Almost at the same moment he reversed the engine and opened the whistle
to alarm the guard, who applied his brakes in violent haste. But it was
too late. The speed could not be checked in time. The rails were
slippery, owing to rain. Almost at full speed they dashed into the
mineral train with a noise like thunder. The result was appalling. The
engine was smashed and twisted in a manner that is quite indescribable,
and the tender was turned completely over, while the driver and fireman
were shot as if from a cannon's mouth, high into the air. The first two
carriages of the passenger-train, and the last van of the mineral, were
completely wrecked; and over these the remaining carriages of the
passenger-train were piled until they reached an incredible height. The
guard's van was raised high in the air, with its ends resting on a
third-class carriage, which at one end was completely smashed in by the
van.
At the time of the concussion--just after the terrible crash--there was
a brief, strange, unearthly silence. All was still for a few seconds,
and passengers who were uninjured gazed at each other in mute and
horrified amazement. But death in that moment had passed upon many,
while others were fearfully mangled. The silence was almost immediately
broken by the cries and groans of the wounded. Some had been forcibly
thrown out of the carriages, others had their legs and arms broken, and
some were jammed into fixed positions from which death alone relieved
them. The scenes that followed were heart-rending. Those who were
uninjured, or only slightly hurt, lent willing aid to extricate their
less fortunate fellow-travellers, but the howling of the wind, the
deluging rain, and the darkness of the night, retarded their efforts,
and in many cases rendered them unavailing.
John Marrot, who, as we have said, was shot high into the air, fell by
good fortune into a large bush. He was stunned at first, but otherwise
uninjured. On regaining consciousness, the first thoughts that flashed
across him were his wife and child. Rising in haste he made his way
towards the engine, which was conspicuous not only by its own fire, but
by reason of several other fires which had been kindled in various
places to throw light on the scene. In the wreck and confusion, it was
difficult to find out the carriage, in which Mrs Marrot had travelled,
and the people about were too much excited to give very coherent answers
to questions. John, therefore, made his way to a knot of people who
appeared to be tearing up the _debris_ at a particular spot. He found
Joe Turner, the guard, there, with his head bandaged and his face
covered with blood.
"I've bin lookin' for 'ee everywhere, John," said Joe. "She's _there_!"
he added, pointing to a mass of broken timbers which belonged to a
carriage, on the top of which the guard's van had been thrown, crushing
it almost flat.
John did not require to ask the meaning of his words. The guard's look
was sufficiently significant. He said not a word, but the deadly pallor
of his countenance showed how much he felt. Springing at once on the
broken carriage, and seizing an axe from the hand of a man who appeared
exhausted by his efforts, he began to cut through the planking so as to
get at the interior. At intervals a half-stifled voice was heard crying
piteously for "John."
"Keep up heart, lass!" said John, in his deep, strong voice. "I'll get
thee out before long--God helping me."
Those who stood by lent their best aid, but anxious though they were
about the fate of those who lay buried beneath that pile of rubbish,
they could not help casting an occasional look of wonder, amounting
almost to awe, on the tall form of the engine-driver, as he cut through
and tore up the planks and beams with a power that seemed little short
of miraculous.
Presently he stopped and listened intently for a moment, while the
perspiration rolled in big drops from his brow.
"Dost hear me, Mary?" he asked in a deeply anxious tone.
If any reply were uttered it was drowned by the howling of the wind and
the noise of the workmen.
Again he repeated the question in an agonising cry.
His wife did not reply, but Gertie's sweet little voice was heard saying
faintly--
"I think mother is dead. Oh, take us out, dear father, take us out,--
quick!"
Again John Marrot bowed himself to the task, and exerting his colossal
strength to the utmost, continued to tear up and cast aside the broken
planks and beams. The people around him, now thoroughly aroused to the
importance of haste, worked with all their might, and, ere long, they
reached the floor of the carriage, where they found mother and child
jammed into a corner and arched over by a huge mass of broken timber.
It was this mass that saved them, for the rest of the carriage had been
literally crushed into splinters.
Close beside them was discovered the headless trunk of a young man, and
the dead body of a girl who had been his companion that day.
