In the Railway Traveller’s Handy Book, there is an account of an occurrence which took place on the Eastern Counties line:—“A big hulking fellow, with bully written on his face, took his seat in a second-class carriage, and forthwith commenced insulting everybody by his words and gestures. He was asked to desist, but only responded with language more abusive. The guard was then appealed to, who told him to mind what he was about, shut the door, and cried ‘all right.’ Thus encouraged the miscreant continued his disgraceful conduct, and became every moment more outrageous. In one part of the carriage were four farmers sitting who all came from the same neighbourhood, and to whom every part along the line was well known. One of these wrote on a slip of paper these words, ‘Let us souse him in Chuckley Slough.’ This paper was handed from one to the other, and each nodded assent. Now, Chuckley Slough was a pond near one of the railway stations, not very deep, but the waters of which were black, muddy, and somewhat repellent to the olfactory nerves. The station was neared and arrived at; in the meantime the bully’s conduct became worse and worse. As they emerged from the station, one of the farmers, aforesaid, said to the fellow, ‘Now, will you he quiet?’ ‘No, I won’t,’ was the answer. ‘You won’t, won’t you?’ asked a second farmer. ‘You’re determined you won’t?’ inquired a third. ‘You’re certain you won’t?’ asked the fourth. To all of which queries the response was in negatives, with certain inelegant expletives added thereto. ‘Then,’ said the four farmers speaking as one man, and rising in a body, ‘out you go.’ So saying, they seized the giant form of the wretch, who struggled hard to escape but to no purpose; they forced him to the window, and while the train was still travelling at a slow pace, and Chuckley Slough appeared to view, they without more ado thrust the huge carcass through the window, and propelling it forward with some force, landed it exactly in the centre of the black, filthy slough. The mingled cries and oaths of the man were something fearful to hear; his attempts at extrication and incessant slipping still deeper in the mire, something ludicrous to witness; all the passengers watched him with feelings of gratified revenge, and
the last that was seen of him was a huge black mass, having no traces of humanity about it, crawling up the bank in a state of utter prostration. In this instance the remedy was rather a violent one; but less active measures had been found to fail, and there can be little doubt that this man took care ever afterwards not to run the risk of a similar punishment by indulging in conduct of a like nature.”
LIABILITY OF COMPANIES FOR DELAY OF TRAINS.
There have been cases where claims have been made and recovered in courts of law for loss arising from delay in the arrival of trains, but the law does not render the company’s liability unlimited. A remarkable case occurred not long since. A Mr. Le Blanche sued the London and North-Western Company for the cost of a special train to Scarborough, which he had ordered in consequence of his being brought from Liverpool to Leeds, too late for the ordinary train from Leeds to Scarborough. A judgment in the county court was given in favour of the applicant.
The railway company appealed to the superior court, and the points raised were argued by able counsel, when the decision of the county court judge was confirmed. The company was determined to put the case to the utmost possible test, and on appealing to the Supreme Court of Judicature the judgment was reversed, the decision being to the effect that, whilst there was some evidence of wilful delay, the measure of damage was wrong.
—Our Railways, by Joseph Parsloe.
THE DYING ENGINE DRIVER.
Doubts have been expressed whether our iron ships will ever be regarded in the same affectionate way as “liners” used to be regarded by our “old salts.” It has been supposed that the latest creations of science will not nourish sentiment. The following anecdote shows, however, as romantic an attachment to iron as was ever manifested towards wood. On the Great Western Railway, the broad gauge and the narrow gauge are mixed; the former still existing to the delight of travellers by the “Flying
Dutchman,” whatever economical shareholders may have to say to the contrary. The officials who have been longest on the staff also cling to the broad gauge, like faithful royalists to a fast disappearing dynasty. The other day an ancient guard on this line was knocked down and run over by an engine; and though good enough medical attendance was at hand, had skill been of any use, the dying man wished to see “the company’s” doctor. The gentleman, a man much esteemed by all the employés, was accordingly sent for. “I am glad you came to see me start, doctor, (as I hope) by the up-train,” said the poor man. “I am only sorry I can do nothing for you, my good fellow,” answered the other. “I know that; it is all over with me. But there!—I’m glad it was not one of them narrow-gauge engines that did it!”
—Gentleman’s Magazine.