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Updated: May 11, 2025
The sweetness was gone from the evening, the sense of peace, of security, and placid contentment was stricken from the landscape. The hideous ruin in the engine's path drove all thought of his poem from his mind. The inspiration vanished like a mist. The de Profundis had ceased to ring.
Nan watched him while he poked indifferently about the engine, then sank back into her seat with a murmur of relief as he at last climbed once more into his place behind the wheel and the taxi got going again. But almost before two minutes had elapsed there came another halt, followed by another lengthy examination of the engine's internals.
Out of the very door they were approaching stepped a solitary lady, sole passenger from the south train, and at the sight of those three, linked arm in arm, she staggered back and uttered a cry more piercing than the engine's distant whistle. "Rudolph!" cried this lady. "Alicia!" gasped the Baron.
"Don't open any windows. Keep your head in. You'll get us all shot if you aren't careful." However, the drummer had got the window up and had leaned out before the others could interfere and draw him away. "Say, by jove," he shouted, as he turned back to the car, "our engine's gone. We're standing on a curve and you can see the end of the train. She's gone, I tell you. Well, look for yourself."
He who seeks the mind's improvement Aids the world in aiding mind! Every great, commanding movement Serves not one but all mankind. O'er the Forge's heat and ashes O'er the Engine's iron head Where the rapid Shuttle flashes, And the Spindle whirls its thread; There is Labour lowly tending Each requirement of the hour; There is genius still extending Science and its world of power!
And so it befell that Mauburn and Miss Bines sat late on deck that night, and under the witchery of a moon that must long since have become hardened to the spectacle, the old, old story was told, to the accompaniment of the engine's muffled throb, and the soft purring of the silver waters as they slipped by the boat and blended with the creamy track astern.
When the guard calls out at a large and busy station "Prague," we are sorry that we have no time to stay a few days and stroll through the streets and squares of one of the finest and oldest towns of Europe. The engine's whistle sounds again and the train carries us swiftly onwards to Vienna, the capital of the Emperor Francis Joseph, who alone is more remarkable than all the sights of the city.
You other fellows'll have to dress those hake alone this time." "I'll tow you across, Jimmy," offered Higgins. "But it looks a bit smurry to me. I think there may be a norther coming; and you wouldn't want to get caught out in that. Remember what happened to Bill Carlin!" "I know," answered Spurling. "But that engine's no good without a piston-rod. I was born in a dory.
It passed slowly on its way with a mournful roll of wheels, like the passing of a cortege, like a file of artillery-caissons charioting dead bodies; the engine's smoke enveloping it in a mournful veil, leaving a sense of melancholy in its wake, moving past there, lugubrious, lamentable, infinitely sad under the grey sky and under the grey mist of rain which continued to fall with a subdued, rustling sound, steady, persistent, a vast monotonous murmur that seemed to come from all quarters of the horizon at once.
He could not tell you who the Pilgrim Fathers were, nor could he name the thirteen original States, but he knew all the officers of the twenty-second police district by name, and he could distinguish the clang of a fire- engine's gong from that of a patrol-wagon or an ambulance fully two blocks distant.
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