"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 passengers, who had just been extricated,
lying on the ground, some motionless, as if dead, others talking
incoherently. These he looked at in passing, but Garvie was not among
them. Leaving them under the care of the surgeons, who did all that was
possible in the circumstances 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 mass 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 assistance 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 assistance, 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."
"God's will be done," said Will in a low voice; "I'm ready, sir."
The circumstances 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 passionately.
"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; "God 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?"
"Father is safe, thank God," replied Loo, with a choking voice, "and
Gertie also, but mother--"
"She is not dead?" exclaimed the fireman.
"No, not dead, but very _very_ much hurt. The doctors fear she may not
survive it, Will."
No more was said, for at that moment four porters came up with a
stretcher and placed Garvie gently upon it. Loo covered him with her
shawl, a piece of tarpaulin was thrown over all, and thus he was slowly
borne away to John Marrot's home.