It was no use her pointing out that they were making a great deal of money very fast indeed and could well afford to be more liberal. There was never enough money and it was never made fast enough to satisfy Luther. He could not rest content. Indeed he hardly took any rest at all.
‘If I expect the men to work hard, then I’ve got to work hard,’ he told her. ‘They respect me for that. They know there isn’t a job I ask them to do that I haven’t bent my back to or turned a hand to myself, and still can if the need arises. They know they can depend on me, too. If I say they’ll be paid every four weeks, they’ll be paid every four weeks without fail. No contractor would dare run out on my section. I’d follow him to the ends of the earth and strangle the money out of him if need be.’
There was another reason for Luther’s position of respect, despite the fact that he now owned the normally hated tommy-shop. Some of the men had given him a rough time at first. It was normal, of course, for absolute novices to the navvy brotherhood to be put through a gruelling initiation by the men on the job, although in most cases it was meant as a joke. Extra work would be piled on, pace quickened, taunts of weakness and inability to cope increased, everything done to push beyond endurance the strength and will of the newcomer. It had not been a joke in Luther’s case. When he, a Scotsman, had arrived to start work among a gang of Irish navvies they had tried their damnedest to drive him out. But he had not been driven out and there were those who remembered his testing and who still spoke of it.
Now their attitude seemed to be that as a hard worker, a strong determined man, he deserved to get on. And so there was not the usual amount of hatred for Luther’s tommy-shop. Certainly every customer was treated with civility. Augusta insisted on that and kept a sharp eye and tongue on Old Wylie and Mrs Grant until they learned that good manners were not something to be reserved for Luther and herself alone. She enquired politely as to each and every customer’s needs and attended to them as smartly and as promptly as she could. She had known of other tommy-shops who kept long lines of customers waiting for hours in hail, rain or snow while the storekeeper dawdled over breakfast or for no reason at all. She made it the rule that while the shop was open someone had always to be on duty behind the counter, so meals were taken on a rota system.
Yet although she was civil to the customers she was never familiar. She knew her place and saw that they knew theirs. Apart from the fact that she was a lady, she was the ganger’s wife and Luther was no ordinary ganger. He knew his worth as well as she knew hers.
Already he was talking scathingly of the contractors on the workings.
‘One day I’m going to put in a tender for work on the line, Augusta. I could make a better contractor than most I’ve seen so far.’
‘But I thought the whole line from Glasgow to Paisley had been contracted.’
‘That’s not the whole line, only the stretch we’re working on. This line goes all the way to Ayr and there’s the Greenock stretch too. And there’ll be a lot more before it’s done. There’s already talk about one as far as Edinburgh. I’m telling you, there’s going to be railways all over the land. No, don’t look at me like that, Augusta. I’m not mad.’
‘But who would want to travel on such dirty, noisy, dangerous contraptions? They may have limited possibilities for carrying heavy goods like coal. I remember Papa saying there’ve been railways at pits for some time. But can you imagine ladies and gentlemen travelling on that railway you worked on last year, for instance? What did those wagons carry? I can’t remember.’
‘Iron. But it’s got to come, Augusta. It stands to reason.’
‘I don’t see how it is reasonable at all.’
‘Think of how many people could travel at any one time on the railway compared with a coach. At the public opening of the Glasgow-Garnkirk line one steam engine, the “St Rollox”, conveyed nearly two hundred people. The other, the “George Stephenson”, drew a train of thirty-two wagons loaded with freestone lime, grain and iron to the amount of twenty times its own weight. Think of that. Think of the power there.’
‘It must have been horrid for the passengers. I’m sure no one would wish to repeat the experience.’
‘Take a look at this.’
The piece of paper he pushed into her hand was an advertisement stating that ‘Railway Pleasure Trips’ would be run, with a steam engine and train of coaches leaving the Railway Depot, Townhead, at one o’clock for Gartsherrie without stopping at intermediate stations and returning at half-past two, to reach Glasgow at three. ‘Genteel Parties,’ it said, ‘will find the trip an agreeable and healthful mode of spending part of the day.’
‘You see,’ Luther said, ‘it’s not just a matter of having to be transported from one point to another and suffering all sorts of discomforts and dangers on the way. It can even be a pleasure.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, Luther!’
‘You don’t believe it?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Well we’re due to go to Glasgow to pick up stores. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t find out for ourselves.’
Her smile merged into apprehension. ‘You mean ride in a railway train?’
‘It seems ridiculous that I’m building railways yet have never travelled on one.’
‘Oh please don’t, Luther. It’s dangerous.’
‘Coaching was dangerous.’
‘Yes, but surely steam engines are very much more so.’
‘There’s no real evidence of that. To hell with the danger, anyway, I’m going to try it. If you’re too much of a coward . . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’
She bristled with offence. ‘You know perfectly well that I am not a coward.’
‘Well?’
Recklessly she agreed. Luther wanted to take the boys too but to this she vehemently objected, and eventually they were left behind with Maureen.
