when the two cyclists came to deptford, they found that comparatively little damage had been done to the station there, beyond that the offices and platforms had been wrecked. a wounded man was found, who described how a mighty hurricane had roared down the tube ten minutes after the excursion trains had departed. fergusson made a rapid calculation from the figures that the man supplied.
"the trains must have been near to park road station," he said, "when the explosion occurred. there is just a chance that they may have run into a space free from gas, and that the explosion passed them altogether. let us make for park road station without delay, and we must try to pick up some volunteers as we go along."
when they arrived at the scene they found that a big crowd had gathered. a rumour had spread that feeble voices had been heard down one of the ventilation gratings, calling for help. fergusson and rossiter reached the spot with difficulty.
"get our fellows together," whispered fergusson. "we can work now with impunity; and if any of those poor people down below are alive, we shall have them out in half-an-hour. if we only had some lights! beg, borrow, or steal all the lanterns you can get."
the nearest police-station solved that problem fast enough. a small gang of special experts moved upon park road station whilst the mob was still struggling about the ventilation shaft, and in a little time the entrance was forced.
the station was a veritable wreck; but for two hundred yards the tunnel was clear before them. then came a jammed wall of timber, the end of a railway carriage standing on end. the timbers were twisted, huge baulks of wood were bent like a bow. a way was soon made through the débris, and fergusson yelled aloud.
out of the velvety darkness of the tube a man staggered into the lane of light.
to his delight a hoarse voice answered him. he yelled again and waved his lantern. out of the velvety darkness of the tube a man staggered into the lane of light made by the lantern. he was a typical, thick-set workman, in his best clothes.
"so you've found us at last," he said dully.
he appeared to be past all emotions. his eyes showed no gratitude, no delight. the horrors of the dark hours had numbed his senses.
"is—is it very bad?" asked rossiter.
"many were killed," the new comer said in the same wooden voice. "but the others are sitting in the carriages waiting for the end to come. the lights in the carriages helped us a bit, but after the first hour they went out. then one or two of us went up the line till it seemed to rise and twist as if it was going to climb into the sky, and by that we guessed that there had been a big explosion of some kind. so we tried the other way, and that was all blocked up with timber; and we knew then. the electricity was about, and—well, it wasn't a pretty sight, so we went back to the trains. when the lights went out we were all mad for a time, and—and—"
the speaker's lips quivered and shook—he burst into a torrent of tears. rossiter patted him on the back approvingly. those tears probably staved off stark insanity. the light of the lanterns went swinging on ahead now, and the trains began to pour out their freight of half-dead people. there were some with children, who huddled back fearfully in their corners and refused to face the destruction which they were sure lay before them. they were all white and trembling, with quivering lips and eyes that twitched strangely. heaven only knows how long an eternity those hours of darkness had seemed.
they were all out at last, and were gently led to blessed light again. there were doctors on the spot by this time with nourishing food and stimulants. for the most part, the women sat down and cried, quietly hugging their children to their breasts. some of the men were crying in the same dull way, but a few were violent. the dark horror of it had driven them mad for the time. but there was a darker side to it; of the pleasure-seekers the dead were numbered at more than half.
but there was one man here and there who had kept his head throughout the crisis. a cheerful-looking sailor gave the best account of the adventure.
"not that there is much to say," he remarked. "we got on just as usual for the first ten minutes or so, the train running smoothly and plenty of light. then all at once we came to a sudden stop that sent us flying across the carriage. we seemed to have gone headlong into the stiffest tempest i ever met. you could hear the wind go roaring past the carriages, and then it stopped as soon as it had begun.
"the rattle of broken glass was like musketry. the first thing i saw when i got out was the dead body of the engine-driver with the stoker close by. it was just the same with the train in front. afterwards, i tried to find a way out, but couldn't. there was a man with me who trod on some of them cables as you call 'em, and the next instant there was no man—but i don't want to talk of that."
"it means months upon months," fergusson said sadly.
"not months—years," rossiter replied. "yet i dare say that in the long run we shall benefit by the calamity, great communities do. as to calculating the damage, my imagination only goes as far as fifty millions, and then stops. and yet if anybody had suggested this to me yesterday morning, i should have laughed."
"it would have seemed impossible."
"absolutely impossible. and yet now that it has come about, how easy and natural it all seems! come, let us get to work and try to forget."
