As soon as the main party arrived at the landing they inquired eagerly
where the fire was, and learned very soon that it was in Salem, and had
started in the northwestern section of the city.
Marblehead lies about southeast from Salem, and the wind was blowing
from west to east, veering to northwest,--so that the fumes of smoke,
driven by blasts of heated air, kept pouring over the houses of the
little old-fashioned town, making the atmosphere decidedly disagreeable
in the streets below.
Mr. Miller was in command of the company; and, after a brief
consultation between himself, Mr. Wentworth, and the boatswain’s
mates, it was decided to separate into divisions, to march within
easy call of one another toward Salem, and to reach, if possible, the
headquarters of the Salem Fraternity or Boys’ Club. Here, they felt,
they would be sure to find other boys with their leaders who could give
them all the information they required and plenty of work to do.
The distance to Salem was about four miles; and, during the second half
of their walk, the smoke became thicker and hotter. Here and there
burning embers, carried by the wind, fell along the road and on the
roofs of adjoining houses. All along the streets people were hurrying
from one place to another in more or less excitement; and, on the
housetops, groups were busy wetting down their roofs and putting out
burning cinders. A little later they came upon piles of furniture on
the sidewalks, and furniture vans carrying the household possessions of
families to places of safety. The activity increased as they entered
the city proper. As they walked northward, the wind and smoke came
from a direction on their left; and, as they advanced nearer to the
heart of the fire, they could see the flames springing out of the
wreckage below, spreading from one house to another under the influence
of the wind; could hear the crash of falling buildings, and watch great
showers of sparks and burning material being carried along by the gusts
of air.
Presently they found themselves surrounded by a crowd of people, and
the order was passed along to each division to walk in Indian file. Tom
Sheffield was the last boy in the line and suddenly his attention was
attracted by a knot of people that had gathered quickly around some one
who was lying in the street. This had happened after the other scouts
had got well ahead of him, so that he was the only one who had noticed
the occurrence. He ran quickly up to the spot and saw a woman lying in
the midst of the group with broken pieces of crockery all around her
and a large spot of blood on the left sleeve of her white shirt waist.
Her eyes were closed, and her face was pale. An elderly woman held her
head on her lap but was evidently frightened and did not know what to
do. A little child in the crowd was crying excitedly, and at the same
time a man called out, “Get a doctor, somebody,--she’s bleeding to
death!”
Tom then quickly ripped up her sleeve with his knife and laid the
wound bare. He saw at once from the pulsations and color of the blood
that an artery had been severed. He then felt in his pocket for his
first-aid kit but found that he had left it behind. Quickly he whipped
out his pocket handkerchief and folded it over to serve as a bandage,
tying it tightly above the wound. He then exerted even more pressure by
inserting a lead pencil and twisting the bandage around. When the crowd
noticed that the blood had stopped flowing, there were exclamations of
surprise.
“Good for you, sonny,” called out the burly man.
“He’s one of them Boy Scouts,” remarked another, “you can tell by the
suit he wears.”
“Come,” called out Tom, “you fellows had better stop talking and hurry
up the doctor. Has anybody gone for him?”
“That’s all right, son; here he is now.”
And a brisk young man stepped out of an automobile that had just slowed
up at the outskirts of the little crowd.
After a glance at the improvised bandage and tourniquet, the doctor
nodded at Tom with a smile and went back to get more permanent
apparatus out of his bag. This was quickly applied and then, after
asking a few questions and learning that the woman’s house had been
burnt down, he lifted her up in his arms, and carried her to the
automobile.
“Here, you Scout! I want your help. Jump into the automobile and
support her head as I lift her in.”
Tom instantly obeyed, and the next minute the patient’s head was
resting upon his shoulder, and the doctor was driving the car to the
Beverly Hospital. Once there the attendants took charge under the
doctor’s orders; and, left to himself, Tom began to wonder how he could
best communicate with Mr. Miller.
He decided to telephone from the hospital to the Salem Fraternity,
and leave a message there; and, as he was coming out of the telephone
booth, he ran across the doctor who had come from the wards to
telephone himself.