They set out in the wagon for Glasgow, Luther in shirt sleeves and hatless at first and Augusta with a protective shawl over her curls. Dust from the horses’ hooves made them grubby-faced by the time they reached the outskirts of the city and she reminded Luther to stop for a wash and to don his velvet jacket and top hat. She briskly cleaned her face and hands and gave her hair a rub with a silk scarf before fastening on her coat, tying on her bonnet and pulling on her gloves.
‘Now we can proceed,’ she said, perched back up on the wagon with her hands clasped primly on her lap.
He grinned and shook his head but said nothing, and the wagon rolled into the town. They attended to the ordering of the stores first then left the wagon to be packed with goods and collected on their return from the railway.
Augusta did not speak as she strolled along Argyle Street by Luther’s side, her arm linked in his. The turmoil in her mind belied her appearance of calm dignity. Not for anything would she have betrayed the fact that she was quaking with terror, although if the new young Queen Victoria had appeared before her in the street Augusta would have been incapable of a curtsy. She would have been far too obsessed by monstrous steam engines to recognise even such an important personage. She certainly did not see any of Argyle Street or High Street as they passed along or Castle Street before arriving at the canal side of Glebe Street, Townhead, where the railway depot was situated.
There, at the sight of the metal charger snorting steam and fire, she felt quite faint. Third-class carriages, roofless and seatless, were already packed with people. Second-class carriages with the advantage of roofs were also crammed with noisy passengers. Luther guided Augusta firmly into one of the train of first-class carriages. Here there were seats and the other ladies and gentlemen squeezed along to give them enough room. The air quivered with nervous excitement.
‘The engineer is opening the valves!’
The hissing of steam was suppressed and the engine moved and panted, not from exhaustion but from impatience and restraint. Blazing cinders flew past and the train of carriages was suddenly dragged along like the tail of a comet.
<
br /> Luther grinned round at her. ‘Are you all right?’
He was obviously enjoying the experience and she had to admit that despite her fear she was beginning to feel elated.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘Only it seems so strange to be journeying like this without any visible cause of progress.’
‘There’s nothing magic about it. But if it’ll help you to understand, think of it as a fire horse and the reins, bit and bridle is a small steel handle which applies or withdraws the steam from the legs or pistons. The more steam that’s applied to the upper extremities—hip joints, if you like—of these pistons the faster they move the wheels. Are you listening?’
‘Oh, yes. I find it fascinating.’
‘When the speed has to be diminished the steam is allowed to evaporate through a safety valve into the air. And there’s a small glass tube fixed to the boiler which shows when more water is needed.’ He grinned again and kept grinning until she had to laugh at him.
‘Come on, be honest,’ he said. ‘Admit it, you’re enjoying it too.’
‘I do believe I am.’
She sounded so surprised he laughed loudly and grasped her hand in his. It was the first time as far as she knew that he had ever held her without lust. There was nothing in his eyes but affection and happiness. Never before had she felt pure joy as in that shared experience as they flew along together in the railroad train. When she closed her eyes the sensation of flying was delightful and strange beyond words.
All too soon the short journey to and from Garsherrie was completed, they were back in Glasgow and Luther was helping her from the train. They both took a last lingering gaze of admiration at the snorting little animal.
‘Oh, Luther, it was like being part of a fairy tale,’ she told him as they returned to the street and made their way back to the wagon.
‘Now do you understand why I say it’s the coming thing? Do you see the potential in it?’
‘Yes, you were quite right. And it was foolish of me to be so afraid.’ She flushed at her unintentional slip. ‘Well, not afraid exactly, perhaps a trifle apprehensive.’
‘Most people are afraid of the unknown. There’s still a lot of opposition to the railways. Apart from potential passengers like yourself who just haven’t realised what it’s like, there are the landowners: they’re the very devil of obstruction. They squeeze thousands out of the rail companies in compensation for the so-called inconvenience of a railway going through their land.’
‘They should be thrilled,’ she said, her enthusiasm running away with her again. ‘And to think that you are actually building these wonderful railroads. You should be proud, Luther.’
‘There’s no money to be made out of pride.’
‘Luther, money isn’t everything. I know you are ambitious, but . . . .’
‘It’s time we were on our way back. Get up on the wagon.’
His voice now made her feel shut out and far away from him once more. Barely giving her enough time to climb up and settle herself beside him, he snapped the reins and gave a coarse shout at the horses. She stared straight ahead and said no more. The wagon jerked and jolted and they were away.
Chapter Twenty-four
‘I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen,’ Luther called, spurring his horse towards the group of coaches that had stopped in the deep bowl of the workings. ‘You must keep up on the hill or much further back.’
The liveried dragsman, perched high on the box, flicked him a disdainful glance. Ignoring him completely, the footmen continued to help the ladies and gentlemen from their coaches. Hordes of men, women and children were already covering the hill. Luther could not blame crowds of people flocking to watch a railway line in the course of construction. It was, after all, a new and absorbing spectacle full of movement and excitement. Hillsides were being scooped out, rocks blasted away. Armies of navvies in their flamboyant clothes coloured the landscape, their shovels and pickaxes glinting in the sun.
