From H. E. Darwin to Emma Darwin 4 June [1866]

Dearest Mamy—

We are here & a mercy it is we are—as I will proceed to unfold—

We left on Thursday for Miss Birds as intended after a hard mornings packing which together with all the necessary scrimmage made us both feel rather like wet rags— However we had a very tranquil evening at Miss Birds who is a virtuous but rather fussy old lady— She has lived abroad all her life & can hardly speak english. Her nephew draws most beauitifully & so E. & I looked at his sketches for our amusement— Next day was not very fine so we gave up Antibes & stayed on at Miss Birds & on Saturday made the grand move— We hadn't done anything to cause it but we both felt like dead dogs & cd only stay the first hour at the window gazing back at our last last view of the snow— We had beautiful lights I am thankful to say & you have a grand view of the whole range— E. got better after Marseilles—19 o'clock where we had some hasty food—we managed to tip a porter & induced him to keep our carriage free so we made up our beds told the guard to wake us at Avignon & settled off to doze away the 3 hours—2 of them passed away in semi sleep & I believe I was just going right off when I started up feeling that we were off the line—tearing along & shaking us a good deal though not enough to knock us off our seats—Elinor thought of the bank—I where to sit where I shd have the least chance of death—but bfore we had time for much thought, the train was stopped—450 steps a little soldier told Elinor it was. I shd hardly have thought it was so much— Happily for us the engine diverged to the right—

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[Diagram here]

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E engine— B bank & a very steep one too—we were in the 1^st. carriage & should have all been killed or badly hurt—as it was, there was there was no harm done to any one person in the train— You may imagine how thankful we were to open our door & get on to firm ground uninjured! The cause of the accident was the ""essieu"" of the wheel breaking—i.e. the axle I imagine. We declined getting in to our carriage again & took out our cloaks & bags to sit on the ground. Luckily it was very warm & a bright moon which was an immense comfort—also we were only 12 kilometres—about 8 miles from Arles where they sent at once for help—& navvies to begin getting the line in order— When we heard another train coming, as we did pretty soon, we determined to go down the embankment to get out of the way if there shd be any fresh scrimmage—The burnt child dreads cold water—for of course they did really stop it in time—so we know by the difficulty we had in coming up again that the bank was pretty steep— I got so tired I lay down flat on the stones by about one oclock—our chief sufferings were from musquitoes—I had a veil, but got 23 bites on my hands and wrists— We then tried to get into our carriage again but the navvies had come & everybody told us we must wait a ""petit moment"" wh. in the language of that night meant about an hour— After we had sat about 2 hours a friend said he saw the ""secours"" & all the men rushed to look out—but he deceived us & another hour elapsed before we did thankfully bundle into a train & set off to Arles. Such a long 3 hours as it seemed! We had been more than 12 hours on the go & I was so tired, & it needs not to say E. was— Happily had neuralgia kept off till morning & then she had a bad enough attack to make up—I had this before me as a cheerful rising to keep up my spirits asd I know she so often pays for things afterwards— At last we got to Arles & before we cd get into the waiting room every arm chair was full—& the atmosphere so awful we went outside on to some building stones & there sat dismally watching the dying moon on one side & the first streaks of light on the other—Oh! such a set as we all looked—blear eyed [green] & grimy & silent misery on every one's face— I got the windows in the waiting room open & we went there & sat on the hard wooden benches & envied some few of the men who snored around us in uncomfortable attitudes— At last after hours of waiting expecting every $\frac{1}{4}$ hour to be taken on to Avignon with our luggage we collared a chef & got the news that it was no use waiting for our luggage & that it wd be quite safe & we shd get it in time so at 6 o'cl. we got into a 'bus & went up to the nasty Arles inn—where we got some nasty breakfast & laid ourselves down on some nastier beds to wait for the midday train. I went to sleep—poor E. did not. All things have an end & at last we did get here—very late of course—having to wait for 5 luggage trains of interminable length to get on sidings & then having to travel with some children who eat sausage pie! little pigs—how I hated 'em! But we did get all our luggage which was a g^t. relief. I shd have thought at least it wd have gone on to Lyons— Then our nice clean room & water & soap & comf appetising beds made us feel quite diff^t. creatures. I have such an odd feeling about it all— As if it had happened all before—I seem as if I had had the precise feeling before of the carriage going off the line— It seems to me as if the other time was more real than this. I can't tell you want an odd feeling it is. I suppose you must have been hurt to make you feel nervous—but I don't feel as if this would make me the least bit more frightened which is a good thing—as being nervous in railways wd be very inconven^t. Oh the cannon ball principle  I think it is a good thing to have had an accident—& if one is to have one, one cant well get off easier than we have.

Elinor feels a good deal knocked up & we have settled to stay over today to rest—rather against her will—but it was necessary—& I can't feel sure of getting off tomorrow—as I think it is only too likely such a night wd quite upset her— This idea has not entered her mind— She has just been having a long sleep & now Marianne & I will set off to see the Pope's Palace & walk a little about the town—which is well worth seeing—I felt too squashed this morning to do anything but am revived now, after coming back & 5 o'clock tea.

We have had a very sweer hour & $\frac{1}{2}$ in the Pope's garden. The palace is a barracks now & it looked so full of soldiers I didn't make many attempts to see it  I believe there is some part one does see—but the really delightful thing is the garden with the most beautiful views on every side—particularly over the plain towards Lyons where it is bounded by some most beautiful mountains wh. were of the most exquisite colour today—every tint from mother of pearl grey to pinky lilac. Marianne & I both stood with our heads under our arms for so long we felt as sick as possible—but it was too too lovely for us to cease. then the old town & the Popes Palace on the other side—& a fine broken bridge of stone over the Rhone. It is a lovely little town— Yesterday was Fête Dieu & the whole town was swarming with people in the smartest clothes. There was a grand procession & the streets all ornamented with table cloths of bright colours hung out. It was the prettiest brightest sight—all these grey old streets full of happy looking people & bright colour— Well, dear Mamy all this seems as if I never was to get home. Though Elinor is now clothed & in her right mind—i.e. hemming a p. hanker & I quite specs we shall get off tomorrow—she looks so m. better—I will write from Paris—not till she has seen the D^r though as I shall then know my fate—

Goodbye dear Mamy | I do feel very thankful not to be lying at Arles with broken bones | y^r H. E. D