Gertie was the first taken out. Her tender little frame seemed to have
yielded to the pressure and thus escaped, for, excepting a scratch or
two, she was uninjured.
John Marrot did not pause to indulge in any expression of feeling. He
sternly handed her to the bystanders, and went on powerfully but
carefully removing the broken timbers and planks, until he succeeded in
releasing his wife. Then he raised her in his arms, staggered with her
to the neighbouring bank and laid her down.
Poor Mrs Marrot was crushed and bruised terribly. Her clothes were
torn, and her face was so covered with blood and dust as to be quite
unrecognisable at first. John said not a word, but went down on his
knees and began carefully to wipe away the blood from her features, in
which act he was assisted by the drenching rain. Sad though his case
was, there was no one left to help him. The cries of the unfortunate
sufferers still unextricated, drew every one else away the moment the
poor woman had been released.
Ere long the whole scene of the catastrophe was brilliantly illuminated
by the numerous fires which were kindled out of the _debris_, to serve
as torches to those who laboured might and main for the deliverance of
the injured. Troops of people from the surrounding district quickly
made their appearance on the scene, and while some of these lent
effective aid in the work of rescue, others brought blankets, water, and
spirits, to cover and comfort those who stood so much in need of help.
As the wounded were got out, and laid upon the banks of the line,
several surgeons busied themselves in examining and binding their
wounds, and the spot bore some resemblance to a battle-field after the
tide of war had passed over it. Seventeen dead and one hundred and
fifty injured already lay upon the wet ground, while many of the living,
who went about with blanched, solemn faces, yet with earnest helpful
energy, were bruised and cut badly enough to have warranted their
retiring from the spot, and having their own cases considered.
Meanwhile a telegram had been sent to Clatterby, and, in a short time, a
special train arrived with several of the chief men of the line, and a
gang of a hundred surface-men to clear away the wreck and remove the
dead and injured.
Many of those unhurt had made singularly narrow escapes. One man was
seated in a third-class carriage when the concussion took place. The
side of the carriage fell out, and he slid down on the rails just as the
other carriages and vans piled up on the place he had left, killing or
wounding all his fellow-travellers. Beneath the rubbish next the
tender, a mother and child were buried and several others. All were
dead save the mother and child when the men began to dig them out and
before they succeeded in their labours the mother had died also, but the
child survived. In another carriage, or rather under it, a lad was seen
lying with a woman's head crushed down on his breast and an infant
beside her. They had to saw the carriage asunder before these could be
extricated. The woman died almost immediately on being released, but
the lad and infant were uninjured. Elsewhere a young girl, who had
attracted attention by the sweet expression of her face, had been
strangled, and her face rendered perfectly black. In another case the
surface-men attempted to extricate a woman, by sawing the broken
carriage, under which she lay, but the more they sawed the more did the
splinters appear to cling round her, and when at last they got her out
she was dead, while another passenger in the same carnage escaped
without a scratch.
We would not prolong a painful description which may, perhaps, be
thought too long already--yet within certain limits it is right that men
should know what their fellows suffer. After all the passengers had
been removed to the special train--the dead into vans and horse-boxes
and the living into carriages--the surface-men set to work to clear the
line.
Poor Mrs Tipps was among the rescued, and, along with the others, was
sent on to the Clatterby station by the special train.
While the people were being placed in this train, John Marrot observed
Edwin Gurwood in the crowd. He chanced to be at Clatterby when the
telegram of the accident arrived, and ran down in the special train to
render assistance.
"I'm glad to see you, sir," he said in a low, earnest voice. "My mate,
Bill Garvie, must be badly hurt, for he's nowhere to be found. He must
be under the wreck somewheres. I wouldn't leave the spot till I found
him in or'nary circumstances; but my Mary--"
He stopped abruptly.
"I hope Mrs Marrot is not hurt?" said Edwin anxiously.
John could not reply at first. He shook his head and pointed to a
carriage near at hand.
"She's there, sir, with Gertie."
"Gertie!" exclaimed Edwin.
"Ay, poor thing, Gertie is all right, thank the good Lord for that;
but--"