‘How dare you,’ said one of the gentlemen, ‘tell us what or what not to do.’
‘It’s for your own safety,’ Luther said. ‘But, of course, if you are not concerned about either your own safety or that of the ladies in your care . . . .’ he shrugged, ‘you are free to come as close as you wish. Now there is an operation that should interest and impress you. That wall of rock has got to be broken up so that it can be shovelled into the wagons and taken away. Because the wagons are on rails, of course, each horse can draw a much heavier load than normal.’ He pointed to where a couple of navvies were alternately swinging hammers at a wedge held by another navvy squatting on the ground. ‘You see the military precision of these men?’
The hammers kept up their vicious donging rhythm and the ladies and gentlemen murmured not only in appreciation but concern.
‘Yes, it is dangerous,’ said Luther. ‘One slip and that man underneath the hammers is dead. But after they get the gunpowder in it’s dangerous for all of us. Gunpowder is not dependable. But you’ll know soon enough when it goes off. There’s a growl and roar that echoes all round the hills and masses of rocks are hurled high into the air. There’s more skulls cracked that way than any other.’
The ladies squealed in alarm and their gentlemen escorts were forced to turn their attention to reassuring them, helping them back inside the coaches and ordering the coachmen away to a safer distance.
Luther chuckled to himself as he watched their hasty retreat, although he had told no lies about the dangers. Before every explosion, however, any passers-by or onlookers were warned by the blowing of horns and bugles.
It never worried the navvies whether there was rock or earth at the diggings. A good navvy and his mate could fill fourteen or sixteen wagons every day. That meant shovelling more than twenty tons of material and swinging it higher than six feet with his shovel to reach the wagon. During the night the work continued by candlelight or by the smoky flare of torches.
Luther guided his horse along to where an excavation of earth was being worked to a vertical face. The usual method was to undercut the bottom to produce a large fall of earth. This broke up the compact ground into loose masses that would be easier to shovel into the wagons.
‘Where the hell’s the look-out?’ he shouted at the men busy undermining the face. ‘Do you stupid bastards want to get buried under there? Donovan, get on top and shout down the minute you feel movement.’
A bluster of rain suddenly swept over the countryside and made Luther curse to himself. The greatest enemy at the diggings was mud, and when rain fell the freshly broken ground was soon worked into a knee-deep quagmire by man and horse. Walls of earth towering on either side of the cutting slipped out at the bottom and subsided at the top. Temporary rails which had been laid down for the haulage of earth and rock, and the wagon-wheels became clogged with mud and made movement doubly difficult and hazardous on the already insecure foundation.
Easing his horse round, Luther returned along between the high earth walls with their steep planks up which navvies, showing immense strength, were ‘running the barrow’ to where they could tip the muck. This was the last Saturday of the month and the men’s pay day. He had to meet Campbell the contractor and go over the time-sheets with him to calculate the amount of money to be laid out for wages.
Campbell was already in the pay office when Luther arrived. Augusta was there too, looking very neat and ladylike in the blue cotton dress she had made herself; the blue was the same shade as her eyes and complimented her golden-coloured hair. Campbell was usually quite enamoured with her and made no secret of how he enjoyed calling at the store office because it means ‘feasting my eyes on your beautiful wife, Gunnet.’
This time, however, Luther detected a distraught look about the man. He seemed barely to be listening to Augusta’s conversation while he sipped the cup of tea she had brought him. They both rose when he entered.
‘Ah, there you are, Luther,’ Augusta said. ‘I have been doing my best to entertain Mr Campbell until you arr
ived but I have not been very successful. I am sure he has not heard one word I have said.’
‘Do forgive me, dear lady,’ Campbell murmured. ‘My mind is distracted with problems.’
‘What problems?’ Luther asked abruptly.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Luther?’ Augusta enquired.
‘No. Just leave us now, if you please.’
‘Certainly.’ She swished away, closing the door behind her.
‘What problems?’ Luther repeated.
‘It’s about the men’s wages.’
‘What about them?’
‘Look, Gunnet, I’ll be honest with you. I’m having to back out. I’m giving you the chance to get out as well.’
‘The men’s wages,’ Luther said in an almost bored monotone.
‘Can’t you understand? I haven’t got the money. I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. That’s what it comes down to. I didn’t realise how many difficulties we’d come up against and how costs would soar. My tender was too low. I see that now. Much too low.
‘Campbell, I’ve told my men they’ll be paid this afternoon. That means they’ll get paid this afternoon.’
‘It’s hopeless, I tell you. I’ve bills to pay. I can’t get any more credit. I’ve tried everywhere. We won’t even be able to get feed for the horses, let alone plant like rails or sleepers. So what’s the use of paying the men? They won’t be able to work for much longer.’
‘The men have got to be paid.’
The Dark Side of Pleasure Page 17