by Oliver Optic
CHAPTER II
THE SENATOR'S DAUGHTER
A scene terribly beyond the power of description was presented to thegaze of Lieutenant Somers when he recovered his scattered senses. The carhad been literally wrenched to pieces, and the passengers were partiallyburied beneath the fragments. Our traveler was stunned by the shock, andmade giddy by the wild vaulting of the car as it leaped down theembankment to destruction. He was bruised and lacerated; but he was notseriously injured. He did not make the mistake which many persons dounder such trying circumstances, of believing that they are killed; or,if their senses belie this impression, that they shall die within a briefperiod.
Lieutenant Somers was endowed with a remarkable degree of self-possession,and never gave up anything as long as there was any chance of holding on.He saw a great many stars not authenticated in any respectable catalogueof celestial luminaries. His thoughts, and even his vitality, seemed to besuspended for an instant; but the thoughts came back, and the stream oflife still flowed on, notwithstanding the rude assault which had been madeupon his corporal frame.
Finding that he was not killed, he struggled out from beneath the wreckwhich had overwhelmed him. His first consideration, after he had assuredhimself that he was comparatively uninjured, was for those who were hisfellow-passengers on this race to ruin and death; and perhaps it is notstrange that the fair young lady who had occupied the opposite seat inthe car came to his mind. Men and women were disengaging themselves fromthe shapeless rubbish. Some wept, some groaned, and some were motionlessand silent.
He did not see the fair stranger among those who were struggling back toconsciousness. A portion of the top of the car lay near him, which heraised up. It rested heavily upon the form of a maiden, which he at oncerecognized by the dress to be that of the gentle stranger. The sightroused all his energies; and he felt that strength which had fired hismuscles when he trod the field of battle. With desperate eagerness, heraised the heavy fragment which was crowding out the young life of thetender form, and bore it away, so that she was released from its cruelpressure.
She, poor girl! felt it not; for her eyes were closed, and her marblecheek was stained with blood. The young officer, tenderly interested inher fate, bent over her, and raised the inanimate form. He bore it in hisarms to a green spot, away from the scattered fragments of the train, andlaid it gently down upon the bosom of mother earth. By all the meanswithin his power, he endeavored to convince himself that death had notyet invaded the lovely temple of her being. But still she was silent andmotionless. There was not a sign by which he could determine themomentous question.
He was unwilling to believe that the beautiful stranger was dead. Itseemed too hard and cruel that one so young and fair should be thusrudely hurried out of existence, without a mother or even a father nearto receive her last gaze on earth, and listen to the soft sigh with whichshe breathed forth her last throb of existence. He had a telescopicdrinking-cup in his pocket, with which he hastened to a brook that flowedthrough the valley. Filling it with water, he returned to his charge. Hesprinkled her face, and rubbed her temples, and exerted himself to thebest of his knowledge and ability to awaken some signs of life.
The task seemed hopeless; and he was about to abandon it in despair, torender assistance to those who needed it more than the fair, silent formbefore him, when an almost imperceptible sigh gladdened his heart, andcaused him to renew his exertions. Procuring another cup of water, hepersistently sprinkled the fair face and chafed the temples of hischarge. With his handkerchief he washed away the blood-stains, andascertained that she was only slightly cut just above the ear.
Cheered by the success which had rewarded his efforts, he continued tobathe and chafe till the gentle stranger opened her eyes. In a fewmoments more she recovered her consciousness, and cast a bewilderedglance around her.
"Where is my father?" said she; and, as she spoke, the fearful nature ofthe catastrophe dawned upon her mind, and she partially rose from herrecumbent posture.
Lieutenant Somers could not tell where her father was, and his firstthought was that he must be beneath the wreck of the shattered cars. Forthe first time, he looked about him to measure with his eye the extent ofthe calamity. At that moment he discovered the engine, with the forwardpart of the train, backing down the railroad. Only the two rear cars hadbeen precipitated over the embankment; the accident having been caused bythe breaking of an axle on the last car but one. The shackle connectingthis with the next one had given way, and the broken car had darted offthe bank, carrying the rear one with it, while the rest of the traindashed on to its destination.
Of course the calamity was immediately discovered; but a considerabletime elapsed--as time was measured by those who were suffering and dyingbeneath the _debris_ of the train--before the engine could be stopped,and backed to the scene of the accident. Lieutenant Somers had seen thelady's father go forward, and had heard him say he was going to thesmoking-car; he was therefore satisfied that he was safe.
"He will be here presently," he replied to the anxious question of thefair stranger.
"Perhaps he was--oh, dear! Perhaps he was----"
"Oh, no! he wasn't. The smoking-car was not thrown off the track,"interposed the young officer, promptly removing from her mind theterrible fear which took possession of her first conscious moments. "Areyou much hurt?"
"I don't know; I don't think I am; but one of my arms feels very numb."
"Let me examine it," continued our traveler, tenderly raising the injuredmember.
He was not deeply skilled in surgery; but he knew enough of the mysteriesof anatomy to discover that the arm was broken between the elbow and theshoulder.
"I am afraid your arm is broken," said he cautiously, as though he fearedthe announcement would cause her to faint again.
