Three loaded trucks it crushed down,
over-ran, and scattered wide in this way, in three successive plunges,
and then, rushing on a few yards among chaotic _debris_, turned slowly
on its side, and hurled the driver and fireman over the embankment.

The shock received by the people at the station was tremendous. Poor
Tipps, standing at his desk, was struck--nervously--as if by
electricity. He made one wild involuntary bolt right through the
window, as if it had been made of tissue paper, and did not cease to run
until he found himself panting in the middle of a turnip-field that lay
at the back of the station. Turning round, ashamed of himself, he ran
back faster than he had run away, and leaping recklessly among the
_debris_, began to pull broken and jagged timber about, under the
impression that he was rescuing fellow-creatures from destruction!

Strange to say no one was killed on that occasion--no one was even
severely hurt, except the driver. But of course this was not known at
first and the people who were standing about hurried, with terrible
forebodings, to lend assistance to the passengers.

Mr Sharp seemed to have been smitten with feelings somewhat similar to
those of Tipps, for, without knowing very well how or why, he suddenly
found himself standing up to the armpits in _debris_, heaving might and
main at masses of timber.

"Hallo! lift away this beam, will you?" shouted a half-smothered voice
close beside him.

It came from beneath the carriage that we have described as having been
broken to splinters.

Sharp was a man of action. He hailed a porter near him and began with
energy and power to tear up and hurl aside the boards. Presently on
raising part of the broken framework of the carriage a man struggled to
his feet and, wiping away the blood that flowed from a wound in his
forehead, revealed the countenance of Edwin Gurwood to the astonished
Tipps.

"What! Edwin!" he exclaimed.

"Ay--don't stand there, man. Your mother is in the train."

Poor Tipps could not speak--he could only gasp the word, "Where?"

"In a third-class, behind--there, it is safe, I see."

His friend at once leaped towards the vehicle pointed out, but Edwin did
not follow, he glanced wildly round in search of another carriage.

"You are hurt--Mr Gurwood, if I mistake not,--lean on me," said Mr
Sharp.

"It's nothing--only a scratch. Ha! that's the carriage, follow me,"
cried Edwin, struggling towards a first-clas