The Iron Horse
- -
- 100%
- +
We would not have it supposed that we object, here, to the principle of insuring against accident. On the contrary, we consider that principle to be a wise one, and, in some cases, one that becomes almost a duty.
When Mrs Tipps discovered that Mrs Marrot and Gertie were going by the same train, she was so much delighted at the unlooked-for companionship that she at once entered the third-class, where they sat, and began to make herself comfortable beside them, but presently recollecting that she had a first-class ticket she started up and insisted on Mrs Marrot and Gertie going first-class along with her, saying that she would pay the difference. Mrs Marrot remonstrated, but Mrs Tipps, strong in her natural liberality of spirit which had been rather wildly set free by her recent good fortune, would not be denied.
“You must come with me, Mrs Marrot,” she said. “I’m so frightened in railways, you have no idea what a relief it is to me to have any one near me whom I know. I will change your tickets; let me have them, quick; we have no time to lose—there—now, wait till I return. Oh! I forgot your insurance tickets.”
“W’y, bless you, ma’am, we never insures.”
“You never insure!” exclaimed Mrs Tipps in amazement; “and it only costs you threepence for one thousand pounds.”
“Well, I don’t know nothink as to that—” said Mrs Marrot.
Before she could finish the sentence Mrs Tipps was gone.
She returned in breathless haste, beckoned Mrs Marrot and Gertie to follow her, and was finally hurried with them into a first-class carriage just as the train began to move.
Their only other companion in the carriage was a stout little old gentleman with a bright complexion, speaking eyes, and a countenance in which benevolence appeared to struggle with enthusiasm for the mastery. He was obviously one of those men who delight in conversation, and he quickly took an opportunity of engaging in it. Observing that Mrs Tipps presented an insurance ticket to each of her companions, he said—
“I am glad to see, madam, that you are so prudent as to insure the lives of your friends.”
“I always insure my own life,” replied Mrs Tipps with a little smile, “and feel it incumbent on me at least to advise my friends to do the same.”
“Quite right, quite right, madam,” replied the enthusiastic little man, applying his handkerchief to his bald pate with such energy that it shone like a billiard ball, “quite right, madam. I only wish that the public at large were equally alive to the great value of insurance against accident. W’y, ma’am, it’s a duty, a positive duty,” (here he addressed himself to Mrs Marrot) “to insure one’s life against accident.”
“Oh la! sir, is it?” said Mrs Marrot, quite earnestly.
“Yes, it is. Why, look here—this is your child?”
He laid his hand gently on Gertie’s head.
“Yes, sir, she is.”
“Well, my good woman, suppose that you are a widow and are killed,” (Mrs Marrot looked as if she would rather not suppose anything of the sort), “what I ask, what becomes of your child?—Left a beggar; an absolute beggar!”
He looked quite triumphantly at Mrs Tipps and her companions, and waited a few seconds as if to allow the idea to exert its full force on them.
“But, sir,” observed Mrs Marrot meekly, “supposin’ that there do be an accident,” (she shivered a little), “that ticket won’t prevent me bein’ killed, you know?”
“No, ma’am, no; but it will prevent your sweet daughter from being left a beggar—that is, on the supposition that you are a widow.”
“W’ich I ain’t sir, I’m happy to say,” remarked Mrs Marrot; “but, sir, supposin’ we was both of us killed—”
She paused abruptly as if she had committed a sin in merely giving utterance to the idea.
