Tales of the Trains

“‘Yellowley, this is devilish hot, – hotter than we have it in Europe.’

“But here was a prouder moment still: that little graceful movement of recognition, that smile so transient as to be scarce detected, sent a thrill of happiness all through me. In former days, by doughty deeds and hazardous exploits men won their way to women’s hearts; our services in the present time have the advantage of being less hazardous; little attentions of the table, passing the salt, calling for the pepper, lifting a napkin, and inviting to wine, are the substitutes for mutilating giants and spitting dragons. I can’t say but I think the exchange is with the difference.

“The first day passed over with scarce the interchange of a word between us. She arose almost immediately after dinner, and did not make her appearance during the remainder of the evening. The following morning she took her place at the breakfast-table, and to my inexpressible delight, as the weather still remained calm, ascended to the quarterdeck when the meal was over. The smile with which she met me now had assumed the token of acquaintance, and a very little address was necessary, on my part, to enable me to join her as she walked, and engage her in conversation. The fact of being so young and so perfectly alone – for except her French maid, she did not appear to know a single person on board – perhaps appeared to demand some explanation on her part, even to a perfect stranger like myself; for, after some passing observations on the scenery of the coast and the beauty of the weather, she told me that she looked forward with much hope to the benefit her health might derive from a warmer air and less trying climate than that of England.

“‘I already feel benefited by the sweet South,’ said she; and there was a smile of gratitude on her lip, as she spoke the words. Some little farther explanation she may have deemed necessary; for she took the occasion soon after to remark that her only brother would have been delighted with the voyage, if he could have obtained leave of absence from his regiment; but, unfortunately, he was in ‘the Blues,’ quartered at Windsor, and could not be spared.

“‘Poor dear creature!’ said I; ‘and so she has been obliged to travel thus alone, reared doubtless within the precincts of some happy home, from which the world, with its petty snares and selfishness, were excluded, surrounded by all the appliances of luxury, and the elegances that embellish existence – and now, to venture thus upon a journey without a friend, or even a companion.’

“There could scarcely be a more touching incident than to see one like her, so beautiful and so young, in the midst of that busy little world of soldiers and sailors and merchants, travellers to the uttermost bounds of the earth, and wearied spirits seeking for change wherever it might be found. Had I not myself been alone, a very ‘waif’ upon the shores of life, I should have felt attracted by the interest of her isolation; now there was a sympathy to attach us, – there was that similarity of position – that idem nolle, et idem velle– which, we are told, constitutes true friendship. She seemed to arrive at this conclusion exactly as I did myself, and received with the most captivating frankness all the little attentions it was in my power to bestow; and in fact to regard me, in some sort, as her companion. Thus, we walked the deck each morning it was fine, or, if stormy, played at chess or piquet in the cabin. Sometimes she worked while I read aloud for her; and such a treat as it was to hear her criticisms on the volume before us, – how just and true her appreciation of sound and correct principles, – how skilful the distinctions she would make between the false glitter of tinsel sentiment and the dull gold of real and sterling morality! Her mind, naturally a gifted one, had received every aid education could bestow. French and Italian literature were as familiar to her as was English, while in mere accomplishments she far excelled those who habitually make such acquirements the grand business of early life.

“You are, I presume, a man of the world, Mr. Tramp. You may, perhaps, deem it strange that several days rolled over before I ever even thought of inquiring her name; but such was the case. It no more entered into my conception to ask after it, than I should have dreamed of what might be the botanical designation of some lovely flower by whose beauty and fragrance I was captivated. Enough for me that the bright petals were tipped with azure and gold, and the fair stem was graceful in its slender elegance. I cared not where Jussieu might have arranged or Linnaeus classed it. But a chance revealed the matter even before it had occurred to me to think of it. A volume of Shelley’s poems contained on the titlepage, written in a hand of singular delicacy, the words, ‘Lady Blanche D’Esmonde.’ Whether the noble family she belonged to were English, Irish, or Scotch, I could not even guess. It were as well, Mr. Tramp, that I could not do so. I should only have felt a more unwarrantable attachment for that portion of the empire she came from. Yes, sir, I loved her. I loved her with an ardor that the Yellowleys have been remarkable for, during three hundred and eighty years. It was my ancestor, Mr. Tramp, – Paul Yellowley, – who was put in the stocks at Charing Cross, for persecuting a maid of honor at Elizabeth’s court. That haughty Queen and cold-hearted woman had the base inscription written above his head, ‘The penaltie of a low scullion who lifteth his eyes too loftilie.’

