JACK CARSTAIRS OF THE POWER HOUSE

A TALE OF SOME VERY YOUNG MEN AND A VERY YOUNG INDUSTRY

BY

SYDNEY SANDYS

WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY STANLEY L. WOOD

SECOND EDITION

METHUEN & CO. 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. LONDON

Colonial Library

First Published ... October 14th, 1909

Second Edition ... November 1909

DEDICATED

IN ALL DEFERENCE TO THE MEMORY OF THAT VERY GREAT ENGLISHMAN

GEORGE STEPHENSON

ENGINEER INVENTOR OF THE FIRST LOCOMOTIVE, AND OF THE TOOLS TO CONSTRUCT IT FIGHTER OF MEN AND CIRCUMSTANCES PIONEER OF THE RAILWAY

PREFACE

I have endeavoured to show you the engineer, in two phases, as I have met him: it is for you, gentlemen with the votes, to decide which you prefer; for you have to have one of them, and his numbers are increasing at a high rate of acceleration.

JACK CARSTAIRS OF THE POWER HOUSE

CHAPTER I

A young engineer stood at the gates of the electric power house yard watching the sun set. It was the middle of June, in the north of Scotland, where the summer days are very long and very beautiful.

The sun sank slowly behind a little wooded hill, throwing into strong relief a clump of fir trees at the summit, and making lanes of golden light along the sparkling rushing river where the silver salmon leapt in sportive joy. As the last edge of the sun disappeared behind the hill, a sudden hush seemed to descend on all the land. The power house was about a mile from the little town that nestled at the foot of the hills. It was a bare, brick building standing alone on the river-bank in the middle of a large tract of waste moorland. Inside, a stalwart, bearded highlander sat on a box eating his "piece," and drinking tea from a can; he and the young engineer at the door were the only occupants of the place. There was no machinery running, a battery was doing the work, for the needs of this little town in summer time were very small.

The young man at the door gazed around him enchanted with the beauty of the evening; the sudden hush that fell on everything seemed to strike him too. He felt subdued with a great awe, the great and awful majesty of Nature seemed thrust upon him suddenly; only the faint rustle of the long grass near the water served to make the stillness more intense; some crisis in Nature seemed impending.

Suddenly a strange note struck his ear, and immediately afterwards all the usual sounds of life started afresh; a robin and a thrush commenced to sing simultaneously, several birds started chirping all around, a salmon splashed heavily in the river, the distant moo of a cow was borne in upon his ears, the Scotsman inside moved his box with a harsh creak: all these things seemed to start off at once, as though some tension were removed, some crisis past.

The engineer looked in the direction of the sound that had at first broken the stillness and perceived a young girl, with a basket on her arm, raking over the heaps of ashes outside the boiler-house in search of stray bits of coal or coke.

He looked at her intently, with an unusual interest. There was a gipsy camp not far off, and some members of the tribe were usually hovering round the works for what they could pick up; as a rule they were very young and very dirty. This girl seemed about seventeen, and somewhat clean; every movement showed graceful, even lines. He strolled towards her.

"Looking for coal?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she answered.

She stood up and looked him in the eyes steadily.

He looked at her steadily too, and so they stood; brown eyes gazing into grey. He wondered greatly at the singular clearness of hers, big, and of a marvellous shade of dark brown, the white absolutely clear; the colour like some beautifully tinted crystal. He noticed eyes, and he gazed into hers for some time, dispassionately, as something inanimate, noting their marvellous perfection.

He smiled with pleasure, and instantly noted a gleam of pleasure in her eyes also. Then he shifted his gaze and took in a general impression of the face. It was remarkably beautiful, every feature was even and in perfect harmony. The eyebrows were delicately pencilled lines of deepest black. The eyelashes unusually long, they drooped downwards, and as he looked at her, the whole head took a gentle bend downwards in natural and graceful modesty before the open admiration in his eyes.

"You won't find much there. Come over here," he said. He led the way to the coal heap. She followed in silence.

"Help yourself," he said grandly, with a wave of the arm, giving away what didn't belong to him. As a general rule he was consistently conscientious in these details, but under the influence of those eyes he cast honesty to the four winds of heaven.

"Thank you, sir," she said, and stooped to fill her basket.

