LITERATURE.

Patea Mail, Volume VIII, Issue 1027, 27 April 1883, Page 4

LITERATURE.

TEN TERRIBLE MINUTES IN A TRAIN. One November evening a few years ago, I bad occasion to travel from Cannon street to Spa Road station on the South-eastern Railway. It bad been a cold foggy day throughout, and there were comparatively few passengers. The compartment which I entered—a second class—had but one previous occupant, a stoutly-built man of thirty-five or forty. He was attempting, with evidently small success, to read a book, and he fidgeted about on his seat in rather a testy fashion. Having a doubt as to the regularity of the trains on such an evening, I said “ I suppose this stops at Spa road ?” “ Spa road ! Of course it does,” said this gentleman, with what I considered unnecessary vehemence. “ All these trains slop at Spa road,” “ Don’t thank me, sir,” he said a moment later. “ I only answered a simple question a fool or madman could do that.” . Here the train moved slowly off, and the speaker, whoso face I had not yet seen, resumed his efforts to read, muttering now and again an imprecation at the expense of the fog and cold. When we reached the glass dome of the Borough Market, the train came to a stop, and for the first time I found myself in a position to obtain a good view of my fellow passenger. Hitherto he had obstinately' kept his back or shoulders towards xne. Now he threw his volume down on the seat and faced me. He was, as I have said, a man in the full prime of life. Rather over the average height, he had the broad shoulders, full chest, and nervous hand of an athlete. The impression which his features produced were decidedly unpleasant. Yet save for the eyes, which had a peculiar and indescribable glare in them, the face was not, an unhandsome one. “ I did not know that we were so close, to the Crystal Palace,” he said brusquely. “ The Crystal Palace I” I said, in some surprise; “we are not near the Crystal Palace.” “ The fog has affected your eyesight, my friend,” was the reply. “ Trouble yourself to look out of this window.” “ Oh, that!” I said, smiling.. “ You like your joke, sir, I perceive. The Borough Market must feel flattered indeed to be mistaken for Sydenham Palace.” “ Borough Market! Of course, it was only ray joke,” laughed my companion. But there was no mirth in the laugh. He now took up his book again and made another attempt to read. Though he fixed his eyes on the page, and even now and again turned a leaf, it was evident that his reading was little better than a pretence. Indeed it was so dark in the carriage that to see the small characters in an ordinary volume was to me quite impossible. While he was thus engaged the train reached London Bridge. The moment we entered the station my companion, who had drawn nearer me, returned to his seat in the corner furthest from the platform. From this he gazed with evidently eager interest on the people passing and repassing the carriage door. As at Cannon street, the number of these was not great, and we were still alone when the train again moved off.

The moment we were outside the station a change came over my fellow passenger. He threw his book on the floor, and rose to his feet. Hitherto I had been preoccupied with my own thoughts, giving small heed to him. Now, without knowing why, I felt myself fascinated. There was a light iii his dark eyes, an expression in his mouth, which at once repelled and attracted me.

“ Have you been much of a traveller ?” he asked suddenly. He was standing with his back to the door, watching me curiously. “ I havp never been out of the island,” I replied. “ Ah !” he said, “ I have been everywhere—ltaly, Russia, India, China, Tim-, buctoo, Ashantee anywhere—everywhere, I have been near the North Pole and quite at the South.” “ Indeed, you must be a very great traveller, sir,” I said.

“ I have never been to the moon. No man can be a traveller who has not been there.”

“Then I’m afraid that, with the exception of those famous heroes of Jules Verne, there are very few about.” “ Just-so, just so I And yet a trip up above this detestable fog beyond the clouds would be enjoyable. In a night like this it would be peculiarly so; don’t you agree with me ?’’ “ Not quite,” I said ; “ for my own part I’d much rather be at my fireside,” “ Yon would, would you ?” Look at that, smell that, taste that cursed fog.” He threw open the window, and certainly the fog which poured in was bad enough in all conscience. “ I grant you it is not pleasant, either for eyes or throat,” I said. “ I knew you would,” continued my strange companion. “ Anyone would be glad to get out of it. The man who could free you from it would deserve your thanks, would he not ?” There was a light in the speaker’s eyes which I did not like, and there was a movement at the corners of his mouth the opposite of pleasant. Whilst not feeling the least dread of him, I was yet not without a strong desire, to reach Spa road. As bad luck would have it, while yet we had not made half the short journey, the train again came to a sudden stop.

Yes, he would be a public benefactor who could deliver the people of London from fog,” I. said. “He would, would he not?” whispered my companion eagerly. “ Then I am the man.”

As he spoke he crouched down and looked up at me with a glare that made me start. He buttoned his coat and

pulled up his sleeves, as he whispered again, “I am the man. I can free you from these fogs—l can free myself.” For the first time the thought now flashed info my mind that I was alone with a madman ; I recognised now that wild light in his eyes, that strange twitching at the corners of the month. I do not suppose that I am constitutionally more timid than most of my neighbours; yet at this moment I felt a cold sweat break all over me, and I know that I looked eagerly out in the darkness, hoping that as now the train was slowly moving we were near the station. 1 saw only the thick fog and the feeble light of here and there a lamp. Yes, the man was mad, raving mad. There could be no doubt about it. Only a maniac could laugh the mirthless laugh which now came from his throat as he drew two seats nearer to me and hissed at me: “Wo shall travel together to the moon. Adieu to the fogs. Say with me, Adieu to the fogs.”

I was now erect, watching my companion intently, nerving myself for a struggle, which it was easy to tell was very near. I could easily see I was no match for such an antagonist; my hope was that I might hold ray own for the few minutes necessary to reach Spa road, where plenty of assistance would be available.

“ Your balloon would scarcely travel on such a night,” I said, with affected indifference.- “ The atmosphere is too thick.”

“ Too thick. Do yon think so ?” he said. “ I do so. Consider the density of the fog. How could we possibly go through it.” “ Well, there’s something in that,” he said, sitting down; “ Yet the effort is worth a trial. Yes, it is worth a trial.” He sprang anew to his feet, and approached me. He threw out his strong hands and made a clutch at my throat, “ This is how we begin ; this is how I get the gas for the trip. I kill you first, to give you the start. Then I start myself and follow you.” One shout I gave for help, but it was lost in the report of a fog signal; then we were swaying backwards and forwards in the carriage in a struggle which was literally for life or death. The madmanVbreath came hot on ;my face, his strong arms held me in a fierce embrace. There was a fierce joy in his eyes. : The foam worked out of. his mouth, and his teeth gnashed angrily against each other. ' (To he continued.)