Suddenly we are violently shaken out of our sleep. Jerk! crash! and we stand still. Doors open and shut, men pass hastily to and fro, the gentlemen tumble out of their berths; soon everybody is astir, and mysterious whispers and wonderings pass from one to another. “We’re off the line,” says one; “The train’s wrecked;” “Any body hurt?” “It’s brigands,” etc. We are in the last car, fortunately for us, and we step out on to the platform to ascertain for ourselves what is really the matter. A polite unknown voice issues from the darkness-- “Would you like to see the wreck?” it inquires. Yes, we would like it very much; and two chivalrous but invisible escorts receive us as we alight in a mud bank (where we nearly leave our shoes), and half lead and half support us as we stumble along the track. There lies the engine--a wreck among its expiring fires--the tender smashed beside it; the two foremost cars are off the line, toppling sideways but not absolutely turned over. Our car, the last, was the only one that kept the rails--this accounts for the mere shaking the accident caused us. The occupants of the forward cars were very much shaken; the baggage master had his shoulder dislocated, but no one was seriously hurt. We were all indebted for our providential escape to the presence of mind of our engine driver, who, on feeling his engine jerk off the line, reversed it, whistled “down brakes,” and having done all that could be done for saving us, jumped from the engine and saved himself. On farther inquiry we learn that our accident is believed to be no accident at all, but the work of “train wreckers,” who have removed the rails, and are no doubt lurking in the surrounding wilds, biding their time to swoop down and rob the train--a little game they are rather fond of playing in this part of the country. We are prepared for them, however. The gentlemen, who are all well armed, turn out of the train, every one of them, join the officials, and watch with them through the night. Meanwhile we are locked into the cars, assured of safety, and solemnly adjured to retire to rest, as we shall have to be astir at four o’clock in the morning.