THE HOUR OF PERIL.
As Mr. Graham had expressed in his letter the intention of being at the
steamboat wharf in New York to meet his daughter and Gertrude on their
arrival, Dr. Jeremy thought it unnecessary to accompany his charges
further than Albany, where he could see them safely on their way, and
then proceed to Boston with his wife over the Western Railroad.
"Good-bye, Gerty," said the doctor, as he bade them farewell on the deck
of one of the Hudson river-boats. "I'm afraid you've lost your heart in
Saratoga; you don't look quite so bright as you did when we first
arrived there. It can't have strayed far, however, I think, in such a
place as that; so be sure and find it before I see you in Boston."
It wanted a few minutes only of the time for the boat to start, when a
gay group of fashionables appeared talking and laughing. Among them was
Miss Clinton, whose companions were making her the object of a great
deal of wit and pleasantry, by which, although she feigned to be teased,
her smiling face gave evidence that she felt flattered and pleased. At
length the significant gesture of some of the party, and a
half-smothered hush-h! indicated the approach of some one, and presently
William Sullivan, with a travelling-bag in his hand, a heavy shawl
thrown over one arm, and his grave face, as if he had not recovered from
the chagrin of the previous evening, appeared, passed Gertrude, whose
veil was drawn over her face, and joined Isabel, placing his burden on a
chair which stood near.
Just then the violent ringing of the bell gave notice to all but the
passengers to quit the boat, and he was compelled to make haste to
depart. As he did so he drew a step nearer Gertrude, a step further from
her whom he was addressing, and the former distinguished the words:
"Then, if you will do your best to return on Thursday I will try not to
be impatient in the meantime."
A moment more and the boat was on its way; just then a tall figure, who
reached the landing just as she started, had, to the horror of the
spectators, daringly leaped the gap that already divided her from the
shore; after which he sought the gentlemen's saloon, threw himself upon
a couch, drew a book from his pocket, and commenced reading.
As soon as the boat was fairly under weigh and quiet prevailed in the
neighbourhood, Emily spoke softly to Gertrude, and said----
"Didn't I just now hear Isabel Clinton's voice?"
"She is here," replied Gertrude, "on the opposite side of the deck, but
sitting with her back towards us."
"Didn't she see us?"
"I believe she did," answered Gertrude. "She stood looking this way
while her party were arranging their seats."
"Perhaps she is going to New York to meet Mrs. Graham."
"Very possible," replied Gertrude. "I didn't think of it before."
"Who was the gentleman who spoke to her just before the boat started?"
"Willie," was the tremulous response.
Emily pressed Gertrude's hand and was silent. She, too, had overheard
his farewell remark, and felt its significance. Several hours passed,
and they had proceeded some distance down the river; for the motion of
the boat was rapid--too rapid, as it seemed to Gertrude, for safety. She
observed several circumstances, which excited so much alarm, that,
effectually aroused from her train of reflection, she had leisure only
to take into view her own and Emily's situation, and its probable
consequence.
Several times, since they left Albany, had the boat passed and repassed
another of similar size, with living freight, and bound in the same
direction. Occasionally, during their headlong course, the contiguity of
the two boats excited serious alarm. They were racing, and racing
desperately. Some few, regardless of danger, watched with pleased
eagerness the mad career of rival ambition; but by far the majority of
the company, who had reason and sense, looked on in indignation and
fear. The usual stopping places on the river were either recklessly
passed by, or only paused at, while, with indecent haste, passengers
were shuffled backwards and forwards at the risk of life and limb,
their baggage (or somebody's else) unceremoniously flung after them, the
panting, snorting engine in the meantime bellowing with rage at the
check thus unwillingly imposed upon its freedom.
Gertrude sat with her hand locked in Emily's, anxiously watching every
indication of terror, and endeavouring to judge from the countenances
and words of her most intelligent-looking fellow-travellers the actual
degree of their insecurity. Emily, rendered through her acute hearing,
conscious of the prevailing alarm, was calm, though very pale, and from
time to time questioned Gertrude concerning the vicinity of the other
boat, a collision with which was the principal cause of fear.
