‘Well, look sharp and get your stunts done,’ Bragg returned. ‘We’ll see how you get on. Is it still raining, Ackerley?’
‘Yes, worse luck. But the wind’s gone down.’
Ackerley, having resumed his mackintosh, which had left quite a respectable pool on the floor, went out, and Bragg and Parry settled down once again to their work. But they had not more than got under way when another visitor made his appearance. This time it was a tall stoutly-built man of middle age with a small dark moustache and wearing the inevitable dripping waterproof.
‘Is the great man within?’ he demanded in a rather high-pitched voice and with a mellow Irish intonation.
Parry leaned back consequentially in his chair.
‘Yes, I’m here, Carey,’ he replied condescendingly. ‘What can I do for you?’
Carey advanced into the room.
‘Sure what would I be doing talking to the likes of you?’ he inquired. ‘It’s his lordship here I want to see.’ With a jerk of his thumb he indicated Bragg, who had appeared at his door. ‘You’re after ringing me up, Bragg?’
Bragg agreed, and the two men disappeared into the inner office. As Parry worked he could hear scraps of conversation through the open door: ‘held by the fox wedges,’ ‘three-eights inch camber,’ ‘meet the lateral thrust;’ and then Bragg in a louder voice: ‘When are you going to get a pump that’ll clear out that blessed hole at Pier IV?’ and Carey’s protesting reply: ‘Me dear man, the pump’s one of the best. Sure didn’t that idiot Hudson go and get it filled up with gravel and cut the valves out of it.’ Another murmur and then Carey again: ‘I declare to goodness that man’ll have me demented, the way he’s going on.’
The saga of the pump was still under discussion when there came a sound of movement, and the two men emerged into the outer office.
‘Right,’ Bragg was saying. ‘That should get the water down.’
The door closed behind Carey, and silence fell in the hut as Bragg and Parry settled down to work. Both had a good deal to get through and neither wanted to be kept late. Then Ackerley turned up again, and going into Bragg’s room, began to check with him certain figures for the certificate. For some time their voices came to Parry in low, indistinguishable murmurs. Then came Bragg’s voice: ‘I say, Parry!’
Parry got up and went to the door of the inner room.
‘How long will it take you to finish?’ Bragg asked. ‘Bring in what you’re at, will you?’
Parry collected his foolscap sheets.
‘I’m pretty well on,’ he explained as he laid them before Bragg, ‘but I’m afraid it will take a bit of time still.’
‘How long?’
‘Most of an hour, I should think.’
‘Well, Ackerley’s ready to go now and you can’t wait much longer or it will be dark. You’ll be able to finish these when you get back.’
Parry’s face fell, and Bragg, noticing it, went on impatiently: ‘Oh, very well, very well. I forgot your blessed “do”. See. We’ll not get our train tonight, but we’ll go by the ballast engine. Get me the comptometer and I’ll finish the darned thing myself.’
‘Oh, thanks awfully, Bragg. Very decent of you.’
With a gesture Bragg brushed his acknowledgments aside. ‘Then you’ll come back here as sharp as you can, Parry, with the check of that pitching, and you, Ackerley, will wait and see us at Redchurch. I’d like to hear about that slip, especially as I’ll not be down tomorrow.’
It was close on half-past four when Parry and Ackerley left the hut and began walking down towards the railway.
‘By the way,’ said Parry, ‘there’s the ballast engine shunting that stuff for Lowell. I’ll slip across and tell Blake we’re going tonight. Ten to one Bragg’ll forget.’
He crossed the sidings towards the engine. The driver stopped when he raised his hand.
‘I say, Blake,’ he called up, ‘we’re going to Redchurch with you, Mr Bragg and myself. Will you stop for us opposite the office?’
‘Right, Mr Parry.’
‘And I say, Blake,’ Parry went on, ‘are you going up to the station before you start?’
‘Yes, we’ve to lift these wagons out of here and throw them into the goods yard for the early goods.’
‘Then I wish you’d collect a bag of mine from the stationmaster’s office—a yellow suitcase. I’ve not got time to go up for it.’
