chains of bumps which denoted a shunting train. We heard another chain
of bumps, which rattled rapidly towards us and suddenly--a most awful
CRASH. The candle went out, and we were flung from bed on to the floor.
Our truck hurtled down the line at about thirty miles an hour, and
suddenly struck some solid object. Another wild crash, and the whole
twenty-eight beds flung themselves upon the place where we had been, and
smashed our couches to the ground.

We have read stories of the Spanish Inquisition about rooms which grow
smaller, and at last crush the unfortunate victim to a jelly: we can
now appreciate the feeling of the unfortunate victim aforesaid. There
were piles of packing-cases at either end of the van, and for the next
hour, as we were hurtled up and down by the Serbian engine-driver, at
each crash these packing-cases crept nearer and nearer. The beds had
fallen across the door, so it was impossible to escape. When the lower
cases had reached the beds they halted, but the upper ones still crept
on towards us. In the short, wild intervals of peace Jan tried to push
the cases back and restore momentary stability. In addition to
diminishing room, we were flung about with every crash, landing on the
corner of a packing-case, on the edge of an iron bedstead, and with each
crash the light went out. We will give not one jot of advantage to your
prisoner in the Spanish Inquisition, save that we escaped whereas he did
not.

The engine-driver tired of the sport just in time to save our limbs, if
not lives, and he dragged the train out of the station into the dark.

At Krusevatch we halted for the next day. After a discussion with the
station-master, who asked us to come down first at six p.m., then at
four, then at one, and lastly in two hours, at nine a.m. we strolled up