wever, had been made correctly, and the train of
trucks would have been well out of the way, if the driver had been a
smarter man. Even as things stood, however, there should have been no
danger, because the distant signal was turned to danger, which thus said
to any approaching train, "Stop! for your life." But here occurred one
of these mistakes, or pieces of carelessness, or thoughtlessness, to
which weak and sinful human nature is, and we suppose always will be,
liable. Perhaps the signalman thought the goods train had completed its
operation, or fancied that the express was not so near as it proved to
be, or he got confused--we cannot tell; there is no accounting for such
things, but whatever the cause, he turned off the danger-signal half a
minute too soon, and set the line free.

Suddenly the down train came tearing round the curve. It was at reduced
speed certainly, but not sufficiently reduced to avoid a collision with
the trucks on a part of the line where no trucks should be.

Our friend John Marrot was on the look-out of course, and so was his
mate. They saw the trucks at once. Like lightning John shut off the
steam and at the same instant touched his whistle several sharp shrieks,
which was the alarm to the guard to turn on _his_ brakes. No men could
have been more prompt or cool. Joe Turner and Will Garvie had on full
brake-power in a second or two. At the same time John Marrot instantly
reversing the engine, let on full steam--but all in vain. Fire flew in
showers from the shrieking wheels--the friction on the rails must have
been tremendous, nevertheless the engine dashed into the goods train
like a thunderbolt with a stunning crash and a noise that is quite
indescribable.

The police superintendent, who was all but run over, stood for a few
seconds aghast at the sight and at the action of the engine. Not
satisfied with sending one of its own carriages into splinters, the iron
horse made three terrific plunges or efforts to advance, and at each
plunge a heavy truck full of goods was, as it were, pawed under its
wheels and driven out behind, under the tender, in the form of a mass of
matchwood--all the goods, hard and soft, as well as the heavy frame of
the truck itself being minced up together in a manner that defies
description. It seemed as though the monster had been suddenly endued
with intelligence, and was seeking to vent its horrid rage on the thing
that had dared to check its pace.