The citizens of the village were sitting by their fires, or at their tables, or in their places of business. A sound was heard! It was a sudden, startling sound. To those who were living near the depot, it was a succession of sounds; first a crash, then a fall, then a distinct sound for every car. To those who were at a distance it was a single, but a prolonged and terrible crash. To those who were within doors it seemed like a sudden fall of a distant building, or the nearer slide of a heavy body of snow, but much more ominous. Some imagined they heard a sound that followed, which they supposed to be the wailing of the wind. It startled the inhabitants in many houses, and was heard more than a mile away. Presently the sharp alarm of fire was heard, and the bells rang out their pealing notes. Many started from their seats, at the thought of fire on such a night. Presently the sky was illuminated: a strange glare filled the heavens. It was not like a distant flame, that cast its shadow on the sky. It was not like a nearer fire that shot up sparks and smoke. It was a glare that pervaded the whole horizon. It cast a pale and sickly color into the fleecy air. It covered even the snow with a pinkish, almost crimson, hue. It seemed like an extensive burning, as if the flames were suddenly arising from widespread structures. No one could tell, however, what it was, nor what was the matter.

The men who rushed into the street first whispered, it was an oil train, that had caught fire on the track. Others said that it was the building at the depot. Women who were kept at home were impressed that it was something more than a common fire. Uneasiness seized the aged who were residing in houses far distant. Many hastened for the engines; others ran in the direction of the light. All plunged into the deep snow, and, out of breath, could only follow in single file along the path which the foremost had broken. A long line of men and boys reached from the main street toward the fatal spot. Horses and teams plunged madly by. Every available horse in one of the stables was put into use. The steamer was got out. The horses attached pulled and tugged the massive load.

“Protection” engine was also manned at first, but afterwards drawn by a team secured. Hose-carts were taken for a distance, and then horses were attached to these.

The villagers had become thoroughly aroused, and were straining every nerve to reach the fire. It had become known that the bridge was broken, and a passenger train was wrecked in the dreadful gorge. An unregulated crowd was rushing with all haste through the impeding drifts. The thought with all was to hasten forward, and save the living. It seemed an age before they could reach the spot. Many became exhausted by their efforts. The snow and drifts were so deep that none could make headway, except with difficulty. Even teams were detained by the snow. It was at least twenty minutes before the citizens arrived. Time enough had then passed for the work of death. The wounded passengers had recovered from the stunning fall, and arisen to their feet and escaped to the shore, assisting one another from the wreck.

Nearly all who were in the forward car had escaped, except those who had been crushed by the trucks, which had broken through the roof, and fell upon them. One had even, after his escape, looked in the window, and put his face near the cheek of his companion, and found him dead. Those in the smoker, had climbed out and looked back to see how complete, the sweep of the burning stove had been, which had carried several before it to their death. One had fallen out of a gaping seam made in the side of that car, and looked back to see another man caught as the car closed again, and thought to himself that it had opened on purpose to let him out.

Those in the sleeping coaches who were alive, had also escaped, and made their way to land. One gentleman, Mr. Brewster, who was but little hurt, had assisted a man who was badly wounded and helpless amid the wreck, and laid him down at the east abutment, and then crossed the stream again and called out to others saying: “This way, here’s a house!” Women had escaped from the rear sleeping coach and were already at the shore.

Miss Sheppard, who was unhurt, had reached the bank and requested some one to help her up, and then made herself useful in aiding others. Those who had escaped on the north side were already making their way through the deep drifts and the lonely valley and up the steep embankment. Those who were near had done all they could to rescue the living, and the flames were already arising and nearly covered the scene. All this had occurred before the citizens from the town could reach the spot. It was then too late to do anything to save the wounded, or even to keep the flames from destroying life. To be sure the fire engine stood in that engine house upon the hill, but it was never moved. The pump engine also stood in the lonely valley, with its steam up, but it was not used. There was also hose in the upper engine house not six hundred yards away, which would fit a plug in the house by the river. But in the confusion of the moment no one had thought of engines, or of hose, and not even buckets had been brought down. Meanwhile, the teams from town were plunging on, dragging the steamer and the hose through the heavy drifts.

The station agent, who had received a telegram from the central office, to get surgeons and aid for the wounded, was also hastening to the spot—but it was too late.

The work was done. It was impossible for them now to rescue the living. Those who had reached the scene had already rescued nearly all the wounded and the living, though fearfully bruised, and some of them insensible, from the fire.

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.