The Beast Within - Emile Zola [189]
Séverine and Flore too were dismayed to see Jacques lose consciousness again. Flore ran to the cottage and came back with some camphorated spirit, which she rubbed on to his chest, not knowing what else to do. Despite their concern for Jacques, however, they were even more disturbed by the interminable sufferings of the one surviving horse, which had had its two front legs torn off. It lay near them, producing a continuous, almost human whinny of pain, so loud and expressing such unspeakable agony that two of the injured passengers, following its example, began screaming themselves, like animals. Never was there a death-cry like it — an unforgettable, deep-throated complaint that made the blood run cold. Its torment became unbearable. Voices rang out, horrified and enraged, begging someone to put the wretched horse out of its misery; now that the engine was silent, the animal’s endless cry of distress rose into the air like a last, doleful lament for the disaster that had occurred. Pecqueux, still sobbing, picked up the broken axe and felled the horse with a single crushing blow to its skull. Silence descended over the scene of carnage.
After a two-hour wait, help finally arrived. The force of the collision had thrown the carriages to the left, so that the down line could be cleared in only a few hours. A three-coach train had arrived from Rouen, drawn by a requisitioned pilot engine,7 bringing the Prefect’s chief assistant, the Public Prosecutor and a number of engineers and doctors employed by the Company, all looking very serious and businesslike. Monsieur Bessière, the Barentin stationmaster, was already there with a gang of men, attempting to clear the debris. For a remote country spot that was normally so silent and deserted, it was an extraordinary scene of panic and confusion. The passengers who had escaped uninjured had still not recovered from their shock and were in a state of great agitation. Some, terrified at the thought of having to get back into the train, had gone in search of other means of transport. Others, realizing that there wasn’t even a wheelbarrow to be found in this place, began to worry about where they were going to get something to eat or find somewhere to sleep. They all wanted to get to a telegraph office, and several set off on foot towards Barentin, with messages ready prepared. While the officials and the Company staff began their inquiries, the doctors quickly set about tending the injured. Many had fainted and lay in pools of blood. Feeble moans were heard as the doctors used their forceps and needles. Altogether there were fifteen dead and thirty-two seriously injured. The dead had been laid out in a row alongside the hedge, face-upwards, waiting to be identified. They had been left to the Public Prosecutor’s assistant to deal with, a pink-faced, fair-haired little man, who was busily going through their pockets looking for any papers, cards or letters that might allow him to label them with a name and address. A circle of curious bystanders had formed around him; although there wasn’t a house anywhere near by, people had turned up from somewhere or other, to stand and gape — thirty or so men, women and children, who merely got in the way and did