The graceful movements and even poise of her figure appealed to him immensely. He was somewhat of an athlete, and he noted with pleasure the firm fulness of the arms (which were bare to the elbow), and the throat and neck (which were quite unprotected). Her jet black hair hung down below her waist in heavy, wavy tresses. Her short black skirt (faded to almost a light green) showed a neat ankle and fair proportion of shapely leg. He stood back and watched her closely. The skin, where it was visible about the face and throat, was rather dark, probably dirty, he thought, yet it did not seem offensive, though he was usually fastidious in such things. He took life very seriously did this young man, very seriously indeed; he was bent on making his fortune, his fortune and a name—nothing less. He was nineteen; older than his years in many things, younger in a lot.

The gipsy girl stood up. "Thank you, sir," she said again, and moved haltingly towards the gate, glancing up at him with her big brown eyes and dropping them again as she caught his.

"Don't go!" he said, stepping forward. "Put that basket down and come in and have a look at the engines. Have you ever seen a dynamo? An electric machine, you know. Thing that makes the light for those big lamps in the street."

"I've seen them at the shows."

"Shows?" he repeated, questioningly.

"Roundabouts," she explained.

"Oh!" he said. "That's nothing. Come in here!"

She put down the basket and followed him with a look of pleasure. She glanced furtively at the roof as they passed through the doorway, and stepped quickly close up to him, her eyes rolled widely round in obvious apprehension. He looked at her with amusement.

She caught his eye and smiled too. "Lovely," she said, as she glanced round the clean and well-kept little engine-room. "Lovely," she repeated, as her eyes were held by the bright lacquered copper switches and instruments set on the enamelled slate switchboard.

"It's like a church."

He looked at her quickly. "Have you ever been to church?"

"I've been inside and I've looked in through the windows," she answered.

"What do you do on Sundays?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"I work on Sundays, the same as any other day," he said.

"It's wicked to work on Sunday," she said.

"Or any other time," he added, smiling.

"Gipsies don't do much work," she admitted, smiling too.

"I think I'll turn gipsy."

"You'll go a long way before you see gipsies your colour," she said, glancing at his fresh face and light brown hair.

He held out his hand suddenly. "Look here! Tell my fortune, will you?"

She took him by the wrist and gazed at his palm earnestly for some minutes seeming to feel his pulse all the while.

"Good," she said, "very good," and dropping his hand, moved to the door.

He looked at her curiously, the fun had faded from her face, the liquid eyes seemed heavily shaded with sorrow. He stepped after her.

"Do you people really believe what you say?" he asked.

"Yes. Good, very good—for you," she answered, and passed through the door. With the sky overhead and the air of heaven on her face, she altered at once. "Thank you, sir, for the coal." She smiled brightly.

"Don't mention it," he said. "Come over again, will you? I want to talk to you." He looked into her eyes and she flushed with pleasure under the tan, or dirt, whichever it was.

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a cake of chocolate (that was one of the things in which he was younger than his years). "I say, do you eat chocolate?"

She took it shyly.

He watched her bite a piece off and noticed the even regularity of her teeth, and the perfect shape of her mouth, though the lips were somewhat full.

"When will you come again? To-morrow? Oh! I forgot! To-morrow I shall be on all night. Will you come over early in the morning, or any time between midnight and eight o'clock in the morning? I'll bring you down some chocolate, if you like it."

"Thank you, sir."

"Will you come?"

"Yes," she answered, and her head took a gentle droop downwards, half averted, the long lashes swept her cheek and a rich red flushed beneath the russet brown of her skin.

He looked at her with pleasure, he felt his own colour rising a little too. He experienced a strange thrill, he felt older somehow, a sense of responsibility, of protection.

She turned and went away, glancing back over her shoulder as she went.

He went inside, and spoke to the Scotsman. "We'll put the engine on now, Mac." He busied himself with the engine and the switchboard. The girl was lost to sight and memory, but a sense, a something remained.

Next day the young engineer went on duty at midnight; he passed the gipsy camp on his way; four caravans stood silent and dark, and five ragged tents showed faint and ghostly in the moonlight, a fire smouldered in one corner. At the works he relieved another young man like himself, and the bearded highlander. They put on their hats and coats and bade him good-night, and he was left alone, all alone in the dimly lighted engine room with nothing running, everything still, except for the ghostly, uncanny rattle of the steam condensing in the now idle steam pipes.

