Democratic Sentinel, Volume 5, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 April 1881 — Ten TEN TERRIBLE MINUTES. [ARTICLE]

Ten TEN TERRIBLE MINUTES.

One November evening a few years ago I had occasion to travel from Cannon street to Spa Road station, on the Southeastern railway. It had been a cold, foggy day throughout, and there were comparatively few passengers. The compartment which I entered—a seoond-class—had but one previous occupant, a stoutly-built man of 35 or 40. He was attempting, with evidentlysmall success, to read a book, and he fidgeted about on Jiis 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 stop 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 slowly moved off, and the speaker, whose face I had not yet seen, resumed his efforts to read, muttering now and again an impiecation at the expense of the fog and the 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 pos-ition to obtain a good view of my fellow-passenger. Hitherto he had obstinately kept his back or shoulders toward me. Now he threw his volume down on the seat and faced about. 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 hands of an athlete. The impression which his features produced was decidedly unpleasant. Yet save for the eyes, which had a peculiar and indescribable glare in them, the face was not an unhanasome one. “ I did not know that we were so close tothe Crystal palace,” he said brusquely. “The Crystal palace 1 ” 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 the Sydenham palace. ”

“ Borough market! Of course, it was only my 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 again turned a leaf, it was evident that his reading was little better than a pretense. Indeed, it was so dark in the carriage that to see the small characters in an ordinary volume had become 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 farthest 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 wasn ot 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-pas-senger. He threw his book on the floor, and rose to his feet. Hitherto I had, being preoccupied with my own thoughts, given small heed to him. Now, without knowing why, I felt my self fascinated. There was a light in his dark eye, an expression in his mouth, which at once repelled and attracted me. “ Have you been much of a traveler?” he asked, suddenly. He was standing with his back to the door, watching me curiously. “I have never been out of the islanl,” I replied. * “Ah !” he said. “ I have been everywhere—ltaly, Russia, India, China, Timbuctoo, Ashantee anywhere everywhere. I have been near the North pole and quite at the South.” “ Indeed, you must be a very great traveler, sir,” I said. “ I'have never been to the moon, fto man can be a great traveler who ha 3 not been there.” “ Then lam afraid that, with the exception of those famous heroes of Jules Verne, there are very few about.” “ Just so, just so ! And yet a trip up above this detestable fog beyond the cloudawould be enjoyable. In a night like flats 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.” “You would, would you? Look at that, smell that, taste that cursed fog.” He threw open the window, and certainly the fog that 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. “Any one would be glad to get out of it. The man who oould free you from it would deserve your thanks, would he not ?” These wo* » light 1a tb* ipeake?’*

eyes which I did not like, and a movement at the comers of his month the opposite of pleasant. While 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 bis coat and pulled up his sleeves, as he whispered again, “lam the man. 1 can free you from these fogs—l can free myself.” For the first time the thought now flashed into my mind that I was alone with a moilman- I recognized now that wild light in his eyes, that strange twitching at the comers of the* month. I do not suppQse that I am constitutionally more timid than most of my neighbors ; yet at this moment I felt a cold 3weat 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. [ bsw 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 steps nearer me and hissed at'me, “We 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 straggle, 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 would hold my 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 1 Do you think so V” he said. “ I do. Consider the density of the fog. How can we possibly get through it?” “ Well, there’s something in that,” lie •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. Ho 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 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 backward and forward in tlio carriage in a struggle which was literally for life or death. The madman’s breath 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 othef.

Life is dear, and I felt no inclination to yield mine without a desperate struggle. I tore my antagonist’s hands from my throat, and for a moment forced him to* act on the defensive. I shouted again and again for help, and how I longed for Spa road mrwords can describe. The train was now running at a good rate and I knew the station could not be far off. If only I could hold my own for one half minute all would be safe. Pausing in his exertions for a moment the madman suddenly quitted me. Just then, to my horror, the train rushed through my station without even slacking speed. I was in the wrong train, and there was no hope of assistance till we reached New Cross. It was evident that my fellow-passengers had not heard my shouts for assistance. Without a word of warning my companion again threw himself upon me, this time with a fury so resistless that I was borne to the floor. “We shall go to the moon,” he shrieked. “ I have a knife—we can cut our way through the fog.” I felt myself helpless. My previous exertions had exhausted my strength, while that of the maniac seemed to increase with, the straggle. Strive as I might, I was utterly and entirely in his power now.

How slowly the train seemed to move. I believe now that it was going at a good speed, but to me it appeared to progress at. a snail’s pace. And hunv curiously vivid were my thoughts. I saw the home where I was expected, and kind faces waiting to greet me. m I wondered what they’d say when they heard of my death. I caught myself thinking how ugly were the madman’s eyes, and I even noticed the color of his necktie—blue, with white spots. Ino longer felt any inclination to shout for help. To all I looked upon myself as dead. I even began to think of myself as a third person, and to lament, in a philosophical fashion, the ill fortune which cut off at the begining of his career a pipmising young man. Then.l remembered that I owed a shoemaker for a pair of boots, and I pitied the unfortunate tradesman for the bad debt he had made. While these and a hundred other thoughts were passing through my brain, it seemed to me that an age had transpired. In reality Ido not suppose that at the outside more than a minute had elapsed since my unlucky fall. Suddenly, as in a dream, I heard the madman, who now was seated astride my chest, hiss : “We’ll cut our way to the moon—my knife is sharp. Let’s try it on your throat.” With curious deliberation he drew a strong pocket knife and opened it. “All right, friend, eh?” he cried, laughing. “ Now mind, do not leave the carriage till I come up to you. ” “I am swift,” said I, and I declare 1 did not recognize my own voice. “If I go first, you shall certainly not overtake me—you start and I’ll follow.,” “Me start?” “Yes, you’re braver, stronger, and you have the knife ; you must go first to clear the way.” “Of course, I forgot that,” he cried, almost to my horror, so utterly was I surprised. “Of course, I forgot that,” he cried again. “I must clear the way. ” •

Still sitting on me he deliberately drew the bright blade across his throat. In another momt nt I was deluged with blood. At the same time the knife fell from his nerveless grasp. To spring to my feet, to seize the open wound and press the edges together was the work of an instant—though the sudden escape made me stagger. At the same moment we reached New Cross station, and a porter threw open the carriage door.

Fortunately, the self-inflicted wound of the madman did not prove fatal. Ultimately I heard that the blood-let-ting had a beneficial effect on his brain. I discovered next day that he was a most dangerous lunatic who had managed to escape from a private asylum. To my surprise, when I looked at the clock at New Cross, I found that the journey from London bridge had not taken ten minutes. They were certainly the longest ten minutes I ever spent. —Fife ( Scotland ) News.

My friends, we can’t all be Washingtons, but we kin all be patriots and behave ourselves in a human and Christian manner. When we see a brother goin’ down hill to ruin let us not give him a push, but let us seize rite hold of his coat tails and draw him back to mo-ralit/f-*v4. War &