CHEMIN DE MER—CHEMIN DE FER.
A short run of fourteen hours from the Tower, on a road as smooth as that of the Great Western Railway, deposited us safely at Ostende—a kind of flat and fortified Gravesend, where John Bull, as far as tongue and table are concerned, is as much at home as if he were in Deptford or Greenwich. At six in the morning, every thing is bustle among the baggage, and it requires half a dozen omnibuses to convey travellers, trunks, clothes-bags and band-boxes from the hotels to the station. And here I would advise every passenger to mark the destination on every package, and take care of the receipt ticket, otherwise he may find, on his arrival at Brussels, Liege, or Antwerp, that his luggage has travelled to quite a different quarter, requiring a “reclamation” to be sent along the lines, and perhaps two or three days’ delay! One of my trunks, and that too, the one containing the “sinews of war,” was “absent without leave,” when I reached Brussels, and was afterwards found lying in the office at Ghent!
Short as was our passage to the Station by the omnibus, it gave rise to a warm discussion respecting this very convenient and economical vehicle, which was considered by one of the party as a great recent improvement on hackneys, cabs, and stage-coaches. An Irish Tutor, however, who was one of the company, maintained that the omnibus was in common use more than two thousand years ago, in every country between the banks of the Ganges and the pillars of Hercules. This was so startling an assertion that the gentleman was called on for proof. “That I will give,” said he, “from the tenth Satire of Juvenal, which commences thus:”—
“OMNIBUS in terris quæ sunt à gadibus usque
Auroram et gangem.”——
The cockneys stared at each other, and one or two gentlemen laughed most immoderately. The Domine proceeded to translate the passage for the benefit of the ladies, and others who might not possess a knowledge of the dead languages.
“Omnibus in terris” there are OMNIBUSES in all countries, “quæ sunt,” that lie, “a gadibus,” between Cadiz, “auroram et gangem” and the banks of the Ganges.
This ingenious distortion of the celebrated passage in Juvenal, was delivered with such assumed gravity and apparent honesty, that it carried conviction to nine-tenths of the passengers, and those few who detected the sophistry, were so much pleased with the joke, that they applauded the learning of the Theban. Nor would it have been very easy to prove that he was literally wrong. “Omnibus” was in use wherever the latin language prevailed; and though not specifically designed as a vehicle for passengers and luggage, it was employed to carry all kinds of things—hence the application of it to the modern and very useful Noah’s Ark on four wheels.
A good deal of scepticism has been expressed respecting the “flying Dutchman” of the novelist and others. But I do not see why we should not have a “flying Dutchman,” seeing that we have “flying Belgians.” If, in the good old times of Marlbro’, Napoleon, and Wellington, a train of artillery moving at the rate of ten or twelve miles an hour, was called a “flying” train, surely a train going at the rate of twenty-five or thirty miles an hour, and carrying a small army with its baggage on its back, deserves the epithet of a “flying train.” Never was country better calculated for rail-roads than a great portion of Holland and Belgium. You have only to lay down sleepers and rails in any direction, and all is ready for the engine. Nor is there any extra expence required for guarding man or beast against accidents. The train brushes along the sides or gable of a cottage—dashes through the centre of a village—plunges through the suburbs of a city—skips over a public road without disturbing a stone of the pavé—darts over a canal—and all with scarcely a rail or fence to prevent intrusion on the lines. The Belgians are either very cautious, or very reckless of life. You will see men, women, and children standing or sitting within six feet of the trains; but no accident seems ever to occur. As for cattle straying on the rail-roads, there is little danger of that; for you may travel from Ostende to Liege, without seeing ox or ass, cow or calf, sheep or goat—or anything with four legs—except in the towns. All is corn, hay, potatoes, and clover—or clover, potatoes, hay and corn—or some combination of these four staple articles.
But neither rail-roads nor love are found to run always smooth. As we approach Liege the ground becomes so rugged, and the hills so steep, that tunnels of prodigious length and depth are necessary to complete the line to Liege, Aix, and Cologne. It is said the Americans contemplate a perforation of the Allighany Mountains, in order that rail-roads may be extended to Kentucky. The task will not be much less difficult to connect Ostende with the Rhine. But the persevering industry of Germans—the “improbus labor”—will conquer all obstructions.