‘Certainly, Mr Parry. I’ll bring it along.’
Parry thanked him, and passing out of the gate, followed Ackerley along the line towards the viaduct. The weather was still unpleasant. Though the rain had ceased, it remained raw and cold. The sea, of a dirty lead colour, was white-flecked, and a dull roar came up from the beach and the base of the cliffs. Far out a small steamer, heading for Lydmouth, was making heavy weather of it, white water flying from her bows as she dipped into the swells.
The two young men, reaching the edge of the Whit Chine, descended to where the massive foundations of the new viaduct were going in beside the spindle-shanked piers of the old. Ackerley had a quick look at the work and a word with the various foremen, and then they climbed up the other side of the chine to where, a hundred yards ahead, loomed the black forbidding mouth of the tunnel.
‘We’ll not go into the tunnel,’ Ackerley decided. ‘I was through it yesterday and everything’s going on all right. Besides, we’ve scarcely time.’
Dusk indeed was falling as Ackerley led the way off the railway to the sea side. A narrow path ran round the outside of the ness, joining the railway again at the far end of the tunnel.
‘Are you coming down to the hockey on Saturday?’ Ackerley asked as they stepped on the path.
Parry was pursuing thoughts of his own and did not want to talk about hockey. Vaguely he was aware of the white rocks on the right, sloping up out of sight above him, and on the left dropping quickly down to the foaming surf far below; of the race of white horses out on the heaving waters; of the wheeling sea birds with their melancholy cries. Vaguely he heard that the Redchurch goalkeeper was about as much use as a performing poodle; that Brenda played a better game than Mollie; and that Whitness would have to wake up and get busy if they were going to retain the cup. He wasn’t interested, but he managed to reply with reasonable intelligence, and Ackerley speedily reverted to his customary shop.
They regained the railway at the Redchurch end of the tunnel, where for some hundreds of yards the line ran along a narrow shelf cut in the sheer cliff. Another half-mile brought them to Cannan’s Cutting. A glance at the slip showed that no further movement had taken place and the men walked on to the end of the cutting where began a wide bay, Browne’s Bay. At this point the work of the Widening was well under way. The base of the clay slope had been pushed out into the sea, and the new work was in process of being protected by stone pitching. Here it was that doubt had arisen as to the area completed.
‘That’s what you’ve got to measure.’ Ackerley indicated the half-completed work immediately above the line of breaking waves. ‘You’ll get a bath if you’re not careful. Start at this mile-post and work towards Whitness. You needn’t be too accurate: pacing’ll be near enough. Cheerio, then. See you at Redchurch.’
As in the days afterwards Parry thought over that parting, two things came back vividly to him, little things both of them, but significant. The first was the glimpse that he had had of Ackerley’s ring. When Ackerley had said, ‘That’s what you’ve got to measure,’ he had pointed with his left hand, and even in the dusk the glint of the stone in the ring had caught Parry’s eye. Ackerley wore it on his little finger and Parry had seen it hundreds of times. It was a plain gold band bearing one small ruby, set in the simplest way without any chasing or ornamentation. Parry had often wondered why his companion wore it, but he had never asked, and Ackerley had seemed unconscious of its presence.
The second thing which Parry noticed was Ackerley’s extraordinary fitness and good spirits. As he moved off he stepped out briskly with all the energy an
d vigour of a healthy young animal. He was whistling, too, something light and popular that went with a swing.
Bidding goodnight to the ganger of the length, who passed at that moment, Parry turned towards the pitching.
2
Tragedy
The Redchurch-Whitness Widening was a moderately big job, involving some heavy works. The main line of this particular area of the Southern Railway ran eastwards from Lydmouth, one of the most important watering-places on the south coast, till it joined the Exeter-Waterloo line about half-way between Templecombe and Salisbury. For the first fifteen miles, from Lydmouth to Redchurch, it ran along the shore, but at Redchurch it turned inland. Redchurch was a smaller but more fashionable resort, beloved of the Thank-goodness-it-hasn’t-yet-been-spoiled-by-trippers type.
