Women with disheveled hair stood and wrung their hands.  Men cursed and swore as they ran back and forth about the derailed passenger.  The wind lulled for a second, and in the momentary silence there came the half-smothered cry of a little child from one direction, answered from somewhere in the fog by the rushing of wheels and the faint, weird sigh of a whistle.

Willis’s head went up, his eyes flashed, his muscles tightened; then, turning to his mother, he cried, “The baby!” and in an instant was gone.  It all happened so quickly there was no time for Mrs. Thornton to think.  She saw Willis hasten away and enter the front door of the car they had been occupying; at the same instant she became aware of the approaching train.  There was a shrill, angry hiss, and the freight swung into the cut with a terrible roar, then came a crashing of glass and breaking of timbers.  The engineer had opened the whistle valve with such a jerk that it had stuck fast, and the whistle did its utmost.  It was a doleful sound, pulsating its strange, sharp cry into the storm.

Mrs. Thornton sank to her knees in an attitude of prayer, her head dropped to her breast.  The mother that had fainted roused a little and called for her child.

The passengers rushed back and forth in a perfect frenzy, shouting, “The baby! the baby!” Women cried and begged and implored some one to save it; but it was all over before any one could act or before the Englishman realized that it was his child that was in danger.  The engines had telescoped.  The freight was derailed and the first three cars completely demolished.  The crew had all jumped and were uninjured, except the fireman, who had a badly-broken leg and some bruises.  Two men came around the end of the Pullman with a boy supported between them.  His head hung limp and the blood trickled slowly from nasty cuts on his head and face.  Following them came the brakeman with a very frightened but unharmed baby, wrapped in an overcoat.  Every one made a rush for the little group.  The Englishman was first in line.  His eyes opened wide and his cigar fell from his lips.  “By Jove, Chauncey!” he exclaimed, “they came near getting you that time,” then began to cry like a child.

The danger was past.  There was no one killed, and only a few injured.  Several people were cut by broken glass and bruised by bumps.  The fireman of the freight had broken his leg and cut his shoulder badly in his jump.  Willis had reached the opposite platform, with the baby in his arms, just as the trains collided.  The jar had thrown him from his feet and broken the glass in the door behind him.  The jolt threw him, baby and all, out against the side of the cut into the wet sand.  Outside of the ugly cuts and bad bruises he was unharmed, but was the hero of the day.

Mrs. Thornton sat by her boy, tenderly caring for his every need.  He had swooned at the sight of his own blood and had not yet returned to consciousness.  In the next seat the injured fireman was propped up on pillows, watching the boy.