“To proceed. When we reached Gibraltar, Lady Blanche and I visited the rocks, and went over the bomb-proofs and the casemates together, – far more dangerous places those little cells and dark passages to a man like me, than ever they could become in the hottest fury of a siege. She took such an interest in everything. There was not a mortar nor a piece of ordnance she could afford to miss; and she would peep out from the embrasures, and look down upon the harbor and the bay, with a fearlessness that left me puzzled to think whether I were more terrified by her intrepidity or charmed by the beauty of her instep. Again we went to sea; but how I trembled at each sight of land, lest she should leave the ship forever! At last, Malta came in view; and the same evening the boats were lowered, for all had a desire to go ashore. Of course Lady Blanche was most anxious; her health had latterly improved greatly, and she was able to incur considerable fatigue, without feeling the worse afterwards.

“It was a calm, mellow evening, with an already risen moon, as we landed to wander about the narrow streets and bastioned dwellings of old Valletta. She took my arm, and, followed by Mademoiselle Virginie, we went on exploring every strange and curious spot before us, and calling up before our mind’s eye the ancient glories of the place. I was rather strong in all these sort of things, Mr. Tramp; for in expectation of this little visit, I made myself up about the Knights of St. John and the Moslems, Fort St Elmo, Civita Vecchia, rocks, catacombs, prickly pears, and all. In fact, I was primed with the whole catalogue, which, written down in short memoranda, forms Chap. I. in a modern tour-book of the Mediterranean. The season was so genial, and the moon so bright, that we lingered till past midnight, and then returned to the ship the last of all the visitors. That was indeed a night, as, flickered by the column of silver light, we swept over the calm sea. Lady Blanche, wrapped in my large boat-cloak, her pale features statue-like in their unmoved beauty, sat in the stern; I sat at her side. Neither spoke a word. What her thoughts might have been I cannot guess; but the little French maid looked at me from time to time with an expression of diabolical intelligence I cannot forget; and as I handed her mistress up the gangway, Virginie said in a whisper, —

“‘Ah, Monsieur Yellowley, vous êtes un homme dangereux!’

“Would you believe it, Mr. Tramp, that little phrase filled every chamber of my heart with hope; there could be but one interpretation of it, and what a meaning had that, – dangerous to the peace of mind, to the heart’s happiness of her I actually adored! I lay down in my berth and tried to sleep; but the nearest approach of slumber was a dreamy condition, in which the words vous êtes un homme dangereux kept ever ringing. I thought I saw Lady Blanche dressed in white, with a veil covering her, a chaplet of orange flowers on her brow, and weeping as though inconsolably; and there was a grim, mischievous little face that nodded at me with a menacing expression, as though to say, ‘This is your work, Simon Yellowley;’ and then I saw her lay aside the veil and encircle herself with a sad-colored garment, while her tears fell even faster than before; and then the little vixen from the window exclaimed, ‘Here’s more of it, Simon Yellowley.’ Lord, how I reproached myself, – I saw I was bringing her to the grave; yes, sir, there is no concealing it. I felt she loved me. I arose and put on my dressing-gown; my mind was made up. I slipped noiselessly up the cabin-stairs, and with much difficulty made my way to that part of the ship inhabited by the servants. I will not recount here the insolent allusions I encountered, nor the rude jests and jibes of the sailors when I asked for Mademoiselle Virginie; nor was it without trouble and considerable delay that I succeeded in obtaining an interview with her.

