The following October a terrible explosion occurred at the furnace of some ironworks, and eleven men were covered with streams of molten metal. In their agony they jumped into a neighbouring canal, and were with difficulty rescued and taken in cabs to the hospital. Burnt all over and frightfully disfigured, they were carried in and laid on the floor till a ward could be cleared for them. It was a terrible scene, even the doctors could hardly stay in the ward, but Sister Dora never ceased in her devoted care of the men. Cries came from most of them, “Sister, come and dress me.” “Do dress me,” “Oh, you don’t know how bad I am.” She could only answer, “Oh my poor men, I’ll dress you all, if you’ll give me time.” One poor man, seeing how distracted she was by the different cries for help, said, “Sister Dora, I want to be dressed very bad, but if there’s any wants you worse go and do them first.” He was in terrible pain and died during the night. Of the eleven only two recovered. Some lingered for as long as ten days, and during that time Sister Dora never went to bed, and hardly left the ward. One of those who survived described how she went from bed to bed talking, laughing, even joking with the men; telling them stories, doing everything she could to distract them from their pain, and pointing out the way to heaven to those who were to die. He spoke with delight of her visits to his bedside at night when he was recovering, saying, “It did you good only to look at her,” and ending with, “What we felt for her I couldn’t tell you; my tongue won’t say it.”