“Oh! Hullo!” cried he, addressing Tom with a hearty greeting, “I was
afraid you had run away, Scout; I wanted to shake hands with you and
compliment you on your work. But we doctors are beginning to take good
work for granted, when we see your uniform.”
Tom laughed. “I guess the good work wouldn’t stay good long,” said he,
“if we were to bank on the uniform.”
“Where are you going now?” asked the doctor. And, when Tom had
explained, he continued, “I’ll drive you to the Fraternity building
myself, and probably we shall get there about as soon as your troop
does. I’m sorry we had to drive that poor woman so far, but the Salem
Hospital is partly burnt. She bore the journey all right, however; she
had just regained consciousness when I left, and I will call up and
inquire about her this evening.”
After another half-hour’s drive, during which Tom was much impressed
by the distress of the people and the great amount of work to be done,
they arrived at the Fraternity building, and he at once reported to Mr.
Miller.
When Tom had bolted toward the crowd surrounding the fainting woman,
his absence had not been noticed because so many things were happening
on all sides. The main body of boys soon came to a place where they had
an unobstructed view of the fire and where the people were standing in
a compact mass looking on at the awe-inspiring but brilliant scene.
The street, however, was blocked, and the people were not allowed to
approach any nearer to the fire. Many of them were excited; and, every
now and then, two or three would surge forward in advance of the line,
pushing ahead of them a rope that had been roughly secured to bar the
way. As the boys approached the scene, they heard a voice calling out:
“Stand back! Stand back!” and Jack Perkins a few moments later called
out:
“Say, boys, we are not the only scouts here!”
Dick Gray was near the front, behind Jack, and there were two or three
rows of people tightly pressed together ahead of him, so that he could
not see what was going on in the front, but he ducked down and got
through between their legs and saw a Boy Scout, with a patrol leader’s
badge in his hat and staff in hand, guarding the line and holding back
the crowd.
“Hullo, Bob!” called out Dick from somewhere near the ground. He had
recognized Bob Peters of the second Beverly troop, who had made a
record for high jumping at the last Boy Scout rally.
“Hullo!” called back Bob, with a grin. “What are you doing there down
cellar?”
“Hunting for the fire hose!” cried Dick, quick as a wink, and
disappeared behind the legs of the crowd again.
As they could not get through in this direction, it became necessary
to find some other and more roundabout way, so they turned off to the
right, making a semicircle and avoiding the thickest part of the smoke.
Finally they came to the Fraternity building on Central Street, which
was out of the path of the wind and fire.
As they entered the building, the smell of cooking attracted their
attention first, and they met several boys passing through the hall
carrying loaves of bread and pitchers, which they very soon discovered
contained soup. While some of the scouts and other members of the
Fraternity were patrolling the city in search of good turns to homeless
people, others were waiting to carry supplies of food wherever they
might be needed.
The superintendent of the Salem Fraternity happened to be absent at the
time, and a well-known scout master, Mr. Shallack, from an adjoining
town was organizing the boys for service. The first thing he had done
was to requisition food and other supplies, such as kitchen utensils,
etc., from a number of business men, and then he had organized an
efficient soup kitchen to supply food to the many who would soon be in
need.
Mr. Miller immediately offered the services of his ship’s company, and
they were sent out in groups of two or three to find people who needed
immediate help, and to give them whatever service was in their power.
It was not until he was arranging these groups of boys that Mr. Miller
noticed Tom Sheffield’s absence and inquired of each of the other boys
where they had last seen him. Ellsworth Randall was his boatswain’s
mate and was really responsible, but could give no explanation.
“I don’t understand it, sir,” said he, “but I think he must have
stopped to look at something, and then lost his way before he could
catch up.”
“H’m,” said Mr. Miller, “that doesn’t sound like Sheffield; he’s no
wool-gatherer!”
Meanwhile Dick had come up and begged that he might be allowed to go
and hunt for Tom, but just then the telephone bell in the office rang.
“Some one to speak to Mr. Miller,” said the attendant, and to his
intense relief, Mr. Miller heard Tom’s voice, talking over the wire
from the Beverly Hospital.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he heard him say, “but I had to run and lend a hand.
I’ll explain it all to you as soon as I can get there.”