“‘Mademoiselle,’ said I, ‘I know the levity of your nation; no man is more conscious than I of – of the frailty of your moral principles. Don’t be angry, but hear me out. You said a few minutes ago that I was a “dangerous man;” tell me now, sincerely, truthfully, and candidly,’ – here I put rather a heavy purse into her hands, – ‘the exact meaning you attached to these words.’

“‘Ah, Monsieur,’ said she, with a stage shudder, ‘je suis une pauvre fille, ne me perdez pas.’

“I looked at the little wizened devil, and never felt stronger in my virtue.

“‘Don’t be afraid, Virginie, I’m an archbishop in principles; but I thought that when you said these words they bore an allusion to another – ’

“‘Ah! c’est ça,’ said she, with perfect naïveté, – ‘so you are, a dangerous man, a very dangerous man; so much so, indeed, that I shall use all my influence to persuade one, of whom you are aware, to escape as quickly as may be from the hazard of your fascinating society.’

“I repeat these words, Mr. Tramp, which may appear to you now too flattering; but the French language, in which Virginie spoke, permits expressions even stronger than these, as mere conventionalities.

“‘Don’t do it,’ said I, ‘don’t do it, Virginie.’

“‘I must, and I will,’ reiterated she; ‘there’s such a change in my poor dear Lady Blanche since she met you; I never knew her give way to fits of laughing before, – she’s so capricious and whimsical, – she was an angel formerly.’

“‘She is an angel still,’ said I, with a frown, for I would not suffer so much of aspersion against her.

“‘Sans doute,’ chimed in Virginie, with a shrug of her shoulders, ‘we are all angels, after a fashion;’ and I endeavored to smile a concurrence with this sentiment, in which I only half assented.

“By wonderful skill and cross-questioning, I at last obtained the following information: Lady Blanche was on a voyage of health, intending to visit the remarkable places in the Mediterranean, and then winter at some chosen spot upon its shores. Why she journeyed thus unprotected, was a secret there was no fathoming by indirect inquiry, and any other would have been an act of indelicacy.

“‘We will pass the winter at Naples, or Palermo, or Jerusalem, or some other watering-place,’ said Virginie, for her geography was, after all, only a lady’s-maid’s accomplishment.

“‘You must persuade her to visit Egypt, Virginie,’ said I, – ‘Egypt, Virginie, – the land of the Pyramids. Induce her to do this, and to behold the wonders of the strangest country in the universe. Even now,’ said I, ‘Arab life – ’

“‘Ah, oui. I have seen the Arabs at the Vaudeville; they have magnificent beards.’

“‘The handsomest men in the world.’

“‘Pas mal,’ said she, with a sententious nod there’s no converting into words.

“‘Well, Virginie, think of Cairo, think of Bagdad. You have read the Arabian Nights – have n’t you?’

“‘Yes,’ said she, with a yawn, ‘they are passées; now, what would you have us do in this droll old place?’

“‘I would have you to visit Mehemet Ali, and be received at his court!’ – for I saw at once the class of fascination she would yield to. ‘Drink sherbet, eat sweetmeats, receive presents, magnificent presents, cashmeres, diamond bracelets. Ah! think of that.’

“‘Ah! there is something in what you say,’ said she, after a pause; ‘but we have not come prepared for such an expensive journey. I am purse-bearer, for Lady Blanche knows nothing about expense, and we shall not receive remittances until we settle somewhere for the winter.’

“These words made my heart leap; in five minutes more I explained to Virginie that I was provided with a free transit through the East, in which, by her aid, her mistress might participate, without ever knowing it. ‘You have only to pretend, Virginie, that Egypt is so cheap; tell her a camel only costs a penny a league, and that one is actually paid for crossing the Great Desert; you can hint that old Mehemet wants to bring the thing into fashion, and that he would give his beard to see English ladies travelling that route.’

