Part 30 (1/2)

”I couldn't quit _them_, you know, till I've got 'em safe home. But my mind will be easy, Mr Gurwood, if you'll look after Bill. We was both throw'd a good way from the ingine, but I couldn't rightly say where.

You'll not refuse--”

”My dear Marrot,” said Edwin, interrupting him, and grasping his hand, ”you may rely on me. I shall not leave the ground until he is found and cared for.”

”Thank 'ee, sir, thank 'ee,” said John, in something of his wonted hearty tone, as he returned Edwin's squeeze of the hand, and hastened to the train, which was just ready to start.

Edwin went at once to the spot where the surface-men were toiling at the wreck in the fitful light of the fires, which flared wildly in the storm and, as they had by that time gathered intense heat, bid defiance to the rain. There were several pa.s.sengers, who had just been extricated, lying on the ground, some motionless, as if dead, others talking incoherently. These he looked at in pa.s.sing, but Garvie was not among them. Leaving them under the care of the surgeons, who did all that was possible in the circ.u.mstances for their relief, he ran and joined the surface-men in removing the broken timbers of a carriage, from beneath which groans were heard. With some difficulty a woman was extricated and laid tenderly on the bank. Just then Edwin observed a guard, with whom he was acquainted, and asked him if the fireman had yet been found.

”Not yet sir, I believe,” said the man. ”They say that he and the driver were flung to one side of the line.”

Edwin went towards the engine, and, judging the probable direction and distance to which a man might be thrown in such an accident, went to a certain spot and sought carefully around it in all directions. For some time he sought in vain, and was on the point of giving up in despair, when he observed a cap lying on the ground. Going up to it, he saw the form of a man half-concealed by a ma.s.s of rubbish. He stooped, and, raising the head a little, tried to make out the features, but the light of the fires did not penetrate to the spot. He laid him gently down again, and was about to hasten away for a.s.sistance when the man groaned and said faintly, ”Is that you, Jack?”

”No, my poor fellow,” said Edwin, stooping down. ”Are you badly hurt?

I am just going to fetch help to--”

”Mr Gurwood,” said the man, interrupting, ”you don't seem to know me!

I'm Garvie, the fireman. Where am I? Surely there is something wrong with my left arm. Oh! I remember now. Is Jack safe? And the Missis and Gertie? Are they--”

”Don't exert yourself,” interrupted Edwin, as Will attempted to rise.

”You must keep quiet until I fetch a doctor. Perhaps you're not much hurt, but it is well to be careful. Will you promise me to be still?”

”All right sir,” said Will, promptly.

Edwin hastened for a.s.sistance, and in a short time the fireman was carried to a place of comparative shelter and his wounds examined.

Almost immediately after the examination Edwin knelt at his side, and signed to those around him to retire.

”Garvie,” he said, in a low kind voice, ”I'm sorry to tell you that the doctors say you must lose your left arm.”

Will looked intently in Edwin's face.

”Is there _no_ chance of savin' it?” he asked earnestly; ”it might never be much to speak of, sir, but I'd rather run some risk than lose it.”

Edwin shook his head. ”No,” he said sadly, ”they tell me amputation must be immediate, else your life may be sacrificed. I said I would like to break it to you, but it is necessary, my poor fellow, that you should make up your mind at once.”

”G.o.d's will be done,” said Will in a low voice; ”I'm ready, sir.”

The circ.u.mstances did not admit of delay. In a few minutes the fireman's left arm was amputated above the elbow, the stump dressed, and himself laid in as sheltered a position as possible to await the return of the train that was to convey the dead and wounded, more recently extricated, to Clatterby.

When that train arrived at the station it was touching to witness the pale anxious faces that crowded the platform as the doors were opened and the dead and sufferers carried out; and to hear the cries of agony when the dead were recognised, and the cries of grief, strangely, almost unnaturally, mingled with joy, when some who were supposed to have been killed were carried out alive. Some were seen almost fondling the dead with a mixture of tender love and abject despair. Others bent over them with a strange stare of apparent insensibility, or looked round on the pitying bystanders inquiringly, as if they would say, ”Surely, surely, this _cannot_ be true.” The sensibilities of some were stunned, so that they moved calmly about and gave directions in a quiet solemn voice, as if the great agony of grief were long past, though it was painfully evident that it had not yet begun, because the truth had not yet been realised.

Among those who were calm and collected, though heart-stricken and deadly pale, was Loo Marrot. She had been sent to the station by her father to await the arrival of the train, with orders to bring Will Garvie home. When Will was carried out and laid on the platform alive, an irresistible gush of feeling overpowered her. She did not give way to noisy demonstration, as too many did, but knelt hastily down, raised his head on her knee, and kissed his face pa.s.sionately.

”Bless you, my darling,” said Will, in a low thrilling voice, in which intense feeling struggled with the desire to make light of his misfortune; ”G.o.d has sent a cordial that the doctors haven't got to give.”

”O William!” exclaimed Loo, removing the hair from his forehead--but Loo could say no more.

”Tell me, darling,” said Garvie, in an anxious tone, ”is father safe, and mother, and Gertie?”