The great majority of the fatal cases were of course in the first two coaches, in which the soldiers were unfortunately travelling. Some (of the poor fellows suffered fearfully from scalding, over and above terrible fractures and injuries; some were so inextricably wedged in amongst {106} the wreckage that it was not till the relief train came up with jacks and crowbars that anything could be done to relieve their excruciating sufferings. None of the staff officers were hurt, but Colonel Hogg had a narrow escape, for the end compartment, in which he had been shaving a few minutes earlier, was completely staved in by impact with the Chief's coach in front. In the official report forwarded by Sir George Greaves we read: "I desire to record with pleasure that the officers of the Headquarter Staff were conspicuous in their efforts to release the injured from the wreck of the train, especially Brigadier-General Gatacre, A.G., Lieutenant-Colonel Leach, Military Secretary, and Captain Peyton, A.D.C., all of whom, at considerable personal risk, worked in under the overturned engines and carriages to get at the wounded." There were also miraculous escapes. A gymnastic sergeant was travelling in the first coach with two small dogs on his knees. Owing apparently to his trained activity, he was able to leap through the window, and thus escaped without injury from a compartment where all his companions were killed. As soon as possible the wounded were sent on into Kamptee under the charge of their companions, and it was three o'clock before the train got back again to pick up the staff officers. [Sidenote: "Such good sons"] On his arrival in Kamptee a telegram was handed to Gatacre, informing him of his father's {107} death. This was not unexpected, but for both brothers it must have added a more profound and personal sadness to the horrors with which the day had begun; and as next day they listened to the Service read over the poor young fellows who had been so suddenly struck down, their hearts must have been at Gatacre, where the same words would soon be read over the old man of eighty-six whom they had so sincerely loved and reverenced. Only a few days earlier they had sent a telegram of farewell in their joint names; and in due course had the satisfaction of hearing that it had arrived just in time to please the dying man, who murmured in response, "I thank God for such good sons." On April 1, 1893, Lieutenant-General Sir John Hudson took over command of the Bombay Army; only two months later he was killed by a fall from his horse. The Commander-in-Chief was taking his usual ride with Colonel Leach, his Military Secretary, before breakfast on the morning of June 9, when his horse stumbled heavily, throwing Sir John forward on his head. Six weeks earlier Sir James Dormer, Commander-in-Chief in Madras, had met with his death while out tiger-shooting, so that this further catastrophe came with added force to the sister Presidency.