There was quick work and heart-breaking to be done, and, for the first
few critical minutes, a terrible lack of hands to do it. Cranford, the
engineer, was still in his cab, pinned down by the coal which had
shifted forward at the shock of the sudden stop. In the wreck of the
tender, the iron-work of which was rammed into shapeless crumplings by
the upreared trucks of the baggage-car, lay the fireman, past human
help, as a hasty side-swing of Bradford's lantern showed.
The baggage-car, riding high upon the crushed tender, was body-whole,
but the smoker, day-coach, and sleeper were all more or less shattered,
with the smoking-car already beginning to blaze from the broken lamps.
It was a crisis to call out the best in any gift of leadership, and
Lidgerwood's genius for swift and effective organization came out strong
under the hammer-blow of the occasion.
"Stay here with Bradford and Jefferis, and get that engineer out!" he
called to Van Lew. Then, with arms outspread, he charged down upon the
train's company, escaping as it could through the broken windows of the
cars.
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