“I was for less vigorous measures. Something assured me that Mark was right, and that the engine behind us was driven by Hibberd in a state of intoxication; but I fancied that however drunk he might be, he would yet not be so utterly insane as to persist in rushing against certain destruction, provided we could make him understand his danger; so I proposed that we should slacken and let him overtake us, then climb upon the ‘Swallow,’ and by persuasion or force induce him to return. All this and much more passed between us in far fewer seconds than I take minutes to tell it you; in fact, the whole affair was a succession of such rapid action following upon decisions so swift that I find it impossible to give you the faintest idea of the startling suddenness with which the circumstances crowded on each other. For a moment Mark—thinking doubtless more of his father than himself—approved of my suggestion, and we slackened speed. By this time both engines were running at a perfectly frightful velocity, and the ‘Swallow’ almost istantly overhauled us. No sooner did her buffers touch ours than Mark flung himself upon his father’s engine. I watched him clamber along the boiler till I lost the outline of his figure in the darkness. A minute of unspeakable suspense followed, during which the ‘Swallow’ held on her rapid speed. I now did all I could to impede her progress. I shut off steam and screwed my breaks down till they were one sheet of flame, but still the hinder engine drove me forward. At length, after what seemed a whole hour to me, I heard above the din of the open whistle a succession of yells, mingled with hoarse curses. I closed the handle a moment to listen, and soon felt certain that a fearful struggle was going on between Hibberd and his son. I caught at the ‘Swallow,’ pulled myself on to her, and climbed as fast as I could towards the footplate. Half way along the boiler I met Mark returning reckless.
“‘On to your engine,’ he screamed, ‘and run for Allonby.’
“This was enough for me; it was no time to ask or answer questions, and another second or two saw us both upon the ‘Firefly’—breaks up, whistle open, and all steam on. We drew quickly away from our companion; but the few minutes of delay had frightfully diminished our chances of safety.
“It was so dark that I could not clearly see Mark’s face, but I knew from the disturbed appearance of his clothes there had been a tussle, and I said simply, ‘Well, Mark?’ While speaking, I opened the fire-door, and as the red gleam burst out I started in renewed horror, for his whole face, neck, and hands were covered with blood.
“‘It’s my own, Charley,’ he whispered; and even while he spoke, with the certainty of an awful death before him, the noble fellow’s eyes filled as he added, ‘God help my poor father! he’s seen his last drunken spree this night.’
“In hurried words he told me that on reaching the foot-plate of the engine he found Hibberd alone, and raging drunk: that he had made an effort to reverse the ‘Swallow’s’ gear, and in order to do so put his hand upon the starting lever. This fairly maddened Hibberd, who flew upon him before he could accomplish his object and commenced the brief but deadly struggle I had heard. Mark was powerless in his father’s strong hands, and escaped almost by a miracle from being dashed off on to the line by a blow which felled him. In the fall his head was cut open against some of the iron work, and he was forced to return as I have described without gaining his end. But no kind of danger made the brave lad blench, and his eyes darkened and his teeth set as, with hand upon the whistle, he strained forward for a glimpse of Allonby signals. As for me, I grew sick; I took out my watch for what I feared was the last time, glanced at the hands, and then sat down upon the tool-box, covered my face, and wept bitter tears as I thought of the father at home who was so proud of me, and the mother whom I loved so dearly. A touch of Mark’s roused me. I looked at the dial again, but could not read the figures: he took the watch from my hand, and his voice was quite steady as he said:
“‘Another two minutes for us, Charley, and there are Allonby signals.’
“We had been travelling only eight minutes since we first knew our danger, but what an age it seemed! I remember he was handing me back the watch when his hand touched mine, and I felt him start as if shot. The next instant he clasped me tight by the wrist, and whispered in my ear, ‘The red lamps! It’s all over. God save my poor father.’ Again, though he spoke out strong and clear, ‘Hold tight to me, Charley, and when I say the word, jump for your life.’ We stood a moment poising ourselves upon the oscillating engine, then he shouted ‘Now!’ and sprang. I was nervous, my foot slipped, and I fell along the foot-plate of the engine. In an instant there was a horrible grinding crash, a dazzling flash of light before my eyes, a huge heave upwards and onwards, then blackness of darkness and insensibility.
“Six weeks afterwards I was sufficiently recovered from fever—brought on by my injuries and the excitement of that night—to hear the sequel of the story. Beyond a broken leg and rib I had escaped unhurt. Violent inflammation, accompanied by delirium, had, however, greatly retarded my convalescence.
“Hibberd and Mark were both dead. The former was greatly cut about, but the latter exhibited no visible injury beyond a comparatively trifling wound in the head, serious it is true, but not sufficient to have caused his death. He died from internal hœmorrhage, and none but myself knew that the scalp wound had been the work of the lad’s own father. Concerning the great accident to the night express on the line at Allonby station in 184—, I daresay you remember the newspaper accounts: to-night I have tried to give you a true and faithful history of the causes which produced that disaster, and of which a necessarily vague and incorrect version passed current with the public.”
And so ended the story of my travelling companion.
