Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 3).djvu/197

 glasses, and to see the signals you must face the blinding storm; but in foggy weather we can't see them until we are on them. We don't depend entirely upon the fog-signals or detonators."

In reply to my inquiry whether he had ever been the unfortunate cause of an accident, or ever experienced anything unusually exciting during his twenty-four years' career as driver, Watson says—

"I have never been in any accident, such as collisions or running off the track, but I regret to say that it has been my misfortune to be present at seven inquests held over the bodies of persons whom I had unavoidably run over. Some of these were negligent servants of the Company, while others were strangers unlawfully straying on the line. At night it is impossible to see anybody in danger, but in the daytime we keep a sharp look-out, and give a warning whistle when necessary. Only last week I noticed in the distance ahead a small boy mischievously throwing stones at a 'goods' train. He stood in my road, unconscious of danger; I blew the whistle as the train rushed towards him, but he couldn't get away, and fell back on the metals. I knew it was all up with him; and, having quickly stopped the train, I went back to look for the body. I was first on the spot, but only to find that the poor little chap was literally cut to pieces—a horrible sight. We were travelling full speed when the accident occurred, and couldn't pull up in time to save the lad."

"Besides these sad cases, have you experienced any sensation of fright from narrow escapes?"

"No, sir, except that on thick nights it does give you a bit of a start when you find yourself running with express speed past signals set against you. Then your heart leaps into your mouth, and you put on the brake as quickly as possible. This sort of thing makes you feel queer at the time."

Such is the simple record of Watson's life. But a brave heart beats beneath the rugged exterior of such men as he, who are ever ready to do their duty to the public in times of accident, and often risk their very lives for the public good by remaining at their posts when danger is imminent, thereby hoping to avert it. While the train is running the driver's whole soul is in his work, his attention being entirely concentrated upon the engine and the signals ahead. This constant strain upon his faculties during a long journey is excessively great, and he feels acutely the serious responsibility of his position, well knowing that an oversight on his part may cause a terrible disaster.

By this time the arrival of the Scotchman is announced, and we steam into the station to be hooked on to the train. With a "Right you are!" from the guard, and a sharp whistle from the engine, off we go on our momentous journey. At Watson's suggestion, I find a convenient post for observation in the corner by the left-hand weather-glass; and, although the view is certainly very much circumscribed, the position is fairly comfortable, being sheltered from wind and smoke, besides which I am out of the way of the men. We are not travelling fast yet, as there is a steady climb of five miles up a steep gradient (or