"I am glad it is no worse," said she with a languid smile, and withoutexhibiting the least indication of feminine weakness.
"It might have been worse, certainly. Can I do anything more for you?"added Lieutenant Somers, glancing at the wreck of the cars, with afeeling that his duty then was a less pleasing one than that of attendingto the wants of the beautiful stranger; for there were still men andwomen lying helpless and unserved in the midst of the ruins.
The train stopped upon the road; and the passengers, though appalled bythe sight, rushed down the bank to render willing assistance to thesufferers. Among them was the father of the young lady, who leapedfrantically down the steep, and passed from one to another of the formswhich the survivors had taken from the wreck.
"There is your father," said Lieutenant Somers as he recognized him amongthe excited passengers. "I will go and tell him where you are."
"Do, if you please," replied the lady faintly.
He ran to the distracted parent, and seized him by the arm as he dashedfrom one place to another in search of the gentle maiden whose life waspart of his own.
"Your daughter is out here, sir," said Lieutenant Somers, pointing to thespot where he had borne her.
"My daughter!" gasped the agonized father. "Where--where?"
"In this direction, sir."
"Is she--O Heaven, spare me!" groaned he.
"She is hurt, but I think not very badly. Her left arm is broken, and herhead is slightly cut."
"O God, I thank Thee!" gasped the father, as he walked with thelieutenant to the place where the young lady was sitting on the grass.
"I think you need not be alarmed about her," added our officer, anxiousto console the suffering parent.
"My poor Emmie!" exclaimed the anxious father when they reached the spot,while he knelt down upon the grass by her side, the tears coursing intorrents down his pale cheeks.
"Don't be alarmed, father," replied she, putting her uninjured arm aroundhis neck and kissing him, while their tears mingled. "I am not much hurt,father."
Lieutenant Somers had a heart as well as a strong and willing arm, and hecould not restrain his own tears as he witnessed the touching scene. Themeeting seem
ed to be so sacred to him, that he could not stand an idlegazer upon the expression of that hallowed affection as it flowed fromthe warm hearts of the father and daughter.
"As I can be of no further service here, I will go and do what I can forthose who need my help. If you want any assistance, I shall be close athand," said he, as he walked away to the busy scene of woe whichsurrounded the wreck.
The wounded, the maimed, and the dead were rapidly taken from the pile ofruins, and placed in the cars on the road; and there was no longeranything for the young officer to do. He returned to the grassy couch ofher whom he could not but regard as peculiarly his patient. The fatherhad recovered his self-possession, and satisfied himself that Emmie wasnot more seriously injured than her deliverer had declared.
"My young friend, while I thank God that my daughter is still alive, I amvery grateful to you for the care you have bestowed upon her," said thefather, as he grasped the young officer's hand.
"You may well thank him, Mr. Guilford," said one of the two gentlemen whohad followed the young officer to the spot; "for the first thing I saw,when I came out from under the ruins, was this young man lifting half thetop of the car off your daughter."
"I beg your pardon, sir, but I think we should convey the young lady upto the cars; for I see they are about ready to start," said LieutenantSomers, blushing up to the eyes.
"I thank you, young man," added Mr. Guilford with deep feeling. "I mustsee you again, and know more about you. Emmie has told me how kind youhave been to her; and you may be sure I shall never forget it while Ilive. How do you feel now, Emmie?"
"My arm begins to pain me a little," she answered languidly.
"We must put you into the car, and in a short time we shall be able to dosomething for you."
"I will carry her up to the train, sir," said the young officer.
"I thank you, sir," said Emmie with a smile; "but I think I can walk."
"Well," said the gentleman who had spoken before, "I saw him carry youfrom the wreck to this place; and I am bound to say, I never saw a motherhandle her baby more tenderly."
"I am very grateful to him for what he has done for me," added Emmie witha slight blush; "and if I needed his services, I certainly should accepthis kind offer."
She took the arm of her father, and walked very well till she came to thesteep bank, whose ascent required more strength than she then possessed.Her father and Lieutenant Somers then made a "hand-chair," and bore herup to the car, in which she was as comfortably disposed as thecircumstances would permit. The train started with its melancholy freightof wounded, dead and dying.
"I see, sir, you are an officer in the army," said Mr. Guilford as thetrain moved off; "but I have not yet learned your name."
"Thomas Somers, sir," replied our young officer.
"I must trouble you to write it down for me, with your residence when athome, and your regiment in the field."
Lieutenant Somers complied with this request, and in return the gentlemangave him his address.
"I shall never forget you, Lieutenant Somers," said Mr. Guilford when hehad carefully deposited the paper in his memorandum-book. "I have it inmy power to be of service to you; and if you ever want a friend, I shallconsider it a favor if you will come to me, or write to me."
"Thank you, sir; I am very much obliged to you. But I hope you won'tconsider yourself under any obligations to me for what I have done. Icouldn't have helped doing it if I had tried."
"Lieutenant Somers, you are in luck," said the gentleman who hadaccompanied him before. "That is Senator Guilford, of ----, and he willmake a brigadier-general of you before you are a year older."