Others were standing and looking on from the banks, idle spectators of the scene. And, before the eyes of all, the fire had crept on and on, and was now enveloping the whole. The wounded lay in the snow, or on the damp, cold floor. The water dripped from their garments and ran upon the stone. Blood flowed from wounds and mingled with the water. Chill and damp and pain and wounds and the shock and fright were combined. Gashed and bruised and broken, they were crowding up that lonely, chilly bank. But the flames without were burning and eclipsing all their misery. Appalling death was shooting from car to car, and the dreadful valley had become an awful scene. It was too terrible for any human mind. The groans of the wounded were mingled with the groans of the dying, and shouts and groans and shrieks and cries echoed through the valley; then the plaintive wail and the awful silence. [Illustration] CHAPTER VII. THE FIRE AND THE FIREMEN. The firemen arrived at last; the station agent had reached the spot before them. All was haste and confusion. No orders, and no one in command. The wounded were already coming up the bank. Citizens, as they came, had taken the survivors from the wreck, and were now helping them to a place of safety and comfort. Appalled by the scene and confused by the horror, none knew what order was to be given or who was in command. Mr. Apthorp was in the employ of the road, and was supposed to have some control. As Mr. Strong hastened to the rescue, he asked, “What shall we do?” The reply was, “Get men to help up the wounded.” As the chief fireman met Mr. Strong, he asked “Where shall we put the hose?” “Where shall we apply the water?” The echo of Mr. Apthorp’s remark was the only response--“We want to get out the wounded, never mind the water.” A second time the question was asked, as the station agent appeared in another place, and a second time the response was, “We don’t want water, we want to get out the wounded.” “Get all the men to clear a road to the wreck.” Again, as the firemen undertook to lay the hose, another official of the road used a vulgar illustration and saying there was no use in throwing water on the flames. The impression was thus given, by those in command of the wreck and the road, that water was not wanted. The chief fireman was not a man to assume the responsibility under such circumstances: he was dazed and confused and did not seem to know what to do. The horses stood hitched to the steamer. The hand engine “Protection,” also stood, with the men waiting for orders. Some one ran up from the wreck begging, for God’s sake, that water should be thrown, but both engines stood waiting.