On the Line
Holmes was across the many rows of tracks that we had been examining in a series of leaps and bounds, unhampered by the snow, shifting gravel nor the slippery ice that it obscured.
I did my utmost to keep up with the fellow but my trousers were cold, wet and heavy from the snow and my wounded leg was paining me as a consequence. I was not midway across one of the tracks when my leg slipped beneath me and I fell heavily.
Shock prevented me from feeling any pain for a moment or two and I was only beginning to realise that my leg was now paining me dreadfully when Holmes appeared at my side and crouched to assess the harm done. I did not have to dig the obscuring snow away to know that my leg was both twisted at a horrible angle and trapped.
“All right old fellow,” my companion squeezed the shoulder which had not been injured in Afghanistan. “I shall soon have you free. Be a good chap and remain as still and quiet as you can manage.”
I did my utmost to obey my friend but I was unable to keep myself from shivering with cold. Sitting in the snow was causing me to become chilled terribly rapidly. I sniffed and did my utmost to keep myself from sneezing.
“Here,” Holmes thrust his coat about me and continued to work on my leg. “Can’t have you catching a cold in these miserable conditions.”
I had been about to protest but I instead was overtaken by the urge to sneeze as if on cue, causing my trapped leg to be jerked unmercifully beneath me.
“Stay still!” my friend chastised me. “Your leg is almost free, now, and then we can go home.”
“Sorry Holmes,” I responded with a sniff. It was then that I realised to my horror that the track upon which I was sitting was clicking and trembling beneath me.
My companion gave a cry of outrage as I tried to push him away and insist that he leave me to my fate. “I am not going to abandon my Boswell now!” he shouted at me. “So you can either allow me to free you or else permit me to await the train at your side.”
“You should save yourself,” I insisted as I watched him resume his work.
“Do you honestly believe that I could simply go on as always, without you?” he snapped back at me. “I have no reason to save myself. Now, remain still and keep quiet. Please.”
I did as he told me but wished all the while that he would leave me. I could hear the train now and see the smoke from its funnel. The sight turned me cold and sick.
As the train grew ever closer I became increasingly mindful of it until I barely noticed neither the dreadful pain in my trapped leg nor the work of my friend. The engine was soon close enough to hear its clicks, rattles and chugs clearly.
“Holmes…”
“Watson do please be quiet. You are almost free.”
The engine was also bearing down upon us. I closed my eyes tightly. “Get clear, Holmes! Please!”
“We can both get clear! You are free. Can you stand?”
Before I could respond my friend had his strong arms about me and was helping me to my feet. I was all too aware of the engine bearing down upon us, but my companion seemed oblivious. He took great care as he adjusted his supportive hold of me and then we were slowly picking our way across the lines together as if there was no danger at all, which could not have been further from the truth. Even if we were not about to be hit by the oncoming train, we both knew that we should get well clear.
We reached safety together, panting with exertion and both trembling as much with fear as with cold. It took some moments for us both to realise that we had somehow survived and I gripped my friend’s hand tightly, too overcome to speak a word.
“There you are!” an angry voice shouted. “What the devil did you think you were playing at? You’re lucky that there is a signalman on this stretch of track or the train would never have stopped in time!”
I gazed at Holmes and he stared back at me. We then turned our heads as one to see the engine, still hissing and steaming, standing upon the spot where I had fallen. We must have made our escape at the last possible moment.
