THE ALARM IN TOWN.
The citizens of the village were sitting by their fires, or at their
tables, or in their places of business. A sound was heard! It was a
sudden, startling sound. To those who were living near the depot, it
was a succession of sounds; first a crash, then a fall, then a distinct
sound for every car. To those who were at a distance it was a single,
but a prolonged and terrible crash. To those who were within doors it
seemed like a sudden fall of a distant building, or the nearer slide of
a heavy body of snow, but much more ominous. Some imagined they heard a
sound that followed, which they supposed to be the wailing of the wind.
It startled the inhabitants in many houses, and was heard more than a
mile away. Presently the sharp alarm of fire was heard, and the bells
rang out their pealing notes.
Many started from their seats, at the thought of fire on such a night.
Presently the sky was illuminated: a strange glare filled the heavens.
It was not like a distant flame, that cast its shadow on the sky. It
was not like a nearer fire that shot up sparks and smoke. It was a
glare that pervaded the whole horizon. It cast a pale and sickly color
into the fleecy air. It covered even the snow with a pinkish, almost
crimson, hue. It seemed like an extensive burning, as if the flames
were suddenly arising from widespread structures. No one could tell,
however, what it was, nor what was the matter.
The men who rushed into the street first whispered, it was an oil
train, that had caught fire on the track. Others said that it was the
building at the depot. Women who were kept at home were impressed that
it was something more than a common fire. Uneasiness seized the aged
who were residing in houses far distant. Many hastened for the engines;
others ran in the direction of the light. All plunged into the deep
snow, and, out of breath, could only follow in single file along the
path which the foremost had broken.
A long line of men and boys reached from the main street toward the
fatal spot. Horses and teams plunged madly by. Every available horse
in one of the stables was put into use. The steamer was got out. The
horses attached pulled and tugged the massive load.
“Protection” engine was also manned at first, but afterwards drawn by
a team secured. Hose-carts were taken for a distance, and then horses
were attached to these.
The villagers had become thoroughly aroused, and were straining every
nerve to reach the fire. It had become known that the bridge was
broken, and a passenger train was wrecked in the dreadful gorge. An
unregulated crowd was rushing with all haste through the impeding
drifts. The thought with all was to hasten forward, and save the
living. It seemed an age before they could reach the spot. Many became
exhausted by their efforts. The snow and drifts were so deep that none
could make headway, except with difficulty. Even teams were detained by
the snow. It was at least twenty minutes before the citizens arrived.
Time enough had then passed for the work of death. The wounded
passengers had recovered from the stunning fall, and arisen to their
feet and escaped to the shore, assisting one another from the wreck.
Nearly all who were in the forward car had escaped, except those who
had been crushed by the trucks, which had broken through the roof,
and fell upon them. One had even, after his escape, looked in the
window, and put his face near the cheek of his companion, and found him
dead. Those in the smoker, had climbed out and looked back to see how
complete, the sweep of the burning stove had been, which had carried
several before it to their death. One had fallen out of a gaping seam
made in the side of that car, and looked back to see another man caught
as the car closed again, and thought to himself that it had opened on
purpose to let him out.
Those in the sleeping coaches who were alive, had also escaped, and
made their way to land. One gentleman, Mr. Brewster, who was but little
hurt, had assisted a man who was badly wounded and helpless amid the
wreck, and laid him down at the east abutment, and then crossed the
stream again and called out to others saying: “This way, here’s a
house!” Women had escaped from the rear sleeping coach and were already
at the shore.
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.
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