Going into the little room which served as office, mess room, and test room combined, he took off his hat and coat and rolled back his shirt sleeves. He was a well built young man, standing just on six feet in his boots, with regular, handsome features and strong, prominent chin and nose; the arms that he exposed to view were substantial and very muscular, the hands were spread by the use of hand tools, they were not pretty, but very strong and serviceable. He walked briskly out and carefully looked all round—the plant, the switchboard, the engines, the recording instrument, the battery and boilers; he opened the furnace doors and gazed in at the fires to see that they were properly "banked;" then he went round with a scribbling block and took the meter readings, carefully entering them in the log book; then he opened the door and stepped out into the northern summer night.

He looked round on the fair prospect with extreme pleasure, the hills all round with the mountains in the background, the irregular patches of wood, the few straggling houses showing white and distinct in the moonlight, the little town close by with its few twinkling lights; all spoke to him of peace and pleasure yet strangely, too, of ambition. He would own one of those houses on the hillside as a summer resort. Time would tell, he had no doubt, he was quite confident, he felt it in him. He worked while other fellows played. Worked! Lord! Yes! he stoked boilers and drove engines, he cleaned brass work and did navvies' work, all for ten shillings per week. He smiled, the idea did not depress him in the least.

Suddenly the figure of a girl appeared round the corner of the building. The gipsy girl, he knew her figure at once. He knew she would come, but he had not expected her at this hour.

She advanced slowly, shyly; as she turned the corner she had been active, full of life; she seemed to droop as she caught sight of him standing alone in his shirt sleeves in the moonlight. She came close up and stood before him.

"I've come," she said.

She raised her eyes and looked into his—they seemed all alight, veritably to sparkle like gems.

He was rather taken aback, but did not show it; his features were impassive, he also felt a tingling of the pulses, and his eyes showed that as he looked into hers.

"Come inside," he said; he led the way, he wanted time to think.

"This way," he continued. She followed him, a pace to the rear.

He led the way into the little office and pulled out a chair. "Sit down," he said.

She sat down, somewhat uncomfortably, somewhat nervously, as one who was not used to it.

Going to his coat hanging on the wall he took a packet of chocolate from it. She watched him with a sort of dog-like observance.

"Here you are," he said. He handed her the chocolate, drew another chair out, and sat down facing her.

"What have you been doing all day?"

"Gathering sticks," she answered. He noticed that she did not speak with her mouth full, it seemed a natural refinement, perhaps because she observed him carefully finish munching a piece of chocolate before he put the question to her—anyhow she did the same.

They sat and looked at each other in silence for some minutes. He was observing her very closely; he noticed that her hands were clean, comparatively; they were not large and very well shaped, it was obvious that she did not do much work; everything about her denoted natural grace and, it seemed to him, refinement; but ever and anon her eyes rolled widely round, taking in everything; in this confined atmosphere, sitting on this made-to-order chair, she was obviously not at ease.

He drew his chair up closer to her and looked into her eyes. "You're very beautiful. Are all gipsy girls beautiful?"

She flushed, gave her head a little toss, slightly imperious. "My mother is the Queen of the gipsies."

"Then you are a princess. You look it. Tell me what you do all day."

"Nothing," she answered, simply.

"That's good," he laughed.

"What do you do?" she asked.

"Everything," he said, and laughed again.

"Where do you come from?"

"England, the south of England, Gloucestershire. Have you been there?"

"Yes," she answered. "I've been through Gloucestershire and Somersetshire and Devonshire and Warwickshire and Staffordshire. I've been all round England and Scotland."

His eyes lighted up. "Have you been to Cheltenham?"

"Yes," she said, and told him about it and the country round; she seemed to have observed everything. They talked of the counties and the people, the fields and the woods, the birds and beasts, till she stood up and pushed the chair back.

"I don't like this—let's go out and sit on the wall by the river."

So they went outside and sat on the little low wall with the smooth cement top that marked the tunnel where the water pipes went into the works.

They sat down side by side, eating chocolates and saying nothing, looking at the east and watching the sky begin to lighten with the first faint indication of dawn. All was hushed, and silent the river at their feet swirled past in glassy, rapid smoothness, on the opposite bank the sedges stirred and rustled stealthily, just moved by the scarcely perceptible breeze.

