Miss Sheppard, who was unhurt, had reached the bank and requested some one to help her up, and then made herself useful in aiding others. Those who had escaped on the north side were already making their way through the deep drifts and the lonely valley and up the steep embankment. Those who were near had done all they could to rescue the living, and the flames were already arising and nearly covered the scene. All this had occurred before the citizens from the town could reach the spot. It was then too late to do anything to save the wounded, or even to keep the flames from destroying life. To be sure the fire engine stood in that engine house upon the hill, but it was never moved. The pump engine also stood in the lonely valley, with its steam up, but it was not used. There was also hose in the upper engine house not six hundred yards away, which would fit a plug in the house by the river. But in the confusion of the moment no one had thought of engines, or of hose, and not even buckets had been brought down. Meanwhile, the teams from town were plunging on, dragging the steamer and the hose through the heavy drifts.
The station agent, who had received a telegram from the central office, to get surgeons and aid for the wounded, was also hastening to the spot—but it was too late.
The work was done. It was impossible for them now to rescue the living. Those who had reached the scene had already rescued nearly all the wounded and the living, though fearfully bruised, and some of them insensible, from the fire.
Others were standing and looking on from the banks, idle spectators of the scene. And, before the eyes of all, the fire had crept on and on, and was now enveloping the whole. The wounded lay in the snow, or on the damp, cold floor. The water dripped from their garments and ran upon the stone. Blood flowed from wounds and mingled with the water. Chill and damp and pain and wounds and the shock and fright were combined. Gashed and bruised and broken, they were crowding up that lonely, chilly bank. But the flames without were burning and eclipsing all their misery. Appalling death was shooting from car to car, and the dreadful valley had become an awful scene. It was too terrible for any human mind. The groans of the wounded were mingled with the groans of the dying, and shouts and groans and shrieks and cries echoed through the valley; then the plaintive wail and the awful silence.
CHAPTER VII.
THE FIRE AND THE FIREMEN.
The firemen arrived at last; the station agent had reached the spot before them. All was haste and confusion. No orders, and no one in command. The wounded were already coming up the bank. Citizens, as they came, had taken the survivors from the wreck, and were now helping them to a place of safety and comfort.