A HOLIDAY IN DEVONSHIRE. 65 



the estuary of the Exe and skirted the sea wall at Dawlish 

 and Teignmouth ; but we by-and-by became conscious of 

 something uncommon, and awoke to find the train brought 

 to a standstill in the midst of the purest country sur- 

 roundings. 



An hour or two before a luggage train had wrecked, and 

 our passage was now stopped. In the freshness of jthe 

 balmy morning we had — men, women, and children — to 

 tumble out of the carriages, and struggle with bag and 

 baggage through a couple of fields, across a country lane, 

 and up a high bank of nettles and brambles, to a train com- 

 posed of odds and ends of rolling stock, hastily constructed 

 and despatched from Totnes. The ruined engine, getting 

 off the line, had plunged madly into a field, torn up the 

 earth a yard deep, and finally capsized, exhausted and 

 smashed and twisted into a marvellous variety of fantastic 

 forms. We arrived at last, 'fishing impedimenta and all, at 

 our improvised train, panting, and with boots well yellowed 

 by the buttercups. Being less than a mile from Totnes, I 

 deserted my fellow passengers, left the few labourers who 

 could be hastily gathered together transferring Her Ma- 

 jesty's mails and the contents of the luggage van to the 

 new train, and strolled on towards Totnes, where the 

 stoker of the hapless engine lay on a death-bed of ex- 

 cruciating agony. The sun, newly risen, shone upon this 

 singular picture of wreck and confusion in a frame of rural 

 fertility, and the sleek Devon herds and a few open- 

 mouthed rustics looked on in astonishment at the novel 

 occurrence which had taken place amongst their promising 

 orckards and richly-cropped fields. 



The Dart at Totnes is a very sober-minded river. That 



