THE general shock of horror caused by the San Francisco disaster was
intensified at Encampment when the news ran round that three local
people had been in the stricken city at the moment of the earthquake
shock which had laid the business centre in ruins and prepared the way
for the subsequent far-sweeping conflagration. No telegram came from
either the Holdens or Roderick Warfield, and their silence, their
failure to relieve the anxiety of the friends they must have known
were deeply concerned about their safety, could only cause ominous
conjectures as to their fate. There was no possibility of reaching them
by wire, for the Palace Hotel, the only known address, had been one of
the first buildings destroyed.
But Buell Hampton did not wait for telegrams to reach him. He had
no sooner been apprised of the catastrophe than he was on his way to
Rawlins, hiring a special conveyance on the mere off-chance that railway
schedules would have been disarranged and a train might be caught at any
moment. In this he showed his usual good judgment for within an hour of
reaching the station he was on board a belated limited, in which he had
the further good fortune to find one solitary sleeping berth unoccupied.
The train was loaded with returning San Francisco people who had
been absent when their homes had been swept away, anxious friends of
sufferers, doctors, nurses, relief workers of every kind, newspaper men,
all hurrying to the scene of sorrow and suffering.
It was on the morning of the fifth day after the earthquake that Buell
Hampton, provided with a special permit, at last found himself amid the
ruins of San Francisco. Many buildings were still burning or smoldering,
but the area of destruction was now defined and the spread of the flames
checked. With saddened heart the Major picked his way along what once
had been Market Street but was now a long mound of fallen stones,
bricks, and mortar lined by the skeletons of lofty iron-framed
buildings. Here the work of clearing away the debris in search of
victims was in progress. But any inquiries of those actively engaged in
these operations were useless. Buell Hampton passed on.
Suddenly he came upon the bread line, a wonderful sight—a long row of
people of all sorts and conditions, the rich, the poor, the educated,
the ignorant, the well dressed, the tattered, ranged in single file and
marching slowly past the commissary to receive a supply of provisions
for their own famishing selves or for their destitute families. Buell
Hampton scanned each face; neither General Holden nor Roderick were in
the line, nor was there any sign of Gail.
Then he began a systematic visitation of the refuge camps that had been
formed around the bumed-out area. The remainder of that first day he
spent in Golden Gate Park. It was not until the succeeding afternoon
that he found himself in the crowded tent city out on the Presidio.
Here at last his patient and persistent efforts were rewarded. He caught
sight of Gail seated near the door of a tiny tent-house and strode
eagerly forward to greet her. In his deep emotion he folded the young
girl to his breast, and she in turn clung to him in her joy of meeting
at last a dear friend from home.
“Where is your father?” was the Major’s first inquiry.
“He is safe. We have this little tent, and I am nursing him. His right
arm was broken in the street accident, but immediately after the fire
began all the hospital patients were removed to open places, and here
I found him, thank God, the very first evening. You see, my uncle’s
house was burned. He is quartered across the bay at Oakland.”
“Your head is bandaged, Gail. Were you badly hurt?”
“Oh, that was nothing,” she replied, pulling off the narrow band of
linen that encircled her brow. “Just a little scalp wound when I fell,
and it is quite healed now. But, oh, I remember so little about the
terrible disaster—how I got out of the Palace Hotel at all.”
“And Roderick—where is Roderick?” asked Buell Hampton.
Gail’s eyes opened wide—with wonder, then with fear.
“Roderick, Roderick!” she exclaimed in a trembling voice. “Then it
was not a dream?”
“What dream?”
“That it was he who carried me out of the hotel building and to the
veranda of the house where he laid me on a cot and kind friends bathed
my wound.”
“No dream, this. It was Roderick for certain. He followed you on the
next train to San Francisco—intending to go straight to the Palace
Hotel.”
“Followed me? Why did he follow me?”
“To render you help when your father was hurt—because he loves
you—of course, you must have divined how deeply he loves you.”
The color rose slowly to Gail’s face. But there was fear still in her
eyes. She pressed her clasped hands to her breast.
“Then where is he now?” she asked in a tense whisper.
“That is what I want to know—I have been seeking both you and him.
When did you meet last?”
“Five days ago. After saving me he rushed straight away to seek for
Papa. I came to believe that it was all a dream. For I have not seen
him since. Oh, he must have been hurt—he may have been killed.” And
burying her face in her hands she burst into tears.
Buell Hampton laid a kindly hand on her shoulder. “Come, my dear, we
can do no good by giving way to weeping. I have been through many of the
refuge camps, and I shall go right on searching now. You see there
are thousands of people in these Presidio grounds. He may be within a
stone’s throw of us here at this very moment.”
“Oh, let me help you.” With a hand she dashed away her tears, and
stood before him now, calm and resolute. “I will come with you right
now. I need no hat or anything.”
“But your father?”
“He is all right He is resting quite peacefully. Just spare one
moment, please. Come in and shake hands. He will be so happy to see
you.”
She led the way to the tent door and parted the awning. Buell Hampton
entered and warmly greeted General Holden. But he told him he could not
linger, for Roderick must be found.