At length their boat for a few moments distanced its competitor; the
assurance of perfect safety was impressively asserted; anxiety began to
be relieved, and most of the passengers gained their wonted composure.
Emily looked pallid, and, as Gertrude fancied, a little faint. "Let us
go below, Emily," she said; "it appears now to be very quiet and safe."
Gertrude opened her travelling-basket, which contained their luncheon.
It consisted merely of such dry morsels as had been hastily collected
and put up at their hotel, in Albany, by Dr. Jeremy's direction.
Gertrude was hesitating which she could recommend to Emily, when a
waiter appeared, bearing a tray of refreshments, which he placed upon
the table.
"This is not for us," said Gertrude. "You have made a mistake."
"No mistake," replied the man. "Orders was for de blind lady and hansum
young miss. I only 'beys orders. Anything furder, miss?"
Gertrude dismissed the man with the assurance that they wanted nothing
more, and then, turning to Emily, asked, with an attempt at
cheerfulness, what they should do with this Aladdin-like repast.
"Eat it, my dear, if you can," said Emily; "it is no doubt meant for
us."
"But to whom are we indebted for it?"
"To my blindness and your beauty, I suppose," said Emily, smiling.
"Perhaps the chief steward, or master of ceremonies, took pity on our
inability to come to dinner, and so sent the dinner to us."
The sable waiter, when he came to remove the dishes, really looked sad
to see how little they had eaten. Gertrude drew out her purse, and after
bestowing a fee upon the man, inquired whom she should pay for the meal.
"Pay, miss!" said the man, grinning. "Bless my stars! de gentleman pays
for all!"
"Who? What gentleman?" asked Gertrude, in surprise.
But before he could reply another waiter appeared and beckoned to his
fellow-waiter, who snatched up his tray and trotted off, leaving
Gertrude and Emily to wonder who the gentleman might be.
* * * * *
"What time is it?" asked she, on awaking.
"Nearly a quarter past three," replied Gertrude, glancing at her watch
(a beautiful gift from a class of her former pupils).
Emily started up. "We can't be far from New York," said she; "where are
we now?"
"I think we must be near the Palisades;" said Gertrude; "stay here, I
will go and see." She passed across the saloon, and was ascending the
staircase, when she was alarmed by a rushing sound, mingled with hurried
steps. She kept on, however, and had gained the head of the stairway,
when a man rushed past gasping for breath, and shrieking, "Fire! fire!"
A scene of dismay and confusion ensued too terrible for description.
Shrieks rose upon the air, groans and cries of despair burst from hearts
that were breaking with fear for others, or maddened at the certainty of
their own destruction. Those who had never prayed before poured out
their souls in the fervent ejaculation, "Oh, my God!"
Gertrude gazed around upon every side. Towards the centre of the boat,
where the machinery, heated to the last degree, had fired the vessel, a
huge volume of flame was visible, darting out its fiery fangs, and
causing the stoutest hearts to shrink and crouch in horror. She gave but
one glance; then bounded down the stairs to save Emily. But she was
arrested at the very onset. One step only had she taken when she was
encircled by two powerful arms, and a movement made to rush with her
upon deck: while a familiar voice gasped forth, "Gertrude, my child! my
own darling! Be quiet--be quiet!--I will save you!"
She was struggling madly. "No, no!" shouted she; "Emily! Emily! Let me
die! but I must find Emily!"
"Where is she?" asked Mr. Phillips; for it was he.
"There, there," pointed Gertrude--"in the cabin. Let me go! let me go!"
He cast one look around him; then said, in a firm tone, "Be calm, my
child! I can save you both; follow me closely!"
With a leap he cleared the staircase, and rushed into the cabin. In the
furthest corner knelt Emily, her hands clasped, and her face like that
of an angel.
Gertrude and Mr. Phillips were by her side in an instant. He stooped to
lift her in his arms, Gertrude at the same time exclaiming, "Come,
Emily, come! He will save us!" But Emily resisted. "Leave me,
Gertrude--leave me, and save yourselves! Oh!" said she, imploringly,
"leave me, and save my child." But ere the words had left her lips she
was borne half way across the saloon; Gertrude followed closely.
"If we can cross to the bows of the boat we are safe!" said Mr.
Phillips, in a husky voice.
