Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 3).djvu/199

 Watson, with his hand upon the brake in readiness for any emergency, looks earnestly for his signals, and the fireman shovels the damp coal upon the gleaming furnace below. Fresh fuel is frequently required—a dozen shovelfuls at a time, fairly distributed, in order to maintain equality of consumption and regularity of heat. The water-gauge must also be watched, and the boiler occasionally replenished by raising a lever connected with the supply in the tank.

Away, with a rattle and a roar! Signals are passed every three or four minutes, and those at Tallington (the next station) are seen by the practised eye of the driver long before my untrained vision detects them. Watson has excellent sight (an essential qualification), for he can distinguish day signals at a distance of nearly two miles, and the red light three or four miles away. Rushing past Tallington Station, we enter Northamptonshire and the level country of the Fen district; here we spin along to Werrington Junction, and soon observe on our left the stately towers of Peterboro' Cathedral, looming grey in the gloaming. As the shades of evening close in, the night signals are lighted, and the coloured illumination at Peterboro' Junction looks pretty in the distance, but to distinguish our particular signal among so many is an intricate problem to me. We slacken pace as we approach Peterboro', having accomplished the twenty-nine miles from Grantham in thirty-two minutes—rather less than a mile a minute. From the bridge spanning the river we notice the picturesque effect of the various lights reflected in the water, and, again increasing our speed, quickly leave the cathedral town behind us.

The sun has set, and, as the night grows darker, the signal-lights gleam more brightly. Now we are in the county of Huntingdon. The little station at Yaxley flashes by, and we have a level run to Holme—thirty-six miles in forty minutes. A steep climb of six miles to Abbots Ripton gives the engine extra work, but it is done gallantly, at the rate of forty-five miles an hour. At Abbots Ripton (where resides Lord de Ramsey, one of the directors of the Great Northern Railway) a terrible accident occurred in January, 1876. The weather was extremely boisterous and stormy, the snow falling in large flakes, and seriously obscuring the look-out of the driver and guards of the train, who declared they never before experienced a storm of such severity. The Scotch express, due at King's Cross at 8.10 p.m., started on its up-journey from Edinburgh, and proceeded in safety as far as Abbots Ripton, where a coal train was signalled to cross into a siding, to allow the express to go by. The greater portion of the trucks had passed into the siding, when the express came up at full speed, and struck the coal train in the rear of the engine. The effect was disastrous, the engine of the express being thrown over and completely disabled, and several carriages broken up. One of the drivers, accompanied by his guard and two or three others, was ordered to go to Huntingdon on his engine for assistance; but he had not proceeded far when the Leeds