During the remaining hours of daylight the Major and Gail searched along
row after row of tents. But Roderick remained undiscovered—no one had
ever heard his name or could remember having seen anyone answering to
the description given. Reluctantly Buell Hampton quitted the quest and
led Gail back to her own place of refuge.
“I am sleeping at Berkeley,” he explained. “It is best that we
should both have our night’s rest. But I shall be back here for you
soon after daybreak, and if you can engage someone to watch by your
father we shall search together all day long. Will that suit, you,
Gail?”
“Oh, you are so kind taking me,” she replied, resting her hands on
his shoulders, tears of gratitude in the eyes that looked up into his.
“It would break my heart not to be with you.”
“I would not rob you of love’s sweet duty,” he replied as he
stooped and gently kissed her on the brow.
Another day went by, but still their efforts were unrewarded. On the
following morning they started for the Seal House, to search the many
improvised hospitals which they had learned were located there. The
first place they entered was an immense tent with two or three hundred
cots ranged in crowded rows.
As Buell Hampton and Gail walked down the long central aisle, each took
one side to scan the physiognomies of the poor sufferers, some moaning
in delirium, others with quiet pale faces that lighted up to return the
smile of sympathy and encouragement Presently, the Major who was walking
a few feet in advance heard an exclamation of joy, and turning quickly
saw Gail Holden kneeling at the side of a cot There was a bewildered
look on the face of the patient—a lean drawn face, pallid beneath
the tan, the chin stubbled with a beard of a few days’ growth, the
forehead swathed in bandages, one cheek scored with a healing scar. Gail
had taken one of his hands in both her own. He looked from Gail to Major
Hampton and then from the Major back to Gail.
“Is this a vision?” he asked feebly, as if doubting his senses.
“Roderick, my dear fellow, is it really you?” exclaimed the Major,
as he bent down over him. “For days we have been hunting for you.
And now we’ve found your hotel”—he glanced around with a little
smile—“we don’t propose to lose sight of you again.”
Loosening his hand from Gail’s and taking both of hers in his own
and smiling feebly, Roderick said: “Really, Gail, I hardly know yet
whether you are actually here or I am dreaming. You looked pretty white
that day I carried you from the hotel.”
“There is no dream about me, Roderick,” replied Gail brightly. “We
are going to take care of you, Major Hampton and myself, just as you so
kindly looked after poor little me.”
At this moment a nurse approached: “So your friends have found you,
Mr. Warfield?” she said with a cheerful smile.
“Yes,” replied Roderick, “the very best friends I have in all the
world.” As he spoke Gail felt the gentle pressure of his hand.
“Is this your ward?” inquired the Major of the nurse.
“Yes, I have had charge of it ever since this makeshift hospital was
put up.”
“Well, how is the patient, our friend Mr. Warfield?”
“He had received a pretty ugly cut—a falling piece of wood or
something of that sort—on the top and side of his head—a sort of
glancing bruise. But he is getting on very well now. We have his fever
under control. For a number of days he was very flighty and talked a
great deal about Major Hampton.”
“I am honored,” said the Major, bowing.
“Oh, you are Major Hampton?”
“Yes,” said Gail, “Major Buell Hampton is Mr. Warfield’s
best friend—that is, one of the best.” And she looked quickly at
Roderick.
“How fortunate that you have come when he is convalescing. But tell
me,” asked the nurse, “who is Gail? In his delirium he talked a
great deal about her.”
Roderick’s face flushed, and Gail with rising color immediately
changed the subject by asking: “How soon would it be safe to have the
patient removed?”
“Oh, perhaps tomorrow or the next day. The doctor says he is now quite
out of danger—the fever is practically gone.”
At Roderick’s request he was propped up on his little white iron
hospital cot, chairs were brought, and until far on in the afternoon
Gail and the Major sat on either side, conversing in quiet, subdued
tones, relating incidents in the terrible disaster, planning for their
early return to Wyoming just as soon as Gail’s father and Roderick
himself could stand the journey.
A couple of days later Buell Hampton and Gail arrived at the hospital in
an automobile, and carried Roderick away to a yacht anchored in the
bay that had been placed at their disposal. Here Roderick found General
Holden already installed in a comfortable deck chair, and he was
introduced by Gail to her Uncle Edward, a hale old gentleman bearing a
striking resemblance to his brother. The General looked fit even if he
did carry his right arm in a sling, Roderick although weak from loss of
blood was able to walk, and both could well congratulate each other on
their providential escape.
“We are not going to talk about these awful times,” said the General
as he gave Roderick his left hand and returned the cordial pressure.
“But I have to thank you for saving our dear Gail. We all fully
realize that without your brave and timely help we would not have her
with us today.”
“Nonsense,” protested Roderick. “Somebody else would have done
what I did. I was just happy and lucky in having the privilege.”
“God bless you!” murmured the father, again pressing the hand which
he had not yet relinquished.
“And so say I,” exclaimed the uncle. “We could not do without our
little Gail.” And he patted her cheek affectionately.
There followed a week of blissful rest and happy companionship, at the
end of which it would have been a hollow mockery to pretend in the case
of either invalid that any more nursing or lolling in long chairs was
required. Railroad accommodations were secured for the morrow.