The Dreamland Express

by H. R. Millar

  ORCHOË

  THE new train was called the Orchoë express.

  THE TRAIN WAS STOPPED TO PICK UP A SOLITARY MEMBER OF THEIR BAND

  The stay at Herou was much too short, and perhaps this was as well, because I think the staunch believers would have made themselves ill with the wonderful variety of sweets and such-like that was given them. They certainly made themselves sticky.

  So off they went again, through temples and thronerooms and other places where you would not expect to see a train. They trundled through one vast empty hall where the train was stopped to pick up a solitary member of their band. George had to shake him hard to wake him, so he says.* He was duly admonished by the guard and lugged aboard.

  THE RESCUE Of THE SLAVE

  Then, at last, through another tunnel gateway in the opposite wall to the one they had entered by, the train rolled out of the city.

  Then everybody wanted to stop again and go up into the Hanging Gardens that hung high above them on the city walls. But the redheaded guard said “No!” so firmly that there was nothing for it but to bottle up their disappointment and gaze longingly at the enchanting gardens till they were out of sight.

  One could not call the new train an express exactly, but it rolled along steadily on the road to Orchoë. John, Peter, and George agreed that the golden engine didn’t do at all badly, and seemed reliable. It pulled them smoothly over a desert which must have been the Kingdom of Mirages, for here were hundreds and hundreds of the most beautiful cities, built of jewels apparently, but they faded into air as you approached, giving place to others. Each seemed of greater splendour than the last.

  The children gave up counting the visions before they were half-way to Orchoë; then, drowsing in the hot haze, they fell asleep. No one except the guard, who was never seen asleep, knew how they came to Orchoë, but they woke up in it.

  Orchoë was nearly as fine as Herou, but none of the boys and girls liked the people who swarmed around them. They looked so mean.

  THE ROAD TO ORCHOË

  But the meanest of them all was a wonderfully-dressed Chinaman, who suddenly arrived beside them in a train that must have been many thousands of years old, drawn by an engine which could only be seen in a dream. At least it looked like that. This fantastic machine had not one, but nine slaves chained to it! They had to run beside it, of course, because there was only room for the Chinaman in the engine canopy.

  A WONDERFULLY-DRESSED CHINAMAN

  Now listen.

  Before John, Peter, and George realised it, this old genie (he could have been nothing else) had persuaded them to change engines! All trains, as you know, change engines, but I don’t know how the lads could have been so silly. I was told that the Chinaman was a very charming old chap although his finger-nails wanted attention. He described his—his—engine as being crammed with magic powers. Goodness knows what it could not do according to him. It could perform such wonders as take them a round trip of the sun, moon, and stars; it was perfectly docile, and could scent danger weeks before it happened; and lots more stuff like that. And the simple boys believed it.

  But no sooner had they shaken hands on the bargain than the mandarin, his train, his slaves, and the golden engine, all disappeared*— instantly, with a FLICK!—like that! and John, Peter, and George found themselves gazing ruefully at an engine that nobody would give them threepence for!

  All this time the red-headed guard had looked on and never so much as offered a word of warning. Silver and porcelain look very nice on a sideboard, but George said that an engine for real work ought not to be made out of such material.

  However, it was no use grumbling over it, so the boys got gingerly aboard the wonderful bargain * and examined it. The Herou engine was short of quite a lot of things it should have had; but this one simply had nothing at all—nothing except a horn tied to the canopy, a few bits of wood, and some water in a big fat silver jar with a lid on.

  The engine was started by blowing the horn! You blew softly for slow speed, and harder for express work.

  The boys soon found this out, and it is as well they did, as you shall now hear.

  The train crawled slowly through the market-places of Orchoë, in response to a gentle toot on the horn by John.

  In one of these markets most of the people had deserted the stalls and booths and were crowded round a raised platform—a sort of scaffold. On the scaffold a gigantic soldier paced up and down, twirling a bright bronze sword above his head so swiftly that it seemed like a circular transparent disc. He was very proud of himself, you could see, as he strutted about to show everybody what a terrible fellow he was.

  And crouched down in the middle of the platform the children saw a black man with a rope round his neck.

  If you know what the scene meant you will understand what the children felt like when they saw it. Perhaps, too, you will know what the red-headed guard felt like, for he bounded out of his carriage and through the crowd, up on to the platform, and catching the executioner off his balance, toppled him over among the gaping crowd.

  Then the guard, seizing the rope, tore back to the train with the shivering victim. There was a blast on the horn,* and the train rushed to get out of the city before the great gates should shut them in.

  It did get out—but only by the narrowest of squeaks. The gates smashed together behind them in a shower of sparks, and nearly nipped off the last carriage—but not quite. And the train was racing merrily away when the last of some pursuing horsemen had disappeared in a cloud of dust behind.

  “I am agreeably surprised!” said John.

  “I had no idea she could do it!” answered George.

  Peter said nothing. He was watching the passengers pulling arrows and spears out of the woodwork of the carriages.

