine-driver, ready for instant action and snorting with impatience like
war-horses "scenting the battle from afar." The begrimed warriors,
whose destiny it was to ride these iron chargers, were also variously
circumstanced. Some in their shirt sleeves busy with hammer and file at
benches hard by; others raking out fire-boxes, or oiling machinery; all
busy as bees, save the few, who, having completed their preparations,
were buttoning up their jackets and awaiting the signal to charge.
At last that signal came to John Marrot--not in a loud shout of
command or a trumpet-blast, but by the silent hand of Time, as
indicated on his chronometer.
"But how," it may be asked, "does John Marrot know precisely the hour
at which he has to start, the stations he has to stop at, the various little
acts of coupling on and dropping off carriages and trucks, and returning
with trains or with `empties' within fixed periods so punctually, that he
shall not interfere with, run into, or delay, the operations of the
hundreds of drivers whose duties are as complex, nice, important, and
swift as his own."
Reader, we reply that John knows it all in consequence of the
perfection of system attained in railway management. Without this, our
trains and rails all over the kingdom would long ago have been
smashed up into what Irishmen expressively name smithereens.
The duty of arranging the details of the system devolves on the
superintendents of departments on the line, namely, the passenger,
goods, and locomotive superintendents, each of whom reigns
independently and supreme in his own department, but of course, like
the members of a well-ordered family, they have to consult together in
order that their trains may be properly horsed, and the time of running
so arranged that there shall be