Brief reference has already been made in another chapter to the gallant exploits of Mr. Harold S. Williams, of Torridge, near Plympton. On Tuesday afternoon, at about five o'clock, he left his home and proceeded in the direction of the Great Western Railway line. Making his way in the storm, he found No. 160 engine standing in a deep drift which had formed on the bridge crossing the lane leading from the George Hotel. Alone on the engine was the driver, Coleman, in imminent danger of being frozen to death. Getting back as fast as possible to Torridge, Mr. Williams procured stimulants. Returning to the driver, he found him almost in a state of collapse. All he could say was, "I'm dying, I'm dying." Mr. Williams, who showed great pluck and presence of mind, got him off the engine, and conducted him towards Torridge, nearing which a portion of a relief party was met, and they carried the driver into the house. By that time he had become unconscious, but restoratives having been administered, and Coleman's limbs vigorously rubbed, he in about an hour was restored to partial consciousness. He remained the guest of Mr. Williams all night, and next day had sufficiently recovered to be removed to his home. [Illustration: DRIFT, CRICKET FIELD, LISKEARD.] Not long after Coleman had been received into Torridge, news was brought that another driver, rather further up the line, was dying. Mr. Williams, who is only nineteen years of age, again started on an errand of mercy and rescue. This time he was accompanied by Mr. Thornton, his tutor, and some of the relief party, who had helped to carry Coleman into his hospitable home. About 150 yards beyond Coleman's engine the party came across another engine completely buried in the snow, even to the funnel. Lying near to it was its driver, who had evidently crawled off the footplate in the hope of reaching shelter from the bitter snowstorm. At once he was carried to Torridge, apparently dead, and was laid on a mattress before a large fire. An attempt to administer restoratives failed, so tightly was the man's teeth clenched. All that could be done was to promote circulation by the warmth of fire and friction. Rubbing the limbs and body was persevered in, and at length the man gave a groan. That, however, was the only sign of life he gave for three hours, during which time the rubbing was persevered in by relays of helpers. Two hours afterwards--that is five hours after he had been brought in--he was sufficiently recovered to speak, but it was some time after that before it could be said that he was out of danger. When he first recovered speech he was found to be delirious, and he continued in a state of delirium, more or less, the whole of the night.