“Why, then, your other children would get the 500 pounds—or your heirs, whoever they may be. It’s a splendid system that, of insurance against accident. Just look at me, now.” He spread out his hands and displayed himself, looking from one to the other as if he were holding up to admiration something rare and beautiful. “Just look at me. I’m off on a tour of three months through England, Scotland, and Ireland—not for my health, madam, as you may see—but for scientific purposes. Well, what do I do? I go to the Railway Passengers Assurance Company’s Office, 64 Cornhill, London, (I like to be particular, you see, as becomes one who professes to be an amateur student of the exact sciences), and I take out what they call a Short Term Policy of Insurance against accidents of all kinds for a thousand pounds—1000 pounds, observe—for which I pay the paltry sum of 30 shillings—1 pound, 10 shillings. Well, what then? Away I go, leaving behind me, with perfect indifference, a wife and two little boys. Remarkable little boys, madam, I assure you. Perfect marvels of health and intelligence, both of ’em—two little boys, madam, which have not been equalled since Cain and Abel were born. Every one says so, with the exception of a few of the cynical and jaundiced among men and women. And, pray, why am I so indifferent? Just because they are provided for. They have a moderately good income secured to them as it is, and the 1000 pounds which I have insured on my life will render it a competence in the event of my being killed. It will add 50 pounds a year to their income, which happens to be the turning-point of comfort. And what of myself? Why, with a perfectly easy conscience, I may go and do what I please. If I get drowned in Loch Katrine—what matter? If I break my neck in the Gap of Dunloe—what matter? If I get lost and frozen on the steeps of Ben Nevis or Goatfell—what matter? If I am crushed to death in a railway accident, or get entangled in machinery and am torn to atoms—still I say, what matter? 1000 pounds must at once be paid down to my widow and children, and all because of the pitiful sum of 30 shillings.
“But suppose,” continued the enthusiastic man, deepening his tone as he became more earnest, “suppose that I am not killed, but only severely injured and mangled so as to be utterly unfit to attend to my worldly affairs—what then?”
Mrs Tipps shuddered to think of “what then.”
“Why,” continued the enthusiastic gentleman, “I shall in that case be allowed from the company 6 pounds a week, until recovered, or, in the event of my sinking under my injuries within three months after the accident, the whole sum of 1000 pounds will be paid to my family.”
Mrs Tipps smiled and nodded her head approvingly, but Mrs Marrot still looked dubious.
“But, sir,” she said, “supposin’ you don’t get either hurt or killed?”
“Why then,” replied the elderly gentleman, “I’m all right of course, and only 50 shillings out of pocket, which, you must admit, is but a trifling addition to the expenses of a three months’ tour. Besides, have I not had three months of an easy mind, and of utter regardlessness as to my life and limbs? Have not my wife and boys had three months of easy minds and indifference to my life and limbs also! Is not all that cheaply purchased at 30 shillings? while the sum itself, I have the satisfaction of knowing, goes to increase the funds of that excellent company which enables you and me and thousands of others to become so easy-minded and reckless, and which, at the same time, pays its fortunate shareholders a handsome dividend.”
“Really, sir,” said Mrs Tipps, laughing, “you talk so enthusiastically of this Insurance Company that I almost suspect you to be a director of it.”
“Madam,” replied the elderly gentleman with some severity, “if I were a director of it, which I grieve to say I am not, I should only be doing my simple duty to it and to you in thus urging it on your attention. But I am altogether uninterested in it, except as a philanthropist. I see and feel that it does good to myself and to my fellow-men, therefore I wish my fellow-men to appreciate it more highly than they do, for it not only insures against accident by railway, but against all kinds of accidents; while its arrangements are made to suit the convenience of the public in every possible way.”
“Why, madam,” he continued, kindling up again and polishing his head violently, “only think, for the small sum of 4 pounds paid annually, it insures that you shall have paid to your family, if you chance to be killed, the sum of 1000 pounds, or, if not killed, 6 pounds a week while you are totally laid up, and 1 pound, 10 shillings a week while you are only partially disabled. And yet, would you believe it, many persons who see the value of this, and begin the wise course of insurance, go on for only a few years and then foolishly give it up—disappointed, I presume, that no accident has happened to them! See, here is one of their pamphlets!”
He pulled a paper out of his pocket energetically, and put on a pair of gold spectacles, through which he looked when consulting the pamphlet, and over which he glanced when observing the effect of what he read on Mrs Tipps.
“What do I find—eh? ha—yes—here it is—a Cornish auctioneer pushed back a window shutter—these are the very words, madam—what more he did to that shutter, or what it did to him, is not told, but he must have come by some damage, because he received 55 pounds. A London clerk got his eye injured by a hair-pin in his daughter’s hair—how suggestive that is, madam! what a picture it calls up of a wearied toil-worn man fondling his child of an evening—pressing his cheek to her fair head—and what a commentary it is (he became very stern here) on the use of such barbarous implements as hair-pins! I am not punning, madam; I am much too serious to pun; I should have used the word savage instead of barbarous.