  Then for the hundredth time all breathed freely, and it is astonishing how much more inviting everything looks when your breath comes and goes properly. I have noticed that often.

  HE HAD TO BE DRAGGED OUT FROM UNDER ONE OF THE COACHES

  * This is nonsense. I was only dozing!

  * Ah, me! 200 tones of solid gold, not to mention the jewels!

  * The genie called it a gift!

  * By Peter

  CHAPTER THE SEVENTH

  THE TRACK OF THE EQUATORIAL

  So after leaving Orchoë well behind, the boys and girls settled down comfortably in their caravans and waited for a nice adventure to happen.

  The rescued slave, when he had stopped shivering, was appointed to a post on the engine-front, and his duties were explained to him. (The turban was hastily made out of a curtain from the guard’s sanctum.) He was to keep a fire going in the bucket arrangement in front to warn off any wild animals that might be about. Not that he proved of much use at the post, because if any animal, mild or fierce, so much as sniffed somewhere near, he disappeared with such swiftness that you imagined him tied to the end of a piece of elastic which had been stretched and let go. He always had to be dragged out from under one of the coaches—generally the last.

  HE WAS RESCUED JUST IN TIME

  Then the train began to rustle through a sea of blossoms, and the guard sent back a stern order that none must be picked. There was one disobedient little boy who tried to pluck an azalea nearly as big as himself and was pulled right out of the train. He was rescued just in time—from drowning in scent. (Perhaps the flower plucked the boy?)

  When the little train had come through to the end of the blossoms it rolled into a cinnamon grove, and beside a very winding stream that curved about so much that John, Peter, and George thought the ancient engine would fall to pieces. It felt weak and soft like an old hamper, and they had to keep a sharp eye on it, and so missed many of the best sights in the whole journey. You really cannot enjoy beautiful views if you are constantly burning your fingers holding down things that ought not to be loose.

  Then, one day, resting after lunch in a desert of sand, the conduct of the guard awoke great curiosity.

  He stoo
d for a long time looking into the hazy distance, and the children wondered why. You know how curious you feel when you see a person gazing hard at you don’t know what.

  Then, faintly, from the distance, came the sound of a whistle—a train whistle. It was followed at intervals by more whistles, each more distinct than the last, just as a train whistles passing different stations on its way. Faintly, too, at first, and then rapidly growing louder and louder, came the thrum—thrum—thrum of an engine travelling very fast.

  Although they strained their eyes, not a thing could they see besides their own train, themselves, and the yellow sand. But all the sounds were exactly those of an express approaching rapidly. Suddenly the whistling broke out again and, like thunder, they heard a train pass them, quite close, and the noise of it die away swiftly. The children could believe their ears, and were certain a train had passed though they did not see it; but when the guard waved his hand, I feel sure he could see the train—people don’t wave their hands at nothing, and, moreover, the tassels and hangings on their own train had stirred as if a phantom hand had passed along them.

  All this was really too much for the young travellers’ curiosity. They demanded to know what it was.

  “Oh, that?” said the guard, in his most casual manner. “That was the Equatorial, on which the sun never sets.”

  “But—”

  “No ‘ buts,’ please!” commanded the guard. “That will do!”

  It was disgusting, of course; you might be on the point of bursting with curiosity, as the children were scores of times during the journey, but you could not get a word more out of the red-headed martinet than he chose to tell. They always suspected that he knew a great deal more than he told, and were certain he had been on this journey before.

  We should not have found even this out if it had not been for the shocking behaviour of the engine when running, or rather crawling, through a steep cañon. It had been unusually annoying all that day, and acted as if it were upon its last wheels.

  John and Peter had walked on either side of it for miles. It drove off the track with regularity, and always in the most awkward places; and even when it kept on the track it dropped some of its most important works. When poor John had nursed it into something like a reasonable state it stopped suddenly with a groan, and nothing the boys could do to start it again was of the slightest use.

  It even refused to move when the boys told everybody what they would do to that swindling Chinaman when next they met. It was a very weary John who finally went round to the front of the engine and opened the little door in the boiler.

  THEY FOUND IT AT LAST IN THE PAWS OF A MOST OBJECTIONABLE-LOOKING BABOON

  Then he yelled with wrath.

  “The main steam - pipe’s gone!” he shouted.

  “Gone? what d’you mean? Burst?”

  “No!” screamed John, “gone altogether!”

  As boy readers know, this is rather an important part of an engine. How it had gone no one knew, so there was nothing for it but to tramp back along the line and look for it.

  All one weary day they searched, and they found it at last in the paws of a most objectionable-looking baboon.

  Nats, who was so good at that sort of thing, was invited to “catch” it. But the beast showed Nats a set of teeth that any lion would be proud of, and Nats said their old steam-pipe wasn’t worth the trouble. And it was not until the bad-tempered beast got tired of it and threw it away* that the boys recovered it.

  So, having patched up their bargain, they got the train under way again.

  Other bad habits on the part of the engine developed with astonishing regularity. Nothing the boys could do was right. One of the driving wheels came off, and it was only after desperate efforts on the part of all the boys and girls that it was got back into place. It always did wobble.