At Redchurch a line diverged from the direct London line, continuing eastwards along the coast through Whitness, and eventually reaching Bournemouth and Southampton. This line was double all the way except for one section, the three and a half miles stretch between Redchurch and Whitness. Here the cost of doubling had up till now been considered prohibitive. Very heavy earthworks and sea defences had to be dealt with, as well as widening nearly a quarter of a mile of tunnel and building a new viaduct. It was estimated that the cost would be upwards of a quarter of a million sterling.
These three miles of single line, however, had grown increasingly inconvenient. The stretch acted as a bottle neck which slowed up the traffic, causing endless delays and vexation. Though the times were so unsuitable for borrowing new capital, ’bus competition had forced the directors’ hands and a contract for £320,000 had been let. Work had now been in progress for nearly a year.
When Parry arrived back at the engineers’ hut he was more than a trifle breathless. He had underestimated the time it would take him to carry out what he had to do, and had had to hurry back as fast as he could. He did not wish to miss the ballast engine, and there was not much time to give Bragg his information and get the certificate completed before the engine was due. Parry was glad when he came in view of the lighted windows of the hut, shining like harbour beacons in the night.
He hurried to the door. Bragg was still bending over the certificate.
‘Well?’ Bragg grunted without looking up. ‘What about that pitching?’
Parry threw his notebook down on the desk. ‘I’m frightfully sorry, Bragg, the mistake was mine after all. I paced the thing over and every figure seemed to check out, then at last I found it. Pole and I measured it correctly, but I misread a figure in my book. The correct figure was 327 and I read it 827.’
‘Then Pole’s total is correct?’
‘Yes. I’m not trying to make excuses, but what really happened was that my book got wet and the figures weren’t easy to read.’
‘That’s all right. Read me out the total. I’ve finished your earthwork.’
‘Oh, good man, Bragg. Very decent of you.’
The entry of the pitching item completed the certificate. Bragg quickly monied it out, then added the total to that he had already obtained and signed the document.
‘Get a sheet of brown paper, will you?’ he said as he rolled up the papers and slipped a rubber band round them.
Parry produced paper and string, and the certificate and its attendant papers were parcelled up and labelled.
‘You’re going somewhere with Ackerley?’ Bragg went on.
‘Yes, to a dance.’
‘Well, you’ll have time to hand this over to the parcels people in Redchurch to send to the office. I don’t want to bother taking it round. Come on, Parry. We’d better look sharp or we’ll miss that blessed engine.’
Parry nodded. A moment later the two men were walking towards the wicket gate in the contractors’ fence, put in close to the railway hut for their special convenience. This led out on to a branch road which passed through a little spinney behind the yard.
‘For once I remembered my torch,’ Bragg went on as a little circle of light began to play over the ground in front of them.
‘It’s not dark,’ Parry declared. ‘It’s only coming out of the light makes it seem so.’
‘The torch is a help when you’re looking for a keyhole, young Parry.’
They passed through the gate and reached the line. As Parry had said, it was not dark. The sky was heavily overcast, but behind the clouds there was a moon, and objects remained dimly visible. Though it was some time since the rain had stopped, the grass was still dripping and there were pools everywhere. A dull muffled roar came up from the sea, where the waves were dragging the shingle up and down the beach and breaking heavily against the base of the ness.
‘Here she is,’ said Parry.
From the direction of the station appeared lights, slowly diverging and growing brighter. Presently there showed behind them a dark mass, which resolved itself into the smoke-box of an approaching engine. Bragg showed his torch and with a clap the brakes went on, eased off and clapped on again. The boiler slid slowly past and the machine came to rest with the dimly lighted cab just above them. The fireman, a gauge lamp in his hand, stooped down and with a spongecloth gave a perfunctory rub to the steel handles above the steps. Then, stepping back, he made room for Bragg and Parry to climb up.
The driver was standing with his hand grasping the regulator. When his passengers were aboard he gently opened it, then reaching up to another handle, he gave a tiny whistle. With a faint quiver the engine began to move. A chink of the firebox door was open, and each beat drew the glowing coal up to a white heat which lit cab and crew.