“‘I knew it well,’ said Virginie, with a malicious smile, – ‘I knew it well; you are “a dangerous man.”’

“All the obstacles and impediments she could suggest, I answered with much skill and address, not unaided, I own, by certain potent persuasives, in the shape of bank paper, – she was a most mercenary little devil; and as day was breaking, Virginie had fully agreed in all my plans, and determined that her mistress should go beyond ‘the second cataract,’ if I wished it. I need not say that she fully understood my motives; she was a Frenchwoman, Mr. Tramp; the Russian loves train oil, the Yankee prefers whittling, but a Frenchwoman, without an intrigue of her own, or some one’s else, on hand, is the most miserable object in existence.

“‘I see where it all will end,’ cried she, as I turned to leave her; ‘I see it already. Before six weeks are over, you will not ask my aid to influence my mistress.’

“‘Do you think so, Virginie?’ said I, grasping at the suggestion.

“‘Of course I do,’ said she, with a look of undisguised truth; ‘ah, que vous êtes un homme dangereux!’

“It is a strange thing, Mr. Tramp, but I felt that title a prouder one than if I had been called the Governor of Bombay. Varied and numerous as the incidents of my life had been, I never knew till then that I was a dangerous man; nor, indeed, do I believe that, in the previous constitution of my mind, I should have relished the epithet; but I hugged it now as the symbol of my happiness. The whole of the following day was spent by me in company with Lady Blanche. I expatiated on the glories of the East, and discussed everybody who had been there, from Abraham down to Abercromby. What a multiplicity of learning, sacred and profane, did I not pour forth, – I perfectly astounded her with the extent of my information, for, as I told you before, I was strong on Egypt, filling up every interstice with a quotation from Byron, or a bit of Lalla Rookh, or a stray verse from the Palm Leaves, which I invariably introduced as a little thing of my own; then I quoted Herodotus, Denon, and Lamartine, without end – till before the dinner was served, I had given her such a journey in mere description, that she said with a sigh, —

“‘Really, Mr. Yellowley, you have been so eloquent that I actually feel as much fatigued as if I had spent a day on a camel.’

“I gave her a grateful look, Mr. Tramp, and she smiled in return; from that hour, sir, we understood each other. I pursued my Egyptian studies nearly the entire of that night, and the next day came on deck, with four chapters of Irby and Mangles off by heart. My head swam round with ideas of things Oriental, – patriarchs and pyramids, Turks, dragomans, catacombs, and crocodiles, danced an infernal quadrille in my excited brain, and I convulsed the whole cabin at breakfast, by replying to the captain’s offer of some tea, with a profound salaam, and an exclamation of ‘Bish millah, allah il allah.’

“‘You have infatuated me with your love of the East, Mr. Yellowley,’ said Lady Blanche, one morning, as she met me. ‘I have been thinking over poor Princess Shezarade and Noureddin, and the little tailor of Bagdad, and the wicked Cadi, and all the rest of them.’

“‘Have I,’ cried I, joyfully; ‘have I indeed!’

“‘I feel I must see the Pyramids,’ said she. ‘I cannot resist an impulse on which my thoughts are concentrated, and yours be all the blame of this wilful exploit.’

“’ Yes,’ said I.

“’ T is hard at some appointed placeTo check your course and turn your prow,And objects for themselves retraceYou past with added hope just now.’

“‘Yours,’ said she, smilingly.

“‘A poor thing,’ said I, ‘I did for one of the Keepsakes.’

“Ah, Mr. Tramp, it is very hard to distinguish one’s own little verse from the minor poets. All my life I have been under the delusion that I wrote ‘O’Connor’s Child,’ and the ‘Battle of the Baltic;’ and, now I think of it, those lines are Monckton Milnes’s.

“We reached Alexandria a few days after, and at once joined the great concourse of passengers bound for the East.

“I perceive you are looking at your watch, Mr. Tramp.”