“Now, what was the result? This company gave that clerk compensation to the extent of 26 pounds. Again, a medical practitioner fell through the floor of a room. It must have been a bad, as it certainly was a strange, fall—probably he was heavy and the floor decayed—at all events that fall procured him 120 pounds. A Cardiff agent was bathing his feet—why, we are not told, but imagination is not slow to comprehend the reason, when the severity of our climate is taken into account; he broke the foot-pan—a much less comprehensible thing—and the breaking of that foot-pan did him damage, for which he was compensated with 52 pounds, 16 shillings. Again, a merchant of Birkenhead was paid 20 pounds for playing with his children!”
“Dear me, sir!” exclaimed Mrs Marrot in surprise, “surely—”
“Of course, my good woman,” said the elderly gentleman, “you are to understand that he came by some damage while doing so, but I give you the exact words of the pamphlet. It were desirable that a little more information had been given just to gratify our curiosity. Now, these that I have read are under the head of ‘Accidents at Home.’ Under other ‘Heads,’ we find a farmer suffocated by the falling in of a sand-pit, for which his representatives received 1000 pounds. Another thousand is paid to the heirs of a poor dyer who fell into a vat of boiling liquor; while, in regard to smaller matters, a warehouseman, whose finger caught in the cog-wheel of a crane, received 30 pounds. And, again, here is 1000 pounds to a gentleman killed in a railway accident, and 100 pounds to a poor woman. The latter had insured for a single trip in an excursion train at a charge of two-pence, while the former had a policy of insurance extending over a considerable period, for which he probably paid twenty or thirty shillings. These are but samples, madam, of the good service rendered to sorrowing humanity by this assurance company, which, you must observe, makes no pretensions to philanthropic aims, but is based simply on business principles. And I find that the total amount of compensation paid in this manner daring one year by this Company amounts to about 72,000 pounds.”
As Mrs Marrot yawned at this point and Mrs Tipps appeared somewhat mystified, the enthusiastic gentleman smiled, put away his pamphlet, and wisely changed the subject. He commented on the extreme beauty of the weather, and how fortunate this state of things was for the people who went to the country for a day’s enjoyment. Thus pleasantly he whiled away the time, and ingratiated himself with Gertie, until they arrived at the station where Mrs Tipps and Mrs Marrot had to get out, and where many of the excursionists got out along with them. While the former went their several ways, arranging to meet in the evening and return together by the same train, the latter scattered themselves over the neighbouring common and green fields, and, sitting down under the hedgerows among the wild-flowers, pic-nicked in the sunshine, or wandered about the lanes, enjoying the song of birds and scent of flowers, and wishing, perchance, that their lot had been cast among the green pastures of the country, rather than amid the din and smoke and turmoil of the town.
Chapter Twenty Three.
Details a Terrible Accident
In due time that holiday came to a close, and the excursionists returned to the station where their train awaited them. Among the rest came Mrs Tipps and Mrs Marrot, but they did not arrive together, and therefore, much to their annoyance, failed to get into the same carriage.
The weather, which up to that time had kept fine, began to lower, and, just as the train started, a smart thunder-shower fell, but, being under cover, the holiday-makers heeded it not. Upon the whole they were an orderly band of excursionists. Some of the separate groups were teetotallers, and only one or two showed symptoms of having sought to increase their hilarity by the use of stimulants.
When the shower began, John Marrot and his mate put on their pilot-cloth coats, for the screen that formed their only protection from the weather was a thin flat one, without roof or sides, forming only a partial protection from wind and rain.
Night had begun to descend before the train left the station, and as the lowering clouds overspread the sky, the gloom rapidly increased until it became quite dark.
“We are going to have a bad night of it,” observed John Marrot as his mate examined the water-gauge.
“Looks like it,” was Garvie’s curt reply.
The clatter of the engine and howling of the wind, which had by that time risen to a gale, rendered conversation difficult; the two men therefore confined themselves to the few occasional words that were requisite for the proper discharge of their duties. It was not a night on which the thoughts of an engine-driver were likely to wander much. To drive an excursion train in a dark night through a populous country over a line which was crowded with traffic, while the rain beat violently on the little round windows in the screen, obscuring them and rendering it difficult to keep a good look-out was extremely anxious work, which claimed the closest and most undivided attention. Nevertheless, the thoughts of John Marrot did wander a little that night to the carriage behind him in which were his wife and child, but this wandering of thought caused him to redouble rather than to relax his vigilance and caution.
