Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 146.djvu/339

In was a dull inanspicious morning when I stepped, at 10.38 a.m., on the foot-plate of one of the Midland new single driving-wheel express engines, which had the moment before lazily backed down on to the train of eight carriages, weighing as nearly as possible 105 tons, or with engine and tender 180 tons.

Having established my bona fides to the satisfaction of the driver, I made a rapid survey of the surroundings. The fire-box front bristled with bright armature, and contrasted strangely with the simple trial and water-gauge taps used a few years ago. Everything was perplexity to the stranger, and yet, when understood, of the simplest character. Injector aud automnatic brake apparatus all in one to the right, and injector and sanding-tap to the left; handles and pipes highly polished and severely neat, showing in their application the wisest economy of space.

Further speculation as to use and service were abruptly cut short by the shrill whistle of the leading guard, in response to a little pantomimic play from the other end of the train. The craned head of the fireman was quickly withdrawn, and “Right away, mate,” followerd by a touch of the whistle, and the almost simultaneous opening of the regulator valve. A moment’s hesitation, only a moment, and we set off on our journey of 124 miles, to be run without a stop, as the long finger of the giant clock of St Pancras pointed to forty minutes past ten. We were punctual. The movement was slow and dignified, and reminded one of an athlete doing a little preliminary pacing. A sudden whirl of the driving-wheels, rapidly checked by easing of steam, and followed by the application of the steam sanders, gave me a forcible intimation of the difference between four-wheeled coupled engines and our majestic prancing steed for the day.

Immediately the mad whirl was checked, and the onward slow and steady pace was resumed, now slightly quickening, and realised more from the ear, by the rapidly increasing beats, which alone indicated the work being done.

Past the towering gasometers to the right, then over the dismal old St Pancras graveyard, shorn of its picturesqueness by the serrated grave-stones, which seem to appeal in speechless rows, and refuse tn be hidden by the slight screen of limes and poplars.

Bearing down more rapidly by the goods depot with increasing speed, we enter the dark arches which precede Camden Road, through which we run smartly, and pass Kentish Town station at 30 miles per hour.

The real business of the day commences, and the huge yet symmetrical engine, sentient-like, seems to borrow something of the earnestness of the men in charge.

Over crossings, threading with ease what appeared to be a devious and intricate way, through the many sidings at Kentish Town, the foot-plate meanwhile as steady as the floor of the saloon carriage, told well for the almost perfect balancing of the moving parts.

Through another open space, with a gleam of sunlight in the face, quickly exchanged for the uninviting stone-work of the cut-