“I must indeed ask your pardon. I sail for Calais at the next ebb.”

“I shall not be tedious now, sir. We began ‘the overland,’ – the angel travelling as Lady Blanche Yellowley, to avoid any possible inquiry or impertinence from the official people. This was arranged between Virginie and myself, without her knowledge. Then, indeed, began my Arabian nights. Ah, Mr. Tramp, you never can know the happiness enjoyed by him who, travelling for fourteen long hours over the hot sand, and beneath the scorching sun of the desert, comes at last to stretch his wearied limbs upon his carpet at evening, and gazes on celestial beauty as he sips his mocha. Mahomet had a strong case, depend upon it, when he furnished his paradise with a houri and a hubble-bubble; and such nights were these, as we sat and chatted over the once glories of that great land, while in the lone khan of the desert would be heard the silvery sounds of a fair woman’s voice, as she sung some little barcarole, or light Venetian canzonette. Ah, Mr. Tramp, do you wonder if I loved – do you wonder if I confessed my love? I did both, sir, – ay, sir, both.

“I told her my heart’s secret in an impassioned moment, and, with the enthusiasm of true affection, explained my position and my passion.

“‘I am your slave,’ said I, with trembling adoration, – ‘your slave, and the Secretary at Santancantantarabad. You own my heart. I possess nothing but a Government situation and three thousand per annum. I shall never cease to love you, and my widow must have a pension from the Company.’

“She covered her face with her handkerchief as I spoke, and her sobs – they must have been sobs – actually penetrated my bosom.

“‘You must speak of this no more, dear Mr. Yellowley,’ said she, wiping her eyes; ‘you really must not, at least until I arrive at Calcutta.’

“‘So you consent to go that far,’ cried I, in ecstasy.

“She seemed somewhat confused at her own confession, for she blushed and turned away; then said, in a voice of some hesitation, —

“‘Will you compel me to relinquish the charm of your too agreeable society, or will you make me the promise I ask?’

“‘Anything – everything,’ exclaimed I; and from that hour, Mr. Tramp, I only looked my love, at least, save when sighs and interjections contributed their insignificant aid.

I gave no expression to my consuming flame. Not the less progress, perhaps, did I make for that. You can educate a feature, sir, to do the work of four, – I could after a week or ten days look fifty different things, and she knew them, – ay, that she did, as though it were a book open before her.

“I could have strained my eyes to see through the canvas of a tent, Mr. Tramp, if she were inside of it. And she, had you but seen her looks! what archness and what softness, – how piquant, yet how playful, – what witchcraft and what simplicity! I must hasten on. We arrived within a day of our journey’s end. The next morning showed us the tall outline of Fort William against the sky. The hour was approaching in which I might declare my love, and declare it with some hope of a return!”

“Mr. Tramp,” said a waiter, hurriedly, interrupting Mr. Yellowley at this crisis of his tale, “Captain Smithet, of the ‘Hornet,’ says he has the steam up and will start in ten minutes.”

“Bless my heart,” cried I; “this is a hasty summons;” while snatching up my light travelling portmanteau, I threw my cloak over my shoulders at once.

“You ‘ll not go before I conclude my story,” cried Mr. Yellowley, with a voice of indignant displeasure.

“I regret it deeply, sir,” said I, “from my very heart; but I am the bearer of government despatches for Vienna; they are of the greatest consequence, – delay would be a ruinous matter.”

“I ‘ll go down with you to the quay,” cried Yellowley, seizing my arm; and we turned into the street together. It was still blowing a gale of wind, and a heavy sleet was drifting in our faces, so that he was compelled to raise his voice to a shout, to become audible.

“‘We are near Calcutta, dearest Lady Blanche,’ said I; ‘in a moment more we shall be no longer bound by your pledge’ – do you hear me, Mr. Tramp?”

“Perfectly; but let us push along faster.”