Will Garvie consulted the water-gauge for a moment and then opened the iron door of the furnace in order to throw in more coal. The effect would have stirred the heart of Rembrandt. The instantaneous blinding glare of the intense fire shot through the surrounding darkness, lighting up the two men and the tender as if all were made of red-hot metal; flooding the smoke and steam-clouds overhead with round masses and curling lines of more subdued light, and sending sharp gleams through the murky atmosphere into dark space beyond, where the ghostly landscape appeared to rush wildly by.
Now it chanced that at the part of the line they had reached, a mineral train which preceded them had been thrown off the rails by a bale of goods which had fallen from a previous goods train. Carelessness on the part of those who had loaded the truck, from which the bale had fallen, led to this accident. The driver and fireman of the mineral train were rather severely hurt, and the guard was much shaken as well as excited, so that they neglected to take the proper precaution of sending back one of their number to stop the train that followed them. This would have been a matter of little consequence had the line been worked on the block system, because, in that case, the danger-signal would have been kept up, and would have prevented the excursion train from entering on that portion of the line until it was signalled “clear;” but the block system had been only partially introduced on the line. A sufficient interval of time had been allowed after the mineral train had passed the last station, and then, as we have seen, the excursion train was permitted to proceed. Thus it came to pass that at a part of the line where there was a slight curve and a deep cutting, John Marrot looking anxiously through his circular window, saw the red tail-light of the mineral train.
Instantly he cried, “Clap on the brakes, Bill!”
Almost at the same moment he reversed the engine and opened the whistle to alarm the guard, who applied his brakes in violent haste. But it was too late. The speed could not be checked in time. The rails were slippery, owing to rain. Almost at full speed they dashed into the mineral train with a noise like thunder. The result was appalling. The engine was smashed and twisted in a manner that is quite indescribable, and the tender was turned completely over, while the driver and fireman were shot as if from a cannon’s mouth, high into the air. The first two carriages of the passenger-train, and the last van of the mineral, were completely wrecked; and over these the remaining carriages of the passenger-train were piled until they reached an incredible height. The guard’s van was raised high in the air, with its ends resting on a third-class carriage, which at one end was completely smashed in by the van.
At the time of the concussion—just after the terrible crash—there was a brief, strange, unearthly silence. All was still for a few seconds, and passengers who were uninjured gazed at each other in mute and horrified amazement. But death in that moment had passed upon many, while others were fearfully mangled. The silence was almost immediately broken by the cries and groans of the wounded. Some had been forcibly thrown out of the carriages, others had their legs and arms broken, and some were jammed into fixed positions from which death alone relieved them. The scenes that followed were heart-rending. Those who were uninjured, or only slightly hurt, lent willing aid to extricate their less fortunate fellow-travellers, but the howling of the wind, the deluging rain, and the darkness of the night, retarded their efforts, and in many cases rendered them unavailing.
John Marrot, who, as we have said, was shot high into the air, fell by good fortune into a large bush. He was stunned at first, but otherwise uninjured. On regaining consciousness, the first thoughts that flashed across him were his wife and child. Rising in haste he made his way towards the engine, which was conspicuous not only by its own fire, but by reason of several other fires which had been kindled in various places to throw light on the scene. In the wreck and confusion, it was difficult to find out the carriage in which Mrs Marrot had travelled, and the people about were too much excited to give very coherent answers to questions. John, therefore, made his way to a knot of people who appeared to be tearing up the débris at a particular spot. He found Joe Turner, the guard, there, with his head bandaged and his face covered with blood.
“I’ve bin lookin’ for ’ee everywhere, John,” said Joe. “She’s there!” he added, pointing to a mass of broken timbers which belonged to a carriage, on the top of which the guard’s van had been thrown, crushing it almost flat.
John did not require to ask the meaning of his words. The guard’s look was sufficiently significant. He said not a word, but the deadly pallor of his countenance showed how much he felt. Springing at once on the broken carriage, and seizing an axe from the hand of a man who appeared exhausted by his efforts, he began to cut through the planking so as to get at the interior. At intervals a half-stifled voice was heard crying piteously for “John.”
