The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 02Stevenson, Robert Louis
General
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 02
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
My own ticket was given me at once, and an oldish man, who preserved his
head in the midst of this turmoil, got my baggage registered, and
counselled me to stay quietly where I was till he should give me the
word to move. I had taken along with me a small valise, a knapsack,
which I carried on my shoulders, and in the bag of my railway rug the
whole of "Bancroft's History of the United States" in six fat volumes.
It was as much as I could carry with convenience even for short
distances, but it insured me plenty of clothing, and the valise was at
that moment, and often after, useful for a stool. I am sure I sat for an
hour in the baggage-room, and wretched enough it was; yet, when at last
the word was passed to me, and I picked up my bundles and got under way,
it was only to exchange discomfort for downright misery and danger.
I followed the porters into a long shed reaching downhill from West
Street to the river. It was dark, the wind blew clean through it from
end to end; and here I found a great block of passengers and baggage,
hundreds of one and tons of the other. I feel I shall have a difficulty
to make myself believed; and certainly the scene must have been
exceptional, for it was too dangerous for daily repetition. It was a
tight jam; there was no fairway through the mingled mass of brute and
living obstruction. Into the upper skirts of the crowd, porters,
infuriated by hurry and overwork, clove their way with shouts. I may say
that we stood like sheep, and that the porters charged among us like so
many maddened sheep-dogs; and I believe these men were no longer
answerable for their acts. It mattered not what they were carrying, they
drove straight into the press, and when they could get no farther,
blindly discharged their barrowful. With my own hand, for instance, I
saved the life of a child as it sat upon its mother's knee, she sitting
on a box; and since I heard of no accident, I must suppose that there
were many similar interpositions in the course of the evening. It will
give some idea of the state of mind to which we were reduced if I tell
you that neither the porter nor the mother of the child paid the least
attention to my act. It was not till some time after that I understood
what I had done myself, for to ward off heavy boxes seemed at the moment
a natural incident of human life. Cold, wet, clamour, dead opposition to
progress, such as one encounters in an evil dream, had utterly daunted
the spirits. We had accepted this purgatory as a child accepts the
conditions of the world. For my part I shivered a little, and my back
ached wearily; but I believe I had neither a hope nor a fear, and all
the activities of my nature had become tributary to one massive
sensation of discomfort.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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