litary gleam of good
luck one was found. The engine hauled at the wreckage, and before the
chains parted pulled it about a yard backwards. Now, certainly, the line
was clear at last. But again the corner of the footplate jammed with the
corner of the truck, and again we came to a jarring halt.

I have had, in the last four years, the advantage, if it be an
advantage, of many strange and varied experiences, from which the
student of realities might draw profit and instruction. But nothing was
so thrilling as this: to wait and struggle among these clanging, rending
iron boxes, with the repeated explosions of the shells and the
artillery, the noise of the projectiles striking the cars, the hiss as
they passed in the air, the grunting and puffing of the engine--poor,
tortured thing, hammered by at least a dozen shells, any one of which,
by penetrating the boiler, might have made an end of all--the
expectation of destruction as a matter of course, the realization of
powerlessness, and the alternations of hope and despair--all this for
seventy minutes by the clock with only four inches of twisted iron work
to make the difference between danger, captivity, and shame on the one
hand--safety, freedom, and triumph on the other.

Nothing remained but to continue pounding at the obstructing corner in
the hopes that the iron work would gradually be twisted and torn, and
thus give free passage. As we pounded so did the enemy. I adjured the
driver to be patient and to push gently, for it did not seem right to
imperil the slender chance of escape by running the risk of throwing the
engine off the line. But after a dozen pushes had been given with
apparently little result a shell struck the front of the engine, setting
fire to the woodwork, and he thereupon turned on more steam, and with
considerable momentum we struck the obstacle once more. There was a
grinding crash; the engine staggered, checked, shore forward again,
until with a clanging, tearing sound it broke past the point of
interception, and nothing but the smooth line lay between us and home.

Brilliant success now seemed won, for I thought that the rear and gun
trucks were following the locomotive, and that all might squeeze into
them, and so make an honourable escape. But the longed-for cup was
dashed aside. Looking backward, I saw that the couplings had parted or
had been severed by a shell, and that the trucks still lay on the wrong
side of the obstruction, separated by