While I was on this Mail there was a dreadful flood all over the country. I think it was in the year 1852. The rivers were so swollen, particularly the Severn and the Wye, that it was difficult to get along the roads. Leaving Gloucester at midnight on one occasion, all went on pretty well until the coach reached Lugg Bridge, four miles from Hereford, or rather the place where the bridge had been, for it had been washed away in the night, and the coach, going along quickly, fell into the rushing stream. Horses, coach, and coachman, the guard (whose name was Couldry) and one passenger were carried down the river about a mile and a half. The coachman caught hold of one of the leaders which had broken loose, and he and the horse were carried some distance and washed into a field, where the animal was able to regain its footing. The other three horses were drowned. The guard and the passenger managed to catch hold of a tree as they floated down stream, and were rescued after being some hours in the water, but unfortunately the passenger died some days after from the effects of his immersion. On the following night I had a very unpleasant experience of the flood. Coming within a mile and a half of Gloucester, we found the water had risen considerably since the morning; so much so that the coachman would not venture to proceed unless someone went first to see what was the depth. I got down and walked for about a hundred yards, with the water up to my armpits, and called to them to come on, which they did; but unfortunately for me they did not stop to pick me up, and there I was left for full three hours on a dark night, in the water, surrounded by it on all sides, and afraid to move one way or another for fear of getting out of my depth. At last, almost in despair, I did make an effort, and with great difficulty managed to get to Gloucester, where I was put to bed and between warm blankets.