“She was in tears, sir, – weeping. She is mine, thought I. What a night, to be sure! We drove into the grand Cassawaddy; and the door of our conveyance was wrenched open by a handsome-looking fellow, all gold and moustaches.

“‘Blanche – my dearest Blanche!’ said he.

“‘My own Charles!’ exclaimed she.”

“Her brother, I suppose, Mr. Yellowley?”

“No, sir,” screamed he, “her husband!!!”

“The artful, deceitful, designing woman had a husband!” screamed Yellowley, above the storm and the hurricane. “They had been married privately, Mr. Tramp, the day he sailed for India, and she only waited for the next ‘overland’ to follow him out; and I, sir, the miserable dupe, stood there, the witness of their joys.

“‘Don’t forget this dear old creature, Charles,’ said she: ‘he was invaluable to me on the journey!’ But I rushed from the spot, anguish-torn and almost desperate.”

“Come quickly, sir; we must catch the ebb-tide,” cried a sailor, pushing me along towards the jetty as he spoke.

“My misfortunes were rife,” screamed Yellowley, in my ear. “The Rajah to whose court I was appointed had offended Lord Ellenborough, and it was only the week before I arrived that his territory bad been added to ‘British India,’ as they call it, and the late ruler accommodated with private apartments in Calcutta, and three hundred a year for life; so that I had nothing to do but come home again. Good-bye, – good-bye, sir.”

“Go on,” cried the captain from the paddle-box; and away we splashed, in a manner far more picturesque to those on land than pleasant to us on board, while high above the howling wind and rattling cordage came Yellowley voice, – “Don’t forget it, Mr. Tramp, don’t forget it! Asleep or awake, never trust them!”

Although the steam-engine itself is more naturalized amongst us than with any other nation of Europe, railroad travelling has unquestionably outraged more of the associations we once cherished and were proud of, than it could possibly effect in countries of less rural and picturesque beauty than England. “La Belle France” is but a great cornfield, – in winter a dreary waste of yellow soil, in autumn a desert of dried stubble; Belgium is only a huge cabbage-garden, – flat and fetid; Prussia, a sandy plain, dotted with sentry-boxes. To traverse these, speed is the grand requisite; there is little to remark, less to admire. The sole object is to push forward; and when one remembers the lumbering diligence and its eight buffaloes, the rail is a glorious alternative.

In England, however, rural scenery is eminently characterized. The cottage of the peasant enshrined in honeysuckle, the green glade, the rich and swelling champaign, the quaint old avenues leading to some ancient hall, the dark glen, the shining river, follow each other in endless succession, suggesting so many memories of our people, and teeming with such information of their habits, tastes, and feelings. There was something distinctive, too, in that well-appointed coach, with its four blood bays, tossing their heads with impatience, as they stood before the village inn, waiting for the passengers to breakfast. I loved every jingle of the brass housings; the flap of the traces, and the bang of the swingle-bar, were music to my ears; and what a character was he who wrapped his great drab coat around his legs, and gathered up the reins with that careless indolence that seemed to say, “The beasts have no need of guidance, – they know what they are about!” The very leer of his merry eye to the buxom figure within the bar was a novel in three volumes; and mark how lazily he takes the whip from the fellow that stands on the wheel, proud of such a service; and hear him, as he cries, “All right, Bill, let ‘em go!” – and then mark the graceful curls of the long lash, as it plays around the leaders’ flanks, and makes the skittish devils bound ere they are touched. And now we go careering along the mountain-side, where the breeze is fresh and the air bracing, with a wide-spread country all beneath us, across which the shadows are moving like waves. Again, we move along some narrow road, overhung with trees, rich in perfumed blossoms, which fall in showers over us as we pass; the wheels are crushing the ripe apples as they lie uncared for; and now we are in a deep glen, dark and shady, where only a straggling sunbeam comes; and see, where the road opens, how the rabbits play, nor are scared at our approach! Ha, merry England! there are sights and sounds about you to warm a man’s heart, and make him think of home.