“Keep up heart, lass!” said John, in his deep, strong voice. “I’ll get thee out before long—God helping me.”
Those who stood by lent their best aid, but anxious though they were about the fate of those who lay buried beneath that pile of rubbish, they could not help casting an occasional look of wonder, amounting almost to awe, on the tall form of the engine-driver, as he cut through and tore up the planks and beams with a power that seemed little short of miraculous.
Presently he stopped and listened intently for a moment, while the perspiration rolled in big drops from his brow.
“Dost hear me, Mary?” he asked in a deeply anxious tone.
If any reply were uttered it was drowned by the howling of the wind and the noise of the workmen.
Again he repeated the question in an agonising cry.
His wife did not reply, but Gertie’s sweet little voice was heard saying faintly—
“I think mother is dead. Oh, take us out, dear father, take us out,—quick!”
Again John Marrot bowed himself to the task, and exerting his colossal strength to the utmost, continued to tear up and cast aside the broken planks and beams. The people around him, now thoroughly aroused to the importance of haste, worked with all their might, and, ere long, they reached the floor of the carriage, where they found mother and child jammed into a corner and arched over by a huge mass of broken timber.
It was this mass that saved them, for the rest of the carriage had been literally crushed into splinters.
Close beside them was discovered the headless trunk of a young man, and the dead body of a girl who had been his companion that day.
Gertie was the first taken out. Her tender little frame seemed to have yielded to the pressure and thus escaped, for, excepting a scratch or two, she was uninjured.
John Marrot did not pause to indulge in any expression of feeling. He sternly handed her to the bystanders, and went on powerfully but carefully removing the broken timbers and planks, until he succeeded in releasing his wife. Then he raised her in his arms, staggered with her to the neighbouring bank and laid her down.
Poor Mrs Marrot was crushed and bruised terribly. Her clothes were torn, and her face was so covered with blood and dust as to be quite unrecognisable at first. John said not a word, but went down on his knees and began carefully to wipe away the blood from her features, in which act he was assisted by the drenching rain. Sad though his case was, there was no one left to help him. The cries of the unfortunate sufferers still unextricated, drew every one else away the moment the poor woman had been released.
Ere long the whole scene of the catastrophe was brilliantly illuminated by the numerous fires which were kindled out of the débris, to serve as torches to those who laboured might and main for the deliverance of the injured. Troops of people from the surrounding district quickly made their appearance on the scene, and while some of these lent effective aid in the work of rescue, others brought blankets, water, and spirits, to cover and comfort those who stood so much in need of help. As the wounded were got out, and laid upon the banks of the line, several surgeons busied themselves in examining and binding their wounds, and the spot bore some resemblance to a battle-field after the tide of war had passed over it. Seventeen dead and one hundred and fifty injured already lay upon the wet ground, while many of the living, who went about with blanched, solemn faces, yet with earnest helpful energy, were bruised and cut badly enough to have warranted their retiring from the spot, and having their own cases considered. Meanwhile a telegram had been sent to Clatterby, and, in a short time, a special train arrived with several of the chief men of the line, and a gang of a hundred surface-men to clear away the wreck and remove the dead and injured.
Many of those unhurt had made singularly narrow escapes. One man was seated in a third-class carriage when the concussion took place. The side of the carriage fell out, and he slid down on the rails just as the other carriages and vans piled up on the place he had left, killing or wounding all his fellow-travellers. Beneath the rubbish next the tender, a mother and child were buried and several others. All were dead save the mother and child when the men began to dig them out and before they succeeded in their labours the mother had died also, but the child survived. In another carriage, or rather under it, a lad was seen lying with a woman’s head crushed down on his breast and an infant beside her. They had to saw the carriage asunder before these could be extricated. The woman died almost immediately on being released, but the lad and infant were uninjured. Elsewhere a young girl, who had attracted attention by the sweet expression of her face, had been strangled, and her face rendered perfectly black. In another case the surface-men attempted to extricate a woman, by sawing the broken carriage, under which she lay, but the more they sawed the more did the splinters appear to cling round her, and when at last they got her out she was dead, while another passenger in the same carnage escaped without a scratch.