  A score of times carriages broke away and had to be fetched up by hand because the engine wasn’t made to go backwards.

  Then, creeping on again, the wretched thing came to a final stop about a mile from a beautiful and restful-looking town. To make matters worse, they ran out of provisions too. Then the guard, who had shown astonishing patience hitherto, told them to hurry up.

  ONE OF THE DRIVING WHEELS CAME OFF

  THE GOLD-FISH

  You could not expect them to do anything else but turn on him.

  “Hurry up with this box of misery? It’s all your fault; why didn’t you tell us the Chinaman was a fraud?” they said.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the locomotive,” returned the guard loftily; “it’s lack of skill on the part of the enginemen!”

  “Lack of skill!” shouted the weary boys. “We drove the Baltic, didn’t we?”

  “Ah! yes!” returned the guard. “Any infant could. But this is different.”

  “It is, guard,” George cut in, icily. “You’re right—quite right. Perhaps you will kindly lend your help in pushing the train to the town?”

  “Scores of lads have driven this engine before you,* and satisfactorily too,” said the guard, very unkindly.

  Perhaps they had, but that didn’t help a mite.

  So in the end the weary band had to push the groaning and squealing caravan to the gates of the town.

  I have already warned you that this wonderful journey would not be all sugar and spice and everything to make your heart leap with delight. It’s not reasonable, you know, so I just give you another warning because —well, it was like this.

  A very mild old gentleman met them at the gate and stood in the way.

  THE LAST TIME IT CAME IN IT BLEW UP

  “You really can’t,” he murmured through his beard.

  “Can’t what?” asked every child in chorus.

  “Bring that in here,” said the dear old fellow, pointing a bony finger at their engine.

  They asked “Why not?” in no measured tones.*

  “Because,” answered the benevolent old man, “the last time it came in it blew up!”

  “O-O-Oh! did it?” said John, Peter, and George, very much agog;* “then we’ll leave it outside.”

  “It might be stolen,” suggested the dear old man, with tears in his voice.

  “That’s just what we want,” shouted the boys, delighted with the idea.

  “How would you get back then?” said a cold, firm voice—a voice that was always dashing their hopes.*

  After much talk it was finally decided to leave the engine and train, and lodge in the town for the night. They did this most comfortably, for the town was as good as it looked to them. After a good night’s rest, John, Peter, and George felt much stronger and braver; much more fit to tackle the puzzle on wheels that they had abandoned the night before.

  On inspection, the engine didn’t look so bad—it seemed to have healed up a lot of its troubles during the night. Not that it had regained perfection by any means—don’t think that for a moment!—but after tying up some of the loose bits with rope (which the old gentleman kindly sold them), the party felt like getting on.

  You remember that this remarkable locomotive was started by blowing a horn. It might go, or it mightn’t. Sometimes it started ten minutes after the sound, when you had forgotten you wanted to go yourself—rather awkward, of course; but it was much more awkward when it rolled off suddenly at the horn’s first toot and left everybody standing staring after it. It was like that.

  This time it was an hour before it could make up its mind. Then after another long jib it started again and refused to stop.

  However, that day was not quite so bad as the day before. Apart from a sad lack of speed, and going off the boil now and again, the engine behaved fairly well.

  The country, too, was beautiful and kindly once more. The air had a “spicy” smell; and when they trundled into a grove and ran beside a stream, complete happiness reigned again. After travelling perhaps a mile or so, they saw a huge red fish swimming placidly in the stream and keeping up with them. Its pace was so slow that it did not cause a sin
gle ripple.

  You may be sure it got a wonderful reception—the children had never in their lives seen such a big fish.

  “What is it?” everybody asked. There were loud cries for Nats.

  Nats came very reluctantly, because he thought a joke was going to be played on him. But when he saw the fish he opened his eyes until he looked like the wisest owl that ever was.

  He was speechless.

  “What is it, Nats?” asked lots of eager voices.

  “It’s a Cyprinus Au—”

  “None of your long words, Nats!” said the impatient children.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s what you children call a gold-fish,” said Nats in his most learned manner. “And I should say it’s about five thousand years old —or more!”

  Whatever its age, it seemed a very friendly, likable beastie, and when the train stopped for lunch in a green glade, the children made its closer acquaintance. A great game they had too. Some of the boys had rides on its back. All fed it. It had a lunch that day which I am sure couldn’t possibly agree with any fish, old or young—loaves of bread, jam tarts, chocolate, melons, cladellones,* tamarinds, and fruit of every kind; and it did not disdain odd shoes and hankies: all came alike to it.

  Nats wanted badly to “collect” it as a specimen, but, alas! the idea was impossible, and when at last the train turned away from the stream out on to the plain, they had to bid the mighty fish good-bye. It seemed very reluctant to part with them, and when the train slid away from the stream it humped its head and shoulders out of the water and gazed after them fixedly with its great black, round, dinner-plate of an eye till they were out of sight.

  THE MINTED GOLD VALLEY

  * Down a precipice!