They sat there for a long time, exchanging occasional remarks and lapsing long between replies. The spirit of the night, the silent, pensive night, seemed on the girl and he did not want to talk. The cloak of peace was around her; she was at one with nature; she laughed in the sunshine and wept in the rain. To the young engineer the silence of the night had a very different message; this universal peace and stillness spoke to him, somehow, of strife, vigorous strife, of great difficulties attempted and overcome, of progress, eternal progress; he made many resolves of what he would do, and the more he had done, the more, he felt, he would be able to enjoy these moments of rest and reflection. Some day he would marry, and this was the sort of girl he would like, a refined and educated edition of this; some one with a soul, a mind, and a body, not a mere clothes-horse. Her remarks had shown a natural refinement, a depth of feeling and thought that exactly suited his own, she appreciated nature and that was the foundation of all things to him.

The dawn was rapidly brightening; on the opposite side of the river a stoat poked an inquiring nose through the long grass at the top of the bank. Silently the girl gripped his arm and pointed to it, together they watched it come cautiously into full view sniffing the air; very slowly, very cautiously, it made its way, its head upraised, moving with a graceful swaying motion from side to side; it was the caution of the pursuer and not of the pursued, there was no terror in it. The young engineer watched it in fascination, then it disappeared again in the grass.

"The stoat gets a better time than the rabbit," he propounded, after a thoughtful pause.

"Rabbits!" she said, in disgust, "rabbits are good to eat, that's all. Everything kills rabbits, they play and play and never think—I've watched them for hours and hours."

He jumped up. "I must go and have a look round inside now." He looked at her steadily with approval, and more; there was a light in her eyes as she looked up at him too.

"Will you come over to-morrow night?" he asked. There was a touch of suspense in his voice.

"Yes," she said.

"Good-bye then," he held out his hand.

She took it somewhat shyly.

He held her rather long, looking at her thoughtfully, he seemed in doubt, then he slowly released her hand and turned away. "Good-bye till to-morrow then," he said.

"Good-bye," she answered.

Next night he was outside before half-past twelve, waiting. He saw her leave the camp and come towards him springing lightly from tuft to tuft over the rough ground.

"Hullo!" she said, and looked up at him, her wondrous eyes beaming pleasure.

"How are you?" he answered, gravely, shaking hands. The limitations of the Englishman bound him fast. "Come inside," he continued.

She drew back with a little expression of repugnance. "I don't like houses," she said.

"I've got some sweets in there. Come in and get them, and then we'll go outside again."

She followed him meekly, and he took her into the little office and tilted the contents of four different little bags on to a clean newspaper.

"There you are!" he said.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, with childish glee.

He shovelled them into the bags again and handed them to her.

"There you are, those are for you; now we'll go outside."

"You take some too." She opened the bags and held them out to him.

"Thanks," he answered, gravely selecting two or three from each packet.

They walked in silence to the door, then he paused under the lamp. "Look here, you never told my fortune. Finish it, will you?"

She stopped and looked at the hand he held out under the light. "I don't know very much yet. You're very strong."

"Fairly," he agreed, doubling up his biceps. "You said I had a good fortune. How do you know that?"

"By the feel," she answered. She took him by the wrist again and seemed lost in wonder. "Think of what you'd like," she said.

He shut his eyes and conjured up his favourite vision. A great industrial centre; a huge machinery shop; teeming workmen, strong and greasy; and himself in the centre, thinking, feeling, living for it all.

"Oh!" she said.

He opened his eyes to find her gazing at him in open wonder and astonishment.

"Have you ever had a wild rabbit in your hands and felt its heart beat?"

"Can't say that I have."

"I have. And a weasel and a stoat with their heads tied. And cats and dogs and birds and all sorts. You feel like a dog, a trained fighting dog when he's going to fight—and win."

He smiled, somewhat indulgently. "Very probably," he said. "I'm a bit of a sportsman, football, and that sort of thing, you know. I've got a pistol in there; I put in time shooting rats along the river bank when I'm by myself and not reading."

"Come on down by the river bank now and I'll show you some birds' nests. I found them to-day."

"Wait till it gets lighter," he answered. "We'll climb up that hill and watch the sun rise."