“Is your engine a much stronger one?” said Archy, greatly amused to hear how funny it was to call a train she, while he called the engine he, and by an animal’s name, too.
“It’s not that he’s stronger, sir, but he’s got more go in him, has the Bison. He’s an extraordinary plucky engine. I’ve seen him do wonderful things when Mat Whitelaw was driver, and me stoker to ’em. I’ll just tell you one on ’em, and then ye can judge what sort o’ stuff the Bison’s made o’. It was one day in summer, some two years ago; we had just taken in water at the junction, and were about to run back to couple on the coaches, when an engine passed us tearing along at a tremendous speed on the other line o’ rail, but, mark me, without a driver or stoker, or aught else on it. I thought my mate was mad, when he got up steam, and off in the same direction; but in a moment I saw what he was up to. The Bison was going in the chase. ‘See to the brake, John,’ was all Mat said, when off we were after the runaway at full speed. It seemed to me nought but a wild-goose chase; for, d’ye see, master, we were on another line o’ rails altogether. But Mat knew what he was about, and it was my place to do his bidding. I was always proud o’ the old Bison before that morning, but I never knew till then what a good engine was, and what was depending on it.
“You would have thought he fairly snorted to his work, going at the rate o’ forty miles an hour we were, and at last we got abreast o’ the runaway engine, and could have passed him, but that would have been useless. There wasn’t another driver on the whole line would have thought of the thing so quickly as Mat did, nor could have regulated the speed so nicely to a moment. The two different engines were running just opposite each other on the two different lines, the runaway being a good deal worn out now, and going much slower than at first, when Mat he says to me, hoarsely, ‘Jump across. It’ll be safer if I stick here to hold the regulator; but I’ll go, if you’d rather stay.’ I had such confidence in Mat Whitelaw, that I could trust my life with him before any mortal man; and the instant he gave the word, I jumped, and did it safe. We each put on our brakes, and took breath, and desperately hot we both were, I can assure you.”
“Were you not terribly afraid?” said Archy, who had been almost breathless during the recital.
“I can’t say that we were,” said John, coolly; “but I’ll tell you I was frightened enough the next moment, when Mat looked at his watch, and sees that the down express was due in a few minutes on his line. I believe that Mat thought more o’ the passengers that might be smashed, and the risk for the Bison, than o’ his own safety. He said it would never do to reverse the engines now; but if we kept on, he thought there might yet be time to run into the siding at the nearest station. So on we went once more at increased speed, straight on ahead, though it was like running into the very face of the danger. The telegraph had been hard at work, and the station people had been laying their heads together, and they were at the points. So, when they heard the whistle, and saw Mat putting on the brake, they at once opened the points,—not a moment too soon, I can tell you,—and in he ran into the siding. Now, what Mat did, sir, was what I call about equal to most generals in war, and as great a benefit to society.”
“He must be a brave fellow,” said Archy; “and I hope you were both rewarded for it.”
“The company behaved very handsome,” was the answer. “Mat got on to the Great Western line at once; but the worst of it is, he and I are parted, and the old Bison; he felt his loss as much, if not more than me.”
Mrs. Falkoner, who had come in during the latter part of the story, now said,—
“But tell the young gentleman what you did your own self, and what the company thought of your conduct.”
“Tuts, Mary,” he answered; “I did nought extraordinary; there ain’t a man in the service but could have done the same, had they known old Bison as well as I did.”