they were often farther behind. Mile after mile the terrible chase continued. Station after station was passed without the least lessening of speed. The idlers about the platforms started back in amazement and affright when they saw a train dash by like a thunderbolt, closely followed by three others, the latter screaming as loudly as their whistles were able. To us, who were looking out from the baggage-car, houses and villages, groves and hills, flashed by almost too quickly for distinct vision. Then, in the hottest speed, the whistle would sound "down brakes," and the stop--usually made by reversing the engine--would be so sudden that we needed to cling convulsively to avoid being hurled from our places; then, in a moment, we would spring to the ground and labor with the energy of despair at destroying the telegraph and the track, or loading on ties, until the signal,--usually from behind, given by the pursuing train,--when all would rush on board, and the engine, putting its full strength into the first leap, would dash on, jerking from their feet all who were not braced for the shock. When under way we could not sit down because of the terrible jolting of the springless car. If we attempted to stand we fell over or were thrown against the little that remained of the sides of the car, and had to be very watchful not to be thrown off altogether. Our actual position was a rapid alternation of all possible attitudes, the favorite being--judging from the frequency with which it was assumed--that of bending over with the hands and feet resting on the floor. Those who were on the engine had a better opportunity of observing all that was passing. Alfred Wilson, who acted as our fireman, gives a vivid picture of the race from that point of view. He says,--