’Don’t know, sir.  Seems as if there was something on the road.  What’s up there?’

This was to the man on the engine.  The fireman replied: 

’Someone in front there’s waving a red light like mad,—­lucky I caught sight of him, we should have been clean on top of him in another moment.  Looks as if there was something wrong.  Here he comes.’

As my eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness I became aware that someone was making what haste he could along the six-foot way, swinging a red light as he came.  Our guard advanced to meet him, shouting as he went: 

‘What’s the matter!  Who’s that?’

A voice replied,

’My God!  Is that George Hewett.  I thought you were coming right on top of us!’

Our guard again.

’What!  Jim Branson!  What the devil are you doing here, what’s wrong?  I thought you were on the twelve out, we’re chasing you.’

’Are you?  Then you’ve caught us.  Thank God for it!—­We’re a wreck.’

I had already opened the carriage door.  With that we all three clambered out on to the line.

CHAPTER XLVII

THE CONTENTS OF THE THIRD-CLASS CARRIAGE

I moved to the stranger who was holding the lamp.  He was in official uniform.

‘Are you the guard of the 12.0 out from St Pancras?’

‘I am.’

‘Where’s your train?  What’s happened?’

’As for where it is, there it is, right in front of you, what’s left of it.  As to what’s happened, why, we’re wrecked.’

‘What do you mean by you’re wrecked?’

’Some heavy loaded trucks broke loose from a goods in front and came running down the hill on top of us.’

‘How long ago was it?’

’Not ten minutes.  I was just starting off down the road to the signal box, it’s a good two miles away, when I saw you coming.  My God!  I thought there was going to be another smash.’

‘Much damage done?’

’Seems to me as if we’re all smashed up.  As far as I can make out they’re matchboxed up in front.  I feel as if I was all broken up inside of me.  I’ve been in the service going on for thirty years, and this is the first accident I’ve been in.’

It was too dark to see the man’s face, but judging from his tone he was either crying or very near to it.

Our guard turned and shouted back to our engine,

’You’d better go back to the box and let ’em know!’

‘All right!’ came echoing back.

The special immediately commenced retreating, whistling continually as it went.  All the country side must have heard the engine shrieking, and all who did hear must have understood that on the line something was seriously wrong.

The smashed train was all in darkness, the force of the collision had put out all the carriage lamps.  Here was a flickering candle, there the glimmer of a match, these were all the lights which shone upon the scene.  People were piling up debris by the side of the line, for the purpose of making a fire,—­more for illumination than for warmth.