The cab was roomy, as cabs go. Bragg, the most honoured traveller, had moved to the right-hand corner and sat down on the fireman’s seat. Parry stood on the left side behind the driver, looking over his shoulder into the gloom ahead. They were now on the viaduct, and to Parry it seemed that they were hanging in space. To his left was a great gulf, for he was too high over the viaduct parapet to see it, and the nearest object was the shore and the beating waves some seventy feet below him. He grasped the upright rod which supported the roof, lest a jolt of the engine should tip him out, while to leave his hands free he dropped the parcelled certificate into the driver’s box. Then the driver whistled again and with a waft of air which Parry felt at his eardrums, the roof of the tunnel slid back over their heads and the noise increased tenfold.
The experience of passing through the tunnel was impressive. The beam of light from the partly opened firebox door, now continuously white from the rapid beat, shone out on the front of the tender and up above it on to the roof of the cab. From these it was reflected back over the faceplate, or end of the boiler, showing up the maze of pipes and handles, gauges and dials, and bringing out unexpected high lights from polished brass-work. Bragg’s figure, seated in the corner, showed dimly, with the fireman standing shadowy behind him, as Parry himself stood behind the driver. On each side between the tender and the cab the black walls of the tunnel quivered as they hastened by, while above the steam formed into a wide rolling coil, also hurrying backwards like an inverted wake.
Presently Parry turned and once again looked out ahead through the cab window, on which a great drop of water from the roof had just flattened itself. Faintly something curved began to show up. It was the ‘high leg’ or outside rail upon which they were travelling, reflecting dimly from its polished inside edge the light striking in through the approaching mouth of the tunnel. Then, as Driver Blake again whistled, the walls and roof slid back and they were out in the open.
For a few hundred yards they ran along the shelf cut in the cliff, with far below them the white horses showing up in ghostly smears. Then the cliff fell back. Another few hundred yards and they were traversing Cannan’s Cutting, past the slip which had so much upset Ackerley. Then once again along the sea round the big inlet, Browne’s Bay, and so to the next headland.
This next headland, Downey’s Point, was blunt in plan, and the railway, instead of tunnelling or cutting through it, ran round it al
ong by the sea. As they approached it, the line ahead, curving sharply to the right, slid behind the boiler out of sight of Parry and Driver Blake. From the right side of the cab no one happened at the moment to be looking out. The fireman had introduced the picker, or huge hooked poker, into the firebox, and was vigorously raking the fire forward up the sloping firebars. It had been let down very low, in fact to a mere layer of incandescent cinders thinly covering the bars, as the engine had really done work for the day, and after the fire had been cleaned of clinker, would lie banked until the next morning. Bragg, having lit his pipe, was absently watching the operation.
The furnace having been adjusted to the fireman’s satisfaction, he withdrew the picker, its hook now white-hot, and laid it on the tender. A little spurt of flame and smoke sprang up where the glowing point came in contact with the coal, dying away as the iron cooled. Setting the firebox door to stand about an inch open, the fireman withdrew to the side of the cab, put his head out, and gave a perfunctory look ahead.
Parry, who happened to be watching him, saw him suddenly stiffen, for a fraction of a second peer earnestly ahead, and then swing round to the driver with a warning shout: ‘’Old! ’Old! There’s something on the road!’
Parry’s heart leaped as he watched the men’s frantic movements. With one hand Blake threw over the regulator, shutting off steam, while with the other he dashed the vacuum brake handle down to the full on position. Then he whistled, several short sharp blasts. Simultaneously the fireman turned on the steam sanding and closed the firebox door, from which a burst of flames had come, due to the sudden cutting off of the suction from the blast. The engine gave a little shudder and the speed declined so rapidly that Parry had to cling on to the cab pillar to prevent himself from falling forward against Blake. Both Bragg and the fireman were now hanging out of their side of the cab, looking back.
The fireman swung in.
‘We’re over it!’ he cried to Blake, as with a harsh grinding of the brakes and a sudden jerk the engine stopped.
Death on the Way Page 2