To do so, however, proved impossible. The centre of the boat was now one
sheet of flame. "Good heavens!" exclaimed he, "we are too late! we must
go back!"
With much difficulty they regained the saloon. The boat, as soon as the
fire was discovered, had been turned towards the shore, struck upon the
rocks, and parted in the middle. Her bows were brought near to the land,
near enough to almost ensure the safety of such persons as were at the
top part of the vessel. But, alas for those near the stern!
Mr. Phillips' first thought was to beat down a window-sash, spring upon
the guards, and drag Emily and Gertrude after him. Some ropes hung upon
the guards; he seized one and made it fast to the boat; then turned to
Gertrude, who stood firm by his side. "Gertrude," said he, "I shall swim
to the shore with Emily. If the fire comes too near, cling to the
guards; as a last chance hold on to the rope. Keep your veil flying; I
shall return."
"No, no!" cried Emily. "Gertrude, go first."
"Hush, Emily!" exclaimed Gertrude; "we shall both be saved."
"Cling to my shoulder in the water, Emily," said Mr. Phillips, utterly
regardless of her protestations. He took her once more in his arms;
there was a splash, and they were gone. At the same instant Gertrude was
seized from behind. She turned and found herself grasped by Isabel
Clinton, who, kneeling upon the platform, and frantic with terror, was
clinging so closely to her as utterly to disable them both; she shrieked
out, "Oh, Gertrude! Gertrude! save me!" But Gertrude thus imprisoned,
she was powerless to do anything for her own or Isabel's salvation. She
looked forth in the direction Mr. Phillips had taken, and, to her joy,
she saw him returning. He had deposited Emily on board a boat, and was
now approaching to claim another burden. A volume of flame swept so near
the spot where the two alarmed girls were stationed that Gertrude felt
the scorching heat, and both were almost suffocated with smoke. An
heroic resolution was now displayed by Gertrude. One of them could be
saved; for Mr. Phillips was within a few rods of the wreck. It should be
Isabel! She had called on her for protection, and it should not be
denied! Moreover, Willie loved Isabel. Willie would weep for her loss,
and that must not be. He would not weep for Gertrude--at least, not
much; and, if one must die, it should be she. "Isabel," said
she--"Isabel, do you hear me? Stand up on your feet; do as I tell you,
and you shall be saved. Do you hear me, Isabel?"
She heard, shuddered; but did not move. Gertrude stooped down, and
wrenching apart the hands which were convulsively clenched, said
sternly, "Isabel, if you do as I tell you, you will be on shore in five
minutes, safe and well; but if you stay there we shall both be burned to
death. For mercy's sake, get up quickly, and listen to me!" Isabel rose,
fixed her eyes upon Gertrude's calm, steadfast face, and said, "What
must I do? I will try."
"Do you see that person swimming this way?"
"Yes."
"He will come to this spot. Hold fast to that piece of rope, and I will
let you gradually down to the water. But, stay!"--and, snatching the
deep blue veil from her own head she tied it round the neck and flung it
over the fair hair of Isabel. Mr. Phillips was within a rod or two.
"Now, Isabel, now!" exclaimed Gertrude, "or you will be too late!"
Isabel took the rope, but shrunk back, appalled at the sight of the
water. One more hot burst of fire gave her renewed courage to brave a
mere seeming danger; and aided by Gertrude, who helped her over the
guards, she allowed herself to be let down to the water's edge. Mr.
Phillips was just in time to receive her, for she was so utterly
exhausted that she could not have clung long to the rope. Gertrude had
no opportunity to follow them with her eye; her own situation was now
all-engrossing. The flames had reached her. She could hardly breathe.
She could hesitate no longer. She seized the piece of rope, and grasping
it with all nor might, leaped over the side of the vessel. How long her
strength would have enabled her thus to cling--how long the guards, as
yet unapproached by the fire, would have continued a sure support for
the cable--there was no opportunity to test; for, just as her feet
touched the cold surface of the water, the huge wheel, which was but a
little distance from where she hung, gave one sudden revolution,
sounding like a death-dirge through the water, which came foaming and
dashing up against the boat, and, as it swept away again, bore with it
the light form of Gertrude!